Hello, people! Here's the next chapter a day early, because I worked extremely hard to write it :) Thank you all so much for all the support, I love you guys lots :D It's been a pretty busy week for me, but you still get a chapter (and longer than usual, too)!

Thanks to reviewers: MugetsuIchigo, IronEclipse, brialees, BitterSweetNitemare, uzuki-chan, MerryKitten, DLC2094, Miss Namikaze, WarriorofAnime, BleachFreak16, Phantom Claire, Taichichaser2000, Orange3WhiteSkew, Darkkiss15, tsukuneXmoka, NobodyEpic, mypupps1, Tsuki no Yukihime, blades of blood488, xvkljb, ilovebks, Debido, Mtmeye, Chirpy Hitomi chan, laughingspider, StreakingHerculobus, UseYourImagination, warrior-of-water, Faia Sakura.

I don't own Bleach. Here you go, hope you guys like it!

Ichigo's fists are clasped so tight, his nails have worked bloody furrows into his skin. He should have known that Aizen would know about the academy – he orchestrated the first point of attack, after all. Curse that sick, manipulative… Rukia's shoulders are tense as she, too, looks at him. Her violet eyes burn with intensity.

Yamamoto shifts, chair creaking under him. "Answer, child," he says. The words are soft, but they hold centuries of steel. There is no doubt that it is an order.

Aizen gestures warmly. "Please understand. I'm not trying to accuse you of anything – I'm just a bit confused, that's all. Would you care to set my mind at ease, Kurosaki-taichou?"

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

There are many types of silence. The absence of sound does not in itself prevent a spate of non-noise from being wonderfully delicate and multi-faceted in construction. Sometimes, rarely, a silence is so thick and heavy and grim it weighs down on the very air, and settles past quivering eardrums to rest on a thudding heart that one thinks must be loud enough for the entire room to hear.

This particular type of silence in the captain's meeting hall is certainly expectant. It is also suspicious, with a tint of wariness.

In the frantic velocity that is Ichigo's thoughts, he registers that if he does not reply in approximately the next five seconds, the room will tend itself to accusation. His palms are clammy, but he dares not show his weakness by wiping them on his haori.

To buy himself time, Ichigo feigns a look of calm superiority. "Respectfully, my captains," he says, "I am extraordinarily fast. Speed is one of my reiatsu's specialties, as you have all seen."

Aizen's smile widens, but he surprisingly does not answer, eyes flicking to Byakuya.

"Do not mock us, Kurosaki Ichigo," Byakuya's cool tones sound out, "Your bankai is impressive, but your activating it on the battlefield created a reiatsu shockwave several kilometres in breadth. I felt no such disturbance in the early morning in my home." His ice-grey eyes are unmercifully hard.

Yamamoto leans forward, and a suffocating reiatsu permeates the air, as if all moisture is suddenly sucked out into nonexistence. Ichigo's mouth goes dry. The old man's gaze is unchanged, but there is a definite coldness to his voice as he says softly, "Answer, boy. Do not lie."

Ichigo meets Rukia's eyes. Her hands are clenched tightly, knuckles paler even than the white of her gloves. Ichigo closes his eyes for a moment, still maintaining a façade of nonchalance, hiding the turmoil of fear and frustration beneath.

Then a lightning strike of inspiration. A half-truth. His best bet against a master of lies.

Ichigo sighs, spreading his hands in a gesture of hopeless capitulation. "So be it," he says, dipping his head. He straightens, and his voice is steel. "What I am about to tell you is shortened and summarized out of necessity, although I assure you it is not abridged. It is the truth. I ask that I may be allowed to finish without interruption."

"Of course, Kurosaki-taichou," comes the gentle reply from the wolf in sheep's clothing. Aizen hides his interest well.

Ichigo clears his throat. "I did sense the hollows before they entered Seireitei, due to a series of events that occurred before my birth. I am sure you have all heard of something called 'Fullbring' before?"

The tenor of silence changes palpably in the room. All are suddenly paying very close attention. Aizen's smile is unaffected.

Ichigo clasps his hands behind his back. "Fullbring powers come as a result of a hollow wound, transmitted from mother to child. Before I was born, my mother fell victim to a hollow attack." His voice is controlled, merely retelling facts.

Across the room, Isshin blanches momentarily before forcing his face into a semblance of calm.

