. . .
∙ the ∙ color ∙ of ∙ psychosis ∙
part ( iii )
. . .
It was odd how, while so many things changed, others uncannily stayed the same.
The air still smelled like late autumn showers and river reeds, the drooping sun still washed the town in nostalgic sepia, and the dismissal school bell still tolled in the distance just as she remembered it. The people were different, but the town was the same. The more she looked, the more she remembered: the same takoyaki stand around the corner, the same crooked street sign next to the bike rack, even the same faulty vending machine that had broken so many hearts.
It was hard to believe that it had been almost a whole decade. Just ten years ago, a battle for the whole world once waged across these peaceful skies.
Fallen leaves crunched quietly under her feet. She wished there was a happier reason for her visit, but she was glad to be back in Karakura all the same. Her feet stopped just as the old Kurosaki clinic came into view.
In a moment of serendipity, the front door swung open just then. A kindly, middle-aged mother stepped out with her hand on the shoulder of her son, who was sporting a cast on his arm and a few bandages around his head. The woman was thanking to someone hidden in the doorframe, saying, "I don't know how I can thank you enough for this, Kurosaki-sensei. If you hadn't been there when Yosuke fell, I don't know what I would have done. Is there any way we can repay you?"
"It's not a big deal, really," a male voice said, and that was all the warning Rukia got before the speaker stepped into view.
He was a little taller than the last time she had seen him. Twenty-five-year-old Kurosaki Ichigo had traded his casual clothes for slacks, a dress shirt, and a clean white lab coat sometime in the last few years, and it only reminded Rukia how much more quickly time passed for the living compared to the dead. While he still sported the same untamable head of strawberry orange hair, the same lean, athletic build, the same warm brown eyes and handsome face, this Ichigo looked and acted so much older and politer than the hot-blooded fifteen-year-old who had once stormed through enemy cities to rescue damsels in distress, whether they wanted to be rescued or not.
But then he squatted down to the boy's eye level and said, "Oi, you forgot something." He held out a gritty baseball out to the surprised child with a quirked eyebrow and a half-smirk that made him seem fifteen all over again. "Next time, try the doorbell before you try the fence, okay?"
The kid blushed and the mother thanked him profusely again before pulling her son into her bosom and heading down the street.
Straightening, Ichigo finally acknowledged his shinigami visitor.
"Hey Rukia. Been a while, hasn't it?" No surprise. No shock. Just familiarity. He had probably sensed her long before he saw her.
"Ichigo," she greeted, her lips tugging upwards despite herself.
He mirrored her smile.
"What, no insults and bodily harm this time?"
Opening the front door again, he held it for her, and the invitation to come in couldn't have been clearer.
"Fool." She obliged and gave him a light thwack on the arm. His chuckle was almost achingly familiar, a warmth that she hadn't even realize she had missed. Part of her was irrationally pleased at how easy it was to slip right back into their odd routine.
"Don't mind the mess. You can sit wherever," he said as they walked inside, though as far as Rukia could see, the only part of the clinic that could be considered remotely messy was the desk in the corner, strewn with loose papers and file folders. Ichigo picked up a coffee mug sitting at the corner of the desk and disappeared through an adjacent door briefly before coming back with a fresh cup of coffee in one hand and, to her delight, a juice box in the other.
Rukia gratefully took both the juice box and a chance to properly appraise Kurosaki Ichigo close up.
"The white coat, it suits you," Rukia said. Then she smirked and added, "I guess even a dummy like you can be a doctor with enough luck."
Ichigo snorted, "Luck my ass. You go through six years of med-school and see how you like it. I shouldn't have let Dad talk me into it."
His words held an odd note of regret to it despite his joking tone, but Rukia didn't press the subject. She had meant what she said, even if she privately thought a different white coat would have suited him better. But that was neither here nor there. There was no way Ichigo would ever take that offer even if the Central 46 allowed such a thing.
"How is everyone doing, anyway?" Rukia asked before her thoughts could travel down that path.
"Yuzu's getting her nursing degree in Tokyo, and Karin went with her, though she's opting for police academy instead. Dad was being stupid about how his 'precious flowers' would get lost in the big city, so he's there too," Ichigo said sarcastically, but the fond smile on his face took all the bite out of his words. "Inoue's still overseas getting her teaching license, Tatsuki's on tour after winning the last championship, and Chad was in Tokyo too last time I checked. Ishida, eh, he's avoiding Karakura since his old man wants him to take over the hospital."
'If you visited more often, you would have known all that,' went unsaid. He never questioned her absences. Their friendship had always a relationship defined by partings instead of proximity, especially when official shinigami policy strictly forbade all close interactions between the living and the dead.
"So how're things on the other side? Renji still an idiot and Byakuya still a stuck-up jerk?" he joked.
