Thanks to everyone who has been faithfully reviewing! Just like the other authors on here, I love reading the reviews. They make me want to write faster for you. As I'm continuing on with this story, I get more nervous. I keep thinking that maybe this next chapter won't be as good as the ones before it. I try to keep the characters in character as much as possible.

I know I said I wasn't going to post this until I got a beta, but thanks to ARCtheElite, I'm posting it. I still wouldn't mind having a beta (, are you still up to it?), at least to just run the chapters by them and make sure that the storyline isn't moving too quickly. As it is, I'm nervous about this chapter so give me a chance to hide before you read it.

Orihime was up bright and early the next morning. She hummed cheerfully to herself as she made the bed, then smoothed away the wrinkles. Since she'd slept so well, she had woken up feeling refreshed and with a more positive outlook on her new life. It was a new day, and she and Ichigo could have a fresh start. No one could blame the poor man for acting the way he had. After all, he'd had the surprise of his life when she had showed up.

She tapped her chin, planning on what all to ask him. She wanted to know everything about him. When his birthday was, what his favorite color was. Oh! Her face brightened. She could ask him if they could redecorate. It was her home now, too, and she hated bland colors. They looked so tasteless.

She heard a door slam, and she scurried to the window. Ichigo was striding to the house. She couldn't see his facial expression, but she hoped he was in a good mood. Hurrying to the bathroom, she checked to see if there was anything on her face. What she found was so much worse.

"Oh, no!" Orihime stared, horrified. She was still in her nightgown! And now her husband was coming to the house. Though she knew that it wasn't improper for him to see her nightgown, she hardly knew him, and she felt embarrassed. Now in a state of panic, she backtracked to her trunk, pulling out the first outfit her hands closed around. She grabbed her underclothes and-

"Oh..."

She spun around and gasped. Her cheeks flamed bright red as she noticed Ichigo standing in the doorway, his hand on the knob. He was just standing there, his mouth open slightly. She squirmed uncomfortably as his gaze traveled from her feet to her face.

"I-Ichigo...I d-didn't know you were th-there." She stuttered. Her cheeks grew warmer still as he gaped at her. She looked down at her hands, and became even more mortified when she saw her underclothes clutched tightly in front of her. She hid them behind her.

Ichigo finally tore his eyes away and snapped his mouth shut. "Um...H-hurry up and get dressed. You need to watch Renji so I can make breakfast." He closed the door, giving her privacy. He felt flushed, and he could feel small beads of sweat on his forehead. He hadn't expected Orihime to still be in her nightdress. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to block out the image imprinted in his memory. The way she looked, all shocked and flustered, and the nightgown that clung to her body in all the right places. "Gah!" He slapped a hand over his face. He would have rather had his eyes gouged out than seen her like that. "Oh, come on. You are married, so it's not like you can't see her in her nightdress. Besides, you could have looked away. You just didn't want to." A voice in the back of his mind taunted him. He groaned.

Just what he needed to start out the day.

Orihime quickly dressed, her fingers trembling. The tiny buttons on her sky blue shirt weren't cooperating today, and her light brown skirt was slightly wrinkled. Her hands fluttered over her head, then decided she had better skip pulling her hair up. Ichigo seemed to be in a rush. She flung open the door and dashed down the hallway. However, she was in such haste that she failed to notice Ichigo waiting impatiently at the end. She cried out as she collided with him.

Ichigo closed his eyes, mentally counting backwards from ten to keep his temper in check. He couldn't believe how incredibly lucky he was to get stuck with a clumsy, useless wife. "Are you all right?" He asked through clenched teeth, not even looking at her.

"Uh...ah, I-I think so."

"That's not an answer. Either you're all right, or you're not. There is no 'I think so.'"

"Well, when you asked me, I wasn't sure if I had hurt anything. It was too soon to tell. But now I know. I am fine." She smiled brightly.

He whirled on her, hands gripping her shoulders. "I didn't ask for an explanation. I asked if you were-" He broke off, noticing for the first time that her red hair was down, framing her face. He reached out and pinched a few strands between his fingers and stared.

"Your hair is so pretty, Mom. Can I do it for you?" A boy's hands are outstretched towards a woman.

"Sure, Honey. Here's the brush. Don't pull too tightly, okay?" Her hair is long and red.

"I'll be really careful, I promise!" The boy states seriously.

"Mom? Mommy, wake up! Why are you sleeping? You have to wake up, Mommy!" He touches her arm.

She doesn't reply. Her long, red hair is in disarray, covering her face.

"No!" Ichigo let go of her hair and stepped back. His face was pale, and he was breathing heavily.

"Ichigo? What's wrong?" Orihime asked in concern. Her fingers grazed his arm before he jerked it away.

