A/N: Thank you for any and all reviews, favorites, and follows, as well as all you other readers out there!
Bleach and all products thereof are copyright to Tite Kubo, et al.
Saturday, February 15, 2003
Alan was already waiting in the dirt lot by the time Ichigo arrived at 7:10 AM. He was dressed the same as he had been the previous day, though everything about his uniform looked crisp, as if it had been laundered and ironed. In addition, he was wearing a long dark blue coat that went down to somewhat below his knees. The silver oak leaves that denoted his rank stood out prominently on its epaulets. It wasn't any colder than the previous days had been and the man had the coat open, so Ichigo could only assume that he was wearing it to look more impressive, and found himself annoyed that it worked. Alan was sipping something from a disposable cup as he approached. It smelled like coffee. There was a black attaché case sitting at his feet.
"Enjoy your date?" the teenager asked with only barely concealed spite.
"Who says it was a date?" Alan replied, before adding "How was yours?"
"Who says it was a date?!" Ichigo growled back through gritted teeth, trying not to yell considering the hour.
"Did you at least not say anything to piss her off further after I told you not to?" Alan rejoined.
Ichigo snapped, "Like I would take advice from you when you're the one who pissed her off to begin with!"
Alan shrugged mildly and took another sip of coffee, saying "I always tell the truth. Even when I lie." The familiar line caught Ichigo's attention and he discerned Alan clearly did not regret his performance in the slightest, and from the man's perspective everything else beyond that was on Ichigo.
They stood for some time before Ichigo asked "So, 'Boss', are you gonna tell me what all this is really about?"
"Nope," Alan said plainly, before helpfully adding "You should be able to figure that out by now."
There was a pause before Ichigo said "You recruited me to get to them because they trust me."
Alan wiggled his free hand in the universal gesture for "so-so" and continued to nurse his coffee, the pitch of the cup indicating he had almost finished it. When he noticed the teenager glowering at him he just said "You're what we call a 'force multiplier', something valuable in itself but also valuable because it amplifies other effects in some fashion. You'll see soon enough."
At that, they saw the door of the Urahara Shop open, Urahara himself standing in the doorway and waving them over. Alan took a final swig of his coffee, picked up his case, and headed toward him, Ichigo following. Alan took off both his hat, aviators , and coat once they were inside as if on reflex, before navigating through the shop to an obscurely positioned trashcan to dispose of the empty cup.
"Been awhile, Sandal-Hat," Ichigo said to Urahara.
"Too long, Kurosaki-san," Urahara replied, his mood darker than usual. He was, seemingly for once, without a fan.
"Where's Rukia?" Ichigo asked.
"She's waiting below where the senkaimon will be," Urahara said, before adding "Ah, Kurosaki-san, do you require assistance with getting presentable?"
Ichigo produced his Daikō badge, saying "No, I think I've had enough being hit with canes and punched with gloves already in my life."
It was then that he felt, more than saw, that Tessai had somehow appeared behind him, ready to catch his body. With a sigh, he activated the badge, letting his body fall into the man's grasp before it was promptly carried away. Everything looked slightly different and it was when he saw Urahara lacked an outline that he realized the glasses hadn't come with him.
"Very mysterious, Kurosaki-san, being able to turn into a Shinigami with no reiatsu," Urahara said pointedly. Ichigo noticed that the necklace had transferred onto his soul form and wondered if it was still physically on his body too. He held it up by means of explanation and Urahara merely frowned slightly.
"If you're ready," Alan called, waiting by the ladder down to the vast training room. He had put on his things once more, apparently being willing to regard the room as "outside" for the arcane purposes of military decorum. With that, the man grasped the sides of the ladder and slid down it, somehow arresting his fall just before the bottom with no ill-effects to his person or clothing.
Ichigo muttered "Showoff," and used shunpo to go down the ladder instead, followed by Urahara. He found that Rukia was indeed waiting, with a hell butterfly perched on one finger. He made his way over to her, and when she saw him she just gave him a tight smile, before eyeing up Alan who joined them moments later. Whatever she concluded from her study of the man she kept to herself. Urahara and Tessai were not long behind.
Eager to get on with it, Rukia wordlessly waved the hell butterfly off and withdrew her zanpakutō, performing the ritual to summon the senkaimon. Once it had materialized, Urahara and Tessai conducted their own ritual to modify it to allow Alan through. Urahara nodded at them and so they went in.
They stepped out into a courtyard beneath the 1st Division barracks, Ichigo recognizing it as the place he had fought Renji so long ago. Alan looked around curiously, and at first Ichigo thought it was simply because it was the first time he had been in Soul Society, but the man seemed to be most especially interested in places that were empty, as if he was looking at something invisible. Something about it made Ichigo shudder, but he was distracted by Rukia calling for their attention and leading them up toward their scheduled meeting.
They made their way to the barracks in good order, and after Rukia said they were expected, Ichigo opened the doors, following in after his companions and closing them behind him. Only Yamamoto was there to meet them, seated on a chair in the otherwise empty hall.
