Started May 14th.

Completed May 21st.

Authoress: Desperatembrace

Disclaimer(s): I do not own Bleach. If I did, Hatake-taichou would be a main character. I think he's pretty cool.

Warning:

Violence

Language

Sexual Content

Yaoi

Chapter 7

"Protector"


After the meeting with his family, Ichigo's friends came to visit regularly. A pretty good amount of his friends actually worked alongside Rukia--her brother whom was a designer along with his assistant Renji. Toushiro, another designer and his assistant Matsumoto. Another assistant of a different designer constantly tried to tag along--a young, pink-haired teenager by the name of Yachiru. The girl kept on insisting that he go 'play' with her superior. Thankfully enough, he remembered the man--Zaraki Kenpachi. He figured out that seeing him wasn't really the best idea. His memories had actually been coming back at a regular pace ever since the meeting. It had been a few weeks since then and he could already remember a good portion of his life--although there were still a few blanks.

Three more friends from high school visited him every few days, popping in at the most random of times. They were his absolute best friends along with Rukia--although they were rather odd. Yasutora Chad, a tall, tan man with wavy brown hair was one of them. He and Ichigo knew each other since middle school, backing each-other up in an unprecedented fight. The man was quiet and strong, but one of the kindest people you could possibly meet, Ichigo had claimed. He worked many jobs off and on, helping anyone and everyone that asked for his help or assistance.

Inoue Orihime was an average sized woman (with a rather large bust) accomadated with long, flowing, orange-red hair and a kind, yet clumsy personality. She had known Ichigo since elementary school, having developed a crush for him (and grown out of it) and insisted on following him around ever since. Grimmjow learned to never let the woman cook in his house again. She had claimed she was going to make homemade ramen and... the blue haired man swore that it turned out nothing like any type of human food that he had seen or even heard of. Grimmjow unwaveringly demanded that Ichigo never allow her to cook again in his house.

Lastly was Uryuu Ishida. Grimmjow personally found the man to be very strange (and truthfully a bit annoying). He stood at average height with black hair in a strange hairstyle and navy blue eyes hidden behind squared spectacles. All Grimmjow knew was the man was freaking effeminate. "It's like the fucker's a woman. He's a friggin' professional when it comes to sewing!" Ichigo had punched him in the arm, telling him that it was only natural--he was the one that made Ichigo's designs into a prototype where they were adjusted and such before they were mass-produced.

While his friends were happy to learn that he was okay, they had their own jobs and lives to attend to. They could never stay very long, but managed to stop by every time they had the extra time.

For some reason, Grimmjow noticed, Ichigo seemed to dislike his job. When he had suggested that Ichigo start his work back up again, the man had scowled. When Grimmjow inquired as to what the problem was, Ichigo replied, "I don't think I want to start work back up just yet."

For the next few days after this confrontation, Ichigo had been moody and unsocial, snapping whenever something didn't go the way he wanted it to. One day, when Grimmjow had come home from work, he had come across a bit of a worrying situation. Ichigo was sitting in the living room, glaring at his newly replaced sketchbook before he yanked it out of his lap and threw it across the room with a growl.

Grimmjow stepped in, utterly confused. "What the hell, Ichigo?" He waltzed over to the mangled sketchbook and snatched it up, straightening out the pages and closing it. He held it up accusingly as he glared at Ichigo. "What the fuck has your problem been for the last couple of days?" Ichigo just glared at him silently, not willing to speak. "Well?" Grimmjow growled out, his anger levels climbing steadily.

Finally Ichigo looked away, his features set in a frown. "I'm just... frustrated." Grimmjow felt his tension release, letting his arm fall to his side. He made his way to the couch to flop down next to the orange haired man and set the sketchbook on the coffee table, silently motioning for Ichigo to continue.