Ichigo continues, "The injuries were rather severe. As such, I was born with Fullbring powers. They are strong compared to an average Fullbring user, but a mere shadow, a raindrop in the sea against my shinigami powers. As such, I never sought to use them. Zangetsu is infinitely superior." He gestures to his zanpakutuo. "But it remains that I possess them. You may not all be aware, but Fullbring powers resemble hollow more than shinigami in true nature. Mayuri-san may confirm this."

Mayuri nods quickly, hands twitching as he beckons for Ichigo to finish.

"When the hollows appeared this morning, something…resonated…in my chest. I…knew," Ichigo finishes. And it is the truth – in a way – for not a single sentence by itself had been a lie. He looks levelly at the captains before him, noting Rukia's relieved shoulders, Isshin's slightly ill expression, and Aizen's unchanged smile.

"Thank you, Kurosaki-taichou," Aizen says kindly, "I am deeply sorry to hear about your mother. I am sure you are telling the truth, since Mayuri-san has corroborated it."

Ichigo is not fooled. Aizen retracting so easily must mean that he has foreseen another development to further his plans, whatever they are. Ichigo's teeth grind together silently.

The answer comes almost immediately. Mayuri waves a hand in interruption. "Ah, not quite. You see, there is scientific evidence that Fullbring powers are in quality much like that of hollows – that much I have said already." His white and black face twitches as he speaks. "But I am not convinced they are capable of, um, resonating together as Kurosaki-san has said. I would need a bit more information to make a scientific judgment."

Aizen outwardly looks suitably concerned at this, but Ichigo catches a hint of arrogant success in that gently smiling mouth. The other captains remain unconvinced, although several now seem less accusatory, Ukitake and Kyouraku included.

Yamamoto regards Ichigo silently. Ichigo gazes back, unflinching. Then with a thoughtful gesture of his cane, the Soutaichou speaks. "Mayuri-san. Are you informing me that unless further information is gained, you cannot ascertain whether Kurosaki-taichou's explanation is viable?"

"Exactly that, Soutaichou-sama," Mayuri intones, bowing.

"I do not lie." Ichigo's voice is hard, although internally he understands how fine a grip he has on the situation.

"I am not accusing you of such, boy," Yamamoto replies. "But we cannot let this stand without further investigation. You will go with Mayuri-san and undergo whatever tests he deems necessary to prove your innocence."

Rukia stifles a noise, so small that only Byakuya notices. Ichigo tenses, and shakes his head. "No," he says shortly. That would be akin to revealing his inner hollow for all to see.

The tension in the room returns full force. Yamamoto thunders, "It was not a suggestion, child. You will go."

Ichigo flings a hand at Mayuri. "I will not become an experimental plaything for that man. Besides, a full report on my powers will have a significant effect on future events, something we agreed to avoid." He withdraws his pointed finger before his hand starts shaking.

Across the room, Aizen is silent, and still smiling.

"Maa maa," Isshin interrupts in a forcibly light tone, "is that really necessary? He did just save all our butts from a mass of hollows, can't we go a little easier on him?" His joker's grin is strained.

Yamamoto cracks his staff hard on the marbled ground. "It is not your place, Isshin-san," he says, dismissing him with a wave of gnarled hands, "and his actions do not work in his favour. Where are the two reiatsu-suppressing bracelets we gave you, Kurosaki-taichou?"

Ichigo jolts in surprise, looking down at his wrists. He had completely forgotten the existence of the bracelets. The moment he had blurred into high-speed shunpo at the academy courtyard, they had crumbled into dust, burned to ashes by the sheer magnitude of his reiatsu. They hadn't been engraved into his memory for the simple reason that they did not offer any material resistance to his reiatsu. "I –" he stumbles, "ah –"

Komamura's bark cuts in. "You broke them without even having to think about it."

"No," Ichigo says carefully, "I severed them when I discovered that the academy needed immediate assistance."

But it is not enough. The balance, so precariously tipped in Ichigo's favour, now tilts back towards suspicion. Ichigo is a threat. Already, the captains are shifting, and the lines on Yamamoto's face are dangerously severe. Ichigo sees Rukia's pale face behind Byakuya, her hands gripping Sode no Shirayuki tightly. She shakes her head quickly. No. Don't look at me.

