For a few long moments Rukia sat on the bed in the darkened hotel room, the finery of her surroundings lost on her as she knew too well the tone in Michael's voice. She was tempted to call him back, her hand resting on the phone, fingers itching to pick up the receiver.
Instead she sat in the unlit room for five minutes, her heartbeat racing, her mind feeling strangely numb. She made herself breathe slower, and then went to the basket of fruit and wine on the table that the hotel had delivered and broke open the pink tinted plastic wrap.
It took a while of searching to find a corkscrew in the lamp stand by the bed. She worked out the cork and then found a patron glass wrapped in plastic in the bathroom. She left the light off, the small bedroom lit only by the filtered glow of moonlight that made its way in from the open balcony doors.
She filled the cup and drank half the wine without stopping.
"Damn Ambra," she mumbled to no one.
She sat on the bedside and filled the cup to the brim, sipping it down carefully as it threatened to spill.
She drank half of it before setting it on the lamp stand and reaching for the phone again.
She dialed, waited, hoped, and counted.
Three, four, five rings. Her fingers tightened around the cord, twisting. Eight rings. No answering machine after four rings.
She hung up. There were only three reasons Michael wouldn't answer the phone, and only one why the answering machine would be unplugged. She knew that intimately.
She finished the rest of the wine from the glass in a gulp and poured more, leaving only a third in the bottle, realizing only then it was burgundy, and rather strong. She left the glass on the stand and stood up.
Damn Michael too, she thought, pacing the room, her skirt and blouse suddenly too warm. She threw her suitcase on the bed and rummaged through it to find the pastel yellow over-sized t-shirt she'd packed for sleeping. She disrobed quickly, mind churning over the images her imagination created, wondering how Michael's back looked to Ambra as he pressed her into the mattress, if they were in her bed, their marriage bed, or if --
She plunged her arm through the sleeves and settled the material around her, pulling at the hem so it reached mid-thigh on her legs.
But what if she was wrong? Maybe she'd jumped to conclusions.
Rukia found her glass and finished half of it, her previous conclusion ebbing stronger in her mind. She knew she was right, knew Ambra was a tease, and that Michael had always had a soft spot for their neighbor he'd never admit.
She followed the warm breeze of the night out onto the balcony, tossing the more painful thoughts to the side in her mind, feeling the impact of the wine in her head.
She leaned on the balcony rail, glass in her hand, and looked at the lights of the city below, lights seeming almost festive after her norm of small town life, beyond them the glittering Eiffel Tower. Were all these people still up? she thought.
She smelled smoke faintly, and looked to the next balcony over to see Ichigo's dark silhouette against the building's side. He leaned to the wall, watching her.
"Did your call go through?" he asked before putting the cigarette back to his lips.
She nodded, and then added, "Yes." She turned, resting her back to the rail. "He got a promotion today."
He nodded at her detached tone. "You don't sound very happy about it." He dropped the cigarette butt and stepped on it. "Did you tell him where you are?"
"No. I think he's got enough on his mind right now," she said quietly, looking at her glass before taking a long drink from it. The wine seemed especially dry, not fruity as she had expected, drier even than her first drink earlier at dinner. "How'd you get into this business, Ichigo?"
"Kind of like you." He crossed the short balcony to stand at the rail nearest hers. He leaned his elbows on it, bending to see her better in the dark, her somber expression not escaping him. "I mean, my dad sold most of the stones I'm now buying back. Years ago, when it was really legal."
She nodded, her hand tightening on the glass.
"Are you all right?"
She nodded and finished her drink, desperate to think of anything other than what kept creeping into her mind. "What happens when you've bought back all your father's stones?"
He shrugged, watching her closely. "That will satisfy our buy-back policy. There're only about half a dozen original clients left. Then I retire."
She tried to laugh a little at the idea of someone so young retiring. "Retire?"
He nodded, eyes dropping over the outline her figure made against the open night. "Go somewhere I can put my name in the phone book. Get a dog."
She sighed, stepping closer to the balcony side near his. "Is that all you want?"
"No. There's more." He nodded to her glass. "You want more of that?"
She shook her head, sighing and watching him only a few feet away, able to discern more of his features at the distance. Pleasant features, she decided. "I should have danced with you."
He grinned, nodding. "Maybe we'll get that chance yet."
She attempted a smile, but it wouldn't form. She looked down at her empty glass, pushing thoughts of home out of her mind.
"What's wrong, Rukia?" he asked after a few moments when she fell silent again.
She shook her head, words forming at her lips, but refraining from being spoken aloud. She looked up at him, tempted to take him up on a refill, or at least a little more conversation. Instead she gave him a timid smile.
"Goodnight, Ichigo."
He nodded, watching her turn and go into the bedroom doorway. "Goodnight, Rukia."
On a commercial flight to Paris four Division Five agents sat near the back of the plane, Shoren hunched over her laptop in the dim light as most passengers before them tried to sleep. In front of her were Aizen and Esparo, beside her Grimmjow, who had taken up most of the legroom. She leaned forward to speak to Aizen in the seat in front of Grimmjow.
"He's at the Roquefort Hotel, Aizen," she said, eyes still on the reservation confirmation her computer screen displayed. "He could be moving by the time we land. I just got the email from the hotel manager, and they refuse to aid us."
In front of her Aizen was staring at the back of the sleeping man's head in the seat before him. "Why the hell not?"
She shrugged. "Procedure. He also states that if Paris arrests our target for any crime we'll have to fight to extradite."
He looked to Esparo, who was listening in. "We have people in the area. The French have always been real bastards about cooperation. D5 keeps a detach unit just outside Lyon. Not much, just old military planes, a few vehicles. Personnel doesn't get much action. Probably rusty as hell." He turned to see Shoren and Grimmjow better. "I don't want French authorities in this."
"Pick him up on our own?" Esparo asked.
Aizen nodded. "Call him a Homing Terrorist."
"Works every time," Grimmjow added.
Shoren sat back, frowning. "You don't want any help from the French?"
"As little as possible. This is our target." Aizen sat back in his seat, voice lowering as he looked to Esparo. "If we get him to Germany we can extradite no problem,"
"He's tagged," Grimmjow said. "Just follow him back to the States."
Aizen looked from him to Esparo. "There may be benefits in not following him home right away."
Esparo frowned at the older agent. "Such as what?"
Aizen nodded. "Shoren, get us a chopper and pilot on standby from the detach unit. Get us a warrant lien, too."
Esparo studied him. "What are you going to do, Aizen?"
"I'm going to follow our target, Agent Esparo. Just like we've been instructed." When Esparo continued to stare at him, he said, "Isshin Kurosaki had contacts all over the world, including France. We may be able to locate more than what Ichigo Kurosaki has on him."
Esparo was skeptical. "If it's him."
Aizen nodded. "It's him."