The man blew out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "I don't like being around people. I never have. I prefer to just lose myself in my drawings rather than to socialize." He let a confused expression twist across his face, staring at nothing in particular. "It's been like that ever since I was a kid, ever since..." He flinched slightly before shaking his head, having lost the oncoming memory. "But... I don't like to design clothes. Grimmjow raised an eyebrow at the last sentence and the indecipherable muttering that followed it. Somehow, he felt things were a little bit deeper than Ichigo let on. He stopped himself from rolling his eyes. What a stubborn dumb-ass, he thought.

Grimmjow stood up from the couch, smoothing the wrinkles from his work pants he looked over his shoulder at Ichigo. "I don't see why you don't like your clothing designs. I actually think they're good." Without another word, Grimmjow had walked to his room to change into more comfortable clothes. The next day, Ichigo had made some phone calls and gotten some materials brought in to start designing from home. He even stopped being so moody, returning to his usual quietly happy demeanor.

Grimmjow left work that day, pleased that Ichigo had mellowed out. But he was still a bit curious. What exactly had Ichigo left out of his explanation the day prior? He paused, thinking. After a few moments, he came to a decision. He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open, searching through his phone book for a number that had recently been added. When the other line clicked and a confident "hello?" rung through, Grimmjow immediately got down to business.

"Hey. Can you come meet me?"

The two of them sat in awkward silence, the atmosphere of the cafe becoming more uncomfortable by the minute. Finally having had enough, the black haired woman let out a dramatized sigh before (attempting) to flip her short hair over her shoulder. "So?" Rukia probed. "What did you want?"

Grimmjow snapped out of his musings, pushing his coffee cup toward the middle of the table. Deciding that blunt was better than round-a-bout, he immediately got to the point. "Why doesn't Ichigo like his job?"

Rukia wanted to laugh. Why did he want to know about Ichigo? Perhaps he was becoming closer and more involved with her close friend than she (or he, for that matter) had ever imagined possible. With that, it's natural to come to the conclusion that the man was curious. This irked her a bit. She had just driven through two cities to satisfy an arrogant man's curiosity. Lovely.

With her elbows on the table, she rested her forehead on her hands, hiding her face from sight. She muttered lowly, peeved that this was actually rather unimportant. After a few moments, she raised her head, staring at the man across from her straight on. "It's nothing all that life-shattering or note-worthy." She leaned back in her seat, folding her arms across her chest. She noted that his curiosity had not dampened as she continued.

"Back when we were in college, he had pursued an art degree--to specifically become an artist. Not a designer of any sort." She shrugged slightly. "He had worked really hard in the classes, wanting nothing more than to become an artist. When he presented his final piece of artwork, his most wonderful masterpiece that held all of his talent and effort to his professor, however..." She let out a sigh, clearly a irritated at the memory. "He had tossed it to the side and claimed it as trash." Grimmjow felt his eyebrows raise, a bit surprised. She continued, not even bothering to let him sort his thoughts out. "He was told that he had no talent as an artist and that it was impossible for him to pursue a career solely in art. So the next best option he had was in design--so he went with clothing design. We later found out, however," she said, reaching forward and taking a drink of her water, "that the man had a personal grudge against Ichigo."

Grimmjow was now confused. He silently narrowed his eyes and furrowed his eyebrows. Rukia pushed her water closer to the middle of the table, rolling her shoulders slightly. "Ichigo's father is a doctor--but he wasn't always one. He actually used to be a cop, and a rather good one at that." Grimmjow kept silent, waiting for her to continue. She glanced out the window, frowning at her thoughts. "It turns out that Isshin had put a rather famous criminal away in jail. It was an event that was covered by the media for weeks. The criminal just so happened to be the professor's older brother." She turned back to Grimmjow, noticing the deep frown etched across his face.

That wasn't right. How could such a thing happen to Ichigo? As he was now, Grimmjow could tell that Ichigo held a deep affection for art. The man lost himself in drawing, poured everything he had into his drawings. It was unfair that all of that was lost and taken away from him because of some deranged, grudge-bearing professor. Grimmjow wanted to growl. Ichigo deserved the chance to go after he wanted--to pursue his dreams...

