Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Karakura has changed.

Ichigo turned eighteen today, a veteran of the war that wrought the changes on the town. To his living eye, the streets look the same. To his spirit sight, the twists become plain: the structures brittle as ice on the cusp of spring, the alleys and backyards so thick with echoes of suffering even some Hollows skirt them. Many died here, though few know they did. Sound carries strangely, and eddies of smothering silence linger in isolated spots. The ghosts are subdued, waiting sullenly to be sent on.

Ukitake explained to him how the spiritual currents of a place affected its nature. Karakura nearly became a sacrifice, a shadowland drained of its energies. It needs time to recover.

Then there are the other changes, the ones time can't seem to heal. There's a reason his birthday was just Pop foregoing the morning kickdown in favour of a really unsubtle strawberry cake carried into his room.

He sat with Karin and Yuzu on his bed and had cake for breakfast. Even Karin hugged him quick and hard; Yuzu clung on for almost a minute. Inoue sent him a card by butterfly. She's been staying in Soul Society to help with some of the more complicated casualties. Ikkaku and Yumichika heard he's actually been legal for a whole year now, and promised him a "long overdue tour" of the more "exclusive establishments" in Rukongai. He's sleeping with his badge so Zangetsu is close when he needs to fend off a nighttime abduction.

The war is finally over. This should be the part where they move on.

A star or two winks at him, in the short summer dusk before the street lamps light. The sky isn't black yet, but a shade of blue, what do they call it, indigo, that reminds him, too...

Footsteps patter down the street. Maybe a child, definitely a ghost, judging by the tumbling echoes. He fishes in his pocket for his badge. It won't take a minute. Then a peal of laughter drifts up, not a child's high giggle but still clear, a sound of arch amusement. Again.

He tears free of his body so fast he is likely to come back to some pulled muscles. Gripping the edge of the roof, he heaves himself down over it.

The street is empty. Again.

Ichigo kicks at a crumb of asphalt, rubbing his temples. Maybe he is going mad. No one else is looking any more. This is the second time this week, and the places where it happens aren't so random.

He takes a good stance, closes his eyes, and pictures a sphere. The colour he picks to fill it is a warm, deep red. A shinigami's spirit ribbon is always red, but he's learned that they are as individual as fingerprints. He visualises the path of the footfalls.

The ribbons descend into his sight in a whirl of loops and coils. Carefully, he shrugs through them. The one he can't disturb should lie there, on the brink of the pavement, as if the owner had been dashing along the very edge...

It hangs by a thread as thin as spider silk. A whisper could blow it apart. He has to bend very close to see the hue: a red so dark it courts purple. The texture would feel cool to his fingers, light as fine linen. He doesn't need to touch it to know.

It is there. That is all that matters. The ribbon is worn, but its end is still fastened.

He must get to Soul Society.

* * *

He steps silently into the twilit office. Still, Renji looks up from his papers as soon as he crosses the threshold. "What'd you want? It's the middle of the fucking night."

Ichigo sets his hands on the desk—just to make a point, not like they're shaking any more—and cuts to the chase.

"She's not gone." Funny how dead is a forbidden word even for shinigami.

Something haunted creeps into Renji's face. His timbre is soft under the rough edges. "Captain called off the search weeks ago. Remember?"

"So you've given up, too?" He wants to make the words a challenge, but they quiver the slightest bit.

"I got a division to rebuild right here. Remember why they asked you to stay on as a substitute?" Renji points at the strewn papers. The office needs either a small army of Yuzus or a swift release from its misery.

"For fuck's sake, Renji!" Ichigo flares. "This is Rukia."

Renji's teeth grit at the name. Control leaks off every bitten end of his words. "Nothing was found. I don't know why you keep on tearin' at the scab, but leave me the hell outta it."

Ichigo draws a breath; still, his voice almost breaks. "She's still there. We can find her."

"This one o' your hunches again?"

"No." It's a hair of hope, and if he pulls too hard it will unravel. "I... I can feel her."

Renji's writing brush smudges a stripe across his cheek as he nods his face against his hand. "Everybody here lost people they loved. Don't think you're the only one who wakes up thinkin' they heard a voice, a step... damn well anythin'." Renji swipes at his cheek. "It was the last search goin' on. You know it."

"I know what I sensed, damn it!" Control, Ichigo reminds himself, hands clenched. "Your people said I was better at seeing the ribbons than most of them. I..."

"There's going to be a funeral," Renji says.

"What?" He wants to shout, but only manages a rasp. "There—there's no body."

"She was shinigami. There wouldn't be a body, not for long. Captain Kuchiki put the word out yesterday. It's not public yet." He's never heard Renji speak so flatly.

"I'm really gonna kill him this time." It is very nearly a vow.

"Ichigo." Renji leans forward. "Sooner or later, you wanna get on with the grief before it kills ya."

The papers scatter as Ichigo bangs his hands on the desk. "Listen to me, you bastard! See if you get this: Rukia isn't dead. The fucking ribbon is intact. I found it. Followed it."

Renji might snap back at him. Instead, he lowers his eyes. For a long moment, he's quiet and Ichigo holds himself still, too.

"If you're shittin' me, I'll gut you where you stand." That is a vow, if Ichigo knows Renji at all. After the last year, he does.

He straightens his back. "I'm not."

* * *

Renji fights off the absurd rush of feeling as they slip through the spirit door onto a familiar street. The hollow exhaustion that has hounded him seems to have lessened. Maybe the wired energy in the youth is catching on to him.

He lets Ichigo focus. It's easier to pick up a perception with someone to point it out to you. By Ichigo's description, this one is damn fragile. If it is there. Better to only believe what he can see.

Still, his heart misses a beat when Ichigo points. "Here, along the edge."

It takes him a moment to shift his sight. Ichigo has a tighter rein on his reiatsu these days, but he makes a disturbance, drawing in the nearby ribbons like a turning spindle. Renji sweeps them to the side.

There it is, finally, and he doesn't dare breathe. The ribbon lies on the ground as a single thread, fallen and forgotten. He closes his hands to keep from brushing it. It already fades from his sight in places. His grasp of this kidou is proficient, but Ichigo's is consummate, instinctive. He puts his trust in that.

"Rukia," he murmurs.

"It goes all the way to... to the battle site. I think I can follow it even further."

Right then, Renji can only nod. All of Karakura saw some fighting, but the site of the final confrontation was a park on the outskirts of the physical town, the former spiritual nexus of the region. He went back to wander the deathly stillness under the trees over and over. He is willing to bet Ichigo has done the same.

There, the walls between worlds buckled and collapsed. There, they took their worst losses and a final, bitter victory. There, Rukia went missing in action.

He forces himself back to the present. "You are serious, right?"

"Yeah, I am. Believe it or not." Ichigo huffs. "The ribbons trail the people they belong to, you know? You can follow them between worlds, too. Not that it's easy," he admits after a pause.

"Okay. Let's say you're right." Renji cannot see the ribbon at all anymore, but Ichigo keeps walking. "Where's it lead then?"

"You'll see." With that, Ichigo blurs into shunpo. With a sigh, Renji trails after him.

They come out at the gate to the park. Inside, flash-step is a one-way ticket to trouble. The weave of the place is patchy at best, and a chaotic mass of tangled spirit matter at worst. The trees hang heavy with more than their dewy foliage. Sound is stifled into strained whispers, so they move along in silence.

"Here," Ichigo says at last. They stand in a football field, the sky open above them. The vicinity seethes, like they had the one solid foothold amid pits of quicksand. Renji can just make out the dark crimson thread, petering out next to Ichigo's cupped hand. "It doesn't end. It sinks into the air."

"There's an undertow here. It leaks out... elsewhere. Another world." Renji never was the most watchful student, but the nature of reality was a survival subject. You could die for not paying attention, in fucking unpleasant ways.

"How do we get through?" Ichigo glances around. Shit, he'd be gone already if there was the slightest opening. Renji grabs his shoulder.

"Depends how you wanna do it," he says sharply. "Either wait for the place to decide it's time to swallow ya up and spit ya out, or do the smart thing."

"And that is?" To his credit, the boy looks to be listening.

"We go back, an' we wake up the captain."

Chapter Text

Rain complicates things.

Ichigo has learned this the hard way. It's like a wet veil slapped over his eyes, fine trickles of spirit-water smudging the shapes of the world. Spirit-shapes. Sometimes he misses the living world, where he actually had an edge over the material forms of things.

Okay, he misses it like hell, especially on mornings like this. He slinks back inside the wayfarer's hut and kicks Renji in the shin. "Get up. It's light."

" 'N' s'rainin'," Renji says through a yawn. He sits up and yanks off the twine that barely holds his braid in place.

"Thought that's why we got the funny hats." Ichigo begins digging through their provisions. He would rather not fast when his spiritual abilities are on constant demand, even though they haven't seen a village or even a farmhouse in some time. "Shelter and shade."

"How the rain's workin' with your tracking is what worries me." Renji steps outside to splash his face from the water barrel by the door. The traveller's shelter is bare-boned, but there is a hearth stocked with firewood, and everything is in repair. These small huts dot the road, and so far, have saved them from more than one night on the ground. Ichigo is relieved. The way Renji spoke about this journey, he thought that they'd have to rough it.

"I'll manage."

"You got to do better than manage." Renji gives the landscape a look as he reweaves his braid. "I've no idea how far this realm goes on, but safe to say it's bigger than Soul Society. Lots of ground to cover."

"We're also kinda low on food."

"You eat. You're all skin an' bones already."

"When'd you turn into Yuzu?" Ichigo snaps around a mouthful of dumpling, so it comes out more a grumble.

"When you became the idiot who runs himself ragged trying to scale the damn sky day after day. I'm not burnin' a third the energy you are."

Ichigo rolls his eyes.

Renji is not wrong, though. Ichigo is losing count of days—long since melding into weeks—since they departed from Soul Society. After clearing the shoreline woods they landed in, they've met with little trouble. The road runs smooth enough over the foothills, and people are happy to take the holed silver coins Renji procured from Byakuya in exchange for foodstuffs. The thing is, if he stretches himself out, he can still pick up the spirit ribbon: it's spun out so thin as to be subliminal under all but the closest scrutiny.

It's not a level of awareness he can maintain for long.

"I saw smoke in the southwest yesterday evening," Renji says. They've fallen into a pattern: Renji watches their physical surroundings, Ichigo covers the more elusive parts. It gets the job done. "It's a bit off the road, but maybe there's a fork ahead. At least it means people."

"We better check it out."

"No kiddin'." Renji pauses to stretch his arms up, fingers folded together, back arching lazily.

Lifting the bag onto his shoulder, Ichigo puts on the wide-brimmed straw hat. The downpour is abating into a drizzle, so the hat should keep it off. The rounded shapes of the mountains swim into view through the thinning rain, reclaiming the westward skyline. The road and the land ahead are dipping into a river valley: there must be people living somewhere along the wooded banks.

"Renji." He turns in the doorway.

"Yeah?" Renji tugs on the string securing the hat under his chin.

"Before you woke up..." He hesitates, trying to fit his words right. "I was kinda half-asleep, but I think there was something out there. Something not human, nor shinigami."

"We're still pretty close to the border of this world. Nothing's really tame out here."

"I don't mean like that." Ichigo shifts uneasily. He knows he needs to try and lure out the spirit ribbon; he can't focus with this on his mind. "It was close, just wrong. Like in the forest."

Renji adjusts his sword on his back. He took to carrying Zabimaru over his shoulder after a few days of travel. "I'll keep an eye out."

They both remember the forest.

* * *

Ichigo spends most of the day walking, not as if in sleep, but a waking dream. The world has a shape as complex to his second sight: Things are more immediate, there in ways he'd be hard pressed to put into in words. The trees well with vast, clement being, like old men drowsing in the sun of endless afternoons. The sand of the road grits under their feet in patterns that could be snatches of song. The wind whisks along his skin in its hurry to be off beyond the next hill, leaving him with a thousand traces of all it carries along. This place lives, and sorting the worn fibre of Rukia's life from all the rest taxes him more than he'd ever admit.

A skein of white ribbons creeps into his vision as they draw close to the village. They're well on course, even though he lost sight of Rukia's ribbon a while back. He'll sift it out when there are less distractions. He releases the spirit view like a breath he's held too long.

Renji's hand brushes his shoulder in passing. Once, he drove himself until he collapsed. Now, Renji seems to always be there when he stops tracking. He's not sure if it irritates or, in some screwed-up way, comforts him. The copper glow of the sunset slants over the last bend in the road.

"It's faint," he says, "but I think we're catching up." Compared to the thread he first found in the living world, the ribbon must have thickened a few times.

"That's good. An' I think that's an inn, which is just about as good right now."

"Uh-huh." Ichigo isn't fussy about his personal hygiene, but he is getting ready to maim for a proper bath. His senses, winding down from the exertion, center on a ripple in Renji's spirit pressure. He's folding his aura in, and Ichigo follows suit. Concealing themselves from at least casual observation has become a habit, too.

The inn turns out to be a ramshackle affair, but the braziers are piled with coals against the cooling night and a bath house is tucked away in the backyard. They secure a room with a few local turns of phrase that have become familiar, and a late supper if they come down right away. Hot food wins over hot water. They don't exchange a word over it.

Ichigo hauls his cleaner jacket on over his head and stops, his hands falling from the collar clasp. Something prickles his senses. The ceiling lantern blots into darkness as he lets his sight blur, then sharpen. There. Outside, under the window.

A thin, shining coil, churned into the mud of the street by many feet since it fell there. The rain might have softened the earth enough to expose it.

"Renji," he says urgently. "She was here."

Water sloshes over the rim of the wash basin as Renji's head snaps up from it. "The hell—are you sure?"

"Yeah." The ribbon is erratic, in ways that don't always make sense to him. It degenerates with time. In places where the spirit matter is particularly... viscous, it's mixed in, sometimes hopelessly. He probably can't even deduce all the factors that affect its visibility.

"We oughta ask around, then." Renji's shirt muffles his words as he pulls it on. "Urahara's translator's in your bag, right?"

"Yeah, and it's staying there. You mess it up again, we will end up dead."

"I didn't bring a book full o' phrases nobody understands."

Ichigo snorts. The metaphors these people use seem to be stuck somewhere around early last century. At least he isn't relying on a gadget that makes up new meanings for words on the fly.

"Let's just ask for dinner for starters," Renji says. The discovery mixes a dash of hope into their exhaustion, but their goal remains distant. Better to see that they'll make it there.

Conversation drifts and drones through the common room. It may well be the only place to whittle away a night for miles around. They find seats in one of the partitioned alcoves. The noodles and sauce steam with a spicy tang when they arrive—as a rule, the food here is partially familiar. Ichigo claims his bowl with both hands, and is intercepted by the innkeeper just before he can dig in. "Sorry?"

The man holds up the ceramic jug from which he filled Renji's cup.

Ichigo makes a blocking gesture. "Uh, no, thanks. I can't really."

He realises he reverted to Japanese as the keeper's brow furrows, but Renji cuts in already. "Get him tea, please."

"They don't know," he says, "That you're too young to drink."

Ichigo is inhaling his noodles with relish, so he nods.

"You have a sword. That makes you a man to 'em."

"Not in my world." Zangetsu leans against the wall by Ichigo's chair, black cord bound in a peace-knot over the long wrap-cloth. Yoruichi showed him the complicated knot and then the exact single tug that would release it. "Not a lot of swords around."

Renji eyes him over his bowl. "So what does? Beddin' a woman?"

The noodles take a go at his windpipe. "Shit—will you—keep your voice down? No."

"They don't understand us."

"Whatever." Ichigo exhales. "You just grow up and get older."

"Some could say that's no mean feat in itself." Renji takes up his cup of rice wine, raises it for a moment before he sips. The pause seems to be a habit, one he's hardly aware of.

"It's hard enough." For one, those Soul Society high-ups have no idea what the war with Aizen did to his schoolwork. Renji's silence invites no further talk, so Ichigo lets his eyes roam.

The alcove protects them from the noise, being in the far corner. He can see another reason why Renji chose it: from his side of the table, it gives a good view of the room. Ichigo has to tip his head to see better. A group of men crowds a table cluttered with wine jugs and cups, shouting and laughing. A few travellers nurse bowls of noodles by the braziers. The serving girl flicks a rag across a vacated table, then dashes in a patter of bare feet at a yell from the men.

The jug scrapes the table as Renji pours himself another. Ichigo takes the chance to meet his eye.

"That girl." He gestures with his tea cup. "She keeps making eyes at us."

"At you, in fact."

"Huh?" Shit, he is too tired if Renji can talk circles around him with one-syllable words. "No, she..." She has bright eyes, undimmed by the late hour, and she flashed a smile at him when she took away their bowls.

"Take a look at the competition." Renji takes a measured swallow. "At least you clean up human."

"Get lost." Ichigo makes an attempt at melting into his cup. The bastard is laughing at him.

Renji finishes his wine and stands up in the same motion.

"Where are you going?"

Renji gives him a crooked smile. "To give ya some competition. Don't wait up," he says, low, and goes.

* * *

He has a hasty, lukewarm bath in a cramped tub, and afterwards, a slow, breathless fuck on a narrow bed upstairs. The latter does considerably more to ease the aches in him. She is wiry and dark, skin smooth on his as he pulls her down on him and thinks of nothing for a few blessed moments.

Ichigo sleeps the stony sleep of the drop-dead tired when Renji checks on him. He overdid it today; the boy seems to have a real talent for that. Renji would be smart to call it a day, as well, but finds himself too wide awake.

Under the window, the roof slants suitably over the street. He hoists himself down to the ground, checks that his aura is well leashed and steps out of the shadow of the building. A breeze ruffles his hair. The village is neater by far than the warrens of the low Rukongai of his childhood. On most sides, it's hemmed by woods in budding autumn splendour. Between the village and the river, fields push back the trees.

She was here, Ichigo said. Useless to try and pick up the ribbon, much as he would want to. At first, he tried, in stretches where the thread was stronger. All he could catch were eye-watering glimmers, too meshed in the spirit-textures of the landscape for him to even be sure what he saw. Now, whenever Ichigo flops onto his bedroll at the end of a day's walking, clenched teeth and cinched eyes, Renji just steeps the ginger and cedar bark without snide remarks.

Ichigo does his part, and Renji his. You get to trust a guy when he saves your ass, opens your eyes, and sticks by you through the messy end of the world as you know it. In the run of things, Renji's done his fair share of saving Ichigo, too, often from his own hair-trigger temper and foolhardy ideals.

The world's gone on, and somehow or other he is still stuck with Soul Society's latest young prodigy.

"Hey, you!"

Renji masks his start into a sideways glance, as if mildly curious at most. The shouter waves a hand at him, and three other presences lap at his awareness.

"Yo, redhead! I'm talking to you!" The accent is thick and lilting, though the words are clear: he is hearing his own language. Sure, it's not inconceivable, but he has to school his expression before turning.

The men from the inn sit on stone steps on a nearby street-corner. Slouching against a column of the house, the tallest of them holds up a hand. "It's past curfew, ya know?"

"I didn't hear anyone callin' curfew."

"You look like you might handle yourself after dark," the man concedes. His three companions are bowed over their game, ignoring the conversation they perhaps can't even understand. They have a cloth spread on the steps and on it, a shallow dish and what look like polished pieces of bone. None of them have visible weapons save for their knives, but licks of spirit pressure keep Renji on guard. The air quivers around all of them.

"Been in a scrape or three." He shrugs. His sword is plain on his back.

"Dragon Leaps the Turtle," the tall man says. He noticed Renji's survey of his comrades—or took it for a passing interest in the game. "You a gambling man?"

"Not really. Got all I need an' little to spare."

"That's a handsome sword you have there. Dawn Island work, like you?" The man's speech is full of strange accents, but also echoes of long familiarity with Renji's own language.

"I'm not stakin' hi—it on the roll of any die in the world, friend." He hardens his voice.

"Hey, hey, easy." The man stands up straight. Under his plain attire he is broad-chested and lean, like a tiger lounging in dry grass. "Seems we got off on the wrong foot here. Name's Wei. Sit down." One of the players rattles the bone tokens against the bowl, then snarls in disappointment.

Renji decides. A few of them have low-level spiritual talent; nothing alarming as such. They were supposed to gather information. A tongue already loosened by wine could give him a head start. The men have the air of swords-for-hire, so it is likely as not they have been around. And he craves company that is not Ichigo. They get along, seasoned with the occasional sniping contest or scuffle—but live with one person day in and out for long enough, and everyone else starts looking surprisingly good.

He sidles past the players to sit on the uppermost step. Nudging Zabimaru into a better angle, he ravels the peace-knot by a furtive loop.

"Not a lot of travellers this time of year," Wei says. The implication hovers. Renji ignores it for now.

"Nor a lot of men speakin' to me in my own language."

"Lived on this border all my life. You're not the first to come over the sea." The Sea, the waters that heave on the shores of the dead. Shinigami shape routes through the border. Without a well-trod path, on foot or by other means, even the canniest traveller will be washed away by the dark ocean. Either Wei speaks in metaphor, or he knows his world-lore. In Soul Society, only shinigami have such knowledge.

Renji tucks his hand into his sleeve and pulls out the scroll in its cloth case. Unfurling the piece of mulberry paper, he keeps his eye on Wei.

"Seen this woman in these parts?" The likeness of Rukia is excellent; only the controlled visage seems amiss. Maybe it's because he'll always remember her as mercurial, expressive. The Kuchiki taught her stoic discipline, and it still jarred him through the too-brief year they fought side by side before she vanished.

Renji watches as Wei's face closes, his mouth thin as a stroke from a fine brush. "If I had? What'd that word be worth to you?"

"Good money." Renji drops his voice a notch, willing it not to fall another. All the treasures under any sun. He can't filter all that longing from his tone.

Wei studies him. "A toss of the dragon's knuckle-bones. Your sword on the wager."

Suddenly he wishes Ichigo were with him. He'd need one look at this lot to home in on the nature of their auras. Renji can see the shimmers of red that hint at spiritual ability, but closer inspection would mean exposing more of his own reiatsu. His captain warned them that the soul-soldiers of Yellow Springs had skills in camouflage and subterfuge that outstripped the more military-minded Gotei Thirteen. Right now, he can only move forward and hope for the best.

"If I win, you tell me what ya know. The truth an' all goes with it."

"On my father's grave," Wei says lightly, almost making a mockery of the oath. Renji chooses to take it literally.

"If I find out you lied," he says, shifting for a better view of the game board, "I'll find you, too. I swear that on this sword." He runs his fingers along Zabimaru's hilt, and feels the sword thrum in response. Don't let them realise I may be about to double-cross them so hard they won't see straight for days.

"That bad? What'd she do? By the look of you, either tried to kill you or broke your heart."

Neither. She died to him a second time. Sometimes he feels the ribbon Ichigo pries out day by day isn't just her lifeline, it is his as well. Dread and longing in such a tight tangle that if he tried to unravel them, both would snap.

"None o' your business," he retorts. "Show me the game." He is fairly sure he's seen its like before, but one should never play before learning the local rules.

Wei shoves away one of his comrades, jabbing a few words at him. Renji forces lazy interest onto his face.

"You take the bones and roll them on the shell. You get points for every bone that lands on one of the tiles—" Wei indicates the tiered rows of flat tiles carved on the inside of the bowl "—but you lose any that fall in the middle. You can throw as long as you've bones in your hand."

"Yeah, an' how do I win?" Each of the tiles has a number etched into it, simple enough.

"A few ways. We can both roll a turn, and most points win. One man rolls, the others bet on how high he scores. Nearest guess wins, whether too high or low."

A similar game is played in the taverns of Rukongai, though with a flat, rectangular board. The tiers bring a new dimension, but Renji figures he can handle it. There's wine on his breath, so better to act fast and let them chalk that up to drunken impulses.

"I toss, you guess. All in one go."

The other three are peering past Wei, talking among themselves. Wei laughs. "If that's what you prefer. Let's keep it simple. Four rounds. Name your guess."

Renji's first throw is far from his best. It only lets him gauge how he needs to adjust to the board. Wei watches him, all affable attention were it not for the hunter's glint in his gaze. The man is a professional, though it's still up in the air what kind.

He rolls well the second time, then the third, earning a few guffaws from the onlooking men.

"Easy there, friend," Wei says. "You'll make me sorry I guessed so low."

"Bet on it." Renji grins and rattles the remaining bones in his palm. They skitter across the ever-so-slightly sloping tiles to join the rest on the dish.

"Dragon's bones," Wei drawls, in a tone of perfect surprise. "You are good. Count."

Renji counts. "A draw." He chortles in his throat. "Looks like we need another go, anyway. Unless your boys want their board back already?"

"Tell you what. We can both still profit from this." Wei sweeps a hand magnanimously. "You hand over that pretty blade. I tell you what I know of your lady friend, and pay you the price of a decent sword. They don't make 'em as fancy as yours here, but you'll find one to suit your needs."

Renji looks aside to hide the unwise smirk that tugs the side of his mouth. He takes more time than is needed to unwrap the shoulder strap. Sorry. I won't be long. Just lie low an' take it easy. The steel blade is, anyway, only that. Zabimaru knows this as well as he does. He holds the sheathed sword up to Wei.

"Done."

Chapter Text

Renji really wishes Ichigo would keep his voice down.

"You bet your sword? Are you outta your mind? Can you do that?"

Renji is glad for both his greater height and the hat that keep Ichigo's incredulous frown a safe distance from his own face. He strides on towards the morning market. "Quit makin' such a racket. I'll get him back, and I got that information on the female mercenary. Renegade magic user, small and dark-haired. I'll take that chance."

"You'll 'get him back'?"

"There's a trick to it." It may not have been the smartest stunt he ever pulled, and he already misses Zabimaru's weight on his back, but it's a temporary state of affairs. "How 'bout we just focus on the matters at hand?"

"Magic user." Ichigo relents. "That could mean any shinigami." His head isn't all bone. Now if he could also wrap his brain around the proper terms.

"They aren't shinigami here, Ichigo. Tian bin." Soldiers of Heaven, the local soul-guides are called. "We don't know what this one is. They're supposed to have the troops on a damn short leash. Deserters don't live to become rumours."

By the descriptions of Captain-General Ukitake, Yellow Springs is something of a pencil-pusher's fondest wish. It's partly due to the harsh regulations on the spiritually aware that the two of them need to stay undercover. The laws push many with latent talent to seek hiding places on the border of the realm. Renji figures Wei and his companions are such drifters, too.

"Few patrols around. I thought this place was so orderly and all." At least Ichigo isn't harping about his wager any more. The sooner they leave that topic behind, the better.

"Maybe they prefer a less in-your-face approach. Not everyone runs in sword first, unlike someone I know."

"You're one to talk," Ichigo retorts. "You said this was the wild frontier. Seems to me there should be more soldiers to keep the order."

Grabbing Ichigo's wrist, Renji shoves a few coins onto his palm. "Take that fancy phrase book an' get us some food. I'm gonna go to the blacksmith, an' find a herbalist." They're running low on medicinal supplies. The packet of Fourth Division energy pills Hanatarou pressed on them is exhausted. Besides, he'd be wary of ever handing Ichigo one again. They never were meant for long-term use. "See you here in an hour."

Ichigo turns to go. Renji trails the clang of a hammer on iron through the din of the narrow main street. In the glassy, blue light of the approaching dawn, sellers for the market day already throng through the village. Deep ruts for cart wheels run down the center of the street; he veers to the side to avoid one such cart, heaped high with sacks. Most of the central buildings are jammed along the street. He looks around for the yellow banners of a tian bin office, but the village must be too out-of-the-way for a permanent outpost. It is a relief. So far, Ichigo's led them through small settlements. Renji hopes that continues to be the case.

The smith's shop is aglow with heat from the forge as he ducks inside. He says his good mornings, then lowers his voice. "I was told a man could ask about a sword here."

The smith looks him up and down. His voice grates with smoke. "Who sent you?"

Renji pulls the door shut. The phrase is just a litany he memorised, so he speaks as clearly as he can. "The grass knows not what the wind speaks, but bows to it regardless."

"I see," the smith says. "A moment." With that, he disappears into the back.

It's good to have a sword in his hand again. The smith is happy with the weight of his coin, and he steps out carrying a straight, two-edged blade. It would have been too much luck to find a katana, he supposes, so he'll live with it.

A young woman is hawking herbs and remedies on the edge of the market ahead. Renji is moving towards her stall, when someone taps him on the shoulder.

"That was fa—" Then he pulls his face into a nonchalant half-smile. "You again. Regrets 'bout last night?"

Wei still manages to look like he is lounging, even fitted for the road, raven hair in a neat tail. "No, no. Had another word you might want to hear."

"Sorry, can't bet you any more blades against it. I need this one."

"Heh. Take it as free advice from a fellow wanderer." Wei sounds genuinely amused. "We both know what it's like to live on the border. The wilds are never safe. There's been news of a big, white beast to the south of here. They say it fears neither man nor fire. That doesn't sound good to me."

Renji doesn't need to feign surprise. A stray Hollow? Or one of their local creatures? "Somethin' unnatural, is that what you're sayin'?"

"Could be. Just thought you might wanna take care. It's caused some havoc farther out there. Bigger villages are safer, but it's a ways to the next if you go south."

"Thanks," Renji says and means it.

Wei waves his hand. "Glad to help. We don't look after each other, who's going to, eh..." He pauses there.

"Huo Jin works fine. I should go now, but we happen to meet again, I'll buy you a round." Renji claps the man on the shoulder. The name may be one Ichigo made up just in case, but helping hands aren't so common in these parts. He almost feels bad for the moment when Wei unwraps Zabimaru's husk to find a simple sword worth a mere fraction of what he thought.

"Much obliged!" Wei's goodbye reaches him just before the man vanishes among the crowd.

Quickening his pace, Renji sets his sights on the herbalist.

* * *

Something ghosts down his cheek. Blinking his eyes in order to focus on the physical world, Ichigo halts by the road.

Ash floats on the wind in flakes that cling to tree boughs and ride on the rough weave of Renji's hat. The flank of the mountain to the southwest already obscures half the sky, but the swaths of forest covering it are placid in the noon sun.

"I don't smell smoke," he says.

"It's old. Fire could've burned out by now." Renji snaps off a twig from a sapling. "The weather must've been dry, though, if the ash has carried like this." He rubs at a leaf, smudging his fingertips grey.

"Should we take a look? The wind's been about the same these last days. It's probably not far off the road."

"Ichigo. Foreign territory. No authority. Undercover." Renji articulates each word in his you really are a dumbass, aren't you? tone. Ichigo returns fire with a dirty glare.

"I know. It's not outta our way, is it?"

"Fine. We find any smokin' ruins, we'll break for food and you can poke 'round in the rubble." Renji eyes the mountainside. "Can't see any burnt areas, so it probably wasn't a forest fire."

"Come on already." Ichigo focuses on the spirit ribbon again.

Later that day, the road forks, and they take the narrower path to ascend the steep, forested mountain. At nightfall, they find their answer. The wrecked remains of wooden houses rise almost straight out of the forest, a hamlet of a dozen buildings. The breeze flutters a scarf or banner, tied on a fence post by the road.

"Looks like a pheasant." Renji spreads out the cloth. "Think you've seen this somewhere? On a crest?"

Ichigo hardly hears him and couldn't care less. The ribbon is thinning out, and he hangs on to it with sheer stubbornness now. He's aware of the houses the same way as the trees: they're obstacles on his path, inconsequential as long as he finds a way around.

"Ichigo?"

"Shut up," he snarls, "It's hard enough without you—"

Renji goes still so fast Ichigo nearly regrets his harsh tone, but then something flickers at his feet: a crimson twist so soft it's only a shimmer in the air. He trails it with his eyes, even as it seems to brighten for a heartbeat—and then ravels into nothing.

He blinks. The ribbon faded beyond his senses. His temples throb with the sharpening headache. He holds a hand to his face, feeling the rush of vertigo that tells him he's pushed too far. He tires too easily these days, but how can he not try?

"No good," is all he says to Renji, once he can open his eyes and see straight.

"Let's make camp," is all Renji says. "That house might be sound enough to sleep in."

They light a fire in the pit and stew some of the brown rice bought in the last village. Ichigo takes the cup Renji hands him without protest, then lies down to wait for the bitter tea to ease his headache. The roof lets in a patch of night sky, but there's enough left of it to shelter them.

"I found a couple of graves by the creek," Renji says. "They look pretty recent."

"So how long d'you think? Since the fire?"

"Little over a week, maybe. Survivors must've left."

"It's weird, though. Everything up here looks so damn dry, so how come it didn't spread? The trees start at their doorstep."

"They got lucky, I guess. Really lucky." Renji sounds distracted. "This isn't the first time I've seen this."

"The phoenix-thing?" Ichigo rolls onto his side to catch a glimpse of the cloth in Renji's hand. It has a fan-tailed bird emblazoned on the red fabric. "Did you say it was some kinda heraldic sign?"

"Yeah, an' it was tied to that post on purpose."

"Foreign territory. Strangers in a strange land. You know the drill."

"I don't think a hearth gone wild started this fire. We might be in for the long haul, so it's not gonna hurt to know a bit about the locals. It's not really a fresh trail we got here."

Ichigo snorts. He's lost the ribbon before. As long as he has an idea of the way it's going, he has always found it again. He doesn't quite see the need for Renji to skirt around his setback today.

"That wasn't a jab," Renji says gruffly. "We just gotta go a bit further again."

"Yeah."

"Well, you'd know if the ribbon was cut, right?"

He would, wouldn't he? Rukia even praised the finesse of his perception, in her way. "What do you know, there is one thing in the world where you have an eye for nuances. Now do that again."

"She's got be out there," he half whispers. "Somewhere."

" 'Waitin' for us?'"

"Hell, no. Kicking ass and taking names, more like. She all but said I could always find her. Guess we gotta trust her."

"Rukia's always right." Renji sits slouched forward, hands on his knees. "You tolerate it 'cause pretty often, it really is true."

"She bosses you around, too? Figures."

"Hey, now." Renji shoots him a sideways look. "Can't really remember a time when she wouldn't have." There's a pause, a deep breath. "Actually, I can, but I try not to think about that too much."

Ichigo isn't privy to many details, but he is aware that Renji had a long falling out with Rukia, and that their present relationship is still a new thing. Neither spoke much of it, and he isn't the type to gossip. "I didn't ask, did I?"

"You sorta did."

"Not about that. Anyway, it's between you and her." He set out without second thought to find Rukia, like Renji did. It doesn't mean they need to talk about the reasons like a couple of girls at a sleepover.

Renji seems to disagree, since he speaks up again, more to the fire. "She's just about the pushiest person I know, but she kept us together through thick an' thin. I'm not so sure if I'd be here today without her."

There doesn't seem to be anything he could say to that. Ichigo hums in vague agreement. For a while, Renji keeps staring into the fire. Then, "You sleep first, let that tea set in. I'll wake ya for your watch."

"Sounds fine," he mutters. "G'night."

"Night."

* * *

Ichigo springs up with a gasp, starting Renji out of a drowsy haze.

"What?" Damn, he almost drifted off, and on his watch, too. The fire smoulders weakly, so all he can see of Ichigo's face is the orange gleam off his eyes.

"Outside," Ichigo whispers, snapping Renji fully awake, too. "More than one."

"Great." Renji unsheathes the sword, standing up. The wind has died. The forest seems too quiet in its absence. "That thing you sensed before the last village?"

"Don't think so. These are a lot... blurrier. Feel like small fry."

"Maybe it sent 'em," he says darkly. "No bankai unless you're dyin'." They are moving higher into the mountains, but it only takes one wrong pair of eyes to blow their cover.

"Just do your damn part." Ichigo glares—he can sense it, more than see—and slinks out through the charred hole in the wall. Renji follows, away from the firelight that may already have given them away. The youth halts at the corner, feeling ahead towards the open area that must have acted as a village square.

Ichigo presses his fingers into Renji's forearm one by one, then again: Eight of them, he counts. He acknowledges that by tapping Ichigo's wrist in turn. Clouds cover the moon, so they are both relying on spirit sight to see.

The air ripples in the open space, and three dark forms streak in through the fluctuating spirit-hues around them. They land on all fours, heads lowered, shivering with viscous reiatsu as they take stock of the place.

"Flash-step." Renji hardly breathes the word. They've fought these things before, warped, hound-like beasts from some of the local Hollow realms—or hells, he should say.

Ichigo slides away from his side and, in the same motion, brings Zangetsu down on the back of the first hound. The strike nearly cleaves the creature in two, while Ichigo spins away to face the next beast. That one gets a glancing blow to the boy's leg before he sends its head flying. Renji considers staying put to let him finish the job, when the other five flow in out of the air.

One of them is bigger; it hangs back as the rest fall upon Ichigo with the coordinated grace of pack hunters. He's smart enough to sidestep, darting further away. The beasts trail him in a cacophony of bellows and barks.

Renji misses the familiar feel of Zabimaru, curled up in a corner of his soul. The plain sword will have to do.

He dives out of shunpo just behind the hounds and slashes at the hind legs of one. It tumbles with a high, wailing sound even as two more round on him. Two swift blows fell one, although it tears into his forearm before he kicks it away. Ichigo sounds like he's managing, grinding out a curse in between the wet noise of a blade slitting flesh.

Renji is fending off the second one when claws carve into his back and he's thrown onto his knees. Blood wells, warm down his skin. He scrambles up and shifts to the left, but his opponent moves just as fast. The larger beast has joined in, looming into the height of two men, its wide flat snout parting to reveal cruel teeth.

Renji rolls away from the gnashing jaws and groans as the earth grates under his wounded back. It didn't score too deep, so moving only hurts. Surging up, both hands on the sword, he jabs at the thing's throat.

The blade skitters across bone plating covering its neck. A sweeping paw knocks the breath from his lungs. He lands hard on his back. "Fuck—!"

He has no idea how smart the creatures are. It's not impossible this one can sense his lack of a soul cutter and know he's an easier target for it. He begins a kidou incantation as he pulls his feet under him. Ichigo is nearby, but the air is too dense with reiatsu to pinpoint him.

Kidou has never been his forte; he just needs to get his bearings. He aims the burst of flame at the beast's face. Singed, it throws its head back.

Zangetsu bites into its armoured shoulder. It swerves in mid-motion to roar at Ichigo. That is all the cue Renji needs. One step forward, and a neat overhand thrust buries his blade into the thing's eye. It collapses, thrashing, as they both back away.

"Nice save," Renji says. Ichigo's made short work of the rest. He seems to have taken seriously the advice to work on his sword forms.

"Nice diversion," Ichigo replies, but the irony Renji expects doesn't seem to be there.

"I've gotta call Zabimaru back." He pulls the sword from the carcase. "This is like fightin' with a game leg or somethin'."

Ichigo turns abruptly, back towards the house. His voice is curt and low. "You're telling me."

Feeling like he missed something just now, Renji makes his way to the stream.

When he comes back inside, Ichigo sits cleaning Zangetsu, stroke by measured stroke. He hangs his wet, sliced shirt to dry and reaches for their small medicine chest. The cold creek water stopped the bleeding, and he was able to knit most of the torn muscles.

"It looks clear," Ichigo says. "No more of 'em out."

"Then what's eatin' you?" Renji fishes out a jar of salve. "Mind helpin' me with this?"

With a sigh, Ichigo takes the jar and unscrews the lid. "They don't look too bad."

"I patched them up some. I can walk fine."

"Huh." Ichigo smears the pungent, prickling stuff onto his back. Renji focuses on not wincing. "That's okay then, I guess."

"Listen, kid—" Renji halts at Ichigo's irritated noise. "Fine, sorry, but that's what you're actin' like. If it makes you feel better, tell me you got five of them to my two. And a half."

"I would've managed."

"Yeah, so why the long face?" Ichigo's fingers leave his skin, and he shakes his shoulders to loosen them. He thought the year of the war had purged the boy of a great many youthful habits. He is more even-keeled and knows his own limitations better—but Renji isn't sure if that insight is worth the price, if it ever could be.

"I get we gotta be careful with shinigami powers," Ichigo says grudgingly, "I just—can't help thinking."

"About what?" An unpleasant thought comes creeping to the forefront of his mind. "Ichigo, keepin' that Hollow around would've been a goddamn bad idea. You were a mess." The memory of Ichigo in the wake of the second battle of Karakura kept Renji awake more than one night. He saddled himself with the salvation of his hometown, and nearly died pursuing a goal he was never meant to reach alone.

It's the same damn thing again. Renji digests Ichigo's sullen silence, and, as his senses relax and open, the stony stubbornness weighing on his aura. This is some kinda personal failure.

"While you're at it, stop hittin' yourself over losin' the ribbon."

"Wow." Ichigo pokes at a wound. Renji's sure it isn't quite by accident. "Anything else you wanna advise me on? You didn't get to my school grades yet."

"You're a real piece of work, you know that?" Renji holds out a roll of bandages over his shoulder, and Ichigo plasters a strip of absorbent paper over the gashes. "A fuckin' wonder kid, bankai in three days, envy of every Academy student these days—"

"Shut the hell up, Renji."

He might have deserved that. "Just tryin' to offer some perspective here."

"Right." Ichigo's voice drips with sarcasm. "Next time I want some, I'll put in an order." He tests the knot on the dressing. "My watch?"

"Suppose it is." Renji pulls a blanket over his lap. The pain is easing to a dull ache that just means the wounds are mending. He glances at Ichigo. "Thanks for the help."

"Sure," Ichigo says, withdrawing into the dark. Gingerly, Renji settles onto his side to wait for sleep.

Chapter Text

Night wraps the isolated park on all sides, every living thing within distance of his senses huddled away from the driving snow. The gusts touch him, but they're merely cool on his skin. In soul form, his feet are bare. It may be stupid, but he feels like it's easier to get a feel for the world that way, in direct contact. Rukia shrugged and told him to suit himself, whatever helped.

Ichigo turns in a circle, hand extended. His own aura blurs the air, a distraction he's used to. A few blocks off, a Hollow flares into being, but Karakura runs so thick with shinigami the small ones are picked off in minutes. His target is closer—and more elusive.

Still, she thinks she hides better than she does. A wisp of red weaves past him towards the frozen fountain in the middle. Closing his hand around the near-invisible ribbon, he tugs.

"All right," Rukia says tersely, her reiatsu unfurling as she crosses the field to him. "You found me. Again."

"That your best shot? I didn't even break a sweat."

"That might be the snowstorm, Ichigo." Well, she is right. The wind is still brisk, even for them.

"Face it. You can't hide so good I couldn't pick you out, Lady Top-of-my-class-in-reiatsu-control Kuchiki."

"Hmph." She knocks him in the arm rather half-heartedly. "Then I'm thankful for one thing I do not have to beat into your skull with a stick. We should try that with someone else, too. You're very familiar with my aura, so that may explain how you find me so quickly."

"Well damn, you gotta find some way to dampen my victory, don't you?" He rolls his shoulders. Kidou training is all well and good, but he's getting stiff standing still for so long.

"False victories in practice will not help you on the battlefield."

"Okay, okay. Anything else tonight?" After they dragged themselves back from Hueco Mundo, and found Karakura in one piece after a close-call victory for Soul Society, Rukia decided he needed a crash course in "things every first-year at the Academy knows by heart. You cannot go on this sloppily." The butterflies he still finds weird, and she won't let him hitch a ride on his own, but tracking reiatsu gets easier every day. He's good at it, and he can tell her acerbic remarks conceal genuine pride.

"Let's try that the other way around. You conceal yourself. I will count to a hundred." She folds her arms.

"I swear, you have issues with me getting something right."

"You need to apply yourself in your weaker areas. One, two, three..."

"And don't peek!" He stalks off, fumbling for the billowing edges of his reiatsu in order to begin folding it in.

She chuckles, a low sound of sheer superiority. "I have no need to cheat. Six, seven, eight..."

"You awake?" Sunlight and Renji's voice creep into his attention. Ichigo sits up, raking his hair from his bleary eyes.

"Just 'bout. Whazzit?"

"It's close to noon. We oughta go."

"Gimme a sec." He collects himself and heads to the creek to wash off the drowsiness clinging to him. The sultry midday feels less real than the eerie cold of his memories. It's just another day, trying to coax out Rukia's ribbon with the skills she hammered into him.

I'm trying to save you and you're still helping me. Business as usual, eh, Rukia?

The stream flows deep enough to swim, so he takes the chance to wash up. They can always find a spring or rivulet for drinking water, but swimming is another thing. The water has a bracing chill; despite the warm day, the mountains are settling into the gradual stretch of autumn.

Oh yeah, Renji's here, too, lending a hand. Managed to lose his sword last town. Wish you were here to give the bastard what for.

She isn't, and he's wasting time. Ichigo dunks his head in the water, then wades to the shore to dry himself off. It was a dream, so what difference does it make if it really happened?

He finds Renji standing by the scattered bodies in the village square. They already spread a ripe, sickening stench. They're some local equivalent of a Hollow, but they don't have the good manners to crumble away when defeated.

"Something wrong?" He hangs back to avoid gagging from the reek. Renji seems to bear it.

"Nah. I thought the big one might be the one I was warned about, but guess not. Wrong colour."

Ichigo can usually tell when they are straying into a patch of corrupted land, to which the larger ones apparently keep. Renji calls them shadowlands, the shinigami term, but what strikes him about them is the heavy aura of pain and aching sadness that they all have. He hasn't felt that in a while.

"They're the same things as in the border forest, right? Just far from home?"

"Looks like it. I just wondered."

"You got that from the same guy who's got Zabimaru now," Ichigo can't resist adding, "You think you can trust him?"

"He doesn't have Zabimaru. And what's he got to win by lyin' about somethin' like that?" Renji says irritably. "If that Hollow—white demon—isn't real, then what? Everybody wins."

"That's not the point. For a guy who bet his sword for a piece of gossip, you sure like to tell me I'm reckless."

"Extra sleep sure did wonders to your mood."

"Are you gonna stand by the rotting corpses all day, or—"

Renji's expression sharpens. "Shut up. Listen."

"I don't hear—" If this is another dirty diversion tactic, he's going to punch the man.

Renji cuts him off with a hand on his mouth. "I said shut up. Horses, comin' up the road. Might be a good idea to make ourselves scarce."

Unwillingly, Ichigo pricks up his ears. The day is still but for the chitter of birds in the trees. The sounds are still distant, but he thinks he can make out a jangle of metal, the dull thump of hooves in the dirt of the road. It will not take them long to reach the village.

He shoves Renji's hand aside and jerks a thumb at the bodies. "Fine. What about those?"

"Can't be helped. Anyway, we did someone a good turn by killin' them." Renji starts off towards the house where they slept. "I'm just not keen on the locals interrogatin' us about it."

"No kidding." Even when Renji grates on his nerves, Ichigo will rather hide in the bushes with him than risk a stand-off with the resident thought police. Their things are quickly packed, but there isn't time to conceal evidence of their stay.

His hands stop in the middle of tying the cord of his hat as something hits him. It takes him a second to register he's feeling the unbridled force of a shinigami aura; they've done their best to hide theirs for so long. "These guys have to be tian bin. We really gotta go."

"They could be comin' to check the village. Word must've spread."

"It doesn't matter! They find us here—"

"Okay, okay." Renji grabs the red banner and stuffs it into his bag, already looking up at Ichigo. "Which way'd the ribbon go?"

"Pretty much straight west."

"You can get your bearings when we've got more time. West's good for now." Renji holds his eye, as if trying to read something there. Ichigo shifts on his feet.

"Shunpo?" he says. "Better put some distance between us and 'em."

"After you."

Ichigo fixes the first waypoint in his mind and breaks into a run, Renji close on his heels as the ruined buildings rush away around them.

* * *

"Looks like she's alone." Ichigo eases himself down from the tree branch by branch until he has a clear jump down. The dwindling crescent moon outlines Renji, barely, a few steps away. "What do we do?"

"Go over and ask nicely if she'd mind sharin' her fire." Renji has tucked his hands under his arms. Ichigo blows on his own fingers; they are numbing despite that he just worked them pretty hard scaling the tree.

"Two armed guys who barely speak her language? That sounds like a smashing idea." That isn't strictly true. They can communicate basic things, and Ichigo has tried to keep at deciphering his phrase book, but they are also far from discussing profundities yet.

"We need some answers," Renji says. Keeping to west, they crossed onto another wider road yesterday. It hints at a bigger settlement ahead. Ichigo found the last faint vestige of the ribbon two days ago, and it petered out almost as soon as he did.

However, he voices another thought. "Those tian bin still bothering you?"

"I damn well would like a better picture of what's goin' on in this area."

"Is this where I get to say I damn well told you so?"

"Knock yourself out. But I still say we go."

It would be good to have at least a few words with someone who is not Renji, no matter how halting. "You're gonna tell me to leave my sword in a tree."

"He kinda stands out. You'll know where he is, anyway. One flash-step's all it takes if there's trouble."

Sorry, he tells the old man as he unslings Zangetsu. Be back for you later. He trusts in his ability to kick any necessary ass even without the sword. The presence he felt following them has not manifested itself since the larger village. There is a suitable patch of thorny thicket some way off, so he lets Renji go up to the traveller's hut first and goes to conceal Zangetsu.

Sucking on a pricked thumb, he steps into the frame of light let out by the open doorway. Renji flicks a hand his way from beside the fire pit.

"Here's my friend. Thank you for sharing your fire."

The woman looks close to fifty, her hair combed up into a pragmatic bun, held off her round face with a scarf. She is watching a pot above the shining coals, the fire down to a few errant tongues of yellow. Belatedly, Ichigo sketches a bow. "Ma'am."

Clear, sharp eyes look back at him, then she nods. "Hello. Sit down."

Renji makes room on his side of the fire. She has laid her things in one corner, so Ichigo drops his bag next to Renji's, plainly in their section of the small space. Neither of them makes a move to dig out their provisions. Food means that you have spiritual energy to burn, and the fewer people know that they do, the better.

"Going up to the pass?" She speaks slowly, so much so that she has to be indulging them. "That is where most strangers go, and you are not from here."

"Might be," Renji hedges. "We hear swordsmen find work that way."

Her face turns flinty. "Watch who you work for, if you go over the mountains."

"Why so?" Ichigo cuts in. Renji does the two-hired-swords-down-on-their-luck routine a lot better, so he usually keeps quiet and plays the part of the young protege.

"You came from the east. Did you see the village in ruins?" she asks. Ichigo knits his brow at the unfamiliar word. "The fire?" she offers then.

"Oh, yeah. The ruins. We did."

"The lord's men did that."

"The soldiers?" Renji sits upright, and the woman nods. Ichigo resists the urge to poke him, to remind him he is edging into dangerous waters. "Why in hell?"

The woman falls silent. Her pot of water comes to a boil, and she prepares her tea without speaking. As she gestures for their cups, they turn to rummage through their bags. Ichigo holds out his and she fills it, meeting his gaze like a hawk scouring for prey.

"Thank you," he says, a bit too sharply.

"The people disobeyed—did not do as the tian bin said," she says at last, "You two, get out of these lands quickly. You can go, do it. Things are bad around here."

"Ma'am," Renji says, "We don't know much. What goes on here?"

"Lord Jue Xiang is very forceful." She is nearly whispering, her shoulders hunching. "He is the law. People must follow him."

"Hey." Ichigo leans closer to Renji. "Drop it. She doesn't look like she wants to talk." He can sense Renji's protests forming, but the man only looks down.

"Sorry. That was... rude of me."

"It is all right." She gives him a kind look, though the core of her expression is hard. "It is not your trouble. Go west before the soldiers take you, too."

* * *

Renji offers to take first watch, and Ichigo joins him in front of the hut, under the wide awning of the roof, to let the woman settle in peace.

"She didn't seem too scared," he says. "They got some kind of a fellow traveller hospitality code, you think?"

"Could be." Renji bends forward over his outstretched legs, easing out the aches of the day. "They've got all these huts set up, an' people keep them in order."

"Unless the government runs them."

"Seems 'the government' runs a lot of other things, too." Ichigo doesn't have to see Renji's face to know he's frowning in that gloomy way that means he is thinking too hard. Right now, Ichigo doesn't blame him.

"You think it was really tian bin who torched that village?" The question would have scorched a hole in his mind if he'd held it in for much longer.

"I'm not sayin' Soul Society's perfect in any way." Each word comes out tight and stressed, as if trying to burst the bounds of Renji's quiet tone. "But if any shinigami, even the Eleventh, went around Rukongai doin' somethin' like this, they'd be drawn and quartered and hung up on the Seireitei wall."

"Shit." Ichigo slumps down on the ground, back against the wall.

"Fuck yes. She called them the lord's men. Captain Ukitake... the Captain-General said the tian bin answer straight to the rulers of the provinces."

"He tells them to go burn down houses, there's nobody to help the people."

"The soldiers can burn down houses all they like an' he won't lift a damn finger to stop 'em."

"What does it mean for us?"

"We gotta stay even lower than before." Renji shakes his head. "I guess we hafta contact the captain, too."

"And stay away from people much as we can."

"Ichigo," Renji says, and he knows by the tone he will not like the next part. "If you can't find the ribbon again, we gotta ask around."

"I will!" He controls his voice at the last second.

"I'm not doubtin' you! You can't really deny there's a chance it's just thinnin' out too much. It's a goddamn miracle you've brought us this far—"

"It is out there, and I'll fucking find it, so just—" Ichigo inhales shakily, fumbling up onto his feet. Don't, something suspiciously like Rukia's voice tells him. Don't push things when you can't avoid the consequences. "So, that's all."

Renji's face contorts, his mouth pressing shut. He keeps his gaze on the darkened road. His breath fogs in the meagre light escaping the hut. With great effort, Ichigo turns away.

He chose his company, now he has to stick with it.

* * *

The road they are on leads to a fort town in the western pass. There will be soldiers there, but in peacetime, the way is open for travellers. The larger village they visited several days ago is called—Ichigo risks fiddling with Urahara's translator—Foxfern. The woman trades along the river valley on the eastern side of the mountain range that splits this region; province, he believes, is the word she calls it. They say a goodbye in the grey pre-dawn and watch her lead her basket-laden ox into the mist.

On the best days, there isn't much need for words. On days like this one, there isn't much space for words unless they want to end up at each other's throats. They set off along the road in silence.

The weather has grown colder over the last week. Today hangs heavy with incipient rain, and gusts of wind swirl through the high brown grass that hems the road. Renji lets Ichigo set the pace, hanging back enough to keep his reiatsu from clouding his sight, and then some.

If you don't think I can do this, why the fuck do you keep doing that? Ichigo shoves the thought away and grasps for concentration. Once the rain starts, his chances will be gone for today, so he really should make the most of it while he can.

The expanse of road is straight and empty. He lets his feet carry him and spreads his awareness like a spiral, further with each widening loop. The motions are familiar by now. He hardly needs to think about them, but does, anyway.

The flutters of animal life slide across his vision, noted, but unheeded. The wind is a bright, stinging blue, a slash of cold against his senses. Traces of other travellers linger along the road, a mesh of pale threads, some of their fraying lines tinged red by latent reiatsu.

Rukia, he insists to himself, she's this kind of—no. He has to be certain. She's cool and airy, a knife's edge of clarity across the weave of the world; the darkest red he's ever felt, deep even against the warm, full blood-hue of his own aura.

A shiver passes through the ribbons at his feet, like a fingertip skimming fogged glass.

He halts.

Rukia? It's less a thought and more a probe, as light as he can manage. He picks up the threads one by one and lets them fall back where they lay.

Rukia— He thinks of it as narrowing his mind down to one thing only, until that thing utterly fills his senses. He fixes that crimson shade in his mind, raising each new ribbon up to it, each smooth line, each vestige that all but dissolves at his touch. There was a flicker. He had to feel something.

The first spatters of rain on his bare head drag him back to the daylight. With a sigh, he tips his head back and lets the water sluice over his face.

"You have a hat," Renji says from behind him. "We still got a ways to go, so I wouldn't stand there gettin' wet if I was you."

Ichigo ignores him so pointedly it should give even him pause.

"Wait." Renji's tone changes. "Did you find—?"

Ichigo pulls his hat up on his head. "No."

"Then why'd you stop?" Why, today of all days, can't Renji shut up?

"I thought I saw something. I didn't."

"I know you don't wanna hear this, but... are you sure you aren't just..." Renji motions with his hand.

Ichigo folds his arms. Zangetsu's chain seems to chafe his shoulder even through the sturdy jacket. "There's something weird about the ribbon." He hesitates, wishing so much he could deny his own conclusion. "It's like... it's not her anymore."

"What d'you mean?"

"You heard me." Ichigo can't help his face twisting. "I keep almost sensing her, but then it just... changes, right when I try to look."

Renji's eyebrows furrow. "I think you oughta take a break. A longer one."

"What are you talking about? I can't—"

"That's just it! You're gonna push and push until something breaks, only this time it's gonna be you!"

"I told you, I can do this! So get the hell out of my business! At least I do my damn part!"

"Ichigo, damn it, I'm not gonna watch ya—" Renji cuts himself off with a throaty sound. "I never said you didn't. The problem's the opposite! What will it take to make you see you're not invincible?"

"So you're just gonna leave Rukia."

Renji stops dead in his tracks. "What?" he stammers.

Ichigo whirls on him, voice rising. "You gave up on her before! You let go and she went away! You don't care if that happens again, huh?"

"Shut up, Ichigo. You don't have a fuckin' clue what you're talkin' about, so shut your mouth right now."

He's gone too far. That is plain from every nuance in Renji's voice, full of tense, desperate force.

"Look—" He takes half a step forward, hand rising as if to grab Renji's shoulder, or to block the blow he's sure the man will lash out at him.

Renji does nothing. He looks at the place where Ichigo stands as if seeing no one there, and starts walking in carrying strides down the road.

Chapter Text

He hears the bamboo water-dipper filling and nodding, filling and nodding, over the soft sound of the stream.

Renji opens his eyes to find himself sitting cross-legged on the stony bank. Across the water, the dark-leaved rows of the bamboo grove rise tall and motionless. It's a rare moment on the mountain peak when there is no wind at all.

Behind him, he would find the dojo with its aged wooden floors and the wall plaques painted with the virtues of the warrior. Over the years, he's both snickered at the strict maxims and tried to aspire to them in turn. He stays still beside the water and waits.

Finally, Zabimaru pads into view from the shadows of the grove. The monkey's face seems calm, but the serpent twines and meanders along his back all the while. He stops on the other side of the stream.

"Hey." Renji straightens himself. "I hope you're not too pissed at me."

The monkey huffs, reaching back to swat at the agitated serpent. "I grew bored more than anything."

"It's high time we joined up again, then. There's trouble brewin'."

"Will we fight alongside Zangetsu again?" The monkey raises gleaming eyes at Renji. The nue settles in the sun-washed sand, shifting until he finds an agreeable spot.

Renji feels his mouth quirk to the side. "Well, we gotta. He's in this mess the same as us." Right now he might prefer having Zangetsu at his side instead of the wielder.

"He is a worthy ally."

He's a dumbass kid. Renji tries to stifle his own rancour. A loud-mouthed brat who doesn't know when to shut up.

"You will earn a chance to pay me back for this inaction," the monkey says, gravelly and amused. The snake slithers along the monkey's back in restless loops, round and round himself, until the monkey clamps a hard paw on his neck. "Stop that."

"I will not!" The serpent wrests out of his grasp and rears as if to strike. All of a sudden, alarm and surprise spike Renji's senses. This side of Zabimaru is volatile, even bloodthirsty, but the snake's baleful glare holds rage unlike any he has seen before.

"Whoa, there." Renji shifts up into a crouch. "Take it easy."

"You gave me up!" the serpent scoffs, "You tossed me aside and I was warped and bent like a broken blade!"

"I told you, it was to help a comrade!" He stands up, face earnest. He can't begin to explain Rukia to Zabimaru, but the nue understands the importance of allies. "You were restin'. I would've known if somethin' happened!"

"Worthless liar! How dare you pretend—"

"Silence!" The monkey roars, and the bamboo stalks shiver in resonance. "He is my master. He asks and I obey."

Renji has seen the two heads clash often; now, the sheer force in the monkey's voice sends him back half a step. The serpent tosses his head as if worrying prey, but slowly curls up on the monkey's back. His eyes close.

"What the hell was that?" Renji meets the monkey's impenetrable eyes.

"You command me," he answers mildly, "If I'm to serve as bait, I will, if not gladly."

"Yeah. Right." Renji fists and opens his hands. "By the way, I got a new sword for ya. Afraid it isn't Soul Society work, but it should do for us."

"We'll see."

"Well, that was the point here, right?" He can't help eyeing the sleeping serpent. Zabimaru is his. His bankai is proof of that. What the snake said still rattles in his head. "So, it's been a while since we sparred?" he offers by way of a change in subject.

The nue burrows deeper into the sand. "Show me the sword. Later, we can speak about training."

Renji is quiet for a moment before he nods.

He closes his eyes and squeezes them shut until he can hear the crackling fire again, feel the rough wool of the blankets against his bare feet. Ichigo lies bundled into his blankets on the other side of the fire, dead to the world.

They've hardly spoken in the last day. At this point, whatever he can think of to say would lead to blows and might not stop at brawling. He endures, because they're coming to a waystation in the next valley. The road crosses a larger river before climbing higher west towards the pass. The station means soldiers, and more importantly, it also means people.

He barely bears Ichigo, but if he turns back now and Rukia was in the next village all along...

It feels like he has no words to describe that. He has to carry on. The damned kid rekindled his hope, and now he can't bring himself to smother it.

He unsheathes the sword and lays it across his knees.

* * *

Zabimaru paces around him. The world goes soft and indistinct as he turns inward; the only clear sound is the rustle of grass and leaves under the nue's paws. He smells sand and water and wind, opens himself and his own strength to his sword-spirit.

The air seems to thicken around him. He can't falter. Every shinigami is taught this last-resort measure as soon as they achieve shikai. He's never actually had to do it before; a broken blade can often be mended. A lost one must be replaced, and the connection reforged.

Inferior, Zabimaru says, an tinny din in his head: the nue's voice fluxes between high and low pitch. But adequate.

Inside him, something wrenches like a silent shock of lightning. He sways and tries to hold down the urge to retch. The process is supposed to be slow and maybe unpleasant. It feels like someone's grabbed his shoulder and hip and is twisting mercilessly in opposite directions. Yet, Zabimaru is there, pushing filaments of their shared power into a new shape, and he has to stay open.

Under his fingers, the sloping crossguard warps.

He covers his eyes with a hand and inhales in measured gulps of air until the nausea passes.

Do not ask me to do that again, Zabimaru says with a tart scoff. His footsteps vanish into echoes.

Duly noted, Renji groans. What the fuck d'you do, rearrange my innards?

There is no answer. He looks down at the long straight blade of the sword, and the hilt now etched with familiar jagged patterns. In spite of Zabimaru's swift withdrawal, the feel of the weapon is entirely different: the sword sits poised in his loose grip, its weight and balance flawless.

He sheathes the blade, and reaches to add wood to the fire.

* * *

They make good time to the waystation, which turns out to boast a marketplace, a decent enough inn, and a tian bin office and garrison by the ford across the fast-flowing river. Swollen by the rains in the last week, the stream comes up to their thighs even at the crossing. After wading in the freezing water, a bath is enough of a necessity that they manage it at the same time. The uneasy silence persists until Ichigo slinks out to check out the market.

Renji doesn't tell the youth to watch out, or to get back as soon as he's done. He empties his bag onto the inn bed until he finds the padded package that holds his spirit phone. He sets aside the rarely-used memory modifier, stuffed into the same side pocket, and unwraps the phone.

He put off this report for as long as he could. Even though he is here with leave from his superior officer, he's already stretched that leave past its limits. He doesn't properly understand the workings of the phone, only it doesn't employ reiatsu, so it is safe from spirit-trackers. That's enough for him. On the other hand, the settlement, the presence of people, stabilises its surroundings: he should have better luck at getting a signal.

It takes him three tries to get through, and a heartbeat to remember his formal speech patterns. "This is Vice-Captain Abarai Renji, requesting immediate connection to Sixth Division Captain Kuchiki."

The Twelfth does its job well, or then the captain has lain in discreet wait for him. He kneels on the floor and sits up straight. It helps him to stay the vice-captain.

Captain Kuchiki does not greet him, which is as it should be. He goes through the forms of his report briefly and precisely; mentions the local unrest, the change in Rukia's ribbon, the one likely lead they have. Distilling their situation down to the bare objective facts makes it seem oddly manageable.

The captain listens without comment. The unsteady connection forces Renji to repeat himself in any case.

Then, "You are aware there is a limit to the time I can keep you away on the field."

"Yes, sir." He did not mention this to Ichigo in so many words, but if the order is given and he doesn't return, he may come home to be stripped of sword and rank. He survived one desertion charge by "extraordinary courage and self-sacrifice in battle". He isn't keen on trying his luck with another.

"I suggest you hurry, Renji." If Captain Kuchiki lets his second-in-command run his personal errands for much longer, his second-in-command won't be the only one put in jeopardy. "I stress that you may employ any of the resources at your disposal. Time is a priority."

"I'll report immediately if the lead turns out true, sir."

"Good." The captain's voice is heavy, even through the static. "Dismissed."

He wraps the phone securely away again.

The door slams open, sending Renji diving for Zabimaru as Ichigo tumbles into the room, looking like he's just raced Shihouin Yoruichi and given it his all.

"Look." Ichigo brandishes a torn sheet of paper at him. Renji catches it, spreading it open into the light from the window. There is writing in broad black strokes down one side, and a rather crude drawing of a woman holding a sword up in a two-handed grip.

"It's a wanted poster." Ichigo leans over his shoulder, the words coming out in a rush. "From the signpost outside the garrison."

Renji scrutinises the deceptively familiar characters. Most often they mean what he thinks they do, but he's been fooled a few times. The numbers are clear, though. "That reward's nothin' to sneeze at, either. Now, you wanna tell me—"

"Look at it, dumbass!" Ichigo pokes at the sheet.

"'Dead or alive, a woman—Broken Bough'?" He must only be humouring Ichigo because his excitement is so off-kilter. "That some kind of a title?"

"I guess. More to the point, she's got a ribboned sword! Tell me you've never seen that stance and I'll kick your ass into next week."

"Shit," Renji says, suddenly faint, "You don't think—"

"And 'Broken Bough'." Ichigo's eyes are feverishly bright. "That doesn't remind you of anything? Like, say, 'rot wood'? Kuchiki?"

Rukia prefers to wield Shirayuki with both hands in shikai. If Renji wants to, he can see her usual beginning stance in the drawing. He can pick a few more words from the description: that one is quick, that could be small or young, and he thinks a part of that one is danger, though the second part looks less familiar...

"But how?" he asks, half of himself, "It—it just—"

"Who the hell cares? It's her! She's alive!"

After a beat of hesitation, Renji turns around and seizes Ichigo by the shoulders. The youth tenses. "Look, it has to be her."

"Maybe it is." Renji makes himself speak firmly. "If it is Rukia, we just found a bigger problem."

Ichigo looks at him wildly. "Huh?"

"There's a bounty on her head. Half the mercenaries downstairs are gonna be lookin' for her, too. Not to mention every single one of those soldiers."

* * *

The sound of breathing permeates the pain in her head. A shallow noise, made by a large thing.

With a start, she comes to, hand closing on a fistful of snow. She spits her mouth clear and recoils as blood spatters on the ground. She must have lain in the drift for some time, but her limbs do still respond. Black hair falls into her eyes as she struggles onto her feet. Brushing it away, she looks around her.

At her feet is a sheer drop into water swirling dizzyingly far below. A full moon floats over the sea, turning the water the deepest hues of blue and sprinkling the knee-deep snow with silver. She closes her eyes against a rush of nausea, fumbling back from the edge of the cliff. A weight pulls at her wrist; a white ribbon is wound around it. It runs down to the hilt of a sword, buried in the snow.

Her heart stutters in its rhythm. She lifts the sword by the ribbon. Slushy blood breaks from the blade.

The breathing hitches and becomes a rumbling growl. She stops dead. Above her, a tongue of rock juts from the cliffside. Ice crystals spray down on her under a lumbering tread. Her hakama almost hobbles her, weighed with wet snow.

She tugs on the ribbon and the sword-hilt slots into place against her palm. Without deliberation, she knows the blade will dance with her like a lifelong partner. The knowledge falls into her heart unbidden, but welcome beyond denial.

The beast leaps. Shrinking back under the precipice, she raises her sword—and finds herself staring into eyes bluer still than the night sea below. Nostrils flare as the immense bear lowers its head to smell her. The tip of her sword skims its nose.

She could not bring herself to strike this creature, even at the peril of her life.

It seems to glow in the moonlight, muscles flowing under the milky fur as it paces before her. The musk of a predator mixes with the scent of a pristine winter's day. Her hand trembles.

"My dear," the bear says in a woman's voice, "you cannot wield me against myself."

"Wh-what are you?" She clenches her teeth as they chatter. The snow spreads soft cold tendrils up her legs.

The bear angles its head in a too-human gesture of confusion. "You do not know me?"

The question punches like a blade in her ribs. She covers her mouth with her hand to keep back a scream. I do not know you. I do not know myself. The chill goes deeper than her body now. All she can do is mutely shake her head.

"Come." The word is the gentlest order imaginable. "This is a forsaken place. We do not belong here." The bear nuzzles the side of her chest. Without thinking, she leans against the great head, and the world finds an axis again. A scabbard hangs from her sash, so she sheathes the sword.

"Where are we going?" she mumbles. The beast crouches and she scrambles up the coarse-haired flank.

"A place of safety. We have much to tell."

Before she can wonder what the bear means, they leave the cliff's edge.

Chapter Text

The sun filters through the weave of his hat in bright needle-points. Ichigo cocks his head the other way, hands wrapped in the sleeves of his high-collared overcoat, and shifts to keep his balance on the slanting roof.

Across the street is the tian bin office, yellow banners turned gold by the westering sun. The same colour repeats in the sleeves and head-dress of the man sitting back beside a table by the front door. His uniform is the only tidy part of his looks: he's sprawled wide in his chair, and has not yet noticed Ichigo's been watching him for the better part of the afternoon.

He left Zangetsu at the inn. This is the first settlement where they have seen this many soldiers, and he already drew too many odd looks coming into town yesterday.

He touches his neck. The tiny, egg-shaped translator is clipped in place, concealed by his collar. Sure, he told Renji they weren't using the thing anymore, but then he thought they were going to go in, grab Rukia and get out. That was back when Rukia wasn't a wanted criminal and it wasn't illegal to carry a sword around.

Renji can waffle all he likes, but Ichigo's mind is set. The description on the poster fits her to a tee, and she makes a damned good guerrilla. Ichigo knows; she can make herself so small only he can routinely ferret her out.

This is the part where they grab her and get out. There are a couple of wrinkles in that plan so far.

A racket down on the street breaks the quiet flow of people. Two soldiers drag a struggling man between them, and a third hurries behind them carrying a cloth-wrapped sword in his hand. The man's hat tears loose, baring a mop of unkempt hair. Ichigo drops low on the other side of the roof, so he can just peer over the top.

He's seen one incident like this already. The scarce crowd mills for a moment more, then scatters without much interest. It looks like this stuff happens pretty often.

"What d'you think you're doin'?"

It takes him a second to recognise Renji's voice. The translator filters any nearby speech into Japanese, so the language isn't the prompt clue it would usually be.

The wanted poster breached the mutual silence they'd held for a few days. Not that they still talk about much but the chance of finding Rukia. Renji pulls himself up onto the roof and leans down next to Ichigo.

"Watching," he replies. "You were the one who wanted to stay and see if we found anything useful."

"Those tian bin down there raised some hell at the inn," Renji says. "Thought it best to duck out 'til they went away."

Ichigo nods absently. "Uh-huh?"

"They dragged that guy out 'cause he had a sword by his chair."

"I know. I'm trying to listen." The officer at the table has stood up. The arrested man, still held by two soldiers, goes into a tirade too fast to be heard so far off; Ichigo sees no way to get closer.

Renji ignores the hint. "I met this woman today. She told me this ban on swords is a pretty new thing, so many people don't even know. She had a yellow cord on her sword, said it means—"

"That you're a registered mercenary, yes." Ichigo points. "The guy in the yellow hat sells licences."

"How long since you figured that out? It didn't cross your mind to tell—"

Ichigo puts a hand on his mouth. Below them, the officer cuffs the man in the face. It isn't the first strike, and the man staggers back between the soldiers. Someone screams, an abrupt, startling sound. Ichigo's eyes are drawn to a girl about his own age running down the street towards the garrison. Her black hair floats free of its braid and her face is frantic and scared.

"She was sittin' with him at the inn," Renji says. "Pretty girl. His sister, I guess. She oughtn't be down there."

Something in his tone makes Ichigo fix his gaze on Renji instead. He's brushed off his hat, but his face seems to hide even more, jaw tight, eyes slitted against the dimming sun.

The girl screams again, high and alarmed. Ichigo's halfway over the rooftop when Renji grabs his coat and hauls him back. One of the soldiers is holding the girl now. The officer clasps her jaw, turns her head back, and something crunches Ichigo's insides.

He's used to rolling his eyes at Keigo wolf-whistling at girls and commenting loudly on their... assets. Those girls giggle and blush or storm away in a huff. This one seems to hold herself steady, but she radiates fear and disgust so hard it almost feels like they're his own emotions.

"Don't be a damn hero," Renji says in that same, low, dead voice. "Look."

The captured man stands free, though it looks like a painful task. The officer slouches back into his chair and gestures for a soldier to return his sword to the man. Ichigo glimpses the girl before another man in yellow uniform whisks her inside the garrison. No one shouts or protests. The few people on the street give the scene a wide berth.

"She's a bribe," Renji goes on as if that makes it all all right. "Nothin' we can do here now."

"What the hell?" Ichigo splutters. "Every damn time I think you've gone nuts you think of something even crazier! I—" He doesn't know what. He wants to drop off the roof and put things right. He wants to run in and wrest the girl away from the soldiers. He wants, in a red-hazy corner of his mind, to kick the freed man until he's hammered in that brothers defend their little sisters...

Renji's hand rests on his upper back, a slack weight that can tighten into a vise at his slightest movement. "Not our business, Ichigo. Remember Rukia."

"I do! She's got nothing to do—" He has to whisper. It's not hard when his voice seems to knot in his throat.

"How many soldiers you think they have? Few dozen? A hundred? Are you gonna beat 'em all up to free that girl?"

"I did the same for Rukia. We did."

"Yeah, and the only thing saved us from execution was Aizen turnin' traitor at the same time." Renji closes his eyes. "You wanna save her again, we should've been gone already."

Everything is calm on the street now. What is worse, Ichigo understands what Renji is saying.

Feeling like he can't breathe deep enough, he nods. "Right."

* * *

No matter how much Ichigo gets on his nerves, Renji hopes he is all right.

It's early morning. Neither of them slept much last night. Ichigo sits on the floor, one hand on Zangetsu's hilt, so still that given his usual edgy energy he seems paralysed. Renji knows him well enough to be positive he isn't all right. That makes two of them, then.

"Renji," Ichigo says all of a sudden. "We're gonna need better disguises."

"Hmm?"

"We can't move around like this. I figure the mercenary gig still works, but we can't waste time messing with the tian bin." Ichigo stands up, takes a few steps to limber up his legs. "Seems to me the best way to avoid attention would be to just go legal."

"You also figure they'll give those sword licenses to just anybody?"

"That guy got himself free with his sister," Ichigo says, voice harsh.

Renji thinks he sees Ichigo's point, though the fact in his words stings. Being sensible doesn't mean he likes to any more than Ichigo. "The captain funded us pretty well. I have got somethin' to see us through emergencies."

"This counts. We didn't know about the sword law."

Renji crosses his arms. The new regulations throw a stick in the cart wheels, but so far, it's nothing they can't get around.

"If we can buy off the officer—yeah, I'd like to twist his head around, too," he says when Ichigo's face darkens. "We could still slip under their notice. If we look okay otherwise, they won't look as hard for reiatsu." He hopes, but he doesn't add that.

"Yeah." The boy tries to relax. Renji has to smother an urge to offer him something, a touch, a word, some comforting half-truth to soften this.

"You really need to do somethin' about your sword," he says instead. "You ever tried sealin' him?"

"Don't you start. Rukia nagged me about that to no end."

"I mean it. Have you really tried? He still talks to you, right?"

"Fine, fine!" Ichigo whacks at his shoulder, and Renji surprises himself by taking the hit. "There was more important stuff to learn during the war. Give it a rest and I'll give it a go!"

He shakes out the jacket that served as his pillow. There is a reason for that: the narrow pockets sewn into the seams. He's kept it diligently close for a moment such as this.

"There's something else stands out, too," Ichigo says.

"Hm?" Prying at the fabric, he tries to work out the small items padded with cloth.

"Your hair. I guess you can't hide the tattoos too well. Might wanna start wearing a scarf round your neck, though."

"It sure is gettin' cold enough for that. What about yours?" Neither of them blends in in the hair colour department.

"Mine's short enough to cover up. I've seen some guys with head-scarves, it's not that weird."

Dyes might be a bit hard to come by here, and Renji's no Covert Operations member with skills in kidou disguise. He's always worn his hair long. The tattoos are something more personal, a private mark of achievement.