"Oi! Ni-sama is not–" she protested, but stopped short. The casual mention of Soul Society was a sharp reminder of what she had come here to do. No matter how much she had missed bantering with Ichigo, she was here on official orders; a captain had passed away barely a day ago, and already, she had let herself forget why she was visiting the living world in the first place. A wave of shame washed over her and her expression sobered.
"Ni-sama and Renji are fine. However, as much as I wish this was just a friendly visit, Ichigo, that's not why I'm here," she said.
Her shift in tone gave Ichigo pause. Sizing her up, the orange-haired man ventured, "Okay, I'm guessing it's not good news if you're warning me first. Is there some new kind of impending doom or what?"
"No," Rukia answered. She took a moment to steel herself before saying as bluntly as she could, "Ukitake-taicho wanted to offer you the chance to be present for Hitsugaya-taicho's funeral."
The coffee cup froze halfway to Ichigo's lips, and there was a long pause before he slowly set the cup back down on the desk.
"...fuck. Wasn't expecting that one," he swore quietly. There was an odd mix of emotions that briefly struggled for dominance over his face – too shallow to be grief, but too deep to be just sympathy. Anger. Guilt? No, probably was just regret for a fallen ally. He finally settled on looking troubled as he asked, "How'd it happen?"
"We don't know. The captains are investigating, but they aren't sharing any details," said Rukia.
"So basically, it's like the whole Aizen thing all over again," Ichigo deadpanned. He fell ominously silent for a moment to digest the news. Then he murmured, "Dammit. He picked a really shitty time to up and die."
"I don't think Hitsugaya-taicho had much choice in being murdered," Rukia pointed out grimly.
"Do they know who's behind it?" A dangerous light was beginning to creep into Ichigo's eyes. Rukia had expected anger, but not like this. This was colder and calmer, much calmer than she had expected him to be. Maybe he had changed more than she thought. For the first time, Rukia felt a stab of unease, though she couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from.
"Only suspicions. Like I said, the captains are keeping a tight lid on what they know," Rukia said.
"When do we leave?"
"Right now, if you want."
Ichigo's fingers curled into a fist.
"Good. I want to be there when they catch the bastard."
. . .
Kira slid the door to Hinamori's hospital room shut with a heavy heart.
In the end, Unohana had deemed it best to simply let the poor girl sleep – preferably somewhere with no reminders of the late Tenth Division captain, which ruled out her own quarters and squad office. In the end, Kira hadn't known what to say or what to do to comfort her, just like he hadn't known what to do or what to say when Aizen had apparently been murdered. He felt useless. Worse than useless. He hadn't even been able to hold her while she cried, because that would be a breach of the polite distance his rigid upbringing dictated of friendship. That's all he was. Just a friend, polite and distant, nothing like a captain she would die for to or a childhood friend who would die for her.
"Well, you sure look gloomy," someone spoke from behind him, and Kira nearly jumped out of his skin.
He whirled around to find Matsumoto's familiar face inches away from his. He immediately backpedaled and averted his gaze downwards, and then realized his mistake and shunted his eyes back upwards with haste. The entire exchange had him backed against Hinamori's hospital door and Matsumoto looking at him with amusement.
"R-Rangiku-san. You look, um, is there something I can help you with?" Kira aborted his first tactless comment mid-sentence. 'You look fine' somehow implied that she shouldn't be. The Tenth Division lieutenant might be much less delicate than Hinamori, but she probably had just as many raw edges that Kira wanted to avoid scraping.
If Matsumoto caught his slip, though, nothing on her face showed it. She merely rested a hand on her hip and asked, "Is that Hinamori-chan's room behind you?"
"Ah, yes. She's sleeping at the moment though, so I don't think now is a good time," Kira answered.
Matsumoto's eyes softened.
"The poor girl. This must all seem like one long nightmare to her. Were you the one who brought her here?"
Kira nodded mutely. He had been here with Hinamori when the emergency captain's meeting had been called, but Unohana had motioned for him to stay, saying that Hinamori-fukutaicho's need for a friend at the moment outweighed the need for his presence at the meeting hall. Though the Fourth Division captain had meant the words kindly, Kira had taken them bitterly – he had few illusions about what the meeting would be about, and he also had few illusions about his own contributions. After all, he had been drunk during the entirety of Hitsugaya-taicho's murder, which both freed him from suspicion and chained him down with guilt.
The next few hours had been miserably spent listening to Hinamori cry and waiting for a butterfly informing him of the meeting's particulars. When he had tried to leave, Hinamori had given the empty chair next to her bed such a broken look – so much for avoiding reminders of Hitsugaya – and asked him to stay. So he stayed, no matter how much he felt like an imposter in the wrong role. The girl had finally cried herself into unconsciousness mere minutes ago; the butterfly had yet to arrive.