Rukia watched the expressions cross Grimmjow's face. This, she realized, was a man who had become deeply entangled and attached to Ichigo. A frown slipped across her lips. She didn't really like the man in all honesty. Not to mention he was very rude. But... while all of that was true, she had to (grudgingly) admit that he was probably the one person who could stand next to Ichigo for life. That he was probably the only one who could understand him.

That he was probably the only one who could protect Ichigo from his horrid past...

As if reading her thoughts, Grimmjow snapped her from her musings as he asked her another question. "Why... exactly did Ichigo begin to love art..?" Almost immediately, her eyes had hardened, her expression becoming blank. She stared at him, sorting through her options. She finally began to speak. "I can't tell you much--it's not my place to say."

The black haired woman leaned forward, eyeing him with a look of all seriousness. "The only reason why I know about what happened is because of Ichigo's father. Ichigo would probably have never told me, considering his personality. But even then, we don't know the whole entire story. Ichigo never really told anybody. There was a really big incident that happened many years ago... After that, he sank into a sort of depression and rarely talked. He got absorbed into art, using that to express himself and forget everything with. Otherwise..." She shook her head, unable to continue.

Grimmjow knew he would have to tread on this subject carefully. "So this event that happened... created the voice in his head?" Rukia's eyes shot up to his, locking them both in a staring match. She stayed perfectly still, only her lips moving as she answered. "You know about it?" Without waiting for confirmation, she spoke again. "The voice... was created by that event. It might be the only thing that has kept him sane all of these years."

Grimmjow nodded, sinking into his own thoughts. Things were becoming more and more complicated--and everything centered around what happened to Ichigo. After a bit longer of a discussion, Rukia had concluded that Ichigo probably didn't remember that part of his past yet--which was most likely a good thing. The blue haired man stood up, still absorbed in his thoughts. He didn't even hear himself say, "thanks for the help, woman," nor did he hear the indignant sputter that followed it.

When Grimmjow got home that night, he had followed the normal procedure that had been established. He and Ichigo ate dinner together and talked, bringing the blue haired man back out of his thoughts. It wasn't good for him to just stay immersed in his thoughts. He was truly curious about what had happened in Ichigo's past, but there was really no point in asking him. Not only would he most likely not remember, but even if he did, he wouldn't give a straight answer.

They had idle conversation throughout dinner, talking about each-other's work and getting a little more detail on the day-to-day life that they each had when the other wasn't around. They were interrupted, however, when a loud crash sounded from the living room. Ichigo slid off of the stool and followed Grimmjow into the living room, looking over the man's shoulder when the blue eyed man yelled his cats name with malice.

The vase that they had just recently gotten and put on an endtable next to the couch had been knocked over, the water slowly seeping into the cracks of the couch. The broken remains of the vase lay scattered on the ground along with the shreds of the once beautiful flowers. If that wasn't enough, the paint that Ichigo had received a few weeks back had also spilled open and soaked into the couch, having been placed on the same end-table as the vase. Pantera sat quietly on the opposite side of the couch, stretching out innocently on the ground.

Ichigo let out a minor groan as he left to go get cleaning supplies. As he soaked up the liquids from the couch he tossed the soaked towels to the side, catching sight of the blanket he used only to be horror-stricken. The blanket was covered in paints, from brilliant blues to dull reds to bright yellows. It was nearly midnight already. How long was he supposed to stay up to wait for that to come clean--just so he could sleep?

Grimmjow followed his gaze, coming to rest on the multi-colored blanket. He figured out exactly the problem that Ichigo was thinking of and came to a split-second decision. Well, he was only trying to get what he wanted. What better way than one step at a time?

"Now that I think about it..." Grimmjow said, "it's pretty ridiculous that you have to sleep on a couch every night. You do live here, after all." Ichigo looked up, a confused expression blooming on his face. Grimmjow turned away, pretending to go into thought, rubbing his chin.

