Uhhh... the chapter is half the length of the first, and I was originally going to make it match and just wrap up this installment entirely. But. I changed my mind, I guess.
Enjoy?
"Oh, Miss. Kuchiki called, Sir." Ishida used a slim finger to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he walked. The halls were quiet as the mansion's occupants began settling in after a day of hard work. He'd just delivered the daily activities report to his boss and had been pleasantly surprised when the young man actually appeared to be paying attention this time, rather than brushing it all off like usual. Though he suspected it had less to do with renewed interest and attention span, and more to do with the less than kind attention that had been aimed toward himself and his family as of late. Unwanted pests in the mansion and rumors of an eradicated family on the rise again had put quite the target on the boss's back.
Dressed in his tailored, iconic white suit, Shirosaki nodded at the secretary's side. His hands stuffed casually in his pockets, he walked with a calm, nonchalant air about him. As powerful as ever, even when simply navigating his home at leisure. "Excellent. Get somethin' set up?"
"Yes, Sir." Ishida nodded, "don Byakuya leaves for business in two days time. The only non-conflicting time we could find before the trip was lunch tomorrow afternoon."
"Mm. His annual visit ta his late wife's grave. I hear hear she rests in a beautiful countryside." Shiro nodded like he understood and kicked his feet up as he walked. It was late and he was as tired and ready to call it a day as everyone else, "Where 're we meetin' at?"
"Yes, I've heard so as well." Ishida agreed, "That little diner downtown you like, at one pm."
"Ahh, I'm gonna have ta get up early." The don chuckled as they exited the side wing where his office was located and less illegal activities took place, and entered the rotunda at the entrance. The night outside was a warm one, quiet on this side of the city. The sun was just barely beginning to light the far horizon.
At his side, the smallest hint of amusement tilted Ishida's thin lips, "Yes, Sir. I've taken the liberty of informing Dr. Granz not to keep you up too late. He seemed exasperated over you still insisting he stays in the mansion, rather than allowing him to return to his own estate."
The colorless young man laughed outright at that and patted a heavy but friendly hand against the secretary's shoulder.
Ishida glanced at him and affixed a firm expression across his features again, "Sir… do you really think it wise to meet with Mr. Kuchiki? There is still the matter of your enemies… You've extracted them from the mansion, at least as far as we can tell, but if this person is indeed of Aizen's old family, he'll not give up easily."
Shiro laughed again, a wide grin slashing across his startling features. "That's business, Ishida, I always have enemies."
In the next heartbeat, Shirosaki's words were proven true. There was a split second warning, where the sound of something thudding to the ground and bouncing against the main doors was loud enough to catch the don's attention -his gold eyes slid that way- then glass and framework shattered in an inward spray and a cacophony of loud gunfire. Surprised gasps and urgent yells added to the mix almost immediately.
The don found himself on the ground, shoved hard from behind but the hand that caught between his shoulder blades and clutched at his suit wasn't a familiar one. The weight that dropped on top of him was near suffocating in that moment; the force of the person's momentum plus larger size. The next thing Shiro knew, he was being yanked around and he stared up at his ceiling for a brief, disoriented second.
The expensive, crystal chandelier that hung in his foyer swung precariously upon its chain, half of it blown away. Glass caught the flickering light all around him where it had rained down upon him and the polished tile floor he laid on. Somewhere to his right, Ishida groaned a not quite aware sound. He had half a second to take everything in, to begin collecting himself, before a hulking shadow blocked out the light above him.
Strange, gold on black eyes blinked, focused, then widened, but it wasn't a gun or even a knife in his face.
"Client wants you alive." Then the crack of knuckles meeting flesh.
Blood tasted thick in his mouth and his vision danced, but Shirosaki wasn't new to fighting and he saw the second hit coming. "Fuck-" The rushed word fled on his harsh exhale. Blood sprayed in a fine mist from torn lips.
The don ducked as best he could, brought his arms and hands up. Dazed, he wasn't quite quick enough to block the incoming fist, but he deflected most of its force. One hand found the inside of the culprit's elbow, collapsing the arm, while Shiro used his free arm to take most of the force.
The man hovering over him half collapsed with the unexpected retaliation, his weight falling forward to further pin the don. Shiro brought a knee up between them, pressed against the man's chest as he grappled for the enemy's arms to stall the next shot to his face. He grunted under the strain, the adrenaline helping to clear the haze from his mind. Still, the edge of his vision danced black from that first strike.
Baring red teeth, he half snarled, half yelled, and shoved with all his strength. Unbalanced and losing his advantage, his attacker stumbled and was forced to disengage or fall to his ass. A wild swing clipped Shiro in the jaw, but it was enough to throw his head back. His skull met the floor in a very unpleasant way that had stars dancing before his eyes again.
Laying stunned upon his back, he missed as his attacker regained his footing and prepared to lunge back in at the don. Luckily for Shirosaki, a familiar rumble cut through the ringing in his ears and it only paused when a thud and a sharp sound interrupted it.
Seeing the don down, stark red staining his pale features and the front of his suit, Grimmjow didn't wait for orders. He and his partner had come sprinting down the halls when they'd heard the explosion and gunfire. The moment he charged into the room, he went straight for the bastard beating on the boss. Ichigo wasn't far behind. He made it to the don's side a moment after his hunter had floored the attacker.
"Sir-!"
The pale young man was already in the process of lifting himself up onto his elbows, but he blinked hard as he tried to focus on the handler. "Ichigo…" There was a moment where he struggled to get his feet under himself enough to start standing, but as Ichigo grasped hold of his arm and started to help, that moment vanished and sneer twisted pale features. Reddened teeth flashed behind bloodied lips as the don half wavered, then spun in search of his attacker. "Who the hell is this guy?" He snarled, voice echoing loud in the hallways, "And how the fuck did he get so damn close!?"
At his side, Ichigo kept a careful hold on the sleeve of the angered man's suit jacket. Shirosaki was all bite at the moment, but the odd flash to his inverted eyes wasn't a healthy one. The adrenaline would wear out, and no one ignored a punch to the face for long. "I think you should sit back down, Sir."
But of course the don heard none of it. He half tugged Ichigo around in front of him and tried sending him toward the door. "I want those gunmen taken care of, get out there! Grimmjow! I'll handle 'im, get the shooters outta my damn yard!"