Maybe this will work. They can bribe the law to fly under its nose, and they can pray Soul Society doesn't decide it needs them—him—more than Rukia does. Before, Captain Ukitake would have joined his vote to Captain Kuchiki to back them up, but he's the Captain-General now and can hardly afford such favoritism.

It's another thing Renji tries not to think about. Ichigo will continue until he either finds her or drops off too deep an end. Renji believes he'll do so with his help or without. In the end, Ichigo might only ask if Renji means to stop slowing him down or to go forward beside him.

Finally, he takes his knife and cuts open the first pocket, so the wrapped gold coins tumble into his lap. He piles them on his bed.

"You never said we were loaded," Ichigo observes over the foot of the bed.

"It's Captain Kuchiki's money, idiot." The last word catches in his mouth, with its familiar tinge of teasing. "What'd we have spent it on, wine an' women? You don't drink and you don't—"

"Well, you do, for the both of us!" Ichigo aims a finger at him. "Soon enough there's gonna be a—a bunch of your red-haired offspring running 'round the villages, or..."

"Whoa, there." Renji chortles, quirking a brow. "That's pretty candid of you."

Ichigo looks warm in the face, but jabs him companionably in the arm. Shirking back, Renji snatches hold of his wrist, just tight enough to make him pause.

"Hey." He looks up to meet Ichigo's eye. "Peace, you think?"

Ichigo's mouth flattens into a line, then eases towards a half-grin. "Peace." His fingers link around Renji's wrist in brief affirmation. He folds down to sit on the floor again, and his hand goes to Zangetsu's hilt. Renji lets him concentrate.

Instead, he grips the braid of his hair and draws the blade through it in one decisive motion. His hair falls around his face, still thick, but the familiar weight of it on his neck is gone; the longest strands barely brush his chin.

He shakes his head and feels the movement light.

* * *

She spends a long while tracing the contours of her face, relearning them for herself. Her reflection in the water has wide, weary eyes above a small nose and rounded cheeks that taper to a sharp chin. Her hair hangs in knots, a little past her shoulders. She washes away the blood on her chin.

There are no stars in the sky of this place. Ice floes spiral across the open surface of a black lake that stretches as far as she can see. The greatest of them floats in the middle, and into it is carven a lair. Light spills from the mouth of the cave; glass globes, each twinkling with a yellow flame, line the way in.

A shadow passes over the lamps as the bear pads up to her. "Have you finished? It is warmer inside."

"It's not so cold out here, either," she replies, but turns to walk beside the bear.

"This is your world. While it is at rest, there is little here that would do you harm."

"Tell me now. Who are you? You know me." The floor of the cave is ice, but her ragged sandals find ample traction in its gritty surface.

The bear steps with languid grace. Ahead, the tunnel widens into an open space. "My name is Sode no Shirayuki. I am your companion, your weapon... a part of your spirit. You, I know as Rukia. Your family is House Kuchiki."

She halts, one hand on the bear's neck. "Rukia. I... I'm sorry. I have no memory of any of this."

"Yet, in danger, you took me up without hesitation."

The bear is the sword. It makes as much sense as anything else.

"The blade belongs in my hand. I can't put it any better than that." Rukia—she is called Rukia—pauses. The walls curve up into a rounded ceiling, from which hangs a cluster of the shimmering glass lamps. Woven quilts and flat cushions lie along the wall, adding a splash of earthen hues against the ice.

Her hand slides along Shirayuki's flank as the bear walks past her to settle down on the bare floor. Suddenly her eyes sting. She rubs at them with the heel of her palm.

"My nest. That was... How old was I?"

"You were very young to learn the name of your sword."

She sinks down onto the cushions. Shirayuki makes a deep, barely audible rumble that sounds nothing so much as satisfied.

"The lair is mine. The spot was always yours."

She pulls one of the colourful quilts around herself. "It feels to me this place is... somehow familiar. You called this my world. Where are we?"

"In a place inside your soul. This is the realm where I live, ever since I answered your call to fight beside you."

She is lost for comparisons for how strange that sounds, so she simply sighs. "You have known me for a long time, then. Much longer than I have myself, anyway."

"We were brought together for a purpose," Shirayuki says. "I know that purpose inside and out. You are a shinigami. You guide and protect, and I help you in this task. I am your power given form, but there is more to you." The bear lies down, her front paws resting on the cushions. "I can't give you that part: your past, your home, your loved ones. You've forgotten them, and thus, I have as well."

"I... I see." There is a gaping depth inside her that the few pale images in her mind cannot fill, and she feels it tear further open with every word the bear speaks. She lifts her chin. "Shirayuki. What happened to me?"

Shirayuki bows her head, as if in regret or reverence. "We were in battle. It was... We couldn't have withdrawn, so much was at stake. We had to win or die trying."

She listens breathlessly. "And how did it go?"

"We did well, until..." Shirayuki seems to search for words, or maybe the memory itself. "A great wave of power caught you, and I lost you. You weren't there anymore. So I left the battle."

"Why?"

"My first loyalty is to you. I sought you in the places where even I am cold for a long time." The utter conviction in the bear's voice sends shivers down her spine. "In the end, I found you. You were... splintered."

"Um, I'm sorry?"

"I fear you were nearly torn asunder. You are awake within your mind. Your body is elsewhere, still unconscious."

"But—" This cannot be right. She looks down at her hands. They're solid. She can feel her heartbeat, her breathing.

"You are as real here as in the outside world," Shirayuki says soothingly. "You're safe for the moment. I've kept an eye on your body. The places between worlds are not clement. Your memory must have been damaged when you were carried away."

"Wh—but where is it?" She hears the shrillness in her voice. Where am I? "This is all a little much. So much."

"Oh. I forget this is all new to you. It feels so natural to me. I suppose I cannot but accept, so your capacity for questioning... always baffles me."

"It's all right. I just need some time."

"You are asleep. I hid you as well as I could." Shirayuki pushes at her with a paw. "However, I must take you back soon. You should rest now."

"I wonder if I can." She strokes the bear's ear, glad for her warmth and strength.

"You must wake, Rukia. You were taken to a realm far from your own. I know your world is called Soul Society, but..." Shirayuki hesitates.

"Tell me." The need to know is greater than her trepidation.

"I do not know the way back. I am drawn to you, wherever you are."

"I see." She twists Shirayuki's fur round her fingers. "Soul Society. Shinigami. Rukia."

Suddenly, she is so very haggard and weary. It is hard to pretend strength, especially when Shirayuki knows her better than she herself seems to. "I'm tired," she murmurs.

"Then rest," says the bear.

Rukia curls up on her side, ensconced in the quilts like in a warm memory. There were others who used to lie close on both sides of her. She was the smallest, so she huddled into the middle. Sleep rises up over her and she surrenders to it.

* * *

Something is ahead. Shirayuki's warning ripples out to Rukia in the falling twilight. She can already sense the cold of the coming night; winter is deep in the mountains.

She has walked down the road for the nine days since she woke, and seen the same column of smoke for the last two. The settlement cannot be big, perhaps a few houses, still concealed by the forest of cedar and pine. She has hope she will reach it tonight.

She walks as long as the winter sun hangs in the sky, and then turns inward. Shirayuki cannot bring back her memories, but she can restore much of her martial and magical skills. When one has nothing, it's easy to accept whatever is offered. Rukia finds that her abilities, at least, return effortlessly.

She drinks from creeks and springs and sleeps in trees or against Shirayuki's flank, once in a raised hut she found by the wayside. Despite the season, the woods teem with life, and not all of it sleeps. A time or two, she has balked wide awake, senses prickling with something sour and malevolent, and she and the bear lie breathlessly still until the presence moves away.

The first human voices she hears rise in fear and anger. The road bends to the right, but the smoke helps her to pinpoint the location of the settlement. She can make out a few milky forms: the spirits of people. The dark aura amidst them is like a flame to her skin.

I will have a look, she decides.

It could be risky.

I'm not going to charge in. There's something evil among those people. You told me it was my duty to protect others. She grips the sword's hilt. She trusts her skill with the blade, if only because it is one of the few things she can trust.

Do as you will, Rukia. Only be careful.

I will. She steps forward and the world melts around her. It rushes back like a wave cresting too soon; she's thrown forward into the side of a house before she finds her footing. Still clumsy, but she cannot waste time chiding herself for faulty technique.

The creature assails her senses, stifling the auras of the humans around it. A few have faced it, but she sees no swords among them. The canine beast paces back and forth, confident in its victory.

It has a wide, leering face, set with madly spinning eyes that seem to look every way at once. On four legs, it still rears nimbly as a man jabs a spear at it. Rukia hardly sees the creature move before wood cracks, then bone. The man screams, and she knows he is dead. The creature casts the body aside and smells the air in a violent draft.

It can sense me. Her element of surprise will be lost at any moment. The wooden wall won't shield her. The people are withdrawing, even those holding weapons.

Rukia draws her sword and steps out into the open. The beast crouches, side bristling with arrow-shafts. The dark fur is wet with blood. They tried to fight it. It's devastatingly quick, but she may be able to match its pace. She must.

Whipping into a form, she advances with rapid strokes meant to feint and lure rather than wound. She presses towards the beast's injured side, hoping the arrows have struck deep enough to hamper it.

It pounces, and she blurs to the right. Someone is shouting, but she focuses on the waver in the beast's step. One of the arrows must have found a tendon. She slashes at its shoulder; better to cut a joint than to risk a limb aiming for its face.

Shirayuki slices the thick hide and into muscle beneath. The thing shies away with a ululating wail. They dance round one another, as if the beast, too, were measuring her. It sets weight on the wounded limb, but she is sure she's slowed it a notch. Blood pumps from the gash. It's too cunning to be only an animal, she warns herself. It would've fled already.

She feels the jolt in her side as the creature surges past her. Its jaws snap shut on her sleeve; a toss of its head sends her stumbling back. It is upon her before she can regain her balance. Sword still wide, she has to duck, the chomping jaws missing her by a hair. The beast lunges towards her right to protect its injured flank.

Rukia pivots into a smooth stab forward. Shirayuki punches between its ribs just as it streaks past. The blade catches, but slides out slick with blood as the creature topples over, twitching and then lying still.

She straightens herself, and is met with poised weapons and vary eyes.

A group of men forms a half-circle around her, some bearing lanterns, others a variety of arms. Two have arrows nocked in their bows. Further away, on the porch of the large, central building, she glimpses a few watching women.

Her heart hammers in her ears, but she is unhurt. These people fled in terror from the creature; it isn't so strange they would fear one who could defeat it as well. She lets go of her sword, the blade chiming as it falls to the ground.

"I mean you no harm."

It seems to be more her action than her words that rouses a ripple of voices among the men. The archers hold position as two others separate from the group, heads together. The language undulates up and down, strings of sounds she hardly recognises. She longs to reach for Shirayuki in her mind. Instead, she holds her hands open at her sides.

I can't survive on my own forever.

A louder voice draws her attention. One of the women has stepped down from the porch and now walks towards them. In the lantern light, she seems middle-aged, hair pulled back into a high bun, her face round and resolute. She pushes one of the men aside and comes up to Rukia.

She points at the building—there is a banner, painted with letters, hanging above the door—and at the dead beast. Then she bows lightly to Rukia.

She's thanking me. Rukia returns the bow, making herself ignore the men with weapons. I'm not a threat.

The woman is smiling when Rukia looks up at her again. The word she speaks is lost on her, but her gestures are clear enough. Come inside. Eat.

Rukia makes herself smile politely, and perhaps she cannot be blamed if her expression quivers. When was she last truly warm? She has not eaten in days, and hunger is beginning to gnaw at her insides. She must stink; her baths have been cold, hurried splashes lately. So, she does her best to ignore the sidelong looks, the cowering steps away from her, as she cleans her sword and enters the wayside inn.

Chapter Text

For the first time in a long while, Ichigo submerges.

That's how he thinks of it, the deep gradual sinking into darkness that teases the eye with the barest twinkles of blue, until the sky rolls open and the skyscrapers whoosh into being all at once.

He hasn't visited since the war. Zangetsu is there in the same instant as the sky and the buildings.

"Hey, old man." He touches down on the surface of a window.

"Ichigo."

"I got a question."

"Ask." Zangetsu lands on the side of the building. He might look a little more gangly than last time, but Ichigo can't be quite sure.

"This sealing thing," he says. "How does it work? I mean, you never look like a normal sword."

"You never asked me to."

"Everybody keeps telling me it's harder than that." That sounds a bit whiny, but then again, they're in his soul. Zangetsu probably knows stuff about him he's never even consciously thought about. He doesn't like the thought, but has learned to be okay with it.

"You have a better grasp on your power now. That makes a difference." Zangetsu takes a step closer, boots echoing on the glass. "It's past time that you learn to apply that control to your sword."

"More training, huh?"

"Not as such. You've already unlocked your full potential, and more."

Ichigo pauses. "By the way—he hasn't been around?"

"No, he has not. He is outside my sight."

"Do you think it was a good thing? I mean, I never liked the guy, but I guess I got used to him." He isn't in the habit of discussing the Hollow with anyone. Zangetsu seems the only even remote possibility.

"He would have blackened the sky," Zangetsu says, "with something worse than rain."

"Easy on the metaphors, old man."

"You asked, Ichigo."

"I just wonder sometimes. He's not really gone, just locked away." Ichigo folds his arms, tilting his head back towards the sky. It looks like a storm is on the way. "It's like I still need him somehow."

"Using those powers damaged you."

"I know, I know. The war's over, everything's fine. I don't think I've even used bankai since then, other than to train." The old man talks sense, but sense hasn't won him too many fights.

"That is correct," says Zangetsu. "Regardless, you feel limited in some way. He would not help you to track Kuchiki Rukia. He's a killer, not a hunter."

Then it's empty frustration that drives him to grasp at impossible solutions. The Hollow is sealed deep into his soul, a process he does not remember, but whose results he feels with every breath he draws. His reiatsu is the untinted red of a shinigami again. He'll never raise the mask to his face again.

"Brooding will help even less," Zangetsu interrupts his musing. "There was a reason for your visit."

"Right." Ichigo looks back at him. "Any ideas on how I might no longer offend by walkin' around with a released sword?"

"They see it as reckless."

"Right now, the problem is people see the sword, period. It is kinda obvious."

"Then think, Ichigo. How do you call me?" Zangetsu stands motionless, the tattered hem of his coat rising into the wind, but the old note of challenge resounds in his voice.

Ichigo closes his eyes. Is this some kind of a puzzle? How did I—? I asked, you told me your name.

So you already know it. You already know me.

I don't!

I asked how you call me, Ichigo.

Definitely a puzzle, then. So what is it? The start is straightforward. He wanted strength, a way to rise above his own guilt and feelings of uselessness.

I want to protect a whole load of people!

He borrowed Rukia's power for that. It became the means to his end, the first sword he could wield. It began with his family, spreading out, wider and wider.

There's no point in just fighting! I want to win!

Rukia was lost for the first time, and he called on Zangetsu in order to save her.

"There's no killing intent in you, no will to destroy the enemy."

He conquered the Hollow to rescue Inoue, to help his friends, to protect all that he loved.

Was that ever me?

In the second battle of Karakura, he took a human life for the first time. It taught him that he will never kill again.

"Lower your mask," he says under his breath, and grasps the hilt of the sword, "Zangetsu."

I shall.

He keeps his eyes shut. "Thanks, old man. I'll be outta your hair now."

His sword-spirit laughs curtly. "As you wish. There is one more thing I would say."

He listens to Zangetsu. Then, the world fading into black, he comes up and out, and his sword rests in his lap, sheathed in dark wood, the dusted steel manji of the crossguard pressed into his palm.

* * *

They go west towards the mountain fort of Phoenix Gate. It is the way Rukia's spirit ribbon was leading before Ichigo could no longer find it.

It rains in fierce fits and starts; a humid chill saturates the air. They follow the road but rarely walk on it, as the wet grass of the wayside is easier on the feet than the churned mud riders spatter high in passing. The road is busier than any they have seen so far. Autumn grows harsher the higher they venture.

Since the rain is all but perpetual, Ichigo returns to tracking in spite of it, in bursts of excruciating awareness, fanning his senses out as far as they reach and then closing himself up again. They both keep a constant leash on their reiatsu.

"Horses." Ichigo's voice comes distant and dreamlike, before he wrenches himself from the tracking trance.

Renji already scans the vicinity for cover. He has to settle for some rain-beaten grasses that luckily still rise to about hip height. "Another patrol?"

"Feels like." Ichigo flattens himself on the ground. Their hats and scarves and heavy coats will keep the rain off for some time, but they're likely to be wet at the end of the day whatever they do. "A few guys. I'm pretty sure at least two are about vice-captain level."

Renji stays one knee to the ground, parting the grass to see.

It's a patrol of ten horses, one of the riders carrying a yellow banner sewn with the character for heaven. Above that hangs a length of red cloth with feather-and-cord tassels dangling from its edge. The men look dispirited, their legs and the flanks of their mounts streaked with caked dirt. Renji watches them go by.

Then he sees the rider bringing up the rear. The dripping warrior's tail glued to his head, the man is without a hat in spite of the gusting rain. He sits the horse with lazy ease that suggests a predator at rest; his eyes roam the road with a lack of focus that will let him zero in on the first twitch of movement. He isn't in yellow and black like the rest of the men, but a plume of red feathers sticks up on the bridle of his horse.

Renji clutches his hands on his knees. He's done few things as arduous as it now is to keep his aura from flaring and revealing himself beyond any doubt. He trembles with the effort.

Ichigo's hand on his wrist is a question. He tries to find words.

"That—" He sounds choppy, strange in his own ears. "That fuckin' bastard."

"Who?" Ichigo more mouths at him. The horses have passed them, but the patrol is in hearing range, not to mention spirit sight.

"Guy in the back. That's Wei."

The youth stares. Renji bows his head; he can't face the things in Ichigo's eyes just now.

"I showed him that picture of Rukia," he grits out. "He had to know it was her, all along."

"Holy shit." Ichigo finds his voice. "Why would the guy help you? He's working with the tian bin. She's an outlaw."

"I don't know!" The words tear from somewhere so deep they should rise wet with blood. "The son of a bitch works for that lord, Jue. That's got to be his banner, the red phoen—oh, hell." Renji doesn't pray. Right now he wishes he could. "And he wants somethin' with Rukia."

As soon as he says that, he's stood up and Zabimaru is out of his scabbard with a scrape of steel.

"Renji!" Ichigo bursts out with such urgency that any other time, he'd stop dead. He does not give a damn. He takes a step to bridge the distance—

Ichigo's weight bears down on him, his sword is knocked to the side and then he's on his face on the ground, elbows bruised and head jolted. "For fuck's sake, you stay put!"

"Get off me," he snarls, though Ichigo is moving back already.

"You don't shunpo round the tian bin." Ichigo drops to one knee next to him. They're still in the grass; he couldn't move an inch before Ichigo tackled him. "If I don't get to take out a garrison, you sure as hell aren't playing with these guys."

In other circumstances, Renji would guffaw at that. He sits up and snatches Zabimaru up. "Don't you get it? He's after her, and I—fuck, I—"

"Do I really have to stuff down your throat all the things you've told me? We attack 'em, it's gonna turn ugly! Even if we beat them, Rukia's still lost. Staying low is the only way to find her."

Renji barely listens. Ichigo doesn't see what he has done.

What has he done? He has no idea, and that's the worst torture his mind can devise. At least he knows why that two-faced dog sidled up to him like that. Wei answers to an authority who obviously stops at very little to get his way.

Wei realised that he knew Rukia. She—or, Broken Bough, but he has allowed himself to believe it is her—is worth a good sum of coin in these parts. He doesn't want to go down that road, but it already tilts into a nauseating plummet under his feet.

"She better be safe," he growls at Ichigo, "or I'll tear that bastard limb from limb, an' you too, if you try to stop me."

Ichigo looks at him, face full of rain, something unreadable in his eyes that will not flinch away. "Why the hell would I?"

* * *

It's very late at night, no longer raining, when Ichigo sits up from his blankets. He's tossed and turned for some time. Renji has withdrawn into a stony misery, and usually, Ichigo would be all for letting a guy brood in peace. He's used to hearing how young and stupid he is. Mostly, people telling him that have a couple of unfair centuries on him. Now, though, he thinks he has figured something out. It's keeping him from sleep.

Their shelter for tonight is a shallow cave in the mountainside, enough above the ground that its floor is dry. The embers of the campfire flicker with lambent red. Over them, Ichigo gives Renji a look.

"You love her, don't you?" he says softly.

"You have to ask, don't you?" Renji retorts, muffled.

"I just did." He wraps an arm around his knees, trying to preserve body heat.

Renji raises his head. "If this Broken Bough is her..."

"Look, it fits too well." He's getting weary of driving this home to Renji. "The description, the kidou... Anyway, if she ended up here, what's she gonna do? You guys really like to hide all this info on other spirit realms. She's got no idea of this fuckload of rules they've got here."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. She wouldn't mess with the tian bin just for the hell of it. But she'd survive, an' if that got her in trouble with 'em..."

"Right." He doesn't know if he's glad or not the conversation got sidetracked. "She would survive."

"Why'd he give me that lead?" Renji seems to speak more to himself. "It was real. We got closer."

"Hate to point this out, but if they've been chasing her... maybe he hoped you'd get her to come out?"

Renji groans, his head dropping against his folded hands.

"You thought of that, too."

"Mm-hm." Thanks for reminding me, asshole is not very hard to read from his posture.

Ichigo fidgets, pulling up one of his blankets to huddle into it. "Damn, it's cold."

Renji sets a fistful of twigs on the embers, then thicker pieces of wood as flickers of flame leap up. The damp wood hisses, coils of smoke snaking up, but begins to catch fire as Renji helps it along with more kindling.

"Think of it like this," he says at length. "There's one pinnacle in the world. One thing that stays the same—fixed, solid. If you get lost, you find that thing an' the rest falls into place."

Ichigo can do that. First, there was his mother, and with the simplicity of a child, he chose her as the one thing he would protect. Then she died, and he blamed himself, a child faced with such grief he couldn't see beyond it. He has long since figured out there isn't only one thing he would stand to defend, but he gets what Renji is saying.

Even when you have the fate of a world on your shoulders, you do not pull through for that world, not in the end. You pull through for the people who stand by your side.

"Uh-huh."

"Well, there you have it." Renji shrugs, the gesture leaden, thwarting further talk.

"You never actually answered me," he throws back regardless.

"An' you just had to ask." Renji's tone rings with sarcasm, but changes then to a low, lucid note. "Yeah, I do. Always have, always will."

Ichigo cannot think of much to say to that.

He drops down onto his blankets and faces away. It isn't because he wants to avoid Renji. There's a hollow ache in his chest, and still something feels like it might spill over, and he doesn't know if any of that is good or bad.

* * *

The next morning, the woman comes to Rukia with clothes and a bowl of steaming soup. She eats gratefully and, after a while of insistent sign language from both of them, accepts the outfit. It is a luxury to wash in warm water, even if standing up, and dress in the clean, fine hemp, even if the clothes are loose on her. She folds up her black garments and wraps them into a bundle, unwilling to leave anything that could be a clue to who she is.

The woman is waiting outside, wearing a wide straw hat and leading a small ox bearing baskets. Rukia bows to her. The woman indicates her and says a word, then again.

She wants my name. Rukia feels she owes her that, but caution holds her back. The language is strange, yet she was able to read the name of the inn on the worn banner. She mimics writing, then makes an inquiring sound at the woman.

Paper is found, and the woman hands her a box of writing tools. Rukia considers. Kuchiki. The brush moves half by itself. Rot and wood. The calligraphy is beautiful, the strokes honed by much practice. Someone has taught her to make them with great care. She waits for some stirring of memory at seeing the name written, but the ink remains mute.

Rotten wood, a dead thing, eaten from within, of use to no one. Rukia shakes her head at the thought. She thinks for a moment, smudging over the first characters, before writing another set.

"Duan zhi." The woman holds up the sheet with a puzzled look. Rukia tries to etch the intonation in her mind. She splintered, but she has skill and strength left. Even fallen wood can be picked up and carved into new shapes if its heart is still sound.

The woman regards her with curiosity. She realises she's strayed into her own thoughts. Placing a hand on her heart, she says, "Duan Zhi."

"Lian." The woman points at herself. Rukia repeats the name until it rolls off her tongue in a bearable imitation. Lian smiles scantly at her tries. She motions at Rukia, then herself, then down the road that arcs into a curve down the hillside. The river gleams like a chain wound on the breast of the valley, against the dusky greens and pale browns of winter. Lian's beckoning gesture needs little elaboration. Come, come with me. The land downstream has a tamed, tilled look, so there must be more houses, even a village nearby.

Rukia reaches inward until Shirayuki's presence unfurls at her touch. I sense no danger. Go with her. She lets herself linger, drawing comfort from the bear's voice, before drifting back to the sunlight.

She crumples the paper in her hand. She will toss it in the next fire she finds.

"Let's go," she murmurs and follows the woman named Lian down towards the river.

* * *

She can taste it on the tip of her tongue like a lick of chilling wind. The sword in her hands dives through the form in precise, flawless strikes, and she surrenders to the motion as she focuses on the flutter of power, there, yet beyond her...

"Rukia ," Shirayuki's voice thrums with disapproval. "You wield the blade, not the other way around."

Round and across and down, and she slides into the finishing stance. "The next dance. I felt it this time. I was trying to grasp it."

"You have progressed well with the first." The bear descends from the knoll where she stood observing. A field of snow-coated ice spreads around them. The sky above is a flat, luminous blue now. "You can master the next one, but not unless you can maintain your grip on the sword."

"Yes. Shall I continue?"

"Perhaps not now. We do need to rush, but you have much to remember."

She places a hand on Shirayuki's side as they make their way back. "It feels strange that I could have lost so much. Yet, it isn't difficult to accept you're only reminding me. All you teach me... comes so easily."

"With a few hitches here and there."

"Yes," she says, not quite echoing Shirayuki's humour. "I am grateful for your patience."

"Rather be grateful for your progress. Soon, I will have given you everything I can, for now."

"You know me so well." She stares ahead. The water that surrounds this place shines in a cerulean reflection of the sky above, the ice floes blindingly bright. It would be easy to deceive her, as vulnerable as she is now, yet the mere suggestion is an anathema. Shirayuki is hers, as Rukia belongs to her.

"It seems that way to you now. Give yourself time to remember."

"I do not mean to complain," she says. "Only... I feel lost. Without purpose. You say I am a warrior, but..."

"A guardian. I teach you to fight for yourself so you may defend others."

"No matter where I am, or who?"

"You are somewhere." Shirayuki nudges her. "There are roads you can take in this world, and until you find one that suits you, I will watch over you."

Her breath shudders as she inhales. "This woman, Lian... I think she offered to take me to her home."

"She seems trustworthy to me. It will be better for you to be among people."

"I suppose so."

"Come now." Shirayuki leaps down from the ice ledge. "I cannot keep you here forever."

She climbs down along a ridge of packed snow rather more slowly. "I didn't mean it that way. She puzzles me. She... treats me like something extraordinary."

"Which you are. That is why you must go into the world. You have a purpose. There will always be those who need you."

"Perhaps," she says. "I gave her a name to call me. It wasn't mine, but they'll know me by it now."

Shirayuki stops next to her, and they stand quietly together. "Then I will remember Rukia, so you are not forgotten."

Chapter Text

The soldiers of Heaven are not to be trusted. They control the northern river valley and the Phoenix Gate, the pass west across the Tiangen mountains.

To the south and east lies demon country. Only fools and outlaws walk there. This is a frontier ruled by a strict and seldom-seen lord, and the locals are used to fending for themselves.

Lian lives in a village called Foxfern, but she is on the road for all but the cruellest winter months. Zhi was lucky to meet the trader woman when she did: winter closes in hard almost as soon as they come to Foxfern. Lian extends her hospitality as briskly as she decided that slaying the demon at the inn was a good deed.

Lian also warns her to keep her spiritual talent hidden. Then, as gravely, she tells Zhi there are many ways she could make herself useful. The soldiers keep the lord's peace with an iron fist, and some spend more time beating people than stray demons.

Zhi thinks it is the least she can do. There will always be those who need you.

When asked if she can ride, she steps up to the horse and draws herself into the saddle, if tentatively. It's the same impulses that tell her her calligraphy is very honed, but also how to hide in plain sight, or to sidle up to people and snatch an object from them undetected.

Spring comes, and Zhi lingers. There are faces that flash through her dreams, voices that turn her head in an empty room. She takes up teaching swordplay to Ming, Lian's nephew, and remembers shouting instruction at another loud-mouthed, wayward youth. When the patch of cherry trees bloom on the sheltered riverbank, she sits in their shade and chokes back an unbidden grief.

Only Shirayuki ever calls her Rukia. To Lian and the others, she is a renegade soldier turned to their cause. She takes up the part, if only for lack of anything else.

The cherry blossoms fade and she leaves Foxfern. She has ridden to nearby villages before, as word comes of demons on the loose. Her martial skills give her the edge against most opponents. She conserves her magic and masks her power best as she can. She keeps to the hell-beasts; Shirayuki finds it distasteful to fight people, and Zhi shares the sentiment.

Lian frowns at this principle, but never questions it. Zhi tries not to apologise. However much her sword arm is needed by the village, she owes this woman her life. It is difficult to deny her.

She never stays long in one place, and neither is Shirayuki ever far from her side. Together, they roam the settlements of the river valley as spring grows old. They are fleeter of foot than either the soldiers or the demons. That keeps them safer.

Lian gives her a few names, scattered around the valley. These people open their doors to her no matter the hour. She picks up enough of the language to manage day to day, but mostly shares her thoughts with Shirayuki. There is more work than they can reach. She has time for little but travel, training and battle. When they can, they handle the threats in secret and vanish again.

Still, as summer ripens, the exploits of Duan Zhi, the Broken Bough, are whispered across the valley as far as the garrison at Griever's Ford.

* * *

The village of Cicada Creek has sprung up along a shortcut across the forest. The main road curves around the dense wood, but Zhi prefers to stay on less used paths.

She is woken by a clamour of horses and men. She has slept in the loft of a shed outside the village; pale dawn light probes through cracks in the wall. She bundles her blanket on top of her bag, shoulders that and her sword, and makes to jump to the floor below.

No! Shirayuki bellows at her.

Her drowsy mind catches up. Spirit pressure pervades the vicinity. The technique she uses to hide her own stumps her ability to read auras. There is a window in the loft, facing away from the village.

What is it? She wiggles out past the half-jammed shutter. A rambling thicket by the shed offers cover, so she moves towards the village, trying to find a spot where she could see the source of the noise.

Watch, Shirayuki says as she comes to the edge of the forest canopy.

The road past the village has become a knot of horses and soldiers in yellow sleeves.

"Where is this woman?" A man in the headdress of an officer waves a sheet of paper at the gathered villagers. Zhi glimpses mostly men among them. The tian bin are an unpredictable lot. While they ride in pursuit of demons and criminals, they may stop to take what they want and let the sacred yellow banner conceal the havoc.

"She's been seen in this village! She is a dangerous criminal, and any who shelter her face an equal penalty!"

Zhi slinks deeper behind the tree. She can't see what is on the flapping sheet from this angle. The village elder, who offered her a place for the night, takes a step forward to speak to the officer. His words are quiet, but hard.

If she stays still, they may not be able to pick her out. Even her dulled senses tell her the officer is strong, and she can feel another intense presence somewhere among the riders.

"Answer me, old man!" The elder starts visibly.

She loosens Shirayuki in the scabbard. The elder gestures at the houses; many of their doors hang open. The tian bin have searched the village. Even though she has the freshly acquired yellow cord twined on her sword, the soldiers would hardly be kind to a wandering warrior. She is glad she woke when she did.

A soldier dashes up to the officer, speaking a few words. He glares at the elder in turn, then rounds his horse in a sweeping arc obviously meant to intimidate.

"All right, men! This rabble knows nothing, as usual!"

Zhi doesn't dare breathe in relief, not yet, as the soldiers climb astride their mounts. The villagers have drawn tighter together, as if they would not move until the last rider is out of sight. She does not intend to.

"Wait." The speaker is one of the soldiers, or so she thinks until he brings his horse forward into view. He is tall and imposing, clad in brown and grey, a wrapped bow on his back. A hooded messenger hawk perches behind his saddle.

"This woman is quite elusive," the man says in a resonant voice. "On the best day, it may take somewhat more to lure her out."

"Sir?" the officer says.

"What would you say, captain, if we raised the stakes a notch?"

"Your word over mine, sir." She is not terribly fluent with nuances, but there seems to be a rancid streak in the captain's words—or no. He sounds wary, almost resigned.

"Excellent," the man in brown says.

A spike of power rends into her sight and flares into unbearable brightness. As the flash dies, she blinks through the afterimages. The man still holds his palm out towards a house, now little more than a black skeleton inside an inferno. Within, someone screams, an awful, agonised wail that falls and then dies. The flames leap at the thatched roof of the building next to it as the captain shouts his men into an orderly file.

"Don't," she whispers to herself, fist over her mouth. "Don't."

If you move, they will see you. I cannot protect you against this many.

I know, Shirayuki. She tries not to move.

One of the villagers is on his knees on the ground, clawing at his hair. Others rush to the still standing houses as fire billows over the roofs, hauling out belongings, crying children, a still man hurried out on a stretcher by two women. There has been no rain for weeks. The people stumble towards the water, away from the flames swaying along the houses. A roof collapses in a shower of straw and red-glowing timbers.

The man in brown watches with the keen look of a hunter. No one makes a move towards him, even once the rest of the soldiers trot off.

I could get him now.

That one is stronger than he shows, Shirayuki warns. Wait.

It seems an eternity, the restive horse hoofing at the ground, the silhouette of the man wavering against the blaze. The hawk shrieks and tugs at its chain.

Then as if incidentally, the man wheels his horse and rides after the others.

She forces herself to count to a hundred before she bolts towards the houses. They number a dozen in all; at least half could be salvaged, though their roofs already teem with fire.

When you can't run anymore, I will carry you.

Shirayuki is right. If she saves the houses—and the gardens and trees—she needs to flee as fast as she can. She will have revealed herself.

A few of the villagers have spotted her; someone calls out from the stream behind the village. The elder was the only one who knew she was here. It doesn't matter now.

"Stand back, all of you!" Her voice carries further than she meant. "Stand back! I will handle it!" She feels the eyes on her. There is no time for explanations, before or after.

She braces herself. "Dance, Sode no Shirayuki." The white ribbon whirls out in the gust of air that spirals around her. Her feet find their places as she raises the blade in a two-handed grip.

Go gently. We aren't here to destroy, Shirayuki whispers, with inexplicable exultation that is at odds with her words. Zhi understands why. The power sings within her, taking shape, and she would that she could unleash it with the pure, deadly intent it demands.

"I'm trying to contain the destruction." She takes aim. "Next dance—Hakuren!"

She forces the ice to grow slowly, gently. She holds back a beast that wants to devour and makes it play and lick instead. The ice stretches over the blaze with a faint straining crackle; steam rises in sudden plumes to mix with the towering smoke overhead. Webs of frost spread on the ground where the grass caught fire. Finally the houses are coated in glistening ice. Zhi leans on Shirayuki; sweat runs down her face in spite of the chill raised by her technique.

Paper rustles under her shoe. She bends to pick up the wanted advertisement, trod over by a retreating rider, and gasps at the picture staring back at her in rough lines of ink. The name written next to it is one she does not know. The image of a woman's face seems frighteningly familiar.

"Lian," she says aloud. Fear pushes thin tendrils through her skin and takes root in the pit of her stomach.

Wanted for inciting unrest and slandering the officials of the Jade Emperor...

With a vigorous shake of her head, she tosses the sheet aside. If she is to ask any questions, she must leave this place alive.

The people have edged closer, unnoticed as her own power filled the air. They emerge from the trees in ones and twos.

"It—it is safe!" she tells them. "You can come!"

"Thank you." The elder is the first to speak. "Thank you."

"I cannot stay. The ice will melt. Your houses should... not be damaged any more."

"Of course," he says; that encompasses all she said. The rest will be up to the people crowded behind him, gathering their families close, but watching her without fear.

"Right now, you should go." She gestures at the road, no need to belabour her point. "Into the forest, where they can't follow on horseback."

"We know." The elder bows to her. "Your ancestors watch over you."

She meets his gaze. "Good luck to you."

Then she turns on her heel and flees.

* * *

She slips into the dark house on soft feet. The noise of people and animals gathering for the dawning market day carries from the nearby main street. She muted her power as dim as possible as she sneaked in along backyards and shed roofs.

"Lian, I have to leave." In the kitchen, only the glowing coals in the fire pit greet her. "Lian?"

What will I say? She has had little time to ruminate on the matter of the poster. It solidified any suspicions she might have had—about Lian's readiness to take her in, or the network of people across the valley. It also wound a gnarl of dread inside her that has not loosened since. She has seen what the tian bin can do.

In the end, she is more anxious for Lian than about her.

She jumps as a curtain is parted in the back of the house. Candlelight flickers into view. The boy holding the candle is long-limbed in the calf-like manner of a youth hurrying to reach his final height. His brow burrows, but then a lopsided smile breaks on his face. "Hey! Wasn't expecting you back—" His smile drops. "You look like shit. Don't tell Aunt I said that. What happened?"

She knows she must look terrible. She has run, then caught her breath on Shirayuki's back, then run again, doubling back and weaving across the land for the last five days. She has no more time for false trails.

"Hello, Ming. I was looking for Lian." Voice the easy parts first.

"Aunt's left, Zhi."

"I... I see." She takes the towel Ming holds out to her and wipes her face. "I have to go. I will draw danger to you otherwise."

The main points of her story are soon told. The boy leans on the kitchen table, listening, but rises then to scrounge the shelves for food: dried fish, dumplings, a handful of plums. He bundles them into a cloth, and Zhi sighs. She has no real choice but to accept the goodwill.

"You're gonna need these," he says firmly.

He knows what this means better than I. In that instant, she discards the matter. She may well be the same as Lian soon enough. She interfered with a punishment meted out by a tian bin officer, and openly showed her spiritual talent. If and when word spreads, she will begin to draw mercenaries by the dozen, instead of infrequent efforts from men bored or in dire straits.

It is no use to quibble about what either of them has done to live. Even less so when she would have done the same things in any case.

"Thank you." She stands up to fit the provisions into her bag. "Will you tell Lian goodbye for me?"

"Hold on a moment." Ming's eyes seem wide from more than hearing her unwise heroics. "You can't just run off like that."

"I cannot stay. I could lie low, but that would not work in the long run."

"That's not what I said. You need a plan. You've got to get over the mountains. It's the only way away from the border."

That is true. She cannot hope to avoid discovery in this area forever.

He ducks into the sleeping alcove and returns with a map. Zhi has a similar, smaller one with her. "Here." Ming points. "You go west through the Phoenix Gate, then follow the mountains north. That'll take you out of this province. Stay away from Griever's Ford. It'll be bad enough getting past those soldiers at the fort."

She tries to impress everything in her memory. She cannot really avoid the pass. She will cross that obstacle when she faces it.

"I'll remember. Thank you for everything." She clasps his shoulder.

"You've got to take care." He chews on his lip. "We won't be here for long, either."

"What do you mean?" It is not that she cannot guess.

He flashes a mirthless grin, suddenly older than his fifteen winters. "Something like this was gonna happen sooner or later. If they're on the lookout for Aunt, Foxfern's not gonna be safe anymore."

"Do you..." In her haste, she almost forgot the larger implications of this predicament. "Do you know where to go? Will they know to look for you here?"

"I've got a hideaway, all right? Just worry about yourself."

"Then I will." She squeezes his shoulder. For a time, this house was a haven. She turns to go. "Goodbye."

"I mean it, Zhi. That man you told me about. He's dangerous."

"I do not doubt it."

"No, listen to me." Ming grabs her sleeve and makes her sit back down. "This's important." For a moment more, then. If it eases his heart.

* * *

The first full rays of the sun catch her in the face as she closes the door behind her.

One perk of her small stature is that crowds provide excellent concealment. She slides into the mass of people, carts and beasts of burden, heading to the west side of the village. If she is lucky, she can pick up a few things from the market to ease her journey. Foodstuffs are available; real spiritual ability is rare, but even people with latent talent need some nourishment. Many also seem to eat simply for enjoyment.

She stops at a stall with fruit and berries, late, but redolent pickings of this year's harvest. The weathered old man bites her silver coin, but waves her off cheerfully as she turns, still stuffing the oranges into her bag.

A ripple passes through the people just outside the stall. She sidesteps further into its shadow. The crowd is shifting away to make way for someone, and anyone with that effect is a potential threat to her. If it is a tian bin... There is a tavern at her back, the door already open. That checked, she peers around the stall.

Even without the sword at his hip, this man would draw eyes to him. He stands a head taller than most, all lean lines, in the drab, dusty garb of a traveller. A fall of red hair spills from under his broad-rimmed hat. He turns his head and she glimpses the twisting line of ink running along his neck. An unusual tattoo, but not really worth the sudden jolt in her heart.

Why do I know him? Her heartbeat thunders in her ears. A name rises onto her lips, only forming as it becomes sound. He seems to survey the stalls, chin lifted at an angle that is staggeringly familiar. I do know him. He's—

Irrationally, she is about to call out when someone, almost equally tall, steps up to the man.

She saw that profile five days earlier against burning houses. The patrol continued northeast from Cicada Creek; she hoped the riders would have passed Foxfern by now. Even if the newcomer is affecting geniality, speaking to the red-haired man as if to an old friend, she has to fight the urge to blindly run.

"No, listen to me. His name's Hu Wei, but they call him the Tiger. He's not a mercenary; he's a hunter of men. Some even say he's Lord Jue's right-hand man. If he's tracking you, you've got to be careful. He's never lost a target."

The man with red hair slaps Hu Wei on the shoulder. Something tears at her insides. She almost revealed herself on such a stupid impulse! He must simply... resemble someone she once knew. It matters little.

The tavern opens to a backyard on the other side. She darts inside the building without looking back.

Chapter Text

Between the trees, she watches frozen into place.

The flames leap and swirl without noise. The form of the rider is distorted by the heat and the smoke: his hair is long, black or red, she cannot tell. The keening of the hawk chained to his saddle pierces the silence as it wails out its fear. She wants to join her own voice to the bird's.

It tears free of the chain. Its wings catch fire, surging up in great fans of red flame. The ground falls away from under her; the trees warp into a massive wooden stand. She is lifted up towards the bird, now so big that it fills her vision. The heat blasting from it breaks tears from her eyes—or no, that is something else, a sadness that flows through her, dizzying and cleansing.

The bird rears. She doesn't cringe, merely closes her eyes. Farewell, she tells someone. Thank you. Farewell.

I will die, says a part of her.

That is fine, another reminds. I am ready.

There is the sound of wings beating once, a wave of stunning light and wind.

She opens her eyes. Someone stands before her, his blade held back behind one shoulder in an off-handed block of the firebird. A cloak billows around him. She is hefted up on top of the stand. A crowd of onlookers stands at its foot, faces turned up, but she cannot seem to find any familiar features.

I know them. I know them all. I... I wanted to thank them.

The people below have no faces. They are a mass of waxy masks, tinted orange by the liquid light of the bird.

Her body is leaden and weak. Her rescuer shouts out something, but she can't make out the words. She twists her head to look at him. Above the collar of his cloak there is nothing but an oval the colour of flesh, without eyes, without a mouth to speak with.

She wants to scream.

Without warning, she is soaring through the air towards the people. Someone sweeps out to break her fall, and they collide with bruising force. Garbled words echo over her head as she struggles to catch her breath.

An empty face, framed by tousled hair, meets her eyes.

She is torn from the dream by her waking voice screaming.

She struggles free from her blankets by the fire pit and pads, shuddering, to the rainwater barrel outside to wash her face. Something rises, rises, and she cannot keep it back forever.

* * *

Ichigo sits bolt upright fast enough to shove his hand into Renji's ribs.

"Don' tell me it's m' watch yet," Renji groans, his messy hair the only thing sticking out from the blankets. The mountain nights are cold enough to make them sleep back to back; Ichigo huddled close to stay warm on his watch.

"No," he says, "but you'll wanna be awake for this."

"For what?" Renji voice comes already drifting from a distance as Ichigo concentrates. He doesn't let it distract him. He is spinning out, spreading his awareness into a thin, fine web so as not to miss a single nuance.

It was only a flash of colour across his vision, but it was the first concrete sign in some time. He isn't going to give it up without a fight.

He doesn't quite know how long he is still. Time tends to disappear outside his perception in these moments, something nonessential that streams past anyway. There is nothing but the tracking.

He is shivering as he comes to. Renji has dropped a blanket over him, and the fire is leaping up again. He reaches his hands towards the heat.

"You let it burn too low," Renji says from his right. "We'll freeze some night yet and it's not gonna be my fault."

"Bitch, bitch," Ichigo retorts, the rasp in his voice surprising him. His breath wheezes; his head feels light and hollow. Damn, what is he, an old man? He turns towards Renji. "I found her."

"Right." Renji's eyes narrow. Ichigo knows; they've done this dance too many times already, but still the note of doubt in the man's voice raises his hackles.

"No, not really. I just like pulling your leg so much I gotta resort to the most serious thing I possibly can to make a joke!"

"Point taken. Take it easy." Renji holds up a placating hand. "I just... Well, look up. You must've been outta it for over an hour."

The looming mountains have swallowed the moon. It had just passed its zenith when he last checked. "Whoa. Huh."

"Don't worry me like that, you damn loon." Renji sounds scratchy, too. "You've never not answered when I talk to ya."

"I'm fine." He glares, even though he can't summon much venom. "How about some credit this way? I did manage—"

"Sorry," Renji cuts him off. "So, Rukia?"

"The ribbon's still going towards the pass from what I can tell. But I'm pretty sure she's trying to cover her tracks."

"Smart move. Though, you wanna tell me how you can suddenly pick her up again?"

"Zangetsu said something about that." The warmth of the fire is gradually soaking into him. "That I was attuned to her, 'cause I had her power for a while." He feels antsy all of a sudden. He knows that Renji knows that, but it seems a touchy subject. Rukia broke shinigami law lending him her power. Renji fought him for that, and then a second time, but since then, the matter has never been mentioned between them. He isn't quite sure if all is clear. Neither is he sure what Renji might think of him and Rukia having any kind of a special link between them.

"I know." Renji picks up a bunched blanket and shakes it out. "That helped you track her?"

"No one else could've." In other circumstances, he would let himself be proud of that.

"Then it's a good thing." Renji pauses. "Still doesn't explain what you said 'bout her ribbon changin'."

"Maybe she masked it somehow? Under the circumstances, it'd only make sense."

"I'm not in the Covert Ops. This whole thing kinda makes me wish I was." Renji sits down, shoulder brushing his. Their breath coalesces in the air, floating up in soft puffs of vapour.

"The Thirteenth's a field division, right? They need more skills for solo missions?"

"Yeah, they do. Guess it makes no difference," Renji says. "You found her. We better make it quick."

"Figure we're closer than ever." Ichigo leans back, still feeling like he's been dragged over rocks. Spirit-tracking wrings out both mind and body; right now the exhaustion is worth it. "Might be time to start moving faster."

Renji tenses, but apparently, only to accommodate Ichigo's weight against his side. Renji's loose hair chafes against the side of his head. "We can't walk much faster. Shunpo isn't the most obvious technique out there, but you sure you can track that way?"

"We can alternate."

"We can try." Renji cranes his head to give him a glance. "You wanna sleep now? Looks like you could use some shut-eye."

Ichigo nods agreement. He doesn't bother to stifle the ridiculous rush of relief. He's tired, and they will need to be up at the crack of dawn. They are running out of time.

* * *

"It's a shortcut," Ichigo said as they left the cobbled road to cut over the top of a long ridge in the mountainside, running north to southwest across their course. "Fewer patrols."

There is a nearly overgrown footpath they have been following. Over the ridge, it dips into the bowl of a steep-rimmed valley. Renji suspects the road skirts around the southern end of the valley.

Ichigo had one thing right. They haven't seen tian bin, let alone a single other human being. The air is humid and rank, as if too heavy to rise from the confines of the valley. Ichigo leads on with single-minded focus, through thickets of lush bamboo, over rivulets that have etched their beds into the thin soil. It reminds Renji of his relentless clarity of purpose at the Soukyoku hill. His aura is taut and forceful even when reined in.

So Renji follows even when a haze settles over the path. It blurs the sun, tawny and bloated, cradled between the mountain peaks. Ichigo is bundled into his scarf and hat, closed eyes just visible, but he hasn't tripped or wavered once. Renji tries to swallow the unclean taste in his mouth. They scamper down into a glen along the path of an old landslide.

A stone slides under Ichigo's foot. He tumbles with a yelp of surprise. Renji doesn't think as reflex kicks in. A flash-step throws him forward to grab Ichigo's arm and pull him into an abrupt halt. Ichigo curses as he stumbles onto his knees, but Renji feels his muscles tremble under his grip.

"Ichigo." He puts the edge of a vice-captain into his voice. The scarf has loosened; the youth has a chalky hue under the deep tan on his face. "Ichigo."

"Mmh." Ichigo's fingers dig into his arm, hard through the layers of cloth.

"Can you hear me?"

"Sure," Ichigo mutters. "M'kay."

"Shut up. I dunno where you've taken us this time, but right now, we're gonna break trail for today. Sit your ass down."

The camp is quickly set. Renji cuts bamboo leaves to serves as insulation from the damp earth. Ichigo stirs enough to spread out their bedrolls while Renji lights the fire. The sunset, a faded, bronze-mould blotch between the bulk of the mountains, recedes into night.

Ichigo stretches, cross-legged on his bedding, not much left of his usually effortless movements. Renji glances around, restive. He cannot hear a single animal call in the surrounding forest.

"Where're we goin'?" he asks.

Ichigo looks at him, eyes open, if diffused by the herb tea. Renji isn't too happy about that, even though it is just a pain remedy. Still, Ichigo is lucid now. He seems to actually see Renji, as himself, not only as a nearby swirl of reiatsu, for the first time in some days.

"To Rukia," he says. "We're getting closer."

"Ichigo, I know—okay, I don't really know what you see. Must be different, that." Renji sighs. They are gaining on months of distance and delay, but his satisfaction at that is mixed with worry for Ichigo now. "But I know this, here, now, is a place I don't wanna hang around for long. I'm gettin' a little creeped out."

"I think there's one of your twilight zones at the bottom," Ichigo says like he's asking Renji to pass the tea. "Sorry, shadowlands."

"What?" The land out here is sprinkled with tainted areas, usually in isolated spots. Shinigami lore calls them shadowlands, places where the influence of Hueco Mundo is strong. They've gone out of their way to circle around them before, and now this idiot has brought them straight into one.

"There's nothing there. I usually feel demons a long way off, and I didn't sense any when we came over that ridge. It's just a bit of residual creepiness." Ichigo is almost smirking. Renji considers smacking him one.

"Well, that's good to know. A real comfort."

"Give it a rest. We're gonna be up at first light anyway."

"I freakin' hope so! You have any idea what a pain in the ass you are sometimes?"

"I do my best," Ichigo says, but he sounds, if not contrite, at least more normal. "I just... didn't wanna waste any time, and this was the shortest way. This seems like our best lead so far. Don't feel like I can lose it now."

Renji knits his brows as he folds down to sit next to the youth. "I know we gotta hang on to the opportunity. We may not have that much time left."

"Renji."

Scanning the trees, he grins mildly. "Rather do it with the captain's leave, but I'm still goin' with ya. Think we've come too far to turn back."

"Well, thanks." Ichigo chuckles. "The only thing worse than this place would be being stuck here alone."

"Don't you get mushy on me now."

"I'm serious, you bastard!"

Against his better intentions, Renji laughs, deep from his chest. With a growl of annoyance, Ichigo falls down onto the blankets. The sound becomes a sharp breath, hissing out from between his teeth.

"Hurts?" He tries to sound nonchalant. Ichigo is giving signals that he's overstepping the bounds of friendly concern. He is careful to let the younger man keep his pride, but Ichigo's standards are sometimes a great deal higher than his own.

Renji lays a hand on the side of Ichigo's neck, walking his fingers along the muscles. He twitches. "The hell—"

"Shit, no wonder you're sore. You got nothin' but knots in your shoulders."

" 'S the tracking."

"All right," he says. "Too cold to strip, but take off that jacket an' let me see."

Ichigo stares up at him, brow furrowed.

"Don't be dumb. I offered you a shoulder rub, not a romp in the blankets." His voice drops a little differently than he meant, but the effect is the same.

"Wha—Listen, you son of a—"

"Come on. You're so easy I dunno how you haven't been teased to death already." Renji doesn't even attempt to keep back the grin, strangely glad for the refuge of the ribbing. "Besides, you're way too bony for me."

Ichigo snorts, but instead of a comeback he fumbles the collar clasps open and shucks the jacket in a defiant motion. "Whatever. Just keep your mouth shut."

"Sit down an' breathe. I'm no healer, but I know a thing or two about trainin' injuries." He has little of the equilibrium and meditative mindset the healing arts require. Such deep, yet detached compassion for the pain of others is a noble thing, but not his by a long shot. His usual method of endurance is to grin and bear it until he passes out, and he'll tell others to do the same.

Still, he strives for calm as he splays his fingers over Ichigo's shoulders. He pushes the atmosphere with its constant hint of decay from his mind. The muscles stiffen under his palms. Ichigo seems to make them slacken as Renji finds the first kinks with his fingers, working them out in slow, meticulous circles.

Ichigo gives a subvocal hum, his breath shuddering out.

"That any better?"

"Oh, yeah."

He almost asks, "You know what that sounded like?", then thinks better of it. Ichigo may be spent, but he gets the meanest second winds Renji has ever seen. He's trying to alleviate physical harm here, not begging for some of his own.

"Should've thought of this sooner," he says instead, and runs the ball of his thumb down the nape of Ichigo's neck. "Might've saved you some pains."

Ichigo mumbles breathy acquiescence.

Renji focuses to form a web of kidou, to ease the last, deep-nestled aches. "That oughta do it."

"Thanks," Ichigo says, and nearly pitches backward into him before managing to steady himself.

"No problem." He lowers his hands, leaning back on them. He was not going to catch Ichigo. Or rather, he was, but nothing more than that.

* * *

The stars are caught somewhere in the haze that obscures the valley. Renji tells the hour of night by the moon, shaded a strange green by the mist in the air. It has sunk into the west by now. Even if this forsaken place means they are safe from discovery, he can't wait to leave it. Ichigo needs all the sleep he can get, so Renji means to be awake until dawn; not that he could sleep here.

By shinigami standards, he is not too sensitive to changes in reiatsu. Hueco Mundo affected him little, and even now, he had to walk into the shadowland before he realised it was there. Training allows everyone to control their level of awareness, but he has only a pale idea of what Ichigo must sense in this place. Maybe that sentiment was what made him suddenly so...

He shakes his head. Something flashes in the far left of his vision, a shifting of shadow among the bamboos.

He snaps Zabimaru loose in the sheath, tossing the scabbard aside. The stalks bend left and right as the shape tears through them, gaining mass and form as it comes. He hears the skirl of metal on wood and knows that Ichigo is awake, sword drawn, not a moment too soon.

"What's with the racket?"

"No idea, but it's definitely bad!" Renji grabs the bundled blanket filled with sand and dumps it on the fire. If—when—there's a battle, they'll have to switch to spirit sight, and anything that big means there will be collateral damage.

"Oh shit," Ichigo says. "That thing I sensed before. I think it just caught up to us."

"From the border forest? You've gotta be jokin'."

"Wish I was." With a ripple of power, Ichigo releases his shikai, and Renji follows suit without a thought. The spirit pressure rolling towards them reeks of decay and old, misshapen malice.

The creature must have come through the shadowland somehow. He isn't sure if the local demons can move between worlds like Hollows do. In any case, they should never have come here. The thing is bound to draw power from the taint in the land.

It bursts from the forest like a wave of the ocean.

Chapter Text

Ichigo lunges in sword leading. The flailing heads of the demon part before his slashing strike. The creature is shaped like a bird, at least the part with broad wings and crooked claws on its feet. The rest of it looks like some kind of a demented Orochi knockoff: its nine crane-like heads toss and twist atop flexible necks. To his spirit-sight, the bird smoulders with bitter energy in the haze of the shadowland.

Batting at him with its wings, it dances back. Exactly as he wanted it to. Now, Renji!

Ichigo flashes to the side as Zabimaru comes flying from his left, the joined segments biting into the bird's body. The prongs hook deep and hold fast, and it throws its heads back. Its curved beaks, each the length of Ichigo's arm, open in a voiceless scream.

That really bothers him. The damn thing makes no sound.

"Ichigo!" Renji's barked order jolts him into motion.

The bird is almost thrice his height, and the cluttering bamboo makes flash-step awkward. They're already raising a ruckus. He swings Zangetsu in a high arc and sends a wave of power at the tangling heads.

The Getsuga shears through two of the necks. Blood fountains into the air as the bird threshes with its wings, swerving about madly. Ichigo hears Renji shout in surprise: Zabimaru unwinds and folds in a series of dull snaps.

"Shit—I can't hold it!"

"Try again!" Ichigo sidesteps at least three wildly thrusting beaks. Its aura crawls in bursts all over the bird, dazzlingly bright.

"You're in the way!" Renji strikes at the body beneath the flailing wings. They've encircled the thing best as they can, but its blind spots are scarce.

The remaining heads snake down towards Ichigo, and he sweeps Zangetsu into a parry. A severed neck spatters his face with blood; he recoils from the sudden burn, and a beak spears into his abdomen. Groaning as he feels a rib give way, he kicks forward as hard as he can to dislodge the bird. His boot connects just as the beak in his ribs snaps shut.

For an instant the pain washes out all else. Ichigo forces it down with sheer force of will. He's lived through worse and the wound's not too deep...

In a blur of movement, Renji cuts down right in front of him. Two heads thump to the ground, hunks of dead weight. "Dammit, let you alone for a sec—"

"How 'bout you—yell at me later?" Ichigo seizes the beak that pierced him and yanks it out. The wound bleeds swiftly, but the layers of his clothing soak up the blood for now. Renji is between him and the bird, slashing at it more to keep it at bay.

"Bet on it—the hell?"

The bird's aura flares into effulgent peaks. Renji stumbles back with a hand raised to protect his eyes. Something squirms within the glow, thick, dark streamers twining together.

"It's regrowing the heads!"

"If I can help it, no it's not!" Renji lets his sword whip out again in a downward stroke across the chaotic mass of heads and necks.

In a roiling shockwave, power bursts forth from the creature. Zabimaru bounces aside and Renji goes flying backwards, smashing into the ground. Ichigo staggers onto his knees, but a wrecked batch of bamboo breaks his fall.

You are mine—mine—mine now, mongrel one—one—one! The abrupt blare of voices is like a chorus of flawed trumpets. Ichigo's kept his grip on Zangetsu; he fires a Getsuga for cover as he struggles up onto his feet.

"So you can talk, you creep. Fine. I'm still gonna kick your ass!"

Renji's aura billows in the air, but he's down. The bird has become a bonfire of power, at least six of its heads snapping this way and that. Renji was right: the shadowland must be fuelling the creature.

"I hate it when they do that!" He scampers away from a buffet of the bird's wings.

Real pain in the ass, isn't it, partner? The speaker stretches out the words into a gravelly drawl.

The world jars. This is the second disembodied voice within the minute. He was never supposed to hear this one again. There were seals imprinted into his soul after the war so it would be suppressed for good.

What's wrong? This ain't the best you can do and you know it! The Hollow's words cut through his momentary stun. Wherever he came from, however much Ichigo hates to admit it, he has a point. Bankai has been out of the question ever since they came here. Even with all the noise they've made in this battle, a full release soars into a whole other magnitude.

But damn if he doesn't want to. Where the fuck is Renji?

Renji. The bird.

His only saving grace is that the thing is still enveloped within its blaze of power, a nexus of energy round its sole headless neck. That must slow it down. A beak hammers down towards him, and he tucks himself into a roll, coming up into a crouch.

Do not—not struggle—struggle—gle, mongrel one—one! You are weak—weak—weak! The clamour of voices erupts in his mind again.

It thinks we're weak, king!

"Get outta my head!" he screams at both the bird and the Hollow. The vicinity is dimming, as if the demon were draining life from the trees and earth themselves. Even thin red fibres of Renji's aura float in its direction. The bastard sure picked a hell of a time to take a nap!

Don't delude yourself, partner. You can't trust that guy, can you now? Don't think I haven't noticed how you—

The creature raises its heads towards the sky, as if in grotesque imitation of a dancing crane. Its beaks open—and voices pour forth in a garbled chorus that blasts through his head.

Mine—mine—mine—! You—you—will—obey—obey—me—!

Ichigo wrenches himself upright and forces the words out. Even the murmur of the Hollow echoing the call, deep in his soul, gives him no pause. Tensa Zangetsu...

He flows into bankai and the cacophony of voices is stilled. The battlefield is his, every dip and rise and snare in the forest floor plain, the rearing heads of the bird creeping along, Renji hauling himself to sit up as if it would take hours for him to do it. He steps forward with Zangetsu in a two-handed grip and slashes through the reformed heads. They spin around him like in near-zero gravity, in languishing arcs towards the forest floor.

Until, with a swoosh of power, the second to last one snakes under his blade. Unerringly it sinks its beak into his fresh injury.

He throws the black blade through an upward circle. Only the supernal edge of it lets him complete the blow. The beak, stuck in his wound, tears the stab open as the head falls. Still he leaps up, and cleaves the last head in two.

In a swaying fall, the body pitches to the ground.

* * *

Ichigo lurches out of shunpo; his bankai slips out of his slackening grasp. His head is paradoxically clear. Then arms close around him from behind, and pain lances through his midsection.

"Sorry," Renji says. "Had to catch ya. And now you gotta walk a bit, you can't lie down in all that gore."

They hobble away from the corpse. Ichigo closes his eyes and walks with his whole concentration. His stomach is a patch of hot, sticky agony.

"This'll do." Renji lowers him to the ground. "How bad is it?"

He tries to breathe. "Hurts—like a bitch."

"No kiddin'." A red glow lights above them at a few words from Renji. Then he peels away the bloody fabric, and the dismayed sound he makes tells Ichigo the news is not good. "Just don't move."

"Thanks for the obvious."

"That means, you smartass, lie still and don't say a damn word." He tries his best to do that as Renji cleans the wound, blood still seeping down his side. He has been ripped up six ways from Sunday before, but it never hurts any less. At least he isn't coughing up blood, but stomach wounds are a whole another kind of messy.

"You're gonna need a healer."

"Shit." This, too. As if it wasn't enough that his sealed Hollow popped out, or that a deranged demon probably tried to possess him. All in a day's work. Yeah, right.

"You got two broken ribs an' a pretty gouge into your innards," Renji interrupts his thoughts. "I'm not steady enough to fix this up. You could end up with with knots in your guts, and I don't really wanna think about that."

"Ha ha." Ichigo makes a face. The light Renji summoned draws twirling patterns on the insides of his eyelids. "Got your point."

"So," Renji says. "Here's what I found out. There're some people not too far away. I figure it's a smaller village. Seems the fort's still a ways off." He splays his fingers over the wound. "We find a hidin' place, an' I'm gonna get somebody to help you."

Ichigo clenches his teeth as the burn of the healing kidou seeps into him. Renji tries to go easy, sure, but this is not easing muscle aches, and his power chafes against the raw injury so Ichigo has to fight back more unwelcome noises.

"Man, you—you do suck at this." He raises a hand to wipe at his watering eyes.

"At least now you won't tear in two when I get you up." Unannounced, another, softer wave of kidou follows the first. "That oughta help, too. Can you sit?"

With Renji supporting him, he manages that, even though his hands tremble as he grabs Renji's shoulders to keep himself upright.

"Hold still," Renji murmurs. It seems to take an awfully long time to bind the wounds, around and around his torso in even loops of cloth. Lots of bandages.

He watches Renji's face swim in and out of focus, his eyes serious and darkened. Renji never looks like that. His Hollow never comes out again. He used his bankai and now he's hurt. Rukia is still... Someone has stuffed his head with cotton, and his limbs feel wobbly, but this thought is lucid.

"Hey," he says. " 'M sorry."

"What the hell for?"

"We're gonna be... delayed. Can' track like this." He breathes in. "So—"

"Fuck, I can never get that right." Renji sounds muddled. "Ichigo. Stay with me. Listen. I'm gonna take you by flash-step, so just hang on."

"Right, but—" He can do that, that's not the problem; Renji lifts him bodily and—

The world melts around them and he is jerked along. Whatever is coursing through him counters his reflex to tense up, which probably is a good thing. He slumps bonelessly against Renji when things go still again.

It occurs to him only now that dawn is breaking above the forest; they're out of the bamboo grove. The trees droop over a tall rock in a protective canopy, and the ground is overrun with dense shrubs. It is as good a hiding spot as can be found in this terrain. Renji eases him down to lean against the rock. His hand settles on the side of Ichigo's neck.

"Sorry 'bout that. Guess I'll stick to the herbs an' tinctures from now on," Renji says with a hint of wry humour. Under his hand, a throb of power passes over Ichigo's skin. Things sharpen again and so does the pain, but it's tolerable now.

"What'd you do?"

"Tried to control your pain."

"Appreciate the thought, but the Fourth would probably still toss you out on your ass." Ichigo cracks a grin. The joke is feeble, but better than letting loose the flash flood of concerns on his mind.

"Don't I know it. If it's any consolation, I used to be better. Somewhat." Renji rubs at his temple with his free hand.

"Hope I won't give you reason to hone those skills any more." Ichigo shifts and immediately regrets it. "Oww, fuck." At least looking around works. Renji has brought Zangetsu along.

Renji follows his gaze as it lingers on the sword. "I shouldn't have, but you didn't really look up to carryin' anythin'."

"It's fine," Ichigo says quickly. "I know, no handling others' soul cutters, private business, whatever. It's an emergency and all."

Renji lets out a long sigh, his breath skimming Ichigo's cheek. He seems to get stuck there, head rested against Ichigo's.

"Hey," he says at length, because what can you say, and grasps Renji's wrist to draw his hand away from his shoulder.

Renji's fingers wrap strong around his wrist in turn. "Mmh. You okay now?"

"Yeah, good as can be. You should get going."

With a shake of his head, Renji gets up. "Don't you dare pass out."

"Stop frettin'." Ichigo cranes his head to keep the eye contact. "I'll smack myself if I have to."

"You'd be dumb enough." Renji half chuckles. "Be back as fast as I can."

He reaches for Zangetsu, and Renji sets the hilt into his hand.

* * *

Thankfully, their things are untouched. The mangled body of the demon bird might not even attract scavengers, but Renji fears it will draw others of its kind. It is best they move away from it as fast and as far as possible.

Ichigo has sunk into a half-doze as he returns. After nudging him awake and leaving their bags next to him, Renji heads towards the concentration of auras that marks the village to the north. He had no sleep to speak of the night before, but concern for Ichigo and a sense of haste combine to keep him alert.

The smell of hearth smoke trails down to him from upwind. The forest becomes sparser, shafts of early sunlight slashing through the leaves, lighting them to glow maroon and orange. After the taint of the shadowland, the crisp day feels good despite his hurry.

"You! Stop right there!"

To the left of the path, a woman and a boy are gathering kindling: the youth, barely even that, raises his child-high voice again. "Who are you?"

Renji holds up open hands, though Zabimaru's hilt sticks out over his shoulder. His clothes are in blood all over, and hair has crept free of his headscarf. At least his looks back up his story.

"A demon attacked us. My friend is hurt. Do you have a healer here?" He forces calm into his tone. "A herbalist?"

The woman hefts a wooden staff, her expression dark with suspicion.

"I'm not a danger. I need help. Please."

"You come from the valley."

"We went off the road," he says. "I just need medicine. I don't want to bother you."

"A demon, you said?" Beside her, the boy picks up the basket of sticks and twigs, still far from full.

"Yes, in the valley. It's dead now."

She points with the staff. "There's Old Hao, outside the village. He might sell you some remedies. Cross the stream and go right along the path."

Stream, then right. He can always orient himself by reiatsu if he really needs to; travelling with Ichigo has dulled that habit. He bows at her. "Thank you. The demon... there are maybe others. Be careful."

The woman waves him off and ushers the boy to go. Renji quickens his pace. I sure hope nothin' comes after that thing too quick. We really don't need any of its friends down our necks just now.

He clears the stream in two leaps across stones. The promised path meanders uphill through waist-high bracken. His heart hammers more with anxiety than exertion when a house comes into view, covered in climbing vines. The shutters and doors are closed, but the rows of an herb garden beside the house are weeded and orderly.

He pauses to roll up his flapping, ripped sleeve and retie his headscarf. Then he knocks. "Hello? Anybody home?"

His next three knocks go unanswered as well.

The door opens under his hand. The interior is unlit, but the door allows the sun in enough that he can scan the single room. A mixed aroma of herbs clouds the space; sheafs of dried flora are hung from the ceiling. Renji moves a couple of steps into the room, though it is too small to really hide anyone. Woven reed curtains partition a sleeping alcove or bedroom on the far side.

Not a ripple of reiatsu apart from his own disturbs the silence. He goes on one knee by the fire pit. The hot coals have been covered, so the owner hasn't planned on being away for long.

Movement swishes across the room before he can so much as twitch. Steel presses into the side of his neck. He goes instinctively, utterly still. If the other is that fast, he probably can't shunpo away with his head in tow.

"Unstrap your sword and drop it." The meaning is crystal clear, even if he doesn't know all the words. "One wrong move and I cut your head off."

Hand on the knots of the shoulder strap, he glances to the side without moving his head. Light gleams off the sword on his neck, the folding pattern rippling silvery along the one-edged blade.

"Do as I say," the speaker tells him tartly and seals his conclusion. But for the language, the tone is so familiar he has to hold back a sudden sound, an unwise spin about.

He does not turn. He undoes the knot and Zabimaru slides to the floor under his own weight. Then he spreads his hands again. The blade draws an ooze of blood.

He whispers, "Rukia. It's me."

Chapter Text

Renji imagines he hears her gasp.

The sword at his neck remains steady. "I do not know you," she says crisply, still in the local language. "But I know your friend."

"Rukia?" Something icy uncoils in his stomach. "You mean Ichigo? Did you—" It makes no sense. She can hardly have found Ichigo in this time.

"The man who burned down the village at Cicada Creek. The one they call Wei the Tiger. He sent you, did he not?"

He lets his head dip even as baring the nape of his neck feels painfully vulnerable. "There is no way in hell he did."

"I'm sure the lies come easy when I have you at sword-point!"

"I... I don't know exactly what's goin' on." He regards the floor. "But we've been lookin' for you high and low."

"The wanted poster is quite impressive." She scoffs. "Right now, I ask and you answer. How many of you are there? It would be messy if I killed a man of the lord's, but I would not try my luck if I were you."

"I'm not with them!" He wants to—needs to—turn around and see her, hold her, tell her he's here for her... "I left Ichigo to find help, an' he's hurt bad. Will you please let me up?" Blood drips down the edge of Shirayuki's blade. "Rukia?"

He can sense her hesitation.

"Who are you?" The sword whets against his skin.

"You really don't know, huh?" The idea has hammered at him for a moment now. Who knows where she ended up, what she has been through?

"No, I am simply amusing myself by ambushing visitors to the healer's!" Does she realise she has slipped into Japanese? "Answer me."

He closes his eyes, unable to entirely stifle the memories that rise. "My name's Renji. You're Kuchiki Rukia. We've been friends as long as I remember." And I've loved you that long. Come on. Please. "I've met this Wei. We were tryin' to find you before he did." He pauses. "Guess we did."

"That certainly is a new one. Who put you up to this?"

"Your brother. You've been missin' a long time."

"My—brother?" She breathes out.

"Yeah. He's my captain, back in Soul Society."

"And what is his name?"

"Captain Kuchiki. Byakuya." He fists his hands to keep them still.

"I will take off my sword. If you rise or run, I will kill you. Do not doubt I can."

The only movement he makes is to lift his head as she steps around him. Shirayuki still rests on his shoulder, the hilt in her steadfast grip. It is not the sword that makes him hold his breath.

She wears a swordsman's coat, belted with a tasselled sash, and thick, strapped boots. Her face looks leaner and harder, with shadows at the corners of her eyes that weren't there before. Her hair is longer than he remembers, curling in wayward strands from a cloth-wrapped tail.

If she doesn't know who he is, she still knows her sword. The pattern of the hilt is her own.

"Rukia. Let Shirayuki ask Zabimaru." He nods at his sword, on the floor partway behind him. "Let her say if he's an enemy."

She seems to consider that. Gingerly, she touches the bare blade to Zabimaru's hilt. Tell her whatever she needs to know, he tells Zabimaru. Don't even try to threaten her. He knows that the soul cutters of shinigami fighting together often form tight bonds, as well, though few sword-spirits share the nature of those bonds with the wielders.

For a long time, neither of them moves. Renji can feel his neck bleeding, but the scrape is clotting. She watches him with wary interest, though she is obviously deep in conversation with Shirayuki. He watches her and charts every tiny change, the grim line of her mouth, the steely, harrowed look in her eye.

I think she's satisfied, Zabimaru says testily, rippling with tension inside his mind. That was strange.

I know. Thanks, he answers, and then pulls his attention away from the nue.

She withdraws her sword and wipes his blood off the blade. "I am sorry. Shirayuki has spoken with your Zabimaru. She wishes to trust you both." Her courteous tone cuts deeper than her sword ever could have, a gradual, merciless ache inside him.

"It's nothin'." He sits back on his haunches. "It sure was your kinda greetin'."

"I have run into some trouble recently. I... I saw you with Hu Wei earlier. I assumed, perhaps too hastily, that you were his ally or henchman."

"Saw me? Where?"

"In the village of Foxfern."

The name takes a heartbeat to click. "Damn. That was so close. Look, Ichigo—he's a friend, too—and I passed through there. He had trouble trackin' you, but..."

"I have tried to stay hidden." She is biting the inside of her cheek. "May I see that?"

Her left hand skims over his neck, leaving the tingling after-itch of healing kidou. Before he knows it, he's caught her hand and pressed it on his shoulder, his free hand enveloping her shoulder in turn. Her mouth opens in surprise.

"Oh." He catches himself. "Look. This... this must be the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me, and trust me, we've seen some wacky shit together. Anyway. I know you—you don't seem to remember a whole lot. I—we all worried ourselves sick. Thought you were dead. It's—"

"A great relief?" she offers. Her fingers curl into the fabric of his coat.

"That's puttin' it pretty mildly."

"In a sense, I might... say the same." She searches for words. Renji understands the tentativeness. He wishes so much that he could simply hug her close, like the lifelong friends they are—and then they could hurry off to rescue Ichigo, like they do.

"You know, this can wait," he says. "You, uh, still got a handle on your kidou, don't ya? Ichigo could use some patchin' up."

"Yes," she says, breathy. Neither of them has moved. Belatedly, Renji lets his hands fall. "Hao is not home today. Let me get my things."

He still makes a point of holding his hands in plain view as he gets up. Her eyes never leave him as she backtracks into the sleeping alcove to retrieve a shoulder bag. She uses a poker to scratch a character into the earthen floor.

"So he will know I left of my own volition," she explains. "Take your sword. Lead the way."

* * *

Ichigo stares. Only his injury prevented him from flying to his feet as Renji ducked into view and stepped aside. He's focused on suppressing his own aura, his senses muted, but Rukia flares into his awareness like a sunburst as she loosens her spirit pressure. She strips off her gloves and grips her right wrist to steady the hand. He has to stop himself from reaching for her; even as the familiar violet-red of her power brushes against him, he still can't stem the fear that this is some waking dream.

Renji crouches beside him. "Let her work. Talk later."

"If you would," she says, and chokes his questions on the spot. Rukia always felt cool to his senses, but fibres of deep, glacial ice seem to ripple through her aura now, keen and foreboding.

Renji sets a firm hand on his shoulder. "She can't remember us."

"She what? Any idea why?" She is fluent with the kidou, the wash of heat soothing and even. Ichigo hangs onto Renji's words, the need to know overriding everything else. Out of any number of ways he envisioned them finding her, this never crossed his mind. "How'd you find her?"

"No, and at the healer's house. I think she'd appreciate if you asked her instead."

"I can hear you." Her voice is muffled, but the words are pointed.

"Sorry," Ichigo says. "It's just—you were gone so long, and—"

"He said the same. Please be still." Her brow scrunches in concentration. "There is a vestige of... of demonic power in your injury. I need to purge it first."

No real surprise there, though he winces inwardly. That means the wound will be even slower to mend.

She stops long before the healing is complete, but he hurts remarkably less. Renji breaks out their provisions and after a measuring look at them both, Rukia accepts the offered portion. "Thank you."

She seems... different, Ichigo thinks. He knows she can be ruthless in battle and standoffish to others; that's the Kuchiki facade. The hard crust on her has some other source he cannot name yet.

"So, um, what happened to you?" Ichigo reminds himself not to lean too close. Rukia sits legs crossed, sword in her lap, as she bites into a half-crumbled millet cake.

"Your name is Ichigo, yes?" Her voice sounds too smooth to match his memory. "Shirayuki told me that she saved me after I was lost in a battle. Ever since, I have wandered this valley. I... had little idea of who this Rukia... of who I was."