"I think... I'm going to get you your own bed." Ichigo blinked, speechless. Finally he said, "What?" Grimmjow rolled his eyes and repeated himself. Ichigo stared at him for a minute before raising an eyebrow and glancing around. "And where exactly is that bed going to go?" Grimmjow really wanted to laugh all of a sudden. He pointed at the door next to the kitchen. "It'll probably go in there."

Ichigo turned and looked at the door. He could have sworn that was a closet. He'd never really looked inside, so he just assumed... He stood up and made his way over, prying the door open and peeking in. It was a simple office room, with a desk and computer and a few tables with random papers scattered over them. "Huh..." Ichigo pulled his head out of the door and turned to Grimmjow. "I never knew that was there." The blue haired man nodded with a condescending smirk etched on his face. "Yeah, I figured."

Ichigo scowled at the sarcastic comment, feeling the childish urge to stick his tongue out at the man. He instead made his way to the soppy towels and picked them up, going to the small laundry room inside the kitchen and yanking open the washer lid. He began pulling knobs and twisting them, the sound of running water breaking the silence. As he started to pour in the detergent, he called out to Grimmjow. "Even if you do give me a bed, that doesn't exactly fix the problem of the couch." Ichigo jumped slightly when he heard Grimmjow's voice reply right behind him. "Then... I'll buy a new couch tomorrow along with your bed... and you can sleep next to me tonight."

Ichigo, having not expected such an answer, dropped the measuring cup that he had been using into the washing machine, turning around sharply to stare at Grimmjow. The man couldn't possibly be serious. What a ridiculous joke. The orange haired man felt his stomach twist when Grimmjow's face was that of pure seriousness. What the hell, Ichigo couldn't help but think. He isn't fucking kidding.

Grimmjow merely raised an eyebrow. "What? Afraid I'm going to rape you or something?" Ichigo drew back at the question, a bit surprised. Grimmjow laughed and continued. "Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not interested in kids." Ichigo's lips drew back into a fierce scowl, his fists balling up in anger. "For the last fucking time, I'm not a kid."

The blue haired man smirked and gave a shrug. He turned around, shaking his head. "If you say so, kiddo." Ichigo snarled slightly, ready for a fight. Before he could pounce on the man, however, Grimmjow looked over his shoulder and pointed at the washing machine. "Oh, you might want to get that measuring cup. It would be a bitch to get it out when the wash cycle starts up." The blue eyed man's smirk grew in size as he turned back around and headed out of the kitchen whilst listening to Ichigo's curses as he fished around for the cup in soapy water.

For the first time in the almost-four-months that he had lived in Grimmjow's house, Ichigo wanted to scream. Sure, he had felt the need to yell and rant and bitch, but the urge to scream had never presented itself to Ichigo since he met the blue haired man. But, damn, he had the crushing urge to scream.

How in the seven hells did I end up in this situation? The orange haired man couldn't help but think to himself. He angled his head slightly, gaze locking with electric blue eyes only a foot or so away. He never once averted his eyes, his body rigid and ready to flee. He jolted ever so slightly when Grimmjow tilted his head and rolled his eyes. "Good god, you dumb-ass kid. Just go to bed." Grimmjow sunk lower under the comforter, hiding his bare chest and navy blue boxers. He rolled onto his side, presenting his muscled back to the uncomfortable man.

Ichigo remained still, watching the mans form even after the lamp light had been clicked off, shrouding the room in darkness. After coming to the conclusion that Grimmjow wasn't a threat, he sunk himself under the comforter, cozily clad in a t-shirt and pants. No way in hell he was getting next to Grimmjow half-naked. The man just naturally screamed sex. Of course, that was merely common sense he told himself--most definitely not his own personal opinion.

He lay on his back, slowly gaining comfort in the large bed. It had been a long time since he had slept on anything wider than his own body. And from what he remembered (which was actually a lot), he had never slept next to anybody. It was a strange feeling...

But not necessarily bad.

Ichigo stared at the ceiling, suddenly finding that it was getting harder and harder to fall asleep as his thoughts wandered through the recesses of his mind. I wonder... I wonder exactly what happened that night. When I met Grimmjow. I have no memories of that... or what happened all those years ago. Why is it so painful to try to remember?