"Sir, please-"
Shirosaki yanked on Ichigo's jacket, bringing the handler close to his sneering, blood smeared features. "Do yer job, Ichigo. Get out there, and secure my home."
"No."
"What?" The don blanched, taken by utter surprise by his most trusted man's refusal. "What'd ya just say ta me?"
"With respect, Sir, Grimmjow and I are staying right here." Ichigo straightened his jacket and looked back at his partner.
Gold eyes followed his line of sight, finding and latching on to cold, hard blue. The big hitman said nothing, but then, he had no need to. His agreement with his handler was obvious. The pair of them had no need to speak aloud. At times, it was as though they shared thoughts.
Ichigo wrapped a gentle hand around the don's elbow again, and spoke in a much less stern and professional tone, "If this guy got so close, there could still be others in the building, Shiro… Grimmjow and I are not going to leave you. Let the rest of your family deal with the shooters. They're good teams, trust them."
The powerful young man frowned, still breathing heavily. Blood bubbled in thin, wet trickles down his nose to collect along his upper lip. He finally reached a hand up and trailed his fingertips through it, wincing before glancing at his hand. He didn't really agree to what Ichigo said, but when his most trusted handler and friend began leading him toward the yawning entrance of the hallway, deeper into the bowels of his mansion and away from the mangled front entrance the attacker had stormed, he let himself be guided along. His first step was stumbling and unsteady as the corridor seemed to spin.
Grimmjow trailed behind them, his knuckles bruised and an aggressive curl to his lip. The man he'd pounced on didn't move.
They made it a quarter of the way down the hall when Shiro stopped and tried to turn back around. Ichigo's hand didn't let go of his arm. "Shit… Ishida was with me." He half muttered.
Ichigo turned him back around with the hand on his arm and began guiding him back down the hall again. "Grimmjow will go back for him." He decided, glancing back at his partner to see the big hunter nod and set off at a trot back towards the main entrance. He turned back to his boss in time to watch Shirosaki drag the back of one pale hand across the lower half of his face.
The don looked down at the blood smeared across his hand, then tugged open his disheveled suit jacket and pulled free a white handkerchief from an inside pocket. He brought it up to his face to finally begin wiping the brilliant red from his bloodied features. "Son of a bitch… That was a good shot." He said from behind the white fabric.
His jaw ached and he was positive he'd be bruised up in a matter of an hour. He was pretty sure he'd avoided having anything broken, which was a surprise in itself, with how hard that first hit to his face had been, but he'd have to have the doc take a look all the same.
"Yes it was." Ichigo smirked and chuckled, shaking his head slightly. He finally released the don's arm, confident the man would keep to their course now. "I'm impressed you're as steady on your feet as you are at the moment."
Shirosaki grunted and shot him a look over the handkerchief held against his face. "Just because I leave most a the heavy liftin' ta you boys don't mean I can't still tumble with the best a ya."
Ichigo chuckled again, but conceded the point with a nod. For as long as he'd known the mob boss, even back when Shiro was just a kid living under his father's rule, the leucistic little boy had been able to hold his own. And Shiro was quite willing to let that be known, too. He'd never been the type to sit out. If he could come up with an excuse to get his hands dirty, he would, and Ichigo was certain nothing would ever change that, despite that the young man now had people to handle that sort of thing for him.
"I need a cigarette." The powerful man muttered as he began digging through his jacket pockets. When he found which one he'd dropped the carton in, he pulled if free and looked down at the crushed carton with a forlorn sigh. Flipping the top open, he frowned as he pulled out a broken cigarette, then grumbled unhappily and tossed the entire thing over his shoulder, carton and all, "This is becomin' a runnin' theme. Remind me ta stop keepin' 'em in my pockets when I'm 'bout ta be attacked."
Ichigo snorted an amused sound and shook his head, "I'm sure your enemies would kindly give you that extra second, Sir."
"Yeah, bet they would." A smirk cut across Shirosaki's face, making the blood from his split lip trickle anew. Making it to his personal suite, he stopped outside the door and pulled free a ring of keys to unlock his door. Stepping inside, he paused just long enough to hold the door for Ichigo to grab behind him, take a quick look around to be sure no one else had entered before him, then made straight for the bar.
Ichigo caught his wrist as he pulled a bottle down from the rack. "No alcohol, Sir, or did you forget your intimate meeting with the floor just a minute ago?"
Shiro frowned, his free hand going gingerly to the back of his head. "S'not alcohol, it's wine…" The comment earned him an unamused look from his friend. "Fine fine," the boss sighed and put the bottle back, "I'll stick ta chain smokin' for a few days."
"How are you still alive and healthy?" Ichigo's exasperation was mostly fake. Amusement showed in his features as he pulled a bar stool out and nudged his boss towards it, then began digging through drawers to find where the man kept his unopened cartons.
"Over there-" Shiro muttered, pointing across the kitchen area, then he shrugged and grinned as he climbed onto the stool and propped an elbow on the bar, "It's a dangerous business, can't be afraid a lil things like lung cancer 'r liver failure." A sideways little smirk twisted across his features, "B'sides, got the best doctor money can buy lookin' after me day and night."
Ichigo's features tinted as he tossed a carton of cigarettes to his boss. Leaning back against the counter, he crossed his arms as he absently watched the don's zippo flicker to life and the cherry of the first cigarette glow hot as Shiro lit up. Then he frowned, "Speaking of. Where is Dr. Granz? I thought he wasn't to be allowed from the mansion until further notice."
"He's 'round here somewhere." Shirosaki mumbled around his cigarette, looking truly blissful as he inhaled that first lungful. He let the bluish smoke stream through his nostrils as he tucked his lighter back into his pants pocket and began gingerly shrugging from his blood stained suit jacket. "Probably still in bed. Guy sleeps like a damn…" He waved a vague motion, "He sleeps real deep after we-"
"-good lord, what happened to your face?" Mentioned man leaned around the door frame, a tired scowl on his pretty features as he took in the disheveled state of the don.
Having never seen the doctor look anything but immaculate, Ichigo frowned right back and tried not to lose his professional look of detached calm.
