Chapter 12 – Interlude

Warnings: Bad, bad language; adult situations

Disclaimer: I /still/ don't own anything Bleach! Wtf!?

Please pardon the loooong time between updates. Moving is such a pain!

They sat side-by-side on the couch, shoulders touching, coffee mugs in their hands. It was very quiet in Ichigo's apartment – only the hum of the refrigerator broke the silence. The blacked-out glass everywhere meant that the apartment was dimly lit by the small, low wattage lamps that Ichigo had placed here and there. These two things – the silence and the relative darkness – gave the apartment a calm, reflective atmosphere, like you'd expect in a temple.

But to Shuuhei, it felt as though his heart was going to pound out of his chest. The excitement from the almost-fight with Sensei, the adrenaline that had shot through his system when he looked inside and saw that bastard pushing Ichigo against the wall … most of it had dispersed, but he was still feeling the after-effects. He kept all this to himself, though. Now was not the time. Definitely not.

Ichigo had one hand up to his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. Shuu glanced at him worriedly. Hard to tell in this light, but Shuuhei thought Ichigo looked pale. "Ichigo," he began quietly, "Listen, I—"

"No, don't worry, Shuu," Ichigo interrupted. "You said you were sorry, although I certainly don't think you're to blame for anything. I, uh … well …" he raked his fingers through his spiky hair, "… I just don't know how to process this information yet. That's all." He rested his hand on Shuu's thigh, gave his leg a couple pats.

Shuuhei could feel the heat of it, through his jeans. He was filled with uncertainty, but one thing he did know was that his friend needed him. Ichigo needed Shuu. The knowledge expanded, filling him with a sense of warmth. He put an arm around Ichigo and pulled him in closer, patting his head into place in the crook between Shuu's shoulder and neck. Ichigo settled there with the ghost of a sigh. His body relaxed somewhat, he drew in a deep breath.

They sat like that for a moment, Shuu's hand patting rather awkwardly at Ichigo's head, in silence. When he did speak, Shuuhei unconsciously used a low, comforting tone. He didn't realize that it was the same voice Ichigo routinely used with his comatose patients. "Ichigo … I'm so sorry. If I'd known, I would have handled things differently. I definitely never meant to cause you to hurt."

Ichigo was quiet for a few seconds, then he said, "It's … it's not quite pain," he admitted softly. "It's more like … I don't know … like it's only what I deserve. I should have known better. A man like Sensei … he's too high above me. I should have known that—"

Shuuhei had stiffened as Ichigo spoke. "No! No, don't you dare say things like that, Ichigo-san! You are … you're the best man I've ever met! Ever! No-one is above you. No-one should treat you like you're d-disposable, no-one should hurt you like that." He wanted to launch into a scathing catalogue of Sensei's bad points, but he sensed that would not be helpful.

Ichigo sat up a bit, although he was still leaning against Shuu. "It's my own fault, Shuuhei – no, now, listen to me, okay? I … strayed from my path. I think maybe Sensei was the karmic equivalent of a smack to the back of the head." He rubbed his forehead with one hand, frowning. It was only what I deserved, Ichigo thought. "Forgive me," he muttered, unaware for a second that he said it out loud.

"What?" Shuu said, astonished.

Ichigo jerked in reaction. "No no," he said, trying to smile, trying to back-pedal, "… sorry, I didn't mean— I meant forgive me for involving you in something so sordid. What a way to start out a visit, right? How is your coffee, do you need a warm-up?" He got up quickly, snaring both their coffee cups and heading for the kitchen area.

Shuuhei followed him. "Sordid, huh?" He leaned against the counter as Ichigo began pouring more coffee into their mugs. The scars made his face distort slightly as he gave a small, wry smile. "Are you and Kuchiki-sensei in a relationship?"

After a few seconds silence, Ichigo said, "It seemed so. The beginning of one, perhaps." He doctored up the coffee with practiced movements. He was glad to see that his hands weren't shaking.

Shuu nodded and picked up his cup when Ichigo scooted it towards him on the counter. He sipped it thoughtfully. "He's not good enough for you," he said, heatedly, after swallowing the delicious coffee. "I don't care what his excuse was going to be … there's no excuse for treating you like shit."

Ichigo was feeling more in control of himself now, the familiar motions of making coffee had had a sort-of calming effect on him. "Well … you can't really say that I'm the most faithful of lovers, right?" he asked, coming closer and putting a hand to Shuuhei's tattooed cheek. He patted it and smiled.

