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Chapter 7: in which the story turns a wee bit mushy. I'm not very good at mush, I'm afraid. But someone put this story in the UnoKen community, and I felt like I had to earn my keep :)

Chapter 7

Rain

"Commander!"

His lieutenant's face was white and pasty; his mouth hung open as he struggled to speak.

Yamamoto did not even turn towards him. He merely stood with his hands behind his back, slightly stooped, his face turned up to the great windows. "I am aware of the situation, fukutaichou," he said. "I am old, but I can still sense reiatsu."

"It's not just that, sir!" the man wheezed. "The field is down! We're completely vulnerable!"

The general showed no surprise. The rain was stronger now -- the drops on the window pane had started to bead and run. For three thousand years, Yamamoto mused, I have watched the rain falling on my city. The sun rises; the earth dries. The rains come again. Three thousand years, and we are still not clean.

Perhaps what is needed, he thought, is fire.

"Initiate Operation Oblation," he ordered, turning to hobble towards the high dais.

His vice-captain gasped, and dropped to both knees. "No, Soutaichou! I beg you!"

"Lift your head, child," the old man said sternly, settling himself into his chair, "and do as I say."

ooooooooooooooooo

A howl went up around the city, a howl that was more than just the wind. One by one, another portal tore open the sky. Out of each emerged five or six figures, white-robed, hollow-chested. Viciously armed. They had all gone straight to final release. No playing with your prey -- those had been Aizen-sama's orders. No taunting, no banter. No mercy.

A flash of lighting illuminated the arch of the sky. For that instant, the shinigami below could the see the enemy silhouetted against the roiling storm clouds. Thousands ... tens of thousands of arrancar, sitting on the sky. And then, like hailstones, they began to fall.

ooooooooooooooooo

Zaraki Kenpachi watched from the window of his office, elated. He could hear the rain beat on the tile roof above him. He wasn't much for reckoning, but he figured they must be outnumbered ten to one, at least. Even with his dull spirit senses, he could sense deadly reiatsu flare all around them like a gathering typhoon.

"This may be a problem, sir," Ikkaku said, behind him. He was leaning back in the captain's chair, behind a desk covered with papers. Zaraki never did his own paperwork.

"How so, ya damn pansy?" The giant turned to his third seat, surprised. He felt like all of his birthdays had come at once -- and that's a hell of a lot of birthdays. Thought Madarame would feel the same.

"Just saying," the bald man grinned, "out of all of 'em -- how do we figure which one's the strongest?"

"Heh."

Yumichika put one hand daintily to his chest. "How beautiful," he breathed, as explosions flared throughout the city. They felt a low rumble beneath their feet. "What a beautiful way to go."

"Yeah, yeah," Zaraki chuckled, "have fun. Round up the guys, you two. I'll be with you in a minute."

They left, a spring in their step, leaving their captain to get ready. These kind of odds, he thought, might as well live it up. He removed his eye patch, and then starting taking the bells out of his hair.

Yachiru bounded into the room, literally bounced off one wall, and threw her arms around Zaraki's neck. "Ken-chan!" she yelled at the top of her voice, "Billions and billions and billions of enemies!! Gonna slice 'em up?!"

He chuckled. "Yup."

The little pink-haired menace gave a happy giggle. Then she dove into a closet and dragged out a ragged-looking chest. It was only then that Zaraki realized -- Yachiru hadn't entered the room alone. Unohana Retsu stood in the doorway.

"Zaraki-taichou," she greeted with a warm smile and a nod.

"Uh ... Unohana," he replied awkwardly. He didn't know exactly what to say, but she didn't seem to expect anything. Noiselessly, she walked in and stood beside him, staring up out the tall dark windows.

"I believe," she said serenely, "that we are all going to die."

Zaraki blinked. Unohana didn't sound scared at all. Nor did Yachiru, who was digging through her toy box looking for explosives. He had given them to her on her last birthday, and she had been saving them for a special occasion. "Woot!" she cried joyously, jumping up. "Here we go!"

