Chapter 5: Father Forgive

Night was falling fast, drawing its dark, voluptuous curtain across the sandy wooden floors and colorful square bins of the Urahara Shop. From the shelter of his back porch, Urahara watched the first tentative drops of rain fall, a gentle virgin offering from what would soon become a full-blown storm. Beside him on the porch sat Uryuu Ishida, legs crossed and an open school book in his lap. He was waiting for Kurosaki, who had left some time ago to track some hollows that had been spotted at a nearby construction site. Every now and then, a soft whistling sigh of consternation would issue from Uryuu's lips. Finally, Urahara asked:

"Are you worried about Kurosaki?"

A deep crease appeared between the Quincy's eyes. "Worried? No, not at all. It's just that-"

"Just what?"

"He's terrible at tracking spirit energies." Urahara smiled at this remark, his fan dipping to and fro idly, like the neck of a lazy crane.

"I know." Urahara said, and he watched a tiny, wry smile tug slightly at the boy's lips. Plink-plink-plink! Fat raindrops pattered out a soft musical accompaniment on the porch's hollow bamboo rails. A few moments passed, and Uryuu suddenly wrenched off his glasses and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. There was a heavy, worrisome slump to his shoulders, and he seemed completely unfocused this evening. Urahara watched his face over the rice paper border of his fan. The boy had said nothing further about his father's ultimatum, not since he had brought it to Urahara's attention over six weeks ago. But the choice was obviously weighing on him. Urahara's eyes slid down to his bare wrists. The cross pendant remained conspicuously absent.

In a single swift movement, Urahara reached over and jerked the book from the boy's grasp and smacked it shut. Uryuu just stared in bleary-eyed disbelief at the empty space on his lap. "Why don't you go on home?" Urahara suggested gently. "I'll tell Kurosaki where you are when he returns."

Blue eyes narrowed into glittering chips of ice. "No, I don't want to-"

"-you should go rest," Urahara insisted. The closer Urahara studied the boy, the more he looked unwell to him. Months before, he had tried his best to avoid running into both him and Kurosaki underneath his roof. Now the Quincy was a near constant presence, an amiable companion on quiet evenings, and one that Urahara had slowly gotten used to. So used to, in fact, that he had begun to miss the more obvious points. Like the creeping, deteriorating state of the boy's health.

Uryuu regarded him stonily for a few seconds, then finally stood up. "Fine. If you insist, then I'll just go and lay down in the back room." Then something strange happened. One moment the Quincy was standing there, almost glaring at him; the next, it seemed that his legs simply gave way, and he toppled forward onto the railing. "Ishida!" Urahara was instantly on his feet, catching the boy mid-fall. Beneath his usual Pre-Raphaelite pallor, the boy was burning up, and Urahara was alarmed. He stared down in distress as the youth slumped heavily in his grip, clinging to him like a weak, new-born kitten for support.

"I'm sorry," Uryuu whispered miserably into Urahara's green robes.

"There's no need," Urahara said in an equally low voice. You care too much, a tiny voice warned him in the back of his head. He thought he was long past such caring, but maybe not. His mind suddenly flew back to the night of Aizen and the clearing. The reason he had walked so blindly into Aizen's trap was because of Hiyori, his fiery, female lieutenant; the moment he had realized that he'd sent her into danger, he was off and running to her in the forest, despite the Commander's orders that he stay put. How rash and willful his younger self had been. And he had wanted so much to save his young subordinate, even though she had made it obvious that she hated him; even though she claimed, over and over again, that she would never acknowledge him as her captain. He had wanted so much to be liked by her. Loved, even. He had cared far too much back then, and it had inevitably led to disaster.

"Come on, we're going inside," said Urahara.

"It's alright; I can stand on my own," the Quincy insisted, suddenly squirming in Urahara's grip. Urahara dropped his hands as if he'd been burned. He was far too aware of the fact that he'd never been this close to Uryuu before, and this awareness made him pull back, even though the boy was literally swaying on his feet. But he did not fall. Those narrow ice chips were glittering at him again, in steely determination. "I'm going inside. You don't have to coddle me." With obvious effort, the boy slid back the door leading into the shop. He paused at the threshold, looking back at Urahara with a tense, unfathomable expression. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but then he dropped his head and stepped away from the doorway. Urahara listened for each slow, plodding step as the boy made his way down the hall. After a few moments the shop returned to its former sleepy silence, punctuated only by the hollow plink-plonks! of the cascading raindrops falling onto the rails.

"Well, that was an interesting display."

Urahara froze where he stood. That voice. Urahara turned. Standing at the bottom of the steps, his suit and trench coat perfectly crisp and unrumpled beneath a broad, black umbrella, stood Ryuken. His glacial expression was a perfect match for the icy tone of his voice. The two men simply stared at one another, until Urahara finally broke the tense silence.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see my son, obviously. Since it would seem that he prefers to spend most of his time here, as opposed to at home, where he belongs."

What home? Urahara thought dryly, but didn't say. He unconsciously reached over for his cane that was propped against the railing. Then he said, flatly, "I don't think that's such a good idea right now."

There was the questioning arch of an eyebrow. "Oh, really? And why is it that you are suddenly the one who gets to decide this, Kisuke?"

"The boy is unwell, Ryuken. Mostly, I think, because of your nasty little ultimatum. You've placed him in an untenable position-"

"-oh, shut up, Kisuke!" Ryuken interrupted frostily. "What business is it of yours, anyway?" A thoughtful pause. "Unless, of course, you're making it your business. Which would be just like you. And I must say, I was a little shocked to see the two of you together on the porch like that, but then I happened to remember what kind of man you really are-"

You're exactly the kind of man that I thought you were...

"-just what are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is," said Ryuken in a low, dangerous voice, "that Kurosaki might not be the problem here. Perhaps I've been mistaken. Maybe you're the problem."

Urahara's voice rose in counterpoint to Ryuken's gravelly hiss. "Are you accusing me of something, Ryuken?" The grip on his cane tightened. Ryuken's eyes narrowed into icy slits. Just like Uryuu. Chilly, mirthless laughter shook the older Quincy's shoulders. "He's a bit young for you, Kisuke, don't you think? Even younger than I was back then. My, how low you've sunk-"

"-shut up, Ryuken!" Urahara yelled over him. His control broke along with his voice. "I haven't done anything! Anything, you hear me! Don't confuse you and me with me and him. Don't you dare-"

"-you're pathetic, Kisuke," returned Ryuken, who began to slowly back away from the porch. "Does the younger Kurosaki know what you're up to? Are you going to break his poor heart as well? You've become the saddest of all cliches, Kisuke. The predatory candy shop owner who likes to have young boys hanging about-"

"-go!" Urahara gritted between clenched teeth, pointing his cane with obvious intent at the older Quincy. There was a heated, red glow forming around Urhara's frame, dangerously intense. Ryuken continued to back away, but said in parting, from the cover of descending darkness:

"Don't threaten me, Kisuke. I'm not afraid of you. Far from it; I'll go toe-to-toe with you any day of the week." There was a slight blur of motion, and he was gone. Silence. Rain continued to plink-plonk! over the railings. Urahara's hand was trembling as he slowly lowered his cane with Benihime inside. Ice, like shards of broken glass, coursed through his veins, chilling him to the very depths of his soul. Goddam you, Ryuken! With a tired gesture, Urahara dropped to the ground, holding his face dejectedly in his hands. A single, solitary question kept repeating itself over and over inside his head:

Why was it impossible for him to escape the mistakes of his past...

End Chapter 5.

Next update: Either tomorrow or Friday.