It was sad, Shuu thought, to see his friend smiling through his pain. But he smiled back. "You're not like everybody else," he said. There was a short pause while Shuuhei obviously thought out what he was going to say next. "Listen … I don't know everything about your life, Ichigo. I don't know if you've got guys lined up waitin' for ya. To me, that shit doesn't matter. The big thing is: I'm definitely sure that you didn't deserve that." Finally he couldn't hold back any more. "He's a fuckin' prick. A low-life asshole. I don't care what his position is in society, he's a reeking pile of bat sh—"

"Whoa!" Ichigo said, one hand up in a 'stop right there' motion. "I have to be honest about it. He's a respected physician, the head of the Kuchiki house, and a valued member of society." Not to mention criminally beautiful, he thought, but wisely kept that to himself. "Like I said – we had only gone out a couple of times, so he was not mine. Understand, Shuu?"

"Still." Shuuhei was not backing down from his assessment of the situation. "Who knew he was a slut?" He shook his head bemusedly and took another sip of coffee.

Ichigo followed his example, and the two men drank coffee in silence for a moment or two. Explaining to himself as well as to Shuu, Ichigo said, "He's only recently divorced his wife, and is … coming back into his own as a gay man. I think he's … kinda jumping head-first into the deep end, instead of taking the time to test the water. Know what I mean?"

"Maybe," Shuuhei said. He wasn't the world's most experienced guy, as far as romance went. "But I don't care about any of that. He still shouldn't treat you that way, fuckin' other guys when he's supposed to be startin' up a relationship with you. That's just shitty, man. I won't forgive that." His frown made his face look fierce.

Silence fell again.

Then Shuu said, "Are you going to forgive him? I guess that's the biggest question." He looked at Ichigo over the rim of his mug as he took another drink of coffee.

Ichigo shrugged. "I'll listen to his … explanation," he murmured. "That's all I can say right now."

"I got it," Shuuhei said. He put his coffee mug on the counter, then grabbed hold of Ichigo and pulled him into a tight quick bro hug. "Whatever you decide, remember I'm your friend and if you need anything …." His words trailed off.

"Thanks, Shuu."

Although Shuuhei had come to Ichigo's apartment thinking maybe he could get some of that bitchin' fellatio, he couldn't bring himself to even think about it now. Was Ichigo feeling weird, like he should be yanking Shuu's pants down? Shuuhei didn't want to put that kind of pressure on the other man. "Hey … I gotta get goin'. Anything ya need before I go?" He smiled.

"No. No, I'm good, Shuu. Thanks." Ichigo smiled back, his face looking much more normal now.

"Okay. You've got my cell number. Message me if you do need anything. K?"

"I got it. See you later, yeah?"

"Yeah. And thanks for the coffee. Strength and honor, man," Shuu said, quoting from one of his favorite movies. He lightly rapped his fist against Ichigo's shoulder and quietly left the apartment.

XXX

Byakuya Kuchiki, after being shown the door and gently pushed out of it, leaned against the wall of the corridor outside Ichigo's apartment and straightened his tie. He ran a hand through his hair, then straightened the knot of his tie again and shot his cuffs. He'd recognized Hisagi Shuuhei, of course, how could he not? He was a former patient, he'd been on 3C … and those facial tattoos covered what Byakuya knew were some deep scars the man had received from the car accident that had been the root cause of his coma.

Well … he couldn't stand around out here, waiting for … what? Straightening up, he walked unhurriedly down the hallway and rode the elevator down to the underground parking garage. He walked over to his car, it chirped as he hit the unlock button, he opened the door and slid inside, he shut the door and put his hands on the steering wheel, clutching it as he stared straight ahead at nothing.

Son of a bitch. Now what.

His self-discipline had slipped. He'd lost sight of himself when re-discovering the joys of male-on-male sex. And he did mean "joy". After all those years of forcing himself to have sexual relations with his wife, during which he rigidly held his deepest desires in check, when he wouldn't even allow himself to look too long at a tempting man – now that he was able to let those desires out, he'd lost his way. And look at the mess he'd made as a result.

You don't get your honey where you make your money.

Don't dip your nib into the office ink.