Unohana smiled at the child indulgently. Zaraki felt an uncomfortable knot in his stomach, something novel and entirely unexpected. He had never, he realized suddenly, put Yachiru in real danger before. His lieutenants understood the unspoken system -- if she wanted to play with a no-account weakling, they would let her. If it looked even a little bit like the enemy was too much, they would step in. They didn't have to often, of course -- habitual pride made Zaraki smirk -- kid was damn strong.

This time, though, most like, no one was gettin' out.

He was uncomfortably aware of Unohana's closeness to him, as well. Somehow, he didn't like the idea ... Ah, &#, he told himself savagely. He didn't give a damn about his boys buying it, did he? Any more than he minded dying himself -- why the hell should he worry about her? Damn female turning him about. "What are you doing here?!" he barked, rounding on her. "Don't you have flunkies to heal, or something?"

She stared, momentarily disconcerted, but quickly recovered her poise. "No," she mused, "not this time. Survivors would only be captured, after all, and most would not prefer that."

The room filled with her spirit power, her reiatsu, as always, warm and comforting. It was also unbelievably strong. Caught by surprise, Yachiru fell backwards into her toy box with a squeak. Unohana slowly and deliberately unwove her braid, and tied her hair behind her head. Then she removed her cumbersome outer robes, until she wore only the uniform of a shinigami soldier -- light, loose, and combat-ready. "This time," she said, "I am going to fight."

Zaraki gaped at her, temporarily robbed of his power of speech. He couldn't help himself. God, he thought. What a beautiful woman.

"As for why I am here," she said calmly, looking up into his stupefied expression, "as I said, we are going to die." Gravely, she reach up and touched both sides of Zaraki's neck, just below his jaw. He fingers were cool and steady, almost as if she were conducting a medical examination. Then she stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him softly on the lips.

"Ooo! Ken-chan!" Yachiru squealed, "are you gonna be Doctor-lady's boytoy cuz if you are I have some ques.."

"Shut it, Yachiru!" he snapped. Accustomed to this kind of rebuff, the child shrugged and started tucking brightly-colored little bombs into different parts of her uniform

"Don't," Zaraki said, pulling down Unohana's hands and dropping his eyes. "I don't deserve it."

"No one deserves love, Zaraki-taichou," she answered, unfazed. "Love is a gift."

The giant turned away and kicked over a chair, sulkily. Stupid #$& woman, doesn't have the sense God gave a bumblebee, doesn't ... godDAMNit! "It's like you said earlier," he scowled. "You shouldn't get tangled up with monsters."

The healer's face was grave, now. They could hear the wind redouble outside, carrying with it screams and not-so-distant crashes. "Perhaps you have done monstrous things," she said, "Perhaps you are indeed a monster." He grunted, still not looking at her. "But, right or wrong, I do not see you that way."

Zaraki just growled, and mumbled something about battles and being late and missing the good parts.

"Nor does Yachiru," Unohana said, ignoring him. She wrinkled her nose playfully at the little girl. "You don't think he's a monster, do you, Yachiru-chan?"

"Ken-chan?" Yachiru's sat up a little straighter in her playbox, her pink hair disheveled. She seemed torn between shock and outrage. With one jump, she landed with a crash on top of the desk, scattering papers everywhere. Standing like a sergeant-general, she pointed one stubby finger directly into Zaraki's face. "Ken-chan. Is. AWESOME!!!!" she bawled.

Zaraki was about to bat her off the desk and tell her to stop making a damned fool of herself, when he paused. Her great wide eyes stared directly into his -- clear and happy and completely sincere. The office lamps being behind him, he could see two small images of himself caught in those bright blue eyes.

A familiar voice seemed to echo in Zaraki's mind. A memory.

The heart is like a mirror.