Shoulder length, pink hair framed the man's features in a messy, careless way. The dregs of sleep still stole over him and he looked less than awake. Behind his glasses, yellow eyes almost managed to look less chilling and crazed than usual. Having been obviously awakened unexpectedly, he'd only slipped on a discarded pair of the don's boxers which fit a little strangely, considering the boss was shorter than him. They were loose enough, though, and covered the important parts.
"don't be shy, Szazy." Shiro snickered, waving the slim man further into the room, "He's seen pictures of us naked, r'member?"
"Yes, how could I forget." The doctor half drawled, pushing his glasses further into place as he glanced at Ichigo, then slipped past the hitman and further into the room. He went straight to where the don sat upon the barstool. Merely rolling his eyes as pale hands settled on his bare hips, he used slim fingertips to tilt the boss's chin up a bit as he eyed the damage with a clinical frown.
"Curtesy of unwanted company in the mansion." Shiro explained as the doctor looked him over. "Again."
Still casually leaning back against the counter, Ichigo spoke up, "Shall I retrieve a pair of pants for you, Doctor? We should be expecting Grimmjow and Ishida any second."
Yellow eyes flashed towards him for a moment, before deft fingers began sifting through long, white hair to feel for anything untold from the don's meeting with hard tile flooring. "Yes, if you would. A pair should be sitting somewhere near the couch."
Ichigo pushed away from the counter and started to automatically turn toward the bedroom, then frowned slightly and brushed past the doctor and Shiro and headed into the sitting area instead.
"Unwanted company…?" The doctor prompted as he straightened and moved over to the sink to wet a towel with warm water.
Shiro hummed a confirmation and took a drag from his cigarette, wincing when the wetted towel was dabbed across his bruising features, clearing the half dried blood he'd missed on his way through the halls, "The kind that wants me dead, mostly." Pale lips pulled into a thoughtful frown, "But not as dead as the gunfire woulda suggested, apparently." He motioned toward his face, "Said somethin' 'bout his client wantin' me alive."
"A bounty, perhaps?" The doctor suggested as he returned to his employer's side, "You and your team have been notoriously difficult to kill since coming to power."
Shirosaki snickered a manic sound, but anything he'd been about to say was interrupted by a rough pounding on the door and a familiar voice. Ichigo hurried into the doorway, tossed the doctor his pants, and went to the front door, drawing his gun despite knowing it was obviously Grimmjow who growled through the closed portal. The rush to the deep voice had a scowl tugging at orange brows.
Szayel stepped into and tugged up his tailored slacks as Ichigo pulled the door wide and edged out of the way as he held it for his partner. Still seated at the bar in the kitchen area, Shiro watched through the wide, arching doorway that separated the two rooms as Grimmjow turned sideways and shouldered his way through into the don's personal suite. Carried in the big man's arms, Ishida hung mostly limp. Thick, crimson blood smeared his front. Brighter fluid bubbled with his weak breaths, dripping down his chin. His normally composed, haughty features were pale and pinched.
Shiro shot to his feet as his hunter came his way, Szayel on his heels.
Grimmjow didn't wait for instructions. Crossing the sitting room and into the kitchen area, he bent low over a small, round breakfast table that sat in the center of the tiled floor past the bar. Pushing everything from the table in one sweep, he laid the injured man down and stepped back, before his blue eyes found Shiro's golden. He shook his head in a subtle motion and the boss frowned as he moved to stand in his secretary's line of sight.
Dark, navy colored eyes belatedly focused on him, "B-boss…" At seeing Shirosaki up and moving, there was a sort of relief in his broken voice. In the background, he vaguely registered a light, musical voice and knew without thought it was the doctor. The don's hunter was a looming presence at his other side and something pressed heavy and hot against his chest but he didn't have the energy or ability to look down and focus on it. "I'm s- I'm sorry-"
Shiro shook his head, "S' alright, Ishida, 's alright."
"I-I'm not…" Ishida gasped a breathless sound, features twisting. "It's b-bad…isn't it?"
The don winced nearly imperceptibly, but he was a killer. His associates, his crew, everyone in the room with him, were murderers. He didn't need a confirmation from Szayel. He reached out a surprisingly gentle hand and wrapped pale fingers around his dying secretary's clenched ones. "Yeah, it's bad."
Beside him, the doctor cursed a low sound, shirtless and sleep rumbled and bent close to Ishida as he tried desperately to save the man's life. Grimmjow, already smeared the man's blood from carrying him down the hall, kept pressure over one wound while the doctor worked on the other, but he'd known before they even made it to the don's suite that Ishida wasn't going to make it. He'd only witnessed one person survive multiple gunshots to the chest, and he had no desire to ever experience it again.
"I'm s-s-"
Shiro shook his head and, "Got nothin' ta be sorry 'bout, Ishida. Ya've done me well for a long time. They wont get away wit' this."
"Who's g-going to…" Ishida's chest heaved as he tried to speak, "do your p-paperwork?"
Shiro snorted a humorless laugh and pushed a strained smirk across his features, "Guess I'll have ta start doin' it on my own."
The shake of Ishida's head was barely there, but unmissable, "Y-you're ill suited t-to a desk, Sir."
The don nodded his agreement and squeezed the cold hand in his own. Then brushed dark hair from the secretary's features. "Thank you, Uryu."
The man didn't respond. Laying upon the boss's table, his weak, gasping breaths fell silent. The lean muscle below Grimmjow's hands relaxed and the hand grasping almost desperately to the don's own went limp, slow, like even in death, the loyalty Shiro earned from his men was reluctant to fail. He'd made it just long enough to see that his beloved employer and friend was alive and safe, and now Ishida was dead, staring up at Shiro with dark, sightless eyes.
Szayel hung his head slightly, before straightening and stepping back away from the body. Standing half dressed in the middle of his lover's kitchen and covered with a dead man's blood, he shook his head almost regretfully and for once, there was no eager, crazed little glint to be found in his yellow eyes. There was nothing advantageous or right about this death. As far as mafia business went, Ishida was an innocent casualty.
The don's hand settled frozen upon Ishida's brow for a few seconds longer than necessary, then lifted as the young man stepped back as well, and turned straight back for the bar. This time, when he pulled down a bottle of wine, Ichigo said nothing.