Why is it painful?

He tried to force the memories to the surface, concentrating long and hard on the sensation that he would always feel with a flashback. He layed there for countless minutes, scrunching his eyes, fisting the sheets, and willing his life's memories to come back.

The only thing he succeeded in doing, however, was wearing his mind out. He was already physically weary, and the mental strain only pushed him further into the clutches of fatigue. Chocolate brown eyes slowly slipped shut as Ichigo finally conceded to his dreams.

Time seemed to be skewed... distorted. In fact, everything seemed to be distorted. The memory was a bit vague, as if he hadn't been fully aware of what was happening when it happened. He could feel his limbs, but it was almost as if they weren't his.

The alleyway that his past-self stood in seemed to sway, the world tilting off of its axis. A group of men stood around him, brandishing multiple varieties of weapons that were found upon the ground--lead pipes, shards of broken glass, small wood blocks.

He knew that he couldn't fight these men. He was tired, injured, and outnumbered. It would be fighting a losing battle. He also knew that he couldn't run. In his shape, the men would catch up in mere seconds. Hell, maybe even nanoseconds considering how heavy his limbs were starting to feel.

Ichigo felt himself let out a private wry smile. So the only option that left him with was to take a beating--not that he would just sit back and let it happen, of course. If he was going down, he was taking the fuckers with him.

A few of the men--the higher-ups, no doubt--stepped forward, presenting their weapons menacingly. They hunched forward a little, cruel smiles spreading across each of their faces. Ichigo's bittersweet smile deepened, his eyes showing his frustration. I can't believe, he remembered himself thinking, that I actually let these guys trap me...

And with a deep voice that seemed to echo from within him, Ichigo felt relief spread through his limbs.

You know what I can't believe? Not the fact that you fell into the trap. Nope. I can't believe that you couldn't bail yourself out of it. What kinda bullshit is that?

A sharp, shrill laughter echoed through his head. A feeling was spreading through his body, as if he was being pushed away from control. At the same time, he could distantly feel a hum of energy gathering in his limbs. While the feeling was familiar to him, present-Ichigo couldn't help but feel a little awkward. His past self accepted the obtrusive feeling without a second thought.

Go to sleep, King. This'll be over with soon enough. Ichigo vaguely registered his cheeks stretching into a deranged grin. He watched as his body seemed to move on its own, bringing bruised knuckles up to his chest to pop provocatively. As his body moved forward gracefully, as if it were no longer covered in injuries, Ichigo felt his mind begin to slowly shut down, the scene dimming with each second that passed by.

The last thing that Ichigo witnessed was his fist being smashed into the nearest man, a loud, demented laugh surrounding him--a laugh that, for once, someone other than himself heard.

When Ichigo was pulled from the memory, he found himself not in the real world like he had expected, but somewhere very different. He had been here once before, a month or two back.

He swept his orange hair out of his eyes, surveying the area. There was absolutely nothing. At least, nothing except for water. Otherwise, it was a never-ending sea of black. The orange haired man couldn't help but feel anxious and paranoid. It was the perfect place for a surprise attack.

His musings were interrupted as the now-familiar voice encased him.

Jeez. Persistent, aren't you?

Ichigo's gaze was drawn to his reflection at his feet, an inverted version of himself rippling on the other side of the water. His reflection seemed to be very... different from himself, though. His opposite had a cruel smile pasted across his face. The other lowered himself onto his haunches, reaching out a hand to splay it across the water. Ichigo hesitated before doing the same, hovering his mirroring hand over the invert's.

All of a sudden, without warning, the invert reached across the liquid barrier, clamping his hand around Ichigo's wrist and dragging him under the water. The orange haired man wasn't even able to let out a sound of surprise before he was pulled underneath. An edge of panic clawed at his sides. He couldn't breathe. He was drowning. He was going to die.