"Thank you," Matsumoto said, jolting Kira out of his reverie. "Taicho would have appreciated it, you staying by her side like this."
"No, it was the least I could do," Kira murmured, bowing his head. 'It was all I could do,' his inner voice added self-deprecatingly. Taking a closer look at the Tenth Division lieutenant, Kira could see the skillfully applied make-up that hid the dark circles under her eyes and the slight puffiness that came from long periods of crying. Her lips were smiling; her eyes were not. He pretended he couldn't tell.
"Oh, before I forget," Matsumoto said, still forcing that over-bright smile, "I hope you didn't miss this. With all the chaos the squad's been in, I completely forgot about it until now."
She held out a familiar wallet. Kira blinked once, uncomprehending – he had been sure he had lost his wallet to a pickpocket while passed out drunk – before realizing that she must have taken it from him the night before to prevent just that. Accepting it sheepishly, he murmured a quiet 'thank you' and hoped it didn't stir up too many unpleasant thoughts.
"If you see Hisagi before I can get to him, tell him I have his too," the buxom woman fished another familiar-looking wallet out to demonstrate, but before Kira could reply, the familiar bell-like sound of a hell butterfly's approach caught both of their attention.
"Ah," Kira realized belatedly, "you must have missed the meeting as well." And then cringed, because the only reason Matsumoto would have even needed to attend a captain's meeting would be because her own captain had been rendered incapable of doing so. The words had slipped out before he could catch himself.
If the slight flicker of pain on her face caused Kira any guilt, though, it was nothing compared to the look on her face after the hell butterfly had completed its message.
For a solid ten minutes, the lieutenants of the Third and Tenth stood deathly still in the hallways, listening to earth-shattering truths delivered in emotionless monotone. Hitsugaya Toushiro's secret investigation. Confirmed rumors of uprising in Rukongai. Impending war on the horizon. Kurosaki Ichigo as the prime suspect of murder and treason.
"...K-Kurosaki?" Kira repeated slowly, unable to believe his ears. "Uprising? There must be some kind of mistake."
"He never breathed a word of this," Matsumoto whispered, her eyes expression cracking with grief and betrayal. Somehow, Kira didn't think 'he' was referring to Kurosaki Ichigo. "He never told me anything."
"Rangiku-san..." Once again, he didn't know what to say. Didn't know if there was anything that could be said.
Before he could make up his mind though, the blare of a Seireitei-wide announcement call sounded over the city.
"By the order of the Central 46, all captains and lieutenants are to report to the Senkaimon immediately and assist in the arrest of substitute shinigami Kurosaki Ichigo. I repeat, all captains and lieutenants are to report to the Senkaimon immediately and arrest substitute shinigami Kurosaki Ichigo."
He cast a worried glance at Matsumoto, and she turned her face away – but not before he glimpsed the telltale glitter of wetness on her eyelashes.
Her back was ramrod straight, her chin was held high, and her voice was steady as she said, "Go, Kira. And please apologize to the captains for my absence." Her hands trembled as they formed fists at her sides.
She didn't offer any explanation for disobeying a direct order from the Central 46.
Kira didn't need to ask.
A lieutenant should only swing their blade out of duty after all, never in anger, and never in grief.
. . .
Ichigo couldn't help but feel guilty as he made preparations to go to Soul Society.
He couldn't shake the feeling that Toushiro's death was somehow his fault. Never mind the fact that he hadn't seen the kid in years. Never mind the fact that their last meeting had only been a brief greeting, a situation update, and a few hours of hunting a hollow together because the young captain thought having back-up was prudent. Toushiro didn't do friendly – he had always been all seriousness and work for as long as Ichigo had known him. Even Karin knew the guy better than Ichigo did.
He still couldn't help but wonder if there had been some way to save the young captain.
There had been Urahara's note. That stupid note that made no sense before, and frankly, still didn't make a whole lot of sense even now. Goddamn the man and his cryptic ways. Six months of silence, and when the shopkeeper finally decided to contact him, all he got was a single sentence taped to his window that did nothing but make him feel like he had missed something really, really important, and that Toushiro was dead because of he hadn't figured it out in time.
It hadn't been signed, but he had recognized the loopy handwriting and the inane choice of words immediately: 'Don't forget to visit the shop and get the kitties vaccinated! You'll need it if you want to keep them healthy before flu season ~ '
It could have meant anything from a new strain of flu to the impending end of the world for all he knew.
He had finally gone to the shop to look for answers yesterday afternoon, but the entire place had been deserted. Even better, it had been booby trapped – the second he stepped through the door, he had gotten a face full of pale yellow mist. He had breathed in half a mouthful in surprise, and by the time he came to, the sun had set, he had missed all of his afternoon appointments, and Urahara was getting a face full of fist the next time Ichigo saw him.