Ichigo throws Renji a glance to find the man looking his way, too.

"I thought it was best to let people think I was little more than a drifter, but... something happened that forced me to leave that disguise."

"Wei." Renji's voice is flat.

"He destroyed a village to the east of here. I interfered, but had to reveal myself. I have been on the run since then."

"Made it damn near impossible to find you," Ichigo says.

"I had no idea I could expect a rescue."

"Rukia..." Renji begins. "You still got Shirayuki. Couldn't she tell you anythin'?"

"Her memories were linked to mine. They were lost." She looks down. "She recalled my name, but I thought it might not be safe, so I assumed a new one."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Renji says pensively. "Though I gotta wonder if that... made ya feel different, too."

"How do you mean?"

Ichigo rubs his jaw in thought, more to occupy his restless hands. "Well, you don't... exactly feel like you. I mean, the Rukia I remember."

Shifting in place, she grasps the scabbard of her sword. "Shirayuki told me I was a shinigami. From Soul Society. Of House Kuchiki. These names do not truly mean anything to me."

He hums in sympathy. "It's okay. We're gonna get you home."

"Where would you head?" she asks, a neutral inquiry.

"Back north and east through the valley," Renji says. His eyes are dark with thought, but betray little feeling. "While keepin' our distance from the soldiers."

"The east is the border. Demons guard those lands."

"We know. Came here that way. I'd rather gamble with soul-eatin' beasts than the tian bin, I figure."

Her gaze sharpens. "Your energies feel much like mine, up close. I know mine is like the tian bin. Are shinigami not then much the same?"

Ichigo finds his attention drawn to Renji. The answer may carry unexpected weight.

"Yeah. But I like to think we're a good bit closer to the way we're supposed to be," Renji says after a moment. " 'Specially now your old captain's got the reins of the place."

"I was forced to hide my power from the soldiers."

"So are we," Ichigo cuts in. There is a choking pressure in his throat. He sure never thought he would be defending the shinigami to Rukia. "Look, it's obvious there's a whole lot wrong with this place. Hate to say it, but it's all the more reason for us to ditch it."

"I was helping people," she says. "They helped me, even though they knew it was risky. Even Hao, the healer. He sheltered me while I searched for a way to get past Phoenix Gate. I have to go west."

"Or east," Renji says gently. "The fact is, you can't stay here, anyway."

Ichigo guffaws suddenly. None of this is a laughing matter, but somehow it is so her to end up saving others when she has just lost her memory.

"You make one lousy rescuee," he chortles as her eyebrows shoot up. "You go missing for months to become a damn hero of the people. C'mon, tell me you joined the secret resistance, too."

"Oh, I might have. What was I supposed to do, then?" The angle of her eyebrow indicates she expects a prompt answer, and it better please her, too.

"Heh. Shiver in a corner and scream for help?" He tries to ignore the ache in his chest. C'mon, Rukia, you know that one.

"That does not seem a very productive course of action in a dangerous situation," she says, not unkindly.

Ichigo swallows. "Yeah, I know. You didn't think so back then, either."

Renji clears his throat, dissolving the moment. "So. Ichigo's still a bit banged up—"

"I believe I can heal him fully with more time. I managed to cleanse the wound, but I did not want to exhaust myself."

"Good. Just sayin', we should probably stay put 'til he's better."

"It is a safe enough place. It is ironic, but the old hell-glade keeps people away. That's why I stopped in Mirkridge—that is the village nearby."

"Fine by me," Ichigo says. "There should be enough catching up to do to pass the time." Gingerly, he sits upright and finds the movement tolerable. Rukia has a good hand. At least that hasn't changed; he might need to take heart in any small things he can just now.

* * *

Every time one of them says her name, she pauses to remember that Duan Zhi was a title for a shadowy mercenary, and that she indeed is Kuchiki Rukia. They both seem rough-and-ready, yet their elation shines in every word and look they give her. It confounds her, the suggestion of vast, profound emotion behind the gestures. Then again, they tell her they are her friends.

The day creeps onward, but even if she had somewhere actual to go, extricating herself would be next to impossible. Speaking in a language of which she has a full command is an unexpected relief, and the two hardly give her a moment's reprieve. She shares the tea in her bag and allows them to nudge and coax her out of a prolonged silence.

In bits and parts, she recounts to them her sojourn in Yellow Springs, though she leaves out most of Shirayuki and any mention of Lian's identity. A part of her is desperate to believe them. Another holds back almost as fiercely.

They return her stories with tales of Soul Society, of this war in which they fought together, of the Thirteen Divisions and high-walled Seireitei. One picks up where the other leaves off, the narrative weaving from the alleyways of Rukongai to the streets of Karakura, Ichigo's home. The names ring like faraway bells inside her: she hears the sound, only she cannot make out the melody.

Ichigo resisted sleep for a long while, but he slumbers by the fire now. Renji keeps the flames low, careful to pick only sound, dry wood that will smoke less.

"He says he is not a real shinigami. Yet he is very powerful." She knows they are all suppressing their spiritual power. If she lets her gaze wander until the world softens and refocuses, looking at Ichigo is like being subsumed in a fathomless depth of water: he is dark and vibrant, humming with strength.

"Yeah, Ichigo's a fun one." Renji undoes the scarf that ties his hair back. She squints at the nest of red strands, matted by the scarf. It was always longer.

"You cut your hair," she says thoughtlessly.

"Stood out too much. Seems like only soldiers get away with topknots." He laughs. Then another emotion crosses his face. "How'd you know that?"

"It came to me. You did not always look like you do now."

"Guess some changes come suddenly. I... made a decision, so it felt right, too." He looks away from her, and she is abruptly desperate to read his expression, for something that wavers under the surface of his hushed tone. "Anyway. You've let yours grow."

"To blend in, as well. Women have long hair here." She tilts her head. "It does not really matter, does it? What were you saying about Ichigo?"

"He's a real shinigami all right. Catch is, he's still alive. His father was a shinigami captain, married a livin' woman. It's in his blood," Renji says. "He's a real handful, too, but that battle where you went missin'—he won it for us. Not alone, but he did."

"He seems to have a good heart," she whispers.

"Sure, an' a hot head. Actually, you brought him to us. I kinda hated his guts at first. Long story."

If all this is true, it is so much. She sets Shirayuki better against her right shoulder.

Why so wary? You do not think them sincere? the bear asks.

I am afraid it will break me if they aren't, Shirayuki. Do you think ill of me for still having doubts?

Never. I simply believe there is no need for them now, though I do understand why you feel vulnerable. Wait and see for yourself.

"Perhaps that story will keep until tomorrow," she says aloud. "Should I take next watch?"

"Guess that'd be a good idea. He should sleep." Renji prods Ichigo's blankets with his foot. "I'll wake ya."

She unwraps her bedroll. "All right then."

"Hey," he says when she moves to the other side of the fire. "You're gonna freeze your toes off."

She gives him a look, even as she sees the truth in his words. She can warm herself with a spell, but that runs the risk that she will wake muzzy and ill-rested.

He pats the blankets beside Ichigo, who has flung one arm up over his head in his sleep. "Pretty sure he'd be only too glad for the warmth."

"Indeed?"

Renji returns fire with a scant smile. "Indeed."

She huffs, then tosses her own quilts onto the pile of bedding. "Good night." Laying her sword next to her, she crawls under the blankets, warm with Ichigo's body heat. She curls up with her back to his side. The fire crackles every now and then; Renji is a hunched silhouette at their foot end. It smells of wool and woodsmoke and winter chill.

"G'night," Renji says. That is the last thing she hears as sleep comes, gaping like a well's mouth beneath her.

Chapter Text

You're weakening.

It's daytime as always in his inner world. The glass of the buildings is darkened by the thunderheads in the sky, glowering purples and greys, but he cannot feel rain.

Shoulders stiffening, he turns at the incorporeal voice. "The fuck are you doing here?"

Checking up on you, partner. The grindstone mirth is just the same as before. You used to be more careful.

"That's a good one." He crosses his arms on his chest. "You preaching caution?"

Getting so torn up so close to the Hollow world, partner. It's not wise, not wise at all. You're weak while I grow stronger.

"Stop sounding like bad movie villain," he scoffs. "You aren't supposed to be here anymore."

"But I'm you," the Hollow mimics his irritated intonation. "If I'm not here, then where would I go?" Ichigo cannot see him, but the voice now comes from a physical source, present in a way that makes his flesh crawl with cold.

"Get lost. It's my world. Not yours."

"Oh, really?" He laughs, froth and gravel in the same sound. "As you command, O king. For now."

The view ripples; reality cuts into the vision, muted, amber sunlight through a thick lattice of leaves. "Ichigo?"

"Wha—" He levers himself up with care. Bending at the waist still jostles his bandaged ribs. Renji is sitting nearby, leaned towards him, whittling a stick into curled strips to use as kindling. "Oh, hey."

"Interestin' dream?" Renji's voice pitches low with the question.

He blows out a long breath. "You could say that. How... where's Rukia?"

"Still around. She went to get water, seems to know the terrain. You slept pretty soundly. How's the wound?"

" 'M okay." The dream that wasn't a dream judders in the depth of his mind. "We'll stick around 'til I'm healed?"

"If I have to tie ya down, yeah."

"I'll pass on the acrobatics, 'kay, so save the ropes?" The campfire radiates welcome heat as he fumbles a water flask open and sips to wet his throat.

"As you wish," Renji throws back with a chortle. He shaves off another coil of wood into the pile at his feet. Flexing his half-numbed hands, Ichigo eyes him; he sits bowed over his work, but the line of his shoulders is loose and easy, and a near-forgotten smile keeps tugging at the side of his mouth.

He seems... happy. He'd be hard pressed to remember when he last saw Renji this candidly content. Wonder what Rukia's thinking. It's got to be a lot to take in.

With his thoughts roaming, the sense of his surroundings seeps into his awareness like liquid through absorbent cloth, more smearing than forming coherent shapes. Even in the calm day, the land sloping towards the valley bottom is smothered in shadow and subtle rot. Echoes skitter across his mind: so close to the Hollow world... not wise, not wise...

"Renji," he says into the silence. "One thing."

"What's that?"

"I..." He tries to formulate the request, then settles for meeting Renji's idle gaze. "I just... About the Hollow. Don't tell her."

Renji's whole demeanour sharpens; his voice dips again. "What's there to tell? I mean, she's gonna remember some day, but it's not really a priority right now..."

"Yeah," Ichigo says, kneading his temple with a knuckle. "She's dealing with enough as it is."

"Somethin' botherin' you?"

"My head's still... you know, with the tracking." Liar, he rebukes himself, even as he gets his feet under him. "I'll just... go dunk it in the closest body of water. I'm not back in an hour, you better come fish me up."

"Drown an' I'll kill you," Renji says mildly, though he hasn't turned his eyes from Ichigo. "And... make sure you tell her in time. She deserves it."

He presses his mouth into a slant of suitable gravity. "I will."

I will, when this is all over.

* * *

She returns to the campsite with the water flasks slung over her shoulder. Renji is breaking sticks into firewood; it is sensible to build up a reserve, if they think to stay at least another day. She has some needlework that needs doing, so she does not disturb him, but settles beside the fire. The blankets there are empty, Ichigo nowhere to be seen.

"You let him go off on his own?" she more remarks.

"He's not far off. Figured he needed a while alone."

"How so? If I may ask?"

"Bad dreams, I'd guess," he says. "We all get 'em sometimes. You can't expect a guy to kill a barkin' madman with delusions of godhood at seventeen and just skate through it."

The traitor captain, yes. Ichigo went rigid, the kind of stillness that paralyses the most enthused conversation, when his name was mentioned yesterday. Renji offered a curt explanation afterwards. "Wait for him to bring it up, though that might take a while. You can't force it."

She shifts her spare jacket in her lap, studying the ripped seam. "Do you think we should scout out the road? This is a remote area, but if a patrol passed nearby during your battle, they may have detected something."

"Mm-hm. Wouldn't mind gettin' away a bit." He makes no secret of feeling antsy within the hell-glade, and she empathises with the sentiment. They retreated some way towards it this morning, to be safer while Ichigo recuperates. She has worked on his injuries in increments over the last day. It should take perhaps two more times to fully mend him.

"Let me finish this, and we will go."

Renji gives a throaty noise by way of agreement. They continue their tasks in mutual quiet. In spite of herself, she finds it comfortable: the sounds of splintering wood, the needle slipping in her chilled fingers as she tugs it through the fabric, Renji humming, in off-key snatches, under his breath. The undemanding nearness of another person, or the rhythm of work shared without complication, isn't something she is used to, of late.

At length, Renji squats down next to her. "You comin', then? We might manage a quick round before Ichigo finishes drownin' himself."

"I hope you do not mean that in a literal sense." She puts away her sewing.

In answer, he gestures for her to come, but he looks amused. They wend their way through the bamboo forest, their boots swishing on the dead leaves littering the underbrush. Flash-step shortens the trip, though they walk once the ground begins slanting up towards the road. It runs along a precipice in the mountainside, above the steep-rimmed valley.

"You know," he says as they pick footholds to scale the last climb. "Meant to ask ya somethin'."

"Yes?"

"Soon as we get outta this hole, I need to call the captain. He'll wanna know you're safe."

His captain. Kuchiki Byakuya, who arranged for Ichigo and Renji to search for her, even though the initiative was theirs, as Ichigo pointed out. "My brother," she says. "Of course."

"I was just wonderin'—" A stone that held her weight dislodges under his, and he slides down a step before he finds purchase. "Wonderin' if you wanted to talk to him."

"Yes," she says, surprised by the hint of chagrin in his bearing. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Uh—didn't really mean it like that." He grins sheepishly. "Let's try our luck later, then."

She has to pull herself up with her hands and cannot look at him. Obviously, I don't remember much, but we are talking about my brother. Renji told me himself he made it possible for them to come.

So what is it? They both do seem to tread on eggshells around her. She does not feel quite so fragile, even when the wealth of new-old knowledge seems overflowing. The present has troubles enough, she thinks, that they should all stay grounded in it.

"Looks quiet." Renji comes up to the precipice behind her. The emperor's highroad, with its ruts for cart and carriage wheels, is in a less than exemplary shape in these backlands. The Jade Emperor rules far from the frontier, and the meaner arms of his power have a will of their own. Here, his name is little more than a fable recounted to pass long winter nights.

She shakes her head. Some time this is to remember Lian's fireside stories. "What can you sense?"

"You're the sharp one. I'm not pickin' up a thing."

She focuses for a count of five, letting her sight spin across the valley like a dancer's ribbon that draws a perfect circle in the air. Then she dampens her aura again. "Nothing. Perhaps I should stay and keep a lookout. I just... have a feeling."

"You people an' your hunches," he sighs. "Like Ichigo's not bad enough already. But sure, we gotta pass the time somehow. Be careful."

"They've hunted me before. I know how to deal with the tian bin."

"That's all the more reason—" He grins down at her. "Ah, yeah, I know. You can handle yourself."

Some way ahead, dense growths of brush hang from the edge of the precipice, forming a decent hiding spot. She starts towards it. "Do not worry. I will be fine."

"Get back before dark!" he calls after her. She covers her mouth to repress what feels suspiciously like a giggle.

* * *

They need to swing by the village before leaving. They have little food left, and even if they all manage to keep their reiatsu to its lowest level, they'll still start stumbling from hunger in a few days. Renji takes note of this, but maybe they should send Rukia to do it. She might have a better reception than his last one.

Since Ichigo is sulking or resting—he isn't quite sure which, but likely the former—Renji spends the rest of the day going through sword forms and keeping a lazy watch. He misses truly training with Zabimaru; there's no question of releasing his bankai, and the nue has been standoffish and moody lately.

He also tries to call Soul Society, but his fourth try is interrupted by Rukia flashing headlong into the camp. Her reiatsu sizzles with agitation even as she forcibly winds it down. "Renji! Ichigo!"

"Hey, hey, slow down!" He tucks the phone back into its protective padding. "What's up?"

Ichigo sits up, wary with his injured side. "Rukia?"

"There's a patrol coming up the road! They have captives. We must help them!" There's a vein of panic in her that is unlike both the Rukia that Renji knows and her as she is now, wary and hardy.

"How many are we talking?" Ichigo reaches for his sword.

"Hold it!" Renji barks out. "Rukia—you've done a lot of good here, but I'm not so sure it's a smart idea to—"

"You don't understand! We must go." She seizes his coat sleeve. "They have Lian."

"Who now?" Ichigo says. "Take it easy, Rukia. Start from the beginning."

That seems to sink in. "She is the woman with whom I spent last winter. She sheltered me from the soldiers, taught me the language—she saved my life, Renji. I have to help her now." That is Rukia speaking, in the voice that brooks no argument and admits no defeat. It has got him into worlds of trouble before.

"Why'd the tian bin capture her?" Not that Renji cannot guess the answer. She skirted around the details, but this Lian took her in apparently without question—he doesn't think it was all out of the goodness of her heart.

"I don't know exactly." Rukia's voice drops, tentative. "She is a trader. She knows many people across the valley..."

"She protected you," Ichigo adds. "Did I mention I'm fucking sick of this place?" That tone of voice doesn't portend well, either.

"Listen!" Renji puts force into his words. "Rukia, I get you wanna help. Ichigo, we've done the morals dance already. We can't go messin' into their problems. If we're caught, we're on our own. Soul Society's got no say here."

"But—"

"Ambushin' a prison transport isn't exactly self-defence, Ichigo! I'm the one who's gotta report on this trip!"

With two hard footfalls, Rukia steps away from them. "I do not wish to cause you undue difficulty. I will go on my own."

She means that. "Well, I can't really stop ya."

"No, you cannot," she says. "Neither can I turn away. I have a debt to pay." She pauses to draw breath, then goes on. "There is something out of the ordinary going on. The tian bin rarely take prisoners. Bandits are executed on the spot."

"You mean these aren't your everyday captives." Ichigo's face is uncharacteristically stern.

"It would seem so. They are going to the trouble of taking them to Phoenix Gate." Renji catches the resigned resolution on her face as she turns away. "I am sorry."

With that, before he can say a thing, she melts back into shunpo.

"Ruki—" Ichigo's hand drops, fingers grasping at empty air. "We just gonna let her go like that?"

"There's somethin' she's not tellin' us," Renji says, more to dodge the question.

"Doesn't take a genius to see that! Would you, to a couple strangers who pop up outta nowhere and tell you they're your best friends?"

"Guess not." The situation is simpler for Ichigo: he can see beyond his own right and wrong, but it takes effort that he is not making right now. "She can't remember us. You think she trusts us?"

"C'mon, you've got to give her some time."

" 'Cause we got so damn much of that." Renji pauses. "More to the point, you think she's comin' back with us?"

Ichigo splutters, eyes wide. "What'd you mean? Of course she is!"

"She just left without us." He controls his own expression with effort. "She's gotta know soon. If she can do what she went to do, we gotta go and not stop 'til we're home."

"Yeah, right, but—"

"Would you force her then?" And would I?

Something defiant flickers in Ichigo's face. He tucks Zangetsu's sheath into his sash. "I'm going to help her."

"Thought you might."

"Guess I can't blame you if you don't wanna get involved," Ichigo says. "But Rukia's right. This lady did her a good turn, we owe it to her."

"Fine, then. Just don't kill them." Renji slumps back into a sitting position. He thought he was past his old doubts, could make life-and-death decisions like the commanding officer he is, but this question seems to cripple him. If tian bin die by their hand, those deaths may hound them all the way back to Soul Society. Neither Ichigo nor Rukia are his to command in the first place.

Ichigo has not moved.

He throws the boy a look. "If you're goin', go! She was in a hurry."

Ichigo shifts his weight from one foot to the other, gasps as if biting back something, and pelts away in a flutter of shunpo.

* * *

Ichigo manages flash-step, but hopes he can refrain from releases in the coming confrontation. Even after Rukia's third round of healing, his injuries throb at careless movement.

He catches up with her well before the western end of the valley, where the road snakes up between two cliff faces. She gives him a long look.

"Somebody's gotta watch your back," he tells her.

She only nods, her expression closed, before careening ahead again.

"They have ten soldiers on horseback," she says. They are inspecting the last leg of the precipice before the road dives into the pass ahead. "I counted five prisoners earlier, but I had to be quick. Their presences were much fainter."

"It sounds pretty simple." Truth be told, she unnerves him now. He has rarely seen her as anything less than calm and collected in battle, but her cool facade has a chink of naked anxiety that could shatter it at any moment. "They're gonna have to ride single file, right? We knock 'em out, take their horses, everybody gets the hell out. We get Renji and scram."

Choosing one of the straggling trees that cling to the cliff face, Rukia scurries up along the branches. "I should be able to block the path behind them."

"With something that clears off? I don't think we wanna cut our escape route."

"Ice," she says, and he really should have thought of that. "Besides, there is a footpath some way down the road that we can take if we must."

"Sounds good. I ought to be able to knock out most of 'em." His shunpo is swift, even without his bankai.

"Speed is our best advantage." She nods. "I've observed most of the tian bin fall far short of my pace."

"Really?" He brightens. "No problem then. I beat you three times outta five, anyway."

"I did sense two officer-level soldiers. Do not get overconfident."

"Wonder why that sounds familiar. Oh, right, you spent half the war beating that into Renji and me..."

"Please," she says, urgent, not very much like Rukia at all. "Focus. The officers should ride near the front and back, but not on the very edge. We need to eliminate them first."

"Yeah, I got it." He doesn't dare release the slightest trickle of his spirit pressure, even to check, but the group can't be far away. The lowering sun leaves this side of the valley in shadow; the soldiers most likely will not stop until they're off the narrow precipice.

"Good. You should also hide, then." She pulls herself higher among the foliage of the tree.

He does as told.

* * *

She waits until the line of weary horses and dusty captives has passed her vantage point. There are six of them, with heavy wooden cuffs on their wrists, their legs hobbled with rope. The soldiers keep up a steady pace, but the prisoners encumber the entire group.

Then, she fires a jagged wave of ice across the road, announcing her presence once and for all. The riders erupt in yells as the horses neigh and strain against their reins.

Ichigo holds up his end. Rukia barely registers he is moving by the time the first tian bin tumbles down, her horse wheeling and rearing. The second is less tidy: the spooked horse sidesteps, and even as the soldier jerks back in the saddle, mount and rider crash over the cliffside into the trees below.

Dropping down from the tree, she dashes towards the prisoners. Two more unhorsed soldiers topple to the ground. She swerves around a bucking animal, avoiding its hooves. The sharp shling of a blade being drawn makes her throw up her own, just in time to deflect the rider's downward stroke. With her left hand, she unsheathes her knife.

"Over here!" she calls out. The six captives are all scrambling among the milling horses, made clumsy by their bonds. "Over here! This way!"

Ichigo flash-steps between her and a sword cleaving down, catching the blow with Zangetsu.

"Hurry!" she shouts. "We can't let them get off an alert!"

"I know!" He dips into a crouch to dodge the next swing and brings his sword up in a reverse grip. The blade parts the saddles straps and the soldier falls with an alarmed wail. Rukia spins away, intent on the prisoners.

"Lian!" Rukia lost sight of the woman, but she was somewhere near the middle. The road simmers with horses and people. Ichigo managed to tangle the front of the convoy; she glimpses a riderless horse trotting up towards the pass. "Lian!"

"Duan Zhi?" She has never seen Lian this dishevelled or frightened, but she seems to snap to the situation with her usual sangfroid.

Rukia hurries to the group of prisoners. "I will cut you free." She makes short work of Lian's ankle ropes. The wooden board is locked into place and seems not to open without a key. She moves on to the others. One of them is familiar, a woodsman from Cicada Creek; she wastes no time on greetings.

"Zhi, how are you here?" Lian holds out her cuffed hands at her prompt, and Rukia tries to turn the lock with the tip of her knife. With a few smart flash-steps, Ichigo disables the last soldiers. They are exhausted and their horses hampered by the descending dark.

"It's too long a story to be told now. You need to get away."

Lian watches her work. "You know the young man?"

"He has come to take me home," she says, only then understanding her choice of words.

"I thought they sounded like you." Lian flashes a smile. "Even though you only spoke that language in your sleep."

"You know th—" Shock flashes across her face. "You never said anything!"

"I only met them after our last meeting. It was a chance encounter on the road. I had meant to tell you when I saw you again."

"It's all right," Rukia hastens to say. "There!" The cuffs spring free. With a hissing breath, Lian rubs at her wrists.

"Your heroics continue to grow." She chuckles. "Perhaps I won't ask what you're doing so close to Phoenix Gate."

"I'd tell you all about it if there was time. Please help me free them. We must round up the horses." Focus on the task at hand.

With a few carefully aimed spells, Rukia shears the ice into smaller chunks and slides them down the cliff. They will melt on the valley floor; the point is to clear the way. Ichigo swears at her, something about being no good with horses, but finally, they have six skittish animals by the reins and all the people off their restraints. The moon is cresting the mountaintops to the east.

"What're we gonna do about them?" Ichigo gestures at the soldiers, divested of their weapons and tied with the ropes.

"Leave them," she says. "All of us need to go." She prays the freed captives can ride. They have enough horses to carry them, and that is also their only hope of outdistancing pursuit and scattering before they are caught.

He nods, though he looks unsure. She swallows. "Could you give me a moment?"

"Sure. Just—make it quick, if you can."

She turns to the woman who saved her life, who placed her trust in her and never asked more in return than she would have freely given regardless. "Lian."

"I won't call you Zhi again," Lian says softly. "That isn't your name, is it?"

"It was, for a time."

"I do not mind. You had your secrets, and I mine."

They have come to haunt us both. "You saved me. I'm sorry to go so suddenly."

Lian glances at the tian bin. "You're going to leave them?"

"What else would we do?" She squints at the older woman. "Killing them would only make matters worse." In that, Renji was right. Do not think of him, either, only hope he's ready to go.

Lian folds her arms, a look of concentration crossing her visage. She seems haggard, worn by the long walk. Once again, Rukia will have to turn away and hope for the best for those she leaves behind.

This is their world, not hers. She might have fit in, but it is a harsh place to live. She does not know if Soul Society is different, no matter how excitedly Ichigo and Renji describe it to her.

"They are your people," she says at last. "You should deal with them. I—I need to go with those two. The soldiers are looking for me, too." She does not bring up why the tian bin took Lian; she already knows enough. They both had need of the other, and out of that cooperation grew mutual respect and a measure of affection.

A memory surfaces of a sudden. "Lian, if you go to Foxfern... Ming said he would know where to hide."

"He's a bright boy." Lian smiles again, tight and chapped, but warm. "Heaven keep you. Go on now."

For a moment, she tarries. Don't mar this farewell with vain questions. Then she grabs Lian's hand between hers, bowing over it, in goodbye and in gratitude. "Be safe. Be well."

Lian squeezes her fingers. "And you."

* * *

They waste no time on walking: flash-steps span the distance to their campsite. It's dark in the valley. Even the shivering spirit-forms of things are obscured, wavering like a heat-haze the moment they escape the focus of the eye.

The fire has faded down to batches of embers. As soon as that hits him, Ichigo casts a wild look around. "Renji!"

"He isn't here?" Rukia skids into a halt behind him. The blankets are open, their bags spread next to the bedrolls. No move has been made to pack up the camp.

"It's a damn fine time to go off to sulk! Can you get our stuff if I look for him?"

"I believe you have a better feel for him." She gets down to work even as she speaks.

He takes a few steps away from the camp before he lets his senses open. Too much has happened in the last hour. They went for weeks on end, taking such pains to avoid confrontation with the tian bin, yet he flipped the principle on its head so easily.

He shudders to remember the sound of the soldier and his mount, plummeting into the treetops. He hadn't meant to hit him so hard—nor was he prepared for the horse balking so violently.

Calm down. He could still... Don't think about it. Don't. Find Renji.

Drawing the circle in his mind, he splashes it with the stark shade of Renji's aura, tinged with umber until it is almost maroon instead of a carmine red...

The ribbon spirals up, snaking about the campsite in fresh loops, shimmering as if with a spike of power. It winds away gleaming, twines into another, coppery red thread and—dims entirely.

He pulls away from the tracking. Something dawns on him with the desperate shock of a realisation come too late.

"Did you find him?" Rukia is folding up the last of the blankets.

"How many of those tian bin were there?" Tell me I'm wrong, damn it, please...

"A patrol is ten soldiers."

"No, I mean, when we ambushed them! Did you count ten guys then?"

"I did when I first felt them. I am certain."

"Look—one horse fell, I saw two run, and we rounded up six. That's one short." He tries to think. He has to think. "There's a power surge in Renji's ribbon. He did... something, kidou, maybe released his shikai. Then there's another ribbon that kinda ties into his, and his just... dies down. It's like something sucked up his reiatsu."

"You cannot mean—"

"I do." He crouches down next to her. "We were up there and somehow they got him. One of those officers must've got the jump on him. Must've known where to look. You said there was a path down from the road, right?"

"But how would they know? Perhaps when you fought the bird demon—" Her eyes have gone very wide.

"It doesn't matter, Rukia. Doesn't change the facts. Renji's gone."

Chapter Text

The horse hoofs at the ground, his nostrils spread and the whites of his eyes flashing against the dappled black of his coat. It takes a few tries before Rukia can inch close enough to catch the gelding by the reins. All the while, she murmurs gentle nonsense at him. She produces a few water chestnuts from the provisions their late-night visit to Mirkridge netted them, and lets the horse have them.

"What're you doing?" Ichigo calls from behind her.

"I found one of their horses. We could use a ride, don't you think?" Phoenix Gate was the one place she hoped to avoid; now, there is no helping heading there, if they hold any hope of finding Renji.

Ichigo never even asked her if she would come. She never offered to follow the frail trace of Renji's spirit ribbon with him.

Dawn has barely broken, but they have already walked the road westward for a while.

"Right." Ichigo sounds anything but agreeable.

"Can you ride?"

"Uh, we did have this class trip to Hokkaido in junior high..."

Nothing after class trip makes any sense, so she cuts him off. "I take it that is a no. Well, you can sit behind me. He's easily strong enough to carry us both. "

"That's a no," Ichigo says, sighing. "At least tell me you are gonna lose all those yellow trappings, hm?"

"Have I given any indication of suffering from mental deficiency?" She gives him a withering look. They are both on edge, but he is being stupid. "I'm amnesiac, not insane."

That silences him. They strip the horse of all possible indication that it is a soldier's mount. Rukia would like to eschew the saddle; she is not confident she could ride a strange horse bareback, let alone with Ichigo, too. With some scrambling, they both climb astride the horse. He sidesteps, but seems calmed as she presses her knees into his sides. Ichigo shifts, his arm clamping around her waist.

"I told you to hold on."

"Yeah, yeah. I just..."

"You will get the hang of it, Ichigo. Sit steady and relax."

" 'S not that," he says semi-intelligibly, but wraps an arm around her and takes hold of the saddle with his free hand. She leans back, adjusting to the gait of the animal before attempting to coax it into a trot. Ichigo is taut and still as the horse climbs into the steepening pass. Slowly, he begins picking up the rhythm in the motion, allowing himself to sit more easily.

"There you go," she says, unthinking.

"Huh. That's easy praise come from you."

Rukia focuses on the road. It must be difficult to remember himself all the time, when he has so much to say to me. It is hard to walk the line between caution and acceptance, too. Ichigo seems to know she cannot remember; it is simply as if he had trouble comprehending it sometimes. All their shared history is real and alive to him.

"We'll see how you manage a trot in a bit."

"Fine by me," he ripostes. "We better, we aren't moving much faster than on foot right now."

"We'll have to leave the horse before Phoenix Gate in any case."

"Renji better be there."

"Didn't you say his spirit ribbon was going that way?"

"You have any idea how hard it is to track someone through flash-step? Yeah, it was." His voice falls. He makes such admissions rarely, she thinks.

"You found me." When he speaks of how he traced her path across the border of worlds, it seems a feat out of some legend, no matter how blithe his delivery is.

"Renji's not you," he says with strange seriousness. "Anyway, I should be able to pinpoint him when we get closer."

"Very well." It doesn't seem prudent to question him further.

"Rukia," he says then. "This isn't exactly wise, right? We're gonna walk into a place full of soldiers."

"No. It's madness. But his ribbon is alive, so he must be, too." She sits back, her shoulders brushing Ichigo's chest. The horse has a good, balanced step, even on the rock-strewn road. You gave me hope. It all feels almost too right: friends, family, a place where I'm needed. I can see you've risked much to come find me. If Renji is alive, I have to help to find him.

"Any idea how many tian bin they've got there?"

"A few hundred? The truth is, I don't know. It is the biggest garrison in this region."

"So, five, six hundred against us two?" Ichigo has a masked note in his voice.

"If you insist." She has to chuckle. "They are overwhelming odds, Ichigo."

"Y'know, the standing strength of the Gotei Thirteen used to be something like seven thousand. Renji might've told you this, but I kinda got off on the wrong foot with Soul Society. Had four of my friends along when we went there to save a friend." He chortles, as if in echo of her. "That's one point four thousand to one. I figure we'll do fine against these guys."

He is ironic, but something in his cheeky delivery sends Rukia into unexpected peals of laughter. "You—you expect me to believe—" She turns her head and her mouth drops open.

He returns her gaze with level brown eyes. "You were there. You're gonna remember."

It is her turn to fall speechless. She lets her eyes sweep away. Ichigo is sincere, for lack of a better word, a deviation from his loud and irritable attitude, even though there is a solid vein of decency right beneath.

"I'm sorry." I'm sorry I cannot remember. I wish you could simply be straight with me. I wish I were the friend you expected to find. She can tell Ichigo—and Renji—try to handle her with kid gloves, but sometimes they conceal fists of ham. It must be frustrating for all of them.

"Don't ever be. It's not your fault." He tightens his grip of her waist.

"Right," she says. "We will find Renji, and then you can tell me all about this wondrous rescue."

"You bet," Ichigo says against the top of her head. "You bet we will."

* * *

They clear the pass in three days, and the terrain evens out into a highland encircled by cloud-wreathed peaks. Ichigo has never been happier to see flat ground. Riding sucks, but riding uphill sucks even more. He has kinks in muscles he didn't even know existed in the human body.

They pass by houses and hamlets dotting the roadside, but rough it as often as they can. Winter gusts in the wind, and days dawn laced with frost. Neither of them comments on huddling together under the same blankets.

Ichigo fills the last water flask from the stream and climbs the ridge back into the glen, nestled under broad pines. They share Rukia's rice stew in silence. He watches the fire and tries not to hear Renji grousing at him that it's going out again, you carefree bastard.

"It burns fine," he mutters.

Rukia rises to sit beside him, wrapped in a blanket up to her ears. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Just talking to myself."

"Will you tell me something?" Her face is softened with weariness. A distraction from his own head is welcome, so he nods.

"My brother, Ichigo. What is he like?"

This distraction greases the floor and orders him to tap-dance across. Hell if he knows. Ideally, he gives Kuchiki Byakuya a diplomatic berth and tries not to remember fighting the man. Besides, "rule-bound stoneface with a stick up his ass" might not win him any points with Rukia.

He runs a hand through his hair. "Uh, I don't really know him that well. You'd better ask Renji—but he's not here, 'course."

"I'm asking you," she says. "Just tell me what you know."

Ichigo and Renji came to a tacit agreement to omit anything that might make her anxious. Her death sentence might top the list. So far, they've tried to keep the stories on a general level: something that might jostle her memory. An overt mention that he battled her brother to save her life is right out.

"Well, he's a captain. Head of your family." Okay, he's hedging, and Rukia's rapt attention threatens to become bemusement. "Seems like this really private, reserved guy to me. Awfully together all the time. Never seen him any less than on top of his game, you know?"

"I think I do." She worries her lip. Her hard demeanour has slipped to reveal a thoughtful face. "I have this mental image... more like an impression."

He says nothing, only listens.

"Renji said he was going to contact my brother. I would have liked to speak to him," she says. "Perhaps only to see if my recollections are based on anything real."

"Rukia." He bends closer to her. "Can I ask? What'd you remember?"

"A voice, a presence. In the same way that Renji can say something, and I feel I've heard him say it a hundred times, exactly like that."

Ichigo swallows, not entirely comfortable. "You—you're getting somethin' back? About Renji?"

"Yes," she says. "Though then, you feel familiar to me, as well. In a different sense. I suppose I'd like something real. Something that lets me know it is mine."

An idea at the back of his mind, he gets up and pulls up Renji's bag. "Maybe we can help that. We're so far out the connection's probably crap, but Renji's got a spirit phone... somewhere here..."

In a minute, he has upended the entire bag onto a blanket. There's no trace of the padded phone case. Rukia peers in over his shoulder. "It isn't there?"

"Seems not. Black thing, 'bout as long as your hand." He gestures inefficiently.

"I saw him handle it. Though I can't say if it was with his things when I picked them up. I was in a hurry."

"He never took it out except to call Soul Society." Ichigo is sure about this. The phone is critical. It may not work very often, but it's the most reliable and immediate link they have back home. "Damn it!"

"I may have missed it back when we left," she says. "I didn't know it was so important."

"It's okay. It's linked to his reiatsu, and mine, like a fingerprint ID... Anyway, if it's lost, nobody can use it."

"Unless it is where Renji is."

Zabimaru had disappeared along with Renji. That was to be expected. Maybe his captor had an eye for other specialised equipment, too. Rubbing his temple with one hand, Ichigo gives Rukia a slanted look. "This just gets better and better."

Naked worry in her eyes, she leans closer. "Can we find him without the phone? Can we get back?"

"Yeah. Or, the getting home part could be trickier, but sure we can do it." He's not quite up on all these parallel lands of the dead, but there are roads between them. He knows where to go.

"Then we will. 'Never could convince him that failure was an option'; that is what Renji said to me about you."

"Huh," he says. "Man's a freakin' poet. Guess it fits me, though."

Despite her puzzled countenance, she gives him a small, tight smile. "I think we should sleep now. It will be a long day tomorrow."

He smiles just a little, at Rukia's back as she turns away. There has to be something about these people, her in particular, what with how they keep landing him in trouble, and yet he has a hard time picturing things being any other way.

"Ichigo?" Rukia is looking at him again. "Good night. And thank you."

"Welcome." He sinks onto the blankets with a quiet sigh. "Sleep tight."

* * *

The guard at the front gate of the Kuchiki estate takes a second, good look at Renji's face. Then he tells them to wait on the veranda and disappears inside at a run.

Ichigo leans back against the railing. "You snap at me for coming into your office at midnight, but don't bat an eye 'bout waking Byakuya in the small hours?"

"That's Captain Kuchiki to you, kid," Renji says. "Let me do the talkin'. You sit down an' look smart. Smart as ya can, anyway."

"Yes sir, Vice-Captain Funny Eyebrows." Ichigo flashes an impertinent grin. Renji rolls his eyes.

"I'm serious. This is serious. You oughta know." It is the dead of night and they are on their way to his captain to convince him to abort Rukia's funeral. The wild welling of hope is enough to make him weave like a drunken man, but he tries to keep his composure. The gate will open to Captain Kuchiki's second-in-command, but with the captain, the delivery matters as much as the message.

A bleary servant opens the door. Renji elbows Ichigo as they follow the shuffling woman inside. "Mind your manners."

The boy responds with a venomous glower, then subsides. This is not the first time inside the estate for either of them. Even the glimpses afforded by the servant's lantern exude wealth and tranquillity. The painted wall screens twine together into serene landscapes and scenes of glory, charting the history of House Kuchiki. The aged floors, sanded white, barely creak under their socked feet.

The captain will receive them in his office, the servant tells them and withdraws with a bow. Renji knocks on the door and, at the captain's prompt, they step into the softly lit room. He cannot guess if they woke Captain Kuchiki. He is seated behind his writing table, cool and unruffled. Renji lays aside his sword, kneels and bows, the knuckles of one hand to the floor. Ichigo echoes his motions, though not the bow.

"Renji," the captain says. "Kurosaki."

"I'm sorry we're intruding this late, sir." It's best to get to the point soon. "Ichigo found something that couldn't wait."

Captain Kuchiki nods. Renji goes on, fully aware of the weight his words carry. "Long story short, Rukia may not be dead. In fact, she's very likely alive."

The captain raises his chin, a subtle tensing in his neck; his eyes remain on Renji. "Continue."

He recounts Ichigo's arrival and their visit to Karakura, his brief sighting of the ribbon. Ichigo shifts as if to add something, but settles at a hand motion from Renji.

Captain Kuchiki, however, turns towards Ichigo. "Kurosaki. How reliable is your ability to track her?"

"Uh, a hundred percent so far?" Ichigo straightens himself. "I got a pretty good sense of the ribbon. Problem is, it goes through the—what'd you call it? Undertow?"

"I know what you speak of. It is possible to trace the course of such currents through the border."

"Captain?" Renji begins. "If they can get a lock on the other end..."

"It will be a costly attempt. It is very unlikely the current can be traversed directly."

This was never going to be easy. He barely has more evidence to present than Ichigo's word on the matter. For all that Ichigo is hailed as a war hero and idolised by entire Academy year classes, he's still young and untested by shinigami standards—and Renji knows well the standards of his captain.

"I'll do it," Ichigo says, quiet but carrying. "Just find out where she's gone."

The captain looks long at the youth before speaking in a measured tone. "That is foolishness."

Ichigo leaps onto his feet; Renji throws out a warding arm before he can take a step forward. "Don't. You know I'll have to stop ya."

"Renji..." Despite the urgency in his voice, Ichigo makes no further move. Renji focuses on his captain, who has observed their exchange in silence.

"To suggest you can simply charge in headlong is nothing short of absurd." Captain Kuchiki rises from the seiza. "We will convey your findings to a researcher who can verify them. There are preparations that must be made. Whatever else, it will be neither short nor easy a journey."

"Yeah." Ichigo sounds a little thunderstruck. Renji has another concern.

"Captain." He scrambles up, only to bend into a deep bow. "I know there's a lot that would keep me in Soul Society right now. I know my duties."

His captain waits as he draws breath. "And knowing my duties, I request permission to leave on this mission. To bring Rukia home, sir."

It does not go according to any protocol he's ever been taught. His captain pauses, then makes a slight gesture that encompasses both Renji and Ichigo. "Follow me. There is hardly time to waste."

They step back into the corridor, and the captain closes the sliding door after them himself. In the near darkness, on the fringe of Renji's sight, he pauses for the space of a silent breath: his head bows forward and his shoulders slacken, and then, with a perceptible effort, he is the calm, collected Captain Kuchiki again.

The dream—memory—fades as something jolts him hard. He flinches into consciousness, to the sounds of horses and people in the darkness. There is a snap of frost in the air, rough in his parched throat. His limbs are leaden; he tries to speak and manages a grunt.

Rukia? Ichigo?

Someone grabs his head, speaks too fast and quiet for him to grasp the words.

No, then. Shit. Water is trickled into his mouth, and he complies. He's too thirsty to put up a struggle; sustenance is more important. He swallows docilely. His head is let down and he fights down a strange wave of vertigo. Somethin' in the water? Tugging at his hands, he finds his wrists bound together. Raising his head brings a fresh wave of nausea. There must be a spirit dampener somewhere on him, but it muddles his senses too far for him to pinpoint it.

He reaches in out a last, strained call. Zabimaru? You hear me?

Only echoing stillness meets him before his body gives out and he dips back beneath the surface.

Chapter Text

Rukia pulls up her shoulders, dips her chin for a dour under-the-brows glare, and kicks caked mud at him. "Whatcha starin' at? Sod off, ya half-baked git!"

Ichigo scratches at his hair and shakes his head. She's clad in his spare jacket, pulled in at the seams with hurried stitches and cinched with a sash. Her hair is stuffed under two layers of threadbare scarves, her elbows and knees stained with mud. Their travelling clothes aren't in any particular repair, but took some abuse to achieve the desired state of wear and tear.

"Y'hear me? Gedoff our alley or m'gonna sic m'clan on ya!" She snatches him by the collar, but she is grinning through the stripes of dust across her face. He flashes an answering smirk.

"That is pretty good. How's your local slang?"

"Passable. I can swear thickly enough." She releases him. "And you have the translation device?"

"Yeah." He taps the collar of his coat, similarly ragged to hide its relative good quality.

It was Rukia who came up with the disguise, as they finally neared the fort at Phoenix Gate. When she binds her breasts, lowers her voice and affects a slouch, she makes an all right boy. Ichigo was judged "sprightly enough, though remember you should be all elbows and knees". He guesses he just needs to forget over two years of near-constant combat training and his body language is fine. For a while, he actually was an awkward teenager with limbs that seemed to shoot up overnight.

"So we're a couple of country kids looking for our fortunes in the big town? Honestly."

"Many people try to leave this region for the west, Ichigo. It isn't that strange. Though we need to be careful who we speak to. While my skills are adequate, they may not stand up to close scrutiny."

"Rukia..." He bites off the end. She is all business again, the mirth drained from her face. He is worried out of his mind, but some small part of that concern is for her, along with Renji. "What 'bout our swords, though? I don't think we can pass them as extra-pointy walking sticks."

"I'm not quite sure what to do. There is a lot of traffic into the town. We may be able to slip in without notice. If we cannot, Shirayuki told me—"

The physical forms of soul cutters are transient, Zangetsu finishes her sentence. Ichigo flinches in surprise.

Can't you knock or something, old man?

At least you've developed the manners not to address me aloud. The sword-spirit seems amused at the thought.

"Are you listening?" Rukia demands, irritated. He must look like he's spacing out again.

"Yeah, to Zangetsu. Hold on a sec." She abates immediately.

Renji did the same with Zabimaru some time ago. A soul cutter is a spiritual entity. In need, one can be impressed on any available weapon, although it is not a quick process. Ichigo thinks he detects a hint of distaste or hesitation from Zangetsu, even though his delivery is typically inflappable. Still, it's a good thing to know, and maybe a crucial advantage.

Got it. Thanks. Then he goes on to Rukia, "Let's save that for when we really need it. Doesn't sound like much fun."

"I agree. We can assess the situation when we get there."

They repack their bags, leaving behind everything that they can, dividing care of Renji's things—not that there are many. Rukia lets the horse run free in spite of Ichigo's questions. "He's a fine animal. He shortened the journey, but two rag-tag boys could only have stolen him."

He concedes her point. They wrap their swords as best they can, climb back onto the cobbled highroad and start walking west. Out in the distance, red banners flutter on towertops against the flank of the mountain.

* * *

The fort town of Phoenix Gate is built on a long, gentle slope towards the pass out of the eastern borderlands. The road is thronged with people: lumbering wagons vie for room with smaller carts, single riders dart in and out of the clusters of travellers on foot. Horse patrols, only five men strong this close to the town, ride their rounds between outposts along the road.

The iron-bound gates are open for the day. Ichigo carries both their swords, concealed by his long coat and bags, past the guards. They seem overtaxed sorting out the stream of market goods into town. No one pays either of them much heed as they walk onto the bustling main street.

Rukia dashes to keep up with Ichigo in the mass of people. "Wait up! I can't walk as fast."

"Sorry." He quirks his mouth in apology. "Say, you don't think that seemed too easy?"

"I do," she says. "Of course, the real challenge would be getting out of the west gate."

"Let's hope we won't have to go that far." His voice falls.

"Yes." She resists the urge to duck into the nearest alley, out of way, out of sight. She has visited villages in the guise of a young boy before, but it only takes one mishap to bring down the deception. "I think we should listen around for a while. This doesn't quite seem a normal state of affairs."

"How come?"

"Look at the banners." Pulling him to the side of street, she points at the tiered watchtowers. Below the red phoenix flag, two others billow in the wind: a yellow and black one bearing the sign for heaven, and a blue-hemmed banner with a stylised, blossoming branch.

"The yellow one is the tian bin commander's banner. I've never seen the flower banner before, but it must be a noble insignia. I don't think it is local."

"And it means there's a high-up here, now? That might explain the traffic. Everyone's coming to town."

"That is what I thought. It does mean we'll have an easier time blending in."

"Speaking of which, we need a hiding place for the swords," Ichigo says in a lower voice. "I can't lug them around like this."

Lian's list of safe people ended with the healer, Hao, at Mirkridge. She had no direct contacts inside Phoenix Gate that she would have trusted Rukia with, so there is no readily apparent haven. It probably is for the best; if they do find Renji, whoever protects them may be endangered, too.

"Come," she says, heading back into the crowd. "We'll find somewhere out of the way."

They find a traders' inn near the gates. The rooms are full to bursting with the arrival of Lord Jue's governor, the innkeeper tells her while giving her a measuring lookover. They can use the bathhouse, as long as they do not get underfoot, and lay their blankets in the hayloft in the stables. Rukia beams at the man with a face-cracking grin, and makes a point of counting the coins onto his palm with exaggerated care.

Ichigo prowls the loft for the most distant nook and tucks their swords deep under the bales of hay in the corner. Rukia stands up since she can, stretching her complaining legs. "Ow. I did not think I was this out of shape."

"We walked hard uphill," he says. "What's next? You decide what your name is today?"

She pauses. "Ming should do. It is familiar."

"I went by Gen before, so guess it still works." Ichigo wraps his scarf over his mouth and nose. The inclement weather at least facilitates their disguises. "C'mon."

"There's some daylight left." She nods, starting down the ladder. "We should make the most of it."

He catches her by the shoulder as they stand between the horses' stalls. "That's not what I meant. I still got some money. We're gonna do something normal, and we're gonna do it now."

"Hm?"

"I saw a place serving some kinda noodles off the main street." Ichigo tows her towards the door. "I'm buying us a proper dinner."

They weave past a group of merchants in a heated dispute over something. "I don't know how you define 'normal', but we are in disguise!" she whispers. They hardly have time...

"What street kid turns down a shot at hot food? This way."

It may be quicker to comply. Rukia allows him to lead her a few blocks into a tiny eating place, sit her down in a corner table and convince the cook that they have money. When he slumps down across from her, finally stopping, she regards him carefully. "You... seem uneasy. Is something the matter?"

"Nothing. Just wanted something that's not old or dry for a chance." Ichigo pulls off his gloves. "You do all right, but I had to live on Renji's cooking for who knows how many weeks before that."

She looks down to hide the beginnings of a smile. "You could always try your own hand at it."

"Hey, I do!" he protests. They try to keep their voices low, though the place is not nearly as full as the rest of the town. "Though Yuzu's probably kinda spoiled me when it comes to cooking. She's pretty amazing."

"Yuzu?" The name rings familiar from his stories of his home. On the way here, they filled the evenings with talk; it kept both their minds off darker ruminations. "Your little sister, right?" She smiles tentatively. "You must miss her."

Ichigo exhales, half a laugh; suddenly he seems nothing but a young boy. "Yeah, I do. Her, Karin, even Pop..."

"And your friends?"

"Sure," he says. " 'Least this time I told them all where I was going. Inoue even said she'd come along, and Chad. Ishida... well, you'll see, but he just gave me that old rant about keeping out of shinigami business. Then Inoue promised to cover for me in school." He chortles. "Wonder how that's gone."

"You left many people behind to find me. I'm not even from your world." She squints at him. He seems easy, shoulders low, but his cheek dimples as if he's biting the inside.

The cook calls from the counter with their dishes. Ichigo shoots from his seat to fetch them. Rukia contents herself with digging into the thick noodles and the hot, sweet sauce. Even though her words still hover between them, the food spreads a welcome warmth in her belly. They don't speak for a while as their portions gradually disappear.

At length, Ichigo sets his empty bowl aside, picking up the thread of conversation. "Yeah, so you're not from Karakura, but I did hide you in my closet for a couple months," he says plainly. "If you'd never turned up... It's complicated. The point is that we're friends. And... you were gone. My family, my other friends, they're safe. They'll hold down the fort for me."

"Even your schooling?"

"If Kon's got free run of my body, he is gonna sit my classes. I brought a couple of books with me, too. I'll manage. It's not that long anymore now."

"I'm..." Rukia tries to find the next word. Grateful. Astonished. Not sure if I am worthy of the risks you've taken.

Across from her, Ichigo has gone still. His eyes are half-open, glazed over; his shoulders stiffen, though his hands lie slack on the table. She feels the abrupt gust of his spirit pressure and flinches in alarm.

"What are you doing?" She shakes his arm even as she tries to survey the other customers. No one has taken notice—yet. "Ichigo? Your aura—"

"Renji!" The name rasps from his throat, but it has a triumphant note. His fingers clench on her wrist. "He came here. It's got to be him. Can't be a vestige, he's never been here before." He moves towards the door without letting go, and she has little choice but to scramble after him.

"Slow down, people are staring! Where did you—"

"No time." He sheds her hand. "Wait here. I can't lose this." He sprints across the side street, ducking around a cloth-draped litter borne between four men in uniform. Rukia has to back away until the litter passes, and by then, Ichigo has vanished from her sight.

She sighs deep and sits down. She will not give him long.

* * *

Water drenches his head. He jerks awake blinking and spluttering. Instinctively, he makes to get up, but is brought short with a clatter of metal. His wrists are pinned to the floor. It's pitch black—and then he realises he is truly blind.

Wherever he is, his reiatsu is so low that he can barely feel his own aura; beyond, all is dark.

"Are you awake?" The words are slow, in the local speech. Renji spits out some more water in reply. The speaker is close, the space not too big. The stone floor is icy under his hands and bare feet.

Oh, fuck.

"Good. Do you understand me?"

He coughs. His wet hair sticks to his face and mouth. The back of his head feels tender, thrumming with a faint vestige of pain.

Someone sneaked up on me. He hangs onto the physical sensations, disturbing as they are. He remembers drifting in and out of consciousness. This is his first moment of full wakefulness since... since too long.

Then he's hauled up by the front of his shirt and he gasps in alarm. "I asked you a question, bastard." The voice doesn't rise, but a sliver of menace pushes into it.

"No, ya backstabbin' jackass, I don't understand!" he growls in his own language. His mistake was trying kidou first. He should have cut the yellow-sleeved man down before the other could utter a word; no subduing, no subtlety. The binding fired back at him would be up on the highest tiers of demon arts back home.

He wrenches at the cuffs. They hold fast.

A closed-fist blow catches him blindsided, right under the eye. His head snaps back and a trickle of blood breaks over his cheek. Damn, I'm not just blind, 'm dumb as well. Didn't sense that. He has to probe inward, much as he dares to divert from adjusting his physical senses. Zabimaru?

He could really use an ally now, even if only one inside his own head. Since learning the name of his sword, Renji's never been too weak to reach him. There is no answering voice, no pinpoint of lucidity anywhere in the muzzy corners of his mind.

"Now answer me—and lose the jokes. Who the hell are you?" His captor drops him back onto his knees.

"Ask nicely," Renji drawls as if he weren't dangling at the end of his rope. Sticking to his own tongue is brittle temerity; it'll have to do. "The rough an' tough approach never really did it for me."

He gets a precise kick in his ribs for that, and a spout of words too rapid and angry for him to understand. "Ahh... You don't think it'd be more fun... if I could hit back?"

This guy's small an' loud. Whoever caught me was way above him. The man seems to be losing his temper. He whacks a groan out of Renji with another jab into his ribs, but the questions fly at him fierce and incomprehensible. He tries to protect his face and clenches his teeth. It's just pain, you can deal with that...

"Look, asshole, now I got no idea whatcha sayin'—"

A hinge creaks somewhere in front of him. The man jerks away from him as if burned, boots clapping on the floor. The door closes and someone takes two languid steps into the room.

"I agree. The lieutenant is being a little unfair, don't you think? Would this be better?"

Two things hit him at once. He understands perfectly, and he knows that voice.

In the darkness, close enough to touch if he could extend his arm, stands Hu Wei.

Renji throws himself forward against the short chains as all control floods from him. "Son of a whore! I'll fuckin' kill you!" A feverish energy leaps through him, his hands balling into fists. "Get over here, you bastard, I'll—"

"Not quite so fast, friend. I have other concerns first." Wei speaks nearly in the same voice as on that night in Foxfern. Like this is all a light diversion.

"I don't give a fuck 'bout your concerns! Let me go!"

"I don't think so, and it will be in your best interests to cooperate." A soundless hand taps on his brow and Renji balks against his will. Surprised me, again. Don't shirk. Don't fear. Easy. Oh hell, easy.

"First, what is your name? It isn't Huo Jin, fitting as it seems."

This man has him by the throat and there's no firm footing anywhere.

"I know you come from beyond the sea. You have a spirit weapon."

Renji goes rigid in surprise and bitter understanding. You want to subdue an enemy, you seal their soul cutter. Their deep bonds make both parties unpredictable. Any officer—any shinigami—worth his salt will eliminate such a crucial ally.

Wei paces a circle around him. "Your power is on par with our commanders." A step. "You carry a warded communication device." A step. "You come from another realm searching for a notorious outlaw."

This time, he cannot suppress a choked noise. Rukia. All else slides past, save for this thought that plunges something darker and fouler than fear into him. Rukia, and Ichigo—Ichigo, who spoke in an alien voice in his sleep, inner demons ill at ease. There could not be a worse time to have lost them.

"Yeah, so?" he grits out more to distract himself. Get home, you dimwits. Go back. Ichigo knows the way. Renji has a sinking feeling he'll never follow it even if he can. "You just couldn't lemme take her off your hands, could ya?"

"Aren't we past the polite chit-chat?" Wei has stopped; only his voice echoes in the small space. "You do not anger me. You do not frighten me. And as things stand, you are mine."

"Go fuck yourself."

Renji hears a soft sound as something slaps on the floor.

Wei grabs a fistful of his hair, yanks his head back until he's choking, and stabs a hard and precise thumb into his eye. The pain is devastating as it pours across his senses; he screams, ragged and high.

Tears or blood or both well down his cheek. Wei releases him and he bends forward with a moan.

"Your name is a small concession. You haven't lost your sight yet. Do not lie; I can see you much better than you me."

Renji forces his head up, eyes cinched shut. "Abarai... Renji."

"Excellent. What is your rank?" Wei moves on without a hitch. Gotta give the son of a bitch props for efficiency. Ah, fuck, that hurts.

"What makes ya think... I got any sorta sanction?" he gasps. "Same sorta assholes... over there as I found here. Wish I'd known."

Wei sighs, long and deliberate. "You're well equipped for a deserter. Do I need to mention you had a certain emblem among your belongings? The red phoenix?"

The lord's banner. You bloody idiot. Well, now he can be truthful. "Caught on a fence post. Looked fancy."

"You're a man of contradictions, Abarai-san." The honorific is dissonant. "And I'm afraid your eye needs treatment, unless I want wound rot to complete my dirty work—much as you have done."

"What?" Renji cannot hold his tongue, even through the pain.

"Why would you think I had you tracked?" Wei's steps draw away. "Now, don't give the surgeon any grief. She does not suffer interfering with her work."

Renji gapes as the confirmation of his fears rises in a wave that inundates everything: the physical agony, his anxiety over Zabimaru, the desperation of his own situation. He led Wei to Rukia. They have to know about Ichigo, too.

The door slides shut and leaves him with nothing between himself and his guilt.

Chapter Text

The spirit ribbon is odd. It feels like Renji: the colour matches exactly, only the feel of it is distorted, like staring at a reflection instead of the real thing. Ichigo leaves the noise of the street and slinks between the houses. They are built cheek by jowl, but there is enough space to form a network of alleys. He lets his feet carry him.

A sound cuts through the spirit-weave of the town in his sight: someone screams. He snaps out of the tracking so fast the world lashes into place, and he has to push down nausea.

Around the corner, he's met with a group of boys about his, age gathered around something on the ground. They all look wild and grimy, wrapped in whatever warm clothes they have. The shriek sounded too high to have been a male voice.

"Hey!" Ichigo calls out. "The hell are you punks doing?"

A taller, wide-faced boy—older than him—whips around to face him. He has a bleeding cut on his hand, but his eyes shine with anger. "What'd ya say?"

"I asked what the hell you're doing." He draws to his full height as he marches closer. "Or is there someone here who screams like a girl?"

Outrage spills across the group; the apparent leader fists his bloodied hand. "Listen, I don' know ya, so ya better fuck off right now!" Good, now Ichigo has their attention.

"Five guys on one girl?" He tries to peer past the clutch of boys while still holding the leader's eye. "That's twisted." There is someone on the ground, rising up on their arms. He catches the glint of steel in their hand and knows who slashed the leader.

"This's yer last warnin', creep."

"That's right." They're alley brats. If any of them had a hint of spiritual power, he'd know. He lets a twinge of shunpo propel him as he lunges to seize the leader's shirt and heaves him onto his toes. Damn kid is too tall for him to lift all the way. "Now scram and hope damn hard I don't come after you!"

Alarmed shouts erupt among the younger boys. Ichigo shoves the guy in his grip as hard as he can, and he sprawls backwards with a grunt.

"Get out!" Ichigo snarls at them.

The alley is empty in the next ten seconds. Curses and yells rebound off the walls as the boys flee in a disorderly cluster. Whatever the translator put out, it worked like a charm.

"Thank you." It's the voice that decides him; her clothing is plain, the loose pants and sashed coat of a man, but the lilt in her speech is too high and clear. She picks herself up and wipes her knife.

"Nothing to it. You okay?" He kind of wishes he had pockets, but settles for resting his hands at his sides.

"I'm unharmed." She loops her scarf over her face; she must be a bit older than his sisters, or just short. As a rule, the women here seem smaller than he's used to seeing.

"Good. What was that about?"

The girl looks aside. "I was careless. I thought I could take a shortcut to the evening market."

Around them, Ichigo spies only shuttered windows and a lot of abandoned junk, broken barrels and old hay cluttering the alley. It looks more like an ambush spot. It's probably better to say nothing to that effect. "You might wanna stick to the big streets. It doesn't look so good."

He needs to excuse himself and keep tracking Renji's ribbon, yet he feels light. At least this time, it was just some stupid punks. He could do something, even if it was a little thing.

"Perhaps I might." She slips the knife back into her sleeve.

"So—" Ichigo raises his hand in a wave, stops halfway, and admits to himself leaving her here would flatten his moral victory. "Look... you want me to walk with you? Just till we're outta here. Wouldn't want those idiots to catch you again."

Her eyebrows knit. Ichigo is aware that he looks the same as those street kids, even if it is on purpose. He holds his hands up. "No ulterior motives. Just concerned."

Besides, we were supposed to poke around. Not sure where this might lead me, but...

"You can keep that knife on hand." He looks her in the eye, face as frank as he can manage. "Swing at me if I try anything."

The girl breaks into giggles. She muffles them with her hand, but her eyes glitter with mirth. "Very well, then. Do you know where the market is?"

"Uh, no. Just passing through, you know?"

"I know." She falls into step beside him. "No one stays at Phoenix Gate. This is a backwater."

"It's the biggest town around," he says cautiously. The translator better not jam on him now. It's hard enough striking up a conversation as it is. How to talk to girls while under cover? "Hey, you haven't seen my lost friend around? Big tattooed guy, red hair, looks pissed off all the time?" That'd be a great opener.

"I suppose you've never been to Jade Falls."

"Nope." She seems to know the way, so he can let his eyes wander. The daylight is waning, wing-like streaks of clouds fanning across the sky. "Uh, where's that? Never heard of the place."

"Far to the west of here," she begins. Inconspicuously, he extends his senses again. The trace of Renji's ribbon was thin as a breath. With the clusters of people nearby, the spirit-textures in the air mingle and twine ceaselessly, but it was leading him towards the centre of the town, where the garrison dominates the top of the ascent.

He doesn't like the logical conclusion at the end of that train of thought.

"So, where are you from? One of the villages?" The girl glances at him. She sounds indulgent, as if he's a green country kid.

"Uh-huh," he ventures.

"Phoenix Gate must look big, then." They step onto a wider street, lit by lanterns scattered across shopfronts and building corners. "Oh, peach buns. Would you like one?"

He's swept across the street to a booth, and a fruit-shaped cake thrust into his hand. The girl drops a coin to the seller and takes a nibble out of her bun. Ichigo's still blinking at the lightning change of gears. This must be the evening market: the street sides are full of temporary stalls and vending carts. People stroll along, sampling the myriad wares.

"Thanks." The bun is chewy and kind of sweet, easily the best thing he's had in a while.

"You saved me. It is small repayment," she says. "I'm Mei Xiu."

"Gen." Ichigo nods at her. "Told you, you're welcome. I'd be a pretty sorry bastard if I'd let 'em beat you."

She eats her peach bun in silence, and he wonders if he slipped somehow. "Just forget that. It's over now." He fumbles for a subject. "How'd you end up here in the first place? If I can ask?"

"My father is a... he is an officer with the tian bin. We go where he is posted."

Oh, shit. He barely controls his expression. She must be from the town garrison—and probably sneaking out behind her parents' backs. Here he is, hanging out with an officer's daughter when he will be a wanted outlaw in a second if his cover is blown.

And how do I turn this conversation to any recent prisoners brought in? "Must be kinda tough, that. If you gotta move a lot."

"Sometimes," she says. "This is a distant place."

No kidding. Down the street, a troupe of jugglers has begun a performance. Lit torches whirl and dance in the adroit hands of a flashily dressed man wearing a widely grinning mask. He points. "You wanna go see that? Doesn't look half bad."

Her face brightens, and he seems to have struck some right note. She scurries through the crowd and he follows, half bemused. The atmosphere is different from the soldier-filled road; he doesn't see a single tian bin. The jugglers are pretty good, and the streaking torches weave a changing glow over the entire show.

"There you are!" Someone yanks on his coat sleeve. "I almost had to summon the guards to look for you! How would that be for ironic?"

Leave it to Rukia to master the art of shouting at a whisper. He leans in to face her. "Sorry! Something came up, and I got... kinda sidetracked."

"Gen?"

Ichigo spins around and pushes Rukia back in the same motion. "Uh, yeah. Listen, I'm sorry. I—I need to go. Something I forgot."

"Oh." Mei rocks up on the balls of her feet. "Right. You were going to walk me here, and here I am."

Rukia makes a sound. He treads on her foot. "You stay safe, right? Know your way home now?"

"Of course!" Mei's tone seems to chide him. "You're the one who is new to town. Take care."

"Yeah, you too." He backs away and hopes that Rukia gets the hint. The people close in around them and he can't see Mei anymore; only then does he turn to Rukia.

"Done here. Now can we—"

"If you ever worry me like that again..." This is something he hasn't seen often. She searches for a finisher, then breathes a long-suffering sigh. "Really, of all the idiotic things to do. Who was that?"

"Just some girl." He is suddenly reluctant to share details. "There were a few jerks harassing her."

"You interfered?"

" 'Course."

"Things like that draw attention, Ichigo." She is already using his name the old way. It snaps like a whip.

"You're starting to sound like Renji. Anyway, we got some real work to do. First thing tomorrow, I wanna check out the garrison."

"Hm?"

"I'll explain when we're back at the inn." It's the best bet I have. They have spoken quietly, but it only takes one wrong pair of ears. "You hear anything, in the meantime?"

"I was looking for you," she says, and he looks sheepish. "Nothing remarkable. The whole town seems to go on about a festival coming up. I believe it's due to the governor's visit."

This is real. Having fun is all well and good, and he's glad he could help someone in need after being forced to turn away so many times. However, Renji is still captured, and they're deep in what amounts to enemy territory.

As if she sensed his thoughts, Rukia's hand alights on his shoulder and lingers there as they walk back towards the inn.

* * *

There are three men in her life, in the shadowed warrens of her childhood, in the twilit rooms of her house, in the sun-bathed grounds of her division.

The first she loves, but he turned away from her.

The second she loves, but he will not look at her.

The third she loves, but he cannot see her as she wishes him to.

She is content with all of this. If her heart aches for impossible things in the solitude of her room, then that is between her and the quiet dark.

She takes a heavy hand and lifts it from her shoulder in a parting—

She bows across an expanse of tatami to a grave figure in a white mantle—

The sword in her hand quivers as it plummets into willing flesh. Blood spreads sticky between them, and his last breaths rise and fall against her chest. She knows his name only as it spills from her in a sob—

—The hurt swelling in her draws her from the dream, her heart straining against her ribs. She lies unmoving, eyes open, until it is calm again.

In a way, Rukia is getting used to the night visions. Ichigo dozes next to her, his even breathing rasping in the morning chill. For a while, she studies this young man who plays no part in her patchy memory. It isn't sentimental interest, but almost analytical curiosity: where does he fit in the skein of her recollections?

They are friends, he said. Even as she believes him, she has to wonder.

When she slips out of the stables, fog clusters along the street under a musty dawn. For all that she's supposed to act a boy, she steals into the bathhouse to tidy herself up. Today is the festival held in the governor's honour. Inside the inn, someone must be already whispering that the mist hardly makes an auspicious start to a holiday.

She returns to the loft to find Ichigo still buried in the blankets. "Wake up. It's morning."

" 'M awake. It's just cold." He sits up. "You okay? You were talking in your sleep, earlier."

"I'm concerned." She comes to sit beside him. "I suppose that followed me into sleep as well."

"You aren't the only one. We'll get to him some way." Ichigo bites into one of their stolen persimmons—from an unlocked storage shed outside town—and hands her another. She reminds herself that moral misgivings about purloined fruit pale next to considerations of breaking into a fully manned garrison.

"I had a dream." The fruit is a little frostbitten. She carves off the soured pulp with her knife. "I... I lost someone. I held him as he died, but could not save him. Perhaps during the war?"

"Oh, man." Ichigo makes a face in sympathy. "A lot of people died then, yeah. I don't know who..."

"It's fine. We should concentrate on Renji." Rukia meets his eye, forcing herself to calm. "I don't wish to have remembered him only to have him become another person I'll never see again."

"Well, yeah. We know where he is, we just gotta get to him."

"Were you sure or not?"

"Sure enough." Ichigo gives her a determined look. "We get inside the garrison and I can find out, I swear."

"I don't doubt you. But we do need to get out, too. I'm quite certain that with the wards set around the place, we cannot flash-step in or out." That much their furtive reconnaissance in the last days has divulged. The building is well protected against magical intrusion.

"Whatever we're gonna do, we've gotta do it today," he says. "At least some of those soldiers are gonna be out in the streets, watching that governor."

"You're right. Most of them cannot be local. Phoenix Gate is stopping place, not a destination." She bites her lip. "It would be better to wait until they leave, but they might take Renji with them, and then he would be beyond our reach."

Ichigo sounds like he's choking on his persimmon. She slaps him on the back. "It's only logical. He's very powerful. They'll find some use for him, or if he does not yield, they will execute him as an outlaw."

"Okay. Point. And yeah, you really haven't changed. Same old, hardass Rukia."

"It is only the way things are here." She still feels uncomfortable when he refers to habits or traits that she can't remember having, or that feel at odds with her image of herself. He tries to be kind, so she tries to accept her own disquiet.

"Actually, about that way of things—I may have an idea. You're not gonna like it, though."

Be that as it may, a change in subject is welcome. "Why don't you explain it to me first?"

He does. She reacts much as he predicted. Then she concludes that it may well be the best plan they have.

* * *

He is losing all notion of passing time.

After that first encounter with Wei, he tried to fight. He struggled against the surgeon, half-blind, fueled by sheer fury, until she drugged him. As a guard gave him water, he smashed his head into the man's face, injuring himself more than the guard.

It was better than waiting in the dark. The walls of the holding cell consume his reiatsu to the point where he cannot switch to spirit sight. He's been taken out to mend damage from resisting the questioning. He never stays awake for long on these trips, and comes to back in the cell.

The inured, soldier part of him says they've hardly mistreated him. Shinigami deal with prisoners much the same way. He's interrogated, but the punishment for his silence is clean and simple pain, not permanent harm. He's weakened to break his resistance, but given little reason to truly hate them.

For Hu Wei, it is a damned sight too late for that.

"You do not anger me. You do not frighten me. And as things stand, you are mine."

He has not seen Wei after that. He can tell a few of the guards apart by tread, though they don't speak to him, except to ask questions he doesn't answer. Insolence works for a shield so far. When it's spent, he must find something else.

He wonders how Rukia endured this in the Senzaikyuu—the bone-deep helplessness, being trapped in the physical confines of one's body. He even wonders how Ichigo lived with his Hollow, an everpresent enemy in his own mind. His outer world is down to the reach of his chains: sitting, standing or lying down. He can walk two steps.

He spends hours trying to clear his thoughts. He may die here. He doesn't know where "here" is. If Wei really found his phone, Ichigo can't contact Soul Society. If Ichigo is still free. If Rukia is still alive.

Some day soon, he will break and beg someone to tell him. The isolation and the darkness take their toll. His duty to Soul Society, his loyalty to his captain, the responsibility he feels for Ichigo; his touchstones crumble in his grip. He oriented his life by Rukia until he no longer even realised doing so: her fate is what undoes him.

But he still lives. There's some reason for that.

He's sitting in a meditative seiza on the bed. The breathing exercises give him something to do. The iron door above creaks. He sees no lantern light, so it's someone with more questions. Knowing he's under scrutiny, he holds his head up.

"Shall we continue, Abarai-san?"

A chill twists down his spine.

"You again. What's the occasion?" There isn't half the temerity in his answer that he'd give to a guard, even with his broken command of the local speech.

"The same as last time. How is your eye?" The others have hard-heeled boots. Wei walks softly across the cell.

"Dunno. This really isn't the best place to test it, ya know?"

"I take it you grow weary of waiting? It won't be much longer." Wei stops. Renji hears him now, even the faint chafe of his clothes. His other senses are sharper in the dark.

"Oh, really? Got tired of housin' me?" He can handle pain. He fears what else this man can do.

"You are a criminal by our laws. Considering that, you are far on borrowed time."

Fuck your laws. Fuck you stickin' your fingers where they don't belong. I coulda taken her home. You'd never have seen her again. "Yeah? Gonna do somethin' about it, are ya?"

"Whether you are a renegade or a deserter, I could kill you in this cell and no one could say a contrary word," Wei says, almost confidentially. "There are... circumstances that could call for your public execution if I wished to make certain points."

Renji stays still. He doesn't think himself subtle by any means, but Wei is showing yet another side to him. He's willing to believe the man does little that is not calculated.

"You should know by now death doesn't worry me a lot. Don't have too many prospects, as it'd be." He feels the tendons of his neck stand out with the tension in him. "You even disposed of the reason I came here, remember?"

"The woman," Wei says. "Such a delicate thing."

He's lying, you know he is. Give the guy an hour an' he'd have you convinced he's your goddamn father...

"Do you know what the punishment for desertion is here, Abarai-san? Or for impersonating a champion of Heaven?"

" 'Champion?'" Renji blurts out. "You're the damn military, man!"

"Absolutely." Wei's tone changes again, sonorant, creeping like a cat. "We are keepers of the Emperor's peace. His lands are vast. We are his voice and his reach across them. We soil our hands so his stay clean."

He recalls, vividly, the sound of Wei's glove hitting the floor before the man struck last time. A portent of danger hovers in the air again.

"We keep hardy horses here in the highlands. Small, but very strong," Wei goes on. Renji has to frown at this leap in topic. "Tell me. How many would you guess were needed to rend apart such a tiny woman?"

His breath leaves him in a stunned convulsion. He can't stop the images before they overwhelm him. No, no no...

"She was brave. There's no shame in screaming at such agony. The human body is resilient for so fragile a vessel; it takes quite some time to die."

He could keep back his fears. He could tell himself Rukia was with Ichigo; that they'd conquered impossible odds together before. The still darkness lulled him to that belief. But now, he has no defence against this deluge of horror and hatred, and it tumbles him on his knees as his fingers burrow into his head.

"I will kill you," he gasps, thick and teary. "If you've so much as touched..."

"Would you like tangible proof?" Wei speaks to the top of his head. "We can pass the execution grounds on our way out. The remains are hung up for display. We find it is a fine reminder."

Renji chokes a scream against his palm. Then, he pulls himself together. He calls on whatever has kept him walking and fighting, standing up even bleeding and broken, alive through the misery of the war itself, and wills his head to rise and his legs to hold.

"You talk as if... as if I'm gonna leave here." He's lyin', you can't know and yes, that's the worst thing, but it also means he can bluff you senseless. Now get a hold of yourself.

"I thought it was apparent. After all, you're not dead. I could find a use for a man of your skills, Abarai-san."

Beyond despair, beyond rage, there's a sort of absolute, glacial clarity. For a heartbeat, he feels nothing but contempt. "You're serious. You're tellin' me you executed her an' suggestin' in the same fuckin' breath that I work for you."

"You will live," Wei says. "You have remarkable talent. The law of the Emperor will protect you. You may even prosper. One day, you may have the chance for vengeance."

"Listen," he replies slowly. "I'm not gonna call you a murderin' bastard. I'm just gonna call you dumb as hell is deep. There's no world in what I'd follow you. Not 'cause you killed her. 'Cause I'd never in my damn life fight for a law like yours."

Wei laughs. He stands in the dark and laughs; the deep, rolling chuckles skim Renji's upturned face. It takes a long time before he stops, and then his voice is level again. "I thought your character was what set you apart. I can see I was right."

"You don't know the first thing 'bout me," Renji growls. "You don't like it, kill me and be done with it."

"We depart in a few days." Wei's shoes scuff on the floor stone. "You can leave this cell in chains, or as a free man, Abarai-san. Leave it you will. Consider it."

Renji bows his head. He's tapped dry, devoid of the resolve that supported him before. He has answers, but they only eat at what focal points he had remaining. He sits down on the bed and grasps his arms to stop his own shaking.