Alan had taken off his shades but left his coat and cap on—some sort of subtle insult?—and stopped to remove something from the attaché case he carried, which looked like a rather squat plastic cylinder. He twisted it in some way and a series of green LEDs at one end of it lit up, after which he put it on the floor in the middle of the room and followed the shihakushō-clad pair. Ichigo felt a sensation pass through him then, but only just. Yamamoto did not question what the man had done and in fact seemed to regard it as beneath his notice. At last, all three stood before him at a respectful distance, Rukia in the center flanked by the man and teen.
Ichigo had been under the impression all the taichō would be present, and apparently so had Rukia given her expression. "Yamamoto-sōtaichō," she began, only to be stopped as he held up a hand.
"Please deliver your investigative report," the old man said simply.
Rukia hesitated for only a second and began to recount her investigation from her perspective, going over what she had determined, before summarizing what Ichigo had told her. He noticed that she used extremely neutral language regarding that, never once using a word like "confessed," and was gladdened inside.
"Is what Kuchiki-fukutaichō has said true, Kurosaki Ichigo?" Yamamoto asked, inclining his head toward the former Daikō.
"Yes!" Ichigo said resolutely, for once not daring to speak casually of the old man to his face.
"I feel no reiatsu from you," Yamamoto replied. At that, Alan wordlessly extended a hand toward Ichigo in front of Rukia. Ichigo and Rukia both blinked and after a moment Alan made a grabby motion which made Ichigo finally understand. He took the necklace off and dropped it into Alan's hand, his reiatsu roaring out as soon as the chain left contact with his hand. Alan pocketed it.
At this Yamamoto was quiet and seemed to ponder, before finally tilting his head toward Alan, who had until then had said nothing. "So, what am I supposed to make of your presence and involvement in all this, chūsa?" Yamamoto asked, the way he said the unfamiliar rank was like he was sampling a new and foreign drink. "The last time that I spoke with an American," Yamamoto said, not having really waited for Alan to answer, "I believe he was titled 'Supreme Commander for the Allied Powers'. He had a curious pipe." The sōtaichō opened his eyes slightly, adding "Perhaps you know him?"
"I know of him. General MacArthur passed away almost 49 years ago now. I'm afraid that was before my time, sir," Alan replied.
"I see," Yamamoto replied. "He was nothing but an ordinary man but I was given to understand that he wielded tremendous power outside himself, and that he was someone of great importance in your world. Certainly, his title did reflect this, as did his attitude…" the old man trailed off, and fixed Alan with a piercing stare. "So tell me, why is it that now I'm speaking with some young pup whose very rank reveals his existence is trivial to those he claims to represent?" he asked as naturally as if he was breathing, but there radiated out from him an only-just restrained irritation that filled the room.
To this Alan smiled politely and said nothing at first, instead slowly and casually removing his watch and twirling it around by its metal band on one finger as if it was a nervous tic. Yamamoto said nothing, watching. At last Alan tilted his head down so the brim of his cap covered his eyes. His coat began to flap as if in a wind for some reason as he caught the watch in a fist, saying cryptically "There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
Ichigo blinked in recognition at the line. For a split-second he saw a flash of a fully mad grin break out across Alan's mouth, right as his hand opened and with casual ease lightly tossed the watch up into the air. Instantly it was as if the man exploded, the pressure of the reiatsu coming off him was so great.
It both was and wasn't like a Shinigami's reiatsu. Its color was a blinding green-white and it was only by the faintest of shadows they cast that Ichigo could sense that there were things within it, things that moved in ways that were wrong. Soon he could hear them, quietly at first but growing louder and louder as they closed around him and what had been started as a quiet chant became an all-consuming howl. It was only once this had become so overbearingly loud that there was nothing else in the world at all that he became aware of a sound that seemed to shake the very fabric of reality, as if beneath them loomed some sort of enormous heart or the world itself had become a kind of drum, and he saw the things that now engulfed him—
—A vast and empty tomb lit only by flickering blue flames loomed menacingly around them in frozen blackness, the light revealing walls that curved at impossible angles and seemed to pulse with a glow that gave no light and streamed toward an immense sarcophagus at the room's center, the lid of which suddenly shifted as if pushed from within—
—A city burning in the distance, hundreds of white dashed lines arcing up from it to rake the skies in search of something, intermittent bursts of light from explosions revealing shadowy things running forward, red eyes gleaming, their numbers uncountable, covering the landscape—
—A sky swathed in some sort of brilliant green nebula above a dark teal ocean, from the surface of which a mountain of water climbed in the distance, accompanied by a juddering sound that could be felt down into one's bones, some thing rising from the water and rising and rising until it towered above the sea, kilometers tall, its edges alight in that electric green as it blotted out the stars, its roar cracking the sky as a million white-hot beams rained down upon it—
—A world in darkness drifting below, its surface holding yellow-orange concentric spider webs of light, suddenly brilliant blooms of the purest white blossoming at their centers and rapidly propagating along them, the dull ember-like glow of what must've been massive wildfires turning the whole thing into a glowing cinder—
—Blood, so much blood, blood and bones and viscera and towers of skulls that were and weren't human and so much blood—
—Alan snatched the watch back in hand with only the soft click of the case's metal on the wrist band's, and they were standing in the 1st Division barracks, exactly as they had been years—no, moments—ago. The Shinigami Daikō stared wide-eyed at his 'Boss' as the man nonchalantly fastened his watch back onto his left wrist, and swung his eyes to Yamamoto, who sat equally unperturbed, something now vaguely like respect for the American on his face. He realized from their apparent sizes that he was now significantly farther away from them, closer to the back wall than the center of the room.