But in the end, he hadn't learned anything new. The note still hadn't made sense, and he had no explanation for the annoying incidents that plagued him.
It had started with small things at first – electrical blackouts, attempted muggings, nothing unusual. Then things had gotten worse. An elderly man falling asleep at the wheel and crashing his car right where Ichigo had been standing moments ago. A construction cable suddenly snapping and dropping three tons of steel beams right above his head. The gas stove switching on in the middle of the night when he hadn't touched it all day. He had scoured high and low for whatever was trying to kill him, but nothing turned up, and he had been so frustrated that he wished aloud that it would just hurry up and do something so he could find it and kill it.
In a twisted way, he had been hoping for something just like this - something major, something permanent, something that would break the stalemate his life had become and give him some goddamn answers.
It didn't make any logical sense, but somehow, Rukia showing up a few days afterwards seemed too scripted to be coincidence.
Now, a captain had been killed, Soul Society was in chaos, and while Toushiro hadn't been a close friend the way Renji or Rukia were, he had still been a comrade-in-arms. Someone Ichigo could count on to tell him what he needed to know and to watch his back in a fight. Knowing that Hitsugaya's cool-headed reliability was gone for good hurt more than he expected.
He had to cancel all of his appointments for the next three days and call up Inoue to tell her the bad news. He didn't think that she'd cry so hard over someone who had only lived with her for a few months so many years ago, but she did, and he felt horrible listening to it over the phone. He had hesitated for a while before deciding to call up Karin too. She hadn't cried, but she had gone very quiet before hanging up the phone, and Ichigo had a sinking suspicion that his sister had been a bit closer to Toushiro than anyone had guessed.
His week was toeing the line between bad and worse. He really just wanted an enemy he could just beat up with everything he had, because all of this nonsensical guesswork was frustrating him to no end.
Five seconds later, after he stepped out of the Senkaimon behind Rukia, he regretted that stray thought, because his week shot right past 'worse' well into 'fucked up beyond all recognition' territory.
"Okay, not that this isn't touching and all, but why the welcoming committee?" he asked.
Almost every captain and lieutenant in the Gotei 13 stood arrayed in a half circle around the Senkaimon, grim-faced and equipped with their zanpakuto. A few dozen black-clad members of the special forces stood behind the circle of captains.
"Ukitake-taicho, what–?" Rukia asked, clearly no better informed than he was, but Ukitake silenced her by holding up a hand.
"Kurosaki-san, I apologize for the abruptness, but we need you to cooperate with us for the time being," the white-haired man said.
Immediately, Ichigo felt something off kilter, as if he'd missed a symptom in a diagnosis or completely misjudged an opponent's strength in a fight. His hand itched to grab Zangetsu off his back. He looked around at the shinigami present. Faces he hadn't seen in years, but remained completely unchanged from his memories. Byakuya's expression was carefully inscrutable, which honestly wasn't all that surprising. Unohana's expression was equally unreadable. Kenpachi looked downright pissed, while Kyoraku looked worryingly serious. Even Renji looked grim, which was more surprising than the presence of a white cloak over his friend's shoulders.
With every other captain present, Hitsugaya's absence stood out like an open wound.
Soifon stepped forward, her face completely cold. "You will hand over your zanpakuto and follow me to the Central 46 for questioning, substitute shinigami Kurosaki Ichigo."
"And what if I have a problem with that?" he asked, placing a wary hand around Zangetsu's hilt and shifting his weight carefully to his back leg in case he needed to block an attack.
Sui-Feng's eyes took on a dangerous light as her hand rested casually on the sword belted behind her back. Ichigo could almost hear the blood humming in his ears. Part of him – the sensible, mature part that he generally listened to – was dead set against the idea of taking on quite so many captains and lieutenants at once. He hadn't fought for real in years. There was no way he'd win, as out of practice as he was. And even if he could, the thought of fighting so many people he considered friends and allies made him sick at heart.
But another part of him, tucked away in the darkest little corner of his heart, didn't care about anything at all and just wanted a fight - a real fight, an excuse to use every ounce of the overwhelming power that lay dormant inside him. His hand itched.
"Oh, for crying out loud! The sooner the stupid council gets what they want, the sooner we can start figuring out what's really going on," Renji interrupted before either blade could be swung.
"Ukitake-taicho, you ordered me to bring Ichigo here for a funeral, not an arrest. What is the meaning of this?" It was the first time Ichigo had heard Rukia speak to her captain with anything less than the utmost respect, and her eyes were flinty with the implied betrayal of her trust.
Ukitake, on the other hand, only looked tired. Extending a hand palm-up towards them, the white-haired captain said apologetically, "I'm afraid the Central 46 supersedes the authority of the Gotei 13. Several things are very precariously balanced at the moment, Kurosaki Ichigo. I must ask you to trust us and cooperate for the time being. There is more at stake than you know."