.,..ok. Where had he heard that? What the #$& did it mean? In the dark windows behind Yachiru, he could see Unohana fold her hands before her.

The heart is like mirror.

Then another voice came to him -- Hitsugaya's low rasp, from that time by the edge of the river.

Reflect.

ooooooooooooooooooo

He was in darkness again, but this time the blackness felt less heavy. Friendlier.

"Zaraki Kenpachi," he heard. The voice no longer sounded ethereal; it sounded real. Close. Behind him to the right, to be precise. Hardly daring to breathe, Zaraki turned around slowly.

She was slender, but looked fit and frankly dangerous. Her legs were wrapped from just above the knees to her hips, covered by a flap of black fabric in front and behind. A black top wrapped around her small chest and clasped behind her neck, exposing the abdomen. Black tattoos crawled up her arms. Dark hair was tied in a tight knot above her head, and her face looked ... amused. "About time," she said.

"Wait," he said, confused, "time what? Did I do something?"

The woman moved closer. "I am your true self," she said. "You cannot see yourself, except when you look at the people you love."

She stooped, and dipped her hand into, well, into nothing. Into the blackness. Then she lifted the darkness up, and let it spill through her fingers like sand. "The heart is like a mirror," she murmured. "We exist as we are reflected in the hearts of others, and as they are reflected in us. A mirror is real; it's solid. But if you point a mirror at nothing, it is nothing. It is empty."

Zaraki nodded wisely. His zanpakutou cast him a sideways look. "You didn't understand a word I just said, did you?"

Zaraki shook his head, wisely.

She sighed and straightened. "Normally, I would make you work harder for this. But I gather," her face broke into a wide grin, "that this is a special occasion."

She grabbed his lapel and pulled him down towards her, and then she whispered something in his ear.

"Huh," he grunted. "That's a nice name."

oooooooooooooo

"Ken-chaaaaaaan!!!" He felt Yachiru's tiny hands on his cheeks. She was shaking him. "Wake up! Wake up wake up wake up wake up!!!! Got a billion enemies to kill!!"

He slapped her hands away, annoyed, and she squealed with glee. She and Unohana could both feel his spirit power rising, stronger and wilder than they had ever felt before. All of the windows shook from his sheer unconscious pressure, and Yumichika's knick-knacks rattled off the desk.

"Only a billion?" Zaraki Kenpachi said, licking his long lips. "And here I was hoping for a challenge."

Unohana smiled, and held out one slender hand to him. "Shall we?" she said.

oooooooooooooo

Ichigo didn't know how long the two of them faced off. The Seireitei was crumbling around them. Fire raged beside them, too hot to be extinguished, causing the steady rainfall to hiss and steam. The wind whipped their soaked robes into a frantic flapping motion. From all sides they could hear the confused sound of battle -- shouted orders, running feet, the clash of many swords.

"My offer still stands, Ichigo!" Rukia yelled over the clamor. "Fight with us! You don't have to die here."

Her eyes blazed with defiance. But at the same time he heard -- maybe he imagined it -- a note of pleading.

"Rukia," he shouted, "I'm going to save you, remember?"

The small woman drew her white katana and released her spirit force. The young man's heart almost skipped a beat -- he could not imagine that she had become so strong. "I guess you'll just have to beat some sense into me, then!" she bawled back at him, her face mocking.

"I won't fight for Aizen," Kurosaki Ichigo pulled out zangetsu. The orange flames reflected in its black blade as he swung it around. "I won't even fight for Soul Society." He brought the great sword up in an arc until it pointed directly at Rukia. The air around his lanky form began to glow slightly, and then to blaze, while an updraft of spirit caught his orange hair and set it to riot.

His head lifted, staring at Rukia, the fire dancing gold in his eyes. "But I will fight for you."

oooooooooooooo

The rain had started to beat down in windswept sheets; Matsumoto could barely keep her eyes open. All around them, fights were breaking out on the streets of the Seireitei -- fires were springing up. A muted roar rose up from the city.