Too late. The attention shifts to her. "We have not discussed your involvement, Kuchiki-fukutaichou," Yamamoto says. "Do not assume that your motives will not be similarly questioned. You too broke the rules of your stay by leaving the Kuchiki compound and releasing your zanpakutuo."

Rukia bows deeply. "Of course, Yamamoto-Soutaichou-sama," she murmurs. She cannot afford to cause any more offense as it is – her only option is to be as submissive as possible. Byakuya is expressionless beside her. With a strange twist of her heart, Rukia knows that she cannot expect any support from her Nii-sama. Not this one.

Yamamoto thankfully switches his focus back to Ichigo, whose mask of serenity has slipped somewhat due to the sudden attack on Rukia. "Enough of this. You cannot expect us to ignore the fact that the hollows were shielded from a highly powerful individual. You will go with Mayuri-san immediately. Mayuri-san," and here he addresses the scientist, "be thorough."

Ichigo is tense as a coiled spring. His hands tremble, and twitch towards Zangetsu. They are rapidly running out of options – to go with Mayuri means certain exposure of his hollow powers. To resist and flee would not last long, not with the entire Gotei on their trail – the Rukongai is only so large. Then he would be dragged bodily to the Twelfth Division while Rukia would be locked up like a criminal –

A clear lilt breaks through his desperation. "If I may, Yamamoto-sama," Aizen says earnestly, "although I appreciate the possible threat that this uncertainty over Kurosaki-taichou's explanation may pose, I do see an equally dire problem arising from the possible implications this, ah, examination may have on the future. If I may suggest a solution?"

There is no wind in the closed-off hall, but a chill runs down Ichigo's spine as he suddenly realises that he is sweating profusely. His face is calm, but his body betrays him.

Yamamoto regards Aizen. "We will hear you, Aizen-taichou."

"Thank you, Soutaichou-sama. I suggest that Kurosaki-taichou be removed from the relatively unsupervised lodgings that he currently resides in, and brought to a secure location where he can be monitored more closely. There is no need to treat him so harshly – after all, we owe him the lives of many of our students. I myself would be glad to take him into my division temporarily."

The words hit Ichigo like the memory of the unbelievable pressure of the Soukyou blade, the sudden dawn of realisation that clenches his heart and draws all breath from his lungs. That vile serpent…

There is no escape from this web of lies, spun expertly on carefully timed silences and daintily selected words, picked out of thin air by a mind cavorting on the breathtaking art of cruel manipulation. On one side, there is experimentation at the hands of Mayuri, ultimately revealing what Ichigo is. On the other, the achingly gentle smile of a captain who is just too kind to allow this young man to be tortured, and so reaches out to save him out of inexpressible goodwill. Kind, kind Aizen.

Aizen's sympathetic look is the cold steel of a sword between Ichigo's ribs, implacable, unmovable, triumphant.

And here comes the agonizing twist of that blade.

Aizen continues, "In fact, I would be glad to take both of them into my division." He turns, and gives Rukia a reassuring smile. "I see no reason to separate them."

Ichigo is going to be violently sick over the marble floor. Not Rukia, no, not Rukia. He is shaking, now.

Rukia is impressively calm, but her eyes belie her terror. She looks into Ichigo's eyes, violet irises trembling.

Then there is a shift of a haori, and Byakuya moves with elegant grace between his sister and Aizen. "No," he says coldly. "From the future or not, she is a Kuchiki. She shall not leave my household."

Ichigo could run over and embrace the man, if he could. Rukia shivers once, in relief.

Yamamoto is contemplative. Then he makes his decision. "Your concerns are justified, Aizen-taichou. So be it. Kurosaki-taichou will go to the Fifth Divison barracks. Kuchiki-fukutaichou will remain under the custody of Kuchiki-taichou. But they will both bear the strongest reiatsu suppressors that you can produce, Mayuri-taichou. It is a precaution that cannot be avoided."

Byakuya tilts his head slowly. But he makes no argument, lips pressed into a thin line.

Ichigo wets his dry mouth. "I make no suggestion on my part, but may I request that my fukutaichou need not wear such–"

"Silence, child," Yamamoto thunders, reiatsu skewering the room. The air is so arid, Ichigo can feel his lips cracking due to the lack of moisture. A bead of crimson runs down his chin, and the rusty metallic tang of blood is bitter on his tongue. He cannot win this argument.