Ichigo hesitated. Every fiber of his being warned against giving away his only weapon. On the other hand, something in Ukitake's tone of voice gave him pause. More at stake than you know. Waging a one-man war against the most powerful organization in the afterlife wasn't likely to get him anywhere. Besides, he wanted answers.
So there really wasn't even a choice to begin with. Ichigo scowled, slung Zangetsu off his back, and handed the zanpakuto to the older man hilt-first. He thought that Soifon seemed distinctly smug as she clamped the handcuffs over his wrists despite her stoic expression, and Ichigo nearly staggered as his own spirit pressure suddenly vanished. His fate was officially out of his own hands.
Ukitake's eyes visibly softened and showed relief. "Thank you, Kurosaki-san. Please, come this way."
. . .
Ichigo wasn't feeling particularly charitable to the Central 46 as he stepped into their council room. As far as he knew, Seireitei's bureaucracy existed solely to make life difficult for anyone who actually wanted to get anything done.
From the looks on their faces, they weren't feeling particularly charitable towards him either. They watched him warily from a safe distance. It made Ichigo feel like a zoo animal on display, and the comparison didn't help his current mood at all.
To his surprise, though, he wasn't alone under their scrutiny. Old man Yamamoto stood in the center of the floor, solemn and dignified, although noticeably missing his cane. Despite Ryujin Jakka's absence, the feeling of heavy power still hung over the captain-commander like a cloak, pulsing with invisible heat. No handcuffs, Ichigo noticed, though he couldn't imagine anyone brave enough to suggest such a thing in the first place. No wonder the Central 46 adjutants were on edge.
"Kurosaki Ichigo," the councilman sitting behind a plaque marked with the number one called his attention upwards. "You stand accused grave crimes. How do you plead?"
Ichigo stared, uncomprehending.
"I had about five seconds before you guys arrested me as soon as I stepped through the gate. Unless breathing is a crime now, I didn't have time to break any of your stupid laws," he retorted.
There was a brief titter of outrage at his insolence, but the first speaker held up his hand again, motioning for silence. He stared down at Ichigo and said, "You are accused of the murder of Hitsugaya Toushiro. To attack a captain–"
"What?" Ichigo shouted.
"–is strictly forbidden," the councilor continued, ignoring the interruption. "To slay one is punishable by death without trial. Only the joint appeal of seven captains has granted you this audience. What do you have to say in your own defense?"
"I didn't even know anything had happened until Rukia told me!"
"A mere claim with nothing to support it," a woman, this time, seated behind the number twenty-four spoke. "Hitsugaya Toushiro arranged a meeting with you shortly before his death. Where were you between the third hour of noon and the first hour of twilight yesterday?"
Yesterday afternoon. He had gone to the Urahara shop, and then – the trap, the sleeping gas –
"You were seen entering the Urahara shop. A portal was opened from the basement to Soul Society – specifically, to the headquarters of the Tenth Division. Explain yourself, Kurosaki Ichigo," the woman demanded.
"I never set foot in the basement," Ichigo said slowly. "I was knocked out at the front door."
"Despite the fact that no other spirit presence was anywhere near your vicinity?"
"I got caught off-guard by one of sandal hat's stupid inventions. By the time I came to, it was already sundown," Ichigo admitted.
The woman looked unconvinced. Not surprising – Ichigo didn't think he sounded very convincing either. He frowned as his mind tried to piece everything together. Toushiro had arranged a meeting with him? Then why was this the first time he had heard of it? The fact that the time of the murder coincided with his visit to Urahara's shop couldn't be a coincidence either. Had someone knocked him out in order to frame him? But then, how had they set up a trap in advance? No one had any way of knowing he was headed to Urahara's shop; the time between his previous visits ranged anywhere between a few days and a few years.
Wait. Urahara's note. Don't forget to visit the shop. But it couldn't be. Sure, the shopkeeper was shady as hell, but Ichigo trusted the man implicitly, at least where it counted. There was no way Urahara would kill Toushiro or set him up to take the fall.
"So essentially, you are saying that you are unaware of anything you may have done that afternoon," a softer voice sounded from his left, and he glanced upwards to see a younger councilor sitting behind the number forty. "Can you deny the possibility that you may have killed Hitsugaya and simply not remembered? I believe you have had previous incidents where a hostile part of your soul controlled your body while you yourself were unconscious. Or am I mistaken?"
The councilor's words sent a bolt of ice through Ichigo's blood. It had happened before. He still didn't fully remember how he had killed Ulquiorra. But that had happened before he fully mastered the final Getsuga Tensho, and his inner hollow should be completely under control. He hadn't even come close to losing his grip in a decade.