"Don't touch me!" He seethed, his brown eyes narrowed and hateful. "And don't ever wear your hair down again!" Stalking past her, he retreated into the kitchen.

Orihime remained in that spot for a few seconds. Then, with her head bowed, she pushed open the front door and slipped out to go to the office, a single teardrop on the floor the only witness to her sorrow.

Ichigo stopped in the middle of mixing the batter, pushing the bowl away. He leaned over the counter, squeezing his eyes shut. Seeing Orihime with her hair down -that was worse than seeing her with only her nightdress on. He swallowed past the lump in his throat. Orihime reminded her of his mother so much it hurt.

His fist hit the counter top. No. She most definitely was not his mother. Aside from the long, red hair, they were as different as night and day. His mother had been graceful, while Orihime was a klutz. His mother had been an excellent cook, while Orihime couldn't cook to save her life. His mother had known when to be quiet, while Orihime didn't know when to stop talking.

He refused to compare the two. For him, there was no competition as to who was better.

Orihime perched on a chair, her hands folded so tightly in her lap that her knuckled turned white. What had she done to deserve his wrath this time? Was it all because her hair was down? She fingered the long strands. She had been unable to pull it up because he hadn't given her a chance. She would just have to do it when she got back to the house.

Funny, she didn't think of it as 'her house', but 'the house.' She felt like she had no home anymore. She was a disappointment as a wife. Hot tears stung her eyes and leaked out. She covered her face with her hands, sniffling slightly. She could leave, but where would she go? Back to Virginia? She could stay here, but Ichigo obviously didn't want her. So why bother to stay?

"Miss Inoue...?"

It took a moment before it registered in her mind that someone was talking to her. She raised her head, aware of the tear stains on her cheeks, to see Renji watching her. "M-Mr. Abarai. Y-you're awake." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "D-do you need something?"

"Water." He croaked.

She nodded and, filling a small cup with water, helped him lift his head and drink. "There you go. Is that better?"

Renji nodded and settled back against the pillows. "You're...upset..." It wasn't a question, but a statement. His voice was so quiet and tinged with pain she had to concentrate on every word he spoke.

"Um...I'm okay, Mr. Abarai." She faked a smile.

He eyed her suspiciously, but had no strength to argue with her. Closing his eyes, he wondered if his orange-haired friend had something to do with Orihime's obvious unhappiness. Knowing Ichigo's big mouth and temper the way Renji did, Ichigo was the whole reason for it. "When I'm better, I'm going to kill him" was his last thought before falling back to sleep.

Orihime studied the room. As it was in the house, the walls and floors were identical. "He needs some flowers and color in here. Maybe when he comes back, I'll go outside and pick some flowers."

She passed the remaining time by reading the newspaper left on the desk. She had never been allowed to read it when Sora was alive. He had stated many times that the newspaper was for men only. But she had managed to sneak it into her room when he was finished with it. Now she drank in the news thirstily, her eyes lighting up at a particular section. According to the article, there was a picnic in three days to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of the founding of Karakura.

Different scenarios raced through her mind. Perhaps she would make some friends and therefore have a reason to remain here. She noted that it was a potluck and frowned. What was a potluck? It had the word 'luck' in it, so was it a form of gambling?

She was so deep in thought that she failed to notice the door open and close. It wasn't until someone spoke that she realized she was not alone anymore.

"Is that interesting?"

She started. "Oh, I-Ichigo. I-I was just..." She folded the newspaper up and set it aside, her nervous habit kicking in.

"You can take it back to the house if you want. I'm done with it." He was balancing two plates in his hand as he came in.

She stared at him. "You don't mind that I was reading it?"

He gave her a strange look. "Uh, no. There are a lot of women here who read it."

"Oh, okay." A relieved smile lit her face.

"You...didn't read it back in...uh, West Virginia?" Ichigo asked.

"I'm from Virginia. Don't worry about it. West Virginia, Virginia. It's an easy thing to mistake. And no, my brother said they were for men." Orihime peered around. "Although when he had finished reading it, I sneaked it into my room and looked at it." She whispered, as though afraid someone would overhear.

His back was turned so that she couldn't see his lips twitch into a smile. He set a plate with hardly on food on a small table for his patient, leaving one plate laden with food for him. "Oh. I didn't get you any."

"That's okay. I'll just eat at the house. Um, I saw that there is a picnic coming up."

"Yeah. Some big shindig for the fiftieth anniversary of Karakura." Ichigo shoveled a bite of pancake into his mouth.

"Are you going?" She pried further.

His fork stopped halfway to his mouth. "Probably."

"What's a potluck?"

He set the fork down with a clank. "What's with all the questions?"

She retreated from him. "Oh, th-that's right. Hehe, I'm sorry." She winced, pressing her lips together, and swiveled towards the exit.

"It's a dinner where every person who comes is supposed to bring a dish."