Mayuri wriggles his fingers. "I'll procure two pairs immediately," he says smoothly, cupping his hands and flicking a hell butterfly in the direction of the doors. "My fukutaichou will arrive with them shortly."

Emanating a delicately satisfied air, Aizen steps back in line with a low bow, a pretense of undoubted relief at his successful rescue of both Ichigo and Rukia on his gentle face. Ichigo stares openly at him, seeing what no one else except Rukia can see in that humble visage – an mocking joy at seeing the captains fold so easily to his will, mere instruments dancing to his conductor's baton.

The next few minutes are the longest of Ichigo's life. He holds himself rigidly expectant, knowing that Aizen has won the first battle with flying colours. Ichigo clamps down on the rising gorge of self-hatred at not foreseeing this twisted new development – there is no time for that now – and struggles to predict Aizen's next move.

Ichigo meets Rukia's eyes. They will be separated. That is both a blessing and a curse. With Rukia sequestered at the Kuchiki mansion under Byakuya's protection, Ichigo has the small luxury of only worrying after his own position. But he will be trapped in the lair of the snake itself, a hellhole filled with a hundred ardent supporters of this monster. And he finds the knowledge that she will be torn away from him on this chessboard of snake and mouse like a knife wound to his heart.

Rukia is deathly pale, her white face making her amethyst eyes seem all the rounder. Ichigo holds her gaze, trying to comfort without words. Be safe, his eyes implore her. I'll be okay. Wait for me. She bites her lower lip so hard a thread of scarlet winds its way to her pointed chin, mirroring the line on Ichigo's face. Her eyes are mute, pools of terrified worry. For him.

Then the quiet tapping of approaching footsteps announces the arrival of Kurotsuchi Nemu, slight hands weighed down by four thick, heavy cuffs. She shuffles to where her master and father is, and bows deferentially, proffering the shackles.

"What took you so long, filth?" Mayuri says cruelly, taking the cuffs. He waves his hand, as if dismissing a pet. She nods twice quickly, as if glad to escape further abuse, and retreats hastily, closing the doors behind her.

Yamamoto gives a long, slow nod. Mayuri bows, and trots over to Ichigo, whose back is ramrod straight. "Please hold out your hands, Kurosaki Ichigo," he says. The cuffs are gleaming silver, weighty bands of solid steel-like metal. They are not the paltry beaded bracelets of before.

Ichigo proffers his wrists, a forced expression of absolute boredom on his face, eyes looking into a faraway section of the ceiling. Only the set of his shoulders reveal his tension. Mayuri leans forward, and brushes the setting on the cuffs to maximum. "Here we go," he says, and with no further ado, clips the reiatsu restraints onto Ichigo's wrists with a underwhelming snip.

The effect is immediate. A blinding rush of nausea – Zangetsu roars, his inner hollow howls in pain as Ichigo's vast sea of reiatsu is burned upon a pyre, wrenched from his fingers, ripped from his very soul and locked in a forbidding vessel of cold steel. For a moment, Ichigo cannot breathe, see, or hear – all there is in his consciousness is the deafening cataclysm that is his fluttering heart, the horror as Zangetsu and his inner hollow begin to fade from the recesses of his mind, and terrible, terrible rage…

Then, as if released on rebound from a singularity, the feeling vanishes with a pop. Air rushes into his lungs. He gasps, once. Outwardly, he had only frozen for a moment compared to the eternity in his mind. Zangetsu? You still there? He is half-pleading. Yes, Zangetsu answers roughly, barely.

"An admirable show of fortitude, Kurosaki-taichou," Yamamoto says. "Few can boast of such a feat. For that at least you have my respect."

Isshin looks sickly green, not even a ghost of humour left in his expression.

Aizen looks on, head bowed mildly.

Ichigo does not even think of answering, the words echoing strangely in this new reality. He feels fuzzy – his reiatsu must have made him hyperaware as of normalcy, and now his senses are dull, sharpened corners blunted. But surprisingly, his reiatsu hums gently in his core. He stifles a tiny smile. He must really be ridiculously powerful, because his reiatsu has balanced out the suppressive nature of the cuffs, leaving him clouded but not non-functional.

A movement in the corner of his eye alerts him that Mayuri is walking towards Rukia, setting the bracelets likewise to full power. Byakuya shifts to one side to allow him to pass. No, she can't handle full power! Ichigo opens his mouth, but Mayuri has taken Rukia's thin wrists roughly and slapped the manacles on.