Thoughts flew rampantly through his head, he was unable to grasp any of the thoughts before they slipped off, quickly replaced by another. He clenched his eyes shut, desperately trying to halt his rampaging thoughts and move intelligently. When he felt himself being pulled out of the water, however, he felt his body seize up with surprise.

Brown eyes slid open, looking immediately down at his perfectly dry clothes. Ichigo patted himself with wonder. He couldn't even feel the burn that usually followed any period of inactive breathing. A snort issued above him, causing him to look up and come face-to-face with his opposite.

"Dumb-ass. We're in your head. I think it would be nearly impossible for you to die here." The look alike stepped back, watching as Ichigo slowly stood up. His cruel smile only grew in glee when Ichigo happened to catch a glance of their surroundings.

They were no longer in an empty space, void of anything save for water. Now they were in a massive city, absolutely everything in sight in a strict black and white coloring pattern. What had really made Ichigo throw himself back to the ground was the fact that he wasn't necessarily on the ground. Instead of him standing on the pavement of the street, he found himself standing on the side of a building... staring down at the pavement. It was a little unnerving to say the least.

"You'll get used to it." The deathly-pale reflection of Ichigo ran a hand through his hair. Ichigo slowly made his way to a standing position again, glancing warily at the empty, dull street below. The orange haired man continued to watch the street as he started to speak. "You... who are you?" After a few moments of silence, Ichigo finally looked up at his mirror image. The other watched him with cold, calculating eyes.

"You call me Hichi. It's the name that you gave me." Ichigo was a little confused at this point. Why in God's name would he name the identical bastard? Considering the fact that he had most of his memories and personality back, he felt that, no matter what position he was in, he would avoid all communications with someone who happened to look exactly like him. It was just a little too creepy, after all. Either way, the whole thing was confusing in all aspects. Just what the hell was the guy doing in his head, anyway? He remembered that the voice, the voice of the man who stood in front of him, had said that he was Ichigo's protector. Protector of what, exactly?

The man, Hichi, seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. Without even asking questions, he immediately began to explain. "I am a part of you. I am what you would call a 'second personality'. You created me many years ago to help ease the pain of the incident. The only reason I am here is to protect you, both physically and mentally." Hichi grinned, unconcerned with Ichigo's widening gaze. "As for emotional, however, you're on your own. If you need my help with that one, you're screwed."

Ichigo stared at the pale version of himself, the realization taking time to set in. After the course of a few minutes, what Hichi said had finally sunk in. While it was a bit discomforting to share your head (and basically have proof that you're crazy), he knew that it made sense. He could feel a familiarity with the one in front of him and knew that it wasn't a lie. So, now that all of those questions had been answered and solved, an irking and persistent question made its way to the surface.

"If you... were created to protect me... what were you created to protect me from?" Hichi's face fell into utter seriousness as the atmosphere seemed to get heavier. It was as if they were battling within his mind, their subconscious forms not even having to move a muscle. As Ichigo pushed harder, he rephrased his question into what he instinctively knew it all boiled down to.

"What the hell happened all those years ago?"

And the fight was over. The feel of Hichi's opposing force relented as he blew out an irritated sigh. "I suppose that I can't keep it from you forever. The dam is close to breaking." The buildings around them began to slowly crumble, small chunks falling to the ground below. The damage wasn't nothing to worry about, really. At the rate it was going, it would take years to break the buildings down--but the situation added to the growing mood. This was serious, and he could feel it.

"I refuse to let you see all of it," the surroundings began to dim around Ichigo, the feeling of being pulled out and away growing immensely, "just don't regret your decision... King."

The next thing Ichigo knew was that he was pulled out of his subconscious and shoved into the second memory for that night. And when the fragmented memory began to play, Ichigo found himself submerged in a world filled with flowing blood and terrified screams, the unclear memories that happened around him like a scene out of a horrific play.

And for the first time since waking up in Grimmjow's home, Ichigo truly wished with every fiber of his being that he would be unable to fully regain his memories.

-Chapter End-

A/N: Review?