Grimmjow disappeared down a short hall and into the don's bathroom. The water in the basin of the sink ran thick and red as he washed his hands of blood that itched in a way he'd never thought he'd experience. The warmth of it wasn't comforting like usual, but rather sickening and heavy.
When he returned to the others, Ishida's body still laid untouched upon the kitchen table where he'd laid the man. Szayel hovered nearby, but didn't crowd his lover. Drying blood coated his hands and spattered up his arms. Grimmjow drew as near the man as he could without touching him, and in a low voice advised, "Get washed up and dressed before Ichigo and I join the fight out front. Boss's gonna need you."
Elegant brows rose slightly, before yellow eyes lowered to glance at spread fingers. The doctor nodded and without a word, ducked down the hall to follow the hunter's suggestion.
Ichigo glanced their way, then edged closer to his long time friend. "Shiro…"
Sometimes it was easy to forget how young the don was, but he hadn't even hit his third decade yet and at that moment, it showed. He wasn't new to death and murder, sure, but he and his team had gotten so infamous, so good at what they did that death rarely touched someone so close to him. Ishida had been a loyal and trustworthy partner, associate and friend. He'd been at the Shiro's side nearly as long as Ichigo had been. And as loyal as those Shiro surrounded himself with were to the don, so too was Shiro loyal to them. It wasn't called a family for no reason. The loss struck close to home.
Before the handler could really say anything more though, the don's expression shifted. Rage flashed through inverted, golden eyes, and a hard promise followed. "I'm fine, Ichi. 's all a part a the business." He took a moment to swallow down a drink of vibrant, red wine and fished another cigarette from the carton on his bar top. "I gotta lunch meetin' with Byakuya in the afternoon. I'll have ta be up early, make sure the mansion's quiet tanight." With that, he lit up, then grabbed the bottle of wine and headed down the hallway of his suite, towards where his lavish bedroom was located.
He left the rest to Ichigo and Grimmjow, and knew they would give hell to those who had intruded upon him and his own. Szayel would call a crew and Ishida's body would be disposed of in the same way everyone else's was, just another ghost in the city's underbelly.
The next morning, only a handful of hours after he'd gone to bed, Shiro walked through the ruined doorway of his mansion, Ichigo and Grimmjow at his sides. His shoes crunched on glass and crystal and his features looked drawn and tired. No doubt word of the attack had gotten out, but don Byakuya hadn't attempted to contact him, surely realizing he'd make it to their meeting.
He'd pulled on a clean suit; pressed, white pants, a dark silk shirt and white jacket. His tie was looser than usual, though, and he didn't bother buttoning the jacket. For once, he left his long hair loose, letting it frame his features and hang down his shoulders. Between it, a pair of dark sunglasses, and a little makeup work from his doctor, most of the dark bruising to his features was hidden, visible only up close. He looked no less mighty than usual, except to those closest to him.
He climbed into the backseat of his car and crossed one ankle over the other knee, flicking his lighter to life and brining it to the cigarette perched between his lips. Through the rearview mirror, his driver glanced back at him and when all passengers were situated, the car was shifted into gear and pulled from the front steps of the mansion. The sun was deceivingly bright and warm that day, and, leaned against the door with his elbow propped up on the window ledge, the don cursed it for its indifference.
The drive was a short one; twenty minutes of city traffic and downtown stoplights. When the car rolled up to the front entrance of the diner, the valet bowed and opened the backdoor. Shiro stepped out, straightening to all his powerful stature and leaving most of his dour mood in the car. He gave the suited young stranger a look, than dismissed him, flicked his spent cigarette to the ground, and stepped past him.
The valet looked on with a bit of confusion as the driver of the car pulled away without handing over the keys.
A young, red headed woman greeted Shiro and his men once they stepped in and the doors closed behind them, "You must be Master Kuchiki's guests."
Shiro nodded, only pulling the dark sunglasses off once he'd stepped into the low lighting of the diner. A bit of a smirk worked across his lips as his gaze flicked over the hostess's form briefly, and the woman showed them the way to the very back of the restaurant, where the other don awaited them at a large, round table.
Byakuya, like any good family member, straightened from his seat and first bowed a sign of respect, before stepping forward to share a surprisingly friendly hug with the don. Shiro's pale lips grazed his cheek, as was custom, and the lower standing gentleman took a small step back and swept an arm out toward the table in greeting, where a chair was being pulled out for the white clad male.
Shiro grinned his thanks and took his seat, flanked by his two best; Ichigo on his right and Grimmjow on his left.
Byakuya waited for his superior to make himself comfortable before he sat as well, placing himself at the opposite end of the table. Rukia sat at his side in a casual but well fitting dress. She looked mildly uncomfortable as she glanced over Shirosaki, than to his men. Wine was poured. Shiro motioned for the bottle to be left at the table.
Only when the wait staff had left them in peace did Byakuya speak up, "This was to be a casual meeting on friendly terms alone, but-" He said, his glass of wine untouched in his hand. He studied his friend for a moment, before shaking his head sadly and taking his first sip. "My condolences, Shiro, I can see it in your face. Who was it?"
The don grunted a low, mild sound, "Tch. It's just parta the business."
"Business or no, it's not called family for no reason."
"Hn." Shiro's gaze dropped to the table for a heartbeat. "Ishida. My book keeper. He was… very proficient, very loyal. Been 'round since the beginnin', just after I took over the family." A bit of a smirk tugged at one corner of his pale, split lips as sipped his wine. The tiniest bit of fresh blood smeared across the edge of his wine glass, "And always concerned about my wellbein'." He added, glancing at it as he brought his cloth napkin to his lips to clear away the evidence of his injury.
Byakuya hummed a short, understanding sound and nodded, glancing away to allow the other don that small amount of privacy as he tidied himself. "I remember him, of course. He was a good man… And you?" He asked, "I see you're standing, but I cannot fathom what it would take to keep you down." His eyes flickered toward Shiro's blue haired killer, notorious for his inability to be brought down, then back to the man who'd selected and trained him, "How are you? Would Mr. Ishida approve of you being here this day?"
Shirosaki actually laughed at that, and shook his head, "No, he wouldn't, but I'm well enough. Like ya said; takes a lot ta keep me home in bed when I've got friends ta visit. My injuries 're superficial, mostly." He waved it off with a hand, then raised said hand slightly to flag down their server, where the young man stood nearby.