She didn't know what to do. She should go down and fight. None of the monsters had landed here -- not yet. But her captain stood on the edge of the cliff, unmoving, unfrightened, his eyes still turned towards the heavens. She couldn't leave him.

Hitsugaya's white hair was soaking wet, plastered over his forehead. The water ran down his face into his eyes, but he made no attempt to wipe it away.

If I were the rain...

He couldn't tell whether the voice was real, or a long-suppressed memory. An echo, maybe. A reflection. He lifted his hands, as if in supplication. The raindrops beat down on them, scattering into a halo of glittering spray. His hands were bigger than he remembered, the fingers long and fine, the knuckles and palms crisscrossed with silver-white scar tissue.

Surely these were not his hands. These hands had murder in them.

The mind is a wild place, and a dangerous one, with infinite corridors, closets and abattoirs. In the mind, memories take on a life of their own -- they prowl its halls like beast of prey. They hide when they need to, and attack when they are least wanted. Hitsugaya sank to his knees, resisting the urge to vomit.

Matsumoto sprang forward with a cry, but he did not hear her. He didn't feel the explosion, just behind him, some kind of arrancar bomb that almost cut the Soukyoku Hill in two. He didn't notice that his lieutenant staggered back, blinded by the blast. The din of battle faded from his consciousness altogether.

If I were the rain, that binds together the earth and sky...

The words murmured cool and gentle in his spirit. Hitsugaya knew that voice. His body shook as he knelt, head bowed, hair dripping. He felt the cold rivulets run down the scar on his neck. It felt, strangely, like he was being washed clean. Purified.

Which are eternally separate...

"Matsumoto," he said, turning only his head. She stood, shaking the stars from her vision. The wind was so strong, it was almost hard to move. "Go find Abarai."

She put one hand on the hilt of her sword. The blast had winded her, and her forehead was bleeding, but she was mostly uninjured. "I'm staying with you, Captain. I can't..."

"Matsumoto!" Hitsugaya's voice was suddenly deeper, stronger -- his voice from years ago. "That's an order."

Could I touch the heart of another?

The blond hesitated a moment longer, then turned and ran to the eastern edge of the mesa. It was difficult, with so many spirits descending on the city, but she managed to pinpoint his spirit power. She would not have been able to locate anyone else's, but she found his. He wasn't too far -- she could even see him, if she squinted. He was stumbling out of the sixth division detention building. Matsumoto knew, instantly, without any doubt whatsoever, what he was doing. In all this carnage and devastation and danger, he was looking for her.

It took Rangiku thirty-seven flash steps to reach Renji; she counted every one. When she reached him, she kissed him as if it were her last, and only, purpose in life.

If I were the rain...

Hitsugaya closed his eyes, tears mingling with the water on his face. This was not his storm. The pain, the sorrow, the guilt -- he could feel them all claw at him, despite the soothing touch of the wind. It didn't matter. He couldn't let himself drift, not now. Now he had to fight.

He held out his hands again. This time the scattered droplets did not fall away, but hung, suspended. Slowly the water gathered, coalesced. Crystallized. Molecule by molecule a gleaming katana knit itself into the air above the trembling fingers.

"Thank you, Inoue," he whispered.

Then Hitsugaya Tourshirou, captain of the Gotei 13, leapt into the sky, like a white flare above the city. "Set in the frozen heavens," he called, "Hyourinmaru!"

TBC

So, ah, whatcha think? Criticism always welcome; romance is not my strong suit. Feel free to flame -- people do get more worked up about bad romance than they do about, say, torture. I do, anyway :)

Also, please let me know if the last section is confusing, as well -- I might have lapsed a little too much into "still-recovering-HItsu-stream-of-conscious" narrative. (Is Inoue in the rain? Or is she in his head? Does it matter?)