Ichigo shouts out loud, a sound of desperation and terrible rage.

Rukia shudders once, a convulsion so violent that her teeth knock together. Her reiatsu fluctuates wildly, lashing out before it is reigned in by some unstoppable force. Then her knees give out and she crumples to the floor.

Byakuya reaches down, then pauses and steps away neatly. His face is a cold mask.

Ichigo flings himself in Rukia's direction, nearly tripping over his own feet as his shunpo is reduced to a much slower level than he is used to. He kneels next to her, hands reaching to grasp her shoulders. Rukia's eyes are wide open, pupils dilated, and she is trying to draw breath and failing.

"Look at me, Rukia!" Ichigo says, tipping her chin up. "Breathe. Breathe, Rukia!" He supports her frail weight, shaking her insistently.

With a pained gasp, Rukia inhales, eyes coming back into focus. Her small mouth tries to form words, and fails. Each shaking breath saps all her strength. Ichigo draws her close, pressing her head into his shoulder. She trembles. He stares past her, up at Byakuya, condensing all his disgust into a single look. She is your sister.

Byakuya's icy façade of indifference slips a little. Then his hand is under Rukia's elbow, lifting her weight off Ichigo's arms. She dangles limply, only able to partially support her own weight. Her fingers trail his as they leave his hand.

Yamamoto clears his throat. "Meeting dismissed," he states shortly.

Aizen smiles.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The world is a stomach-churning wash of vivid colour and sickening changes in gravity, a mess of sound and sight and taste. Though with eyes open, Rukia is good as blind, unable to process any information past the roaring of blood in her ears, and the horrifying feeling of loneliness that pervades her soul.

Sode no Shirayuki is absent from Rukia's consciousness, and her mind feels as empty as it did all those years ago, alone in a big house with a brother that barely looks at her and with her friends in another world. The feeling had been partially diminished by the brief moment that strong arms had wrapped around her and a hand had stroked her hair; although she could not understand the words, they had rushed into her heart in a beautifully familiar way, comforting her without her understanding.

But a vice-like grip had closed around Rukia's elbow, and she had been dragged away from the safe circle of those arms, and the world titled about its axis and she had to fight to prevent from sicking up over her sandals.

Wait for me. The words echo blankly in her head. Who had said those words? When? An ageless time ago…

The colour of her surroundings is changing, now. It's brighter. And colder. Her feet scrape in the dirt as she dangles helpless. The pain only faintly registers.

Then Rukia is scooped up in a pair of arms, she sees white, and her feet aren't dragging on the ground anymore. The wind rushes over her glazed eyes. But this pair of arms are different from the previous soothing ones. Her head jolts uncomfortably, and her arm hangs limply to one side – this person doesn't really know how to carry her properly.

She misses the other person. The nice, reassuring one with soft words.

Rukia passes through some sort of archway, a door of some kind. She dimly realises the thudding of feet indicates more people, some dressed in white, one dressed in black. Then broad hands take her wrists, and flick some sort of switch.

The world comes rushing back into focus, an influx of colour, a riot of sound and memory. Rukia rolls over and dry-heaves. "Ichigo…" she whispers, reaching out blindly for him.

He is not there.

The unforgiving cold grey of her Nii-sama's eyes are before her, instead. "I have turned the cuffs to a lower setting," he says without inflection. "Your sentence is to wear the cuffs, and to be confined to this house. The Soutaichou did not specify the exact power setting that the restraints were to be set at." The unspoken words lie before them. I did not break the law.

"Nevertheless," Byakuya continues, "you may not contravene the rules of your sentence. You will not take a single step outside this house." And with that, he sweeps away, haori fluttering behind him as steps towards his study.

Rukia takes deep breaths, only having half-listened to her brother. Her hands seem weighed down by a heaviness disproportional to the size of the cuffs. She watches her the retreating back of her Nii-sama, rigidly straight. Nii-sama…

Then a small voice breaks into her thoughts. "Um, are you alright? Can you stand?"

A look reveals that it is the younger Rukia, garbed in her shihakushuo, her face halfway between horror and worry.

"I – yes," Rukia says simply. She lets her younger self help her up, only wincing slightly as her feet take her weight. She begins to hobble towards her room, a small crowd of servants dithering behind them.