But the possibility was there, and it made Ichigo feel almost physically ill.
"The Gotei 13 will vouch for Kurosaki Ichigo's innocence in this affair," Yamamoto intoned, much to Ichigo's surprise.
"Your word means nothing here, Yamamoto-soutaicho," yet another councilor spoke angrily. "Have you forgotten that Kurosaki Ichigo's powers were restored on your orders? If he is found guilty, then you and all of the Gotei 13 are also guilty, of incompetence and poor judgment. I do not think the consequences of such a judgment need any elaboration. Let Hitsugaya Toushiro's death and the revolt of Rukongai be on your head!"
Yamamoto's eyes opened just a crack, smoldering like dark coals, and for a moment, Ichigo expected the councilor who had spoken to burst into flame. In the end though, the old captain-commander visibly reined in his anger and simply said, "So be it."
There was a thundering silence as Yamamoto's heavy declaration sank in. Several council members looked openly shocked by Yamamoto's refusal to withdraw his support. Ichigo found himself caught off guard too; he had always been under the impression that Yamamoto obeyed every law to the letter. After a week full of nasty surprises, this one couldn't have come with better timing.
The first councilor seemed to recover the fastest, though he was still visibly unsettled as he said, "We will take it into consideration. The Central 46 will now confer. Remove Kurosaki Ichigo to solitary confinement until we are ready to pronounce our judgment."
The guards by the door slid it open, but didn't approach. Yamamoto gazed at the members of the Central 46 for a long moment before turning towards the exit, and Ichigo followed.
As the doors slid shut again behind them, Ichigo asked, "Why did you...none of the people in there even came close to a captain's level of spirit pressure. They can't do anything unless you let them – so, why are you playing along with their rules?"
Yamamoto stopped and very slowly, very deliberately, looked Ichigo in the eye. And suddenly looked very, very old.
"Because I cannot always be right," the old man said simply and nothing more.
. . .
Solitary confinement was exactly that – solitary and confined. It took Ichigo exactly fifteen steps to walk from one side of the cell to the other. The cell was carved from the same white stone that formed the walls around Seireitei, and Ichigo could barely feel even the faintest flicker of his own spirit pressure.
"Would a toilet have been too much to ask for?" he grimaced, leaning against the wall and propping his elbows on his knees. His hands were still cuffed, he had no idea where Zangetsu was, and he had gotten the feeling that the Central 46 had already made up their minds before they had even seen him, and the entire interrogation had just been a formality. Not the most comforting thought, considering that the punishment of a guilty verdict was probably execution, but Ichigo found himself surprisingly calm.
It helped that when he had focused on the faint flicker of his own spirit pressure hard enough, the cuffs had cracked a little. The handcuffs and the cell walls in tandem had been designed to resist up to a captain's level of spirit pressure, but Ichigo had gone well beyond that. If he really needed to, he could probably rip them off and blast his way out of here with with brute force.
Ironic how, a few hours ago, he had been sitting in a clinic wondering why nothing seemed to be happening with the shinigami or the hollows. Now he was sitting in a tiny cell, knee deep in a mess he couldn't even being to figure out.
'Please trust us,' Ukitake had asked, and well, look where it got him. Things could hardly be worse.
Just as he had that thought, the door to the cell slid open.
Ichigo sat up immediately. The guards told him it would be a few hours before someone came to fetch him; it had hardly been fifteen minutes.
"Did something happen?" he asked the figure silhouetted by the doorway.
His only answer was a knife aimed straight at his eye.
"–!"
Combat honed reflexes barely saved his life as he ducked out of the way, and the knife smashed into the wall behind him hard enough to shatter the sekkiseki stone into powder. Ichigo rolled off the cot and onto his feet in a single smooth motion, blinking through the trickle of blood now oozing from a cut across his eyebrow.
The assassin lunged at him with another knife and Ichigo didn't have time waste on confusion. Dropping down to the floor, he let the wild swing pass over him and kicked upwards with both feet, sending the attacker careening into the wall as he scrambled back upright. Damn it, he didn't realize how rusty he was with hand-to-hand combat until now. The occasional hollow or delinquent attack barely honed his skills at all. Tatsuki would have kicked his ass if she saw how sloppy his overhead kick had been. The handcuffs definitely weren't helping, but he needed to focus in order to get them off, and he seriously doubted his enemy would be willing to cooperate and let him have the time to gather his focus.
The man he had kicked into the wall rebounded far too quickly for his liking. Ichigo heard an animalistic growl before the man was charging at him again, this time with a knife in each hand.
'It's been way too long since I've practiced karate,' Ichigo thought as he executed a heel-spin out of the path of one knife and followed through with a heel-kick to the man's face. He cursed when the man dodged – without spirit pressure, all of his own movements were too slow – because he didn't have time to regain his balance and dodge away from the knife stabbing towards his throat.