She swung her startled gaze to look at him. "Th-thank you."

"Welcome. The food is getting cold. You should go eat."

"Huh? Oh, right. You know, I never went to many parties back in Virginia. Since it was just my brother and I, whenever he had a dinner the only people there were men. So they talked in his office while I stayed in my room." Her eyes took on a faraway look. "But there were many times that Sora and I would-"

"That's nice." He cut her off, scowling. "If I want to know more about your past, I'll ask. And keep track of the time. When it's noon, come here so I can make lunch. And don't forget to pin your hair up."

She nodded and left.

A few hours later, Renji woke up again. Upon catching sight of Ichigo sitting there, he grimaced. "You..."

"Me what?" Ichigo asked dryly.

"She...was...Ah!" He gritted his teeth, curling up against the pain.

Ichigo jumped to his feet and grabbed a bottle of laudanum from a cabinet. He twisted the cap off and poured some onto a spoon. "Drink this. It will help with the pain."

Renji swallowed it and dropped back to the pillows. He took a deep breath. "She...was...upset..."

"When?" Ichigo's brow furrowed.

"Before."

"Why didn't she tell me you woke up?" He ground out. It was important to know when his patient had woken up and for how long.

"Don't get...mad."

Ichigo turned narrowed eyes to Renji. "And why not?"

"She's...hurt, too." Renji's voice was hoarse and laced with pain.

"Hey, don't talk if it hurts. Just rest for now."

The injured man licked his lips. "Fine. But later..."

The doctor watched as he fell back to sleep and sighed. He knew what Renji had meant by "But later." He knew that he was in for a tongue-lashing when Renji was feeling better.

Orihime had quite a bit of time until noon, so she decided to do some cleaning. Karin and Yuzu might have done shopping for Ichigo, but they certainly didn't clean for him. She found a thin layer of dust coating the furniture, and wondered how in the world he could live in a place like this. After scrounging around the house, she located some cleaning supplies, mainly an old rag, bucket, and lye soap. Little by little, the living room began to take shape. She even dragged all the books off the bookcase to wash the shelves. She made a point to remember what order the books had been in. It would do no good if she replaced them in the wrong order. Who knows what Ichigo would say then?

She surveyed the room with a critical eye. The walls seemed dingy. Grabbing her cloth, she dipped it in the soapy water and wrung the excess water out.

However, she ran into a problem. The walls were taller than she was. She could only reach so far. "Oh, dear." She stepped back, thinking of a solution. She snapped her fingers. "Ah! I can stand on a chair!" She clapped her hands together, very pleased with herself. Traipsing into the dining room, she picked up a chair and half-carried, half-dragged it to the living room, setting it by a wall. Hiking her skirt up, she climbed onto the chair. Stretching above her head, she ran the cloth across the wall. Grunting, she reached out to wash a particular spot. She misjudged the distance and went crashing to the floor, landing on her hip.

A scream tore through the air. She gasped for breath as salty tears dripped down her cheeks. "I-I can't move my leg. No!" Writhing, she forced herself to calm down. A minute ticked by, two, three. Finally, her breathing evened out and she was able to think more clearly. She tried to rise to a sitting position, and her right hip protested the movement. She scooted over to the chair and held onto it, pulling herself to her feet. She leaned all of her weight on her left side and limped over to the bucket that had the dirty water. She picked it up and hobbled to the door, opening it and throwing the water out.

She bit her lip, drawing blood. Her leg hurt so bad. She had never felt this kind of physical pain before. She wondered briefly if she had broken it. Oh, Ichigo would be furious! She panicked. He couldn't find out. She would try to hide it from him, and lie about it if she could.

Ichgio frightened her when he was mad. Her fear that perhaps he would be abusive began to take root and bloom once more. Even when he wasn't mad, she felt as though she were walking on thin ice, dreading the moment the ice would crack and plunge her into the freezing depths of his harsh words.

"I don't have a wife."

"What ad? I don't know what you're trying to pull, Lady, but I didn't place an ad for a bride, and I most certainly did not marry you." He thrust the papers back into her hands. "I'm sure you can stay at the hotel until you can come up with transportation to go back to wherever you came from. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to be done." He turned on his heel and stalked off.

He clamped a hand over her mouth before she could begin another tirade. "All right, look. I don't mind you staying here with me, but let's get one thing clear. I don't talk much, and I dislike people who do. Now go inside. I'll get your trunk."

"Yeah, you fainted. Again." A trace of aversion was evident in his voice.

"Wonderful. I have a spoiled brat for a wife." He grumbled, exhaling loudly. "Is there anything you do know how to do?" He demanded harshly.

She buried her face in her hands. Oh, she had made such a mess of things. She should have never answered the ad, accepted the proposal. She should have run away at the first sign of trouble. But she hadn't. Now, she was stuck here with a monster for a husband.