The other Rukia swallows, looks at her askance, and asks with no small dose of trepidation, "Is Ichigo-taichou returning soon too?"

Rukia nearly falls over her own feet, but manages to catch herself. She cannot explain. She cannot begin to imagine. I'll be okay. Wait for me. Her heart twists.

The other Rukia is still waiting.

"No," Rukia says softly.

And she is silent for the rest of the way back to her room.

(BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK BerryBREAK)

The corridors of the Fifth Division are bright and airy, sunlit pillared corridors welcoming and warm. The division is led by the kindest captain of the Gotei 13; the fukutaichou is a bit creepy, yes, but Aizen-taichou is great friends with him, so no danger; and as a result, the atmosphere in the barracks are of a certain camaraderie. The barracks also boast communal gardens – testament to their captain's good taste – and mess halls full of companionable shinigami. The Fifth Division is decidedly team-like, a good place to be for a new graduate of the Shinigami Academy.

Supposedly, anyway. Renji fingers the fine black cloth of his new shinigami shihakushuo, resplendent in its stark newness. It feels very different from his white academy uniform, heavier, somehow, more significant. Every time he passes a reflective surface, he surprises himself with the new seriousness of the look. Even Zabimaru seems grander, stuck in his belt. He actually stopped the first couple of times to admire himself – discreetly, of course.

It's a good feeling.

Renji is walking from the offices of the Fifth to the barracks, having just been briefed on his sudden induction into the division by Aizen-taichou himself. The hell butterfly had been for him, it turned out – a congratulatory message requesting the "honour" of his entry into shinigami duty, him having proven himself worthy of such a position. A politely flabbergasted Renji had stumbled his way back to Hinamori and Kira, to find them each with their own hell butterflies.

Aizen had congratulated them all individually, pointing out that their bravery and skill during the battle shows them well-deserving of an on-field promotion. Hinamori had practically melted into puddles of abject hero-worship at being addressed by the Aizen. Renji found the man welcoming enough, but he didn't really see what Hinamori saw in him. There was something about the way he hid his eyes behind those glasses.

Both Hinamori and Kira were sent off before Renji to their new respective quarters. Aizen had talked to Renji for a little while longer, praising him on his obvious leadership towards his friends.

"I trust that you will be an excellent shinigami. If you see anything that bothers you, please do not hesitate to contact me directly. I will always have time to listen."

Renji isn't quite sure what to make of that. It smacked a bit of, well, tattling. He isn't about to become Aizen's little informer.

Oh well. Can't complain. From student to shinigami in less than a day. A job well done. Renji grins broadly, stretching as he walks. Now all he has to do is find his new barrack room and meet his roommate. He hopes it's someone reasonable.

Oh look. The doors are right up ahead. As the welcome shadow of the eaves passes over his face, he abruptly realises the halls are full of whispering shinigami, huddled in frenetic groups of twos and threes.

Renji saunters up to a random unseated shinigami, and asks upfront, "What's going on with everyone?"

The shinigami gives him a frown, then looks him up and down quickly. "Oh, new, are you?" the shinigami says, cutting off Renji's scowl with a friendly "Welcome to the Fifth." He gestures to their surroundings. "You didn't hear the recent news about the two ryoka?"

Interesting. Renji stops being offended and leans forward. "No. What's that about?"

The shinigami looks around, and says in conspirational tones, "It's the newest reports. Apparently two ryoka appeared in Seireitei a couple days back. You know that weird reiatsu explosion around then?" Renji nods quickly. "That was their entry into this time."

Renji holds up both hands. "Whoa. This time?"

The shinigami nods. "That's the best part," he says, hushed, "Kurosaki Ichigo-taichou and Kuchiki Rukia-fukutaichou are from approximately half a century into the future. It was them who fought back the hollows this morning, apparently. At the academy."

Renji is dumbstruck, gaping. The shinigami mistakes his goldfish-in-bowl look for astounded appreciation of this new gossip, and goes with a swagger in his step, leaving Renji mindblown by himself, clutching his belongings and blinking.

He tries to process this new information.

Ru-Rukia…? So that one earlier hadn't been his Rukia. No no no wait a second – they are the same person, right – just older. So his Rukia hadn't really forgiven him yet. Not really. But the Rukia just now had seemed happy enough in his company. And she had said it wasn't his fault…so she forgives him in the future, but not right now?