He rushed over and bent low to the don in order to hear the quiet orders. He nodded as he straightened and Shiro glanced over the rest of the gathering at the table, "You'll have ta forgive me. I haven't the appetite for lunch." He explained, "Sweet tooth instead."
The other don smiled his amusement and understanding, the expression remarkably polite and professional. He glanced up to their waiter, "Make it two, then."
Neither really noticed as the lad nodded again and politely excused himself to fulfill the order.
The mood of the meeting shifted. A coldness found Byakuya's already cool eyes. "Do you know who was behind the attack?"
"I can make an educated guess." Shiro said, "The trouble comes upon realizin' that the man himself is dead. Very, very dead." He dropped his chin slightly, letting his displeasure show in his hardened expression. The brightness of his golden eyes promised deliverance. "It would seem an old rival 's been resurrected."
Dark brows arched slightly, "Aizen."
Shirosaki nodded, "There's been real troublin' talk on the streets. Whoever's tryin' ta take control seems ta want me alive. First I was blackmailed as ya know, then, durin' the attack," He motioned to his face and the mostly concealed bruising that darkened his fair complexion. "I was told as much. It was hired muscle."
"Hmm. So perhaps it's not someone trying to resurrect Aizen's old family, but rather someone seeking revenge?"
The don frowned slightly, thinking the idea over. Dessert arrived and the conversation was paused as it was handed out. Shiro took a bite, testing the flavor, but he'd been to this particular diner often enough to know it'd be perfect as always. Once the server was gone, he continued, "Could be." He nodded as he spoke, fork in hand, "That'd be preferable, really. Just a few ta kill off in order ta take this price tag off a' my head."
Be it strange or not, the idea of having a bounty on him wasn't all that concerning to Shiro. What he really didn't like was the sanctity of his home being disrupted, his friends and family being threatened alongside him. It didn't matter to him that they were killers, that they knew the business just as well as he did. Having the fight brought to him wasn't a norm he wanted to get used to. He had a good thing going. Having the front line be his doorstep was, well, it hadn't happened since Grimmjow showed up.
He waved the whole thing off; just part of the business. "Enough a' that. Yer trip's planned and things 're arranged at home?"
Byakuya nodded a single, dignified motion, taking a bite of his own dessert. If there was one thing he could agree too, it was that Shirosaki surely had fine taste in sweets and wine. The man was young, too young if you listened to some, especially the older generation of mobsters, but he'd certainly proved his merit. As unconventional as his business practices were, they were powerful, dominant, quick, and destined for success, as had already been showing through. Shirosaki had made himself into a powerful and filthy rich lad.
"Yes, though it seems my timing may be poor this year."
Shiro scoffed, "Nonsense. Ya go every year, and it's important. I get that. I'd be disappointed if ya stuck 'round instead a' visitin' just 'cause of a lil hitch in my week. You worry 'bout you and yours. I got my boys here ta keep an eye on me for the time bein'."
The lower ranking man inclined his head slightly in a show of gratitude. He visited his late wife -Rukia's sister- every year. It was ill timing that the threat to his superior landed upon the same time period.
His normally detached features pulled downward slightly, "Do you think, perhaps, this timing isn't quite coincidental, Shirosaki? With my leaving town, there will be one less ally of yours for your enemies to worry about."
Shiro grunted a thoughtful sound, but ultimately shrugged as he took another bite of his dessert. "So be it. If they think I'm easy ta get rid of, they're sorely mistaken."
"Indeed. In any case, I'll leave Renji with instructions that he and a few more of my faction are to be at your disposal, should you have need of them."
"I appreciate that, Bya, but I think it'll be a borin' week for 'em." There was a smirk on the don's features. It was the same expression that promised pain to whomever had gained the mobster's ire, yet there was still that touch of strain to it that had nothing to do with business and everything to do with his lack of appetite.
Idle conversation continued for another hour or so, with Grimmjow, Ichigo and Rukia only occasionally chiming in as the topic called for it. Mostly they were there for less social reasons. Eventually the two bosses called lunch over and stood. Shiro folded his napkin over what was left of his half eaten dessert as Byakuya rounded the table.
As they'd greeted one another, so too did they say their goodbyes; with a friendly hug and a handshake. "My condolences about Mr. Ishida." Byakuya tightened a sturdy, empathetic hand on the don's shoulder.
Shiro merely nodded. As his business partner left the diner, he finished the last of the wine in his cup in one swallow, before turning to follow.
Grimmjow and Ichigo shared a look as they trailed behind their boss, seeing the show he'd just put on for what it was. The car ride was startlingly silent and heavy. A cigarette, which had been fished out and lit as he'd climbed into the car, hung and burned between pale lips, hardly noticed.
When they made it back to the mansion, Ichigo tried to inquire about his friend's wellbeing, but was predictably brushed off. A part of business, Shiro assured him, just tired after the events of the prior night.
Ichigo had no choice but to leave it at that as the don headed for his own chambers, already loosening his tie as he navigated the hallways. The handler watched him go for a moment, watched the tired drag to his steps and the ever so slight slump to normally straight and strong shoulders. This was a man who hadn't even mourned the death of his father. For someone who was normally cool and logical when his temper wasn't flaring violently, it was odd seeing him so somber.
Even Grimmjow noticed how off the boss seemed. "This loss is gonna sting a while. They made it personal." He commented, standing at his partner's side. After a long sigh answered him, he nudged Ichigo and the two turned away to go about their business and leave the boss to his own devices.
They wouldn't see the don for the rest of the day and most of the following night. The younger man kept himself locked away in his suite, and even his top pair didn't dare bother him.
While locked away, Shiro only kept company with his doctor, and then it was mostly because he'd yet to allow Szayel to leave the mansion since the threat to the good doctor and himself not long ago.
When he let himself into his rooms, he went straight for the bar, as he had the night before, but it wasn't an elegant wine glass he pulled from a cupboard. Instead, it was a heavy glass tumbler and the doctor frowned sightly, watching through the doorway after having been passed by without a word from his superior and lover.