Chapter Text

As Ichigo strides up to the garrison gate, the mist still fills the streets. It stifles and reflects the sounds of drums and horns from downtown. He fastened the translator to his shirt again, and hopes he can palm it if someone searches him. It really is the least of his worries.

Think the biggest, dumbest bastards in Karakura High. Then think kicking their asses with Chad and Tatsuki.

This time, the dumb bastards are armed and armoured, and his only ally is gagged, bound and thrown over his shoulder. He made sure to use Yoruichi's sliding knot, so she can work herself free, but the ropes are still pretty tight.

Don't even imagine Ishida sneering at the sheer inanity of this plan. Even if he would've thought up a better one.

"Hey, stop!" The gate guard rouses from leaning against the wall. "What's your business here?"

And don't wish they were all here. Focus. Otherwise, Renji's screwed, and so are both of you.

Ichigo clears his throat. "Get me whoever's in charge! Got a prize for you!" The translator seems to carry the gist of his meaning.

"Who in the gods' most holy ass ends are you to ask that?" The burly soldier sounds more amused. "Go sleep your head clear, boy, and find your manners while you're at it! Ruffians don't live long here."

"Name's Gen." He aims for Renji's swagger of the "you're not cool enough to walk the same street with me" variety. "This swordslady, Broken Bough, you guys know her?"

"Hah. Might as well say you got the south wind inna jar."

"Sorry," Ichigo breathes as he casts the blanket-wrapped bundle on his shoulder onto the street. He bends with the motion as much as he dares, then sweeps the cloth open with a foot.

Rukia plays her part to the hilt; not a noise escapes her as she hits the ground. She lies still as the guard raises a skeptical eyebrow. She smudged her face with dirt and even nicked open her brow to add smears of blood over her temple. Her hair is down, unkempt and tangled, a tassel of her sash ripped off.

"Most wanted outlaw east o' this town," he says roughly. "Right here. Got her pretty blade with me, too." He jerks a thumb at Shirayuki, next to peace-bound Zangetsu on his shoulder. Rukia didn't bat an eye at that, either, but spoke to Shirayuki to mute her thrum of power.

I hope that playing dead trick works on these guys.

"Well I'll be. You got the White Ghost pocketed away, too, son?"

"There a reward?" He has no idea what the man is talking about.

"For catchin' a piece o' hearsay? Beats me. I better find you that duty officer."

"Hey, hey! I'm comin' along. You got this party set up, m'not missin' it after draggin' this bitch all the way up here!" Scooping her up again, he feels Rukia stiffen. She plays unconscious credibly so long as no one looks too hard. "It's me," he hazards a whisper as the guard opens the gate.

"Got a fellow with a bounty here! He's in a hurry!" The guard calls into the interior, then speaks to him. "Straight ahead across the yard, then fourth door on your left. Anywhere else, sharp things pointed your way."

"Gotcha."

The garrison is a high-walled rectangle around a central yard. He enters through the single gate onto a paved courtyard. Doors are spaced evenly around the inside; the outside is smooth, mortared stone. They do not have much of an idea about the interior. He needs to get as far as possible without the wrong kind of attention, but he needs to be boisterous to even get that far. It's all a balancing act.

He sees few tian bin, but that does not mean the building is not packed with them. He is holding his reiatsu in so hard he's practically blind to that of others.

Resisting the urge to slink along a wall, Ichigo crosses into the unprotected courtyard. He keeps his steps sharp, shifting Rukia's weight on his shoulders. "We're in. So far, so good."

A door creaks open, and footfalls skitter down a flight of steps to the yard. He turns his head—and, for a heartbeat, stops dead in his tracks.

A girl hurries across the yard, a bulky wooden box cradled against her chest, the skirts of her dress gathered in one hand. Her hair is wound up into a bun, clasped with a decorative comb, but in the dusty sunlight the features of her face are all too familiar.

Just before Mei passes him, he realises he was walking forward. Rukia hooks a finger in his sash and tugs on the cloth, a question.

Move it! They're watching. He doesn't dare glance at the girl. He can only hope she gave him no more than a passing look. But there is no sound, no scream in alarm from behind him, and the shadow of the far wall looms over him at last.

Stay cool.

Through the fourth door on his left, he steps into a corridor that leads to some kind of an office. A desk is pushed into one corner, and a row of rickety-looking chairs lines a wall. There is a guard next to the desk and one at each of the three sturdy doors. The eyes of the narrow-faced officer behind the desk zero in on the yellow cord round Zangetsu's hilt.

"Mercenary. Your sword."

Suspicious bastard. He glowers as he undoes the shoulder strap and passes his sword to one of the guards, who hangs it on a rack by the door, well beyond his reach. "It better stay in one piece, hardhead."

"Mind your tongue, man," the officer intercepts him. "State your business."

"Would like to collect the bounty on Duan Zhi, sir." Ichigo bows his head, giving the guards an inconspicuous lookover. They all seem rested and watchful. He taps five into Rukia's side with a finger.

"You've brought her and her sword?"

He dumps Rukia onto a chair. She groans, but her eyes stay shut and her feet are on the floor. He presents Shirayuki with a flourish. "Yessir. Was no mention o' her sword on the wanted poster, sir."

"You want to keep it. Of course." The officer waves a hand. "That's soon decided. Put it on the desk."

Ichigo wishes he could look at Rukia to affirm the move. He lays the sword before the officer with entirely real reluctance. "Why?"

"If it is a regular sword, you may keep it. We'll deduct a token value from the bounty."

He bristles as much as he dares. "Fine then. Sir."

The officer holds a gloved hand over Shirayuki. The four soldiers snap into attention, too. Ichigo has to concentrate on his impatient facade. Zangetsu hangs a few steps away, so if things go to hell, he cannot count on reaching his sword. He hopes Rukia can live up to her promise of kidou support. If.

If the officer is fooled, the others will be. Ichigo is sure his spirit pressure is the highest, as he can catch a hint of it. Of course, he is close, and the man is using a kidou technique...

Rukia sits slumped in the chair. Ichigo counts his own breaths.

"You're fine, mercenary. The sword's yours." The officer prods at Shirayuki's hilt. Ichigo thinks he sees Rukia wince. "I heard you were quite anxious to get paid. It really seems you've brought us the genuine item this time, so it's well deserved."

"Well, sir, even really good outlaws gotta sleep sometime," he blurts out.

The officer frowns. One of the tian bin, a younger, lanky man, smothers a guffaw.

Fuck, not now! The damned translator must have put out something totally out of context. If they make it home alive he's going to... do something nasty to Urahara.

"Yessir, if you don't mind..." he ventures in a louder voice.

The officer shakes his head. "No, no. I don't think I do." Whew, must've been a momentary glitch...

"The cuffs," he goes on. The young soldier opens a door into what seems to be a joint break and storage area.

Ichigo chances a glimpse at Rukia. Her eyes, even slitted, bore into him as she nods her head. Yes.

The hell is she thinking? I let her go now, I lose them both! Fuck this—

She makes a tiny, emphatic hand motion at herself. I stay.

Then the soldier returns, and she falls still again. He is holding a wooden restraint with sockets that trap the wrists when snapped shut. Another soldier picks Rukia up, her legs hanging askew as he cuts her bonds and the restraint is locked into place.

Ichigo sees her start.

Fine black lines snake over the cuffs like an invisible calligrapher's ink, forming a skein of letters into the wood. A scant, satisfied smile crosses the officer's face. "Good work, mercenary. If you'd step this way... Now that she's secured, my men will handle the rest."

I'm an idiot! 'Course they'd use spirit cuffs!

Rukia's eyes open to stare at him. Two of the soldiers are by her, one holding her up by the shoulders; the two others stand at the other end of the room with the officer. All of them wear swords, though the officer is unarmoured.

Ichigo returns her gaze. We're gonna leave together. All of us.

Surging forward to grab the one blade within his reach, he carries on the motion to slam his foot into the knee of the nearest guard.

* * *

Ichigo is an idiot; in fact, an unmitigated moron.

Rukia would have done the exact same thing in his place. The instant he whips towards the desk, she thrusts one thought forward. Shirayuki, help him! Help him!

Yes, the bear says in a resonant rumble, and Rukia feels a curious squeezing sensation deep inside her as Ichigo tears her sword from the scabbard.

No time for that.

The guard has a good grip of her shoulders, but she can hook her foot behind his ankle. A jerk of her leg sends him toppling; she barely ducks aside in time. She tugs hard at the mouth gag until it gives way.

Ichigo has his blade free, as does the man who put the cuffs on her. They clash with a jar of steel on steel while she whirls round towards the other three. The two soldiers are drawing their swords. The lieutenant reaches for a bronze bell on the desk.

Swinging it will bring the whole garrison at a run, even if the stone walls partly muffle the noises of their struggle.

The cuffs are sapping her power, twist by relentless twist. She throws her hands forward and grits out, "Way of binding, four, Hainawa!"

She couldn't restrain a man with the spell now, but the cord of energy flies across the room and flings the bell from the lieutenant's hand.

"Intruders!" he bellows with surprising volume for such a slight man. "Intruders!"

Ichigo's first opponent hits the floor behind her just as the man she tripped regains his footing. Ichigo is upon him before he can bare his blade, smashing Shirayuki's hilt into his jaw. Rukia wheels away from them to the center of the room, but the other two close in on her from both sides.

"Take her alive!" The officer hangs back; the room is already too crowded. She dodges a hilt-strike from the shorter guard, scrambling to put a wall to her back. The second guard, an older, wizened man, throws a punch at her. It catches on her cheek, and she crashes into the chairs.

"Rukia!"

"The lieutenant!" she snaps. The room doubles in her sight as she fumbles away. They're all hampered by the confined space, the soldiers only able to come at her one at a time. "Get him!"

With free use of their powers, this battle would have been over in seconds. However, the flare of Ichigo's aura might resound across the entire town. She hears wood grinding, then swords striking together.

She kicks over a chair and it lodges between her and the older guard. As he shoves it aside with a grunt, she has time to see Ichigo has taken out the others save for the officer.

"Way of binding, one." She pulls her dwindling power together. "Sai!"

The spell fizzles even as it forms. The guard's arms only twitch back, but he bows over for a heartbeat. She drives her head into his face as hard as she can. He teeters in place; a swing of the wooden restraint sends him to the floor. Flecks of colour dance in her vision.

"You okay?" Ichigo has a bleeding cut across his cheek. The lieutenant is slumped over the desk.

"Just bruises. Did you find any keys?"

"Lemme get that first—" Grabbing the cuffs, he wrenches open the latch on the side. Thankfully, once the latch is free, the letters in the wood fade away. Her power creeps back like a full-body tingle of feeling returning. She knuckles her eyes to make them sharpen.

"The door and the desk." She gestures. "Clear me a way. We need to stall them." She hauls the officer off the desk. It is the only thing in the room with enough mass to hold the door. The walls will hinder sound, but she has no doubt they've alerted someone.

"Right!" He drags the stunned soldiers aside, while she pats through the officer's clothes. The ring of keys rattles in his sash. Tossing it over to Ichigo, she puts her hands on the desk and aims along the expanse of empty floor.

"Way of destruction, one, Shou!" The desk slides across the room and against the door that leads out. She claps the bolt on the door shut, too.

"Smart," Ichigo says. "Oh, and here." Removing his scarf, he uses it to wipe down Shirayuki's blade. "Tell her thanks for the help."

My pleasure, Shirayuki whispers as Rukia closes her fingers around the hilt. Even though Rukia cannot be as ready in her acceptance, she understands the need. He wielded her sword. There are many layers to the fact, but she must postpone peeling them back until later.

He reclaims Zangetsu from the wall hook. "So. You done?"

"Renji?" she asks. The cuffs drained a good portion of her reiatsu. She feels the exertion far more than she should.

"Found him. I think." He opens the third door, which must go deeper into the building. "This way. I'm picking up a few weaker guys ahead, and more coming from the yard!"

They stalk into the dimly lit corridor. He doesn't bother with any of the side doors. She handles one more guard with a binding spell, then has to catch her breath while Ichigo stuffs him into a vacant cell.

"Here?" Rukia whispers as they look ahead along a line of thick, iron-bound doors.

"It's the right way. Can't hold the tracking—they'll feel it. His aura's really weak, too."

A telltale crash of wood echoes from somewhere behind them.

They pour on speed. The garrison is bigger than it appeared on the outside. Neither voices what they must both be thinking: There had better be another exit. She's sure she counts each corner and corridor as two; it cannot have been that long when Ichigo pulls into a halt beside a door on the left.

"Through here." He pokes the first key into the lock, then another as it refuses to turn. "You go ahead an' see if there's a way out."

"He could be hurt." Not that she is much good with kidou now.

"I'll drag him better than you." The lantern above illuminates his grim grin. The door springs open. "See you!"

"I'll be right back," Rukia murmurs, something of a vow, and rushes on down the corridor.

* * *

Rukia flattens herself to the wall. To the left of her lies a half-open door, casting a slant of light into the corridor. There is someone inside. A webbing of wards to prevent entry covers the entire room; that was what made her veer into the side corridor.

An approaching lantern makes the shadows shy back, footsteps hammering on the floor.

A ceiling beam crosses the corridor above her. Rukia finds a foothold between two stones in the wall and hoists herself as high as she can. Her fingers scrabble on the wood of the beam. She kicks higher off the wall just as a running soldier emerges into the corridor.

Without stopping, he calls out an alarm and rushes on underneath her. She forces out a calming sigh.

The guard inside exits the room, but stops to lock the door with an intricate key. As the wards close in over the doorway, the wash of energy seems to prickle beneath her skin.

There's something important in that room. She should go back towards Ichigo, but she can't afford to pass this by.

"Way of binding, four." She mouths the words. "Hainawa." Thinning the kidou to a golden thread, she makes it twine lazily, discreetly. It weaves down to the guard's sash to lift out the key.

Sweat trickles down her nose and into her eye as she guides the thread with gestures of her hand. Using a restraining spell with such finesse is a great deal of extra work. The soldier pats her side. Rukia lets the spell hang, near-dead, the barest fibre holding it together. The guard catches the key—and pushes it deeper into the fold of her sash.

She hurries on down the corridor. Rukia doesn't even blink as she reels the thread in until the key snaps home against her palm.

The warded room is dim, the walls cluttered with weapon racks; bows, spears and swords arrayed in rows. A dead end. She has to swallow swearwords. The armoury would be well protected.

Rukia. Shirayuki probes at the rim of her awareness. I sense something back there.

Oh? She ducks behind a display of spears, and hope and fear grate on her heart all at once. Wound with long strips of paper, a familiar sword rests in the far corner: Zabimaru.

The inscriptions on the paper restrain her from touching the blade. In other circumstances, she would admire the ward, the complex weave of spells that appear to seal both inside and outside influence. She has no time to properly unravel it. The best she can hope for is to divert the brunt of the impact when she breaks the seal.

Shirayuki, see if you can reach him. He must be walled off from Renji.

As soon as you can get us in contact. He seems... smothered. The bear sounds restive. Rukia tightens her own reiatsu round her hand like a glove.

She reaches for Zabimaru's hilt. The charge of raw energy pours over her and crawls in crackling fingers over the crude shield of her power. She tells herself the only thing that matters is the grip and the pull. It feels like stepping into a field of live lightning, the wrapped wood of the hilt cool and slippery under her hand.

A shockwave throws her staggering back and rattles across the room. She is flung to the floor, the smoking strips trailing her as she clutches the sword to her chest and tries to catch her breath.

Shirayuki? She reaches inward.

Reckless, my dear. Those two are a terrible influence, the bear grumbles with wry humour. That was a strong seal.

Yes, yes. Scold me later. She makes to get up, only to flop onto her right side with a groan. Her left arm twisted under her as she fell, and now the shoulder joint radiates a burgeoning pain.

Gasping, Rukia makes her senses spread, then contract. She has no way of telling how far the disruption of the seal resonated. If she is lucky, the wards around the armoury will contain some of the backlash.

Weight on her good arm, she pulls herself into a crouch, then forces herself to relax as she presses light fingers to the injury. She should be able to ease the arm with a healing kidou or at least brace it against the stress of shunpo...

A presence flickers into her spirit-sight, and lantern light accompanies quick footfalls into the room.

Rukia's hand flies to Shirayuki's hilt.

Chapter Text

The muscles of her shoulder respond, but the pain jags into such intensity that Rukia has to relax them again. The blast of the seal breaking knocked out the lanterns in the room. Her eyes are shifting to the spirit-colours around her.

"Hello? Is someone hurt in there?"

Zabimaru lies on the floor. Gripping Shirayuki, Rukia shirks back against the nearest rack of weaponry. Catching the newcomer blindsided is her best chance. Her power throbs dull and disarrayed around her, bristling with echoes of energy from the seal. It will be tough to cohere it for decisive shunpo in the unfamiliar confines of the garrison. She'd rather not try.

The steps approach, shadows swaying across the walls with the glow of the lantern. "I heard a—"

Rukia spins and thrusts in the same motion. Shirayuki shears through the lantern and it rolls to the floor, extinguished.

"Don't move!" The tip of her sword skims the other's throat. The woman—or rather, a girl—muffles what would have been a full-blown shriek.

"And don't scream," Rukia adds. The girl makes a clear shape in her spirit-sight now, the milky shade of an common soul.

"What are you doing here?" The girl's voice softens. "Who are you?"

A moment is all Rukia needs. A moment to gather focus for a binding spell that will keep this child out of her way. "Stay quiet and you won't get hurt."

"You're—" The girl swallows; Rukia hears the fear in the rhythm of her breath. "You're the trespasser, right?"

The way the girl's voice lilts into the question is familiar. Oh. She was with Ichigo at the market.

* * *

Fingers brush his neck and shoulder and clamp down. Renji starts awake, groping at air where there should be an intruder. In the next instant, the sensation is gone, and he rolls into a sitting position with a groan.

"Great. Now I'm startin' to hallucinate." There's nothing within his limited reach. He lies down and shuts his eyes against the impregnable dark.

He has almost fallen asleep again when the door groans above. He knows that noise. It's come to mean one of two things: either water, or more questions. The first is crucial, the latter, he endures.

Except there is a third option, so he stands up, flexing his hands even with the spirit cuffs on each wrist. If they are coming to take him elsewhere, it may mean a window of escape. If he is let out of this place on his own feet. If it isn't Wei.

Easy. You know better than to go there.

He pricks his ears. He's long since figured out the cell is underground: the tread of feet on stairs breaks the silence and heralds its return.

The guard's in a hurry; he clatters the lock, the key seeming to stick. Renji can't see light under the door. That is not a good sign. His interrogators prefer to keep him blind. He balks at the idea against his better intentions, muscles taut against the manacles. It's an animal reflex, nothing to do with rational thought.

"Shit." The word carries muffled through the door. "Open up, dammit!"

He knows that voice. Renji feels his jaw drop in a flooring mixture of relief and disbelief. He steps forward until the chain brings him short. "Ichigo?" he manages.

"You bet your—" The door turns with a scrape of wood on stone. "Got it! Bet your ass it is. Which I'm gonna kick the whole damn way home once we're outta here." Footfalls close in, and Ichigo grabs his wrist. He flinches before he can control himself.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah. Just didn't see you."

"Oh, right." Ichigo pauses. "The walls. Made you a bit hard to find."

"Never mind that." He sucks in a breath as another thought leaps up. "Where's Rukia? Tell me she's with you." It is a plea; he braces himself as if for a mortal blow.

"Looking for a way out," Ichigo says. Renji almost doubles over with the elation. There's no time for that, he tells himself. He can crumple down later.

Ichigo rattles the chain that runs between his wrists and to an iron ring in the wall. "Scoot to the side, would ya? I need to get this off." The surge of his shikai patters against Renji's weakened senses; he almost shudders at the fiery brush of power. The deathstone walls deaden the energy spike, but he's again reminded of his own vulnerability.

The links shatter with a chime of steel. Two strikes, and then he is free, the chain flowing away to leave only the cuffs on his hands.

Renji takes a full breath, reaches out, and hauls Ichigo into a forceful hug. The contact feels more than good; vital, necessary. The darkness is a safety catch. He doesn't have to look at Ichigo, only hold on to the solid presence of him, and for a moment that seems longer than it probably is, Ichigo lets him.

"Thanks," he mumbles when he can find his voice. For comin'. For bein' alive.

Ichigo squeezes his shoulder at that, as if for good measure. He sounds a tad unsteady. "Um, sure. Any time. We should..."

"Yeah." With a shake of his head, Renji makes himself relinquish his hold. "Yeah, let's go."

"We gotta hurry. Took me way too long to find you." Ichigo takes Renji's wrist to pull him towards the door.

"Any chance you could get these off me?" He taps the metal of the manacle, engraved with a spirit-dampening pattern. He has traced the pictograms often enough in the dark.

Ichigo pokes at the lock. "Ring doesn't have keys this small. Might have to find Rukia and a hairpin."

"Just show the damn way." Renji chuckles. At Ichigo's tug, he follows the young man, feeling along the wall with his free hand as they climb the stairs. Okay. You're not at your best, but your feet work. Ichigo's here, through some madcap plan you really don't wanna know. Now get a grip.

Firelight greets them at the upper end as Ichigo pushes the door open without deliberation. Blinking at the brightness, Renji scrambles to keep up. Ichigo seems to know where to go, dipping left through a storage room and right into another corridor.

"Where's this, by the way? Didn't have time to take in the sights."

"Phoenix Gate. Garrison," Ichigo says. "They had you in some kinda solitary cell. Had to rake through the whole place. Rukia went ahead—"

"You left her alone?" It only hits him now.

"She couldn't track you, so I had to!" Ichigo scowls over his shoulder. "You can't fight with those on, can you?"

"Gimme a sword an' I'll point it." He grimaces. The cuffs are cumbersome. He can still feel them clamping down on his reiatsu, smothering it to a guttering wick.

"First guard we find, I'll steal you one."

"Sounds good."

"Rukia's somewhere this way." They duck into a row of cells with wooden bars, and stop to listen as hard boots thump past along an adjacent corridor. This one has the look of an overnight block, vacant for the day. They hurry past the cells as soon as the sound of running recedes.

"How'd you even—"

"Quiet day here." Ichigo tries the door at the far end. "This place's half-empty with all the patrols downtown, but take my word, there's more'n enough of them."

Renji moves to yank open the door so Ichigo has a clear line of sight into the space beyond. Then the whoosh of air heralding flash-step makes them both shrink back to a wall.

* * *

It cannot be helped. Rukia has no time for vague sentimentalities. She will not harm the girl. "Step back. There's a wall five paces behind you."

The girl's hand falls to her skirt; Rukia twitches, on instinct, the point of her sword quivering. "Hands to your sides. Move." She can't do kidou while holding a sword. Her left arm is useless.

The girl obeys, her steps tentative in the darkness. Her breath hisses out, then in.

"You know the red-haired man, don't you?" she says. Rukia nearly drops her blade.

Don't let her distract you. Now there is enough distance. She tucks Shirayuki against her side and extends her hand. Way of binding, one...

"Don't you?" the girl asks again, a tremor in her voice. "You're Duan Zhi. He is your—"

Rukia clamps her fingers shut on the incipient spell, her breath wheezing with involuntary surprise.

* * *

Ichigo cracks Zangetsu's hilt into the jaw of the soldier just as the man draws breath to shout. He
reels backwards, then catches himself, snapping down into a crouch and then swinging back at Ichigo. Dropping his blade into a block, Ichigo swerves back and to the right. He needs space for a proper blow, and stuffed up against a wall is not it.

Spirit pressure wells up: the soldier doesn't follow at once, but casts out his free hand, fingers bent into a ritual gesture. He barks out a word, and Ichigo can feel the sizzle of gathering power in his teeth.

Renji's foot thuds into the man's back. He loses the incantation in a whump of expelled breath, and then goes nerveless as Renji jabs his fingers into the back of his neck.

"Tch." Renji lets the body slip to the floor. "Not as good as sealin' the soul sleep, but should keep him down a moment."

"What happened to a good old punch in the face?" Ichigo archs a brow. The element of surprise saved them this time. He glimpsed the man's aura before it sank with his loss of consciousness, dense and dark with untrammelled strength.

Renji leans down to claim the finely wrought blade from the soldier's sash. "Fancy tricks come in handy sometimes. Somethin' a lot like what he was doin' got me caught."

"Well, they're sending stronger guys now. Someone's been alerted."

"Mm-hm." Renji ties the sword on by the tasselled cord around the scabbard. He looks like a wild thing, eyes flashing, clothes matted with sweat and long wear. Ichigo doesn't give a damn; he's there, and he's not getting out of Ichigo's sight any time soon.

In the next instant, spirit pressures rise around them like an invisible cloudburst. Swords screech out of sheaths on either side of them as two more men melt in out of the air.

Ichigo makes an executive decision, throws his free arm around Renji's side to haul him close, and takes a sharp flash-step. One, two, three, four, five, six.

The corridor warps and tilts, Renji a dead weight pushing him off balance. He can't feel anyone following. Rukia said the tian bin seemed less apt at shunpo than shinigami. He prays that is true. Eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve...

Twenty-four, twenty-five... A wall lurches at him and brings him into a skidding halt. Renji swears, and Ichigo lets go of the man with a curse of his own.

"Don't—" Renji sounds like he might retch, leaning against the wall. "Don't—ever do that again."

"I just saved our asses!" Ichigo snarls, trying to pull his wits together. "It won't be a long lead, either." They have landed in a mess hall or a common room, with low tables and woven sitting mats. The sunlight streaming in through the drawn blinds dazzles his overloaded senses.

"Besides," he says, "flash-step leaves tracks. I was hoping not to sprinkle my reiatsu all over the place."

"I know. Someone might even call it impressive you got this far without—"

Before Renji can finish, a distant shattering of wood swings both their attention to the corridor branching from left side of the long, narrow room. Ichigo squints: a ripple of reiatsu washes out towards them alongside the sound, muted and reflected back upon itself, but there.

"That's Rukia," he says.

"Yeah, I felt that." They both kick into a run.

* * *

"Where is he?" Rukia says at last. "The man with red hair."

She must clear her mind. Her thoughts are clogged, fraught with too many possibilities. The girl might be trying to bluff her. Every second she lingers here brings pursuit closer to her. She doesn't want to hurt the girl, but if things turn ugly, she might be used as a bargaining chip. Ichigo did say, when pressed, that she was the child of an officer here...

The girl stands flat to the wall now. "It's a concealed cell. He is not with the other prisoners."

There is a soft whuff, like the air itself folding open, from the door. Flash-step, Rukia comprehends with a pang. The spirit pressure that crackles into being holds neither the deep autumn hue of Renji's nor the full, heavy heat of Ichigo's.

They know I'm here.

She does the first thing she can think of. "Way of binding, one, Sai!" Fired half-blind, the binding still locks onto the new reiatsu. A couple of stumbling steps thud to the floor, and then a weapon rack chatters with the impact of a petrified body falling into it.

If he's strong at all, that will not hold him long.

"Will you show me, or will I do that again?" she snaps at the girl. If she looks half as tense and frayed as she feels, she would be an arresting sight right now. "Now."

"I..." The girl has clenched a hand on her mouth.

Then two auras flare into the room, and Rukia almost dissolves at the wave of relief.

"Rukia!" Ichigo releases Renji. "You all right? I felt—"

"Ahh..." Renji seems to falter for a heartbeat, his presence brittle and deadened. She wants to step up and take hold of him and make sure he is real.

"It was three steps. Shut up."

"Oh, you found him, thank goodness," Rukia murmurs instead, and lets herself take momentary refuge in the simple fact of Ichigo and Renji there, both alive, both still with her.

* * *

Renji blinks through the nausea of being yanked through shunpo. The unlit room must be bright for Ichigo, but all he can make out are blurred spirit-shapes: Ichigo to his left, and—

"Hey," he says. Even though Rukia is pale and wan in his vision, the fierce core of resolution within her still burns.

"Ichigo." She nods towards the corner, where, he realises only now, there is a fourth person, their aura much dimmer against those of his two friends. "Would you?" The youth moves past her, and she stoops to retrieve something from the floor.

"Here." Renji registers what she is holding, and that is two staggering things thrust at him in one go. The forced separation can't have improved Zabimaru's humour. He smiles down at Rukia for not knowing what else to do.

"It's damn good to see you." He draws Zabimaru on by the shoulder strap, discarding the sword he took from the fallen soldier. "Not that I actually can, too well."

"And you." She pauses for a beat. "Now, we should—"

"Rukia," Ichigo cuts in. "Can you make a light?"

"I will try." She seems to brace herself for the task. Raising her hand, she mumbles a staccato litany until an orb of crimson flame blossoms over her palm. In the illumination, the sweat and grime on her face stand out starkly. The hell did they do to get in?

Before he can continue the thought, someone steps forward from behind Ichigo. The fireball's glow reveals a wide-eyed girl whose bun of dark hair has fallen halfway over her face. Her skirt would trail the ground if the fabric was not clutched in her hands. Her straight posture and dainty features attest to some degree of self-possession, even though her jaw quivers.

"Whoa, whoa." Renji shoves aside the shock of Rukia's appearance. "Hold on just a minute. Who's this?"

"Rukia, no more pointing swords, okay?" Ichigo shoots her a look. "She's okay."

"And how do you know that?" she says curtly. "I was not going to..."

"I know because I asked! She's fine, now—"

"You really did come for the hunter's prisoner." The girl's words are slow with wonderment, but it helps Renji piece them together.

"Look..." Ichigo bites his teeth together. "Long story, but I swear, he's done nothing. We'll be gone for good if we can just get out." He's using the translator again. The vicinity is quiet right now. Renji cannot help but strain his ears for sounds real or imaginary.

Rukia's voice is so terse that he can hear the clash of her pragmatic views with Ichigo's idealism behind it. "What do you propose we do, Ichigo? I've spent the most part of my power."

The youth turns to regard the girl. "Will you help us? Can you?"

"There's a man over by the door," Rukia says to Renji in a lower tone. "I restrained him, but he'll be getting up soon."

"We ran into a couple of officer-class soldiers, too." Renji can just see the unmoving bulk of the man to the side of them. "Not sure how much of a help I'd be against them." The first one was easy. I bet the ones behind him are gonna be wiser to our tricks. He lifts a wrist, and she grimaces at the sight of the cuff. Only now, he realises that her left arm hangs limp at her side.

"I see. Let me see that." She fumbles at her sash. Her awkward search, and his half-voiced question, are interrupted by the girl coming up to them.

The abrupt severity of her gaze actually makes Renji start; he is far from the top of his game, fuelled by adrenaline more than any real vigour. He feels like bowing his head, but does not. His clothes are ragged and hang on his frame; he hasn't shaved or washed in days. He must reek to high heaven. Even if this girl looks dishevelled, her clothes are good, her hands clear-skinned as she reaches towards his face.

The soldier side of him wonders whether the guards would bargain for her life, if they took her hostage.

"Your eye," she says then, the words nuanced and spoken straight to him. "I am glad. It looked very bad."

He has to lower his face. His memory is disjointed, but he knows what she must have seen. She was there, in the shadow of the surgeon, watching, helping, washing away the blood after Wei nearly punctured his right eye. Words desert him, and he can only listen as she goes on.

"My father believes the lord's hunter imprisoned you on... unreasonable charges." He frowns to catch the gist of that, and more as the meaning sinks in. What?

Past her shoulder, Ichigo has knelt beside Rukia, and is scrutinising her left arm. Renji returns to the present with a jerk. Too many strident emotions, too close to the surface now.

"You don't have much time," the girl says, clear and clipped. "The soldier that woman... Duan Zhi... stopped is one of the hunter's personal team."

"So..." A part of him wants to say so much more. This is the only crucial question. "How do we get out?"

He will not think on the distinct possibility that Hu Wei will be a short way behind his men. He doesn't seem the sort to leave any part of his work to his henchmen.

"There is a way through my father's quarters," she says. "I... I will take you."

Renji swallows. Not that you have much choice, but... thanks. It looks like she was involved by chance; she walked into the wrong room, and Rukia had to take some action. Still, the certainty in her voice moves him, in a way he neither can nor would express.

They both turn at a stifled moan from Rukia. Ichigo's hands still clasp her left shoulder, and with a few long breaths, she slackens as hurt and tension bleed from her expression.

"Dislocated shoulder," Ichigo says. "Karin used to throw hers out all the time. Don't move it if you can help it, okay?"

"Of course not." Rukia gets to her feet.

The girl fists her hands in her skirt again, her eyes flicking between each of them. "Good. We must get to the yard first—"

Reiatsu surges up into a plume of effulgent light from the door side of the room. Renji shouts in alarm, the brightness searing his vision, accustomed to long darkness, wide open to the explosion of a powerful aura across the cluttered room. The outline of a man shifts against the blaze: Rukia's binding has given out.

"Rukia!" Ichigo yells, that one word piercing the collective sounds of their confusion. "Follow me!"

Ichigo seizes his arm, and all but wrests it from its socket as the world becomes a blur of streaming noise and colour.

* * *

The third series of surprise flash-steps isn't as bad as the first two. Renji shakes his head hard, letting the sudden cool air and sunlight cleanse his senses.

Ichigo crouches next to him, a hand out to support a panting Rukia. The girl is peering around like a frightened bird on the roofed veranda where they now stand, next to a door leading back into the building that must be the garrison. The courtyard looks empty; the rectangular stone building surrounds it on all sides. The only ready exit Renji can see is the gate across from them, a good seventy paces away. The stillness of the scene is deceptive; there must be soldiers watching in windows and doorways, with bows at the ready.

"You've gotta stop that," Renji husks out. His breath seems to lag a stride or two behind.

"I'll just skip the part where I'm the only one here who can carry people through shunpo!" Ichigo barks at him, already whirling round to face the girl. "Mei, I'm sorry 'bout that. Where now?"

The deck provides a bit of cover, but the moment they leave this shadowed spot, they might as well be sitting ducks. Rukia straightens herself. "How far is it to the exit?" She speaks in the local tongue, to the girl—Mei, right.

"In the corner." Mei points.

"Can't we try the roof or something?" Ichigo grits his teeth, with good reason. The distance spans a whole side of the building.

The garrison looks to be three stories high; the veranda roof forms an overhang below the second level windows. The truth galls Renji, yet there is no helping it. "Don't think I can jump that. Not with the cuffs."

"We cannot flash-step past the outer walls. This place is warded." Rukia pushes her hand into her sash again. "But I should have a..." She produces a slim metal pin, even as Ichigo calls out in warning.

"We got company!"

Without ceremony, Renji grabs both Rukia and Mei by the shoulder and propels them forward. "Go!"

"I'll slow 'em down!" Ichigo hangs back, drawing his sword as half a dozen soldiers pour from the same door they used. Grunts, Renji's mind connects, a thin relief. The good ones don't need to run.

He casts a look over his shoulder as Ichigo crashes into the first of the guards. It's a controlled collision; with a kick, he sends the woman careening back into her fellows. The narrow deck gives him the edge for now. One of the soldiers vaults over the railing, a spear in hand.

"Ichigo, left!" Renji shouts. Zangetsu flies out to block the polearm from the side, and Ichigo finishes the job with a quick thrust to the man's upper body. Renji wants to scream at his own uselessness. He moves hobbling and half-dumb, his reactions sluggish.

Rukia draws Shirayuki without breaking stride, angling herself between Mei and the open courtyard. He can see how worn she is, no matter that her face is hard as ice.

A door is flung open ahead of them, and Renji hears the unmistakeable strain of a bowstring. The columns of the deck form an obstruction around them. Still, they will not keep arrows from hitting.

"Ichigo, come on!"

"Getsuga Tenshou!" The blast of energy whacks into the remaining guards, splitting the wood of the deck under their feet. Ichigo hurtles into a flash-step to materialise right next to Renji.

"Hurry!" Mei sounds almost pleading. They are closing in on the corner...

There is the whirr of an arrow's feathers, and Rukia folds into a forward roll. The shaft slices the air where her head was a split instant ago.

"Shit!" Ichigo's shock rings in his tone, even as she scrambles up in the same motion. "Good thing you're qui—"

"Save it!" she hisses. Renji pushes them both onwards. Mei, now a few steps ahead, grips the side of a sliding door and slams it open. Shouts echo behind them. Renji glimpses the archer, on the opposite side of the yard, fitting another arrow. There seemed to be another bowman ahead of them.

The doorway looms like a promise. He dives through it just a feathered shaft thuds deep into the frame.

Mei tosses the door shut and wrenches a wooden bolt home, collapsing against the jamb.

For a heartbeat, they all look at each other in the twilight of the hallway, its walls splashed with subtle ornamentation. Rukia breaks the silence first. "We are not out of here yet."

"Through the door back there," Mei says between pants. "There is a cupboard at the... at the end of the corridor. Turn it aside."

"Uh," Ichigo says. "What about you?"

The girl's answer comes firm, albeit her voice tatters. "You forced me to help you, right?"

"We kinda did," Renji says. Or, we could have.

"Well." Ichigo gives him a lop-sided grin. "Remember that thing about taking on a whole garrison? I didn't actually mean it."

"No shit," Renji chortles.

Then something heavy crashes into the bolted door. Mei totters forward with a yelp. "You have to go!"

"She's right." His heart feels like it might grind through his ribs. "Even if we do got a fightin' chance, this is gonna become a fuckin' bloodbath 'less we go now." Pretty much the only ace in their sleeve now would be Ichigo releasing his bankai. It might not even matter. They have already drawn the worst sort of attention.

"I agree," Rukia says with a stern finality. Renji glances at her, unable to help his need to keep her in sight.

Getting out of the garrison will only be a first step.

* * *

Trailing Rukia's swift footfalls, Renji hurries past him in carrying strides. Ichigo has to tarry, enough to meet Mei's eye across the room. He is the one able fighter they have now, so he needs to bring up the rear. At least Rukia can sling a smart binding at anything ahead.

"You'll be okay?" he asks again. Renji did away with the matter a bit too quickly for his liking.

"You are wasting time." Mei is backing away from the door, which leaps in its frame with the force of another shoulder slammed into it. "I'm returning the goodwill you showed me. Not everyone here thinks like Lord Jue's hunter. Your friend didn't... deserve this. Go. Please."

"Right." He can hear Rukia calling him from ahead. At a loss for words, he bows his head at Mei, the way Rukia might do. "And one thing. My name's not Gen. It's Ichigo."

"Ichigo," she repeats, the sounds of it strange and bright in her mouth. Her hand flies up to grasp his fingers for a second. "Be safe, then."

"You, too." He bites his lip, stepping away. It doesn't seem enough. What more could he do?

She lets her hand slide from his, and he spins around and bolts down the corridor after Renji and Rukia.

Chapter Text

Renji draws the whetstone along the knife's blade in smooth motions. He's been at the task for half an hour now. Ichigo is starting to worry for the knife. He breaks off half of his seed cake—snatched off a kitchen table, with some of their dwindling silver left in exchange for that and other expendable-looking food—and holds it out towards Renji.

"Everything okay?"

Renji mutters, but accepts the cake. Ichigo averts his eyes from his wrists, where the skin is taut and new, the ends of the jagged tattoos partly chafed away.

"We got a good lead. Maybe they've tired out?"

"Not him," Renji says. "Maybe the rest, but not him."

Ichigo doesn't need to ask who the other man means. Renji has been taciturn ever since their heedless rush out of the garrison, out of the feasting town, away through a series of shunpo. He and Rukia drew Renji along until he had regained enough reiatsu to flash-step on his own. They keep heading east, sleep in whatever natural shelter comes their way, and stay out of sight, which led to the self-help with the locals' winter supplies.

Renji is not the only one maintaining a deceptive silence. They feared and expected pursuit. None seems to have come.

"You think he'd chase us all the way to the border?" Ichigo stares over the lowlands in the east, where the moon rises from the hazy horizon. They have camped next to a rapids in a batch of pine forest. The sound of the water drones through the twilight.

"He might. It won't be an easy crossin', either. We can't call Soul Society to get a fix on us."

"Tell me again," Ichigo says, around a mouthful of seed cake. "Why'd we only have one phone with us?"

" 'Cause Captain Kuchiki's private funds are limited, an' custom-signed phones are tricky to make." Renji rolls the cake in his fingers. Crumbs fall through. "You know he sent us through unofficial channels. Took personal responsibility for my absence, all that?"

"Sheesh. Yes," Ichigo sighs. "Forget I said anything." He is used to ribbing Renji at every turn. Usually he gets chortles and half-assed comebacks if Renji's in a good mood, or a scathing glance or a cuff if the moment is wrong. Talking to the man now is like tossing stones into water. The words just sink and fade.

The tea water is bursting into bubbles, so he removes the kettle from the flames. Renji shoulders Zabimaru. "Gonna take a walk around. Be back soon."

"Rukia's at the creek."

Renji turns and heads out the other way. Ichigo stirs powdered tea leaves into his cup and settles to wait for Rukia.

* * *

Rukia muffles a shriek as she wades into the stream. It is only thanks to the mountain slope facing south and east that the creek is not sheened with ice yet. She douses her hair, rubs soap in it, and scoops up water to rinse herself. The cold be damned, if she is worn-out and fatigued, she will not be filthy as well.

She comes back to camp skipping and shivering. Ichigo puts a cup of tea in her hand, and she sits down side to side with him. "Still nothing?"

"Yup. Renji went out, but it looks clear to me. Uh, has he..." Ichigo searches for a better position. "I just can't shake the feeling something's wrong. With Renji, I mean."

"It bothers you? That he needs to be alone now?"

He makes a noncommittal noise. "Maybe."

"He has not spoken to me," she says. "That.... seems to be the way he is. He does not share his anxieties. Our situation doesn't allow for much solitude. It becomes frustrating, on occasion." She thinks if she and Ichigo weren't tiptoeing around Renji, for a chance, there would be much more shouting and petty quarrels among them. It even feels as if there should be.

"Guess so. I don't even know how long it's been since we left." He frowns, a different expression than his usual irritated mien. "What I'm trying to say... I've got used to having him around. It's... weird when he walls himself off."

"He has a lot on his mind. Perhaps he just needs time." Ichigo is looking to her for answers. She has few to give. Renji was malnourished, stiff with half-healed injuries, but forbade them from stopping for more than a cursory lookover of them. His high cheeks are more pronounced; the bones of his hands show stark through the skin. He was gone for three weeks, and something has changed.

Rukia knows who is responsible. She prays they will reach the border without incident. If there is a confrontation, she has lives and homes to avenge—and now, the haunted stillness about a man she doesn't know too well, but already feels too near to her heart. It may make her incautious. Caution has kept her alive.

"Isn't that much different from that first summer." Ichigo pulls her from her thoughts. "Only then it was you in my space. Hollows this and Hollows that, screwing up my sleep... Sneaking round Pop and my sisters... And then bam, there's the war, and old beardo tells me he always knew you were around."

"Why did he conceal himself?" She has become familiar with some of his father's history.

"Said he wanted to give us a normal life." He toys with a piece of firewood. "And there was Mom. It was just better in the living world."

"Until I came?"

"Uh, no, no," he says. "Rukia... I think if you hadn't turned up... it'd have been worse. The crap with Aizen would've gone down anyway. I wouldn't have known before Karakura was attacked."

"All that because I claimed your closet to sleep in."

"It was some summer."

"Tell me." She meets his eye. "Tell me what happened then—something."

"I'm no storyteller, but..." He takes a moment. "There was this one time with this medium guy. He has his own TV show, and it came to town..."

She interrupts to inquire what a TV is. He indulges her with a huff. His story is told half to the campfire, half to the darkening sky. She pours them more tea, and the tale spins off into other exploits. He seems to animate as he tells of the monsters and trials they have faced, and at the same time, of a boy whose life a strange girl upset one night, and who seems to have embraced the change.

If she were to name the feeling that rises in her, it would be pride, mixed with aching longing for experiences that should be hers. In their way, Ichigo's stories mend the gap.

His voice peters out when the rustle of needles marks Renji's return; he seems not to bother with stealth. In near silence, they settle for the night. Ichigo turns his back and slides into sleep with his usual enviable ease. There is a space between him and Renji where she should curl.

She ties her hair into a braid and pries off her boots.

"Did you see anything?" She knows Renji did not.

Leaned against a tree, he shakes his head. She has an urge to shake him. Ichigo's concern roused her own unrest, for all that she feels ill equipped to deal with Renji's mood. So she lies down under the blankets, her side pressing into his leg. The stars glint in the darkness of the sky. Her eyes trace made-up shapes from one silvery dot to another.

She's warm inside the coarse wool, next to Ichigo, Renji a hunched figure between her and the low-banked fire. This is what she remembers best, the huddled closeness of others against the chill of nights most often spent under the sky. Life was harsh, but she was not alone—and the good, golden moments, when they could be stolen, were shared among them all.

On a soft-edged recollection, she points up at a bowed arc of stars. "That's the Fisherman. Over the treetop on the left."

"You know that's the Pallbearer, right?" Renji sounds hoary.

"It's a man with a fishing rod, rowing on the Heavenly River. Can't you see?"

He falls quiet for long enough that she almost regrets her audacity. Then another sound drifts up; laughter, tenuous, rasping. "Never could convince you. Your Fisherman's about to be eaten by the Water Dragon, y'know? Above him?"

His reply, too, is familiar. "Nonsense," she sniffs. "Those are the Twin Rabbits."

"You an' your rabbits. Go to sleep, you dummy." The insult blurs over into endearment. "I got an eye out, might as well watch that the stars go up right."

"Wake me," she says, bringing them back to the present.

"I'll wake him." The midnight watch is the worst, as it splits the night's rest in two. She's had less than her share of those.

"It is my turn, Renji."

"Right, right. Pushy, that's what you are."

"I have practice, dolt. What with the both of you trying to coddle me all the while."

He chuckles, as if admitting defeat, and the blessed sound ushers her into sleep.

* * *

They are well east of Foxfern by now. Ichigo seems to believe they have shaken any pursuit. Renji thinks back to how well Wei must have traced his movements, and tells Ichigo to keep looking.

The mountains recede into the west. A sleet storm trammels them in a wayfarer's hut for two days, the first of which they sleep their weariness away. The second, over something utterly trivial, Renji and Ichigo end up in a face-off that takes Rukia and some sharply-slung snow to defuse. Their collective elation when the weather clears is a tangible thing.

The tilled lowlands give way to a straggling belt of woods. Ichigo grows brooding, Rukia wary, and Renji feels himself pressed from many sides at once. The forest is the most dangerous leg of the journey. Rukia's reluctance is based on local lore; his and Ichigo's stems from experience.

Somewhere beyond the woods lies the Sea. Without the spirit phone, they have to make it to the ancient dimension bridge on the shore. It's been out of use for centuries, but the old craftsmen built to last. The bridge was the back-up plan. Now they need it.

They run into a pack of feline demons on the fourth day of crossing the forest. Renji expects the battle to be but the first of many. The day shortens the further they press; the reaches of the Sea always lie in twilight.

Next nightfall, they set up camp at a clean spring. Ichigo flees to do a circuit of the area while Rukia dozes off; she bruised a few ribs in the fight, bad enough to hinder her shunpo. Renji carried her the last hour or so, once she was too spent to protest.

He checks that she is snugly under the quilts. Then he sits down and sets his bared sword across his lap.

Zabimaru! He resists sinking towards the mountaintop dwelling of his sword-spirit, only casting out the name. We gotta have a word. Come out, you cranky bastard.

Now he deigns to speak to me! The snake's words drip with disdain.

Be silent! the monkey intercepts. He's right. This dissent is futile. It goes against all we are.

He sold me for trifles!

It was to help a comrade! the monkey snarls. You know better than to accuse him of such!

Cut that the fuck out! Renji cuts into the cacophony. Less yellin', more explainin'. And one at a time! What in the hell are you talkin' about?

Your deal with the man of the tiger-spirit, Wei, says the monkey. I don't know the nature of his spirit weapon. It's a... thing of the dark.

Renji lowers his head, stroking the hilt of his sword, at once contrite and concerned. I'm damn sorry about that. Had no idea he... you know. I figured he had some talent, but nothin' like that.

Neither did I, until it was too late, the monkey says heavily. Then my anger was useless. But the deceit served your purpose. You found your ally.

Yeah, we did. Even so, guilt gathers in the back of his mind. How does one weigh one irreplaceable thing above another?

She broke the seals they placed on me. She has repaid me.

Rukia did? She hadn't spoken half a word of that when they found her in the garrison. Guess I owe her another thanks.

Yes, Zabimaru says. Then the entire feel of him changes with the next words, fury simmering into the bond between them. There's still the matter of this man, Wei. The imprint is insidious. It'd be easy to forget it is on me at all.

"Imprint"? You mean he tracked us through you? Horror and astonishment rush through Renji in the same welling wave. That rat bastard put somethin' on you?

A tracking seal. Zabimaru seems to wrest the words out by force. I'm a beacon for this—abomination.

Renji's fists clench in his lap. "Why in the name of all that's holy didn't you tell me?"

I didn't allow it. Without finding the one responsible, the connection can't be broken. It would've hampered your search for your comrade.

"You could've warned me!" Now he understands his last talk with Zabimaru. The serpent is the more self-serving of the two; the monkey must have shut him up somehow.

I fight with you when you need me. All else is my—

"It damn well is my concern, too!" His mind churns. How did Ichigo not notice that, either? "Does it still work? The seal?"

I believe so, the monkey says. But the farther away it is, the weaker the connection.

Wait—"it"? Dont you mean Wei? Renji pulls back into the link. Rukia is sleeping. He needs to center himself.

I mean his sword-spirit. Zabimaru is fearless and fierce in battle, but now he shivers in disgust—and trepidation. I can't discern it, but sometimes I sense it near.

As much as Renji hates to admit it, there may be a loophole in his reasoning. Ichigo would detect outside influence attached to their auras. Zanpakutou are the very core of a shinigami's power, the best-protected part of their souls.

"Near"? Renji has seen his own power twisted and hindered many times: his bankai has shattered in his hands, and the memory of deathstone walls is fresh on his skin. But this... Near where?

On the mountain, Zabimaru hisses as if the words were poison. They might as well be. The inner world is his soul, and he can't help a shudder at the sense of violation.

He works down an urge to break something. What is that damn thing, anyway? How can it...

Renji hears the rustle of dead bamboo leaves as the nue paces. Zabimaru is proud to a fault, even when he has accepted Renji's dominance of him. The shame that hunches his steps cuts Renji just as deep. The failure was mine.

You think you let it in?

I know I did. Let's make no bones about that.

Renji kneads his temple with a knuckle. He can close his thoughts to Zabimaru, but the nue seems to be doing the same to him. Okay, he says. We'll find some way to free you. From now on, you keep me in the loop. That clear?

Yes. Zabimaru's voice already echoes from a distance. Renji can't blame him. They both need time to digest this conversation, as well as to figure out what to do next. He must ask Ichigo for another lookover, and... well, Rukia is more knowledgeable on the myriad forms of kidou. In a pinch, he might even go to Sode no Shirayuki, who seems both wise and patient.

There's crick in his neck from the long immobility. The fire imprints shimmering spots in his vision; Rukia has risen from her quilts. "What was that? Why were you yelling?"

"Talkin' to Zabimaru. Got a bit carried away."

Her face grows serious. She had that solemn streak before—results of a rigorous Kuchiki schooling—but her regard of the zanpakutou now courts awe. It's not surprising, after she spent so long with Shirayuki as her only constant companion. "Don't let me disturb you."

"All done now." Seeing her like that, sleep-mussed and not as sharp as usual, makes it impossible to broach the subject now. Ichigo is out there with both eyes out. He can bring the matter up later. "Zabimaru wouldn't mind anyway. Got worse manners'n an alley brat, that one."

"We should know, shouldn't we?"

"Yeah." Since their impromptu stargazing, they've sat together more than once, trading stories of Inuzuri, of the alleys of their childhood in their stark misery and flashes of happiness. Sometimes it aches, but that she has begun to fill his tales with remarks of her own is a balm.

"I was thinking," she says. "We go deeper into demon territory all the time. It'd be somewhat exhausting, but I could place wards around the camp. We'd have some warning."

"If you're sure you can hold up." He gestures at her side.

"I will take care not to slow us down."

"Look, I'm homesick as hell, will admit it, but we gotta make it there. No overdoin' it."

"That applies to you, too." She pads over to him. "Even Ichigo has noticed your mood."

"I... kinda hoped you guys would just let that lie." Wei bothers him; harrows him. Even the knowledge of his name may be disastrous in Wei's hands—unless the man is calculating enough to have cut his losses when they escaped the garrison. Then there is Zabimaru, and his own humiliation at being captured, and the more visceral things that did not stay in the dark of the holding cell.

Rukia touches the back of his hand. "You think we do not care?" she asks, half a demand.

"Well." He searches for a crook to his smile. "If even Ichigo's worked up..."

"He's worried about you." She leans towards him. "As am I. I won't ask you what happened in Phoenix Gate. It seems private. But if it would ease you to talk, I..."

He shucks aside tact and nobility and lets his heart have the run of him. Reaching out, he draws her to him in the embrace he's held back since he found her. She exhales, but her arms wind around him in return, and he rests his head on her narrow shoulder. "You're here. That's... enough." That's everything.

"Renji..." She touches the nape of his neck, a question more than a caress.

"Just be there. Please."

Her sigh flutters against his temple as she relaxes, even her sore side seeming to let up. "Then I will."

Renji listens to the frail sounds of them both breathing, and lets his eyes fall shut. He is selfish and he doesn't give a damn. Rukia pulls back at length, cloth rustling with her movement. The tips of her fingers skim his temple, his closed eye.

A dropped glove whispers on the floor.

Unseen, without warning, a raw, sundering pain cuts into his eye.

Renji jerks his head away. Gasping at his abrupt start, she tumbles back onto her knees. He clutches at his face, his hand a needless shield from her touch.

Rukia pulls herself upright. "Renji?"

"Sorry," he mumbles. "Not you. Had a... a bad memory. You couldn't know."

She hesitates; would come to him, but is now cautious of his reaction.

"It's okay," he says with all the conviction he can muster. This memory is too close, still unresolved. "You couldn't know."

With a wide-eyed gravity, she regards him. Her hands drawing a soothing stroke over his shoulders. "I will know now." She lays her cheek on his shoulder as if in a show of trust.

When she raises her head, he presses his mouth on the corner of hers, a friend's light touch. His lips are chilled and chapped; her skin feels cool and soft. "Thanks." The word is wholly inadequate for the warmth of her in his arms.

In a shift of his head or hers, he isn't quite sure, she pecks him on the mouth. The kiss is fleeting, tender, in contrast with the flood of feeling it engenders. He has never made much of a secret of what he feels for her, except to her. Neither has he bothered to define the emotion much. She is friend, ally, family, guiding star, and he loves her because he knows no other way to be.

That may be what makes him withdraw, before he can any more than think of deepening the kiss. Rukia looks at him, sharply even through her scant smile.

"All good," he tells her. "That is why you don't hafta worry. I'll be fine."

"You had better." She lets him hugs her close, and her arms link around his shoulders, and if his hold is more forceful than before, she gives no comment on it.

* * *

Strong emotions resound in one's reiatsu. Ichigo is inexplicably glad his is tamped down, the control now dictated by habit as much as necessity. He stands in the gap in the trees, where the firelight licks dim streaks along the trunks, but not for long.

He walks away onto another useless circle round the campsite. He smothers the rancour welling up without any good reason. Seems they took advantage of the empty space. Yeah. Since there's nobody noteworthy around anyway.

Like you? Why do you care, anyway? says something more cynical and perceptive. You all go crazy for some privacy sometimes.

Shut it! He will check things again. He will go back with enough noise that Rukia and Renji have time to finish whatever they are up to at that point.

That sounds like a plan.

* * *

A day later, they hear the sea. The wash of the waves never stops, even when there is no wind to be felt.

If Renji and Rukia notice that Ichigo is keeping his distance as they trek during the light hours and camp out for the dark, neither of them comments on it. He guesses it can be chalked up to their general low spirits.

Mostly he tries to forget what he saw by mistake, and even more, tries to quell the choking feeling it raises in his chest. This isn't the time to opine on his friends' relationships with one another—not like it's his business in the first place.

He has more immediate concerns, too. The scenery is desolate, but beyond that, something feels off. The Hollow hasn't stirred since they left the shadowland outside Mirkridge. Not a peep in his dreams, not even too-knowing observations on his unwanted dilemma with Rukia and Renji, and yet they have walked through Rukia's "demon country" for a week.

They can't reach Soul Society soon enough. Then, he'll sleep for a few days straight and take refuge in the seizure-inducing mountains of schoolwork between him and his graduation.

They come across the track of an ancient highroad, all but sunken into the forest floor. It leads a straight path north and east, so they follow as long as it coincides with their course. They need to get to the shore and to Renji's dimension bridge.

Ichigo is about to suggest stopping. He feels lightheaded, whether with paranoia of the damned Hollow, or from scanning the vicinity all day. Then, Rukia's voice echoes from atop a rocky bluff ahead. "Come see this!"

The land slants downward the way they are going. Her vantage point offers a broad view of their surroundings. To the northeast, a massive construction vaults off the shoreline. The bridge rises above the treetops, its pillars a burnished orange in the sunset. Ichigo can only guess at its actual size from this far away, but it has to be enormous. He can't see the other end; the roiling haze over the sea to the east swallows it.

"That's the bridge," Renji says. "Maybe two days' walk now. It's like an anchoring spot, so we can shunpo if we gotta. I don't suggest it, but the bridge oughta make it less suicidal."

"Ukitake-san said it could be guarded," Ichigo reminds him. "Not necessarily by the tian bin either."

"There are stories here." Rukia takes half a step closer to Renji. "Old legends about the gatekeeper."

"You mean like the guys guarding Seireitei, Jidanbou and the rest?"

"Judging by what you told me," she says, "not quite."

"We'll see when we get there." Renji squints against the sun. "We had a choice, we'd steer way clear of this place. It's been a lifetime since anyone actually crossed here. The passage's navigable, but only just."

"But we will be able to get through."

"Yeah." Renji nods at Rukia, as if to reassure her. "That's the important thing."

Ichigo stares out along the ruined road. Mist hangs in whorls under the trees. The undertow of menace in her words lingers in his mind; he represses a shudder.

Broken from its stillness, the Hollow drags long nails down the inside of his soul and keens like a wounded bird.

Chapter Text

The sound of the sea is neverending as it surges against the cliffs. They follow the coastline now, on taciturn, dogged resolve. There is no path to descend to the grey-sanded strips of beach that run parallel to the cliffs. This place is far from everywhere. Even the demons keep their distance.

At Renji's roundabout query, Ichigo could find no foreign reiatsu about him. The tian bin have proven adept at stealth tactics when they so choose; so, he told Ichigo to stay alert. He can hope they'll slip through the noose. The silence between him and Zabimaru has persisted, if in stoic acceptance of the situation. In Soul Society, someone must have a way to erase the mark on his sword-spirit. That's what he tells himself.

He can't bring himself to burden Rukia with his questions. They're almost home.

Renji walks up to the cliff's edge. Rukia seems all but immaterial against the emptiness of the sea, arms around herself. Mist wreathes the water, in paradox with the white-capped waves that crash on the shore.

"I fell somewhere here," she says as he stops next to her. "Shirayuki took me back."

"We just gotta pass through." He'd rather forget his own memories of this frontier. The first weeks of their journey were only marginally better than the return trip. "You're right, this isn't a place I'd like to linger."

"Is that what I said?" She glances up from under the frayed rim of her hat. "Perhaps that's what I meant. Soul Society must be better than this."

"Can promise you it is."

"Are they waiting, Renji?" Her eyes turn to the horizon, where sky and water meld into one shapeless mass. "We... I've been gone for a long time."

"Hey, now. They've got good memories. Bet your captain's gonna be beside himself. And the kids from Karakura. You're practically one of 'em. Stop frettin'." He doesn't mention her brother. As fast as she is getting to know him and Ichigo again, her recollections seem erratic. He's tried not to pass her notions of Captain Kuchiki, because he is unsure what to say. Rukia was more at home at the Kuchiki estate towards the end of the war, but her relationship with her brother was delicate, still so heavy on decorum that Renji had trouble seeing affection underneath.

"You are allowed to fret, but I'm not?"

"I got a lot less on my mind. More space for worryin'."

"Is that so?" She falls silent, and he lets the conversation lapse. They stand together until the cooling night chases them back to the camp in the dead forest.

* * *

It's only midway through the afternoon, but they've broken trail for a while. They should reach the bridge before night. The proximity of it seems to ward away demons; the three of them are the only creatures alive within range of Ichigo's senses.

Almost.

It might not be fair to count the Hollow. After all, he just keeps a madhouse for one in Ichigo's soul. He has stopped speaking and started screaming. The wails tear at his ears and make tracking nothing short of impossible.

The Hollow is not angry. He's frightened out of his skin.

Ichigo can't even guess what to make of that.

Finally, reluctantly, he seeks out Renji. He can't confide in Rukia; she will learn of his Hollow when things are normal. To explain it from the beginning in these circumstances feels unthinkable.

Renji has bowed to wash his face in a stream some way off the camp. The water is icy, but pure, which is supposed to be a sign that the place is safe.

"Hey. Uh, can we..." He tries to put the issue into simple words. "Can we talk?" is a phrase he never wants to utter to the other man. "There's something I ought to tell you."

"I'm all ears." Renji scrubs his face with his sleeve, damp strands of his hair glued to the skin.

"There's something weird here. I know I said I can't feel a thing, and I can't—" He bites his cheek in thought. "Not anything I could put my finger on. It's just... this itch in the back of my head."

"Wouldn't be the first time you got a gut feelin' that turned out true."

He opens his mouth to agree, when a throb of darkness smears across his sight. He twitches, rubbing his eyes to banish the flecks around Renji's face. What the hell is it now, you bastard? he snaps towards the Hollow.

There's no sneering answer. There is a towering sense of vertigo.

"Soon as Rukia gets back, we can—hey! What's wrong?"

Shapes melt in his eyes; Renji's voice is tinny and distorted. It feels as if jagged talons were crushing down on the inside of his skull, gouging into the pliant surface of his mind.

"Shit—Ichigo!"

A seal bursts somewhere inside him. Shards of it scatter, searing bright into blackness. Copper and bile rise in his throat, before a smothering weight sinks him down below his own knowledge.

* * *

"Rukia! Get here right now!" Renji bellows at the top of his voice. Ichigo is clawing at his own face, breath rasping like he's suffocating. Renji grabs at his wrists, trying to wrest his hands away, but he resists with his full strength. The tendons in the his neck are taut as bowstring as he throws his head back.

"Hey now, take it easy, I'm tryin' to help—"

The air thickens like before a lighting strike. Some premonition kicks his senses on alert.

Ichigo shoves him away and more than the blow, the cresting of his reiatsu sends Renji stumbling. He has to unleash his own spirit pressure to cushion Ichigo's aura. The trees tremble under its force—red and white, blood and bone, shinigami and Hollow, twined beyond extrication.

"Oh, no." For a heartbeat, he can only stare.

Ichigo stands up. His eyes glare black through the red-striated mask on his face.

* * *

Renji's shout reaches her a moment before the alien spirit pressure rends across her vision. Rukia drops the firewood, draws Shirayuki and dives into flash-step. Someone grabs her arm and jerks her off course. In the next instant, Renji lets go, having brought them atop an outcropping where the trees are sparser.

"What is happening?" Something stirs the spirit matter around them. Renji is letting his power stream without constraint. "Where's Ichigo?"

"Cookin' up this storm." His sword slides into its released shape. "He's gone Hollow. He tried to tell me somethin', but..."

She hears gone Hollow and nothing after that matters. Cold pours down her veins. "What did you say?"

"Rukia." He turns to face her. "You've gotta trust me. This's a monster on the loose. Ichigo is inside that thing, but you can't hold back against it. It will kill you first chance it gets. Do you understand?" His gaze seems to demand and beg at the same time. She shakes off her confusion.

"I do," she promises him. "How do we help him?"

"He's gotta help himself. All we can do is buy him the chance."

"So we restrain him?"

"Best as we can. How's your bindin' kidou?"

"Serviceable. Depends on hi—the target's strength, of course."

"Unlike anythin' you've seen before." He locks eyes with her. "There's a Hollow inside him. He's supposed to be in control and that thing fast asleep. I'd guess it's this place that's givin' the Hollow a boost."

Renji's expression is severe, but equanimous. There is no doubt in him, and that assures her of his words. She will have faith, in him and in Ichigo. "All right. If he is still resisting, that works to our advantage. We force the Hollow to divert its attention, and he may be able to gain an edge." She surveys the vicinity.

"He's gonna go down fightin', yeah. Sounds like a plan. Hell, I've missed havin' you around in a fight."

Her reply drowns in the noise of branches splitting. They fall away together as the creature crashes down through the trees.

* * *

There are some things you hope to never see as long as you live, and shinigami live long.

This is one of the worst in Renji's memory.

The shape of the creature is humanoid. It lopes through the wood in a jerky gait, head swerving left and right with unnatural range. Rows of cartilage spikes protrude from its shoulder blades. Swirling red stripes cover what the torn clothing exposes of its pallid skin. The full mask, which always felt out of place to Renji on Ichigo's face, is now the only trace of familiarity about the Hollow.

It's Ichigo, goddamn it, it is him, so you gotta pull back from killin' it. He told Rukia to go all out, but in levels of power, she is well behind him. She'll pull her weight, but he's the only one with a fighting chance against this creature.

No doubt it knows where both he and Rukia are. It moves in aimless bursts: it leaps towards them as they shift out of shunpo, then loses interest a heartbeat later. Hopefully that means Ichigo is diverting its attention.

Time to give him a hand. The Hollow prowls along a depression in the terrain, where the stream winds towards the sea. Rukia sprinted off to the far side of it. He can take the thing head-on; she can strike from the sides.

Renji calls on his bankai. Zabimaru's bony coils whip open around him, the skeletal head bellowing in challenge. We fight together, the nue whispers.

Damn straight.

The Hollow snakes towards them through the underbrush. With a thought, Renji unlocks the ridged vertebrae that make up the bulk of Zabimaru's released form. The sweep of sheer power through him is heady, though with it comes the strain that stems from lack of regular practice.

The bone segments cleave into the underwood, obstructing the limber white shape for an instant. Renji draws them back to reveal the Hollow writhing, gouging at the earth. Its sides gush blood from a dozen cuts. They are closing in that split-second glimpse.

The cursed thing is regenerating.

Zabimaru's head plummets down from above. The Hollow leaps sideways like a lizard. With a gnash of razor teeth, Zabimaru shears the tail from its body.

Close! The creature jumps higher, flashing away as Zabimaru rears to strike. Renji swishes into shunpo. He can trust his sword to occupy the Hollow, but he must match its pace as they wend across the forest floor.

Trees splinter as a wall of ice surges into the creature's path. It crashes into a halt. Good work, Rukia! Now—

The Hollow spins about, and Renji realises it has a new target. Some way below him Rukia has stopped, her sword wide. Motionless, she stares as the creature hurtles towards her.

With a burst of speed that might make Ichigo proud, he dives to catch her. The Hollow streaks inches past as he tugs her away, not breaking stride until something in the underbrush snags his ankle.

They land in a heap. Renji spits dirt from his mouth. "The hell're you doin'? I told ya to stay sharp!"

Her eyes look big enough to fall from their sockets. He sends a thought to Zabimaru to cover them, then grasps her shoulder. "Rukia?"

"Something... came over me." She raises herself up on trembling arms. "There was something strange about him, and then he was right before me... that face..."

Oh, hell. Like Vice-Captain Shiba. 'Course. This is not the first time she has seen a friend transmute into a gut-wrenching mimicry of himself. Some time this is for bad flashbacks. "Breathe. It's okay." Her scalp is bleeding; he dashes a smudge of red from her temple with his thumb.

"That... that isn't the point." She schools her face into calm. "Ichigo—there's some outside force affecting him! I felt it. It is like a demon, but immensely strong."

"You mean other than the Hollow?"

"Yes!"

There's somethin' big nearby. Could this get any better? "We've gotta pin him down." He stands up. "Problem is, he's gonna burn through any binding kidou I know in no time."

"I cannot feel him now."

"Means he can be anywhere." Zabimaru hovers above; Renji tries to funnel strength and endurance into the bond between them. Hang in there.

He steels himself for what he needs to ask of her next. Damn it, she was the one who knew Ichigo so well, who always knew the right thing to do. She's also the one who took her vice-captain's life, even if it was to set him free. "Rukia. If it came down to that, could you kill him? To save him?"

She doesn't balk. Her knuckles whiten with her grip on her upper arm. "Not with an easy heart. Not after all we've been through."

"I'm not sure I could, either," he admits. As long as he knows there is the slimmest chance. Ichigo does not submit. As long as he draws breath, there is hope. He's come back before. But if...

Her visage hardens. "Then, I—"

He opens his mouth. Zabimaru shrinks into a protective ball as a hit from above rocks both him and Renji. Renji throws his power out to brace his soul cutter.

"We can consider this once we've stopped him!" she says sharply.

"Any good ideas?"

"This thing is too fast for you, and too strong for me." She points down at their feet. They were a few inches away from splashing into the stream, several steps wide and perhaps equally deep. "But if I can trap it, you can hold it down."

* * *

He is crouched low, curled into himself, hands over his ears, the side of the building cold under his bare feet.

The creature stalks the tilted street before him. Each of its footfalls resonates along the steel and glass of his world. The trees shake, gouts of crumbling leaves scattering into the air. The wind blisters his mouth.

"Get out." His voice is feeble. "Get... outta here."

Where are you? he snarls at the absent Hollow. Fuck you, this is all your fault!

Smoke curls from between the buildings in lazy arches and floats along the vertical gridwork of the streets. He can smell the carrion stench of Hollow in the air.

Old man? he prompts, though there isn't much hope. Zangetsu?

Nothing.

He knows a thing or two about fear: fear for his own life, for his home, for his loved ones. What he feels now twists like barbed wire in his stomach.

His first instinct was to pull back into physical awareness, but an unyielding pressure bars the way. He has no idea what his body is doing. The last time that happened, he nearly devolved into a Hollow.

The thought stifles his breath with a slicing pain.

"Screw this." He drags a hand across his mouth. "Hey! Hey, you!"

He leaps away to land on the asphalt. A vortex of dust and leaves blows against him; the echoing gait halts somewhere ahead of him.

"I'm right here! Got your attention now, you bastard?"

A heavy foot cracks down, and the sound carries to him along metal and glass.

How d'you plan to fight that thing, exactly? asks the voice that chimes in when he's diving ahead too deep. Kick it in the spleen?

If he has to, he damn well will. Not that I'd mind some backup...

Empty-handed, he shrinks into a ready stance.

* * *

Rukia flashes out of the cage of Renji's bankai; the trees hum past her. Shirayuki, I need you now!

I am here. I am ready.

A ways behind her, Zabimaru is swerving back and forth, wound around his master. She spies the Hollow crouching on a rock by the stream.

There!

"Next dance, Hakuren!" The ice explodes outward with a long, gunshot crackle; the creature vaults serpentine above its reach. Rukia slinks into zig-zagging flash-step to foil its counterattack. Best as she can, she circles Renji's position, baiting the Hollow. Her second dance takes a moment to build the energy. The technique is powerful, but she can't make it strike true.

Zabimaru lashes towards the Hollow and misses narrowly when the thing pounces sideways. Still, she can see it is wary of Zabimaru, wise to the sheer strength of Renji and him.

"Drive it to the water", she told Renji. He is doing his best. She must hold up her end of the plan.

* * *

It emerges into view amid swirls of smoke.

The peculiar gravity of his inner world is no problem for Ichigo. It looks like the intruder has to heed it. It walks along the buildings, leaping the spans of emptiness the streets cut in its path.

The skeletal shape stalks on two legs with the jerk-burst grace of a clockwork mechanism. Darkness smoulders in the sockets of its horse-like skull. It might be ironic that whatever the thing is, it resembles a Hollow more than any of the demons he's seen lately.

The impact of its aura nearly floors him. The air dragging into his lungs tastes of rot. Tears break from his eyes. The creature lets out a low-pitched neigh, and the air becomes heat and pressure, squeezing the breath from him.

Where are you? There's a hopeless note to his call. His world is empty save for that unnatural thing. Zangetsu is gone.

What is his body doing?

It took the combined efforts of Hirako Shinji's Visored to keep him contained the one time the Hollow overcame him. There's no warded warehouse now, no barriers to cage him. Rukia. Renji.

I could kill them.

He coughs, and the taste of iron seeps into his mouth.

Fuck no.

"Get out." Fingers hard on the asphalt, he stares at the creature. "If you... if you even think you can use me..."

It already is. Swathes of purple smear across the sky. The grit of the street scrapes against his palms. I let my guard down and it crushed me. His heartbeat skitters. Is that his real heart, or a fragment of his inner reality crumbling away?

Then a chill passes through him: a hair-thin instant of perfect clarity. A distant roar cuts into the sudden stillness.

Closer by, someone groans—a human sound of pain.

"Hey," he says, stupidly, but the realisation sends hope swelling in him. There's someone here, someone in pain, someone in his soul, and that sound was no Hollow.

I'm here. Hear me.

"Hear me!" he shouts. "Come on!"

A shape begins coalescing at his feet: flecks and swirls of white that pull together into the outline of a prone body. He watches the face resolve itself into a weak, undeniable smirk.

"Partner," the Hollow gasps, and the sound of his voice is nearly glad.

* * *

Rukia has to stop. Her lungs are afire with the tumble in and out of flash-step, and she is losing her sense of the battlefield. Renji is somewhere off to her left: his bankai is a furnace-glow against the vicious swell of the Hollow's aura.

Then he slides into her field of vision. Zabimaru archs upwards, too high, his jaws opening as a nexus of energy flares behind his fangs. It gathers too slowly; the Hollow surges into the opening, under Renji's guard.

He can't avoid—

Zabimaru scatters in mid-strike; Renji vanishes in a blur. The Hollow lands in the stream with a great splash of water.

Shaking off her shock, Rukia throws herself forward. "First dance, Tsukishirou!"

She expends the energy so fast the backwash lashes at her like a snapped string. The icicle spins skyward right on top of the creature. Ridges of ice spread through the flash-freezing water, fortifying the base. She can't waste a second, a heartbeat, a thought.

"Next dance, Hakuren!"

Her first dance trapped the Hollow for a mere precious instant, but it is enough. The white wave engulfs the wallowing creature.

Rukia pulls in one laboured breath after another. She spent too much power too quickly. Renji's reiatsu presses against her as he closes in on her position; she feels his exhaustion almost as her own.

Hold on. Just a moment more. She has barely formed the thought when the first crack spears through the ice. Renji stands across the creek from her, eyes fixed on the outline of the creature. The timing is everything now.

The glacier shatters.

Before the Hollow can pull free of the cascading ice, Zabimaru souses down and his jaws snap shut.

* * *

Ichigo has beaten the Hollow into bits of a bony leer before. It is his prerogative.

The horse-headed creature has paused, ground into a halt suspended on the side of the building. A gust of autumn cold, the clean smell of sand lingers in the air. Ichigo scrambles up on his feet. Then, because there's no other decent thing to do, he extends a hand. "Are you—still alive?"

"Been better, partner." The Hollow wraps a clammy hand around his wrist. Ichigo can feel the creak of his joints and bones as he clambers to one knee and up. His body tatters and mends around the edges as he moves, as if in a state of flux.

This is so fucking bizarre that he might faint from comprehending it. "What the hell happened here?"

"That's a fundamental kind of question." Amusement grates in the Hollow's words. "And I've been out of the game for a few rounds."

"There's got to be some way to fight that thing!"

"Sealed," the Hollow says, scuffing a worn-out heel on the asphalt. "Trapped, shut out, crammed in, stuffed in a tin—hey, that rhymes."

"I get it! You're pissed. Now don't make me roll your fucking head."

"To think for a moment there, you seemed happy to see me."

"Shut it, you bastard. I go under, you follow."

"That creature's much more like me than you." The Hollow's grin seems to stretch past his cheeks. The wavering shape of his face makes it even more disconcerting. "I could always reason with it."

"You think I'm stupid?" Ichigo takes aim with his darkest scowl. "You're weak. You can barely stand."

The Hollow slouches against the wall of a building. "Point, partner."

The structure quakes. The creature is moving again; it shifts forward, sticks into place, sloughs ahead.

"Okay," Ichigo says. "Here's a simple question: what is that thing, and how do I get it the hell out of here?"

"Here's a newsflash. Not a fucking clue." The Hollow's eyes slant into razor-slashes of yellow. "I'm you, Ichigo."

His name shudders in the air. He's serious. He's been freed by some freak twist of chance, and he has no idea.

We're both screwed.

* * *

This won't work for long, Zabimaru rasps through the strain of containing the Hollow.

I know that! Just don't let go! Renji knows the stress on both of them. He can't physically feel the creature struggle, but every savage flail or kick dents his power.

"Renji!" Rukia comes pelting across the forest floor. Her hair has escaped its bun, streaming around her head. She seems unhurt, save for the wheeze of exertion in her yell.

"How—" he says, "how's it look?"

"Clear. For now."

Zabimaru's length wraps the Hollow from sight. Every now and then, he shudders, and Renji has to bite back groans of his own. The Hollow's power clashes against his, dragging long, insubstantial scores into it. Using spirit pressure as a rudimentary shield is one thing; the direct contact with the Hollow's aura is like rubbing raw wounds together.