He caught the knife on his handcuffs and twisted. If the stupid things were designed to hold in his ridiculous spirit pressure, then they should be able to stand up to a measly knife, no sweat. Sure enough, the cuffs held true and he managed to wrench the knife out of the attacker's hands, sending it skittering across the floor under his cot. The jarring impact felt like someone playing xylophone on his bones, but Ichigo gritted his teeth and forced himself to follow through with a savage head-butt to the man's nose.
Then he heard, "Hado, fourth spell, Byakurai!"
Luckily, the brilliant blue lightning struck the assassin and not him, piercing straight through the man's chest before dissipating into the sekkiseki stones.
Ukitake stood at the doorway, finger outstretched and face grim.
"I thought something like this would happen. I'm glad I wasn't too late," the Thirteenth Division captain said, lowering his hand.
Ichigo glanced from the bleeding assassin on the floor back to Ukitake, somewhat disbelieving. As far as he knew, Ukitake had never used lethal force when there was any other option. "You...there wasn't any need to kill him."
Ukitake was already kneeling next to the body and turning it over, checking the lapel on the inside of the man's robe. He murmured, "A Shihouin crest. This is serious. We never thought they'd strike so quickly, or so openly, but with this, our worst fears are confirmed." The man straightened and looked Ichigo dead in the eye. "There's no time – you need to get out of here before they catch you."
"Who exactly is 'they'?" Ichigo demanded.
Ukitake only shook his head and said, "Take Zangetsu with you." Ichigo realized belatedly that Ukitake had been carrying an additional katana he had never seen before, but still recognized immediately – Zangetsu, fully sealed for the first time. Ukitake pressed the blade into his hands. The man continued, "Keep the hand-cuffs on as long as you possibly can; they'll prevent us from tracking you down by your spirit energy. If you head to the West Gate, Jidanbo will open the Gateway for you, and a mutual friend will help you from there."
Ichigo didn't budge.
"Ukitake-san. I'm not stupid enough to break out of jail without even knowing why I should be breaking out in the first place. Especially if they're going to automatically assume I'm guilty if I run. So I think I deserve at least a few damn seconds worth of explanation," the twenty-five-year-old man said levelly.
Ukitake gave him a look that seemed surprised and scrutinizing at the same time, before a faint smile ghosted across his lips.
"I seem to have mistaken youth for foolishness once again. You're right; I apologize, Kurosaki Ichigo," the man said. "I can't explain everything – but I will say this. You are unique in that your strength stands alone, unaffiliated with any organization or faction save yourself. Because of that, several very well-connected people want you dead. You are a very capable fighter, Kurosaki-kun, but these people have no interest in a straight fight. They will use politics, assassination, hostages, and any means available. This man was only the first attempt of many." Ukitake's lips tightened into a grim frown. "If you stay, it won't matter how skilled you are – they will kill you, and hurt the people you care about in the process. To keep that from happening, you need to be somewhere they can't reach – hidden and out of contact with Seireitei. Does that explanation satisfy you?"
"No, not really," Ichigo said with a frown. Ukitake was leaving out a couple important details, he was sure of it. Yet, when he thought about everything that had happened to him in the last week, things suddenly made a lot more sense. So some new megalomaniac was trying to kill him. Not a comforting thought, but not surprising either, and at least he knew there was a reason his week had been so shitty now.
"But it's enough to get my ass moving though. West Gate, right?"
"Yes, and you'll get a better explanation then, I promise."
Ichigo nodded tersely, gripping Zangetsu tightly. Before he left though, he turned and asked, "Won't you get into trouble for this? The whole Gotei 13, actually? The Central 46 guys were talking about consequences that sounded pretty serious."
"The Central 46 has already made up their minds, and nothing we do will change it," Ukitake said grimly, but then he managed another faint smile, "As for me though, ah, I tend to have coughing fits at inopportune moments. Can't be helped," Ukitake said, and Ichigo would have laughed if the situation hadn't been so tense.
. . .
Of course, the words 'stealthy' and 'Kurosaki' never worked together in a sentence.
"Oh, give me a break!" he yelled as he turned a corner right into a gaggle of Eleventh Division members. They took one look at his handcuffs and cheerfully decided a chase was in order. After that, the situation quickly collapsed like a set of dominoes, as the chaos attracted more people who then added to the chaos, and everything spiraled downwards in a miserable little vicious cycle.
He skidded around another ninety-degree turn and nearly crashed into a very familiar red-haired lieutenant. Or, captain now, Ichigo supposed, judging by the white coat.
'Well, at least it's not Byakuya. Or Kenpachi,' Ichigo thought uncharitably. He had a healthy respect for his friend though, and didn't relish his chances with his hands cuffed and his spirit pressure sealed.