It is confusing enough to run Renji's brain into knots. Then, a sudden shock of realisation runs through him. Kurosaki Ichigo. Just how long has Rukia known him for? Enough time to be close acquaintances, as shown by their behaviour, surely. How close?

An unfocused glance at the doors ahead shows that he has bypassed his room number by more than ten. Doubling back, he marches towards his quarters, his brow scrunched up in thought. Reaching his room, he yanks the sliding door open, dumps his bags distractedly on the bunk illuminated by streaming sunlight, and sits down with a glad oomph.

"You know how to shut a stupid door, newbie?" a voice aching with tiredness sounds out in dry tones from the bunk shaded in darkness on the other side of the room. The sunlight catches the edge of a gigantic blade that looks familiar somehow.

Renji springs upright with a gasp. He had forgotten the possible presence of a roommate. Better not to get off on the wrong foot with what is likely a more experienced shinigami.

"Shut. The. Door, genius."

Renji scrambles to his feet and is halfway to the door when his eyes adjust well enough to the darkness to make out the sprawled form of someone fully dressed, sandals and all. His roommate is garbed in a haori, is lying turned to face the wall, and sports a head of brilliant orange.

"You?!" Renji exclaims, spluttering.

His voice is obviously familiar to the man, for Kurosaki Ichigo half flips around to regard Renji with one slitted eye. "Oh, no," he moans, burrowing his face into the crook of his elbow again. "Please, not Pineapple-head. Have mercy, and leave."

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"I had been expecting torture. I didn't expect it to be you. Please, leave me in peace. I need to think." Ichigo raises a slightly trembling hand to run fingers through his hair, revealing a thick metal band around his wrist. On further inspection, Ichigo's bunk is a scattered mess, pillow and sheets all rumpled as if he had torn them off the mattress to search for something and then hadn't quite summoned to energy to put them back in order again.

Renji narrows his eyes. "What's that thing? Why is your side of the room all messed up? Where's Rukia? Why are you here?"

Then a hand is gripping his collar, and another twisting his arm in an extremely unorthodox hakuda lock that he is sure was never taught in any academy class, even the advanced ones. He goes still.

"Look here, idiot. Rukia and I were blamed for the hollow invasion at the captain's meeting, the strongest possible reiatsu-suppressing manacles locked on our wrists, and I was thrown into Aizen's custody while Rukia is locked inside her brother's home like a filthy criminal. I was ordered into this room, in which I searched for reiatsu-taps, and have stayed thinking my way about the situation until you barged in announced. That answer your questions?" Renji is suddenly shoved back, and Ichigo folds himself backwards back onto his own bunk, shielding his eyes from the light. "Now shut up and let me think in peace."

Renji gulps air for a while, and gives Ichigo a closer look. The captain is unhealthily pale, and a sheen of sweat covers his brow. The blood vessels around the cuffs are purplish in colour, and bruising quick. The ribbon on the end of his zanpakutuo is limp. Renji peers at him, frowning.

Ichigo glares right back. "What."

"Are you, ah, okay?"

A look reserved for only the finest idiots in Seireitei.

Renji tries to hold back the urge to punch Ichigo in the face. "What I meant," he says emphatically, "is that you don't look too well. Is it the reiatsu-cuff thingies?"

Ichigo's glare weakens slightly. "They don't hurt. They're draining. That's all." He stares at the ceiling. "I can handle them. It's Rukia that I'm worried about."

The sky outside is awash with crimson and mauve now, casting a bloody tint on the floor through the open doorway. The barrack lights flutter alight, winter moths dancing about their bright luminance.

Renji tries not to imagine what the cuffs would do to Rukia, if the captain in front of him is so badly affected.

As the sky spins towards navy, then sable, Ichigo closes his eyes and thinks of Rukia. Zangetsu mutely tells him that he will keep watch. He is too tired to object. It takes him a long time to find sleep, and when he does, his dreams are fraught with darkness, and someone shouting his name.

Poor darlings. They have to suffer a little, our dear Ichigo and Rukia. Separated, for a while. Oh well. And of course, Aizen is still evil :) I'll see you all next week. Eight days is my normal update time.

Please review! :)

Replies to guest reviews:

xvkljb: He did say that – only to be disproved by Byakuya. Poor him. Thanks for reviewing!