Her mouth twists. "How long can you do this?"

"Long as I got to," he says, half a lie. "You—you watch out."

"I am." Her gaze sweeps their surroundings, but she's half turned towards him, one hand out as if ready to catch him.

She could not. This is a fight of attrition. If he fails now, she cannot take the Hollow on alone. The creature thrashes again with the desperation of a cornered beast. Renji hears the wet noise of pain as if from someone else's mouth. Rukia's fingers dig into his shoulders; she can't hold his weight.

* * *

Down the street, a building shivers. With a sound like a dying sigh, its windows tumble down in an avalanche of shining glass.

"How far are you gonna go?" Ichigo hisses at the Hollow.

"You let them stuff me in a can and nail on the lid. Partner. King. Kurosaki Ichigo." His voice is like paper crumpling. His name is wrong in his mouth. It terrifies Ichigo how thin they both are stretched.

"Don't give me that crap! Like you—" He presses his eyes shut. "We are both gonna get snuffed out any minute. What. Do you. Want?"

"You'd bargain with me? Shouldn't the king put a whip to the horse when it gets uppity?"

He lunges at the Hollow. It's like charging into a human-shaped lump of dough. His hands sink into the cold white flesh that was solid earlier, and he recoils sharply. "What..."

"Name of the game." The Hollow spreads his arms at him. "That old bastard grabbed me to get to you. Woe be you, partner, since it smashed the seals, and—you got it just right—I couldn't beat it back."

Glass shatter above, sending Ichigo into a headlong dive forward. The Hollow just fades and reappears next to him.

"I don't care." Ichigo looks up at the shaking buildings. "I'll come fight you later. We'll sort this out however you want. Help me stop that thing."

"That a promise, king?"

"Yes."

Wind and heat explode along the street. The Hollow tears out of his sight. "Find the old man—he still has a name!"

* * *

He's going to bleed dry. Rukia can do nothing but clutch at Renji. He keeps Zabimaru together, barely. She hears the thump as another vertebra falls free of his dwindling power.

He might let that happen.

Shirayuki? She sounds raw in her own mind. Renji looks unwounded, and yet she feels the pounding of his heart over the thrum of her own. She reaches for her sword-spirit just to have someone answer her. Now that she is out of the frenzy of the fight, grief and horror carve their way in.

The ice-bright bond blossoms under her probe, but loops out without a reply. Shirayuki is there, only she seems not to hear Rukia.

"Renji," she says. "Renji. Don't you dare give in. We have to help Ichigo." She takes his face between her hands to find his half-open eyes. "Do you hear me? Fight, damn you!"

I cannot lose you now.

* * *

If it is only out of spite, he plants his feet. He thinks he'd rather die standing. Or whatever it is that happens when demons break into your inner world and knock out your Hollow.

"Zangetsu!" That is a pitiful shout. He tries again.

The trees along the street have faded into gnarled husks. The creature seems to bleed smoke on every step. Its body is covered in blackened metal plate, a bizarre piecemeal armour. Underneath, its flesh has sunk against bone and muscle. Fire ghosts about its figure; an immense horse raised onto its hind legs. The head-mask is the creamy white of old bone.

Zangetsu. He holds out a hand as he once did. He'd give anything for a sword in his grip.

A hoof falls and twists the steel-framed front of a building. Glass tinkles into shrapnel. The creature advances like it knows he cannot hide: he can run, but it is tireless, impartial, unceasing.

Damn it, I can't—

A bellow resounds from behind him. The wraithly shape of a sleek white bear lunges past him. It lands and snarls towards the demon, lips curled back to bare its fangs. He inhales to shout in alarm, but at the same moment, a long-fingered hand clasps his shoulder.

"You can, Ichigo. You must."

"Zangetsu!"

"I'm here, with some help." He nods at the bear over Ichigo's head. "I am in your debt, old friend."

"As I am ever in yours," it says politely. "Do not speak of it. I must see to Rukia now." Its translucent form vanishes into the air.

"Rukia—that was Shirayuki?"

"Focus, Ichigo." Zangetsu's coat whips back in the waves of heat rolling from the demon. "That creature is a spiritual image, sent out to dominate the Hollow. It was able to free and then conquer him."

"Some kind of mind-control?" Ichigo blinks. "Yeah, I think I've seen this before. Let's deal with that thing first, okay?"

"The creature itself is not truly here, only a fragment of its power." Zangetsu grips his shoulder as if trying to drill through cloth and skin. He's grateful for the support. "We must purge it from this place."

"Good." His heart beats in a churning tempo. " 'Cause, actually, I'd rather not hit anything just now."

"Center yourself. I will help, but you must find the source of that image. There will be a ribbon fuelling it."

"Sure. All right." He shifts into the kidou stance, feet apart, point of balance low.

"Good. Find it, and sever it." Zangetsu places a hand on the small of his back.

He breathes out.

Even through the gusts of spirit matter, he zeroes in on the ribbon. It is like a seam in the world about to rip: a living strand of blackness through the shapes of his inner realm. It twitches in his grip, burning with cold and serrated edges. He forces himself not to let go.

The creature lets out a macabre whinny, and he feels the tremors as it throws itself forward. It knows. It senses his intent. The pulse of alien hatred from it seems to stop his heart as it rends through him—but even as he staggers, Zangetsu pushes him upright.

Taking his right hand, Zangetsu presses something against his palm. "Finish it! Now!"

He brings around the blade in his grasp.

* * *

Someone is calling his name. Renji straightens his back like he had a small mountain on his shoulders.

"Rukia?" There are hands on his shoulders; that would be her.

"I'm here," she says quickly. "Are you all right? Is it done?"

"Think—think so." The whirlpool of spirit pressure around them is lessening. He still fears to release the Hollow. He might have forgotten how, as if his power had cramped onto that one impossible task.

He looks up towards Zabimaru. Let him go. Stay on guard.

Zangetsu is there again, Zabimaru says with uncommon gravity. He holds something up from the coils of his body. Ichigo looks miserably small, limp and senseless. Blood oozes along one hand, dripping from his fingers.

"He's hurt! How bad is it?"

"I... I don't know." Renji's throat tightens. He's too still. There is no trace of the mask on Ichigo's face. Getting onto his feet seems to take too much effort.

Easy. Give him to me. Zabimaru sets Ichigo in his arms. The youth moans, and Renji feels the cloth on his back soaked wet. His spirit pressure billows erratically, but with the softer, warmer edges of Ichigo himself.

He used to weigh more. Renji lets his bankai fade, wobbling at the abrupt absence of it. Damn kid.

"We must get him to the camp." Rukia is there, all business again, examining Ichigo's arm. "There's something wrong with his shoulder. I need light."

He wouldn't stop struggling, Zabimaru says.

Rukia can patch him right up. You rest now.

Once at the campsite. she summons a light to illuminate her inspection of Ichigo's wounds. Renji tries to keep his senses open. Now that the wild flux Ichigo's aura has abated, he tries to sift out the real threat. Whatever did this to Ichigo must be out there. He doesn't know how much of a threat they would be right now, but that's all the more reason to stay watchful.

"The shoulder joint is all but crushed," Rukia says. "This will be tricky."

"Zabimaru had to bite him. Any sign he's comin' to?"

"I hope he won't just yet. He must be in great pain." She's cut away the remains of Ichigo's coat; in the blue glow of her fireball, the wound looks ghastly, chips of fractured bone caught in blood-mottled muscle.

"How's it always him gettin' torn up?"

"You both seem to have a remarkable talent for trouble." Her hand flares with kidou.

"He's worse, believe me. Gets some goal in his head, nothin's gonna stop him." Renji glances away. As inured as he is to gruesome injuries, seeing the healing process up close unsettles him. Better let her work. He bends to rearrange the wood in the fire, coaxing the flames.

The area is too quiet.

* * *

Ichigo gasps.

Scarlet runs along his shoulder in a current of agony, stemmed by a deep, frost-laced purple. It takes him a while to slide back to normal vision; his eyelids part stickily.

"He's awake!" The blur above him resolves itself into Rukia's face. "Ichigo?"

"Yea—ah, shit. Yeah." His other arm seems to work. He tries to prop himself up on his right hand, only to have Rukia grip his sides.

"Do not move, you idiot!"

"Just... just lemme up." He has to rise; he has to see. "What happened?" He manages to wrench himself up. Hovering beside him, she only pulls back once he finds a stable sitting position.

"You are an unbelievable fool. That is what happened." Rukia buries her head in the hollow of his good shoulder. His attention contracts on the choked note in her voice; hesitantly, he touches her tousled hair. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I tried," he says helplessly. He did. He was about to speak to— "Renji. Where's—"

"He's keeping watch. He's all right." She winds her right arm around him, gathering him closer. The position looks awkward; he would not disturb her for the world. The heat of her healing kidou encases his shoulder again.

Lifting his head, he finds Renji standing a few paces away, watching them without a word. Ichigo meets his gaze over Rukia's bowed head. Too many things lurk in his dark, guarded eyes.

"Well?" He tries for a question. It becomes more a plea. Don't just stand there.

Renji stays still for a pregnant moment. Then he kneels down next to Ichigo and grips his arm, taking part of his weight from Rukia. "Good to see you again."

"Mm-hm." Ichigo's temple bumps into Renji's chin. Rukia's hand rests above his injured arm, not quite touching the torn flesh that knits under her kidou. He allows himself to lie back against Renji, to lean into him and only breathe.

Chapter Text

The campfire surges up into capering tongues of black and blue and red as a gust of air rattles through the still forest. Rukia jerks back, her healing kidou guttering out with the break in her focus. Ichigo bites back a grunt as the numbing, soothing flow of energy dissipates.

"What was that?" Renji releases his arm, shifting up onto his feet. Ichigo follows his movement with his gaze, but absently; something sour and sulphurous burns the back of his throat. The air around them seems to teem with dark flecks when he lets his eyes slide into spirit-sight, everything thrown into shivering motion.

Spirals of dead needles float across the undergrowth. Tendrils of bitter mist billow up to intermingle with them as something moves towards them between the trees with a savage, stately grace.

Ichigo scrambles up and hisses as his shoulder screams in objection.

"Don't aggravate that, you fool!" Rukia admonishes. "I told you!"

He barely hears her. "It's coming."

Rukia grabs Ichigo's good arm, peering around them. "What do you mean? What is?"

"There." He points up the slope that hems their campsite. Her fingers burrow into his jacket even as Renji steps in front of them both. "Rukia, give me Zangetsu." She presses the hilt into his hand. There's an inward tug as she handles his sword; he stifles the feeling.

The creature is shrouded in dark fog. The ground smothers the sound of its iron hooves.

"That thing was in my mind," Ichigo says. He can't hold this back now: their survival is at stake. "It... it pretty much pounded the Hollow to a bloody pulp."

"What?" Renji whips around. "You mean..."

"That is Ma Mian." Rukia speaks over him, her voice weak. She has resumed the healing, though her fingers quiver enveloped in the energy. "The Horse-Faced One. The gatekeeper."

"The what now?" Ichigo's mouth works well enough; it's his eyes that are glued to the beast.

"A local legend. Ma Mian is a lord of the demons. I thought it was only a story." She pauses. "He guards the bridge to Heaven."

"Sounds like they got that part wrong, then." He can feel the throb of the creature's presence like a tide coming in. It warps the wood, tangling branches and tainting the autumnal smells of soft decay.

"He's not comin' for us," Renji says. "Look."

The creature strides past them at the same, inexorable pace. Ichigo's muscles ache. The moment he slips, his control may be gone again, wrested away in the blink of an eye.

"Gatekeeper," he says. "Not to ignore the mortal peril we're in, but how'd that story go, Rukia? About this—horse-faced guy?"

"You—" Her expression melts from incredulity to forced calm. "Very well. Ma Mian is chained to the bridge of worlds. He makes sure only the worthy pass. He can't die, but he must be defeated."

"Ichigo," Renji cuts in. "Check this for me? I'm bettin' there's a barrier around the bridge. Some reason that thing can't get at us."

Laboriously he concentrates. His power is returning faster than Renji's, but the lurking presence of the Hollow is to thank for that. Their mutual survival is the only seal on the Hollow now.

The demon leaps into his spirit-sight, a darkness that creeps like countless humming insects, tiny, sharp wings and feet and other unnameable parts scratching their way into the pores of his skin. Through the blackness fiery eyes spin and sharpen to lock onto him. In spite of himself, he cowers, starting away from the view. With a shaky gesture, he indicates the demon. "No—no barrier. Nothing."

"Then it seems he can't move beyond a set distance from the bridge," Rukia says. "You said he somehow entered your mind."

"Yeah, some kinda spirit image."

"He's like the Espada, then," Renji says, and Ichigo coaxes his brain to make the connection through the susurrus of the demon's presence. Espada can command lower Hollows. Are these things so different? "Only he could take over your Hollow. Never seen that before, but..."

Fear clenches and solidifies into grim resolve inside him. "That means it's gonna want me. I gotta have dented its power when I forced it out."

The tremors in the ground fade as the beast continues its ancient guard round. The slick-serrated feel of it drags away from his senses like soaked cloth from skin. He takes a step back from Rukia. "I can lure it away. You make for the bridge."

"Have you lost your mind—"

"Hell no," Renji finishes Rukia's protest. They both glower at him, the air pregnant with their anxiety. Rukia's brows knit together and her mouth tightens; she's getting ready to scream at him until she has no breath left.

"Guys." Tender strength flows through muscle and ligament in his shoulder; Rukia's healing has run its course, and the tissue is whole, if delicate. "I can outrun it. You saved my skin. I gotta return the favour now. The Hollow's a pain in the ass, but it's actually helping now. My power's recovering faster."

Renji tests Zabimaru's weigh in his hand. "You gotta be sure. I can pull together a couple moments of bankai, but it's not gonna be pretty."

"Right." Ichigo meets his gaze, with as much reassurance and attitude as he can scrape together. Then mine is gonna have to do. He's always been more vulnerable to the Hollow's influence when in bankai, with so much of his reserves focused on outward threats. He'll have to trust their nebulous truce will hold.

Rukia raises her bag from beside the fire. "Take only your sword, so you aren't burdened. Renji and I'll take the rest."

"We don't need most of this stuff anymore." Renji joins her, doubt brushed under soldierly gravity.

"Leave the pots," Rukia says. "The extra blankets, too. Ichigo, put out the fire."

For a moment, he stands there heedless of her request. His teeth sink into his lip. It only took seconds to turn them both around to this mutual purpose. The unspoken faith would stagger him if his mind wasn't too full for any new emotion.

When Rukia comes to him, tying the bag strap across her front with a knot that will slide free at a tug, Ichigo looks ahead again. A more thorough inspection shows a long track in the ground, like a charred, grisly deer-path. Neverending hoof-falls have burned a trail through the forest floor.

"There's your red line." He points.

"Don't stay to show off," Renji mutters darkly from his right. "We don't have half a clue what that thing really can do. Get to the bridge, join up, cross on the fly if we gotta."

"All of us," Rukia adds. She slips between them and clasps both of their hands in hers. Ichigo grasps her slim, strong fingers through the glove.

"All of us," he says under his breath.

* * *

There's no disturbance, no border mark as Ichigo's boot strikes the scorched line in the ground. He keeps Rukia and Renji—pallid and ragged, clinging together—fixed in his sight, never loosening the thread of awareness that cues him to their position. The way can't be long, but Ichigo will maintain his weaving run until both of them touch down on the bridge.

He sends up another erratic burst of reiatsu, letting his power leap into a coruscant peak. They are now inside the demon's circle of influence, even if it was able to exceed the burnt boundary to reach into his soul.

The Hollow is silent. He doesn't know whether to be calmed or unsettled by its seeming absence. He does his best to trace a stumbling path, as if limping with injury and exhaustion, careful not to cross his friends' beeline. A soundless forest is a sign of danger, he remembers, but this wood on the brink of nowhere is dead, carved empty and left to rot until time exacts its slow due.

His breath catches in his throat.

* * *

Rukia locks her right hand with his left. Renji keeps the hold as they dash forward. Their shunpo as swift as possible without sacrificing awareness, he leaves her to track Ichigo's movements and picks out their path. She scampers beside him, scanning the trees.

This is mad, grumbles every part of him save for the one that sees, with unforgiving lucidity, the reason for the separation. Since Phoenix Gate, he's felt split two ways: he must stand on his own, and yet he needs Rukia and Ichigo within sight. When they're near, even marred with weariness, he feels more himself, less the man stabbed blind and mired in the dark.

Damn if he doesn't want to abandon caution, grab Ichigo, and face whatever is coming together.

"Renji?" Rukia tugs at him. "My sword hand. If we must fight, you'd better not squeeze it numb."

"Ah." He extracts his fingers from hers. "Sorry."

"It's fine." Trailing her hand along his wrist and the wide cuff of his sleeve, she grips the fabric of his coat instead. He doesn't afford her a glance, only tries to swallow the dread bloating inside him.

Withered brambles swish against their legs. Some way ahead, the ground slants into a gorge, the near-sheer descent a deadfall of rock and underbrush. Water has once run along the bottom, but now, scree and dirt greet his eye. He halts at the rim of the ravine.

"See a way down? It looks too far to jump—"

Before she can reply, scalding wind and smoke explode from their right. Moss and twigs and detritus are flung into a spiral of harsh air; a pine branch crashes down into Rukia's upper body. With a yell, she swipes the stinging needles away. Renji hauls her in against him and half darts, half dives sideways as the whole tree buckles and crashes down the slope in a thunder of tearing bark and wood.

"Renji—" Her voice is shrill with shock.

He raises his head, still pressing Rukia close with both arms. She pushes at his elbow, but he hardly notices, as he sees what she already saw.

For a petrified heartbeat, it looks like a cluster of branches, bleached wood left standing. Then it dawns on him: something rises from the ground, massive bones that slide and jag into alignment, dark, desiccated flesh winding around them to build a shape the mind can name.

With a wrench that sprays roots and dirt high, Ma Mian heaves his elongated head from the earth and unleashes an ear-bleeding whinny at them. His engraved armour shears up and fastens itself into place, the last piece on a grotesque puzzle. Hands flying to cover his ears, Renji sways as heat shimmers before his eyes, flickering orange-blue. There's an impact to his lungs, the air sucked out towards some nexus...

"Dance, Sode no Shirayuki!" His pain-addled mind seizes upon Rukia's voice. Where is she? What's she doing?

"Renji, get down! First dance, Tsukishirou!"

Her shouted word is a command he's heeded unthinking almost as long as he can recall. He throws himself flat. Fire surges forward in a roaring column. Rukia flings the icicle roughly into its path, and they collide into a glistening mist of frost and steam.

Groping over his shoulder, his ears ringing, Renji draws his sword and his feet under him.

* * *

It's like watching a whirlwind form. One moment, currents of spirit matter waver, in the next, they wrap together into a filmy black funnel. The presence is a blunt, oiled knife, hacking and sawing and slicing horror through him.

The demon never wanted him.

Then what did it want? "He makes sure only the worthy pass."

He has no time, no time at all, for stories or riddles or any other fucking nonsense.

With a snarl of fury and frustration, Ichigo sprints towards the reiatsu, the blue-laced spike of Rukia's, the auburn glow of Renji's, the overwhelming well of the demon's, fanning out too far on his right.

* * *

From the corner of her eye, Rukia spies Renji rolling up from his dive. He sends Zabimaru soaring through the remains of her shielding icicle, scattered into a water-haze by the force of Ma Mian's fireburst. The pronged blade hooks onto the demon's plate, and Renji yanks it back with a scream of metal. The demon veers towards him, leaving her to angle herself to the creature's right to flank him. She tries to suppress everything but one thought: He's an opponent. He must and can be defeated.

Wraithly flames spring up around her, and she tugs her power into a protective layer. Like the smoke, it seems the fire is more a manifestation of Ma Mian's aura than a real threat. She hears Renji give a smothered yelp. Zabimaru sails wide from a sweep of the demon's foreleg. The strike is a mere silken blur ending in a ring of steel; the demon moves in jabs from one posture to another, like a great, mechanical toy. As the blade rebounds with a flick of Renji's arm, she begins a kidou chant. She may have time before the demon's attention shifts.

Another barrage of tawny flame spoils Renji's offensive, but it buys her the moment to complete the spell.

"Way of binding, sixty-two, Hyappo Rankan!" Lances of concentrated reiatsu fly forward at her gesture. Ma Mian swirls around, the eye-sockets of his skull light with effulgent scarlet, and the shafts scatter like pins tossed at a pane of glass.

Then the backlash of the deflected kidou knocks her off her feet. She smothers her cry, but her ankle twists under her weight. Scurrying up onto her rump, she finds her foot bent into a soft patch between tree roots, throbbing at every nudge to get it free.

The bulk of the demon looms towards her. This is his place, flutters through her mind. We're trespassing.

* * *

As Rukia's kidou breaks, Renji snaps his sword together and leaps at the beast's exposed flank. The clean strike reverberates up his arm, leaving behind mere dents in the plate where Zabimaru's pikes sank in.

It's not working! Zabimaru's snake head drawls, scales rustling in his mind. Let me out. I can take him!

Not yet! He'll have to go into bankai any second, though. He might as well be chipping at a tree with a chopstick: the armour absorbs what force he can put in his blows. "I'm here, you bastard!" he barks. "C'mon!"

As if to prove the emptiness of his taunt, the demon crouches for a jump, even as a circle of fire spirals up around him again. Rukia is somewhere right in its path, the smoke clouding her from Renji's sight.

He'll pick you off one by one! the serpent snarls, full of contempt. Since when have you held back?

"Shut the hell up," Renji grits out acidly, and moves, sword rising to gain momentum for the blow. A flash-step casts him up, fire whispers on his face as he passes the wreath of flame around the demon, then he brings Zabimaru down in a fierce cleave towards the skull.

The creature snaps up a limb, the decayed muscle belying the terrible strength in it. His sword swipes off a disc of bone, smashing the corner of one glowing eye-socket, but then a grip closes around him. Hard talons dig into his body and a rib cracks, then another, a third—before he's thrown to the ground with shattering force.

Breathless, eyes blurred, he still reaches for the blown flare of Rukia's aura, somewhere behind him, tattering out of his sight... His body responds, far too slow. The funnel of flame towers before him. There is no binding or barrier that he could summon fast enough.

He plants his feet and heaves himself up though the movement drags bolts of pain through his battered torso. If this is it, he'll at least meet his fate head on—

Red smears his vision; the incandesdent hue of Ichigo's reiatsu, bearing out of shunpo and at the beast's back.

Then the blast of fire from the demon roars straight at him.

* * *

The shockwave rumbles down the ravine in booming echoes. Twigs and small branches hail from the treetops as Rukia shoos the afterimages of the fireball from her vision. Her ice pillar subsumed the first fireburst; she wouldn't have had a hope of deflecting this one.

She can sense both of them, Renji dull and shivery with pain, Ichigo sharp with intent—he is fighting. Her foot feels loose, and every step hurts, but nothing is broken. With limping flash-steps she dashes towards Renji. The battle is close, though dense whorls of smoke obscure the combatants from her. The resolute core of Ichigo's presence intimates he's faring better out of the two.

"Rukia!" She comes to a halt to find Renji staggering up and scraping dirt and cinder off himself. His clothes are sooty, his exposed skin reddish and raw in places. "You—you okay?"

"Better than you. Renji, I..." The sight of him makes her blink back abrupt tears.

He coughs, presses a hand to his ribcage. "I couldn't hit the damn thing once. He's not even playin', he's just..."

"Wearing us down," she murmurs. "Ichigo's there. What if—" Her foot aches and she knows herself horribly small and tired, carried on a wave of resolve that is finally dispersing.

"No." He touches a knuckle to her cheek, still on his knees. "Rukia, no. No matter what. He won't again. I swear."

He understands as if he could read her heart better than she herself; she doesn't fear death, not her own. It has been her constant companion ever since she became Duan Zhi. What leaves her sick and trembling is seeing Ichigo swallowed by the Hollow—the Hollow she couldn't even remember—or watching Renji bleed dry in her arms, gutted and broken but refusing to let go.

The pain is what she can't bear. The pain of others for her, the depths in it that call to her even when she cannot see what lies there.

Almost ashamed to do so, she doesn't resist the wracking, dry sob, only muffles it against Renji's shoulder.

* * *

His bankai is pouring out through his fingers. Circling the demon is enough to keep it in place, but even Zangetsu's razor blade cannot penetrate the knotted flesh of its body. Sheer rage is all that straps him together.

Sheer rage may be all that keeps it from taking over his mind again.

Ichigo kicks off into a vault; the creature spins with his movement, one eye shining flame at him. Something jolts home even as it swats at him. Slapping a hand on the sweeping limb, he rolls over that fixed point and comes down in a forward flip.

The demon's mask-head is fractured. In a flash of spirit-sight, he can see long streamers of its aura leaking from the cloven eye socket and diffusing into the air. The head. The mask.

One of the hoofed hind legs hammers out at him and he sidesteps, snapping Zangetsu into a desperate block before his head is bowled clean off his shoulders. The blade trembles, but holds. Then his reiatsu crawls and shudders, and his bankai dissipates in his grip. The sealed blade of his sword won't withstand a second attack, so his next action had better be the right one.

Diving to the left, he raises his voice. "Rukia! Renji! The mask!"

Now, if it has to, it can come and take him.

* * *

"Ichigo," Renji gasps into her hair. She swallows to contain any further sounds of weakness, pushing back, needing to stand without help.

"Sorry. I... I didn't..."

"Did you hear him?" He bypasses her apology. Of course he would. Ichigo is fighting, and she has time to bemoan her own shortcomings. She shakes her head violently, then nods in answer.

" 'The mask'," she says as Renji fumbles Zabimaru back into his hand. "What—"

"The skull." His eyes glint with something she almost dares to call hope. "Rukia, the skull! It's a Hollow! I... I struck it in the head, kinda glanced off. Oh, hell, why didn't I think?"

"We pierce the mask and..." This she remembers. She was once schooled in these matters. "He is cleansed. Or defeated."

"Biggest problem is getting that high up." He twists up, and only the movement betrays that his side is soaked in blood.

"Your ribs," she says, automatically.

"I can fight. You're limpin', so don't say a thing. We gotta finish before Ichigo goes down."

Before, he says, not if, but she must agree. They are so tired, tired beyond anything anyone should be asked to endure. They came for her, and now the journey may doom them all.

Strength, Rukia, whispers Shirayuki. We have the skills even for times such as this one. You know. Remember.

She watches Renji unfasten his bag and drop it into the underbrush. His eyes are shut, creases of hurt and focus, as he hefts Zabimaru. The ground quivers as Ma Mian's hoof falls; she tenses for any sound from Ichigo, even as the demon's movements mask his lighter ones.

The silk of the hilt-thread is damp with the sweat of her palm. She's lost a glove at some point of the battle.

I remember.

In her hand, Shirayuki's blade shatters with a jangle of steel. Renji's eyes fly open. "Rukia, what—"

"Get me close enough." She sets her jaw and points across the smoke at the demon. "I can get him."

"With a broken sw—"

"Ichigo has no time. You said you'd manage a few moments of full release. Get me up there and distract him."

Renji's throat works. "Now you're thinkin' again." Hands wrapped on his sword's hilt, the double-edged blade pointed downwards, he goes on, calm and resonant, "Bankai, Hihiou Zabimaru."

The fanged baboon head lofts from the surge of thick reiatsu, the wide, pronged coils settling around them. Zabimaru's movement seems more ponderous than last time, but he lowers his head at Renji's gesture and hovers still and expectant. Past a ridge of vertebrae, Ma Mian is barely visible through the debris in the air.

"Go," Renji says tightly. "I got an idea. Hold on tight. Finish the job. Ichigo..."

She sets a foot in Zabimaru's jaw to pull herself up onto his bony neck, halting as he does.

"I know." Even Shirayuki's cool reason can't make her look away from him. Renji reaches to turn her face down to his. Her eyes flick shut and she grasps a fistful of his scarf as his mouth presses on hers. A tilt of her head deepens the kiss; she allows herself to feel only the impossible warmth of it, to soak in what he's trying to tell her.

"Don't die," he mutters against her cheek, and steps back to let Zabimaru slide up in a whipcord snap of motion.

Rukia fixes her gaze ahead, her left arm hooked through one of the carved slits behind Zabimaru's eye, good foot tucked into his jaw. Momentarily, she is afforded a bird's eye view of the scorched batch of forest around the battle.

The demon prowls the edge of the gorge. Only Ichigo's reiatsu tells her he is still there, but thin, fading, not the wild and reckless depth she wants to sense more than she could say. Zabimaru sidles through the treetops even as she feels him rearing, tension building along his body. In sympathy and dread, she stiffens as well. She has a shattered blade and a viable plan.

If the strike is all one needs, one sacrifices the sword for the strike.

Fire simmers in Zabimaru's throat, the charge of energy making her clutch at her perch. The burning eye of the demon tilts skyward below them. She forces herself to forget the pain, forget Ichigo, forget Renji. Bellowing, Zabimaru gapes his jaws and a torrent of unbearable heat pours down, flame for flame, silhouetting the guardian before the blast drowns him in brightness.

Now! Shirayuki barks, one word.

Rukia vaults free of Zabimaru's brow and falls towards her target, trailing the fire, sword poised in both hands to stab down a blade that isn't there.

"Third dance," Rukia prays as much as commands. "Shirafune!"

The gleaming lance of ice shears between the eyes, one empty, one smouldering, and into the skull. The demon screams; she feels blood ooze from her ear at the din, but Ma Mian is toppling. The next spasm through his body sends her flying from her footing on the sloping skull. Brush crunches as she thumps to the ground.

A crack runs down the demon's face, the surface of the mask broken.

She can't get up in time.

Feet careen across the forest floor, and Ichigo, swordless, stumbling, lunges at her, rolling and grabbing her without breaking the motion. His back hits the ground and their limbs fall askew, but she is cradled in the curve of his body.

There is a faint sound like sand falling. They both raise their heads, breath coming in gasps.

"Damn," Ichigo says. "I forgot. They... they break. When they're purified."

She stares at him. Her fingers come loose from Shirayuki's hilt, laying the blade to rest beside them. "What?"

"Hollows." He appears stuck on this mystifying detail. "Hollows break when... their masks are cut. Rukia, you told me that—Oh, sorry. You can't remember."

The soft hissing hasn't stopped.

The demon crumbles above them, the pieces of its mail clattering to the ground. Chips of bone patter down as the last of the mask splinters. Ichigo levers himself into a sitting position, but his arm stays hooked around her.

Rukia pushes her head under his chin and lets out a watery, helpless laugh. "You remembered. That's good enough."

"But I—" The dry quality in his voice sounds more like Ichigo. "That was the most anti-climactic rescue dive ever. Mine, not yours."

That makes her laugh harder, chuckles that aren't far from sobs, a much-needed outlet for her stress and fright. "Well, thank you anyway. Are—are you all right?"

"It didn't get to me." He seems to comprehend her first concern isn't for his physical well-being. "You got to it first."

"Good. That's..." The only acceptable outcome. "Good."

If Ichigo was about to answer, he's cut short by Renji's shout. "Hey, you two!"

From between the trees, Renji hurries towards them, a hobble in his step, his face alive with elation. She manages a weary, sincere smile to answer his grin. Somehow, we're all right. She can let herself have this moment of unmixed relief.

* * *

They backtrack to the campsite. Gear abandoned during the battle is written off as lost; they comb the underbrush for half an hour before Zangetsu is found. Rukia allows Ichigo to carry her on his back, most of her strength spent on mending Renji's ribs. Shirayuki hangs silent on her shoulder as they resume the last distance of their journey.

Renji walks a few paces in front, sword loose in the sheath. It's as if the whole wood had withdrawn with the defeat of the gatekeeper, standing guard to their passage. She lays her head on Ichigo's shoulder and wishes she could fall asleep. If her eyes droop, the images in her mind chase her awake, too vivid to push away.

The trees give way to a fallow meadow around the bridge. Nothing moves, nothing breathes, as if the ancient pathway were holy ground. The dimensions of the structure seem to defy the mind: the unsupported arch should buckle under its own weight, but the interlocking stones seam it together. There is a small stone hut at the base of the bridge that perhaps once served as a gatehouse. Even though the interior is bare, it offers a roof overhead.

They don't even talk of crossing the bridge today. They set a fire in the old stone hearth, and Rukia makes herself cook a pot of rice, mixed with her last handfuls of water chestnuts. Any sustenance will help them now, albeit it is poorer than she'd like. Ichigo unrolls their blankets into a heap, and they all strip off their outer layers, shaking and brushing the loose dirt from coats and boots.

At last, once they have gleaned out the pot to the last grain, Rukia sits down, and looks at both men in turn.

"I... need to ask you something." They're huddled around the hearth, Renji resting on his back to spare his bandaged ribcage. No matter how tired she is, she can't escape the debilitating terror that froze her when she saw the Hollow—not Ichigo, not Ichigo—coming at her.

It centers on that moment. Not even all that happened afterwards can seem to distract her. Whenever she lets her gaze drift, her mind's eye returns to the mangled, hateful creature bearing down on her through the forest.

"Yeah?" Ichigo sits crosslegged, hands leaned on the floor behind him.

"Shoot," Renji says from the side, after a small pause. "Can't be worse than what's already gone down today,"

When she voices her anxiety, colour leaches from his face. Ichigo hunkers down into himself, head lowered.

"Rukia..." Renji braces his back against the wall. "About that... now's really not the best time."

"Tell me." She manages a scowl. "If I know, I'll have more of a way to handle these... flashes. I'd rather know than let any indecision of mine endanger you again."

"You gotta understand, neither of us was there," Renji says. "It... wasn't him." He gestures at Ichigo, and she knows her face betrays surprise. "It happened a long time ago. This is just what you told me."

"All right, I understand."

Renji takes a moment. His words cohere into a narrative, and pieces of her memory lodge together, building up a sense of a night she might never have wanted to recall.

"This was after Inuzuri, after the Academy. When you went to the Thirteenth, the vice-captain sorta took you under his wing..."

The sound of a man's raucous laughter resounds through fragrant summer air. He knocks back the practice sword in her hand, and sends her to the ground on her backside.

"Up you come, Kuchiki, and try again! Watch your left!" In the next breath, he is already pulling her to her feet. The strong hand releases her wrist almost before the casual touch can rattle her.

"Then, his wife was killed." Renji's voice falls a notch. "So you went lookin' for the Hollow; you, Captain Ukitake an' Vice-Captain Shiba."

Her squad was explicitly told to avoid the forest, but she is in the company of two senior officers now. The dread clawing at her belly is unseemly. The underwood plummets down into a gorge, edged by the twisted roots of gaunt trees.

"It was one of Aizen's crossbreeds. The vice-captain lost his sword, and..." Across from Renji, Ichigo stares into the fire. Rukia hugs herself, her shoulders drawn in so tight it's starting to hurt.

The thing that was her vice-captain leaps at her with macabre alacrity. She cannot even scream in the instant that she thinks he will kill her; she will allow it, because she cannot move. She cannot raise her sword to defend herself.

In a whirl of white, her captain cuts between them, but all she can see are the pitch-dark eyes that show no trace of the man in her heart.

"The change couldn't be reversed." Renji's voice dies. Her knuckles quiver with the clench of her fists around her arms. She tries to let the memories wash over her to the conclusion she already knows.

"I killed him." She can say that and not cry.

"Rukia..." Ichigo shuffles awkwardly up to her. "If it makes you feel better, hit me as much as you want, but... It was the right thing to do. The only thing."

"As if I would, you buffoon. Undo all my hard work," she stammers. She has patched all of them up enough for one lifetime, she thinks.

Renji says nothing, but comes to sit on her other side, setting a hand against the small of her back. She lets him.

"You asked me then," she says, "if I'd be able to kill him."

His hand suddenly gouges into the cloth of her coat. "Yeah."

"Wait," Ichigo cuts in. "You mean me?"

"Yes," she says, feeling surreal to be even discussing this. The memories are so brittle in her grasp, painted on paper that might crumble at the slightest fidget.

"Oh. Oh, fuck."

"I..." Rukia lifts her head. "I thought, if there were no other choice. If it were an act of mercy, I could do it."

"Was it that bad again?" Ichigo sounds no steadier than her. With a jolt, she realises she isn't the only one swamped in painful memory.

"Never saw you the first time, so I can't really say," Renji answers. "It got ugly, for a while there."

"Bad enough you'd ask her to finish me off?" Ichigo's tone is startling in its rawness. "Are you out of your goddamn mind, Abarai? Rukia?"

"Look, you fuckin' scared me! That's not exactly everyday! I wasn't..."

There are too many conflicts, too much tension and hurt in the air. Throwing her hands up, Rukia raises her voice. "Stop it! Stop it, both of you!"

As if drawn by a string, they turn back to her. She gestures as if patting something down. "We're all on edge. That's understandable. We can't sort through everything now."

"But—" Ichigo's jaw is set.

"Leave it be!" She glares up at him. "You two can whack each other black and blue once we reach Soul Society, I don't care, but..."

"I'd have done it myself," Renji says, near subliminally. "Just wasn't sure you weren't gonna kill me before I had the chance."

"Fuck." Ichigo covers his face. "Okay. Can we maybe ease up on the confessions now?"

"That's what I was trying to say! This isn't the time. We need to focus. I..." Rukia meets Renji's eye, and the depth of dammed feeling on his face brings her to a halt. He was afraid, yet he let her go. The thought comforts her somewhat.

"I'm sorry," she finishes. "I know, I started this. I didn't think it would dredge up so many... other issues."

" 'S okay." Ichigo seems pale and drawn. "Talk about all this stuff later, how's that?"

"Might be a good idea." Renji nudges the top of her head. "And about your vice-captain... That was an act of mercy, Rukia. Don't ever forget that."

"All right." She nods minutely. "I won't."

"Promise?" He draws a slow stroke down her matted braid, lingers on the nape of her neck.

"Yes. I promise." She must, but she leaves that unsaid, instead leaning into the touch of his palm. She'd thought she'd feel worse. This is a pain that has once begun to heal. Perhaps in her heart she knows that better than she is able to tell herself.

* * *

They curl together into a heap: Rukia lies in the middle, smallest and most prone to loss of body heat. Even Ichigo presses close under the quilts, angled clumsily against her, hands tucked under his head. Renji's arm rests heavy over both their sides.

For far too long, she listens to Ichigo sleep. Counting his breaths seems to be what keeps Renji from deeper slumber, too; he drifts in and out of a light doze. Clasping Renji's free hand, she leans back into him, borrowing strength, lending faith. Home seems within reach, but she can't even guess at what kind of a homecoming it might be.

Chapter Text

Renji comes awake to awareness of a blunt ache in his ribs. Rukia has rolled over in her sleep, nestled against Ichigo, with her face half buried in his shoulder. He crawls out from under the blankets, doing his best not to disturb the two. Rain patters on the roof, but the shutters let in strokes of tawny light.

It's raining, at dawn, at the brink of the world. The sun, flat and copper-tinted, breaks through the clouds. He steps out of the gatehouse into a moment of glass-bright colours, misted by the rain.

He walks up between the columns that line the bridge, trying to limber his protesting muscles. Even this up close, he can't see where the bridge ends; it melds into the sky where shapes cease to matter in the places between worlds. Rusted hooks for lanterns cling to the wide, etched railing here and there. The structure hums with enchantment so faint he strains to sense it, sunk deep into the stone. Here, the rain thins to mere moisture skimming his cheeks.

"Hey," says a voice from behind. Knuckling his eyes, Ichigo stops beside him. "Something interesting out here?"

"Looked like you two could've used some more shut-eye. Didn't wanna bother you."

"I was awake." Ichigo leans on the railing, squinting as the sun hits his face. "She's pretty beat, though. Healing seems to take a lot outta you, and she's done more'n her fair share lately."

"Yeah. We just suck at stayin' in one piece."

That elicits a husky laugh from Ichigo. "Shut up. We made it, didn't we?"

He only nods, but feels a grin touch the weary curve of his mouth. He was about to venture higher to see where the brigde cuts into the border: now, it's as well to stand here and watch the morning for a little more.

"Listen," Ichigo says, as if bracing to spit out something stupid or difficult.

"Okay."

"And shut up while you're at it." Ichigo crosses his arms over his chest. "Uh, when we get home... things are gonna go back to normal, right? As normal as they can, I mean."

"Mm-hm."

"I don't wanna think about it, but... I got a fuckload of catching up to do if I'm gonna pass high school this year."

"Didn't you have the books with ya? Some of 'em?" On a general level, Renji sympathises. Ichigo's worried about his education before, sometimes at the strangest moments during the war when most of them stopped at hoping to see tomorrow morning. Still, Ichigo has a life to return to, and it isn't in Soul Society. Suppressing the thought, he looks away.

"Yeah. Who's got time for trigonometry and the Meiji Restoration when someone's in mortal danger every five minutes?"

"Don't look at me."

"Your ass was gonna be toast, Abarai."

Renji twitches without quite knowing why. "Consider it a personal favour I'm not gonna answer that, Kurosaki."

Ichigo sighs, long and light. "Duly noted. It was one hell of a trip, anyway."

"Let's not do this again." He rests his elbows on top of the railing, throwing the youth a look. "Could do with less of the deadly peril part next time, eh?"

"Well," Ichigo lets the word drag. "It wasn't all bad. There was the bit with the haiku in the village, what was it, Persimmon Flower? That was damn near inspired. That's not a compliment, you jerkface!" He stabs an accusing finger at him when a grin tugs Renji's lip. "You got us into that mess."

Renji guffaws. "We had to get the translator workin' somehow, right? But the boat, that was all your fault."

"As if," Ichigo grumbles almost fondly. "I don't even wanna know what you were doin' out back before they turned up to throw us into it."

"I got us outta the ravine!" Renji shoves him in the shoulder, a rough, familiar gesture.

"Fine, fine." Even as his countenance sobers, Ichigo seems to get distracted by something on the horizon. "I just wanted to say. We get home, I go back... Take care of her. She's still got some remembering to do."

"Dumbass. You think I'd do anythin' else..."

"I'm not finished. I, ah, you..." Renji blinks at the expression on Ichigo's face, only half visible past his hand tugging at his hair. The fierce focus in his drawn eyebrows is offset by the uncertain curve of his mouth. "You know, I might even..."

"What?" That one word may be a mistake. He can't seem to stand the silence as Ichigo gropes for words.

The moment shatters at an alarmed, muted shout from the gatehouse. Ichigo balks upright, his gaze flying first to Renji, then down the arch of the bridge. "Rukia?"

"Fuckin' hell, what—" Renji's longer legs carry him into a momentary lead, but Ichigo catches up in a few strides. They round the lowest column in lockstep, and Renji frees his sword with a savage pull.

They are ten or twelve steps from the hut. Two people, a man holding a sword, a woman with a pair of long knifes, both in travel-stained, loose clothes, stand in between. As they both jar into a halt, Renji realises Ichigo is unarmed.

The door hangs open. A sudden smash echoes from inside.

"I'll take 'em, go!" Ichigo pushes him, and Renji feels his reiatsu thicken in a rush of alacrity and awareness.

He obeys without second thought. The bridge is an anchor for the stuff of reality around them; there's next to no risk of striking an unstable patch. Shunpo throws him across the meagre distance.

The doorway leaps at him even as someone swings at him from the side. He spins and catches the swordsman's downward blow, wrenching their crossed blades to the right and lashing a kick to his knee. He has to keep his opponent moving: any opportunity to speak a spell may mean a too-quick end to this bout. Renji hears Rukia's voice stammering into a kidou chant. Hope flickers in him before her incantation is broken by a crash of wood.

He needs the man off his back. Damn Ichigo; he can put up a fight with his bare hands, but holding two skilled fighters without a weapon was too much. The man is swift and decisive: ducking Renji's kick, he flings his sword into a riposte.

There is the soft whisk of an arrow from above. Instinctively Renji snaps his head skyward, knocking the man fiercely into the doorframe as the shaft embeds itself into the ground. A funnel of humming black dots unfold into a cloud from the quivering feathers. He senses the swordsman lurching away from him.

For an instant, they look like tiny insects. They are motes of fine dust, permeating the air with a musky smell he probably shouldn't breathe in...

With a spasming noise, Ichigo crumples onto his side. He convulses once, then his head drops limp. The woman with the knives stands back as the motes swarm and disperse gently.

Renji clamps a hand on his mouth as nausea wells up, spreading tar through his limbs. His knees fold and he tries to clutch at his sword, but it tumbles from his nerveless fingers. The substance took a moment longer to affect him; Ichigo is smaller and leaner.

Swaying, he sees Rukia: another man emerges from the hut jerking her along. Her mouth is stuffed with what looks like a scarf, her arms bent back by his grip on her wrists. Her eyes widen as the man hauls her past him, shining with fear and rage.

So close, is all he can think. We were so close. What'd the bastards do, lie in wait here? His body is dull and faraway, out of joint with his all too alive mind. The paralysis seems thickest in his legs; his breath scrapes in and out, his mouth almost moulding words.

Who are they? They're good. Tian bin?

That seems the logical conclusion. The only one who could have led them here...

Soft boots stalk towards him. A gloved hand reaches to pluck the arrow from the ground, stroking the feathers to smooth away some minute imperfection.

"You stopped to play house in enemy territory, Abarai-san?" Wei lowers himself onto his haunches, his eyes on level with Renji's. "I take it you weren't the mastermind behind the break-in to the garrison."

Oh, gods.

The dark gold of the sun frames every detail. The world lies in light, yet his eyes squeeze shut to either hide or remember. His hands splay on the ground, cold dirt, withered grass, the chafed stone of the cell floor...

No. Don't break. Not now.

One by one, he took the images and shuttered them away. He tried to forget how Rukia's gentle touch seared memory into his skin, or how he'd sit staring into the fire with two parched eyes because if he blinked, one might be only a socket brimming with blood.

He never wanted to see Ichigo looking at his scarred wrists with such pity on his face.

"You did a rather poor of job covering your tracks." Wei sets a hand under his jaw. He shudders at the fingers on his throat, gripping the formless yell that rises and tamping it down.

Take your hands off me, you fucker.

"You should've killed your little helper." The pad of a finger brushes his pulse point. "That might've delayed us." The girl fell into Wei's hands. He feels numb to the realisation, as if it's either too painful or frivolous to consider.

Renji squares his jaw, feebly. It seems fitting that Wei the Tiger, who takes a great cat as his namesake, enjoys a lingering kill. His touch seems to part Renji's flesh and burrow into the places where he himself can't bear to look.

"I'm afraid I'll have to drag you back all that way." Wei turns his head up to meet his eye. He flinches, facial muscles jerking. He'd speak if the words would come right, but he won't humiliate himself by stammering.

Don't touch me, you can't hold me, leave my friends and go—

Panic, blind and awful, soaks in past every attempt to keep his head. Here he is again on his knees before this man, who so effortlessly made him afraid like he's never been. Fear is an old friend, as is the unforgiving weight of one's own mortality in battle; this is a darker, uglier kind that pries apart his resolve piece by piece.

"Bring the woman." Wei switches to the local language. Renji is mortifyingly grateful when he withdraws his hand. "The boy is unnecessary."

"No," he gasps, forcing his fingers to find purchase in the earth, dragging his gaze where Ichigo slumped down. "No."

Rukia moans, keening, scuffling against her captor, beyond the edge of his sight. The man Renji fought in the doorway steps forward. He sheathes his sword and bares a knife instead. Leaning over Ichigo, he tugs his head back by a fistful of hair.

* * *

Ichigo whips around, away from the woman's darting knives, and draws in a lungful of honey and rot and darkness. Something heavy and sticky encases his body; she dances back even as his eyes mist over. He itches from the inside as if something were teeming along blood vessels and nerve clusters and the marrow of his bones. Far away, someone is speaking, moving.

He doesn't feel himself hit the grass.

The spell or poison infuses him and leaves his mind stranded in the lax bounds of his body. They're in trouble, he heard a noise like an arrow flying, Rukia's inside the hut, Renji was supposed to get her... His limbs don't seem to grasp movement, strength, co-ordination. Mangled words are carried to him, in a pleasant voice that seems to speak accented Japanese.

Something is wrong. He needs to get up. He knows one way to borrow power, with Zangetsu out of his reach.

He plummets inward, passing the sky and streets of his inner world, letting them swoosh past, until all is wet grime, coiled in the furthest reach of his soul. Are you here? Answer me!

The Hollow takes a long, languorous breath, as if waking up. Your... partner's sword-spirit's in trouble, he whispers. Did you notice?

The hell? Shirayuki? Zabimaru? Ichigo pauses at a stab of uncomprehending panic at this incongruity, then forges on. Look, you can mess with me later. I need your help. Try to fuck with me and we'll both die here.

Do decide which you want me to do. It'd be my pleasure, O king.

You have time to joke around, you have time to get this—this thing off us! I need to know what's going on!

What's in it for me? The Hollow is still only a voice now, but he can hear him grinning, too wide across his face, like a gleefully sadistic wrench.

Your continued existence! I can't do this! Move, damn it!

That's it, partner, the Hollow almost purrs. See? Say what you mean and things are so much simpler. Fingers clench around his wrist, and he is pulled up as if through sand or deep water. Let's do this. You want to do this, don't you?

He can't think on everything this means now.

Yeah.

The bony hand chills his own as it draws it up and into a smooth pull from left to right. Near-liquid ice seems to rush through his head, and the darkness shrivels into glowing clarity.

* * *

Rukia fights down the urge to retch against the scarf wadded in her mouth. Her hands are pinned in her captor's much larger ones.

Hu Wei found them. She isn't certain how. She is certain that unless they manage to tip the balance of this encounter, all their lives are forfeit. She forces herself to concentrate on the scene before her, Ichigo gasping and immobile on the ground, Renji on his knees as Wei studies him as if he were some exotic, dangeous animal he has trapped.

Inured to necessity, used to hardship, she finds herself revolting at the casual malice in the man. He's highly resourceful, but appears to allow a personal dimension to influence how he deals with Renji. Partly he is toying, partly there must be a... more complex interest. She has to think in cold, tactical terms, to ignore the horrible pressure on her wrist. The other two—a broad, scarred man, a graceful, stern woman—have their eyes on their leader.

The knot on the gag is at the back of her head, but it was tied in a hurry. With tongue and teeth, Rukia pushes out a little more of the sour-tasting cloth.

Wei stands back from Renji, who seems to resist the paralysis better than Ichigo, fallen to his knees, but still upright. Then Wei speaks, an implied command. "The boy is unnecessary."

She hears herself scream against the fabric, wrenching in a futile attempt to free herself.

Ichigo, get up! Get up! Not like this, no—

* * *

Renji tries to push his power under the layer of paralysis, scratching and gouging without any plan. He must move, he can't move, and—

Ichigo bursts up with a rasping scream that should be beyond a human throat. The man with the knife totters backwards as the jaws of Ichigo's mask, warped enough to cover half his face, snap shut. Then he is on the man before Renji can blink. His foot slams into his stomach with merciless precision, dropping him face down. He pivots towards Renji and grabs his arm with enough force to deaden the blood flow.

"Wha—" Renji can only stare into the darkness of his eyes. Hands on his shoulders, Ichigo returns his gaze; he struggles past the clashing horror and intimacy of the gesture.

Then the sable-smooth power of the Hollow licks over his own: it's like someone sliding a knife between fruit and peel and yanking off the skin in a single movement. The paralysis falls away in one graceful slide. Renji staggers with the raw lightness of his body, with his muscles responding as they should. Ichigo stumbles, bracing himself on a knee.

The mask shatters; a pulse of power wracks the air. Renji reaches out with a gasp, but Ichigo's sleeve shuffs through his fingers as the youth collapses.

* * *

Ichigo surges up with the red-streaked oval of a Hollow mask gleaming on his face. His power cracks against Rukia, flaring as he drops his would-be killer with a kick she can barely see.Buffeted by the dark charge of his reiatsu, Wei and the woman stumble backwards.

That is him, Rukia comprehends. He's in control now.

That returns her purpose. The gag blocks the sound of her voice, but she might be able to form the syllables. Her captor's grip has slackened with momentary shock. With desperate force, tugging together as much of her power as possible, she summons the strongest binding she can do with her hands seized.

"Way of binding—nine—Geki!" The spell wraps around the man in a beat of scarlet energy. He reels back, but the kidou freezes his grip on her, and she topples after him. Frantically wresting away, she sees Renji whirl away from Ichigo, now prone on the ground.

That is all she needs to know. Renji is free, Ichigo's aura blank with unconsciousness. She'll worry about him later. Renji wheels towards Wei, Zabimaru back in his hand, so she tears the gag off and commences a chant. As if brought out of a daze, the woman flips her knives and advances on her. The binding Rukia fired at her captor was weak; this one must finish the task.

One blade swishes towards her, nearly throwing off her concentration as she ducks, the edge passing the crown of her head. The woman slams the back of her studded glove into Rukia's jaw. Glints of light swim in her vision. Thrusting both hands forward, she calls out the final syllables of the first spell. The shining bars converge at her assailant's chest in a tremor of energy, clinching her in the middle of a blow.

"Rikujoukourou!" Rukia snaps out again. The second binding in the double incantation pours into shafts of light from her outflung palms.

* * *

Ichigo moved, and Renji could only respond on trust and instinct. The mask breaking tells him there will be no further help from the youth, but his hand closes on Zabimaru's hilt and his eyes find Wei, gaping, an arrow nocked on the string of his bow. The traces of astonishment on his face suffuse Renji with satisfaction.

Got you, bastard. That should be somethin' even you don't see every day. If he can help it, it'll be the last thing Wei ever sees. He shunts away the sounds of Rukia's scuffle behind him. She'll manage. This is the only strike that will matter.

"Howl—"

The release blazes up and dies in his hand. An immovable grip closes around his power and strangles. Zabimaru roars in dismay and outrage, thrashing against the restraint. The sword feels a mere lump of steel, inert, common.

His shikai is smothered.

He's done this! He's tainted us! Zabimaru rails, the voices of the nue mingling into disturbing echoes.

Wei springs into motion, his bow discarded as he swerves round Renji with a fluid flash-step. His confusion vanishes in the way of grim intent. He dives after Wei, sword leading—released or not, it will cut—his mind racing to keep up with the cascade of things happening much too quickly.

Pivoting, Wei blocks his gliding strike with a harsh clang of steel, slinking back even as he angles their joined blades steeply to the side. There's no sword in his hand, only a long, smooth-edged knife. Renji allows his grip to loosen and flex to free his weapon–never leave a blade locked with your enemy's, then spins to stay on Wei's left best as he can. Never leaving shunpo, they whirl around each other: Wei is sharp and strong, never hesitating despite his clear disadvantage in reach.

"What did you do to my sword?"

"Oh, after my trade secrets now, are you?" Wei stabs towards Renji's shoulder, deftly shifting into a slash that splits the skin of his arm as he is an eyeblink too slow in parrying. It's more like a fast-beating, graceful practice spar; they may well be equal or nearly so in power, but Renji's exhaustion hampers him, and Wei keeps him at bay with too little effort.

"Whatever," he throws back. "Won't matter when I cut you in—" He feints to the right, then tips the angle of the sword and slams it down along Wei's blade, wrenching the knife from his grip. Now!

The knife tumbles to the ground, but Wei no longer stands there. Renji swears aloud as he hurtles after the man again. Shunpo over short distances can be disorienting, the flood of sensory input coming hard and fast. Movement flashes past him, and he pushes himself into quicker flash-step; then, in the second that he perceives Wei again, the man raises his voice into a shout. "Stop!"

Renji hears a high gasp, stunned or frightened, perhaps his own. The ground seems to crumble from underneath him.

"Don't move, little outlaw," Wei says evenly. "That goes for you as well, Abarai-san."

A red droplet oozes down Rukia's throat under a slim knife in Wei's hand.

She stands unmoving before the much taller man, her hands wound behind her back. Ichigo lies not far away, his breath sawing in and out. The man Ichigo kicked hasn't got up. Wei's two remaining helpers are frozen by binding kidou, yet the observation rings empty in his mind.

"You son of a bitch." Renji nearly chokes on the murderous fury that throbs through him. "What the hell is this?"

"My parentage is irrelevant here, Abarai-san. You didn't think I'd let you run after that escapade at the garrison?"

"Don't you dare pull her into this." His voice cracks. "Don't you dare, you fucker, she's done nothin'."

"Drop your weapon. You can't summon its power, but I'd rest easier if it was further away." Wei moves the hand grasping Rukia's; she jerks, tight and involuntary, and a sickening noise escapes through her clenched teeth.

Zabimaru rings on the ground as Renji lets go and kicks the blade away. No choice there.

"It's me you want," he mutters. "Let them go."

"And lose the bounty on your little outlaw? That was clever, using her to get in. Half the mercenaries on Tiangen would've sold their mothers to collect that prize."

"The other half don't know their mothers, or they'd follow suit," Renji snaps. Rukia radiates defiance in spite of her hurt and humiliation, her face angled to the side and towards Ichigo.

Keep him talkin'. He likes the sound of his own voice. Give Zabimaru... time. Yeah. He casts out a terse thought. Calm down. You gotta think. There's a way.

The nue doesn't answer. Renji has to trust that he's listening.

"I wonder if I could get something for your young protegé, too," Wei says. "Is he some sort of a hybrid? His power was like a tian bin until the... transformation."

"Curious?" Renji sneers. "A minute ago you were gonna kill him. Would've been a terrible waste, dont'cha think?"

"One doesn't store tainted meat." Wei's face hardens. Renji knows he is toeing a tightrope here, one that may come loose at any moment.

"Tainted? Watch what you say. He tore through your fancy-ass binding like paper."

"It seems he also exhausted himself doing so." Wei jabs with the knife: the bead of blood becomes a thin, glistening line. Rukia gasps, her eyes unblinking, and the need to meet her gaze is nearly insurmountable. Renji's hands clench as he keeps his entire focus on Wei.

"All right," he snarls, yet it sounds too much like a plea. "Let's cut the horseshit. What do you want?"

* * *

You saved him, and now he can't fight. Tell me again, partner, how the hell did you end up holding the reins?

Ichigo's heart should hammer loud enough to drown out the Hollow. No such luck.

If you don't get it, then you'll never understand. Shut your trap.

Oh, I do get it, the Hollow hums somewhere in the space that is neither physical reality nor his inner world. I know what you were saying, king, before you were so rudely interrupted.

Funny that, he rejoins. Since I don't even know.

Through the mire of utter exhaustion, a fleeting idea nudges him that this isn't what he should be doing. Arguing with the Hollow is a useless pastime; he only understands the law of the strongest. Why is he still here? He should be standing up, fighting, seeing that Rukia and Renji are...

The Hollow is partly right; he might not know the words to express what he wanted to say on the bridge, but he knows their meaning, deeper inside than words can even go.

Really, partner? Then I guess you can manage this one without my help? Think he can manage without the help of his chattering monkey?

That sends a quiver of alarm resonating through him. Something's happened to Zabimaru. What the hell are you saying?

I said he was in a tight spot, the Hollow drawls. The old man could've told you, but he's still worn out from last time. Took a lot out of him, pulling your ass out of the fire...

Okay. Then, you help me.

For an agonising moment, glacial silence is his only answer, cold whistling through the space between.

Then Ichigo drags his eyes open and strains to see in the dulled glare of the sun.

Through the slim blades of grass, so far on the rim of his sight she blurs into mere shape and colour, Rukia is staring straight at him. Sunlight is reflected off something a small ways ahead of him, almost within his reach.

Get me there, the Hollow whispers.

* * *

"What do I want?" Wei repeats. "To be blunt, I want you, Abarai Renji, or whatever your name is. You never did answer my questions. It would've been downright unseemly to let you run home with all that intelligence on us."

"Wha—you thought we were spyin' on you lot?"

"Don't insult me." Wei grits his teeth; Renji may not be the only one whose composure is crumbling. "You're a member of a foreign military, sent here in secret. Need I continue? I will kill. I will lie, and extort, and interrogate in the name of my oath. Should I assume you'd do anything less?"

Renji understands something, and the realisation drenches him in ice. This man is a fine soldier, loyal, steadfast, disciplined.

"I came to get her," he says with shattering honesty. "We don't care. I got orders to do one thing, and that's to bring her home."

This man imprisoned and tortured him, fabricated a dozen gruesome fates to whisper at him in the darkness to break his resistance. If he moves an inch now, gives any suggestion to Wei that he is a threat, the knife will slit Rukia's throat.

"How very altruistic of you." Wei gives a low, incredulous noise. "Unacceptable. She'll answer for her crimes, and so will you. The boy is too much trouble to keep alive."

Muscles bunch along his back and shoulders, his body so tight with vain intent that it nearly makes him light-headed. Rukia is slipping beyond his reach, balanced on the edge of the blade on her skin.

This man will hunt him beyond the ends of the earth because he is a threat, and because he didn't break under his hands. As if from a great distance, he knows he's stepped into a deadlock he has no hope of cracking unless at the cost of lives dearer to him than his own.

He took that step himself, on a wild hope, a desire that is now his undoing.

* * *

Every shift of air in her throat seems to press her windpipe fractionally closer to the knife. Wei has a grip on her hands that will alert him the second she moves them into a kidou mudra. Watching Ichigo consumes her; she can't even twitch before he grasps the sword half-hidden in the grass beside him. He moves in arduous, near-silent jerks, one at a time. Renji retorts to every one of Wei's taunts, only his face is pale and hollow, despair winning ground with each passing moment.

She has no strength left to lend either of them, but there is one more thing she can do.

Ichigo reaches Zabimaru's hilt and pulls himself up halfway. His knuckles whiten around the handle.

Rukia pounds her heel into Wei's knee viciously and precisely. He buckles with a curse—and steel whispers across her throat in a deep, clean slice. Her next exhalation gurgles, although she feels no pain, only the blood soaking her collar.

She knew she might take the cut. The blade was pressed too close. Clasping a hand on her neck, she tries to think, reason, remember, cohere her will into a healing spell in spite of the wetness welling through her fingers.

How quickly does a neck vein bleed? Renji yells her name over the rush of her breath like a broken drum. Her reiatsu floats in a light, hazy swirl as if she weighed nothing.

Focus, mumbles something through the soft, cloudy sheen that blossoms in her mind. It doesn't hurt. She should move away from the man who was restraining her. She can't seem to catch her breath...

* * *

All he can see is the crimson flowing down her throat. Wei hobbles back on a pure reflex of pain; Renji hardly notices, as he teeters forward, hand flung out as she crashes down, vainly seizing at her own neck. "Rukia, Rukia—"

"Renji! Here!" Ichigo barks from the side. He thinks he must be going mad, the words meaningless, inconceivable, all this a dream or a hallucination. "Look at me!"

Another voice overwhelms the cacophony of his own thoughts, strong and sharp. Renji! Zabimaru bellows in a tone that suffers no disobedience. Control yourself! This is our fight. We haven't lost yet. Look at him!

He looks.

The effort seeming to shake him to the bone, Ichigo, leaning up on one trembling arm, lifts Zabimaru. "Do it!"

Straining for a steady throw, Ichigo slings Renji's own sword hilt-first at him. He has no chance to question or second-guess—the hilt slams into his palm, his fingers close around the leather-wound grip, and hesitation drains from him. Rukia slumps on the ground on all fours; with willpower he can't question right now, he ignores the damp hiss of her breath.

Everything else blurs away but the clean goal before him as he advances three steps and plunges the blade into Wei's chest. With a rasp, the man falls forward, impaled above the heart. Renji takes the weight of him and pushes himself upright, his mind narrowed to this one purpose. Wei opens pain-clouded eyes at him.

Renji pulls the sword free. He's grown used to the two-edged blade; the heft and reach are solid and agreeable.

"Said I'd fuckin' kill you," he declares low.

Severing the head is the only way to permanently slay a shinigami. He's kept the sword sharp and oiled, but it takes more than one blow: blood pools, viscous and abundant, beneath the body by the time he is done.

"That's Vice-Captain Abarai Renji, Sixth Division of the Gotei," he mutters the formal combatant's salute, raking the back of his hand over his face. "Makin' sure you'll never touch anyone I love again."

He's dead.

"Renji?"

Reality squeezes through the red-tinged funnel of his anger, and his heart seems to crawl into his throat. Rukia. He falters at the shame that all but overwhelms him, washing away the rage and resolve and incipient relief.

A hand settles on his arm, turning him around as he follows the tug, and then he has to blink away a sting in his eyes as she glowers up at him with hard indigo eyes. Her face and neck are smeared with blood, but she is whole, alive, breathing in an even rhythm.

Rukia is safe. That was all Wei could ever make him doubt, and nothing else should matter. Why then was she lost in his need for revenge, shadowed by the pain he was put through?

He's dead, his mind echoes, inclement.

"There's something strange about Ichigo's reiatsu. He isn't hurt, but I can't wake him."

"He's dead," he tells her.

"Don't be a fool! Are you listening?" Her ungloved hands are a livid scarlet, blood rubbed into the skin, as she raises them to take hold of his face. "Renji. Ichigo isn't responding, and I don't know what to do."

"Yeah, okay." His training seems to slowly build the correct course of action. The battle is over, now disable or dispatch the last of the enemy, take care of your own, report back. "We gotta do somethin' about the others, too." They took down Wei's retainers, but none of them should have fatal injuries.

"That is a little better." As if only now realising the state of her hands, she begins scrubbing them with her scarf.

"Right." He finds a brusque tone, pushing back everything nonessential. "And the... the body. Don't think many people are gonna be sorry to hear he's dead."

"It's a capital offence to murder an officer," she mumbles, as if that occurred to her only now.

"I know!" He gestures impatiently. "He was a fanatic, Rukia. You remember how scared that girl—Mei—was of him?"

"Yes, I do."

"Somethin' tells me they might not look too hard if he doesn't come back to Phoenix Gate. I gather her father's the commander there. The others aren't in uniform, so maybe they're his own people."

"That's a great deal of guessing, but we can't stay here. Ichigo needs help I can't give."

Worry about what is real. Save those that you can. Renji ducks into the gatehouse to grab his bag, fumbling it open as he re-emerges. "Almost forgot about it, but..." He holds up the memory modifier, stuffed deep enough in the inner pocket that it went unnoticed when the spirit phone was taken.

"What's that?" Rukia's frown deepens as he explains. "We alter their memories? Are you sure that will work?"

"If you don't wanna test it—"

"No. That's... I do not like the thought of killing them."

He isn't even certain if he agrees, but simply nods. They stun the three and bind them hand and foot. Renji flashes the modifier at each one and doesn't voice the thought that left here, they are demon bait in any case. That isn't his concern.

Last of all, he lays Wei's body and head on a blanket and bundles them up into the makeshift shroud. Rukia watches him work. "What will you do with him?"

"We bury the dead in the sea." He shoulders the bundle. "The sea's right there." He walks up, then turns to climb the railing of the bridge. The top is broad enough to crouch on. He goes on one knee and she kneels next to him, so his greater bulk shields her from the whipping wind. The waves far below carry froth on their backs.

"You think he deserves a burial?"

"No." Renji pushes the blood-stained bundle towards the edge. "But I'm not like him, and he's gotta know that."

He can never remember what the older captains say at these times. Back in Rukongai, you were lucky to have someone care for your body after death. "So... I'm just gonna give you to the sea, then. Feels like too good a fate, but I figure it'll know what to do with you better'n me."

The body slides off the railing and is lost in the churning waters. Rukia holds onto his shoulder, for his support and hers. Covering her hand with his own, he tries to exhale the heaviness inside him. Somehow, it seems a poor atonement.

"Let's go," he says then.

The gate is permanent; all they have to worry about is the time limit. Sliding Zabimaru into his sash is unfamiliar after carrying him over his shoulder for so long. Carefully, he hoists Ichigo up and over his shoulders, so his back bears his weight. Rukia returns from the gatehouse, bearing both Shirayuki and Zangetsu.

"I don't think we'll need any of our other things."

"Just leave everythin' you won't miss." She may have some personal mementoes, but their equipment will only burden them. "Over this bridge's Soul Society. Either we're stuck in the border or we get to home ground."

"It'd be a sorry end to this journey. You said this crossing depends on intent. We don't have much, but we must give it what we do have."

He gathers himself. "We aren't stoppin' before home, then."

"No."

They dash forward together.

* * *

They plunge through the gate almost abreast. The world lodges into place: a field bathed in an amber sundown, the rich smell of earth after rain, a scratch of crisp wind.

Rukia veers around to help ease Ichigo down into the grass, and Renji bows forward, hands on his legs. She is panting, too, supporting Ichigo's head against her shoulder. Behind them, the hum of the gate stops as the connection cuts off. The gate is under constant watch: even now, somewhere wheels will push into motion to send word ahead that Vice-Captain Abarai and Kurosaki Ichigo have returned, but for now, all he can think of is drawing the next breath.

The sound of people shouting makes Renji finally push through his exhaustion. The gate frame stands on a hilltop, with plenty of open space around it. Someone is going to come up, and they'll be looking at him for a report. What is more, Ichigo needed to be at the Fourth several moments ago.

Footfalls swish through the grass. Renji turns to see, and bows at the man now standing next to them. "Captain."

"Renji." Captain Kuchiki acknowledges him. "A medical squad is on its way."

"Thank you, sir," he says and has never meant it more.

Hurriedly, he kneels next to Rukia and slides an arm around Ichigo. "Here, lemme take him."

"But..."

"Rukia. It's okay." He nods towards the captain. "Go."

Her eyes widen slowly as if in a dream. Captain Kuchiki stands still, his shadow stretched behind him on the hill. Renji would turn away, but he needs to support Ichigo; Rukia's hands have fallen slack in her lap. Clambering onto her feet, she brushes at her clothes as if to dispel the grime and wear on them.

"Rukia." The captain's voice scrapes where it should be smooth and calm.

She's biting the inside of her cheek, Renji can tell. He wonders if the captain notices such nuances in her. What does she remember of him? He tenses in spite of himself. I should've talked to her.

He has never seen Captain Kuchiki hesitate. Now he does, and his fingers curl towards Rukia's shoulder before his hand falls. Renji holds his peace; Captain Kuchiki is looking at her, not him. He's acutely aware he never could report to his captain they'd found her. He knows nothing of what she's been through.

The moment is broken by a squad of the Fourth hastening up the hill. Two shinigami come carrying a stretcher; they set it on the ground and make to lift Ichigo onto it.

"Vice-Captain Abarai?" One of them, a grave-faced woman, bows towards Renji. He's gripping Ichigo's shoulder so hard his arm shakes.

"Oh, sorry." He blinks. "He's not physically hurt, but he needs Captain Unohana. Soon as possible."

"If you'll let us..." She gestures at the stretcher.

"I should go with you." There are too many people around and too many things he needs to do. "I..."

"You are dismissed." Captain Kuchiki sobers him like nothing else could. "I will have your report later."

"Yes, sir," Renji says, hoarse. Past the captain, he looks at Rukia and tries to infuse the glance with reassurance. "I'll be back soon as I can," he adds, that all to her.

Then he settles Ichigo on the stretcher with the woman's help and hurries off along the medical squad.

* * *

The even-voiced, black-haired man watches her across a small distance. Two steps forward and she could touch him.

This must be her brother, she thinks with curious coolness, clad in the mantle of a captain. He's tall and still; she knows the chiselled lines of his face. The strange thing is that he's looking straight at her, from the caked blood on her face to her muddy boots.

She hears Renji's goodbye and wishes so much she could return it. He'll see Ichigo will be cared for, so she shouldn't worry.

Her brother never turns away. The situation is surreal. She wishes this were the twilight of his study, where she could count the tatami and bow at the proper distance.

"Honoured brother." She unslings the swords strapped across her body. They fall with a clatter as her fingers slip. She folds into a full reverence, palms to the ground and angled inward, her brow touching them. "I am sorry to have given you such cause for concern. I offer my humble apologies."

Grass whispers as he steps back.

Chapter Text

The front of her coat is damp with her own blood. Crouched down, she waits for her brother's permission to rise. "Stand, Rukia."

She uncurls her aching body from the deep kneeling bow. He looks much as he does in her dream-memories, but something doesn't match the image she has built for herself.

"Are you injured?"

She shakes her head faintly. "It is nothing. I was able to heal myself."

"You should still go to the Fourth immediately."

"The medical relief division." She says this more to remind herself of what the number signifies. "I-I'm sorry. I don't quite remember everything. It was the... stress of having been transported so far. Renji and Ichigo... They told me as much as they could, but..."

His eyebrows arch as surprise flutters over his face, but he contains it well. "I see."

She worries the flesh of her cheek with her teeth. She's endured so much more, she'll bear this as well. Renji needs her to be strong, and she can't count on his or Ichigo's constant presence from here onwards. They have returned: they all have separate lives and responsibilities, whatever hers will turn out to be, now that she's come back from the dead.

Her brother's face is closed as the serene visage of a god statue. "If you can walk, come with me."

They start the walk down the slope. In the distance, smooth, high walls are limned in the fading sunlight.

"Are you able to flash-step?"

"I believe... yes, I am." She looks up instinctively. The copper light catches the pristine kenseikan in his hair. The angle of his head is precisely the same as when—

They meet in his study after her first day at the Thirteenth, and she bows at the door and listens to the flawless inflection of his voice.

"What seat?"

"My abilities... were not sufficient for a seated position."

"I see." The words bend her back down. To her shame and dismay, the tatami blurs in her eyes for the barest moment—

She blinks back the memory and shimmers into shunpo at his quiet command. She mutely follows his lead as he sets a pace she can maintain. Some awareness in her head thrums a staccato beat of wrong, wrong, wrong: the jag-edged flashes of memory do not match some near subliminal nuance she perceives in her brother now.

The city enfolds them into its maze of streets and towers. He walks with grace and purpose a constant step ahead of her. She breathes easier for his detachment: it means that some of her fragmentary mental images of this place speak the truth.

A haven, a reprieve from the soldiers hunting them down; the city of Seireitei was supposed to be these things. It became a promised sanctuary during their flight, even with her doubts as to whether she'd find the welcome Ichigo and Renji painted for her in the cold evenings huddled around campfires in the wilds.

Her fears are both assuaged and coming true more painfully than she could have imagined.

She knows she loves her brother. He's never done her harm, but raised her from hardship and gave her material comfort, security, opportunity for which she can never repay him. Her disappearance must have...

Her thought falters. Whatever her supposed death stirred in her adoptive brother, she cannot say. The closeness of walls swims into her perception; movement clatters to and fro, people dart past them in both directions, her brother is addressing someone. The shinigami sketches a quick bow and turns on his heel.

"Are we there?" She can't keep all this straight, the bustle around her growing too much to comprehend. "This is the Fourth." Ichigo was brought here. "Where—where is Ichigo?"

It feels like a mercy when another officer sweeps towards them in a billow of black sleeves and cuts into her brother's incipient reply. "Captain Unohana will see you now, sir. This way."

Everything is flooded in practical yellow light, but the last of the day tints the examination room a warm, dazzling orange. The woman in the room smiles at her like a homecoming. She's about to step forward when her brother speaks, softly.

"Rukia. Kurosaki is in good hands."

She turns in the doorway, looking up the white fall of his haori. "I know, niisama."

* * *

Seireitei has sunk into darkness by the time the flurry of activity around Renji ceases. He's answered a hundred questions, most of them twice, been shuffled around the Fourth to find someone to take his statement on Ichigo's condition and then on Rukia's loss of memory, and at last led to a secluded, twilit room where Rukia already sleeps in one of the beds.

"Leave it," he mutters to the nurse as she makes to move a wood-and-paper screen between their beds. "I'd... like to see her."

He flops onto his side in the clean sheets and watches Rukia's slumbering face for as long as his eyes will stay open.

Safe. Whole. Home.

For the time being, he'll take refuge in all three.

The softness of the bed gradually melts into the warmth of sand under his back, the lamplight becoming the glow of a westering sun. With a shake of his head, Renji hoists himself onto his feet and takes the first look at his inner world in a long time.

The sight of the training hall arrests him, his breath lodging in his throat.

Black, grisly roots have burrowed between the planks of the veranda and wrenched them out of place. The entire dojo is smothered by vines rambling across the roof and over the sand. The vegetation shimmers with an oily sheen.

"What the fuck?" he breathes. "Zabimaru! You here?"

"Over here," comes the monkey's call from the other side. Renji lunges into a sprint, narrowly avoiding the serrated leaves snaking over the ground.

The nue is half tangled in the thicket of vines, tearing at them with tooth and claw. Blood stains his tawny fur here and there, but the cuts seem to spur rather than hinder him.

"What in the blue hell is goin' on here?"

"Your despatched nemesis left a souvenir." A thick stalk crunches under the pressure of Zabimaru's paws, and he flings a clump of the vines away. "It's burrowed all through the sand. Sneaky, slimy creature!"

"Wha—" The nue's frenetic purpose leaves him agape; even the snake tail is tugging on a fringe of leaves hanging over the railing.

"It's his sword-spirit." As Renji walks closer, numb with repugnant discovery, the dark gouges on Zabimaru prove to be deeper; his belly fur is matted and dripping red under his collar and down the wide chest. The serpent's scales are twisted out of alignment, bent and scraped all along the sinous body.

