Author's Note: I stayed up too late last night and couldn't help myself! Thanks to lamekirby for the food suggestion - just seemed like the right pair to add to the mix. Also thanks to everyone who reviewed and to those who sent suggestions for future chapters! I'm always open to more. Can't guarantee I'll use them all, but I do appreciate the ideas! And, for those of you waiting on updates to my other fics, "Irresistible" and "Chasing Dragons," I am working on them and hope to post them when I return from vacation - thanks for asking! -Lex
Chapter Two: Love, War and Curry (UraharaXYoruichi)
In the beginning, when he first left the Soul Society to live in the Real World, she shared meals with him and, often, she also shared his bed. Theirs was a comfortable relationship with no commitments and no promises; it seemed the perfect arrangement for two independent souls, strong-willed and, admittedly, self-absorbed. But things change, souls age, and even self-sufficient, narcissistic spirits eventually crave the regular company of a lover, a partner.
The Winter War's conclusion meant that Shihouin Yoruichi was no longer an outcast or, at least, no longer someone who had to be careful to cover her tracks when traveling between the Real World and the Soul Society. To be truthful, no one had paid her much attention when she had wandered the streets of the Seireitei in her cat form before the war, but she had used the threat of capture as an excuse to keep her whereabouts a secret from everyone, including Urahara Kisuke. The prospect of keeping him, or anyone for that matter, apprised of her location still made her quite uncomfortable.
"I could never settle down," she had told her friend Kuchiki Byakuya, one night over sake. A great deal of sake.
Byakuya, for his part, had said very little in reply. He had long since accepted that Yoruichi would no longer visit his bed, regardless of her professions of independence. He knew her heart better than she, and he knew who held her heart - and it was neither he, nor her erstwhile pupil, Soifon. Still, he was happy to share the company of his childhood friend, regardless of whether they shared a simple cup of sake or something more physically satisfying.
"I am going to Karakura tomorrow," she had told him, as she had thrown an empty sake bottle into the corner of the room and grabbed another.
"Hmm," he had replied, watching her in amusement.
She had opened the fresh bottle and quickly taken several large gulps, eschewing the tiny sake cups for the more direct method.
"Ichigo needs someone to kick his ass into shape. He's getting soft without the Arrancar to push him around."
"Hmm," Byakuya had said, for a second time.
"What are you being so damned smug about, Byakuya Boy?" she had asked, taking another large swig from the bottle and offering him the remainder.
"I am not being smug," he had replied, stonily, inwardly enjoying goading her. "I am only listening to you, Shihouin-sama."
"Meh," she had said, waiving her hand dismissively and leaning back against the pillows. "You're hinting around at something. I know it."
"I am merely remarking upon the fact that this is the third time this month you have, as you say, 'gone to Karakura to help Kurosaki train'," he said, pouring a dainty cup of sake and handing her back the still-unfinished bottle.
"He needs to train," she had said, yawning openly and burping at the same time.
"Of course," Byakuya had replied, sipping from his glass. He would say no more about it.
Two hours later, she was asleep in her own bed, after telling herself that spending the night with Byakuya would mean that she would not be well-rested for her sparring match with Ichigo.
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She arrived through personal Senkaimon gate late in the morning, having overslept, as usual.
"Morning," she said, yawning in Urahara's face as she passed him in the hallway leading to the Urahara Shoten.
He smiled from underneath the brim of his striped hat, but said nothing. He knew her too well to engage her when she had overindulged in sake the night before.
"Where is Ichigo?" she asked, pulling her long hair into a tight ponytail.
"Waiting for you in the training grounds," he replied, brightly, glossing over the fact that the substitute shinigami was seething, having been kept waiting now for nearly two hours.
"I'm staying for dinner," she replied, stifling another yawn.
"Of course," replied Urahara casually. "I will have Tessai fetch you when the table has been prepared."
"Right, right," she said, waving her hand and turning down the hall towards the ladder that led to the training grounds. "Tell him to cook something good, for a change. And tell him to make sure there's plenty of food. I'll be hungry."
Urahara bowed in the manner of a servant, but the gesture was lost on her, since she had already started to climb down the ladder. He lifted the brim of his hat and watched her leave, a mischievous smile on his face.