He knew all the sayings that related to starting up a relationship with the people one worked with. But in the medical profession it was different. Outsiders didn't understand that being a doctor or nurse wasn't the same as being a secretary or a lawyer, there was a level of commitment that went beyond "this is where I earn my living". Other people didn't truly understand being on Call several days a week … they didn't understand the stressors … they couldn't understand that it wasn't a mere job. Priests could understand, because it was very similar: the selfless giving of one's time and skills to better others' lives. With priests it was the soul. With the medical profession it was the body, and a lot of the time – the mind, too.

From his perspective, very rarely did relationships between medical professionals and 'civilians' work out. At least, not for long. People got tired of having their kids' birthday parties disrupted by that dreaded phone call. They got tired of their mate getting up and leaving in the middle of the night. They began to feel as if they were '2nd' or '3rd' down the list of importance, and that knowledge began to grate at them, little by little. They couldn't understand the intense relationships that developed between members of a medical team, that brand of intimacy that came as a result of sharing the emotional ups and downs of caring for the sick and injured. The quiet euphoria when you brought someone back from death's door. The thrill when you recognized a sick person's symptoms and knew you were on the right track, the track to a cure. The tears and laughter when a person in a coma woke up.

He shook his head. I digress.

To Byakuya, it was a rare person who could step into that world and successfully navigate a relationship. The divorce rate among medical/non-medical unions was far above the norm. It seemed to him that only a person who was a part of this world could truly understand this world.

He didn't know how long he sat there, thinking, before he touched the starter button and the Ferrari came to life with a growl. He carefully drove around the garage's interior until he came to the street exit. Upon pulling out into the daylight, he looked to his left to check traffic and saw Hisagi Shuuhei staring at him from the sidewalk. The man raised his right arm and flipped Byakuya off, then he spat into the gutter and turned his back, sauntering off toward the train station.

Byakuya frowned. He pulled out into traffic and turned in the opposite direction, heading toward his office. He'd give Ichigo a call later on, after he suspected the oranget might be awake. They needed to talk. Whether Ichigo was going to tell him to fuck off or not, they needed to find some middle ground. Because they had to work with each other, come what may. Don't get your honey where you make your money – but if you're in the medical profession, dodge the bees and do it anyway, otherwise it probably won't work. It was an interesting paradox.

He pulled into the parking lot and shut off the purring engine, then sat there, thinking. He didn't clutch at the steering wheel or give any other sign of distress – he just sat motionless, stony-faced. Perhaps a muscle in his cheek twitched once or twice. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes were fixed sightlessly on the façade of his office building.

What exactly did he want? He'd thought it was so clear before: start a relationship with a man whose interest in Byakuya had been made perfectly clear, and see where things went from there. Ichigo was a sort-of "pliant" person, so Byakuya had been able to rest assured that the oranget wouldn't cause him any problems with his family or his business. At least, he'd thought he was pliant. This morning … he'd been stoic and unshakeable as he'd ushered Byakuya out of his apartment.

Got off track. Again: what did he want? Ichigo? Luppi? Or freeze them both out of his personal life and find someone completely new. He compared the two for a moment: Luppi, externally the picture of the uke – small, delicate, slender. If he'd just keep his mouth shut he'd be perfect. Ichigo, gorgeous, tall and muscular enough to be seme, but definitely uke on the inside. What to do?

Grey eyes flicked to the left to take a quick look at the digital clock. He needed to get inside, look over today's patient charts. He'd have to consider this issue later. He unbelted, climbed out, straightened his tie and shot his cuffs again. The doctor is in.

XXX

The door closed behind Shuuhei. Ichigo shot the lock, then turned around and went into the kitchen. He stood there for a few seconds, kinda staring at nothing, then he noted the coffee cups on the counter. He busied himself with rinsing out their mugs and placing them upside down in the sink. He turned off the coffee maker and tossed out the leftover, rinsing out the decanter and placing it back onto the machine's hot plate. His movements were slow and deliberate, his brow was furrowed in thought, the muscles in his jaw bunched and twitched.

What did it mean to be "faithful"? Ichigo considered himself to be a very faithful person, even though by others' standards that wouldn't necessarily hold true. Anyone looking at Ichigo from the outside would think that he was a slut-and-a-half: pleasuring and being pleasured by numerous men – weekly, lately! – but that wasn't the whole story. Sure, from outside it looked bad. If you didn't know the whole story, yes, it might look like he was a total cumslut. But that was certainly not how Ichigo thought of himself, and he didn't think his beloveds saw it that way, either. He loved each and every one of them. In order to honor that love, to demonstrate it, so that his beloveds knew he loved them without reservation – yes, he would do anything. He would withhold nothing of himself. He couldn't.