"We fought," the monkey says. "Even as you faced its master, it tried to poison me against you. All this... The air was black with spores. It tried to rot this place."

"He—the bastard could cripple a zanpakutou. Not like that freak of an Espada, Szayel, either." Horror and sympathy mingle in his mind as he voices what Zabimaru already knows, more to crystallise it for himself. "From the inside."

The rip of a root is the only reply Zabimaru makes. Renji stumbles back to take in the tableau more fully: the twisted vegetation has overrun the top of the mountain, tendrils rising from the sand as far as the pool of the waterfall.

He hauls the heap of loosened vines up from where Zabimaru has been piling them, marches all the way to the sheer drop down the mountainside, and lets his burden tumble into the mists. Then he steps into the skein of roots after his sword-spirit, grabbing the root the nue is pulling up. The leaves cut into his soles and hands. He lets the sand and dirt burn in the scratches, until it has long been dark on the mountain and Zabimaru pauses next to him and leans his weight into his side.

"That's enough for now, Renji."

The stream stings his wounds, too. He crouches down in the water and submerges his hands until the creek flows clear again. His eye prickles with a distant, phantom pain; he raises a wet hand to rub at it.

And a lot left to do.

* * *

Captain Kuchiki waits for Renji in the stone garden outside his private office. The summons came later than he expected. He's been back on duty for today, spent catching up with the day-to-day operations of the division. He bows, the captain nods, and an unusual silence falls. A recent recruit is lighting the lanterns along the veranda of the main building. Renji watches them flicker to life.

"I have received your full report," the captain says at last.

"Yes, sir. Somethin' unclear about it?" It took him too long to bare the entire journey into a succinct, factual account. He was given two weeks' leave to recuperate, but came back early just to have a routine filling his time again. There's so much he needs to work through, much too rough and complicated to be pinned onto paper and handed over for his captain's—or anyone's—scrutiny.

"I am satisfied. The head librarian requested that you schedule an interview with a scribe. You can contribute much to the archives on Yellow Springs."

"I will, Captain, soon as I got a moment." Captain Kuchiki is not a messenger. Renji waits.

"It is not urgent." A pause. "I was given to understand Rukia wished to send her regards. She'll be released from the Fourth Division today."

"That's good to know." He doesn't care to pretend otherwise. He was allowed to go home after a night's sleep at the Fourth, but Rukia's been held under the care of Captain Unohana for twelve days now. He's gone to the infirmary every day, and sat by her bed or on the veranda with her a few times, talking under the watchful eye of a nurse.

He hasn't seen Ichigo yet. From what he can tell, pretty much no one has.

"She has shown steady progress. However, I would like to speak to you in private. Concerning the things that were not on your report."

"I'm here, sir." Is this an attempt at some roundabout inquiry about Rukia? Or about his imprisonment at Phoenix Gate? He revolts at the mere thought. He did nothing to compromise Soul Society; never gave up his rank or allegiances. Whatever fallout it left, he will deal with it himself.

"How was she?" his captain asks. Renji suppresses a groan. I don't know. Maybe you could go see her. Then you'd know, as opposed to "being given to understand".

"Sir, with respect, I think you'd better ask her," he says aloud. "I'm no healer, I can't assess that kinda damage. I've—I've told you all I could see."

Captain Kuchiki's face is a study in impartiality, but he doesn't speak for a moment. Inwardly, Renji isn't sure whether he wants to kick his captain or himself. Talk to her, not me, damn it. I don't feel like goin' all Kurosaki on your ass now.

He is saved from that decision when a young woman bows her way into the garden. "Captain Kuchiki? I-I am sorry to bother you, sir. Seventh seat Aoki's been—taken to the Fourth, and—and my squad was supposed to go out, sir, but now—now they—"

"Captain?" Renji raises an eyebrow before the quivering shinigami mixes herself up beyond recovery.

"I will leave the matter to you, Renji. You are dismissed." The captain turns towards his office. Renji looks down at the willowy rookie, who still hasn't risen from her bow.

"Fuyutsuki, was it?" He's never seen the girl before, except in the new personnel files he checked today. She has distinctive, chestnut hair, barely tamed into braids piled on top of her head. "I'm the vice-captain. Good of you to let us know. Get up now, an' let's go see how your squad's doin'."

* * *

"Well, Kuchiki-san. You are the very picture of health." Captain Unohana goes to open the examination room door. The efficient bustle of the medical ward carries from the wider corridors.

"Thank you very much." Rukia finishes tying the sash of her kimono. The fresh clothes were sent for her from the Kuchiki estate in engraved wooden boxes. Being clean, sleeping indoors, and regular—and variable!— meals still feel like something out of a fantasy, so the silk garb is nothing short of extravagant.

"That also means I can't detain you here any longer." Captain Unohana smiles that minute, kindly smile that she still cannot read at all. "Not for any physical affliction, at least."

"Renji—I mean, Vice-Captain Abarai—was asking me when I'd be let go." Rukia smooths the heavy fabric, painted with twining pine boughs, over her legs.

"He has come here every day."

"The whole time?" She looks up.

"Captain Kuchiki requested that you rest until we could find out more about your condition," Unohana says. "So we thought it better to tell Abarai-kun to visit later."

"I see." Then another thought hits her. "If I may—what about Ichigo, ma'am?"

"I'll see to him shortly after this. His condition is stable. I'm expecting someone who may help me with him, but she's not here yet."

"Please, when you know more, might I have word? If it's not an inconvenience."

"Kurosaki-san's affliction is both complex and unique, Kuchiki-san. The damage done is entirely to his inner soul. His spirit-body is fine."

That Hollow is still inside him. Her chest tightens at the thought. A strange shame seems her foremost, selfish emotion; that she couldn't recall something so crucial about Ichigo. "Will you be able to help him, Captain Unohana?"

"We will be able to repair the damage, yes. I'll let you know when he is well enough to have visitors." The words are gentle, but belie an unmistakeable dismissal. "I will see you for a check in a week. Until then, please rest and reacquaint yourself with your family and friends. The most important part is to get you readjusted. I've also informed Captain Kuchiki of this."

"Yes, ma'am." What else is there to be said? "Thank you. You've been very kind." She bundles herself up into the haori and headscarf and takes her leave.

She believes she knows the way to the Kuchiki estate—but the word alone intimidates her. The place is supposed to be her home, and the home of her brother, whom she's hardly met since they emerged from the dimension gate.

She's nearing the gate of the Fourth Division grounds when a frantic patter of feet from around a corner makes her shrink back.

"Ooh, I'm late I'm late!" Tendrils of ginger hair whip behind the runner as she dashes past Rukia—and then skids into a halt that almost throws her off balance.

"Kuchiki-san!" Rukia finds her hands clasped and big grey eyes shining with astonishment at her. "I've been trying to get to visit you! Unohana-san said you needed rest, so I thought of sneaking in, quiet-like, maybe with woolly socks on."

Rukia waits for the awkward pause. The girl skates right over it. "My name is Inoue Orihime. I'm pleased to meet you again. I don't very often get the chance to meet my friends for a second first time. It must be unusual for you, but I will try to be easy and friendly and give you time," she finishes like a litany of instructions.

This is Inoue, then, one of Ichigo's friends from the living world. Her hair is pulled up with a clasp, and bright pins gleam on her temples. She is dressed in a long green skirt and red coat; her mittens have fuzzy tassels hanging from the wrists. The smile on her face is a spark of gladness and warmth.

"My pleasure. I've... heard much about you, Inoue-san."

"Orihime," she says unexpectedly. "Please. 'Inoue-san' sounds quite like we're strangers, and I'd very much like to be your friend again."

"Then you can't call me 'Kuchiki-san'. It isn't fair." It's hard not to smile back at her.

"But..." Orihime rocks up onto the toes of her boots. "All right. Rukia-san it is. Whatever makes you comfortable. Comfort is very important when people have lost their heads, so they don't bump them any worse. I wonder if you could wear a pillow on your head. It'd be softer than a helmet."

"Orihime," Rukia cuts in. Orihime's viewpoint seems to weave seamlessly, but arrive at the destination in the end. "You were on your way somewhere?"

"Oh, oh!" She stands up very straight. "That's right. Kurosaki-kun. Unohana-san wanted me to come in to see if I could do anything."

"For Ichigo?" Orihime is a healer, this she knows.

"I'm sorry, Ku—Rukia-san. I have to run now. I don't... want to keep him waiting." She releases Rukia's hand. "We should talk later. I'm so glad you're better."

"Please help Ichigo. That's the most important thing. I'm sure we will have plenty of time."

"Yes!" Orihime is serious now, eyes a-glimmer with resolution. "That is what friends do. Help in tight spots—and soften the world when it hits too hard. Sometimes I really think it has nails in its bat."

"You can... find me at the Kuchiki estate, then. Good luck." I should do more. I should go along.

Orihime takes off at a run. Rukia hurries homeward and tries to shake the feeling that she is going the wrong way.

* * *

The Kuchiki estate stands enveloped in a network of gardens and pathways, the far wings of the house folding out of sight between the groomed trees and winter-brown lawns. Rukia walks up to the gate and addresses one of the guards.

The enlarged eyes of the young man remain her last clear perception as she is ushered inside and enveloped in a flurry of assidious servants, whispering in voices at once urgent and restrained.

"Lady Rukia is here! Why was no one told?"

"I apologise, my lady, if we had only known..."

"Is her room ready? Make haste!"

No, she bathed only this morning. Yes, she would like something to eat, if it is no trouble. No, the futon seems fine. Yes, she can manage, now would they please leave?

At last, she slides the door panel shut in the face of the last maid and breathes against her hands. "Heaven keep me," she murmurs.

To distract herself, she looks about the room. It is spacious and tastefully furnished in blue and green against the cream and black of the wall panels. The veranda outside can be accessed by a door in the corner. Shirayuki rests on a rack beside her bed. She strokes the lacquered scabbard—at least one thing familiar among all this finery. Several articles of clothing rest in boxes on the floor: her travel attire, washed and folded away.

Burning them would've seemed more in the Kuchiki style, she thinks as she fingers the tasselled sash. The map case Lian gave her is tucked under the sash, as is the knife she bought on her first visit to Cicada Creek.

Broken Bough is dead, probably slain by some convenient, nameless soldier, or Zhi the wanderer is gone, ostensibly to the west through the Phoenix Gate. There is only Rukia, the young lady of House Kuchiki in the shadow of her brother.

"Who are you?" she asks the room.

On the writing table, she finds a letter with her name in thin brush-strokes on top. She breaks the flower seal—her division emblem—and reads the words, twice, to make sure that the message is correct as she understood it.

One of the clothing boxes holds a fresh uniform. She shakes it out.

* * *

Shirayuki's weight on her hip is as much a comfort as the crisp, heavy uniform. She feels more like herself. There's still something more to what she is: Kuchiki Rukia, shinigami soldier of the Gotei Thirteen.

She spends too long at the office door, straightening the pleats of her hakama. In the end, a discreet cough sounds from the other side before she can muster the nerve to knock. "Come on in, Kuchiki."

The windows fill the office with sunshine that sets the wall panels aglow and lights up the blown motes of paper dust in the air. The Captain-General has wise, weary eyes, albeit the smile on his face conceals the stress well. She's served under this man for over forty years. Now he is the commander of the entire Gotei Thirteen.

She bows deep. "Please excuse me, Captain-General."

"I'm still your captain, Kuchiki. That would be fine."

"Captain Ukitake." That seems to fit better. "I'm sorry, sir. I had the, um..." What were you going to say? "Thank you for your well-wishes, sir? That was very thoughtful of you. Do you send get-well letters to all your subordinates, or am I a special case?"

"Well, I am glad to see you out and about again. Have a seat," he continues as if her stutter had never occurred. "Did Retsu give any hint when we could expect to have you back? You've been missed."

"Thank you, sir." The complete ease of him is bewildering, yet infectious. "I'm fine, save for the... memory loss, of course."

"Of course," he says. "We are a little short on capable people, but I'm not about to return you on duty until both Retsu and Byakuya agree."

The mention of her brother is a sombre pull on her mood. "I know."

"You're not happy with that?" He is watching her, friendly interest veiling profound insight.

"No, I didn't mean to..." She schools her features. "May I speak freely, sir?"

She continues at his nod, "I do feel as though I am terribly useless. I don't mean to complain, but surely there is something I could do even now. The Gotei—I've been given to understand—it isn't—" Rukia catches herself. If anyone, Captain Ukitake must know the current state of the Thirteen Divisions.

"Yes, Kuchiki. We lost too many people. I'm feeling my lack of a vice-captain more than ever."

Kaien-dono. She deadens the thought before it can take hold. "Yes, sir."

"But perhaps there's something we can do, regarding you." He smiles slightly. "How is your accounting these days?"

"Sufficient, I believe," she says. "I am out of practice, but..."

"This entire office is running over, Kuchiki. Kiyone's still recuperating, and Sentarou seems only half his usual self. I have some good people from the First, but they're on a loan until the division can be recommissioned. There's simply too much work."

She can already guess what he means. She lets the smile touch her lips.

"Far be it from me to put you out in the field, but you have a steady writing hand. You could be inestimably useful in that very chair there."

"I think Captain Unohana wouldn't mind, but..."

"I'll speak to Byakuya," Captain Ukitake gently cuts her off. "He will understand. It's not as if you would be exposed to anything but papercuts and the occasional unreasonable deadline. And I'll keep an eye on you, so you don't overwork yourself."

"I can handle it, sir!" Her cheeks heat. "I mean—I'd be happy to, Captain."

"Good, good." He has a glimmer in his eye. "Now, please return on your leave. I'll be glad to see you here again, but not before everyone is in agreement."

Rukia bids her captain good day and leaves the office with heart-deep reluctance. She should go home. She knows her brother will be returning earlier today. Instead, she turns her steps towards the Sixth Division. Renji will be there, or someone who knows where he can be found.

She wants someone she truly knows so badly it's a physical ache in her chest.

* * *

He drifts weightless, bodiless, senseless through the gloom.

The sideways city in his soul is fogged by night, its eternal day drowned out. If a moon is out somewhere in the sky, he has no idea.

Soon, king, his only companion mutters in his ear, grave-chill on the memory of skin. I know what I'm owed.

Chapter Text

Renji has to ask Captain Kuchiki to repeat himself.

"The Captain-General has called a meeting," his captain says again, with a hint of dissatisfaction. "One item on the list is your potential promotion to acting captain of the Fifth Division."

Renji nods. He might physically reel if the source of the news were any other. No disciplinary action for his prolonged absence, no probation. He still isn't sure how Captain Kuchiki explained his "field deployment" in the first place. A stripping of rank would have been unlikely, given the dire demand for people with enough power to qualify as senior officers. Taking up his regular duties was imperative. Be that as it may, he's served only two and a half years as a vice-captain. The promotion would be a high honour, even if it is a necessity.

"You will receive an official summons later."

"Thank you, sir." His captain is doing him a favour by telling him in advance. "If you're leavin', I better get back to work."

"That is all for now. Dismissed."

It's already late in the day. By the time Renji signs the last report and leaves the papers that need the captain's attention on his writing table, the sun has set.

He retreats to his quarters, washes and eats summarily, and slumps down onto the futon, both numb and restless. He'd burn some excess energy on a training session, but it's too late for that if he wants to catch any sleep. Not to mention that his best sparring partner is laid out in a Fourth treatment bed.

"Acting captain, huh?" he says to the ceiling. Of the Fifth, no less. Hisagi has kept the Ninth running with a good hand; he trusts Kira to take care of the Third; but the First and the Fifth have been on hold, their ranks distributed into the extant divisions, since the war. After the battles were over, the First had no senior officers left, and Hinamori was in no shape to shoulder the responsibility for a whole division. Renji closes his eyes on the memories.

If they so much as suggest he inherit anything that belonged to Aizen, he'll have to wring some necks. The people are another matter; they were oblivious to their captain's treachery up until all went down at the Soukyoku.

Guess this means I got a good reason to go see Hinamori, too. It won't be an easy conversation, but he's put off the visit for long enough. As far as he knows, she is still under observation by the Fourth.

Sleep tickles his eyes; he is tugging the quilts over himself when someone inches his door open. He doesn't usually lock it. The officers' wing is practically all his, given that the captain lives on his private estate. Sensing no hostile reiatsu, he sits up.

"Who's there? Somethin' wrong?"

"Not as such. It's me. Can I come in?" Rukia slides off her haori as she steps into his sleeping space. It's partitioned from the larger room with a panel screen.

"Hey. Sure, go ahead. Though I was kinda turnin' in. You want anythin', tea?" He waves a hand towards his small kitchen.

She sits down on the edge of his futon. "Company, that is all. I was looking for you."

"We've kinda missed each other recently, huh?" He offers her a half-smile. The weary shadows on her face seem to lighten. "Heard you got home from the infirmary."

"I did. And you were on patrol for two days. I wanted to see Ichigo, but he isn't allowed visitors until Captain Unohana and Orihime reach a solution. He is as before." Worry weighs her expression again. He only nods. They spoke of this every time he visited her, and once he was reprimanded afterwards for agitating her. He can do nothing but share her anxiety.

"I know. Guess we wait an' we hope." He rests back on one elbow as he slides into another subject. "How 'bout you? Did you just drop in for a midnight chat?"

"You could say that." She folds and unfolds her hands. "It's all so smothering back there. You'll probably think me spoiled, but... it doesn't feel like a home. I couldn't sleep, and thought of your saying I could come see you."

"Any time," he says, an easy promise. "Only sometimes work gets the prior claim."

"I'm well aware of that." A smile kindles in her eyes. "I have returned to work, as well."

He quirks an eyebrow, and she elaborates. Mentally, he nods in approval to the Captain-General, and makes a note to watch that she takes it easy. Something to do probably helps her to anchor herself, though. When he says as much, she nods agreement.

"Sometimes, Yellow Springs, our journey... they seem the only real things I've known. Even though I remember much more now." Rukia sighs. "Everything here is new."

"There's gonna be time for all that. We got back."

This is not how things are supposed to be. She should tell and he follow, as before. After her execution was stopped, even her deep-seated insecurities began to wane, and he came to know her again as more self-possessed, her childish pluck tempered into calm courage. The last time they sat like this, it was her reassuring him, which feels more like the right state of affairs.

* * *

Morning will come all too soon, and yet he can't sleep. Renji sits on the floor of his quarters, the pieces of his sword spread out before him, oiling and polishing each part with greater care than is really needed. His nerves are strung despite the meditative task or the quiet hour of the night.

He feels Rukia's approach long before she shakes the snow from her clothes and slips into the room. Taking care not to disturb his work, she seats herself.

"I'm glad you're still awake. I wanted to see you before..."

He strokes the oil-cloth down the blade, but glances up at her. "Things are gonna be crazy from here on out, yeah. You're goin' with Ichigo?"

"It made the most sense. They must have someone familiar with Soul Society's tactics."

Karakura is in chaos. After a long war of attrition in which neither side could gain a decisive edge, the armies from Hueco Mundo breached into the living world. The counterstrike will begin at dawn.

"Sure wish I could come along."

"We went over this, Renji. It's not that I wouldn't want you with us, of course, but..."

"Rukia, it's okay. Wouldn't feel right leavin' the division, anyway. This isn't like rescuin' Orihime." He watches her now, even as his hands piece together the familiar puzzle of the sword's hilt. Zabimaru is ready; he wishes he could be as certain, thinking of tomorrow.

"Save that we're separating again. It did not work very well in Las Noches."

"We aren't gonna be alone, none of us."

"I think... that is what makes it easier for me," Rukia says. "And more painful, as well. Everyone dear to me is going tomorrow."

The Gotei Thirteen hasn't been fully mobilised for longer than either of them have lived, but now, every able body has some task to accomplish. Rukia will join Ichigo and his friends; Orihime, Sado, Ishida, who refused to stand with anyone but the offbeat group from Karakura...

A part of Renji longs to go with them, too. He's fought beside many of them, and they've become trusted comrades. Ichigo is a friend, in a frank and uncomplicated way he'd hate to lose. The bond he's reforged with Rukia feels fragile in the face of the coming trials.

"C'mere." He nudges her on the knee. With an ease he can't remember since their childhood, she slides into his arms and her arms around his neck. She nuzzles her face into his hair like she used to do, and he holds her close. The moment is enough.

She lets go to look at him, affection and concern mixing in her countenance.

"Listen, there's..." A thousand things he would say. She is back in his life and sometimes the simple fact dizzies him. They've rebuilt their friendship in stolen hours amid the war. He wonders if it is enough.

She touches her fingers to her own mouth, then to his, in a caress and a restraint. "There'll be time for everything, Renji. We will come back."

"Right." He quirks a smile against her lingering hand. "We'll come back. That'll do."

But she vanished, presumed dead, and in the months of searching to no avail, he thought back to that conversation too many times to count.

* * *

His gaze has slipped to the shadows in the corner. Rukia cants her head at him. "Renji?"

"Nah, just had a thought. We did get back, but you took the long way around."

The truth feels a thin comfort. "I think I'm still on my way."

"Two weeks isn't that long," Renji says. "There you go again, tryin' to do everythin' in one go. You don't always have to aim so high, Rukia."

"I'm not, I'm—" She lets her shoulders slump. "Fine, you are right."

"Mm-hm. Wish I was more awake, should write that down so I could quote it later." His eyes glint, laughter seeking to pour forth.

"You—you insufferable lout!" She snatches up a pillow to slap him. He shirks back with a chuckle.

"Hey, no hittin' after midnight!" Grabbing the pillow from her, he holds it above his head.

"What kind of strange rule is that?" She tries to sneer. "Very well. Your amnesty ends at daybreak."

"Works for me. Got an early mornin'." He lies back onto the futon. "Tell you what. I oughta get off earlier tomorrow. We go spar and let you blow off some steam. Then, there's a few places I wanted to show you, before the war got in the way."

The more she thinks about that, the more inviting it seems. She misses something that would feel like her life, like home, instead of a borrowed, gilded role she doesn't know how to play. "I'd like that."

Lifting the quilt, she crawls in and claims one of his pillows. He gives a surprised noise, but makes room. "You plannin' to stay?"

"I do realise the implications. I'll be gone in the morning. Discreetly."

"That's not really..." He trails off. "Well, yeah, it did cross my mind. You're my captain's sister." And he kissed her, she remembers, twice. She could explain the first away by relief and the second by peril, if she wished to. The nearness feels different now, drowsy and agreeable.

"And you are the one person I truly know here," she shoots back. You're comfortable. You make me feel like I'm myself.

"There's plenty of room. Not that you take up a lot."

"Thank you." She lays her head on his outflung arm.

"Let go of you once," he mumbles. "Swore I wouldn't again. Don't mean to, either."

Rukia wonders if he feels how her heart flutters, in a swift thrum against her ribs.

* * *

She corners him twice. He flings her wooden sword out of her grip three times. The final bout turns into an unarmed scuffle that ends with his wrist in the lock of her hands and his foot ready to sweep her legs out. They decide on a draw, and he trips her facedown onto the tatami.

She pouts at him for that until he appeases her with rabbit-shaped onigiri filled with sweet bean paste, from a corner restaurant in the Ninth Southern District. Drifting along the currents of people, they listen to a storyteller braving the winter weather by a tavern front, duck into a noodle stall for dinner, and purify a lost-looking Hollow that materialises on the backyard of an old woman with two enormous, snarling dogs.

"Well, that was exciting," Rukia says as they stroll away.

"Those beasties were worse'n the Hollow." Renji examines the torn sleeve of his haori. "Wonder how that thing got so close to Seireitei. I'm gonna hafta look up who's patrollin' here today."

"You're quite the dutiful vice-captain." She cocks an eyebrow to punctuate the jibe.

"If there are Hollows runnin' loose in the Ninth, it's gotta be a lot worse in the lower districts."

"You still worry, don't you?"

"Always." He pauses. "You just get to be that way. Knowin' what it's like out there. Strays gotta stick together, an' now... I'm somewhere I can make a difference. A bit of one, anyway."

"Do not denigrate yourself." She lays her hand over the back of his. "Idiot." Making a fist, she snaps a punch at his arm.

"Ouch." He elbows her in return. "So, where d'you wanna go next? Whole Rukongai, spread out at our feet."

"I..." The afternoon has been so clement, his presence a comfort and a stimulation. He rouses her out of the miasma of decorum that engulfs her at the estate; she still cannot apply any aspect of home to the place.

I want to stay where you are.

She surfaces from that thought, jarring in its force, to find him with his head craned towards the sky.

"Thought I saw a—there!"

Following his pointing finger, she spots a black swallowtail spiralling down towards them.

"Hold out your hand," he says. "It wants to land."

She offers an open palm to the butterfly. Its feet tickle her skin as it touches her cheek with one delicate antenna. The message pours into her mind like a gentle spout of water, each syllable lucid and articulated.

Kuchiki Rukia, Captain Unohana's voice says. We are about to proceed with Kurosaki Ichigo's treatment now. Then the butterfly flaps up from her outstretched hand. She draws a breath to master herself—this method of communication is familiar to her in theory, but the surprise of the actual experience is fresh.

"Feels funny? You'll get used to it."

She seizes his hand, his fingers enfolding hers in immediate response. "We have to get to the Fourth. It's Ichigo."

Renji nods. "C'mon then."

* * *

Orihime rises from her seat as they enter the anteroom together. "Rukia-san. Renji-kun."

Renji raises his hand in a greeting. "Hey. You seen him?"

"A few hours ago." She doesn't seem to mind his brusque cut to the chase. "He seems to be fine. Unohana-san needed to be certain he is stable, before... before I try to lift him out. It's a bit tricky, because I don't know what happened to him very precisely at all. It's like I have the pieces for some complex sewing pattern, but I need to figure it out all by myself. Then again, it's not like that at all. I'm..."

"Orihime," Rukia says. "You can mend him. It'll be all right."

There it is again, the quicksilver change in Rukia's countenance, now steadied by compassion and resolve. He fixes his eyes on Orihime to hide the flush of gladness at seeing Rukia like that, at her best again. The return to Soul Society has been less kind to her than he hoped.

"I'll do my best," Orihime says.

"It will be enough." Rukia reaches to grasp her hand with her free one. "Do you think we could see Ichigo?"

A screen panel slides aside to allow Captain Unohana into the room. Renji straightens into a salute. "Ma'am."

"Abarai-kun." Unohana nods at him in acknowledgment. "Are you ready, Inoue-san?"

"Yes." She steps forward.

Unohana looks at the two of them, Rukia a little behind Renji. "And Kuchiki-san. I'll let you know when we are finished. You may wait here."

He catches a sideways glimpse of Rukia's face. Anxiety flares in her eyes before she stiffens, covering the emotion.

She wanted to see him, he understands. She should be there.

"Captain," he says before he can think twice. "You've isolated him, right? So it's only gonna be Orihime here, and you, keepin' an eye on everythin'."

"Yes."

"Could it hurt him if Rukia was with you? Watchin', outside the barrier?"

"That would be a highly irregular situation, Abarai-kun."

"Renji..." Rukia's eyes are wide with disbelief, but her hand squeezes around his.

Orihime turns back towards them; she stands erect, hands at her sides, as if summoning focus. "Unohana-san, I think..."

"Kuchiki-san has a powerful spirit pressure. It could contaminate the purification barrier," Unohana says. "As does Kurosaki-san. I must sustain the barrier around him while Inoue-san works, so that his power stays contained while he can't control it himself."

"If—if it would pose any threat at all—" Rukia seems unable to quite find her voice. "Of course I wouldn't..."

"It's just her reiatsu that'd be a risk?" Renji faces Unohana. "With all respect, she's top notch at holdin' it down. It... it'd be good for Ichigo to have a familiar face there. More'n one, I mean." He gives Orihime a sideways look, flashing a smile to alleviate his words.

"Very well." Unohana nods. "Kuchiki-san, you may follow me. Please dampen your power before you leave this room." Leaving the sliding door open, she exits the anteroom; Orihime gives Renji a small smile, then follows her.

"What are you doing?" Rukia whispers fiercely. Her hands ball into fists.

"You don't wanna go?"

"Well—yes, I do, but that isn't the point! You—"

"But nothin', Rukia. Look after him. For both of us, okay?" His voice catches. She should be there.

An' I should be there.

He turns halfway towards the door that leads outside. "See ya later."

"Wait—" Rukia meets his gaze, gripping and keeping the eye contact. "All right, then. Thank you, Renji."

You keep him safe, Rukia, 'til I get back. Like always.

Or, at least, like lately.

With a wave of his hand, he saunters out through the door, feeling her mute out of his senses layer by filmy layer of spirit pressure.

Chapter Text

Ichigo falls out of bed and clean through the floor.

Something engulfs him with a sinewy creak—leather. He twists into a sitting position, rubbing at his neck. "What in the hell?"

A table of reddish, polished wood stretches before him. The entire length of it is set aglow by the sun through wall-sized windows; the meeting room hangs sideways, still and immaculate, another armchair standing at the far end of the table. He scrambles up, for a moment disoriented by the peculiar gravity of his inner world.

He's back in the city that is his soul.

"Good morning, partner! Welcome to the opening and also definitely closing negotiations on the business property of your soul!"

"What?" he gasps again.

Tawny eyes light up in the shadow nestled in the opposing chair, and then the Hollow uncoils from his seat. His face holds a lean, hungry look, but his voice is flawless. "That's what you promised. The price of all your lives, twice over."

"You want to talk?"

"Yes!" The Hollow pounces, lands in a crouch and shoots out a hand to pinion Ichigo's neck to the chair. Their faces are inches apart, the shock of the movement still reverberating through him as the Hollow launches forward, "I should claw you apart. I should splatter the streets with your blood. I should tear out your guts and wear them for a hat, partner!"

Hot and astonished, ire pours through him. Planting a foot in the Hollow's midsection, he sends him skidding back along the table.

"Who the hell took a piss in your tea?" Hoisting himself onto the burnished surface after the staggering Hollow, Ichigo shouts straight in his chalky face. "I said I'd fight you! Fucking give me a fight and stop—prevaricating!"

"You still don't get it." The Hollow scoffs. "You used me to do your dirty work in the war, and when you were done, you went mewling to your shinigami allies and let them seal me away. You don't get a fight from me. Snivelling coward."

"That coming from you," Ichigo retorts. "You have the damned gall to accuse me of backstabbing. Who struck first? Who waited 'til I was weak and jumped on me, huh? You got no ground to talk, you bastard."

"I'm a Hollow." His eyes flash with malicious caprice. "It's what I do. But I'm not your dark side, I'm not your twisted image in the mirror. You can't pretend forever."

Ichigo's mouth snaps shut on a cheeky reply that shrivels on his tongue.

In the wake of Soul Society's victory, his hands wet with blood, Karakura drowned in shadow and sorrow, Rukia gone, he'd almost been glad to follow Captain Unohana's advice. The Hollow would sleep—extricating it entirely, only a theoretical possibility, would have damaged his shinigami power—and he would lose access to his Visored abilities, but his mind would be his own. It had seemed a fair price for peace.

"Pretend what?" He glares down at the Hollow, still sprawled down from his blow. "I didn't need your help to kill."

"You can always tell yourself the old lies," the Hollow chuckles. "He wasn't human by the time you got to him. More mad god than man, bent on destroying your home. Too far gone for salvation, even by the hand of the great Kurosaki Ichi—"

"Shut up!" Maybe it's just his own name from the Hollow's mouth that's unbearable, rather than the dim memories of their last stand against Aizen Sousuke. "What is your point, goddamn it?"

"Well, you complained about losing my power. You as good as told me you needed me." The Hollow's grin is triumphant; his curved nails clack on the table. "The king needs the horse to pull his weight after all, huh?"

"Is it gonna make you happy if I say, yeah, you're absolutely fucking right?" The truth rankles, yet Ichigo can't deny it. Without the Hollow's power they would all have died: Rukia, Renji, Ichigo himself. "What do you want, then? An equal share?" he huffs, with consternation.

The Hollow laughs, bone scraping bone, shrapnels of mirth grating together. "I could take more. Do you even know where you are now, partner? Would you like to know?"

"You wouldn't have a prayer." Slackening back onto his haunches, Ichigo raises his head. "Because they know." He schools his face into the faintest of smirks, not because he thinks himself clever, but because this truth is simple and yet alien to the Hollow. "Renji, Rukia, Chad, Ishida, even Inoue—they all know. If you so much as twitched towards some takeover plan, they'd deal with you."

"We'd both be killed," the Hollow observes drily.

"Yeah."

"You'd roll over like a lame beast and let them cut your throat, partner? Really?"

"Better than letting you run free." His shoulders stiffen.

Still crouched, the Hollow braces a hand on the smooth wood and sweeps Ichigo's feet out from under him with a swift, precise kick. He tumbles hard onto his rump. "You fool."

In a flurry, the sandal connects again. His head snaps back and he stumbles across the table into the cool glass of the window.

"Imbecile. Complete and utter fuckwit."

Ichigo can only blink through the stunned haze. Damn, but that hurt. His ears ring, but not loud enough to block out the Hollow's blistering voice.

"I. Am. You." He shoves a foot into Ichigo's chest. "Climb down from your high horse, it's already dead. Mixed fucking metaphors notwithstanding, it's time to lose the heroic angst. You got back Shirayuki's little bitch-cub—"

With a guttural growl, Ichigo heaves the lanky leg away from him, diving for the Hollow's throat. It's tempting, toying, goading, don't mind it— His self-control loses this debate.

The Hollow's fingers clench around Ichigo's wrists and wrench them wide. They are the same; straining against the Hollow's strength drives that point home unlike any of his words before.

"It's time to take back the rest, partner," he whispers into the crackling tension between them. "You lied, you cheated, you killed. You'll do all of it again if it means her safety, or his. Oh, but you killed for even less; just because she led you there."

There are places in them—him and the Hollow—that Ichigo desperately hopes the other can't reach. In this, their memory is one: there is a mountain road above a deep valley, the startling sight of a soldier still astride a screaming horse tumbling into the blanket of the trees below. Urgent and impersonal as it was, the death is still on his hands.

"Yeah," he says, very low. "So what?"

"So accept it!" The Hollow snaps. "I'm not some dark drawer for stowing your sins. Stop the fuck pretending otherwise. You make me sick."

His hands relax fraction by fraction, clenched so hard it hurts to let go. Then they stand still, no longer touching, facing each other.

"No more seals, then."

"No fucking way."

"So... we're gonna do this the old-fashioned way."

"Ah—no. A fight's not gonna cut it. I'm the price of your power, partner—love you, love your Hollow, eh? I'm going nowhere."

"Right," Ichigo breathes. "You'll let me wake up. I got a life out there."

"Occasionally entertaining, yeah," the Hollow condones. "More fun when you actually admit what you want. That high horse—really makes you look pompous."

"Shut it, sucker. If we are the same, two in one, whatever the crap, then this is a two-way street, too."

"Now this should be priceless." The wide, mocking mouth twists in what seems to be honest amusement. "Keep going."

"I will not fear you," Ichigo says. "I'll let you fight when there's cause, but... I'm not gonna go looking for a scuffle just 'cause you're bored or something." His teeth grit briefly, then he makes himself stand at ease, alert, aware.

"Fair enough." The words rasp. "I'm a weapon. Maybe now you finally get it."

"As for all the... dark side bullshit," he sighs, "I'll remember what you said." Not that he is certain what to do about it. It was more comfortably considering the Hollow something parasitic and foreign, a monster caged inside him, used by him, but not truly of him.

That seems to have to change.

The Hollow laughs again. "Always so damn serious, partner. You keep on doing that, and I'll skulk in my corners. You'll know when I want you. I promise."

"That's all you have for me?"

The Hollow's hand whips out like a serpent, the nails poised on the skin of Ichigo's throat before he can even twitch. "Yes, king, that's precisely what you're gonna get. You don't get guarantees." The flat inside of one nail taps on a pulse point, where the jugular rushes with blood. "You fucked me over—and now you earn my trust." He lets go and takes a step back, languid as a well-fed beast. "That's the price of your duplicity. That's fair."

He can only stand still and listen. It's not fright or paralysis that holds him in place.

"I go free." The Hollow's footfalls are fading, becoming only errant echoes in the air. "You look yourself in the eye and see what stares back."

His heart hammers as he nods once. I understand. We both get to live with the other, so better start coping. He doesn't feel himself hit the table, nor hear the sound of his world folding away into the mists in between.

* * *

Blurred light and shadow move before his eyes.

"Kurosaki-kun?" The rich shade of Inoue's hair, her face a haze.

"Hey, you there?" Renji's unvarnished, sandy tone.

"Ichigo." Across from Inoue, Rukia's raven head bends over him.

He more feels than sees them, the colours of their auras fluttering against each other. He closes his eyes to focus on them better. There's a steadfast grip around his wrist, locking him into the world, into this circle of people he's most missed.

"Inoue," he mumbles; her presence means they made it. "Hi. Where's this?"

"You're in the Fourth Division," she replies. "You'll be all right, Kurosaki-kun."

"You got family waitin'," Renji says more softly. "Soon as you're on your feet."

He would go right now, go back to Karin's scowling welcome and Yuzu's frantic hugs, dodging his father on the way—and to sniping at Ishida, to Chad's unquestioning, solid silence that opens to make a place for him, to Tatsuki, who knew, this time, why he left. And all and everyone else.

Back to Karakura.

"Now you should rest," Rukia says. Is that her hand, combing through his hair, snagging on tangles? "Captain Unohana will be over to see you later."

How long has he lain in this bed? "What... time is it? What day?" They left an age ago, a world away.

"November seventh," Inoue says. "A hundred and eight days since you left."

He has to let out a hoarse laugh. It hurts. "You—you kept count?"

"I promised I'd look out for you, right?"

"Yeah. You did. So tell me, how'd I do on the summer midterms?"

"You passed, Kurosaki-kun." There's a smile in her voice. "Don't worry. We've got it all covered."

"Okay, I'm not gonna ask how you pulled that off." He raises a hand—hell, but he feels more like a clump of overboiled noodles than a functional human body—to scratch at his hair, only to have his fingers collide with Rukia's. He blinks his eyes open.

"Uh," he manages. Her hand curls gently away from his. He fixes his attention back on Inoue. "Right. No questions. So, I am actually gonna have to worry about college."

"Of course," she says, a little too loud. "After you've worried about regaining your strength."

"Afraid I'm gonna escape from under all your watchful eyes?"

"Don't even think about any such thing," Rukia says. "We're taking turns. Your friends come by whenever they can. Except for Orihime, of course."

Inoue's hair slants down to cover her cheeks. "I'm the doctor. Or, as good as. The closest thing. You can't just leave a patient."

There's a mushy weight in his chest as he wills his eyes to focus on her. He pats her forearm a couple of times. It's not something he would have thought of doing before. "Thanks. Much better now."

Her fingers seem to tremble as she lays them over his on her arm. "We... we were just waiting for Tatsuki-chan. If you feel like staying awake."

He realises that Rukia's hand has sneaked back on his head, and that Renji has leaned back without relinquishing his grasp of his wrist. Damn them all. They are there, and even though the whole sentiment is as soppy as it is wonderful, he can't imagine anything feeling better.

"Sure," he says. "Could do with that."

It's as close to home as he's been in a long while.

* * *

A snowfall cloaks Seireitei as Ichigo steps out of the gate of the Fourth Division headquarters. The storm-shutters are drawn around the verandas along the street. Rukia parts from the shelter of the gateway, wrapped in a haori. The hood covering her head is hemmed by clustering snowflakes. Shirayuki hangs at her side by a sash looped over her shoulder.

"I wanted to see you off." She comes up to him, almost strange in the fine kimono after he's seen her in utilitarian travelling clothes for so long. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, hey." He shrugs to seem nonchalant. "I'm good. I mean, it's over. It's fine. We... made a deal."

"I see." Her tone is veiled. "If you say so."

"Uh, Rukia..." He finds himself stymied. Before, she never approved of the Hollow, even while grudgingly admitting the advantage of his powers. Her resistance might have decided him when Captain Unohana told him that in her opinion, his Hollow powers should be sealed for the rest of his life. It'd felt like honouring her memory.

Not, as it turned out, a viable solution. He's still figuring out the reality of this new arrangement. Rukia is here and, to all appearances, recovering.

"So. Will you need assistance with the butterfly?"

"Rukia, listen. I would've told you about the Hollow." He speaks against his self-preservation instinct. "I swear, I was going to. Anyway, you knew, you just didn't know you—"

"You fool." Her voice could open a wound. "You great lummox." She hauls him down by the front of his robes. "I forgive you this time. Don't you ever keep something like that from me again!"

"Ouch, don't manhandle the patient!" He unknots her hand from his collar. "That doesn't sound too forgiving, you know!"

"Would you like me to say what I really thought?" She sounds a bit watery. To this day, he's seen her cry exactly three times. Every time, someone was about to die. He'd prefer to live, as it were.

"I can guess well enough. You probably even have a couple new names to call me."

"I was made to lie in a bed for two weeks. I had a while to hone this speech."

"Then just file it away. I'll manage something to get you mad later."

"Not like this, Ichigo!" She whacks the heel of her palm against his chest. "I should be kicking you down this street! And you should be going home."

"Rukia, listen." He takes hold of her shoulder. "I'm sorry." Her glower is as fierce as ever, but her jaw quivers. She's always assumed privileges about his personal space, so he's never questioned them. Now he returns the assumption by squeezing her close. It is a thank-you hug, a friend hug, a comfort hug—he can't let himself think of her otherwise now.

She sniffs against his shoulder. "Apology accepted. Idiot."

"Twit."

"Oaf." She wraps her arms around his waist. "Numbskull. Ingrate."

"That's laying it a bit thick, Rukia."

"You deserve it." They stay there for a moment, holding each other in the slowly falling snow.

* * *

Ichigo opens the spirit door himself and follows the butterfly through onto a street corner. A clock screen above a storefront flashes the time at him: 19:51. He steps past the clusters of people hurrying to and fro. The sky above Karakura is a steely grey. He landed a few blocks off from the clinic.

In a surge of haste, he breaks into a run. In soul form, he always feels detached from the physical world. Now he keeps his eyes open, soaking up the sensations: the hum of a train passing, the thrum of car engines and the screech of brakes, the beat of shoes as he weaves through a crowd.

He slips through a window into the twilit kitchen, where the dishes have been stacked, and a note in Yuzu's handwriting on the fridge door tells his father that the dinner leftovers are inside.

In the hall, his father hangs up his lab coat and steps into the kitchen. As always, he faces the poster first. Ichigo watches with choked fascination, silent beside the window, knowing Isshin would only need to turn around to see him there. His reiatsu, although held close out of habit, has already soaked the air about him—his father must know.

"I had a good feeling this morning, Masaki," Isshin says. "I thought it felt like our brave, foolish son."

He sort of wanted to come home from upstairs and feel the stairs creak under his feet. It doesn't matter now.

"Dad."

Isshin turns on his heel as if the world pivoted with him.

"Hey." Ichigo feels overwhelmed, his chest tight and warm, the corners of his eyes prickling. "I'm home." Now kick the crap out of me for being late. I missed that, damn it.

There's always a distance in Isshin's eyes when he speaks to Masaki; Ichigo considers it time that belongs only to his parents, and rarely intrudes. The sheen of memory flickers and fades until his father is looking straight at Ichigo, seeing him for the first time in months.

Isshin steps around the table and wraps him in a rough embrace. Ichigo leans into his father's hold like a much younger child, understanding that he heard even the part he left unsaid.

Chapter Text

The white tower, alone on its high place, punctures the skyline of Seireitei. The view is striking from the cusp of the estate grounds, where the training fields are located.

The tower creeps onto the periphery of Rukia's sight as she moves through the kidou.

Singular and perfect, the pattern pours from her. It smashes into a stone practice target as a bright arc of lightning. She shoots the second bolt to her left—and then the pattern disintegrates, and the last one fizzes out into a burst of sparks.

"Not quite," she gasps out loud.

The last spell manifested. Shirayuki raises her head from among the pale yellow sand. That is progress. She lounges in the shade of a boulder some way behind Rukia. The northern end of the field is covered in rock formations to provide an element of challenge in weapons practice.

Rukia delves into her carrying cloth for a towel and water flask. The day is cool and cloudless, but she has driven herself through sword forms and kidou patterns all morning.

That tower. She buries her face in the towel to wipe off the sweat. Renji tells me it used to be a prison. But there's something more to it.

What do you mean?

I'm not sure. Whenever I see it, it chills me.

Come here. Shirayuki presses her head into Rukia's lap as she seats herself next to the bear. It is a clear day.

I still wish I knew, she says, though Shirayuki is warm and comfortable. It feels like... everyone's trying to wrap me up so nothing can touch me. She comes to think of her brother. Or pretending I don't exist.

Patience, Rukia.

In all things? she mimics her sword-spirit's curt nuances.

Indeed.

Rukia smooths her hand over Shirayuki's ears, the fur there downy in contrast to her thick, sleek coat. The gardens are still dominated by the hues of their winter garb, but the season seems mild here, unlike the harsh cold of the Tiangen peaks.

Someone stands on the edge of the sand field.

Shirayuki, Rukia warns. The bear looks at her, then melts out of sight.

She bows as her brother halts a few steps from her. "That was your sword-spirit," he says without preamble.

"Yes, niisama."

"This is a new development, Rukia. Your zanpakutou has never manifested for you before."

She hesitates, cognisant that he can see her indecision. "She... first showed herself to me in Yellow Springs. We travelled together."

"Showed herself to you?" She can't decipher the nuances in his timbre, but its surface cracks. "It is not a question of choice, but of your control over your sword."

Rukia raises her chin. "She comes when I call her, as a companion to stand beside me. Had I fought alone, I'd never have lived long enough to be found." There is something of Ichigo's audacity in her tone, but she can say this with certainty. Even her brother can't contest the truth of it.

"I see." That seems to conclude the matter.

"Show me the kidou." He tips his head towards the practice targets with their newly acquired scorch marks. "I have not seen you use such a form before."

She steps back and sets her hands together in the first ritual gesture. The incantation flows in a staccato beat from her lips as she wills the world to narrow down to the tightening pattern of energy.

Grace under pressure, my dear. Let us show them. The deep clarity of Shirayuki's voice mellows into something almost like a purr.

Them? Rukia feels sweat bead in the roots of her hair. The filaments of power fold through each other, drawn by the motions of her fingers.

The old man of the cherry tree is watching, Shirayuki hums. I can taste his doubt. I have none.

The first beam of crackling energy strikes the stone post. She fires the second and then the third in the same outlet of breath, expelling the kidou in smooth blows.

I did it, she tells herself dazedly.

After a beat of silence, her brother speaks again. "Who taught you this?"

Well done, comes Shirayuki's whisper. Rukia runs the edge of her sleeve over her sweaty brow.

"I... knew the principle of the double incantation," she begins. "I expanded upon the basic concept. I can go as high as two seventh-tier spells, but that quickly becomes straining. I assume the difficulty grows exponentially with every added spell. I was... testing how I would manage with three."

"It would be an effective tactic against multiple minor opponents. I will come observe your practice a week from now. You will meditate on this technique, and we will discuss it further."

"As you wish, niisama."

"One other thing. Give me your hand."

Obediently, she extends a hand towards him. His fingers are cool and dry as he bends two of her fingers down towards her palm. "There is a slight flaw in your sealing gesture. Do not curl the first joint of the finger. Like this."

She holds her breath as she nods. It feels all but surreal that he's touching her, even for such a pragmatic reason. She's sure such a moment would be impressed in her memory, even if—

Her brother stands over her, falling into her as his knees give way. The sky past his shoulder is an angry, deep blue. The sticky heat of his blood covers her hands. She tries, tries so hard to hold him up. She is so weak, but he took the blow for her, and she doesn't understand—

Rukia starts back; she controls herself just in time not to snatch her hand away. She pulls her fingers lightly from his grasp and reproduces the gesture as he showed her.

"Thank you for your instruction." She hides her twisted expression by bowing. "I'll do as you ask."

He gives her a nod and, turning on his heel, leaves her. She watches her brother as he recedes into a silhouette against the gardens, until she is alone, still trembling with the aftershock of the memory.

* * *

Renji steps into the patient room with his shoulders squared, feeling the weight of the cloth-wrapped object in his sleeve. He left away all marks of his rank save for Zabimaru.

The window is ajar into the gardens at the heart of the Fourth. The sole occupant sits on the bed, hands in her lap.

"Hey," he says.

She turns as if only now becoming cognisant of him. "Abarai-kun."

"They said you're doin' better. That a fact?"

"I suppose." Hinamori smiles wanly, as if the expression were a mask she only dons for his benefit. "You're back."

"Have been a while now. Mind if I sit?"

"Oh. Of course not." She shifts, but he folds cross-legged onto the floor, setting his sword down on his left side. Other than the bed, the room has few furnishings. Tobiume sits on a rack beside the bed; the only time a shinigami is parted from their sword is under imprisonment. Captain Unohana's medical opinion keeps Hinamori under observation, but Renji has a sense of a deeper constraint holding her here, in this stopped, austere place.

"Tell me," he says. "How're you doin'?" He knows he was absent after the war. Hinamori had her ghosts, he had his to contend with, although he has the unfair, wonderful advantage of having Rukia back again.

He's trying to repair a friendship and affirm a choice. Neither task is easier than the other.

"I'm recovering," she says. "Captain Unohana is hopeful I'll have my full strength back in the next month."

He already knows that, even as he nods. "Sounds good. Whatcha gonna do then? I mean—you must've thought about that, right?"

"Sometimes." Her eyes stray to the window. "The Fifth has no captain."

To his mind, she's the only person with the right to say that like a lament. Aizen had to be brought down; that Ichigo was the one to deliver the blow was incidental. It was a task accomplished with the deaths and sacrifices of many.

Still, loss is blind, grief is deaf, and the heart cares little for reason.

"What about a vice-captain?" he asks, anyway.

"They barred the gates. I wanted to go there, to... to see if I could find a few things. The headquarters were locked, and I couldn't get..." Her hands clutch at her robe. Someone—no one apparently knows for sure—cut into her soul sleep in the second battle in Karakura. Her long convalescence has been mostly due to the reluctant healing of her shinigami power.

"Hinamori," he says low. "Momo. Answer the question, okay?"

"No." She sounds hollow. "There's no one there."

"Know somethin'?" Renji heaves himself up from the floor, and drops to sit on the bed. She seems younger than he remembers, frail and haunted, but he wants to believe it's a facade, and one she can break in time. "There's gonna be."

The astonishment that animates her face is such a relief that he has to lower his eyes. "But... no one told me of this!"

"Hey, now. It's barely even official yet."

"Then how do you know?"

Has she sat here, waiting for something to punch the first crack in the wall of her seclusion? Is he up to the task?

"They offered me the captaincy." His hands wrap themselves into the bedsheet. "And I said yes."

"Oh." The sound drifts out through the o of her mouth. Then her lips cinch together, her shoulders hunching forward.

"Momo." He gropes for the gentleness of her name, unsure if he should have somehow softened the news.

"They would have. It's very reasonable. I can't do much in this condition." Her face is like aged china, a flat surface marred within. The Hinamori that Renji knows, that flared through for a moment, has receded beneath it.

Suddenly clumsy, he gets up, tucks his hand in his sleeve. She looks up at him. "Abarai-kun?"

"We need the Fifth back in action. We're gonna have the first new graduates soon, too. They've gotta get placed somewhere."

"Yes," Hinamori says. "Of course."

"So, I brought you this." Renji sets the wrapped vice-captain's badge on the bed. "You still want it, it's yours."

Then he turns and leaves her to contemplate his offer. Whatever happens, he's not taking that badge back if she throws it at him.

* * *

The year is about to change in the living world. Soul Society follows the same calendar, but the names of the months are so old no one among the living would recognise them.

It's snowing in great, gusty flurries, Karakura in the fast grip of midwinter. Rukia watches the darkness outside the shop window. Despite the snow outside, they're having ice cream, at Orihime's gentle insistence that, Rukia is finding out, is less a human quality and more a law of nature.

"You're too modest, Rukia-san." Orihime looks at her over the small, round table. Her ankles are wrapped around the chair's legs. Rukia sits poised, with her knees tucked together.

At this, she sucks her spoon clean and returns Orihime's gaze with some wonderment. "Pardon?"

"There are thirty-one flavours for a reason!" Orihime pushes her own cup across the table, heaped high with a rather more colourful section of ice cream varieties than Rukia's plain vanilla. "At least try the strawberry cheesecake. It's to die for—not literally, never fear. Please don't say 'pardon', it sounds so formal—unless it makes you feel better. I mean, that's why we're here."

Rukia dips her spoon in the red-swirled ball of ice cream and lets it melt on her tongue. It is delightful, but it would be awkward to say that when Orihime already treated her to one bowl. She has no living world money, and can't bring herself to mooch off anyone but Ichigo.

Ichigo has enough on his plate at the moment, and she's supposed to be enjoying herself. Orihime does make it easier than she thought. The other girl sidles from her chair, startling Rukia out of her reverie. "Ah, Orihime..."

"Could I have another cup of that, please? For my shy friend! Thank you very much."

Rukia blushes the colour of the strawberry spun into the ice cream as Orihime plunks the bowl down in front of her, easy as you please. "You shouldn't have."

"Pish-posh. People must be spoiled when they're sick. Not that you actually are, just a little lost. It happens to me all the time."

Just a little lost. Smiling briefly, she spoons up the ice cream, certain that it isn't the sweet treat that raises a bit in her throat.

"When was the film again?" she asks eventually, diverting Orihime's chatter.

"We still have plenty of time." Orihime taps her wristwatch. "I hope you like Godzilla. I haven't met too many girls who do, but you are extraordinary, Rukia-san. You do like horror stories, so that should help. Do you think we should see something different, after all?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure I'll enjoy it." Rukia pats her hand. Bewildered by the living world and Orihime's effortless kindness she may be, but she is sincere in this. There might be only one thing that would make her visit to Karakura even better.

They gather their things and step out into the snowfall, which has gentled into a dreamy dazzle of big, soft flakes under the streetlights. Rukia pushes herself into a question. "Orihime? If there's still time, you don't think we could ask Ichigo to join us? It is... Saturday, isn't it?"

"Kurosaki-kun?" Orihime's eyes deepen and brighten all at once. Her face seems to debate which expression to don before a cheerful smile smooths away the hesitation. "Well, the clinic isn't far."

"It's only—I haven't seen him in a while. All that school he missed." Rukia truncates the sentence, feeling guilt jab a needle into her ribs.

"It's all right." A warm gleam lingers in Orihime's demeanour. "Let's go!"

The Kurosaki Clinic is closed, but Orihime walks right up to the door and rings the bell. Rukia has just straightened her borrowed hat when a broad, black-bearded man flings the door wide with a noise that can only be described as a bellow of glee. "Oh, joyful day! My third daughter returns, and with the lovely Orihime-chan, no less! Delinquent son, you aren't worthy of such beauteous company, but here they are on our doorstep!"

"Good evening, Kurosaki-sensei." Unfazed, Orihime bows and enters. "How are you? And Karin-chan and Yuzu-chan?"

Clasping her hands before her, Rukia bows to the man who, she gauges, must be Ichigo's infamous father. She was supposed to come to his house; the plan got caught in the tangle of his hopelessly late schoolwork, and she let the matter lie. "Kurosaki-san, I'm glad to—"

She's swept up into a rib-crushing hug, spun up and around and deposited back onto her feet, all in less time than it takes to draw a breath. Kurosaki Isshin beams down at her not unlike a clement avalanche. "I've told you to call me Daddy, Rukia-chan! But you are forgiven."

"Is Kurosaki-kun home? We were passing by, and Rukia-san..." Orihime is either oblivious to or patently ignoring every incongruity in this welcome. "Kurosaki-sensei, you don't have to pretend to me that he was deathly ill all autumn. I am in the loop. I've always wanted to be able to say that!"

"My foolish son was diagnosed with a unique medical condition!" Rukia takes a step back as Isshin turns to the other girl. "Sapporoan saltating syphilis! A strain of the disease that causes the patient to leap vigorously—"

"Your hairy left hand I had anything like that." With determined strides, Ichigo leaps down the stairs and bowls his father over. Rukia comes face to face with him for the first time in a month as he scowls around the hall, one foot planted in the small of Isshin's back. "Hi, Rukia. Inoue. Wha—whatcha doing here?"

If he ever was flustered, his recovery is remarkable. Orihime shifts minutely towards Rukia, as if expecting her to pick up the explanation, although her smile never wavers.

"We're going to see a film," she says in her loftiest tone. "Do you want to come along?" This is silly. As lovely as Orihime is, Rukia can't yet reach the level of ease with her that Ichigo brings simply by entering the room. She wishes they were alone.

"A movie, huh?" He sidesteps as his father hauls himself up off the floor. "Ah, I do have some stuff to do—"

"Masaki, our foolish son is getting asked out by not one girl, but two! This is the happiest day of Daddy's life!"

"Never mind," Ichigo hisses. "Tactical retreat, exit stage left, chop chop! I'll get my jacket and meetcha out front." One hand on her shoulder, he spins her around towards the front door.

"Come on." She grabs Orihime's hand. If anyone has a mental scheme for handling this situation, Ichigo is her best bet.

Once they're outside, Orihime wilts against the glass door and gives Rukia a half laughing, half rueful look. "I'm... sorry, Rukia-san. Kurosaki-sensei is... quite a character. I should've remembered."

"I have to see this again, too." She smiles, more genuinely than she has all afternoon. "It's not your fault I'm so easily surprised. I want to know everything."

Orihime folds her fingers through Rukia's again. They speak no more until Ichigo slinks out through the door, more or less clad for the subfreezing weather, his colour a little high.

"Okay, coast is clear. Move out before they pursue. What are we gonna see?"

"Forward march!" With a laugh, Orihime saunters onward, throwing her booted feet high with each step. Rukia is caught scampering after her, smothering startled giggles into her glove.

"Ah—Orihime, wait! Godzilla," she replies to Ichigo and, on an impulse, slides her free hand through his arm. He gives her a glance, but she feels him adjust to her nearness.

"Godzilla," he says. "Sounds great."

They walk down the road, settling into a comfortable pace for all three of them. Orihime and Ichigo begin a conversation over her head, about school and grades and study circles; Rukia stays between them all the way to the theatre, letting the sound of their voices float over her.

* * *

After the New Year, Orihime insists on arranging a welcome back party. Caught, as is becoming common, by the girl's world-embracing goodwill, Rukia can only nod and accept when the plans are laid out to her. "You won't do a thing, of course! I'll take care of everything, and Tatsuki-chan and Ishida-kun promised to help, too."

Orihime's home—a new one, Rukia understands—seems small for all the people who have come. She sits ramrod straight in the corner of the merrily red sofa, and smiles at everyone who approaches. A respectable array of foodstuffs, from familiar norimaki and odango to half a dozen sorts of snacks she's never seen before is spread out on the kitchen table. Since they came in, Ichigo's been hailed by friends left and right; she can hear him snapping at someone in the kitchen. Orihime's voice lilts up in response, defusing whatever tiff was forming.

"Kuchiki-san looks as radiant as always!" Her drink sloshes in the glass as she whips towards the voice. A grinning young man is leaning over the armrest at her. She knows his name, Ichigo pointed him out to her earlier...

"Ah!" She pulls herself even straighter. "Good evening, Asano-kun." He is one of those who know of Ichigo's double life, but she withdraws into politeness.

"Keigo's fine," Ichigo said. "Just put everything he says through a double-strength bullshit filter and you'll be pretty close to the truth. Especially when he talks to girls at parties."

"D'you mind if I sit here?" Asano tumbles into the seat beside her. "Mizuiro brought the new Bad Shield game, we thought we 'd try it."

"No, please do." She peers at the plastic case in his hand. "What sort of game is that?"

The Kurosaki household has one of these console gadgets. When it's on, the result is either intense staring or loud arguments. Nonetheless, she smiles and nods as Asano launches into an explanation, and accepts the controller as he sets it in her hands. Nothing good will come of shrinking from these people, especially Ichigo's friends.

"Kuchiki-san is doing wonderfully!" She grits her teeth and tries to keep straight which button is an attack and which one an evasive manoeuvre. Her glowering, brightly dressed character gives a very unconvincing death rattle, dropping onto the floor of the improbable-looking arena. Rukia looks up at her guide.

"Ah, I'm not quite sure I am, Asano-kun."

"That's the training mode, it can be kind of crazy until you—see here—" He reaches for a hold of the controller. "Your natural athletic potential will prevail!"

"What d'you think you're doing, Keigo?" Appearing behind them, Ichigo jerks the boy away by the neck of his shirt. Her eyes must have gone wide, because his voice softens. "Look, Rukia, sorry. Inoue means well, but I guess she thinks you've got a few more close friends than..."

The solicitous aura suits him ill. "It's fine, you fool. You can stop hovering."

"I'm not hovering." He slides into the seat Asano vacated, shoving his friend away as if for good measure.

She snaps the controller lightly against his temple, returning his scowl with an equal one of her own. So she was a tad flustered. That hardly excuses his mother-henning, and it nettles her even more as she realises she's relieved by his presence. "You were gone a long time, too," she says. "Shouldn't you be spending time with your friends?"

"I see 'em every day at school." His shrug is probably supposed to prove his point. "Speaking of seeing people—where's Renji? Thought he was gonna join us." His eyes veer to the side, a sign of nerves, although she can't pinpoint the cause.

"He will. I got a message. There was a situation at the Sixth—something about a squad not reporting in." Renji is, after all, the one with actual responsibilities to his division.

"Oh, okay."

"In any case, this is incomprehensible." She indicates the television and console with a flick of her hand. "How do you derive amusement from something so—convoluted?"

"You just don't have practice. Let me." His arm slides behind her shoulders as he cups his hands around hers on the controller. "You aim with this, and shoot with this, and duck with that. Same controls as the last game. Start there."

The bright avatar on the screen responds rather more jerkily to her tries than to Ichigo's effortless guidance. She purses her mouth in concentration. A certain command prompts a certain action. It seems this, too, can be mastered with repetition.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"You'll be good now?" He pushes himself onto his feet.

"Yes, Ichigo." For a heartbeat, she misses the arch of his body behind her, feeling exposed as his hand leaves her shoulder. It is her party. She's supposed to have a good time, not hide behind Ichigo.

Plastering a smile on her face, she looks about. "Asano-kun? Are you still—could I try again?"

* * *

Ichigo cracks open the back door to Inoue's building. The air washes over him damp and sleety, yet refreshing after the flat. People were staring. Only too late, he realised he'd bent over Rukia to show her the controls, deep in her personal space.

It was once told in the school hallways that Kurosaki and Kuchiki had a thing going on. He's willing to bet a body part—a nonessential one—that any time now, those rumours are going to crawl from their grave to haunt him all over the school yard and the arcade and the karate club. And some other places, too.

"Kuchiki smacked Kurosaki over the head at her homecoming party! What's the deal with them?"

"He was all over her, an' everybody saw! Though what else can you expect from a punk like Kurosaki?"

"She calls him by first name! What does an exotic beauty like Kuchiki Rukia see in Kurosaki—"

"Ichigo!" The voice, acerbic and familiar, penetrates the stew of hair-raising hearsay his brain is concocting. "You deaf?"

"Ah, hey." He shifts to make room for Tatsuki in the doorway. The rain is turning into snow as the evening cold hardens. It won't linger; the flakes are swallowed by the wet grey of the asphalt as soon as they alight. "I was thinking."

"Those were some pretty deep thoughts. I called you at least three times."

"Would've kicked me next, eh?"

"You bet."

"Thanks. For not doing that."He scuffs his shoe against the threshold. She leans back against the glass of the doorway.

"I'll save that for practice. You are coming on Tuesday, right?" He's not quite sure what made him return, after having quit years earlier, but the karate club has given him and Tatsuki back some common ground. Until the ragged return from Hueco Mundo, he hadn't even known she'd been able to see spirits for months. It hasn't been an easy way back.

"Can't see any reason not to." Tatsuki is nowhere near as spiritually strong as Chad or Inoue, but on the tatami, she's a match for him.

"Not gonna sneak off with Kuchiki?"

"Can I just point out it's nothing like that?"

"No?" She lowers her voice, but her tone delivers a plain message of not taking any crap, thank you very much. "I know you still got one foot in Soul Society. Maybe that's never gonna change. I'm done blaming you for that, so that's fine. But in case you didn't notice, the way you guys clung to each other back there, someone's gonna start talking."

"Why d'you think I had to sneak out?"

"Couldn't blame you. Keigo hitting on Kuchiki was pretty atrocious to watch."

"Hmph." Despite himself, the sound becomes part a laugh. "Rukia's immune to flirting, you know. And that's weird, 'cause she's so damn naive a lot of the—oh, crap. Don't tell me what that sounded like."

"I won't. I know you. You're already beating yourself up about it."

"It's not like it's anybody else's business, though."

She doesn't answer immediately, as if letting her reply gather momentum. She has no coat on, so he strips off his jacket and dangles it out to her.

"Dumbass." She wraps the jacket over her bare shoulders.

"I'm not standing in the snow without sleeves."

"Stuff it." She tugs up the zipper. "You're thick as... I dunno, a cement block, and that's the reason I'm trying to have a serious talk with you. In the snow. Don't ask why I bother. You wanna go sit in the corridor?"

"Beats freezing our toes off."

"I wanna get this said before they miss us, so move it." She jostles him in through the door, but keeps possession of his jacket as they seat themselves on the stairs, avoiding the streaks of slushy footprints.

He takes a lot more from Tatsuki than his average for people—more or less fourteen years of friendship builds your tolerance. However, during this conversation, he's expected her to illustrate her point with a few friendly wallops to any reachable parts of his body. It sort of worries him that she hasn't. He's used to her being one of the guys. She's sliding away towards something feminine and unreadable.

"So?" He arches an eyebrow at her. "What's so important you gotta sneak after me?"

"You and Kuchiki. Give this one thing to me straight. What's the deal with you two?"

"More water for the rumour mill, huh?"

She yanks him towards her by the scruff of his neck. Her face scrunches up, her teeth rasping over her lip.

"Okay." He blows out a breath. "That was pretty stupid of me."

Her fingers unclench to let him sit upright again. "I'm not asking 'cause I'm curious. Are you gonna answer me?"

If it came from almost anyone else, he'd block the question with cocky silence or a snappy rejoinder. "She's back. That's good."

"And that tells me... what?"

"You figure that out! That's all I know. I don't... well, how'd you feel when we brought Inoue back?"

Tatsuki glances at her folded hands. "I can relate to that. So you're just happy Kuchiki's home safe and sound."

"Mm-hm."

"I'm really trying to cut back on the interrogative impulses here, Ichigo."

"You sound like you already got this figured out. So why ask me?"

" 'Cause I can, and 'cause you're an idiot who wouldn't know what do with a girl if she fell gift-wrapped in your lap." She grabs his arm before he can rise. "I'm serious."

"I am so gonna kick your ass."

"You can try. Later." She releases him slowly, once his muscles have unknotted under her fingers. "Listen up. Chase Kuchiki to the ends of the earth for all I care. That's what you keep on doing, anyway. Might as well give you my blessing."

He lets his head bow, the heat fading from his expression. "Sheesh, thanks." He doesn't sound as sardonic as he meant to.

"I'd go nuts trying to live like you. Considering your Dad, I guess there's a sorta logic there, though."

"You're basing a rational conclusion on my Pop?"

"Come on." She purses her mouth, one side of it quirking up. "More importantly; you're a dumbass, but you're not a jerk. So there's one other thing we need to set straight."

He sighs, considers the option of running away to Soul Society and joining the Eleventh, where there'd be fewer incomprehensible girls around, and comes to his senses. "Fine. Spill."

His mouth drops open as she fixes him with a steely look and says, "Orihime."

* * *

Tatsuki leaves him sitting on the stairs and climbs back to the flat, feet soft and shuffling. He's had a completely inadequate span of time to wallow in his newfound misery when a blare sounds from his pocket.

"Hoolloows—Hoolloows—Hoolloows—" his shinigami badge wails.

"Oh, crap." He bounds up the stairs three at a time. He can't leave his body lying in the stairway. That means going back to the flat, which opens too many new venues of anxiety for him to contemplate right now. Swearing, he leans on the doorbell.

Inoue whisks the door open. "I'm coming, I'm coming! Um, Kurosaki-kun?"

He speeds right past her to conceal the fetching beet shade that flushes his cheeks at the sight of her. "She's had it bad for you for years, and you don't have a clue." Damn Tatsuki. "Later, Inoue!"

Rounding the corner into the living room, he skids into a halt. There are still some people here blissfully ignorant of the soul-gobbling monsters in their midst. Yeah. "Oi, Rukia!"

"What?" She keeps her eyes on the screen. "I was just about to—ha!"

"Hollows," he whispers, brandishing the howling badge in front of her. Tatsuki pokes her head in through the kitchen doorway, but most of the others lounging around the room only glance up from their own conversations. Of course, they can't hear the doomsday noise of the badge.

"More'n one?" In a lazy motion, Renji looks up over the back of the sofa and throws Ichigo entirely off gear.

"Uh, yeah. Hey." He gestures lamely. "When'd you get here?"

"Said I'd come soon as I could."

"What, through the window?"

Laughter ripples up from Renji's throat. "Maybe. Where've you been?"

"Hollows?" Robbing Ichigo of a chance to answer, Rukia grabs the badge from him. On the TV, her abandoned sharpshooter is decimated by his training opponent. "This thing shows no numbers. Renji, have you seen my phone?"

Renji holds out her communicator from the coffee table. Ichigo presses the heels of his palms to his temples; he doesn't even know whether he's grateful for her intercession or irritated that he even came back with the Hollow alert. "Are we all gonna go? Let's make it a party game! Hey, Ishida, you want to—"

"Ishida-kun already left," Inoue says in an undertone from behind him. "Should I come, just in case?"

Rukia has peeled back from her false body, more than a little out of place in shinigami black among the warm colours of the room. Ichigo bites back a grimace, wishing she'd at least have ducked into Inoue's bedroom to exit her body. She leans over Renji to see the display of her phone. "There are eight. All big ones. Very close. Keep playing that," she instructs her gigai.

"Thanks, Orihime. We'll try not to get banged up too much." Renji throws Inoue a grin before turning towards Ichigo. "You, me, Rukia; that should do it. C'mon."

With only a nod, he follows. Despite everything—Tatsuki's wake-up call, his uncertainty with Rukia, Renji's abrupt presence stirring the situation further—this is still simple and clean: they respond to the threat together.

* * *

Eight sizable Hollows prowl the block just behind Inoue's building.

It goes so effortlessly he could weep. Okay, not weep, but the smoothness of the combat is a fucking relief after all the social stress heaped on him tonight. Even though one, if not two, of its major sources are there wiping the street with Hollows right alongside him.

Rukia pins two with well-aimed icicles through their scaly backs, and he flashes by to shatter their masks before leaping at the largest one. Renji occupies the smallest four of the creatures until they converge on him in a second of slipped focus. Zabimaru coils out to tear through them, but the pain washing hot and stark through Renji's reiatsu sends out an unmistakable alarm.

"Rukia!" Ichigo knows he'll need to dive close into the snarl of thrashing Hollow limbs and Zabimaru's lashing sinews that's formed atop a building. A Getsuga from this range will result in friendly fire, and Renji is already hurt.

"Leave this to me!" Her sword shears through another gape-jawed mask, leaving only the four Hollows surrounding Renji.

He rushes into shunpo, cracking Zangetsu down hard on the side of the nearest one. They're tough-hided and agile, somewhat resembling chalky, overgrown salamanders. The creature whips around in place, its snout mottled with blood, and rears to rake at him. He hears Renji swear, but has no time for a look around as he springs upward a step and soars on the momentum to despatch the Hollow with a blow that cleaves its head in two. It tumbles down the side of the building, disintegrating as it goes.

Movement flurries above him. Rukia's voice rises into an incantation, her power fanning out into a net, and he sees what's happening even as it is already over. Renji has stumbled, a ragged sleeve trailing his limp arm as he falls, but a silvery web of kidou snatches him to safety before he can hit the street below. He's yelling at her; she shoots back something biting and familiar. A swift sweep of the roof declares the struggle all but over. Two white shapes are crumbling into dust, so Ichigo hurries over to the last one, its body almost severed in two, and finishes the fight in a clean stroke across its mask.

It's done once more.

"He got them!" he shouts at the others, even as he leaps down to the street.

Seated on the ground, Renji sheathes Zabimaru less than gracefully, his left arm hanging slack and bloodied. "Hey, m'not that rusty yet! Better close that jaw before it falls off, wiseass."

"I—" He lets his lungs empty with a dragging sigh. "You wish, jerkface. How many bones did you break this time?"

"Just the one in the arm." Renji grins insufferably through the gathering sheen of sweat on his face.

"And the bruised ribs," Rukia says, whisking Shirayuki clean before returning her to her scabbard. "We should report this. Was it just me, or was the alert late?"

"I'd say so." Renji glances at her. "Everyone's understaffed, but Karakura's still a high-risk area. Remind me to mention that tomorrow." He tugs at his ripped sleeve, and Ichigo sees only now how his kimono sticks to his left side as well, the fabric heavy with blood.

"We better get you inside." He crouches down on Renji's good side. "Inoue's gonna want a look at that."

"Might not be a bad idea."

"I'll go and get her," Rukia says. "Orihime, that is. We don't want all of them to see, and you shouldn't move more than you have to." She takes off at a dash around the building.

"The bastards were fast," Renji grumbles. His breathing sounds unobstructed, so while he is in pain, the ribs haven't stabbed deep inward. He'll be all right. They just need to wait a while.

"It was—" Ichigo nearly leans forward, touches his brow to Renji's, or grasps his wrist in that quick, strong grip that communicates support and reliance, back and forth, freely given. He offers a rueful grin instead. "A bit off your game tonight, huh? Being home dulled your edge so fast?"

"It was good seeing you, for the three minutes before that Hollow ripped you a new one"? That's what you wanted to say, you wuss.

"Shut your trap, Ichigo." Renji makes to shove at him. "I got more of 'em than you."

"We back to the head count game, then?" He turns away to seal his sword; while he's honed the simple task, it doesn't seem to come as instinctively as to everyone else. He still needs to focus for a heartbeat to make Zangetsu shrink into the slim katana shape. "Thought that was old hat."

"I didn't start it." There's no way to verify Renji's claim. Ichigo doesn't even want to argue. This whole night seems backwards; what was supposed to be a reunion with friends has so far worked only to widen the gaps between, his ease with Rukia compromised, and even his camaraderie with Renji somehow absent, as if the several weeks passed without contact were enough to wipe it away.

He is clumsy with both of his friends, as if now that the deathly danger has passed there were nothing to bind them anymore.

That isn't it, he understands as soon as the thought dawns on him. There are bonds, but he's afraid to see where they run. Renji is eyeing him sidelong; he stands up with a deep exhalation to avoid his gaze.

It was good seeing you. I wish you weren't going so soon.

"Shit," he mumbles, the word thankfully drowned by the stomp of running feet.

"Kurosaki-kun! Renji-kun!" Then Inoue is there, calm and concerned, Rukia on her heels, and he can just step aside to let her work.

He needs to speak to someone sane.

Chapter Text

Ichigo walks the last steps to the cemetery slowly as always. Snow marbles the paths and markers with white. The naked trees stand still around the old temple on the hilltop. He washes the gravestone, lights the incense, and places the rice cakes before the stone.

"Hi, Mom." He's visited more often since the war, alone. This place used to hurt, but he has found a peace with it. It helps him to center himself better than any of Rukia's breathing exercises. "Yuzu made those with your recipe. She's gonna come by later with the old man.

"I kinda needed a break from studying. I hope you won't mind. I think I might actually get into college, though." He runs a hand over the characters etched into the stone. "Otherwise, things are pretty good. Pop reframed your poster. Karin's football club got into the city schools' semifinals. Business as usual."

Some people might find it weird that he talks aloud. He knows better than anyone that the dead can listen with the best of them. Besides, if he cannot talk to her, then who?

"I almost forgot. I decided I'm gonna be a paramedic. It just kinda clicked. Pop thinks I should... You know how he is. 'Follow my heart to fulfill my destiny.' I wonder what you'd say."

He hears ghosts all the time, yet few of them linger at the cemetery. He finds the silence reassuring.

"I miss you." He breathes in deep. "But I'm mostly good." He has learned he can just do that. She is gone. He'll never stop missing her, but he can accept his own grief.

"Yeah, mostly. You know by now things aren't ever really ordinary, even when they're fine." He swallows. "I... I think I may have a thing for this friend of mine. She's starting to remember me properly again. Though she was special, even before."

The incense is something piney, with a pungent whiff of resin. He stands up and slaps feeling back into his arms. The sunny afternoon is insidiously chilly.

"Then there's this other friend who's..." Tucking his hands under his arms, he tries to still his own fidgeting. Considering Inoue still makes him reel, for all that he's had days since Tatsuki's revelation at the party. "I don't have a clue about her," he whispers. "I care, yeah, 'course I do, but..."

It's one thing to be fond of someone because they're fanciful and gentle and good-hearted, and another to feel so that the subject slips under your skin like a blade. He makes an attempt to change the topic.

"Yeah, Pop gave me a talk about girls and stuff, and I've seen Keigo's coll... Sheesh. I'm not telling that to you. It's not that, either." They don't teach you to deal with the hard bits. Telling someone how you see them. What they mean to you. How they change the world just by being in it.