And no way out.

Ichigo tapped his fingers on the desk. Renji had been drifting in and out of consciousness, but still seemed to be resting peacefully. The laudanum had kicked in and taken care of the pain. Ichigo was concerned, though. Renji had a slight fever, and although it could turn out to be nothing, Ichigo wasn't taking any chances. Infection could be deadly, and he had no intention of letting one of his patients die.

He would have to tell Orihime to keep a watchful eye on his temperature and to get him if it went up any higher. He just hoped she didn't mess up.

The door opened. "Um, I'm here."

"Speak of the devil." He thought as he rose from the chair. "Listen, I have something to tell you and it is very important, got it? Renji has a fever. It's not a high one right now, but that can change quickly. You need to make sure that if it goes any higher than it is now, which is 99.6, that you come and get me immediately. Understand?" He gave her a hard look.

Orihime gulped and nodded. "Yes, I understand."

"Good." He watched as she made her way to the chair, favoring her right leg. His doctor's instincts switched on. "What's wrong with your leg?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, my leg. It...it fell asleep." She chewed on her lip, not meeting his gaze.

He scowled. That was a lie and she knew it. He wasn't going to interrogate her. If she didn't want to tell him, then fine. He stalked outside.

It was a nice day today. He hardly ever took the time to 'smell the roses' -another of his father's favorite quotes- but he couldn't help but notice it today. The sun was warm and he could hear the sound of animals on other farms being carried on the wind.

He shook his head as he entered the house. Since when had he ever cared if it was nice out? He halted. The living room smelled...clean. He did a double-take at the furniture. Not believing his eyes, he went over and ran a finger over the table. No dust.

"So she is good for something, at least." He inspected the dining room only to find it still as dirty as it was before. His brown orbs latched onto a vacant spot by the table. One of the chairs was missing. He peered back into the living room. Sure enough, there was the chair by the wall. A frown appeared on his face as he studied the area. The wall had been partially cleaned. Perhaps she had just run out of time to clean before it turned noon.

Or maybe she had fallen.

Ichigo's eyes widened. If it was true that she had fallen, she might have hit her head. Head injuries were dangerous. He swore and headed back to his office.

Why was she so insistent on being difficult?

Orihime's lip was bleeding again. Every time she moved, a flash of pain would shoot through her leg. And now her arm was hurting, too. She swiped at a tear. She could bear it, though. She jerked in surprise when Ichigo burst through the door. He was beside her in two, long steps, his fingers probing the back of her head.

"Wh-what are you doing?" She squeaked.

"Checking you over since you didn't bother to tell me you fell off the chair." He growled.

Her gray eyes widened. She had forgotten to put the chair back. "Oh...Well, I-I didn't hit my head."

"Then what?"

"M-my arm and leg." She stiffened as he ran experienced fingers down her arm.

"It's not broken, but it's most likely bruised." He stood back. "Take them off."

"Wh-what?" She stammered, her cheeks paling. She hugged herself and backed away.

He sighed. She clearly wasn't going to do this the easy way. "Either you take it off yourself, or I'll do it for you. You choose."

They stood, staring at each other, until Orihime finally relented. She turned her back and began to shakily unbutton her shirt. Pulling it out from under her skirt, she worked on unzipping her skirt. She stopped. "P-please don't look." She waited until Ichigo busied himself with rearranging the medicines on a cabinet before she let go of her skirt. It dropped to the floor, and she reluctantly shed her shirt, as well. She noticed a blanket folded up and wrapped it around her body. "I-I'm done."

Ichigo glanced at the pile of clothing on the floor. He sighed. "Your petticoats, too, Orihime." He ignored her look of horror. "I have to see your leg."

Tears shimmering in her eyes, she obeyed him. When he pointed to the chair, she sat down. Still clinging to the blanket, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly as Ichigo knelt beside her and examined the bruise slowly forming.

"It's going to be painful until it heals, and I want you to stay off of it at least for today, maybe longer. When you do start walking, make sure you don't keep it stiff. I can give you some laudanum for the pain if you want." At her nod, he went over and got the bottle. After administering the medicine, he gathered up the clothing and handed them to her. "Make sure the blanket is covering you."

Her mouth opened when he effortlessly lifted her into his arms. She squirmed, still embarrassed, as he carried her to the house and into the bedroom. He sat her at the bottom of the bed and proceeded to pull the covers down. "That should make it more, uh, comfortable."

"Thank you." She whispered, keeping her gaze fixed on her hands.

Ichigo retreated to the door, paused. He looked back, about to speak, but changed his mind. "Get some rest." He said quietly. Ten seconds later, the front door clicked shut.

Orihime threw her clothing on the floor, leaned down and took off her shoes. She crawled up the bed and snuggled under the covers.

Rest sounded really good.