So whatever happened when he spoke with Sensei again, he'd have to keep that in mind. It wasn't fair to expect Sensei (or anyone else, for that matter … blue hair and eyes filled his internal landscape for a second or two) to "be faithful" when Ichigo would not hold himself to the same strict standards. If being faithful meant never letting anyone else touch you, ever? Then Kurosaki Ichigo was the most unfaithful piece of shit around. But if it meant giving all of yourself to the people you loved, never forgetting that love and honoring it daily, and making it a priority to care for the physical and emotional needs of your loved ones, then Ichigo would hold his head up without shame.

So. He would let Sensei off the hook, give him over graciously to Luppi and not make a fuss, not hinder their good working relationships. It wasn't that Ichigo couldn't take the thought of sharing Byakuya with Luppi … wait. Wait. Ichigo rubbed his eyes with one hand. Then what was it? If Ichigo could have multiple partners and not feel the slightest guilt about it, then was he actually being two-faced enough to think that Byakuya couldn't do the same? He thought about it.

The conclusion he came to was slightly surprising even to himself. Ichigo realized that he really and truly had stepped off his path. The only reason people begin to feel jealousy is that there are feelings involved. Feelings of caring, feelings of ownership, feelings of love – whatever! It all amounted to the same thing. Possessiveness. And the problem with that was this: Ichigo didn't really even belong to himself … so how could he give himself to another? How could he think to possess another?

It wasn't the physical side of things that was the root of the betrayal, it was the emotional. His feelings of anger and jealousy toward Sensei and Luppi, these feelings were because he had begun to feel something for the tall doctor. This was unacceptable. Totally unacceptable. Look how uncomfortable Shuuhei had felt today. That one of his beloveds had SEEN him in an act of betrayal … his stomach twisted with anguish. But Shuu – sweet, amazing Shuu – had been gracious and forgiving. He'd comforted Ichigo.

It was supposed to be the other way around.

Ichigo leaned over and pressed his forehead to the countertop, closing his eyes. No outsider was worth betraying his beloveds. He'd go back to the temple today, commune with the dead and put his feet firmly back on the path. He would talk with Sensei and tell him that he'd prefer it if their relationship could go back to a strictly professional one, no harm no foul. He would not go to Seireitei tonight, he'd go visit his family this weekend and, upon his return, go back to the temple again.

Ichigo straightened up, rubbed his forehead, and blew out a breath. Mind made up, he started another pot of coffee. He'd forgo sleep today, get cleaned up and go straight to the temple. It was Friday, he didn't have to report back for work until Sunday night. He grabbed his phone as he was heading down the hallway to his bedroom. "Hey, Orihime, this is Ichigo. Sorry I couldn't catch you, but I figure you should get this message in plenty of time. Listen, thanks for inviting me, but I won't be able to make it to the club tonight. Something has come up. Maybe next time, okay? Tell everybody I said hey. See you Monday." He tossed the phone onto the bed where it bounced once as he turned for his closet. He pulled out a black suit and tie, added a pale pink shirt, and began to get dressed. It wouldn't take very long to get to the Karakura area's largest temple, but he wanted to get there right away. He shaved, made a cup of instant coffee, and then dressed. He had another cup while paging through his scrapbook, carefully turning the pages, allowing memories to wash over him like waves, their gentle pressure carving peace into his soul. When he turned past Ulqui's page, he closed it carefully and hugged it to his stomach. Forgive me.

On the phone again as he slipped into his shoes … "Sensei, this is Kurosaki. Please advise if you will be able to meet with me after your rounds this evening. I would like to speak with you. Thank you." He snapped the phone shut, slid it into his pocket, and opened the door.

XXX

Renji listened as Orihime relayed Ichigo's message. (She'd called Renji as soon as she'd hung up from checking her messages.) Lips curling wryly, he said, "Something came up, huh? You know what that means, right O?"

"He's going to be spending the day on his knees, isn't he," she said, sadness creeping into her voice.

"Yeah. And not in a good way," Renji said, imagining Orihime's blush as he gave a naughty little chuckle. But then he became serious again quickly. "It's not the anniversary of his mom's death, though … something else musta happened." He tapped his chin thoughtfully.