"I don't even wanna know what old beardo would do if I brought a... a girl home, like that. I wonder if you'd have reacted, you know, more normally? Like a sane parent?" A pause as he dwells on this indistinct idea. "Not that she's normal by any definition. Then again, you're the one who married Pop. I think you'd have got her. You'd get anybody."

He walks around the stone once, brushing a twig off the top. Now he's beating around the bush. "It doesn't stop there, though. There something... someone else, too. It's all so fucking strange. Sorry."

He blows on his cupped hands. He had gloves somewhere... A bit of rummaging reveals them in the pocket of his jacket.

"Right. The thing is—" Instinctively, he glances around. A pair of old women make their way down the stairs in the hillside, huffing and chattering, wrapped in colourful scarves. He waits until they're gone.

"This someone else—he's a guy. And a friend. A good one." He sighs. "I told you I was going away for a bit to find Rukia, remember? Ever since we got back, and they went to Soul Society and I came home..." The words seem to find form easier the further he gets. "Something's been different. We're still on our toes, what with the amnesia and everything.

"Only my friends think we're hooking up, Rukia and I. I sure don't know."

There's the way she's with Renji. Could be they were always that close, that comfortable. They've got a lot more in common, all that damn history.

"At least she comes by sometimes. Renji, though... He's too busy almost-captaining, and—and I miss him, for all that he's a smug bastard. Sorry, again."

The wind is kicking up, eddying the loose snow across the pathways. "Sometimes, I just want to see them both so bad. Like they're so damn important. Maybe it was just being out there, knowing you had to rely on them to make it at all." He shrugs, but it's not the careless motion it would usually be. Now they've gone to their world together, and I'm back here on my own.

He lets himself brood about that for three seconds.

"Anyway. Now the biggest thing I've got is the entrance exam." He sees the sidelong glances teachers give him at school; on one hand, he takes care not to give a damn, on the other, he worries. The college whose application he filled isn't top-notch, but it is respectable. "I need to kick ass on it, you know—or Pop's gonna kick mine. Wish me luck."

Because no one can see but her, he smiles lopsidedly. "That's it for now, Mom. I probably talked a lot. Thanks for listening."

* * *

The lock on the gate opens in a series of metallic snaps. Renji has to brace his shoulder against the gate to make it slide aside.

"Captain-General Ukitake said they just locked this place up after the war." He walks through the gate vault into the courtyard beyond. The aged evergreens in the middle spread their branches into the soft dawn air as if stretching after the night. "It's gonna need some overhaul."

Behind him, Hinamori tugs the key from the lock. "It looks so lifeless. No one's raked the pathways."

"There's a job for cheeky rookies." He closes his mouth as she comes up to him, her eyes big, as if trying to drink in the sight of the courtyard down to the last minute detail.

"We used to have patterns."

"You could make 'em scratch poetry in the sand." He laughs. "Then we'd have to walk on the lawns."

"Abarai-kun!" she chides, but her lips press together to hold back a smile. "Oh, but I can't say that anymore, can I?"

"Maybe not," he says. "Vice-Captain Momo."

"I didn't answer you yet." The tremor in her voice sobers the moment. She is in the black of a shinigami, but he has no idea what she's done with her badge. She turned up on his doorstep at first light, and asked only if he had the key to the Fifth Division headquarters.

It was as good a reason as any to make the venture he'd been delaying. Anyway, he's dangling between assignments, not yet transferred, but Captain Kuchiki is subtly saddling his third seat with a growing percentage of Renji's vice-captain duties.

"Let's look inside." He waves a hand at the main building. "Someone's gonna need to come through and check the structures, stuff like that, but... it's been a while since I was here."

Hinamori seems to drift past him. The Fifth is built around the semicircular courtyard, with the offices, barracks, storehouses and indoor training halls fanning out from the rim of the circle. Privately Renji wonders if it would be in bad taste to order the captain's quarters burned to the ground.

The layout of the division is familiar to them both; to his elation, she picks the door that leads to the junior officers' side. Blades of grass push through the rough planks of the veranda. Some of the storm-shutters have uncoiled from their fastenings, hanging in tattered curtains of latticework along the length of the deck.

With a few graceful gestures, Hinamori summons a fireball to light their way. He lets her enter before him. He's visiting, but she's... coming home, almost, returning from a dark roaming to a place she still holds dear.

They pass the empty offices: the blinds are lowered, the closets shut, the furniture covered up. Renji rakes long strings of cobwebs from his hair and takes care to duck in the next doorway.

"It's so quiet. Like a tomb," she says.

"That's a damn cheery image."

"Oh. I didn't mean..."

He pries open a sliding door into another room. The scent of old paper wafts into their nostrils, and their sandals stir up puffs of fine dust. "Think this would make an office yet?"

"I suppose—oh." A step into the room, she pauses, her gaze circling the space for a long, speechless moment. Bookcases cover the wall behind the desk with their rows of neatly alphabetised kidou monographs and volumes of division procedures and regulations. The low, polished table at the other end of the room is flat and grey with gathered dust, the sitting mats tucked under it. Someone has been through the room, set it to rights and allowed it to fall asleep.

Hinamori runs her hands over the sword rack on the desk, carved with a motif of flowering branches. Renji hangs back to wait for her reaction: it seems to unfold as she walks around the room and touches every familiar thing in turn.

"They didn't want me to come back," she murmurs. They could mean Captain Hitsugaya, or Captain Unohana, or any number of others. Shame soaks him at the knowledge that he was too harrowed by Rukia's loss to have minded her misery in the wake of the war.

"That's done now." He remains on his spot beside the desk. Moving past him, she goes to the door on the other side and pushes it open. Tension coils up his spine.

The vice-captain's office joins the captain's in every division. Cool air blows against them as the wood-framed screen slides away under her hand.

Is it all done now? No matter how much he wants her to have this moment for herself, he's observing her with every sense: her head dips, the braid of her hair flopping over her shoulder with the motion to bare the nape of her neck, as if in homage or surrender. The space ahead is shrouded in dust.

"Don't think anyone's been here," he begins inanely, "you know, in a dog's age. Everyone had a lot on their hands after..."

His voice falls as he realises he's justifying the neglect of the office more than anything. Hinamori's hand skims down along the edge of the door. Then she turns in the connecting doorway, the orb of flame bobbing next to her shoulder. Her spirit pressure lies still around her, hues of pink and deep plum mingling together, unruffled, sorrowful.

"Do you think we could leave this the way it is?"

"Why?" he can't help blurting out.

"Not... as a memento or shrine, no," she says. "As a reminder. It's a calm, pleasant... beautiful room, but the person it belonged to wasn't any of those things."

"Right." There seems to be a depth to her words he can't even comprehend. "Let... let me think on that a bit."

"So." She turns to him. "Do you think you could share an office until the renovations are done?"

"Don't see how I've got a choice." Renji lounges back against the wall. "I'm gonna need someone to show me the reins. Handle the paperwork. Draw up the accounts. Make sure the kids play nice while I rot in those neverendin' meetings."

She smiles, timorously, as if testing if her face can still form one. "I thought you had plenty of practice in the Sixth."

"I still gotta outdo the captain, remember?" He can almost make it a joke now. Enough time has passed to teach him that Kuchiki Byakuya is a man he's been proud to serve; he's looked at his captain and found himself quietly, but genuinely respected in return.

"I do." Hinamori pulls him from that fleeting detour and looks him in the eye, jaw set at a prim angle. "Let's do it, then."

Renji's never considered himself a tactile person. Now, he clasps her shoulders with both hands and grins down at her. "You do realise that's like a blanket permission to run ya ragged, Vice-Captain."

She lays her free hand over his, extracts herself from his grip, and a smile bows her mouth before she bends her head. "Just you try that, Abarai-kun. Just you try."

"Give it my best shot." It will take time and effort to dust out the phantoms clinging to the Fifth, but he's just been handed another reason to see this through.

* * *

The Sixth Division lies under an evening lull, only a couple of the office windows spilling lamplight onto the courtyard. Rukia gives the shinigami on watch a nod and slips towards the officers' living quarters. No one answers her knocks, so she lets herself into Renji's rooms. He seems to keep the door permanently unlocked, but with guards as zealous as in the Sixth, intruders vacate the premises at very respectable speed.

She lights a lantern and puts tea water to boil. Then she unbundles her book and makes herself comfortable in the sitting room; the space is partitioned into sleeping and living areas, with the kitchen branching off to the left from the doorway. Her first visit taught her that Renji isn't much one for culture: the bookshelf above his writing table seems to only hold reports and old textbooks, equipment tallies and the odd treatise on the warrior code, all in various stages of order. She's come better equipped for a wait this time.

She's worked through half the kettle and a good sheaf of pages by the time the door rattles. The flame in the lantern flares with the intrusion of cold air that swirls around the room before Renji pushes the screen shut behind him. "Oh, hey. You're here again."

"You still have no books," she says. "You said you'd get me some."

"Well, evenin' to you, too." He removes his gloves and haori; spring is on the way, but the evening chill can still be harsh. "Is that tea? Guess I'll have to forgive the intrusion."

Rukia rises to pour him a cup and refill her own. The powdered tea spreads into the water in a delicate green cloud.

"Thanks." His fingers brush her hand as he takes the cup. "You know, I don't really remember promisin' you that. I don't get much time for readin'. Were you expectin'... I dunno, Lament of the Lotus Empress?"

"Very glib. I'm surprised you even know the title." The entire three-volume series of verse sits in an ancient, hand-copied edition on her brother's shelf.

He tosses one of the sitting cushions down beside the table and folds down onto it, ankles crossed. "There's the Comfort of the Lotus Empress, too. That one's more to my tastes."

"Renji!" A scandalised snap in her tone, she mimicks tossing the tea at him, but refrains. The sound of his laughter is too much of a balm on her. "How did your patrol go?"

"Went all right. They're... they're good soldiers, the Fifth. Feels like they really wanna get back into the swing of things." Pride rings in his voice, whether he realises it or not.

"I should think so. No one likes to feel useless."

His hand halting halfway to bringing the cup to his mouth, Renji raises a brow at her.

"You'll do well by them, I'm sure," she says, trying to drag the conversation out of the hole her previous words opened. "I think... it'll be good for you, too. The captaincy."

"We're not there yet, Rukia."

"Do you know of anyone else they might name captain of the Fifth? The trial period is a formality."

"Right. And you know this because—"

"Working in the office of the Captain-General offers some benefits." She's seen the transcript of the captains' meeting in which the topic was discussed. While contentious, the final sum of the discussion delineated Abarai Renji as the top—if not only—choice as the next head of the Fifth. Even if not ideal, he's needed beyond question.

He is moving forward again. That seems to her one of his best qualities; the adamant will to live, to overcome hardship, to never admit defeat, for all that it stands at odds with the intimation that he once let the two of them drift apart.

Sometimes, she senses a nebulous distance, but as a thing of the past, something they have resolved by now. It shouldn't matter that she is effectively stuck on secretarial duty while he's facing a promotion. They still have these evenings, the sleepy closeness and comfort in one another's presence.

"What's that, by the way?" Renji says. "You got a book right there."

"Vice-Captain Ise's Record of the Winter War." She holds up the heavy volume. "She let me borrow an unedited copy. The students are apparently given a selective version of the truth?"

"Hey, we gotta protect their young minds so they're ripe for corruption when they graduate," he drawls. "Why the interest in history? You never were much of a bookworm."

"I had a good memory." She flashes a wry smile. "I have to know what happened. Captain Unohana says I may never remember."

"Yeah, gotcha. Whatever works for you."

They descend into silence after that. Renji pores over a stack of reports, stamping each one in the general area of the last page, sipping at his second cup of tea. She wriggles deeper into the cushions and Ise's crystalline analysis of Aizen Sousuke's infiltration and subversion of the infrastructure of Soul Society. They both find a snug slot inside the quiet.

The lantern has long since started to shimmer, the wick ravelling into the melted wax, when he speaks up. "S' pretty late."

"Are you on early shift again?" At his nod, she rises to tuck the book in her carrying cloth. "It's fine. I've read enough for one night. This is rather demanding material."

The expected benign jab at her intellectual proclivities doesn't come; he's watching her with hooded, uneasy eyes. "Ah... you're spendin' the night again?"

"I thought I might." After that first night she stole into his quarters, he's never commented on it, on her curling close as he goes to sleep, until morning. She can feel that source of solace begin to crumble, shaken by his words.

His shoulders are taut and squared. "You shouldn't. It's not really good for ya to stay here so much."

"I'm sorry?" She does her utmost to ignore the clench in her belly.

"No," he says. "I'm sorry. But you are Captain Kuchiki's sister, an' it's not helpin' anyone's reputation you've been seen comin' to my door. Stayin' the night. Well, we both know it's not like that, but... You know."

The icy lump sharpens into a shaft of anger. "I know. Do I truly, Renji?"

"You're still the lady of the Kuchiki, and I—" His throat moves as he swallows.

"That I do know!" She did not register rising, but she is now glowering down at him. "Now you are making me remember, as well, every moment we spend together?"

"Rukia, I..." His face is wide open, helpless, and she hates him for it with a force she did not think possible.

"I am not allowed to forget! They watch my every gesture in that house! It is a wonder I even manage to sleep alone!"

The barb is weak, yet it flies true. He flinches, does not look away. "I'm just tryin' to do right by you. I don't like it either, but you gotta think of—"

White-glowing fury mixes with a smothering upwelling of need inside her. You said you were my friend. You said you wanted me here. Both thoughts refuse to become words, the sounds like glue in her mouth.

"Indeed," she snaps. "Lock the last door in that golden cage and see she stays inside, this Lady Kuchiki! Do right by her!"

"Damn it—" He stumbles onto his feet and towards her. "No, Rukia, wait—"

This has happened before. The fact hits her even as she backs away towards the door, her sandals, her shawl, her book forgotten. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"I am afraid I must take my leave," she bites out. "Good night, Acting Captain Abarai."

Not again. I have no choice.

"Rukia!"

She plunges into the courtyard, leaving behind his stunned face, the warmth of his quarters. Her feet patter over the sand, but only the surprised gate guard watches her whip out onto the street.

She doesn't even know if she is glad or devastated that Renji has not come after her.

Chapter Text

Rukia complains way too loudly for someone who didn't even have to carry a single box up the stairs.

Chad and Tatsuki stopped by earlier to help with the heavy lifting. Ichigo definitely owes them both one, now that all his stuff is crammed into the postage stamp-sized studio. He is glad they decided to go with the futon instead of his old bed. That frees enough floor space that he maybe won't have to learn to walk on walls.

"Why the heck d'you care how the blankets are folded?" He peers out from the kitchenette.

"You can be such a male," she says. "How I ever managed to live in your closet for two months is quite beyond me."

"I got a guest futon. You won't hafta go back there anymore."

"I wouldn't fit in there anymore, given how you've stuffed these in!" She dumps the bedding back onto the floor.

"Hey, I was done with those!"

The ensuing quarrel is cut short by the racket of his family at the door. His father all but breaks through the door, but he is carrying enough food to feed a small army. Yuzu scampers inside past him and just like that, Rukia is drafted into helping her fill the kitchen cupboards. Karin brings up the rear, balancing a stack of takeout boxes.

He never expected to be able to slink out without his family's meddling, however well-meaning it is. Rukia's appearance at the clinic doorstep on his moving day produced predictable results: she was swept along into the boisterous caper of the Kurosaki clan helping its son take his first steps in the wider world.

"It is a little early, as my foolish son hasn't even got into college yet," Isshin announces. "But we all have faith in him, and it isn't every day an affordable studio like this comes along!"

"His colleague was renting out this place," Ichigo translates in between bites of his noodles. Karin and Yuzu huddle on the floor in a tête-à-tête, bent over Yuzu's mobile phone, so Rukia's attention is on him and his father. "So we had to seize the day, I guess."

"I understand." She nods. "Did you not have the entrance examinations already?"

"Not yet. I just filed the applications. We'll see." Fortunately his father chooses this moment to try and steal Yuzu's phone, and he's spared the inevitable speech about fortitude and perserverance.

"Then you still have time to study. It'd be silly to throw in the blanket at this point—"

Yuzu's rare, vocal complaint cleaves her sentence, and then Karin scrambles up after a crowing Isshin. "Give that back, you damn old goat!"

"Towel, Rukia," Ichigo says under his breath even as he moves to separate his father and sister. "You throw in the towel."

She rolls her eyes at him before occupying herself with soothing Yuzu. In spite of the hot food, it's been a tiring day for all of them; Ichigo is secretly glad when Isshin soon proclaims it's time for Daddy and his daughters to head on home.

"You better keep studying hard," Karin says on her way out. "Since you got to do the graduation move-to-your-own-place thing before you even graduated."

"Some of us have all the luck." He pokes her in the cheek with his knuckles. "Don't let Pop get to you, you hear?"

"Hn, like I would. Enjoy your freedom." For a second, she leans into his side. "Don't start your life of debauchery on the first night on your own, 'kay?"

"How old were you again?" Ichigo's face reddens. "Eh, go on already, s'not like I'm gonna miss you!"

Yuzu calls from the stairway, "You'll come for dinner on Sunday, right, brother?"

"Do not despair, Yuzu-chan, the ties of familial love are not so easily severed!"

"Oh, just get out! I will!"

Karin's laughter trails after her in the stairwell until Ichigo bangs the door shut on the lot of them, holding back only for Yuzu's sake. He hooks the chain in place, then turns to look at the mess of cardboard boxes, half-filled shelves, plastic wrap, and articles of clothing spilled from some overfull moving container.

Some life of debauchery this is going to be.

Rukia sits in his new desk chair, nibbling on the last of her udon noodles. The shadeless ceiling lamp haloes her head in a fringe of mussed strands. She returns his gaze across the room. He realises she, too, looks exhausted, her eyes large and unsure under the veneer of polite know-it-all she's maintained all day.

"They didn't heckle you too much, did they?" He thwaps the door for emphasis. "Karin just teases, don't mind it."

"I don't mind," she says, then hesitates. "Ichigo? You don't think I could stay the night?"

* * *

Ichigo kicks open the guest futon and drops her old pillow on it. He didn't look so closely when picking out his extra bedding, but the pillow was on top of the pile...

Whatever.

Rukia emerges from the bathroom, nearly swallowed by the towel draped around her. "Thank you. It was cramped, but refreshing."

The towel comes down to her calves. He's seen her in less, although there was usually life-threatening injury involved, but neither her thin ankles nor the arch of her bare shoulders should make him feel as warm as they do. She has something weighing on her mind that makes her reluctant to return home tonight. He can respect that, as a friend.

"You can blame the price of real estate." He hides his fluster behind a grin. "There's some stuff in the fridge. Pop bought those fluffy vanilla biscuits you like. I'm gonna shower now, so... just get changed, and, you know. I'll yell before I come out."

Back home, it was feasible to get dressed in the bathroom. The studio affords no such luxury, which leads to some complications.

"Go on. I'm sure I can manage. I can even use the rice cooker now."

"Don't. Just don't." He doesn't want to end up making a headlong dash from the shower and electrocuting himself on some malfunctioning kitchen appliance. He shakes a finger at her and slips away into the bathroom before she can toss anything at him.

When he comes out, she is in her borrowed pyjamas. She turns to plumb the depths of Yuzu's fruit basket while he pulls on some clothes.

"You better not get crumbs on my bed," he carps as she bites into another biscuit, topped with an apple slice.

"I am nowhere near your bed, imbecile."

"Well, they fly, what with the way you—"

She chucks half of the apple at him. He dives to catch it before it smashes into his bedside lamp. "Hey! Watch it!"

"I think that is enough. I wouldn't wish to disturb your new home on the first night, even if the master of the house is an idiot."

"He's got a mean houseguest." He takes a bite out of the apple. "That's an extenuating circumstance."

"We'll balance out, then."

"Yeah, that's hilarious."

* * *

Rukia tugs at the pillow until it has a shape that fits under her head. Across the scant breadth of floor between their futons, Ichigo is sprawled on his back, knees raised, holding up a book into the light of his reading lamp.

"What are you reading? For the examination?"

"Nah, just this poem." He sounds evasive. "I'm tryin' to read them in English."

"Will you translate for me?" She simply wants the sound of his voice in her ears, to remind her of his presence in the muzzy half-dark. If she let herself deconstruct that desire, she would end up having to withdraw, explain, leave. Right now, loneliness frightens her more than selfishness, so she stays.

"It's in Japanese here." He raises the book so she can see the characters on the right-side page, next to the strange alphabet from the west.

"Then read it to me. Out loud."

"What?" His voice is muffled with surprise. "You serious?"

"Since I do so frequently joke at your expense."

His silence is pointed enough that she huffs in concession. "I did mean it. I would like to hear."

Giving a wordless grunt, he flips the book back a few pages, while she burrows into the cocoon of the covers. His voice rasps as if with disuse as he begins. "Okay. Sonnet one hundred an' seven. 'Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul/ Of the wide world dreaming on things to come/ Can yet the lease of my true love control/ Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom...'"

He coughs, the building cadence lost. She doesn't mind. She shuffles closer under the covers until her slack hand could touch his side, the bared strip of skin where his tee-shirt has bunched up under his back.

" 'The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured'," he goes on, falling back into a tempo lower and more focused than his speaking voice. " 'And the sad augurs mock their own presage/ Incertainties now crown themselves assured/ And peace proclaims olives of endless age...' Are you listening?"

"Yes," she says. "Eclipses and augurs and olives, whatever those are. Continue."

"Stop being so bossy. 'Now with the drops of this most balmy time/ My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes...'"

This place smells different from his old room, but he smells the same, clean now, something mild and woodsy. She watches his profile against the lamp and thinks that if she were to run a hand through his hair, the roots of it would be damp under her fingers.

" 'And thou in this shalt find thy monument/ When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent." Ichigo punctuates the last verse with an intake of breath. "Happy now?"

She meets his expentant stare with a more befuddled one of her own. Probably she is; his reading voice echoes pleasantly in her head, lending the words some secret, sacred meaning. "Yes," she says.

"Coulda fooled me. You had this funny look on your face just now."

"I'm fine, idiot. Your poetry is lovely, though I haven't heard much like it."

"It's not Japanese, it's English, dumbass. Foreign." He stretches up to push the book onto the table next to the lamp. "What d'you read in Soul Society, anyway? You don't have manga, or..." He slumps onto his side to face her. She is momentarily caught by the planes of light and shadow shifting over his features.

"There—there is poetry. The kind my brother reads in the evenings." With a dash of devilment, she adds, "And the kind you must be drunk to recite properly. The two do not mesh." She could sink into this moment and never come up again, learn to breathe the soap in his skin and the ink in his book and live on the sound of his reading.

"I bet," he says drily.

"Still, I might prefer yours."

"Over which of those kinds, Rukia?"

"Either." She smothers a smile at his scowl. "Both." She tilts forward and up, touches a delicate finger to his jaw, and lets her mouth slant over his.

* * *

The first time Kurosaki Ichigo kisses a girl goes something like this: He's splayed on the side of his futon, feeling silly and moved in the way pretty much no one but Rukia can make him. It lands between a sound blow in the sternum and persistent tug at the heart. She's wiggled closer while he worked through the lines with the stresses he always gives them in his head. He's never read them aloud before.

He hasn't read aloud to anyone, period, since first Karin and then Yuzu grew out of bedtime stories. That train of thought comes to a crashing stop when Rukia leans up to him.

The ubiquitous strand of her hair hangs over the arch of her eyebrow. That's the last thing he notes before the feel and the fact of her kissing him blank out all else. It is a brief brush of their mouths together, and something quick and wet that could be the tip of her tongue on his lip as she withdraws, and that sends a shiver undulating down his throat—in any case, he is left gawking at her.

"Um," he says. "Er. Rukia, what..."

Tatsuki would kill me. He almost wishes she'd appear to try that. It would distract him from the shape of Rukia's mouth as it pinches shut, or the fine shadows in the corners of her eyes that deepen as she squints at him.

"What," she says.

"Look." He sits up, fisting his hands in the covers to keep them somewhere. "I'm not sayin' this is a—a bad move, actually something like the opposite, but—"

But she's convalescent and a little messed up in the head and all that. Even if he admits to fluttery feelings when she comes near like just now, she is still his friend, and he can't screw that up by acting like some sleazy pervert. Anyway, this is Rukia with her weird notions of human behaviour...

All this flashes helter-skelter through his brain in the second that it takes her to pull up into a sitting position. She regards him with ink-dark eyes.

"Okay," he begins again. "Lemme try that again. Was that—you know, somethin' you picked up from manga? Or—crap, I don't know. What were you—?"

"I'm sorry," she says, clipped. "I should not have presumed."

"Presumed?" Maybe they can make a game out of parroting each other. "What're you sorry for?"

She shucks the covers aside and fumbles towards her shoulder bag. He couldn't name the exact thing that galvanises him into action, but he grabs her shoulder.

"Rukia."

"Ichigo." Her face is frozen with effort to control her expression. "Let go of me. I'll leave now."

"Like hell." Heedless of that she might sock him, he whips her around to face him. "Look, I'm sorry if I said something dumb, but you're not going like that!"

"I'll go when I please!"

"I'm apologising! What more d'you want?" He feels like he's at the edge of an unknown space, shouting into the emptiness in the hope that the echoes will align themselves into the right things to say. Rukia kissed him. That should be something good, and right, but there's the matter with Inoue, and the matter with Renji, and oh, shit.

"What are you apologising for?" Rukia is poised for some reaction; to wrest free, to move closer. Her mouth softens with the question.

"What are you?" He loosens his grip, not releasing it. "Why are we so damn sorry, anyway, Rukia?"

"I... thought I'd overstepped my bounds."

"Maybe. No, you didn't. I guess I managed to say something to tick you off. Happens a lot."

"It's all right." Her shoulder muscles unwind, and her lips part a fraction. "You mean well."

"Well, I try." A flush of heat stings his cheeks even as he strives for unconcern.

"Dolt."

"Dummy."

Her fingers curve around the back of his head, and he draws her closer by the shoulders. His eyes flick shut of their own accord as her lips skim his cheek and then his mouth.

Three seconds later, she breaks away to mutter, "Don't open your mouth like that."

"How 'bout you get your hair out of my nose?"

"Are we doing this or arguing about it?"

He huffs, but lets her steer him, easing into the slow, snug fit of the kiss. That kiss segues into the next, and the next, and he begins to grasp the tiny complexities there. His heart thrums in his ears, as if his chest weren't big enough to contain it. Rukia doesn't seem to care: her arms link around his neck and her mouth is pliant and insistent.

Shifting back, he raises her up to avoid a creeping crick in his neck, and she bends into the hollow of his body. With a pang, melting-hot, low in his stomach, he becomes aware that for all her angles, Rukia has soft curves now pressed against him. It's not like he didn't know that. The knowledge just never was so... hands-on. As it were, all that separates him from the fact is the thin flannel of her pyjama top.

"What now?" She sounds out of breath.

"Rukia," he says, because she always could set him straight, and maybe he needs that now. "We should do this. Only not... like this. I mean, yeah, if you really want to, then I'm sorta all for it, but..."

There's a few things I have to deal with first.

"I see." She bites her lip, teeth dragging over it. The small movement draws his gaze as if by a string.

Right. Things to be dealt with. Like Renji. What would Renji even say if he knew? While he's on the subject of unpleasant implications, what is Rukia thinking, given he saw her with Renji once much like they are now, beside a campfire in the wilds of another world?

There have to be words appropriate for this situation. "Don't. Don't see. Just... wait a while. Sit tight."

"You can be so strange."

"Like you're not a—a walking conglomeration of weirdness."

Of all things in the world, she chuckles at that. "Very well." Her expression grows sober. "I will wait, for a while."

Ichigo has to sit back and breathe. Reality descends in on him with jellyish slowness. Rukia still leaves an imprint on his senses, a subliminal signal that keeps her in the dead centre of his focus.

"Perhaps we should sleep now." She pulls the covers back over herself.

"I guess." His clock radio blinks 01:22 in red digital numbers. He should've been asleep an hour ago. She's planning on going to sleep in his space after what just happened. "You want—should I switch off the lamp?"

"Please do." Her hair fans out over the pillow. He can't make himself look away from her, even when the lamplight flickers out. "And, Ichigo..."

"Yeah?"

"Good night. Sleep well."

"You, too."

Cross-legged on his futon, he watches her for a long time after she's fallen asleep. The outline of her back under the covers rises and dips with her slumbering breath, and the sight blends into a fitful dream where he walks behind her, always a step, always the turn of a corner too late.

* * *

A tray of tea utensils in her hands, Rukia glances around the vacant office. The day is pleasantly hazy, so it would not be unlike Captain Ukitake to have taken the paperwork outside.

He sitting on the veranda, but looks up to greet her at once. She serves him the tea and ferries signed reports inside to return with a fresh stack from his in-tray.

"Do you have a moment, Kuchiki?" he asks when she is about to excuse herself back to the accounts.

"Of course."

"You were cleared for active duty last week. How would you feel about returning to full commission?"

"Without hesitation, sir." Her work in the office is worthwhile, but sometimes, huddling at a desk when she knows she could—even should—be on the field is enough to drive her mad.

"Based on the latest evaluations," he says, and a slow smile steals on his face, "you would be qualified to fill the fifth seat. I would like to offer you the position."

Rukia knows she is staring and cannot help it.

"Well, will you accept this considerable honour?" Her captain is teasing her. That returns a measure of her composure.

She dips into a bow. "With all my heart, sir." Her whole body feels light, brimming with purpose. "Thank you. I... I am not even sure what to say. I will do my best to meet your trust in me."

"I have not doubt of that. You'll make a fine officer." His expression sharpens. "I'd also like you to know that all restrictions on your advancement have been lifted. You're free to compete for higher seats like every other member of this division."

"I see," is all she can say. She knows, through Ichigo, in fact, that her brother had once limited her rise through the ranks. The implications of this new development dumbfound her. "Sir, did you—I should not ask that."

"Sit, Kuchiki." Ukitake gestures at a woven cushion across from his place at the writing table. "Before you fall over."

"I—I am fine," she protests. This is no way for a newly appointed officer to behave. Not that she is even formally appointed yet. Still, she was given an instruction. She takes the offered seat, and the tea cup her captain holds out to her. "Thank you, sir."

"You have been through a lot lately," he says as if it explained everything, and turns back the reports, leaving her cradling the delicate cup.

He is allowing her to regroup her wits. She tries to push away all thoughts of her brother; heartache and upset lie that way. The tea is precisely right, strong and piquant on her tongue. After a moment, she sets the cup down with a bow of her head.

Ukitake raises his head at the chink of china on wood. "The results of the evaluations will be posted tomorrow. I'll see you at the ceremony."

"Yes, Captain."

"And, Kuchiki?" He stops her as she rises. "Officially, I shouldn't say this, but you really should speak to Byakuya. It would be good for the both of you."

Chapter Text

Ichigo takes care to lounge in the library stacks, so that the majority of the handicrafts club members pay him no heed on their way out. Inoue is the club vice-president this year; she leaves last. He waits for the last clutch of chattering girls to pass into the stairs.

"Hello?" Inoue is leaning into the classroom when he ventures out of the library. "Anyone still here? I'm locking the door now!"

"Hey, Inoue!" He takes longer strides to reach her.

She turns, surprised. The door locks with a click. "Kurosaki-kun? What is it? Is there a Hollow?" Her hand brushes one of her hairpins. "Not that you'd need any help, I—"

She seems skittish, and now he knows why. The corridor around them is empty. It makes a wealth of a difference.

"No, no Hollow. Everything's fine." He slings his school bag over his shoulder. "Just... d'you mind if I walk you home?" The words fall out in a rush. "I mean, just walk, we've sorta got the same way—now that we've both moved again."

"I don't mind." She smiles. "Let's go before it rains. I forgot to bring an umbrella, so..."

"Yeah."

The last students are trickling out through the gates. Once they're outside, she settles to walk beside him. He shortens his steps to match her more restrained pace.

"If you break her heart I will hurt you", Tatsuki said to him in curt tones.

"You already have, I know. You didn't even mean to. You bastard."

He came to see Inoue as a friend in the long-short year of the war. She saved his life, he saved hers, back and forth; they feared and grieved and endured together. He learned to rely on her quiet presence, watching their backs, ready to catch those who fell.

They cross a street and turn to traverse a park, hidden between blocks of flats. The sun still shimmers through the clouds, though stretches of dark purple dominate the sky above the sea.

"Really, what is it?" Inoue breaks the silence. "You can tell me, right? If it's really important, I could even sign a confidentiality agreement. Just between you, me and the—the lamp post, I guess."

"I kinda... How'd you know, anyway?"

"You never ask to walk alone with me. You were waiting outside the classroom." Her gaze is trained ahead on a bubbling stone fountain. "There's something important on your mind."

"She's sharp. She knows you. Better than you do, you idiot."

"We're friends," he says abruptly. "We can walk home together, can't we?"

"Of course." She nods at him. "It's... normal. You were just so quiet."

"Lost in thought. It's not you, okay?" Except that it is, wrapped in threads of the vicious tangle that unfortunately stands for the... for the state of his mind. The term love life is strictly Mizuiro's province, and implies all sorts of convolutions Ichigo has no wish to apply to himself. He fishes around for something to salvage the conversation.

"Why were you still at school?" Inoue comes his rescue.

"Uh. I was reading, in the library." That much is true, though he could as well have gone home to study.

"How are you holding up? It isn't so long until the entrance exams anymore."

"I'm dealing." His midterm report, though disastrous, was better than he had hoped. He's even glad to let school consume his life—this present situation being a prime example of why.

"That's good. And, if you need any..."

"That's fine, Inoue." He isn't about to became a dead academic weight on any of his friends. "Just worry about yourself, okay? You already decide where you're going?"

It is widely whispered that Ishida has his sights on Tokyo University, and Ichigo has told him good riddance on several occasions—but now he realises Inoue's career choice is a mystery to him.

"Yes." She steps over a puddle of yesterday's rain. "I want to be a nurse. I'm not as clever as Ishida-kun, but I think I could be good at that."

"You'd be great." He means it, though it springs unbidden to his tongue. " You will be."

She breaks into a smile. "Thank you." He turns his eyes to the sky, counting the blocks in his mind. They might make it before the rain, or at least Inoue will.

"And you?"

"I what? Oh, you mean after high school." He tugs at his hair. "Can you keep a secret?"

"I said I'd sign a confidentiality agreement." She winks at him, a shade of the carefree, whimsical Inoue she was before the war. "It'll be safe as houses. With alarm systems and big hulking guards."

"I'm gonna try for paramedic. Guess it's like with you. I wanna... make a difference. Help people. But doctors... well, you know Pop."

"He's very kind. I would want to be like him."

"Yeah, and he's certifiable. And has a secret identity."

Inoue laughs. "You are like him."

"Oh, sure." I'm about to turn you down and I didn't even know you liked me. That's the farthest thing from kind.

They halt to wait at a crossing when the first thin, icy droplets speckle the asphalt. She holds out her hand to catch the rain. "What do you think? Should we hide, or run for it?" She pauses. "Neither seems like your style."

"I'm learning the occasional value of both." Diagonally across the street, he spots a rundown café, its colourful marquees flapping in the wind. "I guess we run for it. Over there!"

A flash of merriment in her eyes, she dashes across the street ahead of him. They duck into the doorway scant seconds before the winter downpour washes the street. After an exchange with the waitress, they sit down at a table. Inoue wipes her hands on the warm towel, then peers at him.

A fresh wave of fidgeting creeps over him. Whenever he forgets what this walk home was originally about—and she seems to make that easy—he's enjoying her company, which makes everything that much harder.

"So?" She accepts a mug of cocoa from the waitress. There is that vein of concern in her voice again.

"I can—" He clears his throat as the waitress places his soda in front of him. "Thanks. So. Yeah. I can tell you, can't I?"

She takes a sip of her mug. "Uh-huh."

"It's messy. And more than messy. I guess catastrophic is the word. I mean, not like, say, gettin' locked in Hueco Mundo when Karakura's about to be—but—"

"Nothing could be like that," she says, and he feels like a complete dumbass. "It's okay. Just go back to the messy part."

"Sorry." He fixes his eyes on the table, sure he will flush like a radish if he looks at her. What the hell am I doing?

"The messy part's kinda like this." Just for something to do, he takes a rather noisy drag on his soda. "There's someone I... you know, I've been watchin'."

"Mm-hm." She nods a little.

"Just for... a bit now." It's half a lie, but he can't let the silence come and speak its own truths. He has to get this out now, in one go. "But someone... I kinda... It'd just be fair to let you know, you know?" The admission splatters uncouthly over the conversation.

Inoue has curved her hands around the mug. "Right," she says in a small voice.

"I'm..." Is he sorry that she's watched him for a long time, or for having to tell her, or for seeing her, someone he really cares for, hurt and dismayed? "I'm sorry."

You took her out to tell her no. You're an ass, Kurosaki Ichigo. Right now, he is not sure whether his subconscious sounds more like Rukia or Tatsuki.

I didn't! At least I didn't mean to. Shit.

After a long pause, during which a traitorous fraction of him wants to slink away, and the rest stomps on its neck, Inoue turns back to him.

"Sorry for what?" she asks with uncommon frankness.

He forces the twitching pieces of his mind to stick together. "I didn't wanna upset you."

"It does hurt. Right now it hurts."

Ichigo knows how to treat his sisters when they cry. That is the total sum of his experience with weeping girls. He guesses Rukia would kick and snap at him, but that's her, and she's a special case.

This is Inoue, soft, pleasant, girlishly unfathomable.

She is looking at him with dry, if bright eyes.

"You're kind," she says at last. If he could, he might reach to take her hand, for all the right reasons and for all the wrong results.

"I had an... an inkling, Kurosaki-kun." He can hear how she retreats behind his surname. "It's not really... I'll be all right."

"Look..." He founders, then forges forward as ineptly as he can. "That's... that's good. I hope you will."

Nice try, Kurosaki. Hope you feel better, too.

"It is messy. I'm not sure it could not be." Pushing her chair back, Inoue leaves her half-full mug on the table. "I think the rain's letting up a little."

"Looked like a shower to me." He nods. "So, uh..." He shrugs on his jacket and pulls up the zipper, for whatever protection from the rain it affords. She turns up the lapels of her coat, half hiding her face. He holds the door open for her from some stupid notion of courtesy. Stepping past, she takes a deep breath and speaks, her back to him.

"Would you still walk with me?"

Ichigo works down the gummy bit in his throat. "Sure. Any time. If you want."

"Some other day." Inoue pulls the strap of her bag across her chest. "I'll see you at school, Kurosaki-kun." She springs into a run down the wet pavement.

"See you," he calls after her, but his voice is too rough for the goodbye to carry.

* * *

Soul Society is always warmer than the living world. Karakura soaks in late February rain, but here, a spring lightning storm gathers above Seireitei. Even through the layers of rock overhead, the pressure in the air is palpable. The training ground is thick with unleashed reiatsu, obscured by the dust their sparring has raised.

"Feel like blowin' off some steam? Go full out this time?" Renji asked him as they entered Urahara's old hideout. Ostensibly, this practice bout provides a break for both of them; Ichigo is strung high with anticipation of the college exam that now consumes every other kind of worry. While he isn't positive what's eating Renji, it's plain to see something's burrowed under his skin.

The only answer Ichigo gave was to release his bankai and round on Renji. It began as a warm-up game of shunpo tag and escalated into a ground-shaking confrontation as Renji, too, let his bankai roar to life. No matter how Renji might slot into the puzzle of his personal relationships, this is the way they first connected, and still do: the spar kicks into motion as if nothing chafed between them.

Ichigo dives under Zabimaru's bone sections. His speed is unmatchable, but Renji has greater range. A whirl in the surrounding reiatsu alerts him to the next strike, and he sweeps away as a blast from Zabimaru's jaws gouges into the ground where he stood.

In the split second after the attack, he flings out a Getsuga. Renji is out of sight, concealed by the coils of his zanpakutou, but Zabimaru isn't as well protected. Ichigo fires as many of the sickles of energy as he can. The segments of the neck scatter; he hears Renji curse and smirks to himself. The damage is incidental. What it buys him is an opening.

Zangetsu is as intimate a part of his body as bone and muscle and nerve. They fight as one. Renji and Zabimaru fight as two in seamless harmony, joined by a single purpose; when one falters, the other follows.

He's already bloodied and bruised and breathing heavily. They carry on until one gives in. He kicks off a vertebra as they slide back into alignment, buffeted by Zabimaru's bellow behind him. The jagged jaws plummet towards him and he's a hair too slow. His robes tear off his shoulder, caught on a fang, but he surges free. Shucking the ripped sleeve, he leaps recklessly further inside Renji's reach.

"Bastard—!" Surprise rings in Renji's shout. A hail of smaller segments almost catches Ichigo in midair. He throws back a Getsuga to disperse them and summons every ounce of speed left in his body.

He wills himself there and then he is. He whips Zangetsu around more for show and freezes the blow just short of slicing into Renji's neck. To his credit, Renji doesn't even flinch; then resigned amusement breaks through the blood and dust on his face.

"Fine. You win."

"About time," Ichigo sighs. "Whoa." As they shed their bankai, he grabs an unashamed hold of Renji's shoulder for support. That is okay. That he can do. The greatest perk to training in Urahara's cavern is the healing spring at one end; both their flash-steps hobble as they make their way there.

"'You see me this time?" Ichigo cocks an eyebrow at the old joke. Renji teaches him strategy and endurance; he seems to mostly hone Renji's reflexes. It's a fair trade.

"I do." Renji eyes him up and down. "Had so much fun couldn't keep your shirt on?"

"Huh? Oh, right." He strips off the remains of his robes. He's more dirty than hurt, but his hip aches where Renji landed a lucky blow early on.

"Not a bad look, I guess. It's hot enough."

"Stuff it, smartass," Ichigo snaps back and only then realises Renji hasn't looked away. His eyes gleam with insufferable mirth. Shit, and this was going so well; he could lose the awkward pauses in the energy of the sparring.

"What?" Renji yanks off his shitagi, too much knowledge in his voice.

Ichigo swallows hard and shoves him into the spring.

* * *

Clothed again in his hakama and a clean shitagi, Ichigo tosses his towel over a rock to dry. Renji is done cleaning his sword, wrapping the hilt-thread back into place. Ichigo slouches down to the left of him and holds out the water flask. Renji accepts, swallows a mouthful and passes it back.

Somewhere far out, thunder rolls in the sky. An echo reverberates round the cavern walls. Ichigo drinks until the edge of his thirst is dulled and thinks that this is all too damn comfortable.

"Hey," he says.

Renji hums as he presses the pommel cap on the hilt, finished with his work.

"How's Rukia? Seen her lately?" The query is about as graceful as a drunken hippo, but he rolls the topic out anyway.

"Not much. She's been stayin' at the Kuchiki estate a lot. I don't really like goin' there without reason."

"Rukia's not a reason?" "Declare your intentions", eh, Ichigo? Shit, he feels like they were meeting on some rain-lashed field for a single-stroke duel to the death for a lady's honour. If only it were a simple matter of defending her; then they would join forces and deal with it.

Renji looks up. "You know I didn't mean it like that."

"I do?" Ichigo doesn't feel like cutting him slack right now. "You're supposed to keep an eye on her. You got a good telescope?"

"Get a grip, Ichigo!" Renji's eyes harden. "She's fine. I'm not about to babysit a woman who can give you a run for your money at swords. Even less so when she's my best friend."

"That's not an exclusive claim, you know? I'm kinda counting on you here." This wasn't about keeping Rukia safe, was it? Some part of Ichigo hangs back to blink owlishly at the rest, which is diving ahead on sheer irritation. "To look out for my friends when I can't?"

"Ring the bells an' whip up a parade, Kurosaki admits he can't do it all on his own."

"Oh, fuck you!" He springs onto his feet. Kurosaki cuts to a depth he really didn't expect. "Fine for you to talk when you aren't living in two damn worlds! You think I like that I can't be here more, that you guys—"

"The hell's wrong with you today?" Renji breaks into his tirade, standing up, hands fisted. "Thought this was a trainin' session. Now you're snappin' like a whacked dog! You got a bone to pick with me, fine. No idea why, but how 'bout you don't drag Rukia into it?"

How can he want so badly to pound in the head of a guy who just minutes ago almost made him lose his own? "Don't really see how I 'dragged' her anywhere! You think she's not a part of this? I get she's still recovering, but—" But you both drive me up the wall and I don't know how the fuck to deal with this. He pulls into a forcible halt, his breath hissing out.

"But what?"

"What are you gonna do about her?" It's not the answer to Renji's question. It's a feeble diversion.

"About Rukia?" Renji pauses.

"Yeah, about Rukia." It is part of the problem.

"I told you this." Suddenly, Renji is quiet and grave. "Be there when she needs me. Be her friend best I know how."

"That's all?" He's taken a step forward. He is unlikely to ever reach Renji's height, but he can glower at him at eye-level just fine.

"That's all. What'd you wanna hear?"

Renji is walling himself up behind that reserved face that's like nothing Ichigo knows. He's done that himself before. He hates it right now, hates that Renji is throwing his own tactics back at him; the realisation is clear, tart as the dryness in his mouth.

"Don't you fucking dare," he says.

Renji's jaw slackens, eyes slitting with bemusement.

"I didn't walk across half a country and nearly lose my mind more than once so you could go back to this same shit you pulled before!"

"What? Now look—"

Ichigo seizes Renji's upper arms. Some part of him is shaking, but his hands are steady. "I don't claim to know what she's thinking, but you're not stepping back and hoping to fade if I got any say in it! None of that, you hear me?"

"Hold on a sec here! Who says you do have any say?"

"I do."

"You even have a damn idea what you're thinkin'?" Renji sounds hoarse, but there's force in his voice.

Ichigo grips the collar of Renji's shitagi, and realises his isn't the only heart trying to scale a throat here. "Guess I'm claiming a say. Take it up with me if you don't like it."

"Hey—" Renji never has a chance to finish. Ichigo reaches up and kisses him full on the mouth. He makes a choked sound, but never tries to pull away. His fingers rake through Ichigo's hair and something clicks; the kiss slides from awkward to urgent. Renji kisses so unlike Rukia, with a razor edge of challenge and heat that makes it hard to keep anything slow.

They vie for control for a few seconds, before the kiss evens out and they move together, tongues and teeth, tasting and studying. He can only hope to see straight afterwards.

His ears thrum as they draw back. They both breathe without rhythm, soft shallow pants. Renji blinks at him. "You... what was that?"

"That's what I think," Ichigo rejoins. He withdraws to see Renji better. They've slid back a couple of steps, the rock surrounding the spring at Renji's back now.

"That's one hell of a thought process."

"Wanna make something of it?" If he stops now, he'll flounder. His hand pushes against Renji's shoulder, warm, scar-brushed skin under his fingers.

Renji tugs his chin up and makes a hard, deep kiss of it. Ichigo fumbles, but Renji isn't hasty so much as thorough. He cants his head the other way, making Renji slow down; there's a learning curve here and damn him if he doesn't clear it. The other man obliges or relents, still holding his head with both hands. Ichigo seizes the chance to just kiss Renji, until heat pools low in his stomach and he's running an unwise, curious hand down Renji's ribcage.

Something bats against the side of his face. Renji nudges him aside; a hell butterfly is flapping insistently overhead.

"Whoa!" he says, gasping. "Has that—when'd that come?"

"Too long ago." Renji lowers his hands. "It's... it's a captains' meeting. I... oughta go."

His thoughts wobble; the world has shifted, in a tiny and fundamental way. Renji, eyes hazy and heated, still stares at him. His head swims, but he reaches to swat Renji in the arm. "Yeah, you better move it."

"I..." Renji slips his sword into his sash, fascinated by the simple motion. "Listen, we—"

"Go!" Ichigo snatches up the towel and flings it at him.

The damp cloth stifles Renji's swearing, and buys Ichigo time to scoop up his things and get the heck out of the cavern. He is tumbling, glancing, careening forward, but where, he could not describe.

Chapter Text

The rock garden behind the main offices of the Fifth is a prime place for reflection.

Not that Renji ever was the meditative type, his options for avoiding thought just have grown scarce recently. The division keeps him busy—meetings, paperwork, training, patrolling, renovation, bureaucratic wrangling, the list runs longer than he cares to guess—and yet the everyday concerns seem transient, intangible in comparison with his personal impasses. These days Hinamori embodies efficiency, as if she'd only been waiting for the chance to show her merit again. He remains thankful for her zeal, both for her sake and that of the long-neglected division.

He's trod a circular depression into the sand of the garden with his pacing around the central cluster of rocks. The luminous heat of the day scintillates through the trees. The orderly beauty of the place isn't doing much to soothe him today.

Rukia petrifies him with indecision. He can no longer simply make light of things when he crosses paths with Ichigo. The division is going to go over budget this month, but he can probably request more funds due to the rebuilding...

He walks in circles. Where's the way out?

Rukia wants nothing to do with him. He can't face her. He was sinking into the warm, unfathomable possibility that in time they might repair—and more than repair—their friendship, once he had the captaincy. Once she was healed and ready to face the world again. He was content to wait, but now waiting won't do him a lick of good.

Then there's Ichigo, and his thoughts slip away like water beads on oil. The sand shifts under his bare feet and slithers between his toes, then puffs up as he lets himself fall onto his back in it. The particular mixture of camaraderie, trust and desire wound around the youth in his mind boggles him. This isn't about laying Rukia's life or his own into Ichigo's hands; friendly rivalry and brothers in arms play only side parts in this.

"What the hell's wrong with me?" His words float up towards the foliage, glittering green-gold in the sunlight.

It's a perfect garden. He wants to go kick over every last one of the harmoniously placed stones. It would be macabrely appropriate if they were instead arranged for the purpose of creating a sound mindfuck. He might not put it past Aizen for organise such a last laugh at the expense of his potential successor.

He wipes his hands across his face with a groan.

The irony is that he knows the answer to his own question. Having had eyes for only one person for the last half a century doesn't mean he's forgotten how it feels to have someone new stir you.

"Abarai-kun?" A door scuffs aside as Hinamori comes to the veranda. "What are you doing?"

He lifts himself up onto his hands. "Oh, hey, Vice-Captain." He adds the title just to see her take it without flinching, with a slight smile ready to turn curt if he doesn't promptly explain his starfish imitation. "Just doin' some captainly thinkin'. What's up?"

"First, I might ask where your socks are. There's sand in your hair." Coming up to him, she shakes his short ponytail. Her own braid is now wound around her head in a more utilitarian style, but he hasn't seen her wear her hair in the cloth-wrapped bun since she returned on duty.

"Meditation's better done barefoot." He crosses his ankles. "Did ya need somethin'?"

"No." She crouches down next to him. "Except perhaps to know what is wrong with you."

"M'fine, Hinamori."

"Something tells me that's not quite true. It might be the several years I spent watching you sit lovelorn in shady corners of the Academy."

"Oi." Hinamori is so old a friend that he grants her certain liberties: pointing out when he's being a jerk or a fool belongs in the category. It doesn't mean it wouldn't sting that she's so close to the bull's-eye.

"I was right, then." Lowering her eyes, she is silent for a bit. "I haven't seen Kuchiki-san around much. I don't... want to meddle, but don't you think it has been long enough?"

He nearly tells Hinamori she's got it wrong. This is not like their first, miserable parting; he only wanted to keep things simpler for Rukia. The noble families simmer with intrigue, and something so subtle as a rumour can tip the pot.

I just tried to protect her. He can defend her from anything a sword can deflect. He has little idea how he'd fight the battles waged in implication and intimation among the aristocracy; the best he can do is to make sure she isn't smeared with the stigma of associating with her family's lessers.

That was the whole point. If he is a captain, his low birth won't matter. He'll have proven his worth once and for all. Perhaps, she would've waited for him.

"That's not... really what happened. I put somethin' I meant well in the wrong way, and..."

"You had a misunderstanding, then." She nods. "I wouldn't ask, only this is beginning to affect your work. I don't think I've had to fix that many spelling errors in your writing since I proofread your Academy reports."

"Hey. Pretty calligraphy's not in real high demand as Rukongai survival skills go."

"Oh, I'm aware. You told me that often enough, back in the Academy." When she chuckles, he feels some of his dark mood lifting. It's such an uncomplicated pleasure to see her laugh. The look of a wounded bird struggling to fly is flaking away from her, day to day. He still hovers, sometimes, for all that a captain should not coddle his second-in-command.

Isn't that what you were doin' to Rukia, too? says a tiny, piercing voice. Puttin' her in a glass jar, tryin' to keep her untouched?

He lets his head drop against the back of his hand. "I'll be right in, okay? Would you mind givin' me a minute?"

"Of course not. I was actually—are you free tonight? Kira-kun and I thought we would... If you'd like to join us."

An incredulous laugh bursts from his mouth as a fresh realisation banishes the one just before. "You two—staged an intervention, for old times' sake? Fuck, Hinamori, don't tell me I've been that pathetic."

Smoothing her hakama, she stands up. "Maybe I should let you wonder about that. Consider it a small nudge. It could be we just miss you."

"Okay. Guess I'll salve my pride with that last option."

This ruminating session seems to only have fed his problems, yet for the first time, it feels worth the trouble. The circle has been pulled outward onto a new course.

"Be at the old place at eight." Hinamori taps the crown of his head. "We'll be paying, this time."

"D'you hafta make that sound so ominous?"

"How else will I make sure you'll come? No dark corners, Abarai-kun. There are too many of those in our lives even if we don't seek them out."

"I hear you." His voice falls without his intention. "I hear you."

After a while, he leaves the garden and some of his sombre ruminations to follow after her.

The old haunt is still hidden between the weaver's shop and the mask maker's emporium of wonders in the Sixth Southern. The chilled tea of roasted barley tastes sweeter than he recalled, and the sake is still as subtle and savoury as it was. Kira matches him toast for toast until they both lose count. Hinamori walks him home when dawn finally prises open the somnolent blues of the eastern sky.

He sleeps long into the afternoon, better than he has in weeks.

* * *

If her brother isn't prepared for her knock on his study door, Rukia would never guess it. She bows a little deeper than is necessary for respect, and waits for him to close the book in his lap before speaking. "Good evening. I hope I haven't disturbed you."

"I am finished for the day." Not a single document is askew in the pile on the corner of his writing table. The burnished wooden box of his writing tools sits next to it, perfect as a still life.

"Then I'd ask for a moment of your time."

"I was about to head out. Would you walk with me?" It seems like such a simple question, and so unlike her brother.

Rukia only nods. "As you wish, niisama."

"This is not an order, Rukia. It is a request." He rises in a heavy whisper of silk and linen, towering over her as always.

"It would be my pleasure," she corrects herself.

"Then let us go."

The gardens are wide enough to get lost in. She tries to keep to his sedate, unchanging pace. They walk in silence until he stops atop a bluff, covered by sprawling trees of night-blossoming plum. The sweet fragrance hangs in the air.

"We should linger for a while. The view of the moonrise is particularly pleasing here."

They do. The moon, a disc of corn yellow drifting over the horizon, is indeed magnificent. The hilltop offers an unobstructed view of the sky as the stars come out one after the other. Seen so far away, the lights of Seireitei are mere strings of golden light, cast in the longs coils of the streets over the dark landscape.

"Excuse my curiosity..." she begins. "Is this... something that you enjoy? I don't wish to burden you with idle questions, but..."

"Rukia," he says. "Yes, it is. I find the twilight a very calming time."

"I do as well. It's beautiful here." She had news that justified requesting his attention. The inquiry for her company threw her off balance. They don't see each other outside her training sessions and the rare meal taken together, in the high-ceilinged dining room where there is too much space for the stilted conversation to fill.

"You wished to speak to me," he says then. It's the opening she needs.

"Yes." She straightens her back, bowing her head. "I've been granted a seat by Captain-General Ukitake. The fifth one. I have accepted."

"Good. You will perform your duties as befits a Kuchiki."

"Yes, niisama."

"I expect regular reports of your progress." There is a fractional pause. "That is all."

On a sudden resolution, she turns to her brother. "There's something more I would say. Forgive me for being so forward, but I feel I cannot... that is, I would rather not stay silent."

"Speak then."

"I've caused many burdens for you after... after my return. You've asked little of me in return, and I feel they are debts I can't repay, given my own present inadequacies. So, I would ask for your forgiv..."

"Stop." He holds up a hand in warding. "I do not need to hear this."

"Of course. I apologise," Rukia manages. She's kept back the tears throughout the loss of her memory, the shock of her return, the strangeness of her home. Now her vision mists. "I'll leave you then."

"I did not tell you to go, Rukia." Something twists in her stomach, but obedience to his placid voice is ingrained in her. Her hands tremble; she conceals them in the folds of her hakama.

"Listen now," her brother says. "I, also, have words for you."

She remains rooted on her spot, amazed, fearful, listening to some nuance of his tone she perhaps only imagined.

"I once lost someone who meant a great deal to me. You have heard this account once, but I... am aware of your difficulty in remembering." He pauses. "One does not wish to experience such a loss again."

"Yes." She has to blink again.

"I am fortunate. I have averted this."

Rukia is thankful for the darkness that hides the tears. They no longer seem to stop despite all her efforts to will them to. "I... am glad, then." She turns in place, her feet unsteady.

A hand brushes her upper arm. It isn't that the movement is misplaced or careless, but tentative. She looks up. He crouches down and sets his hands on her shoulders. The near subliminal scents of sandalwood, ink and tea waft from him.

She wipes ineffectually at her cheeks. "I-I'm sorry, they... they seem... they won't stop, I—"

"Rukia," Byakuya almost chides her, but the word is gentle. "Little sister." His gaze is fixed somewhere past her. His hand rests against her upper back.

Breath by shivering breath, Rukia leans into her brother's embrace. Her hands curl into the collar of his haori, and then she clings to this one steadfast point in the world. Still and silent, he holds her and lets her finally cry.

* * *

In the evening after the last entrance exam, Ichigo opens a shaky door to Soul Society and nicely asks Rukia if he can use the Thirteenth's training grounds. She takes one glance at a schedule, nods and shoos him out of the office. Recognising her in full Fifth Seat Kuchiki mode, he insults her summarily for a thank-you, then beats a retreat.

He works through every sword form he knows and a few he makes up on the spot, and then flops down onto the field, still itching with nervous energy. He knows the slow uncoiling of lengthy stress. He needs a more substantial opponent than practice targets. But Rukia is busy, and an open question hangs between them that will intrude the moment she drops her Officer of the Month face.

His try at closing the question with Renji backfired like one of Shiba Kuukaku's end-of-war specials.

The Eleventh exists for these times.

"What you need is a good smackdown," Ikkaku says, his grin broad, when Ichigo walks in. "Too bad the Captain's out."

"You'll do," he replies. "Out back, now."

Then they breathe dust and spit blood onto the sands, until exhaustion and the heat drive them into shade. Ikkaku is a fine sparring partner, not quite as attuned to Ichigo's moves as Renji and therefore much easier to catch by surprise, but his staying power is equal to Ichigo's own.

"Figure I owe ya a round for this." Careless of his roughed-up uniform, Ikkaku sits up. "Wanna cash in the old promise? It's gonna be outdated soon if my memory serves."

"Ah, sure." He can't recall if there was alcohol involved in the gift Ikkaku accorded him last year, but if this is how much physical exertion can lift his spirits, he wouldn't mind a few more steps. "Where to?"

"Somewhere that's gonna wipe that scowl off your face. Meet me out front in ten."

Straightening himself out as best he can, Ichigo obliges. The evening is melting into night. They head off into Rukongai, the streets of Seireitei falling away into roads and cluttered alleys where people huddle on humble verandas. This close to the city, life is relatively peaceful—or, in the minimum, two armed and still-ragged shinigami are given a berth rather than tested for sport.

The winehouses seem to swim past until they cut short at the fourth one; Ikkaku seems as restless as Ichigo, and none of the common rooms hold his fancy for long. The rice wine seems to make him rambling rather than strung, more words pouring from him than Ichigo's ever heard him speak in one go.

"What're we looking for?" he asks at length, as they amble down another twisting alley.

"A reason to stay," Ikkaku says. The vicinity is rich with noise spilling from doorways and smoke from warm, scarlet lanterns hung on the corners of buildings and beside porches. The street thrives even at this hour, the nooks of it swimming with whispered conversation.

"So—this is it?"

"Ease up, Ichigo." Ikkaku's mouth is a sardonic curl. "A couple more drinks oughta take care of your problem."

Ichigo shuts his mouth before he can protest. This is the last thing he needs: whatever Ikkaku has decided will cure his mood, a head-first toss into a red lights district is on the lower end of the probability scale. Maybe he should be glad it seems—he thinks—to be one where the business is conducted indoors.

A slap on his back ushers him inside the next tavern. "Hey, now. Nobody here's gonna ravish ya 'less you ask for it. A few districts further south an' then we'll talk..."

"Let's not," he manages before freezing in his tracks. The places they've visited blur in his memory, since he's felt obligated to taste from the cups Ikkaku's plonked in front of him. The room ahead seems familiar—then he realises it's not the space, but the sense of it, a wash of tart mornings and hoarfrost after the night, veiled in approaching cold...

It smells of the open road, and then the other part connects. This reiatsu, even slurred, is unmistakeable. Ikkaku is making his way through the crowded space towards a table on the far side of the common room. Two people sit at it, one with a fall of fair hair over his face, the other's red mane bound back with a scarf.

Fuck, no.

"This'll do for a goal," Ikkaku calls. "C'mon, greenhorn, let's 'least get some friendly words in if you ain't for the women."

Ichigo has no recourse but to walk, panic climbing in his throat, towards Kira and Renji's table.

* * *

In the end, Ichigo is relieved Renji's old friend is there. He hardly knows Kira, but the man demonstrates himself a balancing influence. While Renji and Ikkaku uncork another jar and tumble into an impromptu drinking contest, Kira is willing to sidle over to Ichigo's half of the table and talk, in a level, muted voice, about this and that, the Gotei and its daily happenings, how he came to know Renji—apparently Renji has made crashing into his future friends, one way or another, into a form of art. It's idle chatter, but it keeps Ichigo's mind occupied.

When Kira leaves, with apologies, around midnight, Ichigo has to wonder why he doesn't exit in his wake. He could follow his nose back to Seireitei, and he's crashed at the Thirteenth before.

It's very late when Ikkaku rises, leaving an array of cups. " 'Kay, m' off to my next stop. Either of you comin'? Ichigo?"

"He's too pretty for Rukongai's ladies o' the night." Renji fiddles with his sake dish. "They'd get jealous."

"You wanna see how pretty you'd be with my fist in your face, Abarai?"

"Advance warnin', huh? You're gettin' soft."

"Fine, I'll leave ya old marrieds to find your own way home. 'Night." Ikkaku saunters towards the door.

The silence stretches. Ichigo considers abandoning Renji to the tender mercies of the Twentieth Southern's nightlife, when the man raises himself to his feet. He kicks away his chair and ends up in a tentative balance. "Think I'll head on back."

A glance around the tavern divulges no reasons to stay, so Ichigo stalks after Renji to claim his sword from the doorman.

The night is growing old, the moon scudding in and out of cloud cover. A heavy dew drapes the ground; the chill strokes away the blur over his senses. He isn't drunk, but the cumulation of cautious sips along the night has set off a buzz in his brain, half pleasant, half awkward. His shunpo hobbles—a boulder pounces in front of him from where it stood safely by the road. He flexes his stubbed toes.

"Take it easy." Renji comes out of shunpo with a stagger. "Lots o' night left. Walkin' might be a better idea."

"I should just let the street thugs eat you." That's it; he's only tagging alongside Renji out of a misguided sense of duty. They aren't too far out in Rukongai, though it seems that every district has its wild places, steeped in local legend.

"Ichigo," Renji drawls, " 'm an Inuzuri alley punk. This's the Fifteenth Southern. Or thereabouts, anyway."

"I've seen your street smarts. Spent a few months on the road with you. You got us run off one village, lost your sword in that bet..." He closes his mouth with a click.

Renji only grunts. "The mob was half your fault. An' I'm a Gotei captain, did I mention that bit?"

"Acting captain."

"Details, schmetails."

"Well, yeah. It's not like I care 'bout your rank," he mumbles, voice gone soft of its own accord. It has occurred to him that the distance between them owes a lot to Renji's recent promotion. Captains are even less free than fresh fifth seats to steal to the living world at their whim.

Renji's gone quiet. He throws a cautious glance at his friend.

Not so long ago, he spent every waking moment with Renji, to the point that whenever sticking together wasn't a survival measure—whenever they hit habitation—they'd break away from each other just to breathe alone.

It was an easy way of being. He misses it; not the loneliness, the search, being on the road and on the run, but the candid companionship that lived between them.

They have barely seen each other since the... training incident. Neither has even mentioned sparring, in what scarce free time they have.

The night seems to sweep away the responsibilities of daylight hours. The fires of the next alley blink through the trees, piercing the illusion that they are the only living—or dead—souls within miles. To his spirit-sight, the landscape undulates with downy colours, the subdued hues of slumber.

"Almost feels like old times," Renji echoes his thoughts.

"Mm-hm." He kicks a stray pebble into the roadside. "It does. I thought we weren't gonna do that again, though, the whole search and rescue."

"We aren't. Doesn't mean we couldn't reminisce, does it?"

Ichigo feels his steps slow as he tries to grasp the complexities of Renji's expression; curiosity and nostalgia pierce the lassitude brought on by the wine. "Where's this trip down the memory lane lead?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Renji says. "Since we seem to be thinkin' along the same lines."

"I didn't start this."

Renji lets out an incredulous burst of laughter. "From where I'm standin', you sure as hell did, Ichigo."

"I didn't start the topic."

"Haven't had much chance to open any topics with ya lately." Renji's dry tone veils the accusation, if barely. He must be more sober than he appears, to press the matter.

No, 'cause I've done my damnedest not to run into you. Ichigo fumbles about, grabs the first ready excuse. "There's this thing called school that I have. I'm still handling the Hollows in Karakura, too."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm runnin' a division, and I have to convince 'em I'm doin' a decent job. That's got nothin' to do with this."

Ichigo is aware of Renji with his every sense—the angle of his jaw as he cants his head in a challenge, the smell of rice wine and candle smoke clinging to him—and he can't seem to catch his breath. He shifts back, then curses himself for it.

" 'This'?" he tries to mimic Renji's intonation.

"Don't be dumb."

"Yeah, I'm working on the mind-reading." He doesn't need telepathy to figure this out. Something happened between them that made things irreparably different, and the certainty that carried him through before has crumbled. Renji expects an answer. Ichigo wishes he knew the question. He's always known what he wants, but the wanting has never frightened him before.

"Look," Renji says. "It's not the end of the world. M'not so sure I even mind your bein' dumb. It's what you are; can't ask the tiger to change his stripes..." The joke is old, the teasing familiar. Ichigo feels his shoulders twitch with laughter instead of tension.

"Eh, I'm pretty sure I outstrip your mental prowess right now, if the amount of sake's anything to go by." With a scant grin, he knocks his knuckles against Renji's right temple.

Renji coils away. In the next instant, his hand slams around Ichigo's throat; he staggers back. Renji's right eye is squeezed shut, his facial muscles fluttering as he glares at Ichigo.

"Don't do that. Ever." He releases his hold, but the grip of his gaze is twice as merciless. If not for the sheer anguish he exudes, he would already have a not-so-subtle foot in his face. Ichigo touches his bruising neck.

"What're you doing?" His voice cracks from more than the sudden stranglehold. "Gimme one good reason—"

"Don't touch the goddamn eye." Under Renji's dark timbre, a spark of lucidity burns.

"Not. Good enough."

"End of discussion, Kurosaki."

* * *

Every detail is a knife's edge. Renji's breath tears in and out of his lungs. The soft darkness shivers on his skin in a thousand dancing needle-pricks.

Ichigo stands an arm's reach away staring daggers at him. In a neat flip, the situation reversed itself. Now he's the one holding back truths he has no desire to face.

"Like hell it is! What is wrong with you?"

You couldn't understand. Renji wipes at his cheek and finds no blood on his skin, nothing blurring his vision.

If you're lucky, you never will.

"You really wanna know?"

"No, I'm just making small talk!" Ichigo snarls. "I should kick you miserable ass!"

"You wanna hit me so badly—" Renji cuts into his tirade, on an impulsive resolution. His jaw quivering with tension, he grabs Ichigo's hand and presses it on his own temple, against the pain he only imagines. "Go on. Wide open."

"What's this now?" Ichigo's hand clenches halfway. Renji has to quell a shudder at the blunt nails scratching his skin. "Some kinda game?"

It is: a game of phantoms, and pain and memory, to be won with the one thing that can cleanse the fear stagnating in him. He keeps starting at shadows, lashing back at people he—and the fact crystallises only now—would never want to drive away.

Neither of them moves. Ichigo's question hangs in the air.

Renji closes his eyes. His mouth feels swollen, unfit to form words, like he's forgotten the shape of language.

He blinks at a ripple of reiatsu right before him. The road is empty, his eye untouched. Ichigo is gone.

Chapter Text

A rap on the door sends echoes pounding across Renji's skull, startling him out of sleep. He eyes the ceiling; wide room, with light pouring in at an angle that suggests morning.

"Captain?"

Oh. Office. His office. Some overindustrious rookie with morning tea, calling him Captain for short. Not that he minds; Acting Captain Abarai is a mouthful.

"Mmhyeah. Leave 'em there. Thanks." He levers himself up from the futon someone had stashed in the closet. A look over the screen dividing the room reveals Hinamori's side of it still empty.

The tea banishes the stickiness of sleep and too many cups downed last night. Memory courses back by the time he's scrubbed his face and scrounged in the closet for a clean uniform.

Twice. Fuckin' twice now. Last night knots upon itself, yet one image is clear: Ichigo, his hand extended, the pressure of his fingertips against Renji's own eyebrow, and then the absence of the touch.

That makes it the second time he's fucked off. Time to start seein' a pattern here?

On his desk sits a note from Hinamori to take care of the staff meeting at eight, as she's teaching at the Academy.

You're a fool, Abarai. What good did you think that'd do? He tried to talk to Ichigo with less than his full wits about him. Their friendship thrives on amiable insults and one-upping, but the method collapsed under the weight of this new addition.

The division runs smoothly. He's screwed up the two chief aspects of his personal life since he took up the captaincy. Is this some sick either-or choice? Chase off the people dearest to you, find every professional hurdle cleared?

If not for the headache, he'd thump his head on the desk.

He'll drift through the staff meeting and miss half the discussion. He'll stamp reports and squabble with Hinamori over how much resources they can pitch into the renovations. He'll miss Rukia so badly he aches, and wonder if he'll ever talk to Ichigo again. They haunt his steps as if the world were curved around their shapes beside him.

"Captain Abarai?" The same polite voice, followed by a louder knock on the door screen. "Vice-Captain Hinamori requested that I make sure—"

"Meetin'. I know. On my way." Where are Hinamori's notes for the meeting? His badge—the emblem of an acting captain—is folded on a corner of his desk.

Of course, it isn't only Ichigo or Rukia's choice. It's his, too, no matter how much they all manage to upset and misinterpret each other.

When will you act? Neither late nor ever? The notes rest on top of his in-tray, as would be logical.

When there's not forty pages in front of me 'bout how we gotta step up Rukongai patrols, or how the recruits can't keep up 'cause they were shoved up through their last two years... He jabs the thought at himself. I tried to talk to the idiot an' got ditched again.

He shunts the matter aside in favour of looping the binding of the badge into place. There's work to be done.

* * *

Ichigo lets the café door swing shut behind him and soaks in the familiar noises from a windowside booth. This is what sanity sounds like. He's coasted through the last weeks not quite touching anything. When Tatsuki elbowed him today after school and told him to join the rest of them, he found himself amazed by the notion.

Then he realised how pathetic that made him, and agreed to come.

Tatsuki's voice rises above the drone of conversation in the café. She's launched into a hot defence of some athlete whose name Ichigo can't catch. Keigo thumps on the flimsy table in dissension; Ishida's tea cup sways in a swirl of steaming liquid over the table. Ishida lifts his gaze from the book in his lap.

"Asano. Making idle racket when people are trying to focus is one thing. This—"

"Stop fussing, Ishida." Ichigo drops his bag in the seat next to Chad, who raises a hand in greeting. Ichigo knuckles him in the shoulder. "Hi, Tatsuki."

The place is newish and low-key, without a waiter, so he fishes out his wallet to go to the counter. "You want me to grab you a new tea?" He raises an eyebrow to show the full extent of his sincerity.

"Not necessary, Kurosaki," Ishida says.

"Hey." Tatsuki winks at him before nailing Keigo with a glare. "Yeah, you'd know if you actually looked away from her tits for once."

Well, for a relative value of sanity, this is what it sounds like. Ichigo exchanges a glance with Chad, to make sure there's one rational person left here, and slinks away to get a coffee.

Tatsuki eyes his cup as he slouches into his seat. "Since when have you succumbed to coffee?"

"Since I read through half the crap for third year in four months? Plus entrance exam books?"

"You're nuts," she proclaims. "Not that that's anything new. My point still stands, Asano!"

"He's a nerdy traitor, that's what he is!" Keigo says. "How can he be gone for a whole semester and still pass?"

"Cut it out," Ichigo says, more from concern for Keigo's head—between him and Tatsuki, one of them is going to get fed up—than real annoyance. "I don't know if I passed. The college results don't come in until Monday."

"Ishida got in," Chad says. And I did."

"Whoo, surprise." Ichigo makes a disparaging noise at Ishida, who ignores him with his usual efficiency. "And hey, congrats." Chad nods, the angle of his mouth quietly satisfied.

Sipping at the coffee, Ichigo lets his elbow slide against the tabletop. Tatsuki's saying something about Kyoto, while Keigo abandons his lament of Ichigo's educational success. Truth be told, he is on pins and needles. He'll clear the year, but based on his midterm results, getting into this college may be a long shot. He doesn't feel like taking a year off or going to cram school. He can always find a job, and there's the shinigami business and all its convolutions, but...

"So you better take care of her, you got that?" Ichigo hears Chad give a sound of agreement, then Tatsuki's fingers jab deep into his cheek. "You listening, Ichigo?"

"Huh? Yeah." He sits back in the seat. "No," he admits at her dirty look. "I am now!"

She raps her fist on his shoulder. Even Ishida has put his book aside, so Ichigo's missed some important turn in the chatter.

"You look out for Orihime when I go to Kyoto, you hear me? 'Cause if you don't..."

"You—Kyoto? You got the sports education stipend thing?"

"Yeah, peabrain." She seems to be trying to shrink him out of existence with a stare. "That's what I was saying. Since I'm only gonna be home for weekends, you're gonna—"

"Watch Inoue's back. 'Course."

"You're going to the same college as Inoue-san, and the best you can manage is 'watching her back'? I'm disappointed in you, Ichigo!" Keigo brandishes his can of soda. "You could be watching her from any number of other sides."

"I'm not—you don't even know that yet!" He is not blushing. Neither is he getting involved in any discussion of Inoue's physique.

"You wanna do the honours, or will I?" Tatsuki glowers sidelong at Keigo.

"Eh, let him be." Ichigo recomposes himself. Chad has inclined towards Ishida, who is talking low to him; Ichigo can give Tatsuki his full attention. "So... you're leaving."

"If you hung out with us more, maybe you'd stay up to date with news." She sounds kind, for her.

"I do hang out with you. Every chance I get. And hey, it's Kyoto. It's not like you're going to... Borneo or something."

She smiles and kicks him under the table. Feeling a little warm and a little sad, he's trying to find some pithy follow-up when the door bangs behind them.

"Tatsuki-chan!" They turn collectively towards Inoue as she dashes in, splattering wet bootprints across the floor. "Tatsuki-chan, I did it!"

"Did what?" Tatsuki scampers onto her feet just as Inoue flings herself onto her in a joyful hug.

"I got into college!" Inoue turns to beam at the rest of them. "I'm going to be a nurse, and I wonder if they'll give me one of those outfits..."

"I said you could do it, Inoue-san." Ishida adjusts his glasses. "Congratulations."

"See? See!" Keigo gestures from behind Chad, who offers Inoue a slow smile. Ichigo watches all this unfold with detachment: most of his thought processes are occupied by The results are in?

"Good job, Orihime." Tatsuki scoots back into the booth until they both fit in. Ichigo sits up straighter. He's avoided Inoue outside of class since he... laid out the facts for her, not that they were very convincing facts. Now she sits there facing him and radiating delight.

"Yeah. Good for you, Inoue." Then his tact is overridden by inquisition. "Now's Friday. We—weren't supposed to know 'til Monday."

"No, Kurosaki-kun. It definitely was today. I saw the lists. Unless I developed a secret superpower to move through time, and accidentally walked into Monday..."

Ichigo thuds his head against Chad's shoulder. It may not be manly, but it hurts less than the table.

"I checked your results, too." Inoue rises. "You passed. I'm happy for you."

She whisks away towards the counter, and Ichigo listens to the universe grinding over onto a better, brighter course.

* * *

The group at the table dwindles: Keigo extracts a promise from the lot of them regarding a band night next week, then exits with a mumbled comment about his sister. Ishida tucks his book under his arm and takes his leave. Tatsuki has an aunt coming to dinner. As for Ichigo, Chad and Inoue are into their second round of cold drinks before he can again join in the conversation.

