Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach
"Ken-chan? Where were you? Bedsheet-san and me couldn't find you aaaaanywhere, and then so I was gonna-"
"I'm here now, kid," The Kenpachi said, effectively cutting Yachiru off; the pink-haired toddler didn't seem to mind, however, and, after a few attempts to scramble up to his shoulder, contented herself to hug her guardian's leg.
Kuukaku, whilst all this was happening, had straightened up, knees cracking and bedsheet slipping dangerously before she stood up and hoisted it as best she could with her one arm. The man from Zaraki watched her impassively, then bent to scoop Yachiru into his arms. "What're you doing outta bed? Don't answer that; you're sick and you're gonna sleep." He strode out of the room, ignoring Yachiru's protests that she was feeling just fine.
Kuukaku, a little more than annoyed at her immediate dismissal, looked around the room; dawn light was beginning to filter through the windowscreen, reminding her of the time. She had almost forgotten: the halls and tunnels of her extensive underground house were well-lit and gave a sense of timelessness. She supposed she had better get dressed and start the day, as opposed to going back to bed.
On her way out of the room, she nearly collided with the Kenpachi, who was emerging from Yachiru's room. Kuukaku held her ground under his inscrutable, yellow stare; he turned and closed the door of the girl's room, not stepping back either. When the impasse had stretched on past the point of comfortable silence, Kuukaku split her face in a cocky grin and nodded her head in approval. Mincing around her guest, she was halfway down the hall before she paused, and turned her head to say over her shoulder, "Breakfast's in half an hour, got it?"
The Kenpachi looked at her and nodded, expression still unreadable, his mouth a thin line. Kuukaku continued towards her room and, once inside, allowed herself a snort of laughter. Ken-chan had also been bedsheet-clad.
After dressing and performing her morning ablutions - splash of water on the face and the back of the neck, hair sloppily tied back with her bandanna - she called for Shiroganehiko and Koganehiko to bring the guest some proper clothes, and then get breakfast. And make it snappy.
Breakfast was a silent affair, Kuukaku smoking in between sips of her black coffee - a gift from Yoruichi, brought from the living world; Kuukaku had become quite fond of it. The Kenpachi - dressed in castoffs of Ganjyu's (which, though plain, had obviously been massively altered by Shiroganehiko to fit the guest's size and stature), had eaten silently but ravenously at his end of the table. The wound on his face was healing fast, and Kuukaku had no doubts that the rest of his wounds were doing the same: one did not survive in Rukongai if recovery was not a fast thing. Kuukaku had left him there, eventually, to go smoke outside: the room seemed claustrophobic with the Kenpachi in it, even though he reigned in his reiatsu. She could tell that he had only recently mastered the art of reiatsu control; bits of it kept slipping out and surging around the room. It was much more peaceful and quiet up by her cannon.
Ah, her cannon. She'd built it only a few years ago; Yoruichi had stopped by after it had been built and asked, really, Kuukaku, did you need a giant phallus to go along with those giant breasts? She'd hit her friend, of course, and they'd sparred: carefully, though, always too carefully on Yoruichi's part. Kuukaku appreciated and loathed it at the same time: it hurt her pride, that Shihouin Yoruichi would treat her any less roughly because of a missing limb. Still, it made it easier to win. She wasn't above exploiting a weakness. Kuukaku shifted, a little restlessly; she missed Yoruichi, though she wouldn't admit it to herself. Nobody else around wanted to fight her - out of pity or fear or the simple fact that Kuukaku fought dirty, she was never sure - and of course those ponces at Soul Society were all too busy saving the world, or some shit. She'd never thought of being a Shinigami, even before her arm had been blown off: Kaien was the one with ideals, not her.
Something nudged in on her thoughts; the static surging and and buzzing a hard yellow. She didn't bother turning her head as the Kenpachi sat down beside her. He said nothing, so Kuukaku didn't either. She wondered fleetingly how much of the night before he remembered. He better have taken her little speech about who was boss to heart...and learn to master his reiatsu better. Her eye twitched; the yellow buzz surged around the outskirts of her mind's eye, like a wasp in a windowless room. She'd gone outside to get away from this, damn it.
She was about to say something when the Kenpachi actually began to speak. Asked her a question, even.
"What do you want for it?" He didn't look at her, gaze averted to the house.
"Eh?" Kuukaku took the pipe out of her mouth, blowing a smoke ring.
"You said you ain't a charity. So whaddaya want for it?" He looked sideways and down at her, and gestured towards the house. Realization dawned on Kuukaku: when you've fought your way up from the eightieth, nothing comes for free. Not even if it's offered: that's just the way things work. She sized him up: he made her look small, even just sitting beside her, and Kuukaku did not consider herself to be a diminutive woman.
"Hnh," she said finally, drawing one last pull on the pipe and knocking the ashes out against the base of the cannon. "You any good at fighting?"
He gave her a stony stare. "What do you think?" Derision.
She matched him eye to eye. "You got the shit beaten outta ya, Kenpachi." Scorn.
"'Least I still look like myself. Can't say that about the other guys." A statement, no pride.
"Good," Kuukaku said, grinning. "Then fight me for it. You can earn your stay by entertaining me."
"Woman, I ain't fighting you," the Kenpachi said dismissively. "Y'only got one arm."
"And you're a mess from last night," Kuukaku said, ignoring the anger sparked by his comment. "I think the odds are fairly even, so to speak."
"I fight to the death, woman," the Kenpachi said, and was about to say more when Kuukaku cut him off.
"It's Shiba Kuukaku, Kenpachi," she snarled irritably, thwocking him on the head with the bowl of her pipe, "and are you going to fight me or just keep making wussy excuses?"
There was a spike in the Kenpachi's reiatsu, and Kuukaku gave a self-satisfied smirk. The Kenpachi answered with a mirthless smile which bared his teeth, narrowing his right eye and causing the scab on the left to crack and bleed.
"We fight, woman. Where?"
She got up and pointed to the house. "Under there; let's go."
.
A/N: Next up, we get to see Arikitten's cruddy combat-writing in action! Stay tuned...