"Ichigo-kun is a very spiritual person," Orihime said as she reached for a ringing telephone. "Sometimes, he just goes, Renji. Just a sec. Coma Care Center, Orihime Inoue speaking, how may I help you?"

Renji stared into space as Orihime handled the call. Something had been going on with Ichigo lately, though, Orihime's words notwithstanding. Yeah, yeah, Ichigo was more spiritual than your average 20-something single male, but still – Renji's spidey senses were tingling. There was somethin' goin' on with his friend, and he was gonna find out what it was, so that if he could do anything for his buddy, he would.

"Okay, I'm back," Orihime said into his ear.

"You think he'll go to Mickey Kitty like usual?" Renji asked, without preamble. "Think I'm gonna go check on him before I gotta come into work. But one way or another we'll still go to Seireitei after I get off, okay, O?"

"The name of the temple is Mikaita, Renji," Orihime said, giggling. "But I'm glad you're going. I'll feel better if you check on him."

"No problem. See ya when I come in for my shift, k? Have a good one."

"You, too. Bye, Renji." Orihime hung up the phone thoughtfully. She sighed. Poor Ichigo. He carried so many worries and memories – she was thinking about his mother's death – and sometimes they overwhelmed him. He was so good at putting on the semblance of strength, though. At times like this she thought his … moods had gotten worse since he'd come over to 3C. But perhaps it just seemed that way. Maybe they were just all getting older.

"Nurse? Would you please tell me where the cafeteria is?" A pleasant-looking older lady was looking at Orihime over the counter.

"Yes, of course! Come, I'll show you the way."

XXX

Orihime didn't know that another pair of ears had been listening in on her end of the conversation. Whatever it was that was going on with Ichigo, it had now gotten so 'bad' that his friends were picking up on it. Grimmjow frowned, sucking his teeth briefly as he thought it over. He made a snap decision and then moved on it. Walking back into the room where Chad was watching over the patients in Room 13, Grimmjow grabbed his stuff from the cupboard and scuffed into his Van's. "I'm goin' out for a while. Be back later," he told the nurse. Chad nodded in reply as Grimm strode out the door.

XXX

When Ichigo stepped off the train at the station nearest the Mikaita Temple, he immediately felt more at ease. Even this far from the temple proper (it was still almost a kilometer away) he could feel the serene aura that permeated the place. Looking forward to seeing it again, to being there, he hurried away from the station and toward the edge of Karakura.

Mikaita Temple was outside of town, obviously, and included not only the temple itself, but housing for the monks, and a dojo where martial arts were taught. It even had a segment devoted to the tea ceremony, with its rich traditions that had been handed down through generations. Ichigo appreciated all these things, all this evidence that there were many things that lasted 'forever'. He reached the end of the paved city sidewalks and stopped for a second at the torii, looking up at it and admiring its clean lines and sturdy presence. Then he stepped through, onto the paving stones that were swept morning and night by the monks.

As he continued, the tree-lined route narrowed considerably. No-one else was visible at the moment, although part of that could be because the pathway twisted and turned on its way to the temple. Much like a person's life did … although the head monk had told Ichigo that avoidance of line-of-sight roads was a tactical consideration from the old days of warring monks: you never offered an enemy a straight path to your door. His pace slowed as he walked, as he felt the peace of the place beginning to sink into him. The cool shadows, the flowers, the coo of doves in the trees. It was like the temple was removing bricks from his shoulders one by one. He loved coming here.

When the temple finally came into view, Ichigo stopped to admire it like he always did. Three hundred years old, it seemed to grow out of the woods that surrounded it. The head monk had told Ichigo that, in the past, the woods would never have been allowed to grow so close to the temple itself … but the war-like days were over, and the trees were tended with loving care. Cherry trees, paulownias, magnolias, red maples, poplars … a grove of white and red pines … you could walk from grove to grove, enjoying the gardens, the pools of water lilies and koi, the little fountains – of stone or bamboo. Benches were interspersed here and there, small shrines dotted the landscape, sand-gardens that were sculpted with loving hands … it was the perfect spot for meditation, contemplation, and prayer.

Ichigo headed for the main temple and entered silently through the open doors. Inside it was dimly-lit, cool, and quiet. He bowed to the attendants and quietly put a rather largish amount of yen into the donation box. Then he bowed again and walked back out. This was his habit … he'd make an appearance so the monks knew he was there, make his donation, and then head out to walk. The place for him to stop and think would present itself. If it didn't, then he would come back to the main temple and sit in the large garden, with its large pond, complete with beautiful lilies and, usually, several herons, walking sedately along the edges of the pond.

