Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.
Yachiru was sulking. She had woken up about half an hour earlier, in a room she didn't recognize, and she didn't know how she'd gotten there. The pink-haired child was unalarmed by this, however; she often woke up in places she didn't recognize, as Ken-chan would find a place to stay after she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder. There was a vague memory of rain and steel in her mind, but she brushed that away: Ken-chan always won, anyway. What irked her was that Ken-chan was nowhere to be found, and the door was locked from the outside. The room was big, and besides from her bed, there was a table with crayons and paper on it, but nothing else.
Yachiru had spent the time waiting for Ken-chan and colouring, but now she was getting bored and impatient. And hungry. Every once in a while, she could hear someone walk past her room, see their silhouette through the thin paper walls, but it was never anyone she recognized.
Perhaps Ken-chan was lost? Perhaps this was a giant building, and Ken-chan was all the way at the other end, or didn't know where Yachiru was without her directions? Poor Ken-chan... Yachiru toddled over to the door and attempted to open it again. It stayed firmly shut, and Yachiru pouted in annoyance. She hadn't wanted to break the pretty paper walls, but that seemed to be the only option, now.
She was about to push her hand through the paper screen of the door when footsteps echoed loudly down the hall, the approaching reiatsu troubled and preoccupied; a deep, velvety blue colour which frayed at the edges. Yachiru sat and used her crayon to draw on the floor as a tall, slim man dressed in black and white drew back the door.
She looked up at him and smiled winningly. "Hallo there!"
The man, startled by the voice so close to his feet, looked down sharply. A strange expression crossed his face but was quickly erased as careworn lines settled in to place, looking odd on a man not much older than Zaraki himself. "Hallo, little one," he said, shutting the door firmly behind him.
"Have you seen Ken-chan?" Yachiru asked, her eyes wide and innocent. "I think he's lost."
"Ah," the man said, and sat on the floor across from Yachiru, to better look her in the eye. "Yes, I - Ken-chan is busy right now, but he's probably on his way here."
"Oh. Okay." Yachiru went back to her drawing, apparently unconcerned. The man drew in a breath, conscious that he had to navigate this conversation very carefully in order for the girl to co-operate. If it was true about her...but he would find that out soon enough. He reminded himself to be patient, despite the fact that he had a time limit. He had lost so many troops, he had waited this long; he could wait a little longer to execute this, his only hope for escape, with utmost delicacy.
"What's your name, little girl?" He asked, barely managing to catch her attention: she looked up at him swiftly, then went back to drawing.
"Kusajishi Yachiru," she said, scribbling extra hard around a knot in the floorboard. "Why, what's yours?"
"I'm Toyoma Hatori. You can call me Hatori-san," he said. There was a pause, then, "What are you drawing, Yachiru-chan?"
"Ken-chan," she smiled to herself, still focused on the picture. "I can draw him really good; I like drawing Ken-chan."
"Do you ever draw anyone other than Ken-chan?" Hatori asked, and Yachiru raised her head, meeting his dark eyes with her own bright ones in a solemn glance.
"I used up the paper on the table," she said, "I can draw other people on the paper, 'coz it's easier to draw on paper."
Hatori got to his knees and, turning, knelt at the table. Sure enough, the papers he had laid out for her had all been filled with childish drawings of men and women fighting, bright scrawls of colour swirling around and in-between figures. He gathered them up and turned around again to face Yachiru, who was colouring something in, her tongue poking out of her mouth in concentration.
Hatori, about to say something, hesitated. The doubts surged back, full-force, and a sudden, paralyzing uncertainty gripped him: was he doing the right thing? What if he was playing along; what if they expected him to keep the girl, to not hand her over? Damn them! He was sick of being anticipated, sick of being under another's thumb. He had to go through with this: he had to get out. And to do that, he needed power. And to get power, he needed the girl. But what did she know? Something, certainly. Otherwise they would not need her so badly.
A lilting voice rang through his head: "She's just a kid, Hatori-kun. No need to fret...an' once we have her, we c'n finally break through this last barrier...we c'n find out how t'unleash that power. But we need you to get 'er first."
Yachiru hummed to herself as she drew, paying no attention to Hatori's agonized silence. Hatori-san had not been lying when he'd said Ken-chan was on his way, but he hadn't been telling her the whole truth. Perhaps he knew that Ken-chan was lost, and wasn't helping him at all? That wasn't very nice of Hatori-san. She finished the last little details, and rocked back, looking up at Hatori-san. He had a funny look on his face, and was holding her drawings. She felt very sorry for him, all of a sudden: he needed someone to be nice to him.
"D'you like my drawings, Hatori-san?" she asked, and crawled over to sit beside him, looking at the pictures over his arm.
"Ah, yes," he blinked a couple of times, and reshuffled the drawings. "Yachiru-chan...who is this, in this picture?" He pointed at a stick-figure with square glasses and a smile. It was standing on top of a pile of...bloody things. They weren't human, but they weren't hollow, either.
Yachiru looked at the picture for a while, then shrugged. "Dunno," she said, and then pointed to another stick-figure, off in a corner of the page. "But that's you, Hatori-san."