The doctor pulled himself from the plush furniture and meandered his way into the bar area of the kitchen, pausing in the doorway. Watching the don pull down a bottle of expensive bourbon, he finally spoke up, "Shirosaki-" He paused when inverted, golden eyes snapped over to find him, "If you'll remember that rather intimate meeting with the floor yesterday, I'd have to recommend that you stay away from hard liquor."
The boss snorted an unamused sound, curled his lip, and yanked the stopper from the bottle. As he watched dark liquid slosh into his glass, he spoke in a deceivingly calm voice, "I'd recommend you and everyone else quit tryin' ta decide what's good for me at the moment."
Red flags went up in the doctor's mind, taking note of the sharp, sudden rise in the boss's notorious temper. He frowned a little more as the boss took a quick shot, before pouring another. "I know you're still upset over–"
"Upset?!" Shiro hissed, rage in his expression. He pointed off to far side of the kitchenette, glass in hand, as he spun on the doctor, "He died layin' on that table! For nothin'! Half a' the reason me and my boys are even still alive is because Ishida was there ta keep a level head and get things done. He was killed for nothin'. He was never on the frontline, never in the streets gettin' his hands dirty, he didn't deserve that." He knocked back another quick shot, wincing at the toxic burn. An equally twisted grin stole across his face, pushing aside the wince, but there was nothing humorous in the expression. "Upset? That's what ya think I am? I was upset when I found out someone was takin' pictures of us. I get upset when I can't find my lighter. I'm upset that ya never wanna switch it up in bed."
With each example, he advanced further on the doctor, until he was standing toe to toe and looking up the taller male. Even with that few inch height difference, the smaller stalked in like a hunting wolf, like Szayel was nothing but prey. Meat. The doctor wisely kept his mouth shut, watching, waiting, as he leaned back minutely but didn't dare actually step away from his superior. The foul mood he was in was understandable, of course, but that made it no less dangerous.
When Shiro thunked the bottle down on the counter and reached around behind himself, pushing aside his suit jacket in the same motion, Szayel automatically started to bring his hands up between them, yellow eyes widening just slightly. The don pulled his gun free of the holster that rested against his spine, but laid it on the counter with his drink. He completely missed the slightly relieved breath the doctor let out.
"I didn't mean to offend…"
Shiro reached up and closed his fingers around the doctor's chin in a harsh grip, half yanking and half guiding the man forward and a little closer to his level. "I didn't ask ya what ya meant ta do." After half a second of staring the man in the eye, he shoved, leaving the doctor to stumble back into the sitting area. He followed behind, already stripping from his jacket. "Take yer pants off and get on the floor."
Szayel hesitated, but ultimately hissed an unhappy, "Yes, Sir." at the order and did as he was told, lest he pull out more of that foul mood.
The don wasn't kind at all, as he closed his hands around the doctor's slender neck and knelt between long legs. When he was done, he left the doctor where he'd laid him down, and went right back to the kitchen.
A few hours later, Grimmjow pulled the door to his suite open at the sound of keys jingling from the other side. The sun was on its way up again, lightening the horizon and warming the air. What he expected to find was Ichigo, back from checking on the don. What he found was Shiro himself.
The don grinned up at him and invited himself in, half pushing around the big hunter as Grimmjow frowned in confusion. " 'evenin', Grimm." He greeted.
The sharp smell of alcohol assaulted his senses and Grimmjow slowly closed the door behind the smaller man. He took in Shiro's slightly disheveled state; the less than perfectly combed hair -though it'd been pulled back into a tail again- the rumpled state of his slacks. He wore no shoes, and only an unbuttoned silk shirt. "…are you drunk, Shiro?"
A distorted laugh was his answer as Shiro dropped to sit heavily upon the couch in the seating area of Grimmjow's and Ichigo's rooms. "Pretty close by now." He decided, waving the hitman over. "Come sit wit' me."
Grimmjow, of course, did so, grabbing his phone from the table top on his way by. "How much wine did you have? You're supposed to be going easy on the alcohol… The doc said-"
"Tch. Screw what Szazy said." Shiro curled his lip, before waving it off and leaning back to make himself comfortable, a leg crossed over the other and his arms thrown over the back of the couch. "Sides, wasn't wine." Smirk back, he half snickered, "Pulled out the real stuff. Drank halfa the whiskey I have. Had. don't have it anymore."
Sever blue brows arched slightly in what passed as concern, "You might have a concussion, Sir, you're not supposed to be drinking. Where was the doctor?"
"He was there, kinda, in bed though. Wore him out."
"Shiro-"
"It wasn't hard, which is kinda disappointin', ya know?" An unhappy, thoughtful expression settled on Shiro's pale features. He half tipped his head, hazy gaze making a sweep of the man seated next to him, "He's inta some kinky shit, and he's real good at takin' orders, but he's not- he's… Hmph. I think he's afraid a' me," He lifted a hand and shook it in a staying motion, "not that I'm complainin' 'bout that, but sometimes that's not what I want." He shook his head, like he was having trouble following his own thoughts. Then he glanced back over at Grimmjow, "Where's Ich? Now he's a lucky guy," He playfully patted the back of his hand against Grimmjow's leg, and wasn't even subtle about the wink he threw the bigger man.
"Shiro, I think-" The hunter tried again, to no avail.
The don continued anyway, "Bet Ichigo don't have that problem." He dropped that wandering hand across Grimmjow's thigh as he started to turn to face the bigger man, "What d'ya think he'd say ta-"
"Ok–!" Grimmjow cut him off, grabbing his wrist. He jerked to his feet and pulled a number up on his phone. "You need to go back to bed, Sir."
It rang all of twice on the other end, before Ichigo's voice filtered through, "Grimmjow, I don't know whe-"
"He's here." The big hunter cut him off, looking down at his boss. Shiro blinked up at him, then started to stand as well, only to change his mind when the room spun. "Drunk." Grimmjow grunted, "and trying to get laid."
"…what? He's- Grimmjow, don't you dare-"
Impossibly blue eyes rolled, "I'm not interested in screwing drunk, half aware men, Ichigo, cool it. Get back here and help me get him to his own bed, he can barely even stand up."
"I didn't mean it that way. I meant…" Ichigo sighed over the phone, "I meant it wouldn't be good for him right now. don't let him go anywhere, I'll be there shortly."