Renji, however, just eyed him contemplatively and then eyed the distant stampede of pursuers with an equally contemplative look before drawing Zabimaru.
"I talked to Rukia," the red-head said, and Ichigo blinked at the non sequitur. "We realized it was obvious that there was no way you'd be guilty. And if you're actually dumb enough to pull this kind of shit, then it'd be up to us to knock some sense back into ya – we'll hunt you down and kick your ass into the next century."
Renji gave him an absolutely vicious grin.
"Get outta here Ichigo. I'm saying we got your back, dumbass."
There wasn't really any need for a thank you or anything like that. Renji just gave him a mock salute and Ichigo was off running again, the same vicious grin slowly pulling at his own lips. It was strangely good to know that, no matter how screwed up things got, he could still count on his friends.
Behind him, Renji roared "Howl, Zabimaru!" to the sounds of several terrified cries, and Ichigo didn't look back.
Despite Renji's help, a few shinigami peeled off from the main group and got around the Fifth Division captain and were pretty close on his. Goddamn handcuffs. Goddamn seal. If he could just use a single shunpo, he'd have left all of these guys in the dust long ago. The West Gate loomed ahead, already held open by a concerned looking Jidanbo. Distantly, Kurosaki wondered how many people were knew what Ukitake knew, but he stashed that thought away for the time being and focused on sprinting.
"Good luck, Kurosaki Ichigo!" Jidanbo boomed as he raced past the Gate. Ichigo briefly raised his hand in a backwards wave, and heard the ponderous Gate start sliding closed between him and his pursuers. A brief backwards glance showed that few were close enough to make it through, however, and Ichigo would have cussed if he had the breath to spare for it.
Then, without warning, a hand darted out of nowhere and snagged his wrist.
"This way!"
He blinked to see a child, probably no older than twelve or thirteen, running ahead of him, pulling him along by his hand. The voice was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place it – the boy wore a head scarf that hid his hair and the back of his head from view. From the bare feet and the simple blue yukata, it was easy to guess that this was a child from Rukongai, especially considering how easily the boy led him through the twisting alleyways of the village district.
The sounds of the shinigami in pursuit grew more and more distant as the boy wove through a maze of shortcuts and winding streets riddling the market area. By the time the buildings thinned out, there were no sign of any forces from Seireitei in the vicinity.
That didn't mean they wouldn't be combing the area, though, and he'd be damned if he got some helpless Rukongai family mixed up in this. When they stopped in front of a quaint, but run down shack, he realized the little brat had brought him home, and there was no way the shinigami would look kindly on that.
"Wait, stop. You'll get in trouble if you get caught helping me," Ichigo tried to pry his arm away, but the child's grip was like a steel vice, far stronger than he expected.
"Then don't get caught," the boy said simply, sliding the door open and pulling them both inside.
"They're pretty good at tracking people down, last time I checked."
The boy slid the door shut behind them. In that moment, something about the kid seem to change, as he lost the loose-limbed stance and stood straighter, prouder.
"That's no longer an issue. We laid a false trail leading westwards, out of Junrinan for them to follow ahead of time in case something like this happened," the boy said, his voice shifting in tone. Deeper, older, with none of the childish inflection that he had used before. Fingers tugged at the knot of the head scarf until the cloth fell away, and the boy finally turned around to meet him face to face.
Ichigo stared, his thoughts screeching to a standstill.
"Okay," he said, taking a calming breath.
"Okay," he repeated, not calm at all as he remembered all the crap he had gone through today, all of it centered around one death that had just now turned out to be one big mistake. He roughly yanked the boy forward by his collar, "you have five seconds to tell me what the hell is going on before I really get mad."
White-haired, teal-eyed, and unmistakably alive, Hitsugaya Toushiro stared back at him implacably.
"It's going take a lot longer than that, Kurosaki."
. . .
Author's Note:
Thanks to Kasimir once again for an awesome job beta-reading this monster of a chapter.
Phew. Loads of things happening, and a hell of a lot of hints dropped in between the lines. Actually, I've given away enough clues for a very careful reader to start piecing together what's really going on, so be sure to keep track of details!
And of course, the reveal - Shiro-chan is alive after all! Not that he was ever really in danger this early in the story, given how much I love him. What's going on? Well, a conspiracy, of course, and you have the confirmed participation of several characters (actually, several more than just the ones named, if you read carefully). That being said, this story is going to start moving faster as plots unravel and some revelations come out into the open over the next few chapters.
Unfortunately, I'm going out of town, so I won't have access to a computer or the internet for a while. That means there won't be a new chapter next week. Consider the length of this one my apology in advance. I should get back on January 12th, so a new chapter will be posted around then.
Until then, Happy Holidays!
-The Quiller