He made a right turn after leaving the temple's portico, following the stone path. The birds cooed, sung, and chattered in the trees over his head. A peacock slowly made its way along the edge of the pathway. When he approached it cocked its head to fix him with a beady eye, but it didn't startle. It was used to human visitors here. Ichigo walked past numerous benches, fountains, and small gardens – especially the one with the delicately-carved crane fountain. That was where he had gone in the days after Hayato's funeral. The monks had found him there, unconscious, slumped over on his knees in front of the small shrine.

So not there. Ichigo kept walking, the path taking its winding way around behind the temple proper. He was standing still for a moment, his head cocked slightly to the left to listen to an unfamiliar birdsong, when he happened to notice an almost-grown-over pathway that struck out away from the temple, through the woods. He pushed through the bushes for roughly 15 fifteen, his feet finding the partially-overgrown step stones by touch, and then came out on the other side to see the path continuing on in front of him through the deepening gloom provided by close-growing pines.

He followed the trail for about five minutes, he guessed, when it curved around the roots of a tall pine and widened. A bench, stylistically carved from what looked like a single piece of driftwood, seemed to grow up out of a smallish cobbled patio. Nearly hidden under the boughs of the large pine, a small shrine glimmered, its black lacquer surfaces shining with a deep gleam. Inside it, an incense burner, and small strike-bell, and an empty picture frame. A cone of incense stood on the burner.

Ichigo lit it. Immediately the scent wafted out, smoke circling his head and drifting off into the woods. He couldn't identify the scent. But that was all right. He knelt down, sat on his heels, clapped his hands, and slowly leaned forward, palms to the cold stones, until his forehead touched the ground. He froze like that, and time began to pass.

XXX

When Renji arrived at the temple, he made quite a splash. Renji wasn't a spiritual kind of guy … he was more down-to-earth. He was boisterous. He was almost hedonistic in his open-hearted way with people, pursuing pleasure with both sexes – Renji Abarai didn't believe in discrimination! He hopped off the bus and blew a kiss to the cute schoolgirls who'd been eyeing him the whole way, giggling and whispering to each other. They screeched (he could even hear it out here!) and blushed, giggling behind their hands. Cute, Renji thought. But jail-bait usually is! He turned away from the bus stop and surveyed the torii, much like Ichigo had. But Renji was whistling under his breath and he grinned unashamed at two men who came out of the temple grounds while he stood there. They walked past, frowning at his outlandish hair.

Old grouches, Renji thought, but he didn't say anything out loud. Instead, he walked under the torii and entered the temple grounds. A beggar was sitting there, back against the low stone wall that abutted the torii, a small bowl at his feet. Renji emptied his pockets into the bowl. "There you are, grandfather," he murmured. "Please eat well tonight." The beggar's face split in a wide, toothless smile, he nodded over and over, saying thank you, bless you, the gods watch over you. Renji waved his thanks away, smiling and bowing to the elderly man. When he walked away, the old man was still thanking him. Renji waved and turned back to walk briskly down the path.

Now … where could that Ichigo be? He flipped his long red ponytail off his shoulder, pushed up his sleeves, and began to trot along the stone pathway.

XXX

Why in the fuck can I not successfully follow anybody in this goddamned town?! Grimmjow fumed to himself. He'd had to take the next bus to Mikaita Temple because he missed the one Renji took by, like, six lousy fucking feet! He'd shouted and the goddamned driver had ignored him, that shit, kept driving like he couldn't hear a thing. Grimmjow had decided, however illogically, that if he ever saw him again he was going to beat the crap out of him.

He finally settled into a seat on the next bus, sighing dramatically and raking a hand through his blue spikes. Maybe he could relax and try to enjoy the ride, think about what he was gonna say to Ichigo. But it was not to be. At the next stop a couple of loud, rude kids got on. Teenagers, they were the kind of mouthy assholes everyone dreaded sharing a ride with … acting like little fucking jerks, causing trouble and bothering people, and as Grimmjow got more and more impatient, he'd stepped forward.

"No," said a quiet voice on his left. Grimm looked down. A little man sat there, looking up at him. "Do not get involved, sir," he said. "Those boys are street trash, some say yakuza." His fingers plucked at Grimmjow's t-shirt hem.