Ten minutes later, Ichigo slipped through the unlocked door to his shared suite. The sitting area was empty, but he didn't have to go far to find the two. From deeper in the rooms, Shiro's lilting voice spoke up in confusion.
It was followed by Grimmjow's baritone rumble, "We're in the bathroom because you were just puking." He rounded the doorframe, glancing over at Ichigo, before back to the man he was leading.
Shiro stumbled against him, snorted a laugh about it, and skimmed his fingers under the edge of the hunter's shirt. "I didn' have 'ny wine tanight."
"I know. It was whiskey." Grimmjow merely grabbed his wrist again, tugging the hand free of his person as they made it back to the couch.
If the situation hadn't been so serious, it would have been amusing. Ichigo was positive this was the first time he'd ever seen his boss so intoxicated. Even when tipsy, he was usually remarkably in control of himself. But despite the amusing display, there was that underlying health factor the doctor had warned them about. And there was also the matter as to why Shirosaki had been drinking so heavily. It had nothing to do with sex.
"M' head hurts." Shiro grumbled, tugging his wrist free of Grimmjow's hold to press the heel of his palm against his temple. There was a sharp throb behind his eyes and a dull ache in the back of his skull.
"That's because of the mild concussion, Sir." Ichigo chimed in, moving to the don's other side to help take his weight as they helped him back down to the couch.
The don jolted, having not realized there was a third person around just yet. He tried to spin toward his handler, nearly landing on his butt on the floor instead of the couch in the process, but smirked, " 'ey, Ich-go, I gotta question for ya. When you and Grimmjow 're f-"
"Hold that thought." Ichigo interrupted, ignoring the slight heat he felt creeping up his neck, "If you still remember your question in the morning, I'll answer it."
Shiro frowned, quiet for a second, then he nodded. "Remind me in the mornin', then."
"At least he's not an angry drunk." Grimmjow grunted a laugh, looking down at his boss.
"Gonna be angry in the mornin'…" Shiro mumbled, half out of it where he sat, "I think I'm more drunk than I thought."
Ichigo shook his head, "Was he shirtless when he got here?"
"No, he took that off while I was on the phone with you." The hunter rounded the couch, bending to snag the discarded article from the floor.
"-chigo, yer man's got a real nice ass."
Ichigo choked a laugh, as amused by the comment as he was embarrassed. "Yes he does. I'm sorry, Sir, but I'm not going to share with you."
A remarkably crestfallen look took over the don's expression, "Really? –Oh! That's what my question was. What if he's the one doin' the fuckin'?"
"I-I think you need to have a conversation with Dr. Granz…" Ichigo decided, taking the shirt being handed to him. He and Grimmjow started levering the don to his feet again despite the slurred complaints of feeling ill. The three of them got half way to the door that lead into the hall before the don started sagging between them.
"…paperwork ta do." Shiro muttered as they walked through otherwise empty corridors. If it hadn't been for Ichigo and Grimmjow's support, it was unlikely he would have stayed on his feet. "Ishida can't- He deserved a vacation but not-" He trailed off, a scowl on his features. "There's supposed ta be rules, common courtesies, in this business. What 're we, the police now? They can't- Ya don't see me marchin' up ta my rival's fron' door and… You guys 're my friends. Family. D'ya think he knew…?"
"He knew." Grimmjow assured, his rough voice quiet in the sleeping hallway.
The don said nothing more. Ichigo shifted his grip around the young man's waist as Shiro's weight settled more heavily against him. After a few more steps, the door to the don's rooms coming into view, Grimmjow paused and stooped to hook an arm around the backs of Shiro's legs, taking the rest of his limp weight. Shiro didn't even seem to notice.
Nor did he stir as Ichigo pulled up to his door and pounded a heavy fist against it. "Do you know if he has keys on him?" Ichigo asked, glancing over his shoulder toward his partner, "I guess Dr. Granz sleeps pretty heavily…"
Grimmjow shrugged, "I think he does. Keys to our rooms, at least." The look on his handler's face told him Ichigo didn't really care, though, he wanted the chance to confront the doctor over this incident.
Ichigo grunted a soft sound, and turned to pound on the door again. "Doctor." He called through the door, his voice as calm as ever, "Open the door, or I'll have Grimmjow kick it in."
A few moments later, the sound of locks turning announced as the doctor worked the door open. He lingered in the doorway for a second, glancing over the two hitmen before training his attention on his mostly unconscious employer. "Ah. I'd wondered where he'd run off too."
Ichigo all but pushed the thin man back into the suite and out of the way, "You're in charge of his health, and you let him get blackout drunk and wander the halls unattended? While there could still be traitors in the mansion?" The handler's voice was deadly and low. Behind him, Grimmjow shifted through the doorway and headed back toward the don's bedroom. Ichigo continued in on the doctor, "The entire front was blown apart not even two days ago, and you thought it was ok to let him do this?"
"What exactly do you expect me to do, Kurosaki?" The doctor looked down his sharp nose at the handler, as if unfazed by the seething anger hidden below the surface of him, even as he backed a small step further into the room. "Order the boss around? Tell him he can't mourn the death of a friend? I advised him to take it easy the moment he pulled bourbon down from the bar. He doesn't listen to me. He takes orders from no one."
Ichigo took a page from his partner's book and sneered, "Then you call for one of us! This-" He pointed toward the hallway Grimmjow had disappeared down, "-is how we get ourselves in deep shit. This is how he gets killed and the family falls. He can't afford to screw up, especially right now, and none of us can afford to let him. This is the same kind of shit his father pulled and this is part of why Shiro offed him."
There was a pause where what Ichigo said registered a second after it had left his mouth. The doctor, who hadn't been around as long as Ichigo and hadn't seen the beginning of Shiro's occupancy, met his eyes a moment before Grimmjow rejoined them, the don safe and in bed out cold.
"This doesn't happen again." Ichigo warned in a low voice, a slight but grave shake to his head, "Ever."