Ichigo then became aware of a ragged panting sound, and looked down to find that he was holding Rukia against him, bracing her, his arms crossed tightly over her waist. She was facing away from him and her hands were to her sides, each clenching a fist full of his shihakushō. She was shivering and covered in a cold sweat. He realized that he was in little different a state, breathing hard and only barely still standing and holding her up.
"I'm afraid the situation has changed since the last time you spoke with one of us in more ways than one," he heard Alan say. "Accordingly, we would like to reinterpret our relationship at this time to our mutual benefit."
"I see," was all Yamamoto said for a moment.
It was clear that neither man was paying attention to or cared about the pair at the moment. With a great exertion Ichigo forced his muscles to stop quaking and loosened his grip on Rukia's waist. She started at that and pushed back against him, and he could feel her grip tighten on his shihakushō. He whispered "Hey, hey," to her to try and get her attention while reassuring her, and brought his large hands on top of her delicate ones. She slowly started to relax her grip and her breathing started to come back under control, but she otherwise didn't move.
"And what exactly do you have in mind?" Yamamoto asked after what felt like an eon.
"I have been instructed to assist in the creation of a trial task force to establish routine communication and interoperation between the forces of my government and the forces of the Gotei 13," Alan said.
"You want us to go beyond promising not to fight one another, and instead for us to work together," Yamamoto clarified, his tone indicating he was not one for the man's stilted language.
Alan was silent but smiled politely again.
"Rukia, hey," Ichigo whispered, "Hey, look at me." He let his fingertips brush hers to draw her focus.
"And who do you think would be best suited for this 'trial task force' to prove the viability of that?" Yamamoto asked.
"Although the department I lead contains my government's technical experts on Soul Society's operations, our knowledge is academic and our attention is required elsewhere," Alan replied, his voice full of consideration. "Fortunately, however…"
The petite Shinigami slowly and haltingly tilted her head up and to one side, and Ichigo craned his neck to match so that he could see her face. When he finally caught sight of her eyes, they were still wide and hollowed with fear at the things that they had seen (he somehow felt that saying remotely experienced Alan's memories of was more accurate).
"…we have recently contracted someone with direct hands-on experience and well-established relations here, so…" Alan continued.
Ichigo felt something in him fully thaw at the sight and slid his fingers down between Rukia's, gripping her hands securely and squeezing. He kept his eyes locked to hers and did his best to smile. He saw the light start to come back into her gaze and felt her fingers squeeze back against his. "Ichigo," Rukia said up at him at last, her eyes focusing on his face. He was suddenly aware of her heartbeat, and his own.
"…I would nominate Staff Sergeant Ichigo Kurosaki as the representative of American forces, and fukutaichō Rukia Kuchiki as the representative of Shinigami forces," Alan concluded.
Ichigo and Rukia both completely froze at the mention of their names, still looking at one another, and they became instantly aware of the calculating stares of both the Lieutenant Colonel and the sōtaichō settling upon them like some sorts of specimens under glass.
Rukia's cheeks lit up in bright crimson but she didn't look away from him, and he could tell that his own cheeks were no different—could see the fact reflected in her ultramarine eyes. Even as his reflexes screamed to let go of her hands he found that his muscles simply wouldn't respond, and he could tell by the rising panic in her eyes that the same thing was true for her. He could feel Alan's smug little smirk and Yamamoto's unreadable stare upon the two of them like spotlights in the darkness but dared not and could not look away from Rukia. His pulse hammered in his ears and he could feel hers doing the same through her fingers and how she was pressed against him.
"I see," Yamamoto said again, and like that the spotlights were gone, the two men focused back on one another. "And I imagine you have something in mind as their first mission as well?"
"Yes, actually, and I think you will find it is in line with your existing interests. However, before I begin, we unfortunately had to depart early and missed breakfast. Would it trouble you if we took a break at this time?" Alan asked diplomatically.
"If my fukutaichō is keeping to his regular schedule, I believe he will have prepared tea and some snacks by about now, if that would be of interest to you," Yamamoto replied.
"It would be an honor, Yamamoto-sōtaichō," Alan said.
Yamamoto nodded and rose, leading the way to a side door, and Alan followed him, finally taking off his cap and coat. Neither made the slightest effort to invite the pair nor even gave any further acknowledgement of their existence, and so they were left alone in the hall, fingers still intertwined, staring with embarrassment at one another in silence.
Rukia's fingers gripped Ichigo's with a surprising strength as he saw a fire roar to life in her eyes. "Ichigo," she said with the utmost resolve, "that guy, we have to—"
Ichigo gripped back, knowing exactly what she was thinking, feeling the same thing. "Rukia, we will, definitely—"
"—Make him pay!" they both exclaimed with absolute determination at one another, still unable to let go of each other's hands.