The little stick-figure was holding a sword, and had a cloud of purple around him. Hatori frowned...his reiatsu was blue, not purple. Beside his little figure was another, with silver hair and a big smile...Ichimaru Gin. Hatori's gut clenched as he recognized Aizen Sousuke's vice-captain, whose sword was extended over his own little avatar's head.
"You're not yourself, are you, Hatori-san?" Yachiru asked, and the question unsettled the captain deeply.
Hatori forced a smile. "Well, maybe I don't look exactly like this picture in real life," he said evasively, and switched up the papers. The picture now on top was of Hatori, captain's cloak flying, near what looked like a house in the mortal realm. There was a dead body in shinigami clothes at his feet, the comical x's of the eyes almost drawing away from the vicious expression on Hatori's face. Yachiru was silent.
He remembered the scream. He remembered saying "It is for the greater good," and knowing it wasn't. He could feel the blood - of his son, of his SON - running over the hilt and down his wrist, the sick hatred and self-loathing that welled up like bile in his throat, and the wet, choking coughs of the dying man - oh God, his own son! - blocked up his ears as he walked away...on to the next one, the latest shinigami who had discovered too much. He was a sword, caked with gore, and all that awaited him in Sereitei was a benevolent voice - telling him to kill again - and a malevolent smile - telling him that it was okay. He'd joined for power, to surpass his peers: he wondered bitterly if it counted as surpassing because his peers were all dead. He made the decision then: he had to get out. Would that he had made it sooner.
The eleventh division captain let out a short breath. Aizen, though convinced of the girl's prophetic powers, hadn't mentioned that the girl could see into peoples' pasts. Why would he have kept this secret? Unless...unless Aizen didn't know...Hatori felt a wild rush. Perhaps he could work this to his advantage, after all... if he kept the girl with him, away from Aizen, who knew what he could learn? He could tell Aizen the girl was wounded in the skirmish with her guardian and died of her wounds upon entrance to Sereitei...yes, he could make this work. He would prevail: he could leave the life of blood-letting and assassination behind him, he could hold the power over Aizen and his smiling dog-fox once and for all.
He looked back down at Yachiru. The little girl was staring at him, eyes huge, a troubled look on her face.
Running footsteps sounded in the hallway: there was a hasty knock at the door. Hatori started, shaken out of his reverie.
"Enter," he called, still seated.
A youth with sunglasses and the beginnings of a moustache slid the door back, already on his knees in front of his captain.
"Taichou!" he gasped. "Urgent captains' meeting, by request of Yamamoto-soutaichou himself! Your presence is required immediately!"
Hatori's mind flew to the assumption that Aizen had anticipated him - all is lost! - but he forced himself to calm down, even as the doubts and suspicions roared through his head. How much did Aizen know? What if Yamamoto knew? What if Shihouin-taichou had found out about his operations? He'd been careful to train his division in stealth kidou...but what if she'd found out about this latest mission? He cursed mentally.
"Goggle-san, what's a Yamamoto?" Yachiru looked at the newcomer with interest, and Iba Tetsuzaemon stared back, at a complete loss.
"Iba," Hatori said tersely, "You did not see this child."
"Taichou?" The young man said, puzzled, then understanding dawned. "Ah, yes, taichou. What child?"
Hatori ignored him, still writhing with indecision. Go to the captains' meeting and leave the child unattended? Or stay here, and rouse suspicion in the minds of his peers? He couldn't allow the girl to fall into Aizen's hands. His eyes fell to the drawing on the floor before him, which Yachiru had been working on during their conversation. His thoughts froze.
"Yachiru-chan,"
"Mmhmm?" The girl looked up at Hatori questioningly.
"Yachiru-chan...this picture..."
Iba, watching his captain hesitate, felt uneasy for the first time. He had never seen Toyoma-taichou like this (granted, he'd only been in the eleventh division for a few years since graduating from the academy), and it was unnerving. It was obvious that the girl was the source of the problem.
"Taichou, if I may, I am able to watch over the girl while you're at the meeting," Iba offered, then remembered his place. "Ah, sorry, Toyoma-san, it was rude of me to interrupt!"
Hatori looked up from the drawing on the floor. "No, I -"
There was a large crash, one which shook the building entire: Yachiru's crayons went flying, and Iba and Yachiru both lost their balance. Through the aftermath of falling bricks and running footsteps, there came a distant roar.
"Ken-chan!" Yachiru squealed happily. She got to her feet and, with swiftness unimaginable in a girl of her size, stepped (on Iba) through the door and ran off down the hallway, calling back over her shoulder.
"Thank-you Hatori-san and Goggle-san! Bye!"
A/N: Augh this chapter took forevarz to write, mostly because Hatori's motives needed explaining. I imagine Toyoma Hatori as a sort of Remus Lupin lookalike: very aged for being so young, careworn, and very concerned. He's aware of what he is, and he doesn't like it...so he's going to change, no matter what it takes. I kind of like him, to tell the truth. Even though he sucks to write.