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"Tessai," said Urahara, several hours later, as he sat drinking tea, "I will cook dinner tonight. Can you arrange to take Jinta and Ururu somewhere for the weekend?"
Tessai raised an eyebrow but said only, "Certainly." Then, when Urahara waited expectantly for nearly a minute, Tessai added, "Is there something I can get for you?"
Urahara smiled coyly. "Why yes, there is."
This interaction had become something of a ritual for the two men. Urahara would never ask Tessai outright to do him a favor; Tessai would offer assistance, and Urahara would gladly take it. This left Urahara free to return the favor only if he so desired. And Urahara rarely desired it.
"I have a list of…ingredients," said Urahara, handing Tessai a long piece of parchment, "that I need you to purchase for me."
Tessai nodded and looked at the list. "Are we having company, Urahara-san?" he asked, his face betraying no particular interest in the answer, despite the growing curiosity he felt. He knew that he would get a better answer if he appeared disinterested.
"Yes," replied Urahara. "I have, shall we say, an agenda that I wish to pursue."
"Really?" said Tessai, now following the unwritten protocol of repeated question and answer which would elicit the details of Urahara's dinner plans. "What type of agenda?"
"I wish to cement a certain liaison which has been, as of late, languishing."
"I see," replied Tessai, glancing knowingly at the list. "I hope your strategy is…effective."
"Thank you," Urahara replied, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly as he spoke.
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The smell of freshly-ground coriander mixed with grated nutmeg, turmeric, cinnamon, fenugreek and red pepper wafted about the shop and into the training grounds below. Yoruichi watched Ichigo climb the ladder to the Shoten to leave, but her mind was elsewhere. Her sense of smell had always been quite discerning - having spent a great deal of her adult life in feline form, the end result of which was that her ability to smell was far greater than that of any human, even in her gigai.
She lay back on the grass and looked up at the ceiling, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. She stretched her muscles in a catlike fashion, unfolding her limbs with the fluid grace of a dancer. Her stomach growled in protest, as she fought the urge to climb the ladder to discover what the source of the intense aroma was.
"He said Tessi would come get me," she thought, unwilling to appear overly eager to pursue dinner or anything else, for that matter. Despite nearly a century of exile from the Soul Society, she was still royalty, after all. Battle was one thing. Life, however, was quite another. She expected to be catered to, regardless of where she went.
A half an hour passed, then an hour, and still she lay, fighting the growing hunger in her belly, waiting. Two hours passed, and still no Tessai.
"Tessai is late," she thought, with mild irritation. She did not like being kept waiting.
Another hour passed, and she was now more than just hungry; she was famished. She stood up slowly and walked over to the ladder. It was unlike Tessai to be late. And, on an evening when she was to spend the night, it was nearly unthinkable.
"I will just go upstairs and look," she thought, finally, climbing the ladder and emerging into the shop.
Up here, the spicy aroma was heady, thick. She breathed in deeply, feeling the cinnamon and nutmeg caress her nostrils. Her stomach growled its response. This was too much.
"I'll give Kisuke a piece of my mind about the delay," she thought, hands on her hips. But, as she walked towards the living quarters of the shop, the smell became more and more intense, and she started to feel dizzy. A minute later, all thought of complaining was gone, replaced by a hunger which she had not experienced in decades. She licked her lips with feline grace, following the aroma.
She was mildly surprised when she walked right past the kitchen, still following the smell - the source of the incredible aroma was not here. She walked past the common room and the staff's living quarters, still inhaling large gulps of the sweet spiciness from time to time. Finally, she found herself at the door to Urahara's living quarters, comprised of three rooms, including a sitting room and a bedroom.
There, on the floor of the bedroom, was a small table and two cushions. The table, which sat only a few feet above the ground, was covered with steaming dishes of rice mixed with almonds and orange peels, flatbreads, raisins, dried apricots and dates, and, in the middle of it all, a large tureen filled with a glossy curry of reddish-brown. The smell was intoxicating.
She looked around the room, feeling for his Reiatsu. Nothing. She sat down at the table. "He knows I'll just go ahead and eat," she thought, with a grin, deciding that she would not give in so easily. "Two can play at this game."