"Huh," was the grunted reply. He patted the hand 'til it released his shirt, then stood up and squirmed his way forward to where the kids were tormenting a young woman, pushing her, tweaking her hair, trying to take her purse. The woman looked positively scared out of her wits. Tears filled her eyes. The people around her were mostly elderly or women – and all of them looked scared.

"HEY," Grimm said as he pushed his way through to where the drama was unfolding. Both the "kids" looked up at the intrusion.

"Back the fuck off, ojiisan!" one of the punks said, his bleached hair falling over one eye. He sneered at Grimmjow and then he and his 'partner' laughed and resumed pushing the young woman back and forth between them. [AN – ojiisan = old man]

"Let her go, you little fuckers, or you're gonna be really really sorry." Grimmjow glared at them, lips parting in a snarl. The driver was watching, his eyes wide as he noted Grimmjow getting involved in the situation. He didn't want anybody else getting into it with those trouble-making boys, but he had to drive, too, and he couldn't keep his eyes on everything all at once. Besides, he was scared of those damn kids, too … they'd caused trouble on the bus before.

"No, you're the one who's gonna be sorry, ojiisan!" the other kid yelled, his bleached-blond hair sticking up like a porcupine.

"Stop." Grimmjow took the two steps to bring him right up to the punks. "Calling." He grabbed blondie's shirt in one hand and lifted him up off the floor. "Me." He yelled right in his face. "OLD MAN!" He grabbed the other one's shirt and yanked him forward, too. Both punks were yelling. Grimmjow shook them like they were bad dogs who peed on the couch. The tormented woman had disappeared behind Grimm, enfolded into the comfort of the crowd.

"Open the door, driver-san!" Grimm yelled as he whacked the two yakuza-wanna-be's against each other. "Now, goddammit!" The bus screeched to a halt and the door opened behind Grimmjow, he spun and threw the two punks out. They landed on the sidewalk in a heap. "Stay off the bus, you little fuckers! I see you two on here again, and your asses are MINE!" The door closed … but probably not before the 'little fuckers' could hear the applause begin on the bus.

ANYway … now they had finally stopped near the temple grounds' entrance and he was standing on the sidewalk. Renji was nowhere to be seen. A shabbily-dressed person was walking away down the sidewalk, there were other pedestrians visible, but none had that vibrant red hair. Shit. Quickly he darted through the torii and began a fast walk down the cobbled pathway, head turning from side to side as he scanned the area for red or orange hair. Nothing so far. He quickened his steps.

XXX

Ichigo held his position even as his knees began to protest the hard surface beneath them. He ignored his body as he sent his thoughts out to the long list of patients who had not made it – the ones he'd loved and lost. Being here always made him think foremost of Yuki. Yamaguchi Yukihiro, who had been a monk for 15 years when he'd suffered a fall that sent him into a coma. Had it really been that long ago that Yukihiro had been under Ichigo's care?

The monk had been up on the highest part of the pagoda, in order to replace a section of damaged tiles. The monks almost always did all the repair work to the temple themselves, unless it was something totally outside the scope of their knowledge. That didn't happen often.

On this day, Yukihiro was on the uppermost portion of the temple's high ornate roof, replacing some of the thousands of tiles that protected the shrine from the elements. Would he have done things differently if he'd known that the structural integrity of that area was almost completely compromised? No-one had been sure, but he hadn't even had time to connect his safety harness before falling. And Ichigo had a new patient in his room that was in desperate need.

When it became clear that Yamaguchi-san's injuries were resulting in long-lasting effects, he was transferred to 3C and placed in Ichigo's room on the ward. When he arrived for work that day, Ichigo had been surprised to see the outer waiting area almost completely filled with monks in their saffron-yellow robes. Some were talking quietly, others were sitting motionless, eyes closed, obviously deep in prayer or meditation. Ichigo received report from Renji and entered the room.

Two monks stood at the bedside of his newest patient. Ichigo bowed deeply. They were silent. He took his cue from them and walked to the patient's side without saying a word. He introduced himself to the newest occupant of the bed, speaking respectfully as befitted a young man addressing a fully-fledged Buddhist monk. He began his physical assessment as he spoke.