The two turned from the room, leaving Szayel to stand in the doorway alone. But before the door could close fully, Grimmjow's big hand caught it, pushing it open far enough for the hunter to half duck back through the portal. He gave the doctor a serious, studying look that strayed to the darkening bruises ringing the front of Szayel's throat, "The boss do that?" But he didn't wait for an answer, before those ridiculously blue eyes rolled. "For the love of god, Granz, grow a pair and fuck him or find someone who will. He's getting tired of you. That's bad for you. And if he asks me to do it again, that's gonna be bad for you too." He turned and took his leave, pulling the door shut behind him with a not quite harsh bang.
Szayel stared at the closed door a moment, letting that brief but sudden little lecture sink in. Between Ichigo's words and Grimmjow's, it was a vivid reminder of exactly who he worked for and what he was doing. True, he was given special privileges for sleeping with the boss, but as Shiro himself so often said; it was just a part of business. He held no illusions that there was anything more to it between them. Shiro got what he wanted, as simple as that, and when was done, so was whatever had gained his interest.
Szayel turned from the door, his finger tips dragging over the hot ring of abused skin around his neck, and headed down the short hall towards the bedroom. The ill thought of how easy it would have been to kill the boss in that moment flashed through his mind, as he glanced over at Shiro's prone form upon the bed, but he ignored it and instead went about tidying the room and getting the don a clean suit ready for that morning. Even if he did want Shiro dead, and even if he did go through with it, it was highly unlikely he'd survive the homicide. The boss's top pair would be on him faster than a pair of hounds on a scent trail, and he'd seen the left overs of their work up close more than often enough to dissuade him.
That next morning, Shiro woke up with a very unhappy groan as he rolled over in bed and started to sit up. The room spun -or maybe it was just his stomach trying to crawl up his throat- and he muttered a curse as he cracked his eyes open.
The other presence in the room, previously hovering in the doorway and the very edge of his peripheral, shifted closer and Shiro just barely registered the trashcan that had been dragged into his bedroom. He curled his lip slightly, glancing at it with disgust and loathing like it had personally offended him, through the curtain of his wild hair. He started to straighten a little, pushing his long hair back, "I got work ta do, where's Ishi–" It slipped out, pure habit developed over years of being able to rely on his secretary to keep him on track, but he cut himself short and scrubbed his hand back down his features, wincing at the dull throb of barely faded bruising now that the numbness of his drunken fit the night before had worn off. It was, he decided, a much deserved sharpness to go with the ache in his skull, the roiling in his stomach and the itch in his hands. "Ugh fuck. I need a shower and some coffee. And a cigarette."
Edging further into the room after seeing that the boss was not going to wake up enraged, Szayel snorted a delicate sound and rounded the bed. "Yes, well, start with the first and I'm sure I can manage to have the other two ready for you when you're done."
Shiro managed a lopsided smirk, a word of gratitude on the tip of his tongue, until his attention coasted far enough over and up to see the dark marks ringing his lover's throat. The doctor had made no attempt to hide them, though that probably shouldn't have come as a surprise. Grimacing, Shiro started levering himself from his bed, offhandedly muttering, "Ya shouldn't a' let me do that."
"Yes, I realize that now, but you were in quite the mood and I doubted my abilities to take that bottle from you."
"No, not the drinkin'." Well, maybe that too, but more importantly, "I mean…" He trailed off and motioned toward's the doctor as he turned for his ensuite washroom.
"Ah. That." The doctor shrugged a clinical, smooth motion, "Superficial damage and nothing more. I've already checked. That's the roughest you've been with me since my first night in your mansion. I'll survive."
The don half nodded, unbuttoning the wrinkled, white pants he'd slept in and letting them drop to the cold tile floor. When he was done showering, he emerged from the depths of his room in a fresh, perfectly pressed suit, his hair wet and left loose. He forwent the tie for the moment, and started to slide onto a barstool as a steaming cup of coffee was handed to him. He'd just sat down, taking his first sip, when he stood right back up and headed for the door. "Remind me ta remodel the kitchen when all this is over." He drawled, passing the small round table he'd left bare since Ishida's body had been disposed of. Blood had seeped into the woodgrain, leaving an ugly stain. The porcelain cup was a searing heat against his palm.
A few minutes later saw him sitting in the massive dinning hall, alone, while he sipped at his coffee, an elbow propped against the tabletop and his forehead in his hand. A member of his staff had come around and asked if he'd like something for breakfast. Shiro had thought to accept the offer, before his stomach did a revolting twist and he shook his head and waved them away instead.
The staff member must have told on him, the don decided, because not even a full minute later Ichigo came into the room. The heavy door shut carefully, guided by a gentle hand so that its swing didn't end with its usual resounding bang. Shiro eyed his hitman through a curtain of messy, damp bangs as he took another sip of his coffee.
Ichigo pulled out a chair adjacent to his boss, taking a place on the young man's right hand side where the don had sat at the head of the table, despite there being no need for such formalities. He was quiet a moment, not really watching his friend, but paying attention anyway, enough to notice the way the don's odd eyes coasted downward and towards his cup rather than towards Ichigo. "How are you feeling?" Ichigo asked after a few short moments, quiet in the silence of the big room.
Shiro snorted a dry sound, not bothering to take his head from his hand, "Peachy."
Ichigo half chuckled, and pulled a a little white, rattling bottle from his pocket to push across the table and let slide towards his boss.
Shiro snapped his hand down on top of it before it could slide off the edge and drop into his lap. Not even looking at the bottle or what was inside, he twisted the cap off and poured a few pills into his other hand.
"How…" Ichigo watched his boss with a studying gaze, "How much do you remember of last night?"
The don cringed, freezing up for half a second, his hand hovering halfway to his mouth. After the hesitation, he finished the motion and swallowed the painkillers dry. With a long, exhaled breath, he finally answered, "Enough ta know I owe you and Grimmjow an apology." He shook his head a bit, wrapped his hands around the heated porcelain of his coffee cup, "I woke up in my own bed though, so…"
"No harm done and no offense taken." Ichigo assured him, "Shiro… Grimmjow and I are your friends. No more of this. You can talk to us, you can come to us, we're not going to think any less of you for it."
Shiro leaned back in his chair, scrubbing a hand down his tired, bruised features, but he nodded. After another stretched out moment of silence, he nodded again, this time with a little more resolution, and straightened his posture. "We got a lotta work ta do."
Something of a grin spread across Ichigo's lips. He started to stand, straightening his black suit jacket. "Yes we do, Sir."
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