She waited. Fifteen minutes, a half-hour, an hour. The food remained hot and steamy, despite the long wait. "He's been experimenting again," she thought, chuckling to herself. "Probably figured out how to grow a hot pepper which will keep food warm."
Two hours later, and she was still sitting on the cushion, waiting. "Baka," she thought, biting the side of her cheek to keep herself from screaming in frustration. "This is too much. Where the hell is he?!"
Midnight, and no Urahara. "I'll just eat without him," she thought, forgetting her earlier resolve to wait.
She took a large spoonful of the fragrant rice and put it on her plate. Then, with great pleasure, she filled a large ladle with the thick, brown curry and emptied it on top of the rice. The smell nearly overwhelmed her. Carefully, she spooned out several of the dried spices that surrounded the other dishes, making sure to add a good measure of red pepper. Her plate now full, she picked up her fork and brought it to her plate. Just as quickly, however, she stopped, holding the fork in mid-air, studying the plate.
"Damn him," she thought, mesmerized by the smell and the sensual sheen of the sauce on the rice.
She couldn't eat. The realization was startling. She did not want to eat without him.
Yoruichi stood up abruptly. "Damn him," she thought again, nearly stomping her foot in frustration.
She walked away from the table.
"What the hell is the matter with me?" she thought, pacing back and forth now, like a tigress in a cage at the zoo.
"Damn you," she said, out loud this time. "Damn you, Kisuke."
"I could never settle down." The words, spoken less than a day before, reverberated in her mind.
"When I get my hands on you, I'm going to strangle you," she thought, imagining her hands about his throat, squeezing hard.
"This is all your fault, Kisuke," she said to no one in particular, as she continued to pace.
Urahara Kisuke.
"Irritating. Stubborn. Infuriating."
And then,
"Sexy smile. Bedroom eyes. Hands that..." She stomped her foot hard on the wooden floor.
"Where the hell is he?" She paced some more. She stared at the walls, but what she saw, in her mind's eye, was far more appealing.
"Perhaps someday you will decide you wish to stay with him."
"Damn you, too, Byakuya Boy," she said, kicking a stray pillow that had fallen off the couch and knocking over a small lamp covered in rice-paper.
"I am merely remarking upon the fact that this is the third time this month you have, as you say, 'gone to Karakura to help Kurosaki train.'"
Yoruichi kicked over a small table on which sat a tea set. Bits of china flew about the room.
"Perhaps I will see you again soon." That coy little smile, those eyes peering out from under the stupid hat. The dirty blond hair that made her want to run her hands through it. The musky smell of him. The way his chest felt when she…
She picked up a cup from the floor that had survived the fall, intact, and threw it hard against the wall. It shattered into tiny bits of blue and white.
"Damn you, Kisuke," she said again, louder this time. "Damn you to hell!"
More pacing, a few more well-placed kicks, and the room was destroyed, with the exception of the table of food, left entirely unscathed. She took several deep breaths, hands on her hips.
"I'm hungry," she thought, simply.
She sat back down at the table full of food and crossed her legs.
Urahara walked silently into the room, noting the state of his belongings with an apparent lack of concern. He sat down at the table, facing her.
"Harissa?" he asked, peering out from under the brim of his hat.
"Yes," she said, quite calmly. He handed her a small bowl of the spicy tomato paste.
He served himself a plateful of curry, still steaming hot, and reached for a flatbread, ripping it in half and giving her the larger piece. She was, after all, a princess.
She did not look at him, but nearly inhaled the food on her plate, barely giving her tongue time to register the sweet heat.
"It's good," she said simply, her mouth full of rice and curry.
"I'm glad," he replied, smiling at her coyly, daintily dipping his fork into his food and bringing it to his lips. He breathed in the aroma and slipped the fork into his mouth, rolling his tongue around the bits of rice and vegetables.
"Damn you, Kisuke," she thought, watching him eat when she thought he would not see her. This time, however, the thought was less battle cry and more surrender. Urahara smiled, and took another mouthful of curry.
She refilled her plate, not waiting for him to offer. She was willing to cede the battle, but she would not change so easily for him.
"I'm staying," she said, between mouthfuls this time, to make sure her meaning was clear. "For a while. Maybe longer."
He looked at her with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction.
"There's just one condition," she said, her amber eyes simmering.
He raised an eyebrow.
"You do the cooking."