The monitor showed all vital signs depressed. Not good, but at least they were steady. The patient was intubated, central intravenous line coming off the right femoral artery at the groin, his left arm was in a splint, he had a cervical collar on his neck, and both his lower legs were in boot casts. Yuki's entire head had basically been a mass of bandages … his injuries there were so extensive that all one could see was the tube sticking out of white gauze.

Dr. Aizen had been the physician for this patient. "We won't be able to extubate him and insert a trach until we can safely remove the cervical collar, which should be next week. The surgery to fix his cervical spine fracture was three weeks ago. His spinal cord does show signs of damage … but we won't know for sure whether he's paralyzed until he awakens." Ichigo had nodded. It certainly didn't sound good, but he took his cue from the physician: 'until he awakens'.

The monks were there constantly, virtually the whole time Yukihiro was Ichigo's patient. It was from them that he learned all about Yuki's life, from his beginnings as a Kanzai youngster to the very day of his accident. As he would bathe the comatose man, he heard the tales of his kindness … his uncanny wisdom in one so young … his selfless devotion to the tenets of his calling. Ichigo fell in love with Yuki almost against his will – he had only recently lost Ramon and was still feeling the despair at that loss. But he couldn't help it.

Yukihiro had died on Chad's shift. His systems shut down, one by one … gently he had slipped away without waking. Chad had called Ichigo to tell him that the end was near, and even though Ichigo had rushed in so that he could say goodbye, it had been too late. Too late. Yuki's death, coming so closely on the heels of the loss of Ramon, had been devastating.

On his knees, forehead touching the cold cobblestones, Ichigo sent his thoughts out to his former patients, those men who had touched his life so profoundly. He re-dedicated himself to them, retied the red strings that bound his heart, set his feet back upon the path he had chosen for himself. They were all that mattered. Time passed, the sun moved westward on its endless journey across the heavens. Still he knelt, ignoring the pain in his knees. It was more like penance than reverence. But it was what Ichigo needed.

XXX

Renji had given up. He'd looked everywhere he could think of for Ichigo and could not find him! What the hell?! Had he slipped out when Renji was around the back of the temple searching the small shrines that dotted the landscape behind the buildings? Perhaps. But he was beginning to feel foolish and the monks were starting to give him 'looks' as he retraced his steps again on the walkways. He was giving off bad vibes. He'd asked several monks about Ichi's whereabouts, but they'd all just bowed with that mysterious smile. Renji wasn't sure whether they couldn't or wouldn't tell him where Ichigo was … but either way the result was the same. Finally, with a sigh, he turned around to head for the path out, and saw a head of blue hair.

Only one person with hair like that. Grimmjow was talking with a monk, frowning down at him, impatience in every line. Renji's eyebrows went up as he watched. What was Grimmjow doing here? Was he looking for Renji? Somehow he didn't think so. Suddenly Renji's suspicions were confirmed as he heard Grimm say, "Look … he has orange hair. Orange! How many people with orange hair have come to visit today?!" A smile spread on Renji's face. Ah, so … the plot thickens.

Renji had a heart that had many rooms. In not a one of them could you find jealousy or rancor. If Ichigo was maybe starting something up with the tall blue-eyed man, Renji would wish him nothing but happiness. His night of passion with Grimmjow didn't matter … it had been a one-nighter and they'd both known it. He grinned and slipped away into the trees. Go get 'im, Grimmjow, he thought. Wake that guy up to what good lovin' is all about. He chuckled to himself as he regained the path and made his way back toward the city.

XXX

"Fine. Then I'll just wait. I'll just wait right fu—I mean, right here. No harm in that, right Padre?" Grimmjow said, settling himself on the steps of the temple. He had a good view of the main entrance pathway to the building, and he'd just stay right here until Ichigo came back from wherever the hell he was. The monk looked up at Grimm with an inscrutable expression. Grimmjow looked back down at him, then gave one of his trademark grins. "I won't bother nobody, Father," he said, impishly knowing that was not how one addressed a Buddhist monk. "I'll just sit here and y'know, meditate and sh—stuff like that. Say a couple prayers. Bird-watch. I won't make a sound. No problemo." The monk bowed but didn't leave. "Oh yeah … where do I go if I wanna smoke?" Another heart-breaking grin, blue eyes glittering like sapphires.

Only Grimmjow Jaegerjaques could make a seasoned Buddhist monk sigh.

XXX

End Chapter 12

Stay tuned, my little chickadees! More coming soon. Thanks for reading!

Ahvienda