He passed. He's going to college. He passed.

Inoue stretches out her arms with a hum. "I should get going, too."

Nudging Ichigo to move aside, Chad stands up and shrugs into his jacket.

"You're both leaving?" Ichigo arches a brow. The chat has roamed all over, from their college to Chad's and back again, into Western actors and Ms. Ochi's purported torrid romance with the school nurse. That last part was mostly Inoue. It's been easier talking to her than he imagined.

"Getting dark," Chad says. "You don't mind company, do you, Inoue?"

"Of course not!" She crouches under the table in pursuit of a dropped glove. Ichigo catches the nuance in Chad's voice; the shortest way to Inoue's flat is through a not-so-pristine part of town.

"Guess I better come along." He heaves a mock sigh. "I'd look pretty sorry sitting here all alone."

The streets flow with melting snow in the wake of the morning's storm. They trundle along accompanied by Inoue's remarks on people, houses, a bird perched on a rooftop, a brilliant red car parked on a street corner... Chad seems to know all the right places to "hmm" and lean closer to look, or chortle so deep it's almost soundless. They don't meet with any trouble; Chad would give anyone pause, and a certain notoriety still follows Ichigo around.

They reach the river, murky beyond the sparsely lit street. Chad turns left here.

"Hey," Ichigo says. "You wanna hang out on Sunday? I gotta help at the clinic tomorrow, but..."

"Yes." Chad gives him a steady look. "See you."

"Good night, Sado-kun!" Inoue waves. "See you on Monday!"

" 'Night, Inoue." Chad's broad back recedes into the shadows between the lamps.

"So," she says. "Are you going—to your family for the night?"

"Thought I might." He doesn't feel like taking the train anymore, and Yuzu keeps his old room in an expectant shape, so he might as well oblige her.

"Then..." They're still headed the same way. He jams his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Yeah. I should... go with you."

"You don't have to." She looks at him squarely. "I can look after myself."

"It's not that. I—I know you can, 'course you can." He has seen her repel and dispatch Hollows with a resolute face. She could fend off drunken punks, and then she'd probably patch their bruises and prop them comfortably against a wall. He doesn't want her to. She's quirky, warm-hearted Inoue, who went through the same shit in the war as the rest of his friends, but it is over now. She's earned her flights of fancy about accidental time-shifting.

"I mean, you don't have to walk with me." Her voice is soft and controlled. "If you'd rather not."

That is when comprehension strikes him.

"Oh, shit. Look, that's not why I've been... avoiding you." He's hunching. Irritated, he draws himself straight again. "I don't hate you, or anything like that. I thought you might not wanna see me much. Things being messy."

Her head dips forward. "I know you don't. You're too good a person for that, Kurosaki-kun."

Saying that and meaning it makes you loads better a person than me. He chews on his lip. I turned you down, remember? For something I'm not even sure how to deal with.

Still, there is something he can do. He takes half a step closer. "Know something?"

Inoue raises her face, eyes full of puzzlement, mouth a scant downward curve.

"Just a thing I've noticed." He meets her gaze. "Most of my friends call me Ichigo. I kinda like it better... if you wouldn't mind."

She blinks, angles her head, and lets out a watery chuckle. With a step, she's in front of him, winding one arm about his neck in a tentative hug. He gasps, but puts an arm around her and slowly pats her shoulder until she lets go.

"Thank you. Ichigo-kun."

"No." He points a finger at her. "Heck no, we aren't in middle school anymore."

Inoue resists for a few seconds, before dissolving into laughter that even both her hands over her mouth can't keep back.

"Sorry, sorry. That—hee!—I don't even know why that was so funny."

"Don't worry. I'll live." He shrugs amiably. "But seriously, just 'Ichigo' works."

She nods, once, twice, as if ingesting this new state of affairs. "In that case... I think maybe you ought to return the favour."

"Uh-huh? Sure, I'll think about it."

Together, they walk home.

* * *

The Third Western District is a sprawl of bountiful wilderness, rounded mountains overrun with forest. The smoky blue of the clouds speaks of coming rain, but Rukia set out for a day in the field. Spring is so far along that any downpour should be mild.

In the meantime, the valley where the road ends is all hers—or rather, theirs. She chose a meadow beside a stream to serve as training ground. By now it's littered with chunks and slabs of melting ice. Shirayuki paces among the grass, her sleek, powerful form as out of place there as the remnants of Rukia's techniques.

"Once more," the bear whispers. She sounds subtly unlike in Rukia's mind.

Her sword grasped in both hands, she flows into the low stance. Her power is smooth, malleable, rising towards a shape forged of her will.

"Do not speak," Shirayuki gnarrs when she opens her mouth. "Do not call out your techniques." That is madness. The voice is a tool, an essential focus.

The next dance. She tries to impresses the pattern on her swelling power. Hakuren. Hakuren!

The ice explodes from the tip of her sword in untidy clumps that tumble every which way. It's like she is a rookie again, struggling to grasp the basics of her shikai.

"Oh, this is impossible." She pulls her hair into a tail and shakes off her shitagi, leaving only her breast bindings. Even her hakama, loose as it is, seems to hamper her steps. The air is misting with moisture.

"Not impossible. Only improbable." Shirayuki shakes herself. "Rest a while. Your concentration is faltering."

"Tell me something," Rukia says, more to divert herself from her frustration. "It's considered impolite to address one's sword-spirit aloud. What about when you address me aloud?"

"Then we are alone, and the rules are different."

"My brother was surprised to see you." If she sits a small distance away, the chill from the ice makes the air pleasantly cool. "I think... he wasn't expecting such a thing."

"Control can take many forms. Need is one of them." Circling around Rukia, Shirayuki lies down beside her. "You had need of me, and so I was called to you. That may be all that ever happens."

"Renji said something similar." A quiver steals into her voice. His work has walled him into the Fifth Division. She's seen him in passing, but one of them always shirks away on some pretext of duty. It hurts her heart to even think of their last real meeting, so she sets the thought aside yet again. "I mean, he told me he could... manifest Zabimaru long before he achieved bankai."

"My dear." Shirayuki can't speak louder than a whisper; her voice sinks into a capricious, tender breath. "You dream of great things."

"Oh! I didn't mean... not really." Even the implication staggers her. "No."

"There is time. All the time the world holds."

"Do you think so?" She wonders if their understanding of time is the same. Shirayuki is ancient, and Rukia only one in a line of shinigami chosen by her.

Still, she wants to believe Shirayuki is right. Her past is a patchwork of story, dream and recollection, but the worst gaps are seaming in. She's taken hesitant steps with her brother: they have their evening tea together almost daily now. They even converse over it. She has friends, in Seireitei and in Karakura, who share her troubles and her joys.

Ichigo asked her for time. Best as she could, she gave of it, steeling herself to patience. She waits for Ichigo; that suffices for now.

Then there is Renji, when she allows herself to dwell upon him. Otherwise, he would consume her whole concentration. Rukia flops down on top of Shirayuki, throwing her arms round the bear's neck. The musk of her fur drowns out the smell of water in the air.

"How does one live with a heart split two ways?" That has the sound of frivolous melodrama, but Shirayuki is already privy to her thoughts. "I'm furious with him, then with myself for being so."

"I do not suppose—" Shirayuki yawns, hugely "—you would like me to consult Zabimaru in this matter?"

"Heaven, no! Ah, I mean..."

The bear's flanks thrum with laughter. "You are so young."

"I'll thank you not to press that advantage!" She rolls over, Shirayuki a lumpy, but comfortable cushion under her back. "I apologise. This just... I'm not sure what to do."

"Matters of your heart aren't quite my province," Shirayuki hums. "Avoidance did not work in your favour the last time."

"He said he... he wanted..." Me, whispers her heart like a petulant child.

"You believed him."

"I suppose so", she says, more breezily then she feels.

"It was comfortable, having him close."

"Well, yes."

"And he never asked you for more than you gave without even thinking."

"What?"

"Well, a stolen kiss on the battlefield hardly counts. Mortal peril is a condition unto itself." Shirayuki shifts languorously beneath her.

She buries her face in her hands. "Shirayuki, please!"

"And what about Zangetsu's young man?" the bear murmurs.

"Have pity." Rukia slaps her flank with an open palm. "I wish I had some sage words to set things right. I don't."

"It is enough to have one word, to set one thing right, Rukia. You could always start with that one over there." Raising her head, Shirayuki looks straight ahead. "Though he has little in the way of manners."

Rukia blinks.

She has languished, her senses at a lull. A susurrus of reiatsu stirs the sound-colour-textures of the landscape around her. She zeroes in on it, flinching up onto her feet.

Renji has stopped some way off. Shirayuki's presence is a damper. In its way, one's manifested sword-spirit is a thing more intimate than nakedness, a sight shared only by choice. In spite of that, he's watching her across the meadow.

"How..." You should have told me!

Oh, I do not think so. Stretching her back, Shirayuki begins to blur away. Consider this an opportunity.

Oh, oh, don't you dare! I should—

With a rumbling snort, Shirayuki curls out of sight, out of being, back inside her. She's left staring at Renji as he closes the distance between them to a few short steps.

"I—I didn't think I'd find you here," he says. "Just thought I should try."

In that instant, it begins to rain.

* * *

Rukia remains still. The pouring water plasters her hair to her head. Renji breathes easier for the exit of her sword-spirit, for all that he still needs to bear her gaze. His hakama and the sleeveless robe he picked as a concession to the heat are soaking through.

"Let's get out of the rain." She points at the trees bowed over the nearby stream. Mutely he follows her as she darts under their leafy cover. The weeping willows shelter a still pool in the creek, its surface dappled by raindrops where the foliage doesn't reach. After spreading her wet uniform tops on the roots of a willow, she finds a seat next to them. Renji more tumbles down on a rock sloping into the water.

"Look. I, ah, left a drill to come here. It just... hit me." He slants a look up at her before he loses his nerve. "We can't do the same damn things wrong all over again."

She takes a long moment to simply sit there in silence. "I... I know. From what I recall, it hurt a great deal." She sounds soft, distant. "I had to learn to live without you."

His heart misses a beat and slams into the next with twice the force. "You mean..." No. He will not be rendered speechless a second time. Shifting forward, he plants his hands on either side of her on the root.

Her face twists with astonishment. He doesn't leave her a window to speak.

"Here's the thing, Rukia." He draws in a breath. "I want this to stop. We're pretendin' nothin's wrong, or at least that we're somehow fuckin' fine with what happened. I'm not gonna lose you again. Not unless I hear it from your own mouth."

"Renji—" She has to stare up into his face. They're very close, her eyes large, damp lashes sticking together. "Renji, I... no. I only..."

"Damn." He lets his head dip. "I don't even know what I'm sayin'. I think I was tryin' to go easy on you. Thought I had to protect you, but..."

Her fingertips on his mouth cut him off, rain-chilled skin to skin. "Let me say my part. Please."

"Uh, sure." She can still disarm him with only a touch.

"Don't say anything until I'm done. I need to put this in order."

A chaff of laughter is all the sign he gives of his agreement. His spine is stiff, dread and warmth coursing inside him.

"I must have caused you undue pain, leaving like that." Her eyes flutter to him, then down again. "It seemed sensible then. Running kept me safe when I was alone, in Yellow Springs, but... I don't need to be kept safe from you, do I?"

Yeah, Rukia. You got it. His lips part, to tell her that he understands, that he's turned the same thought over in his head for weeks, only to have her hush him with another press of a finger.

"It puzzled so much. How much you risked to come find me. I believe I understand now."

"You do?" There was a time when the implication in her words would have left him giddy. He regards her, aware of each of his own breaths, shallow, wondering.

"Yes. And I'm so—"

"Hey." He leans in. "Let's change the rules a bit. Me next." Her glower is shot through with both laughter and hesitation, as if she didn't know which face to don. He continues, knowing the moment is precious. "I'm sorry, Rukia. That's one thing I came to say. But more'n that, you were right. I wasn't helpin' you by... tryin' to stay away 'cause it was the right thing to do."

"I never wanted you to! I can never be certain how things were... before, but I know my own mind. I can't stay convalescent forever."

" 'Course not."

"I mean it, Renji. I have a life to live." The line of her jaw is firm, even though her voice is hushed. "That is what I've been thinking. Among other things."

"Such as?" It's an indulgence to push his fingers into her hair and comb it back from her temples.

"Such as, about you. I'm not about to let go now."

"All right." That is all he dares to say. A shiver ripples down his spine that has nothing to do with the faint chill from the rain.

"And you?"

"Mm." It seems to be his move. "Might have to loosen my hold," he says, thickly. "It took damn near losin' you, for good no less, to bring you back to me last time. So when you first vanish and then return from the dead... Makes a man count his blessings, ya know?"

"I can imagine." Her cheeks flush.

"Then... if I promise I won't try an' smother you, will you not die on me 'nother time?" They may be the gentlest words he's ever spoken.

"No," Rukia whispers. "Yes. Oh, you're absolutely maddening." At that, she is in his arms, her hands folded over the back of his neck and her knees poking into his hips. He almost falls back, bracing them both as she rests her face against his throat.

"I know, I know." The heat of her skin seeps through their wet clothes. "I'm workin' on it."

"I suppose I have no choice but to keep you. You worrywart."

"Always, when it's you," he says, no confession at all.

"And you fool." Her arms wrap around his back, strong, narrow hands fist in his kimono, until she's flush to him.

"Always, for you." Renji chortles, trying to keep from sinking into her closeness. "There's somethin' you should know."

"What is it?"

Is it always this way? His feelings have been plain to everyone close to him but her. He even admitted them to Ichigo, one night on the journey that seems both worlds away and near enough to touch.

"I tried to let you go once. That failed fuckin' miserably. But it's not lettin' you go I can't handle, it's losin' you." He closes his eyes. "Rukia, I..."

Her back goes taut in the circle of his arms. "Wait."

Blinking, juddered out of focus, he watches her pull back. "Wait. You can't yet. There's more."

"What?" He musters his wits. "All right. Tell me." Next to his lingering hand on her side, her heart skitters almost to the tempo of his own.

"I know what you were going to say. I believe it."

Believe, not return or feel the same. Whatever else, this needs to be a clean cut. Maybe she only ever wanted his companionship and friendship. He must untangle the knots around at least one friend today. If it is to be her, and if she is to remain so and only so, he'll see it through no matter the hurt. He hums for her to continue.

"There is a... complication." Rukia sidles out of his hold and kneels on the tree root. "Ichigo."

A hundred possibilities flare in his mind. "Ichigo? What about—"

"Perhaps 'complication' isn't the right word." She twists her hair around her fingers. "Still, don't you think if you or I were to make certain... admissions, it would concern him, too?"

He's been in turns trepidant, hopeful, resigned, overwhelmed during this conversation. He finds himself staring dumbstruck at Rukia. All of his attention executes a neat inward spiral towards her words.

"Renji?" Her chin rises with familiar poise. "Did you hear me?"

"Yeah. I heard you."

"What do you think then?"

"I think I don't have a damn clue what's goin' on anymore," he breathes.

"I can only say what I know," she says after a pause. "I know you both searched for me, found me, saved me. We all did those things for each other. I don't know if my heart is split in two, or united in some sense I never considered before, but..." Her hands twine together, come apart, in a ball of anxiety in her lap. Then she fists them on her knees. "I can make a choice. It cannot be between you and him."

He lays a hand over her curled, tense one. This what you tried to tell me, Ichigo, after the spar? That it's not only about Rukia, hasn't been for a long time. Maybe he should have seen this possibility. It's been clear enough in his own mind, when he's had the guts to stare right at it.

"I'm not..." After all this time, the years and decades of chasing and yearning, he had her for himself for a few heartbeats, but even when he did, it wasn't what mattered anymore. "I'm not gonna ask you to."

An outlet of breath deflates her; she tilts sideways into him. They're sitting shoulder to upper arm, each facing the opposite way. "Then—what?"

"A couple things." He is making this up as he goes. "Ichigo and I... gotta talk, or beat each other black an' blue, or somethin'." Cold coils in his belly at that prospect, regardless of Rukia's crisp, gentle presence.

"He seems to owe discussion all around."

"You don't know half of it." He tries to banish the pressure of precisely what went wrong during his last meeting with Ichigo. Somehow, he must explain, but there's no need to burden Rukia with it. The wrong done to him is paid back, only the inner wound remains. "I'll... deal with it."

"What is the other thing?" Perhaps she hears the darkness in his voice; a prod into his arm accompanies the question.

"Oh, yeah." Renji gives a laugh; he should tell her once. "Just so you know. I love you."

The patter of the rain continues. Her hair sweeps along his shoulder as she lifts her face towards him. Her free hand clasps the side of his neck. "Bend."

"Not sure that answer's in the script—" The quip comes automatically, never completed as she kisses him, open-mouthed, heady, resolute. Her fingers fold through his and grip fast, as if she were trying to make up for the small contact with sheer force.

"It is the answer you'll get," she sighs when they separate.

"I'll take it." He smiles. "We still need a few more, right? Let's not get stuck on this one when it's a done deal."

"Aren't you confident?" Following a desire, he pulls her into his arms again in a tangle of limbs and damp hair. "We aren't done yet."

"I know." His heart is too full, yet there's room there waiting for another. "First moment I can steal, I'll talk to him. I'm already away without leave, remember?"

Her cheek smushed against his chest, she chuckles. "I'll forgive you a few more minutes. Then we'll go back."

"You got it," he says against the top of her head. "Figure we've earned ten."

"Perhaps."

How long they sit there under the sound of the rain, he doesn't count.

Chapter Text

Hung on the wooden stand, she watches.

The great, blazing bird opens its beak. It will rear, and the strike will pierce her and scatter her into nothing.

Rukia closes her eyes.

When she opens them again, a billow of cloth, tan and black, fills her vision. Her rescuer grins down at her as her eyes widen at the impossible conclusion that she still draws breath.

She's raised up and shouted at, warmth of a different kind pouring through her. As another voice makes her turn her head, her heart constricts with joy as she looks down at the man at the foot of the rack.

He's alive. They're alive. The knowledge beats at her with frenetic, stubborn delight. She's frail, but this realisation invigorates rather than smothers her. She was ready to die.

There is something to live for again.

She is flung down from the stand, and she hears herself screaming with the shock of it, cut as strong arms envelop her and break her fall. They roll onto the ground, the momentum smashing through them both. She would laugh if she could find the air for it.

They are, all three, still alive.

In the next eyeblink, in the manner of a dream, her gaze trails the shining arc of a sword passing through Ichigo as if he were paper, the crimson wetness of his blood soiling the ground. He topples, broken, and she strains against a chokehold as Renji falls after him, robes soaked with his own blood, eyes vacant with pain.

The sheet is knotted around her, her hair a mess over the pillow. Rukia gathers herself; she's used to this dream in its innumerable variations. She knows where it stems, for all that she can't seem to dispel it. There is the white tower. There is the old execution hill, and a record of a trial in the lee of greater treason that led into the war. It's all in the past, even if the past blazes into life in the vulnerable moments of her rest. She will wash off the sweat and change her robe and go back to bed.

A knock on her door interrupts her ablutions. She calls for the servant to come in.

"Lady Rukia." The old woman bows. "Captain Kuchiki is..."

"Has something happened? I thought the patrols weren't due until tomorrow."

"There was a skirmish, my lady. Captain Kuchiki requested to see you."

She tells herself she only shivers with the vestigial cold the dream always leaves running through her veins. Her brother can't be... "I'll come at once."

Rukia shoos the servant away before she can offer to help dress her, and pulls on the first yukata that comes to hand. If her brother was truly hurt, the servant wouldn't have been so sedate. She is being silly and oversensitive.

Still, the rush of her anguish falling away pauses her in her tracks as she enters his rooms. The space is softly lit, a servant seated unobtrusively in the corner. Her brother is resting in his futon. She only takes the most superficial stock of the room, one she's never visited, before kneeling next to him.

"Honoured brother?"

She seems to interrupt a light sleep; his eyes focus on her too slowly. A sedative, perhaps. "Rukia."

"What happened?" The quilt is pulled up to his chest, the collar of his sleeping robe showing a wrap of bandages. His right hand, atop the covers, is likewise covered in linen dressing. Her fear wasn't unfounded then, only its intensity exaggerated.

"A brief battle. I will recover."

"Of course." She presses her lips together. Silly indeed, especially in the face of his calm. "You wished to see me? Is there... anything I can do?" She's glad she was woken for this. Injury is something no shinigami can avoid, a part of their duty, but the news couldn't have waited for morning.

"I have been told to rest for a few days," His gaze is fixated on her face, as he were reluctant to lose the contact. "The wounds are not serious."

She nods. A draft winds into the room from an open window, stirring the candles in their painted paper hoods. It seems she should say or do something more, but no ideas come. The pressure of her dream, familiar in its terror, lingers close, yet it isn't something she would mention to her brother.

"Rukia." His voice pulls her from her clinging thoughts. "There is a scroll on the second shelf from the right, bound with a blue cord. Would you?"

She fetches the scroll, shifting through the cases until her fingers touch the faded silk cord. The scroll is heavy for its small size, the paper crackling with age when she dares to uncoil one end.

"What is this?"

"Something I'd read myself," her brother says, with a trifle of rueful humour. "Would you do me a favour?"

"Mm-hm." The lanterns hide her flush of apprehension; it seems she's been allowed into some private sphere.

"The verses are numbered. Find the one marked eleven."

"This one? 'You who... who have come...' "

"Yes. My honoured grandfather used to say, 'Do not begin a poem if you mean to hesitate.' "

"Do you think it true?"

"I think it's advice, to be taken in that spirit."

She clears her throat, aware that her voice doesn't bend to a storyteller's sonorant cadence. She makes it low and thoughtful instead to suit the words.

" 'You who have come from my old country,
Tell me what has happened there! —
Was the plum, when you passed my silken window,
Opening its first cold blossom?' "

A silence falls as she finishes. Her brother coughs, and she moves to adjust the pillow so he is more comfortable.

"She was fond of that poem," he says once the fit has passed. Rukia knows whom he means by the barely perceptible stress on the word.

"It's very sad." She rolls the scroll downward. "The... the sense of longing has a beauty of its own."

"You read it very differently." In the close circle of lantern light, his face is unfathomable. "Rukia. I cherished your sister. I adopted you into House Kuchiki on her dying wish."

"I know, Byakuya-niisama."

"This house has many doors." He draws in a breath. "You may have been taken into the Thirteenth due to the Kuchiki name, but you've excelled on your own. You aren't trammelled here, if you wish not to remain."

"Oh." She scrambles closer. "Oh, no. I mean... I've felt sad here. I've been hesitant in your company." She stumbles, but her need to speak out is greater than her sense of decorum. "I'd have felt those things no matter where I was."

"Then—" His mouth moves without sound. "Then you wish to stay?"

"I wish to stay." She lays a hand on his bandaged one. "For as long as I may."

"You are my sister. This is your home." He casts a glance at her whether to affirm his words or reassure himself that she's still there. "That will not change in the days of my life."

Smiling, she reaches to needlessly straighten the quilt over him.

"There is... another verse I'd hear. The last one on the scroll."

The scroll is frayed where the poem begins, a meticulously glued seam marking a rip in the paper. This time, she doesn't fumble as she starts reading, the lines flowing easier.

" 'So bright a gleam on the foot of my bed
Could there have been a frost already?
Lifting myself to look, I found that it was moonlight.
Sinking back again, I thought suddenly of home.' "

When she looks up, his eyes are shut, his breathing evening into slumber. She closes the scroll, lays it on the table, and goes to draw down the blinds so the early sun won't wake him.

* * *

Three weeks after college starts, Orihime announces her plan to visit Soul Society. Ichigo should have dropped by a long time ago, so once Chad adds his succinct agreement to her enthusiasm, there is no reasonable way to refuse. Ishida does, of course, as he does every other time Orihime earnestly tells him to join them. He gives his regards to Rukia for Ichigo to deliver.

Rukia meets them at the dimensional gate, beaming up at Chad as she greets him and hugging Orihime in a rare display of delight.

"Hey, you," Ichigo finally says as she lets Orihime go, and they find themselves face to face.

"Hello." Her scarce smile doesn't waver. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd decided to quit."

"Quit what?" he snaps, half on instinct. They fall into step ahead of Chad and Orihime. "The shinigami business?"

"Well, that as well." Her tone gives away nothing. "I suppose I was wrong."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He's too aware of their friends a few paces behind. This isn't the time or the place to have the talk they should've had a few times over—but he has no idea what would be the right circumstances. Back at home, it is marginally easier to ignore the quandary. He hasn't been able to pretend he only lives in Karakura for a few years now.

"I said I would wait, Ichigo. I will. There are, however, some limits to that promise."

Unable to answer, he averts his eyes. I know, damn it. I made this mess, or at least made it worse.

Before he can find any way to verbalise that, Rukia has turned to Chad and Orihime with an offer of dinner at the Thirteenth—the Kuchiki estate would be too stuffy for them, anyway—and the fleeting window where he could have spoken honestly is gone.

* * *

After the dinner, the others scatter across Seireitei. Orihime and Rukia disappear together, no doubt for something girly, so Ichigo doesn't even ask. Chad heads off to the Eighth with an explanation about a go match he owes. Ichigo hardly knew he played.

He's left with the whole of Seireitei before him and an utter lack of company. He could creep to the Eleventh, risk being found by Zaraki before he could find Ikkaku, and end up carted off to the Fourth on his first full day in Soul Society in almost a month.

Swishing his feet in the captain's pond, he even ponders hanging around the Thirteenth. What's wrong, anyway? It's not like I ever had trouble spending time...

He had Rukia and her antics, or at least, Renji and the often-offered tour of local taverns. Renji even worked for deflecting some of the Eleventh's homicidal impulses. Even when they were both mired in the aftermath of the war, there was the sparring, their unmixed rapport on the training ground.

"Okay," he says to himself. Pushing Zangetsu into his sash, he picks up his socks and sandals.

The sunset slashes into the streets. Ichigo wends his way through the city; he's in no hurry. Even the notion that he's going is borderline.

The gate to the Fifth is open; the shinigami on watch nods him through on sight. Being a saviour of Soul Society—and a personal friend of the acting captain—is good for something. He knocks on the door panel leading to the new captain's quarters.

As the door slides aside, he decides not to regret this. He opens his mouth and forces himself to speak. "Hey. We've got... unfinished business."

Renji backs from the doorway to allow him in. He lets his eyes circle the room; it seems more a place to crash than an actual living space. It also does a wretched job of distracting him from Renji, wary as he leans back against the closed door.

"Threats of bodily harm, somethin' like that?"

"Something like that." Ichigo sets Zangetsu down against the wall.

"Should we talk about this over tea like civilised people? Not that I have any, just got in." The outer robe of Renji's uniform is flung on the table, Zabimaru laid on top of it.

"Could you cut the crap? Humour me a second here." I'm sick of this situation, Ichigo understands. I'm sick of avoiding you, and not knowing what the hell to think. You owe me this much.

"What about?"

"What the fuck was that last time, on the way back from Rukongai?" The question spills from his mouth. "You know what I'm talking about, so don't play dumb." He'd been almost ready to deal with Renji, to yield to his teasing and admit things were not so bad, until the situation slanted too-sharply into uncharted territory.

Renji goes rigid; his reiatsu, a constant low swell of restless energy, stills. "Rather you forgot 'bout that."

"Who asked your opinion? You owe me a reason. I can take it."

"You can 'take it'?"

Indignation rises within him, but is countered by a jab of concern. "Tell me, idiot." It's more a prompt than a demand. "Whatever the hell it is. I've seen enough." I'm close enough.

Renji's hands press flat against the door. It's like he is testing a sore limb.

"Okay. Since you asked. Long story short, when the tian bin got me in Yellow Springs, we didn't... agree on my loyalties. In that, Wei..." He blinks, then goes on. "That bastard nearly took my eye."

* * *

Ichigo gasps out a half-formed oath. A heartbeat passes, two, and three, before he reaches out a cautious hand.

Renji had meant to confront the youth after his reconciliation with Rukia—or, not confront, for all that a competitive quality flavours all their byplay. They needed to stand on even ground in this. That probably was what opened his mouth, too, to shove out the truth.

Ichigo's thumb touches his nose, feathers over the eye socket. Renji resists the impulse to close his eye or to respond in any other way. A half-healed cut on Ichigo's thumb shaves against the corner of his eye, the scar chapped against vulnerable skin.

It feels like bleeding a wound, like breaching the surface after a dive.

Then Ichigo crumples the moment without thought. "Was that what you moped about the whole way back?"

Renji flinches. "Oh, fuck you, Kurosaki—"

"Yeah, you wish."

Ichigo grabs his shitagi as if to push him aside; Renji raises his own hands in instinctive defence, seizing Ichigo's robe. He feels the clutch and flow of the youth's breath under his fingers. On occasion, he wishes. It would be easier, but more is at stake here than a moment's heated fancy. For all that this may be a confrontation, it should lower barriers rather than raise them.

"And don't call me that." Ichigo doesn't realise his own control of the situation, but tries to exert it anyway. That is very him.

"What should I call ya, then?"

"Not that."

"Dumbass." Clarity wars with a slow-rising heat inside him. His stillness is equal measures challenge and surrender.

"Like you're so smart."

"Hey, I know what I want. At least I don't pretend."

That is the wrong thing to say. Ichigo balks, his face scrunching. Renji senses how he tenses up. Don't let him go. Not now. He promised Rukia, but she is far from the only reason he's going through with this. This is likely to be their last chance before one of them does irreparable damage to their—friendship, confidence, all the other things that matter.

"Listen," he says. "I wasn't yankin' your chain in Urahara's old hideout. Neither am I now. What I'm—look at me." He bows his head to find Ichigo's eye. "Look at me. There's not a damn thing about this that I haven't meant."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Try to have a conversation with you. I'm not sure what your game is, but I... I'm serious. About this. About you." And Rukia, damn it.

"Right," Ichigo says, too rough and amazed to be mocking.

Afterwards, Renji couldn't say who initiated the kiss. Ichigo hasn't improved in the meantime—hardly a surprise—but his tentativeness is eased by the lassitude and weight of the kiss. A charged curl of need spreads through Renji, but it isn't the bright flare of pin him down and fuck him senseless that he well knows. Something else enters the space between them, heavy and mesmerising.

Ichigo twists his fingers into Renji's hair, tight enough to elicit an "Ow!" from him. "Ah, sorry."

"Ease up a bit. I'm not goin' anywhere."

Ichigo scrutinises him. "That a fact?"

"You're one suspicious bastard."

Ichigo nods his head against Renji's and does not speak. Tension thrums between them. He can't help but be conscious of his own heartbeat, or of Ichigo's body inches from his own. Trust takes time. He knows.

"Renji." His name in Ichigo's low voice is an odd comfort. "That sucks, what happened with Wei, but... it's over. We're in the clear."

For once in his life, he suppresses the urge to cut in with some half-clever commentary. His throat works.

"So, I don't know what you... wanted from me." Ichigo is trying furiously to put words to something he probably only comprehends in his mind. "I figure it hurts. I figure you can't really talk about it. It's easier to turn your back and pretend. But it's also pretty fucking stupid."

Incredulous laughter breaks from him before he can contain it. "What?"

"That's what you're doing." Ichigo gives him a deadpan look. "You and me both, for that matter. 'Least I figured out it didn't work."

"Who the hell are you to..."

"Nobody," Ichigo snaps. "Except you got in my face with the whole eye thing. That makes it my business."

"An' your excellent advice is to..." It figures it would be like this with Ichigo; pushing and pulling, always with a challenge buried in the layers. "To turn around and face it? That's it?"

"I sure as hell had to." Ichigo's gaze veers to the side.

How's that for cryptic? "Fine. What are we even talkin' about anymore? Don't answer that. We kinda... digressed here at some point." He realises, again, how close they are, as if it simply hadn't occurred to either of them to step back. "I didn't mean to spook you back then. I just... lashed out. It's fine now."

Something relaxes in Ichigo's demeanour at that, even if it is a vague reassurance. "I'll live," he says, half a chuckle. "Is it just me or is there kinda too much up in the air?"

"Hell, yes."

"Funny, though. I sorta feel more clear-headed." Ichigo's fingers burrow into Renji's hair, pulling on the twine that ties back his ponytail. His throat thickens at the weight of Ichigo's hand on the nape of his neck.

"That's good," he says. "Now we've sorted this out, maybe you better sleep on it. So things don't get messy again."

"You wouldn't put me up?" It's almost a quip.

"Hmm." Renji trails a thumb down the side of Ichigo's neck, falling back into the banter because it is what he knows. "I gotta wonder how sure you are 'bout that. You've bolted on me twice. Seems a bit of a pattern."

"That was different," Ichigo says, rough. "You sorta freaked me out last time."

"You sorta came on to me like no tomorrow the time before." Renji tenses as he speaks, though he tries to keep his words light, a jibe that can be deflected by a riposte or a laugh. Even this near, there's room for doubt.

"Guess we're even then."

"Tippin' the scales again, are you?"

Defiance flickers in Ichigo's eyes. "Take a guess."

He takes a full breath; it ripples on the fringes. "Ichigo, are you—"

The sliding door jolts in its frame with a grind of wood as he falls back against it, seeking purchase, head dragged down by Ichigo's grip on the back of his neck. Then his focus stutters and narrows onto the heat of Ichigo's mouth on his own.

"Yeah," Ichigo mumbles. "I am."

* * *

Ichigo could not name the precise point where oh shit what am I doing becomes want this now.

It is, in any case, before he pushes Renji back against the door and kisses him.

He makes most of his decisions in split-second instants. This one creeps in like a tide until it's a surge that throws him forward. He has a few notions of how this should work. He tosses them aside one by one as Renji meets him, mouth on his, and then on his cheek and jaw and ear, and oh, whoa.

He kisses Renji again to distract himself from the shiver at the base of his spine. It trembles up at Renji licking slow and careful into his mouth until he groans and breaks away.

Ichigo gets his recompense in the way Renji damn near whimpers when his mouth slips on his neck: his teeth graze skin, first by accident and then on purpose. Cloth drags over his shoulders, and he lets go for long enough to let Renji yank his robes down his arms. Once free, he grabs the collar of Renji's shitagi and returns the favour. His hands sweep over the shapes of bone and muscle under Renji's skin, fingers catching on old scars.

Then he is pushed up to the wall. He'd say something, but Renji kisses him, bending him open and wanting and gasping before they have to part for lack of breath.

"Get up," Renji mutters. "This is gonna kill my neck."

"Who told you to—to be so damn tall—" Renji hoists him up, and Ichigo has to throw an arm around his shoulders and wrap a leg about his hips so as not to fall. And then he doesn't care, because the amount of warm skin on his short-circuits his thought processes. The doorframe bites into his shoulder blade. Renji's mouth and skin taste of salt. The tension in him rises steady and shuddery, gripping him hard when their mouths meet. The kiss turns deep, breathtaking, yet Ichigo wants to squirm at the lingering pace.

His feet come to the floor again. He lets his hand splay on Renji's hip, keeps his eyes shut, as if the most minute change could undo the heat and want and the undercurrent of something kinder.

"So," Renji says. "Now what?"

"You need me—to hold your hand about this?"

"No, you cheeky bastard. I'd prefer to—think of it as takin' suggestions."

"Well," he says, and it's not all boldness in his voice. "I guess you can take this as one." He pulls Renji into an artless kiss and slides his hand left.

* * *

"Thought you said I was—" If Ichigo focuses, he can almost trace the tattoo on Renji's back by texture alone "—too bony for you?" He's proud of himself for the whole sentence, and then he doesn't know what is tattoo and what sweat-smoothed skin anymore. His back jerks straight as Renji draws a fingertip down along his hipbone.

"What can I say?" The amusement is muffled, but there. "You know what a masochist I am."

"Har," Ichigo says, then "Oh, shit," in a faltering whisper. That's Renji's mouth, and his hand braced on Ichigo's hip. Renji's hair is rough-soft in his hands; his fingers, knowing and sure, tug small ragged noises from him until he has no breath for more.

He knows the one thing he'll remember afterwards. They end up on the floor at some point, Renji with his head tossed back, his right hand tangled with Ichigo's left one, keeping it there clasping the side of his face. Leaning down to kiss Renji clumsily, Ichigo feels him arch up against his own body. He strokes his fingertips over Renji's temple, in tentative arches until Renji gasps, a rasping, desperate drag of air, and tenses with release.

* * *

Shadows flow across the room as the light outside fades. Renji waffles by the window, for the breath of air or for the boneless satisfaction in him.

He sharpens when Ichigo swears at his sticking bathroom door. "Just leave it," he calls. "The frame's warped."

"Ever thought of getting it fixed?"

"Mm-hm." He turns to watch as Ichigo moves about, gathering his clothes. It's more the context than the sight itself that draws his gaze. Not that there's anything wrong with Ichigo himself, his movement fluid, his face cleared by cold water, but him, naked and loose-limbed in Renji's quarters, that is new.

"What's so interesting?" Ichigo cocks an eyebrow at him.

"You? Or maybe just the part where we had sex against my front door."

"Right." Ichigo shakes out his hakama.

Renji guffaws. "Look, don't think about it too much."

"I'm not." The sashes of the hakama claim Ichigo's attention. "I mean..."

"You are."

"Stop—stop putting words in my mouth. I didn't go, did I?"

"Point." Renji drops to sit on the floor, arms draped over his knees. "Though I was surprised you came in the first place. Not that I'm complainin', but..."

"Better not be." Ichigo crosses the room to him, poking him in the shin with the ball of his foot.

"Oi. Just tellin' it like it is. So what changed your mind?"

Ichigo halts in the middle of another mock kick. "A bit late to ask that question, don't you think?"

"What was that about lookin' your issues in the eye? If it's not plain by now I'm not gonna..." Renji can't help the sigh, although it's a gentle one. "I can guess what it is. Rather you told me yourself."

There's a pregnant pause. "Rukia did," Ichigo says. "Or at least, she made me figure out I was fed up with this shit we kept pulling on each other. I don't know how all of this is gonna work, but at least things aren't getting worse anymore. I think."

Renji shakes his head, in bemusement rather than denial. Despite making an art form out of stuffing his foot in his mouth, Ichigo has some sort of intuition working for him. Maybe he's even managed to fumble his way into a place where this can all work out.

Ichigo slumps into a sitting position, his shoulder wedged against Renji's. They slouch there back to back. "Not worse," Renji agrees. "Different, though. Think you can handle that?" Rukia's part remains unspoken, but the way Ichigo leans into him is answer enough to his immediate question.

They'll be strong enough for this to hold. At this moment, he believes it.

Chapter Text

This complicates things.

Ichigo peers at the ceiling, from the mess of cushions Renji calls a couch. His body is heavy, limber, alive with the persisting memory of touch. He reaches a hand up against the light and watches it limn his fingers.

"Different, though," Renji summed up the situation. "Think you can handle that?" It doesn't come close to reality. He pushed through a boundary with no plan or even expectation what would lie on the other side.

He knows what he's done to the two people somehow, right now, closest to him. He asked one to wait and then demanded something more of the other. His back stiffens with anxiety.

Fuck, Rukia, I... If she were here now, what would he say? Is he sorry? He's no expert in matters of the heart, but this seems a violation of his request to her. No matter what Renji said in the quiet just afterwards; no matter that Ichigo brought her up himself.

He never meant for things to go this far, this fast. If he ever meant for them to go here.

"Hey." Renji's voice jolts him. He rises in a too-fast motion, his balance half a second behind. Standing up seems a better position to face Renji. His kimono is still sprawled on the table, carelessly thrown aside.

"Whoa, there." Renji reaches towards him. He regains his stability in time to step back, then towards his clothes. "Where're you goin'?"

The explanation scrapes in Ichigo's mouth as he picks up the robes. "Thought... thought I should go sleep at the Thirteenth. You know." He shrugs, as if that elaborated his point. How is he supposed to be? The lines have been redrawn. In finding something new about Renji he seems to have scattered the old and familiar.

"I didn't go, did I?" Damn it, Renji asked him if he was sure. He was, too—so very sure. His own airy words flit through his mind. How easy would it be for Renji to throw them back at him?

Renji's eyes remain languid, appraising. "Sure. Catch you tomorrow? You're stayin' the weekend?"

"Yeah."

"Go on, shoo." Ichigo can almost hear the well-worn "kid" that should round off the sentence. He steps to the door and grabs his sword. This would be Renji's cue to stop him, to demand an explanation, to do anything but let him go.

" 'Night." As soon as Renji hums something that can be interpreted as an answer, Ichigo fumbles the door open and shut again behind him. This time he isn't running. He keeps his steps soft and springy, suddenly conscious of the late hour.

He isn't running. He's... regrouping.

That is all.

* * *

Rukia is woken in the grey twilight by a hell butterfly from her captain. It has barely finished its message as she already hurries out the door with a comb crooked in her hair, belled sleeves flapping behind her, to tumble into Ukitake's office all of fifteen minutes out of bed.

He smiles at her, halfway amused, and pours her a cup of tea. He excuses himself to the filing room until she has fixed her hair and swallowed the tea in a few hasty gulps. Then he returns, seats himself across from her and begins his explanation.

Two hours later she is sitting in the office surrounded by reference documents. Her crisp calligraphy distorts into too-long dashes and too-wide loops as she tries to pin down every idea brought on by the conversation.

Her fourth page of notes is filling when Renji blows in, slamming the door aside with a strained grind of wood. His reiatsu glows like banked coals on the verge of flaring. Her brush skids a track of ink across the page before she can halt her hand. "Renji? What—"

"He left." He all but spits the phrase.

"Hmm? I'm sorry, I've been here all morning—did you hear?" Oh, he doesn't even know yet! She almost leaps into the news before he goes on.

"Ichigo. He left. They were supposed to stay another day. I saw Sado an' Orihime. Not a beep outta him since yesterday. He was supposed to..."

"Oh." Rukia pauses with the faint sound. "Well, he can come and go as he likes, can't he?"

"Seems that's all he freakin' does."

"Why is that so important?" She scoops sand from a carved box to sprinkle over the wet ink.

"Look, Rukia..." His tone diverts her from the task. Exasperation tilts his mouth, but his face is drawn taut with emotion. Whatever his concern is, she can't hear it with divided focus.

"I am sorry. I'm listening."

He unruffles somewhat at her softer timbre. "He came to talk to me last night. It ended up... somethin' else."

Some deeper nuance in his words tightens her throat. "What do you mean?"

"I figure... I got somethin' I needed." He rubs his thumb over his eyebrow. A memory shivers in her mind of him recoiling from her fingers on that same spot. "Only it... Fuck, look, I didn't mean for it to go that far."

"Were you not supposed to talk to him?"

"It didn't stop at talking, Rukia."

"I do not..." In that moment she does understand, taking in his resigned sincerity, the way he stands, shoulders slumped, but braced for her reaction. He expects her to be angry or chastise him. Her insides go cold with disappointment, then a pang of self-reproach.

You did the same to him when he frustrated you—sought consolation from Ichigo. Is that what it was? Is that all it was? Her head bows over her papers, her haste forgotten. Ichigo offered respite, welcome company and security—someone she wanted and needed when Renji faltered as her support.

She knows necessity. The strictures of duty and survival have dictated her actions when her emotions would have steered her otherwise. Is there, then, also a necessity of desire? Renji isn't as frank as he is wont to, but his words are plain enough on that part. Something he needed. Something he got from Ichigo. She bites her lip, half in thought, half in anxiety.

"If you wanna hit me, go right ahead." Renji moves closer, leaning a hand on the edge of her desk. It would be an excellent angle to punch him. "But..."

"It isn't fair," she says. "It isn't fair, but I do... understand."

The backs of his knuckles ghost over her cheek. She can't deny him the assumption of intimacy. It was granted on both sides, perhaps from the moment she took her sword from his throat in an empty hut in another world and decided to trust him. "I'm sorry it hurts you," he murmurs. "Can't say I'm sorry it happened, now that it has. That make sense to you?"

The thing that saves her is that she believes in his regard for her, believes with all of her vulnerable, quickening heart.

"Did it solve things?" She turns towards him. "You said he came to you. I assume you mean of his own initiative."

"Yeah. And yeah, it solved some things. Complicated others."

"So it seems."

"That's why I..." He waves a hand. "Kinda stormed in. Thought you might've seen him, or somethin'. I thought..."

"We are not very good at this, are we?" She huffs at her admission, roundabout as it is.

"Hell if I know. But... there's somethin' I do know." Renji squares his shoulders. "Ichigo, me—we wouldn't be here without you. That's the one thing I'll stick to."

"The same goes for me." He may be speaking in metaphor; her words as regards herself are an actuality. "You may be angry, I may be upset, but we both know it. What does Ichigo think? Why did he leave?"

Uninvited, he folds into her chair, lanky legs splayed. "It's more the rule'n the exception by now. He keeps hittin' and evadin'."

Her eyes stray to the papers that flutter at his movement. "Renji... I know this is the worst of timings, but I'll have to go soon. I'm expected. You came in quite suddenly."

"Rukia..."

"This really is important." The door stands wide open, as if beckoning someone to burst in looking for her. "I forgot for a moment, but there was a communication from..." Her tongue sticks. Renji, more than anyone, would have no reason to wish for further association with the place. "From Yellow Springs."

The chair goes clattering back as he flies to his feet.

"Calm down, it's all right!" She grabs his wrist. "It isn't him. There's a delegate. Captain Ukitake asked me to go, since I know something of the customs and the language."

Her words take their time sinking in. "Fine," he says, the atmosphere flattening rather than easing as she sought. "Gotcha."

Now he is hurt. He's worried for me, and Ichigo walked out on him... She isn't doing the exact same thing. It must still feel like a rejection that her duties cannot wait.

"You sure it's safe? I know the Captain-General's probably eager to open some sorta dialogue with them, but we've seen what they can do."

"The message comes from the commander of Phoenix Gate. He is the highest-ranking military leader east of the Tiangen mountains." She fluxes between the personal and the professional. How to separate them now? "I told Captain Ukitake you shouldn't be involved. I didn't mean to infringe, it just seemed..."

"Seemed prudent." Renji takes her hands as he sits back down, nudging her closer. "Probably a good idea. I wanna hear everythin' when you get back, you got that?" It's equal parts a placation and a command.

"Don't do that." Her throat constricts, with warmth this time.

"Look, I sure as fuck don't like it. If the Captain-General's sendin' you, he thinks you should be there. Can't gainsay that."

"I tried to skim the old records." The heap of books and scrolls covers the better part of her desk. "Soul Society has had hardly any contact with Yellow Springs for centuries. This could change many things."

"I get that. If they actually want to talk, that is. You watch yourself. That's all I'm askin'."

"I need to be there, Renji," she confesses. "It gives me a purpose. I need that, too."

"Just don't let it go to your head."

"I am not!"

"Like you can fool me. You're practically glowin' with it. It's good."

Wrapping her hands into his, she gives in to the comfort of his presence. Does he know he does that, makes a dip in the world that sends her spiralling towards him the moment she lets go? "I'll be back as soon as I can. I'll find Ichigo with you, the moment I return."

"That a promise?"

Yes. His frank question lightens her. She's learned to be wary of the soundless gaps inside herself, yet more so of the well-meaning silences that mask his concerns. Quiet festers. Words can hurt, but they cut cleaner.

His arms tense to support her as she bends forward, hands still in his, and kisses him. The awkward angle melts away as he responds after a second of hesitation. When he gasps against her mouth, then claims it again, she feels the touch unwind something in her. This is one way to tell the truth; another tiny necessity.

"I'll wait," he says at length. "Hatch a plan, do some investigation. You go and talk circles 'round 'em all."

"As long as we go together." As he releases her hands, she slips to embrace him. His shoulders are taut under her palms as he returns the hug.

"It's gonna take both of us to deal with him." Renji cups her jaw, sliding his thumb along her lower lip, making her breath catch. "Bottom line is, m'not sure I could have it any other way anymore."

A sudden, hot shudder twists down her spine as he runs a hand down her back. For a moment the diplomatic meeting is shunted aside. Maybe all the detours and hurdles are worth the destination, if they—the three of them—can continue down this path.

Rukia has stopped thinking in twos; that is the problem and the solution wrapped in one. Renji's agreement only helps to make it real.

"Isn't that what I've been saying?" she says, too soft to be breezy. "I know."

"Don't you get smart with me." She wishes she could elide the world and linger on this aching, fragile tie between them.

"I'm not." She smiles. "I have to go."

"Yeah." The next thing she knows, Renji kisses her hard and demanding, with a breathless urgency he's always kept back, and she can only let herself grip his shoulders and answer with what focus she has. "Just remember this," he murmurs against her mouth.

"I—I will." She has to push herself away. Everywhere around her there is change and motion; Renji is a pinnacle and a challenge at once, but she prefers him—them—this way. It leaves room for her to be all that she is, all that she is finding she might be. "I'll be back."

"Had better. M'not above comin' over if you take too long to make nice with the diplomatic committee."

She kisses him once more, for luck and a promise and a see-you-soon, before scooping up her notes and rushing out into the dawning day.

* * *

In her best shihakushou, Sode no Shirayuki bound in the ceremonial scabbard at her side and her braid pinned up with a jade comb, Rukia waits by the dimensional gate. Every courteous phrase and greeting she can recall is racing through her head. She is ill equipped to interpret in a diplomatic encounter, yet there are few in Seireitei who'd have even her ease with the language of Yellow Springs.

Vice-Captain Ise stands across from her, the superior officer present. Captain Ukitake elected to keep the group small and powerful enough to contain any trouble. No captains will be involved in direct contact before an assessment is made of the arrivals. The delicate lockstep of protocol and decorum is dizzying, but Rukia trusts she can stay apace of it. She closes her eyes, imagines the poise and calm of her brother addressing a guest.

Mistakes are not unacceptable. It is her intent that must be lucid and pure. "Do not begin if you mean to hesitate."

The dimensional gate links to the western border. The delegation was asked to wait there until a reception could be provided. They have come by the same path Rukia returned with Renji and Ichigo; her chest clenches at the memory. Perhaps they are here for vengeange rather than alliances. She casts a sideways look at Ise, but there is no way to request a private word. She already laid her concerns out to her captain, and promised him her aid in spite of them.

I was an outlaw. Now I am to approach them as an ally to be. There is no treaty that could demand she be delivered to the tian bin now she is in Soul Society. She is a shinigami and an officer, with the division insignia on her chest and the sheath of her sword. Her sword is at her hip, not on her back as the burden of a fugitive or soldier of fortune.

A deep buzzing sound begins in the centre of the gate frame. A wind rushes through, whipping at hair and clothing as the gathered shinigami turn towards the noise.

"Kuchiki-kun?" Vice-Captain Ise motions to her. "They will be here momentarily."

Rukia tries to remember her posture. "Yes."

"This is a delicate situation. No one here is equipped to handle it quite without flaw. I will rely on your discretion."

There were other choices. The vice-captain herself has a grasp of the written language, but has never studied its spoken counterpart. Captain Ukitake asked me, and he knew the problems that could arise. Even though late, Rukia's field report to her captain was as thorough as she could make it.

At Ise's signal, the officers fall into an orderly line. Rukia takes her place next to the vice-captain.

"Thank you, ma'am," she says low. She hears the covert meaning in Ise's words: "I understand your apprehension, but expect your best."

The outline of a person appears in the gate frame like a reflection in water, flickering into an armoured figure, the tawny sleeves of his uniform gilded by the sun. Another follows, bows bundled on their shoulders and sword-hilts laced with yellow cord, the tassels swishing with their steps. In comparison, the shinigami form an austere relief of black and white, only the emblems on their shihakushou telling seat and division to the knowing eye. Repressing a splash of dread, Rukia watches the tian bin emerge. The months since her return haven't quelled the instinct to flee. They number five, reasonable for a personal guard—or half a patrol group. Spiritual power, even banked close, thickens the air.

Vice-Captain Ise shifts, a minute ripple of nerves, when the sixth member of the party sets foot on the grass. She is in red and black, her hair combed up into an intricate coiffure that gives her face a grave cast. Under the powder on her skin, Rukia thinks she glimpses a patchwork of scarring that she doesn't remember.

Her thought freeze with the realisation. That's—

The young woman halts a respectful distance from Vice-Captain Ise before dipping into a bow. "I greet you in the name of Commander Jia of Phoenix Gate of the Tian Bin. I have come on his behalf, and on behalf of Ambassador..." The gist is clear to Rukia; it would take more willpower than she has to tear her attention from the woman.

"I am Jia Mei Xiu. I offer my heartfelt wishes for the health of your family, and yourself."

Ise is mouthing at her. The moment Mei raises her head from the greeting, she will recognise her. Why, of all the people they could have sent...

"Kuchiki-kun. I believe she cannot rise before I have answered. If you have knowledge to the contrary..." Ise's tone conceals steel.

Rukia sets a hand on her sword so only her fingertips brush the crossguard. Shirayuki breathes calm, the phantom weight of a strong flank beside her. She steps forward so that she is halfway between Mei and Ise, and begins. The words are thick, but as precise as her brother's diction. There is a pattern here that she can grasp: it is only desire and intent, but it can find root and grow if given the chance.

As Ise replies, Rukia turns to Mei. " 'I am... I thank you. I am Vice-Captain Ise Nanao of the Eighth... Division of the Gotei under Captain-General Ukitake. I welcome you to Soul Society. You may... Our laws will protect you while you are here.' " It may be a blessing custom demands Mei stay in the bow until Rukia is done. She can't imagine how she would compose herself. Losing herself in repeating others' words is a strange relief.

Then she is finally out of words. Mei straightens her back; Rukia swallows. They are surrounded by witnesses. Ise is the only one with even an idea of the circumstances where they last met.

"I also greet you, and thank you for your help." Mei smiles, straight at Rukia, breaching her position as an impersonal mediator. Her left cheek dimples oddly, as if a muscle strained to move.

Rukia must react. Ise's cool visage betrays nothing, since Mei's eye contact is elsewhere. What? What do you want? You've found Duan Zhi, risen from the dead, and now...

"My name is Jia Mei Xiu. May I ask yours, so I may mention it to the ambassador when he comes?" The phrases flow direct, simple for Rukia to understand.

Trust. Step forward. Do not hesitate.

"Please tell the ambassador that if—if he has need of my services, I will be honoured to offer them." She bows and raises sober, bright eyes back to Mei. "I serve as Captain-General Ukitake's fifth seat."

"I would like to offer you the position. Well, will you accept this considerable honour?"

"I haven't met too many girls who do, but you are extraordinary, Rukia-san."

"You'll be good now?"

"You go and talk circles 'round 'em all."

"You are my sister. This is your home."

Like warm, insistent hands on her back, a thousand possibilities whirl past her and collapse into one.

"I am Kuchiki Rukia."

Chapter Text

The week crawls by as Rukia is lost in the hubbub of covert activity around the delegation from Yellow Springs. While the Fifth has its everyday troubles, Renji has an industrious vice-captain and a division eager to forget the stigma still shrouding it—his people work harder than mostly anyone else in the Gotei. Only his own unrest mars the relative peace. Rukia, when he sees her, flits into his quarters and then out again, streaming concerns and bits of news.

He knows that she must. He nods and listens and, on more than one night, carries her into bed after she dozes off with her head in her papers. Any of that can't stop him from counting the days.

It's been six when they meet at the dimensional gate and emerge, after the vertiginous plunge of stepping between worlds, in Karakura Town. A scintillating, late afternoon greets them. Renji pinches his eyes shut until the bout of double vision abates and his gigai responds fully. Beside him, Rukia checks the clasp in her hair and smooths her skirt.

They haven't gone over much of this. Such discussion would hardly have fit in the last days, and much depends on Ichigo's reactions. As for himself, Renji muses, he'll try and postpone smacking Ichigo one until after they have talked. All in good time.

"Ready?"

"Yes." Rukia's fingers brush over the backs of his. "As ready as I can be."

"It would've been faster to just go up," he says as they stride around the block where Ichigo's building is located.

"He hates it when I don't enter properly." She lowers her voice in a passable imitation of Ichigo. " 'Rukia? This is a freaking window, and that is the damn front door. Would it kill you to use the doorbell?' "

"Heard that a few times, huh?"

"I did not count."

"That still doesn't explain the gigai." She insisted on them. Not that he really minds—there are worse things than the addling sensation upon merging with a gigai, most often over soon.

"I thought... it might be easier this way." As he pulls open the front door, she slips up the stairwell ahead of him. "Our friends can see us, but when I think about it... It feels eerie, to know the person you're with appears to be empty air to most others."

"Ichigo's a shinigami, too. M'not sure that'd make much of a difference."

"He is also human." She gives him a steady look. "If we want this to be a good thing for all of us, we can't discount that."

"You got a point." He slants a crooked smile her way. "Hell, if it helps, we can hash this out in damn verse."

"I don't think that will be necessary." The doorbell echoes in the room beyond as she rings it.

"I had to recite fuckin' haiku for him once." Now, Renji can chuckle at the memory of his and Ichigo's first run-in with the locals in Yellow Springs. "Thankless bastard laughed his ass off afterwards."

"You see why I do not trust Urahara-san's translation device to help in the talks?" She cants her head. "A machine that makes you adhere to a randomly changing rhyme scheme is hardly better than a limited language skill."

"He's not done with the... beta testin' yet?"

"So it seems," she says, tapping her hand on the door. "I don't think Ichigo is home, unless he's climbing out the window as we speak."

"Glad to see you can find the humour in this." Renji huffs a laugh at the mental image. "I can't sense him, either, though he's got better at hidin' his power. Want me to go see?"

"Please do."

Once free of his false body, Renji shrugs through the door, then tightens his own being again. Dust motes stir in the air at his invisible passage. There is a small smattering of post just inside the door. The curtains are drawn halfway, the futon rolled up, the neatness of the room an intimation of absence. Without Ichigo, it is simply a narrow space semi-lit by the sun splashed on the wall, pallid and impersonal.

He slips back to the corridor and into his gigai, flexing the fingers to make sure they move properly. "Nobody there. I don't think he's been home for a bit. Looks too tidy."

"I see. He didn't mention..."

"Not sure he would have, you know."

She digs into her satchel after her phone. "Maybe we could ask someone to track..."

"One substitute shinigami?" He arches a brow. "Sure that'd be faster, but we probably know someone 'round here that can help."

"That is true. Let's go, then." Turning on her heel, she starts down the stairs.

His door open a crack, Ishida looks them up and down like a pair of alleyway idiots. "What makes you think I would be interested in Kurosaki's whereabouts? If you have misplaced a shinigami, I am hardly the person to ask."

Renji hasn't finished rolling his eyes when Rukia joins him outside, having excused them with a few polite phrases. "We should ask Orihime," she suggests with a collected veneer he almost buys. "They study in the same place."

"Ichigo?" Orihime's eyes are wide, her concern heartfelt. "I actually haven't seen him after class this week. Maybe we should organise a search party? I could ask the Rikka if they would mind flying reconnaissance..."

Renji intercepts before she can offer up her fairies for the sake of their search. Still, by the time they trundle up to Sado's door, he is getting ready to hoist finding Ichigo off to the caprices of the Twelfth.

"He's in Shikoku," Sado says in tones of mild surprise. "With his family."

"Thank you," Rukia breathes a hair too effusively.

Armed with an address salvaged from a brochure on the Kurosaki kitchen table, they head to the train station. More precisely, it is Rukia who changes course. The streetlights flicker into cool gleams against the gathering twilight.

"Shikoku," he says. "That's to the south, right? I was there on a field commission once."

"I'm sure someone at the station can advise us," she says. "They have people who are paid to answer silly questions, and this is a very reasonable one. You wanted to solve this on our own."

He sighs, not for the first time that day.

* * *

The landscape whooshes past in murky blurs interspersed by streaking lights. Renji nods off more than once; exhaustion appears to sidle in quicker when in a gigai. A bowed old woman sitting across from them natters at Rukia without pause for the first two hours. Rukia elbows him awake to help pry the lady's copious baggage from the overhead shelf, but curls close once they are alone and he's sprawled back into his seat.

"So." He knuckles his eye. "Still think takin' the train's a capital idea?"

"I didn't think it'd be so expensive. It is convenient, though, you must admit that."

"Compared to goin' home, sortin' out the red tape for recalibratin' a gate on notice this short... Probably." He could throw his weight around as a captain, but using his authority for such a personal reason might not go over too well.

"I've sort of wanted to try this. Maybe finding Ichigo is as good a reason as any."

He has noted her fascination with the living world before. Once, she might have debunked the whole notion as unbecoming of a shinigami, yet he understands that was part of her Kuchiki schooling more than a part of her as he knew her—his Rukia, his friend, his family.

He's turning over how to express that as she nods her head against his arm. "I can't help wondering."

"Hmm?"

"Can this work, Renji? Doesn't it seem like he... left on purpose?"

"You bought the damn tickets," he mutters. "A bit late for second thoughts, don'tcha think?"

"Not second thoughts." Her voice falls. "Only... Ichigo. This is his world. He has a family here. He's studying to do something he wants."

He lets his arm drape around her shoulders. "No one's askin' him to give that up. Any more than you're gonna stop helpin' with the talks, or I'm gonna toss the Fifth off to Hinamori." Her worries ring familiar to him; he knows more than he cares to admit about the intangible walls that bar people from each other.

"Of course not," she breathes. "But he won't always have those things, or this world."

A weight shifts in his chest. Ichigo seems to straddle his two lives without even trying, but has Renji ever watched him closely enough? He knows Karakura is Ichigo's home. Yet he belongs equally in Soul Society, in the dust of the training sands and in the corners of Renji's Rukongai haunts, roaming the streets of Seireitei and annoying Rukia at the Thirteenth.

"Yeah, that's a fact." Ichigo is mortal, no matter his unusual—if not unique—lineage. "You know, I always figured I knew some things about Kurosaki Ichigo. He doesn't bow down to anyone, an' he sticks to what he believes in. All of Seireitei was on his ass, but fuck that. He still came to get you." He skims another unspoken barrier; she now knows she faced execution at the Soukyoku, but he hasn't asked if she has a memory of the events. If he could choose to erase a few things, his own impending death might be near the top.

"You 'figured'?" She traps the word like a moth cupped in her hands. "What changed?"

"Don't know yet. Maybe nothin'." Distracted, he rakes his shaggy hair back from his temples. "It's just that the Ichigo I know doesn't turn tail. Hope I'm still right."

"This must seem strange," she says, half smothered against his shirt. "I mean, the three of us."

"He's gotta know his mind sooner or later." Severe though the sentiment may be, it mingles with a myriad of other emotions: frustration, bemusement, a sense of longing, gratitude at Rukia's weary presence.

"So many layers," she says low, a slur tinting her voice.

"We still got a ways to go. You don't hafta sort it all out this second." Renji pries the clasp from her hair. In response, she tucks herself tighter against him, her eyes closing.

"Mm, I could sleep for a while."

"Now you're talkin'. I'll just..." Laughter nudges his shoulders at the familiar phrase, however new the context. "I'll keep an eye out."

"Thank you," she mutters.

It doesn't take long for her to relax entirely into his side. The train car is nearly empty, the lights low, but he stays awake to count the stations, afloat in his own thoughts.

* * *

They round a corner and are met with a piece of traditional architecture perhaps best described as quaintly rundown. The inn—hotel—is hemmed by a row of trees in fresh spring leaf, quiet under the slight morning chill.

"This is it," Rukia declares. They are rumpled and tousled after the trip. At least she had the know-how to order them a breakfast at a café next to the local train station. Gigai are geared towards sojourns in field conditions; they have greater endurance than the average human.

"This has gotta be the nuttiest thing I've done in a while." Renji straightens his hat so the legend on it no longer droops to the left.

"I could remind you of a similar occasion not too long ago." She can't help the gravity the thought carries. The distance may be far shorter, their intentions of a different kind, but the parallels do not disperse so easily, even though Renji and Ichigo's journey to find her now seems only a beginning.

"Don't," he says, surprisingly earnest. "We can get nostalgic later if we gotta."

"Yes." Gathering her wits, she leads the way into the building. Once in the hall, she has just spotted a desk and a somewhat tiredly smiling, middle-aged woman behind it when a voice booms from her left: "Rukia-chan! What a wonderful surprise!"

She is only delayed a heartbeat. Behind her, Renji squints as if to connect an identity to Kurosaki Isshin, who strides up to them across the lobby, in a shirt that rivals Renji's usual colour scale in its sheer loudness. Rukia comes forward, dipping her head politely.

"Good morning, Kurosaki-san."

"Always so formal! It must come with the Kuchiki name. You'll get over it some day." Isshin pats her on the head, then turns to Renji. "Captain Abarai," he says. "Congratulations on the promotion. Don't get stuck with the post. It gets old shockingly fast."

"Not promoted just yet, but I'll keep that in mind," Renji rejoins, a befuddled grin pulling at his cheek. It occurs to Rukia that she may well have more experience with the phenomenon that is Ichigo's father.

"Ah, but you're still young and bright-eyed. Give it a few hundred years." Isshin claps Renji on the shoulder with his characteristic verve. "What brings you here? I do have to suspect you aren't here simply to delight Daddy, Rukia-chan."

"Yes." She flounders, then recovers her manners. "I mean, yes, in fact, we were looking for Ichigo. Would you—is he with you?" She sidesteps closer to Renji as she speaks, hears him chuckle under his breath.

"My foolish son has braved Mt. Ishizuchi this morning!" Isshin spreads his hands. "His sisters were forlorn, but if he needs solitude, it's a family's part to support its son. And if he has discovered a passion for mountaineering, the same goes in that case."

"Mt. Ishizuchi?" Renji's eyebrows knit. "That's... a sacred mountain, somethin' like that?"

"Correct! Hmm, perhaps it is spiritual illumination he seeks instead."

Rukia casts a careful look at Renji. Kneading his temple with his fingertips, he inclines his head in agreement. Might as well, his expression suggests, even if it is edging towards Oh, fuck this shit.

"Kurosaki-san? It is of some importance that we speak with Ichigo," she says. "How would we find him?"

For the first time, Isshin's jovial visage sharpens. Rukia keeps her smile in place, aware of at least several ways in which the situation is out of the ordinary. This has grown into a personal quest of some kind, the tiny oddities heaping on top of each other to turn it into an outlandish wandering across Karakura and out on a late night train to a destination she's never seen.

"Ichigo took the morning bus. If you're planning on climbing the mountain, Karin had better loan you some hiking boots."

"That would be very kind," she says hastily. "I..."

"I don't believe we have anyone in the household with Abarai-san's shoe size, though."

"Eh, m'fine," Renji half hums. "She's the one with the dainty shoes." She prods him in the ankle with the heel of her both comfortable and practical sandal.

"Sit tight, Rukia-chan." Isshin gestures towards the counter. "The lady over there should know about the buses. I will be back."

With that, he disappears the way he came. As if her legs had been bearing some unseen load, she falls into one of the chairs by the wall. For a moment, she has to marvel at Ichigo's father. Underneath the bluster, his faith or trust in his son goes deep. She wouldn't dare squander this opportunity, whatever her own doubts. "Oh, goodness."

"We're in a goddamn folk tale," Renji sighs. "Find the house empty, gather clues from the idiot's friends, have stupid side trips that do fuck-all for the actual goal, meet with the old man of the mountain for sage advice..."

"I'm quite sure the mountain only comes in later." Rukia scrapes together what's left of her good sense and pragmatism. "Shall we find this bus?"

Crossing his arms, he grunts indignantly in answer, but she fancies she hears the 'Course, just lead on there nonetheless.

* * *

Ichigo drags himself up over the ledge and off the plummet of the cliff's face. The damp grass cools his flushed face, but he pulls himself up almost at once. The support chains that lead up the cliff provide a trial for pilgrims; he's had his fill ascending this first set. His palms burn even through the protective gloves.

He got on the bus at the crack of dawn, armed with map and rucksack and proper footwear, still not quite sure if he was in his right mind. It's a mountain with a shrine at the summit, that is all. Maybe it was just the thought of spending another day with his father that made him pursue a whim.

As he scampers up and spreads the map again, the wind and the solitude soak into his senses. People came here on pilgrimages to cleanse themselves, to redefine or discover something. He tries not to wonder.

The path is all but overgrown, his boots crunching over rambling grasses. Up ahead, clouds chase each other around the highest peak, glowing the colour of mother-of-pearl in the sun. The exertion feels good, as if he is more alive and aware than normally, open in a way he associates more with being out of his body.

He surprised his sisters by asking, at the last minute, to be included in the family trip. He'd planned to stay and study, maybe to make up for that he hasn't been able to think straight all week. Every thought seems to warp upon itself and return to the one topic he's trying to avoid.

Don't think it, he snaps at himself. Here, he can almost pour himself empty of all distraction, the way he does when focusing on a spirit pressure or a ribbon. Want and confusion and his own temper can't trip him.

The path slips under trees, dappled in green shadows. A wooden causeway stretches before him, turning his steps into staccato beats.

You figure this is gonna help? Or are you just running after all? There goes his focus. His heart hammers as he pauses, head bent back to suck in a few deep breaths.

I don't know. I was supposed to be fine, but the second I think about it...

A part of him acknowledges what he is trying to do. Maybe, if he drives himself hard enough, he can bleed these feelings from himself. The thought both cuts and soothes him, like a smooth curve of glass ending in a jagged rim.

It all comes back to one thing. He knows what he wants. He doesn't know how to hold it, how to grasp something that defies any definition he's managed so far.

Up again, he resumes his pace. Since he's come this far, he ought to climb all the way. The rhythm of his own steps teases his mind back where every perception is crisp and immediate, the world widening and sprawling out under his senses.

It still takes him a few seconds to comprehend someone is coming up the path behind him, sharp and resolute and very familiar.

Chapter Text

Ichigo keeps walking. The sun stabs through the foliage and into his cinched eyes.

This is dumb. They're gonna catch up.

I don't care.

"Ichigo!" That is Rukia, her footfalls pattering towards him. "Ichigo, wait!"

Not a chance. He doesn't care how they found him—not that he can't guess, and he owes old goat-chin a foot in the face for that—nor why they have come. He wants them to go back to Soul Society and leave him out of—of whatever this is.

"Hey! Are you listenin'?" The heavier thump of Renji's feet drowns out hers.

No.

The path dives into full, unscreened sunlight. The white cliffs ahead reflect the brilliant day through a haze of cloud. After the umbra of the trees, the open air all but blinds him.

He is grabbed by the shoulder and spun about. "Hold on a damn moment." Renji's sentence falls deliberate like a blow. His hand stays on Ichigo's shoulder.

"What do you think you're doing?" Rukia scampers up to them, her breath choppy and hair blown every which way. "I almost reported you missing to the Twelfth—"

" 'Til I said to ask 'round first," Renji adds. "Was it so damn tough to leave half a word?"

Great. So now everyone from Karakura to Seireitei knows they're here.

Ichigo jerks himself out of Renji's grip. "Who the fuck asked you to follow me? If I don't tell you, maybe it's a subtle hint to leave me alone!"

"Yeah, yeah, I get you don't want us here." Renji's eyes flash with something barely contained—anger or disappointment. "The thing is, it's not just your decision."

"Appreciate you both coming to annoy the fuck out of me. Good work, mission accomplished, now go away."

Rukia stomps on his foot. His hiking boot barely muffles the impact. "I didn't realise we were so unwanted."

"Weren't you over this? The whole leavin' your friends in the dark, marchin' off to the sunset shtick?"

A snap of temper overrules Ichigo's confusion. "How's it a capital offence to want some space? Didn't get enough of living in my pockets when–" When you were the two things that got me home. He steps back, as if the rushing of his heart might be audible.

"You owe us a few words, so we came to find you. Simple as that."

Ichigo rubs a trickle of sweat from his eye. He could still walk away. Renji might not even ultimately stop him. The real question is, where would he go? "How the fuck did you even get here?" I even left the substitute badge at home...

"We took a train." Under her irritation, Rukia sounds pleased with the fact. "Multiple trains, and then a bus. Your father was very helpful."

Is it too late to force himself out of his body and fall on his own sword?

"Will you quit dancin' around?" Renji's voice is laden with purpose. "Talk to us or don't, but make up your mind."

"What about?"

Rukia tries to hide her flinch at Ichigo's retort, but he reads her better than that. Right now he wishes he didn't.

"You do know," she says.

I do know.

He takes a few steps back under the trees. The sun can be harsh in this altitude, especially with exertion and dehydration creeping up to compound it. His movement draws Renji and Rukia along. Renji slumps down to sit, long limbs askew, while she seats herself more delicately next to him.

Ichigo pries a water bottle from the straps of his rucksack and splashes his face. "Fine then. Shoot."

"I cannot do this if you're standing over there."

"Huh?" He is barely four steps away from her.

"Sit your ass down, Ichigo. Might take the edge off that haunted stare you got goin'."

"I said I'd listen!" With too much show, Ichigo crouches in the grass. Rukia's stillness is that of a duelist, measuring the air, but her hands clench together. He hasn't spoken to her in weeks. While he shirks from facing Renji because of what happened, with her it's the other way around. Absence and inaction may have wreaked just as much havoc.

"You wanna start?" Renji nudges her shoulder.

"Very well. If you are sure."

" 'S the least I owe ya." Something passes between them, in the pregnant look before she raises her eyes to Ichigo. He returns the gesture and braces himself: too late to bolt.

"You both," she begins, sucking in a rib-straining breath. "You are both incorrigible, stubborn, aggravating fools beyond any hope of redemption, and I–I do not know what to do with you." She tugs her knees up, the heels of her boots dragging in the ground. "I can only say what I think, and let you do the same. Right?"

Ichigo would at least grin, but his throat is thick with hesitation. Renji makes an acqueiscent noise.

"It may sound like a poetic exaggeration, but..." She fiddles with her sleeve. "There are parts of my life I'll never get back. I know the facts as they're written down—I was sentenced to death once, for one. And you came to my rescue."

Ichigo wanted to leave; he doesn't think he could even twitch as she fumbles for a continuation.

"I believe I dream of it. What I feel then... that seems real to me. What I've felt since we met again, that is real to me. I'll never know, but I try to understand."

"I get it bothers you," Ichigo finds himself saying. "You know things got better from there on out, right?"

"I have gathered no amount of reprimands would deter you from doing it again. That isn't the point."

Renji chortles. "You figured out the important bits."

"Yeah." Ichigo can tell the differences that her partial memory loss makes, but the heart of her, all the reasons he cherishes her, have stayed the same. Even without her misty memories of him, he might have... fallen for her. That seems a frivolous description for the depth to which she touches him.

"I see." A patch of sunlight frames her face as she smooths it into calm. "You both would have died for me."

"You had to say that out loud? Doesn't make it any less true."

He got that right. Ichigo leans his cheek into his palm. "I know you're coming in for the late showing, but it's not that big a deal, Rukia. If... if you mean the Soukyoku, there's no war, no sentence, no conspiracies now."

"I know. I didn't mean to derail the conversation."

"You got yourself in trouble, I came to get you. That's all there is to it."

"You mean we came to get her." Renji aims a mock scowl at him. Again there is a glimmer of a sore and dark emotion in the companionable gesture. It flits away when Renji turns to Rukia, but surfaces every time his focus is on Ichigo. "That aside, stop stealin' my lines, you jerk."

Ichigo deflects his own worry and the quip in one go. "Fine, we did. After I pounded some sense into your thick skull."

"You wanna talk to me about sense?" Renji's face hardens, hurt and slow fury unfurling. "Fuck, listen to you."

In the space of a few words, Ichigo has tripped over a line. Rukia is, has always been, sacrosanct: her needs push aside whatever conflicts exist between Renji and him. Her happiness is paramount, and they come together to preserve it time and again. Renji's rough words crack the old accord.

"Pull your head outta whatever hole you've stuffed it in, Ichigo."

Rukia has sat up straight. Ichigo swallows a heated riposte. This isn't how they work. Caustic, blunt, offensive, yes, but the terse, acid edge in Renji is as unsettling as it is unfamiliar.

"What the hell'd I say? One word and you're huffing like some scorned—"

"Don't. Finish that. You've got some nerve." Renji jabs the syllables like needles into pressure points. "We're not exactly here to sightsee, you son of a bitch. And I sure as hell am not here so you could mess with me some more."

"Renji—" Rukia sounds reedy, stunned.

"A minute, Rukia. He owes me this."

"Oi! Don't I get a damn say in what I—"

"You left," Renji snaps, an accusation. "You stood up and walked the fuck away. Bastard. What did you think was gonna happen?"

"What the hell was I supposed to do?"

"Somethin'. Whatever. I thought we were... clear. Even." Renji rises as he speaks, his shoulders hunched, the lines of his body taut.

"Well, excuse me!" Ichigo jolts onto his feet, too, feeling a step behind in more than the physical sense. "It's not that easy to swallow... and so help me if you get witty now I'm going to break your nose."

"You can try." Renji's voice dips. "Keep talkin'."

Affront is preferable to befuddlement. Attitude is the only thing that glues him together. "All right, I will. What is your problem? Rukia's got something to tell us. You cut her off and try to crawl dowl my throat with some grudge you won't even explain!"

Not that he really needs to, Kurosaki. You know what he means. You just have to pretend, right? 'Til you can't.

With a guttural breath, Renji snaps forward, one arm sweeping back to gather momentum, fingers curling tight.

* * *

Rukia gasps in involuntary alarm. She almost flies in Renji's path before he stops, as suddenly as he moved. The fury bleeds from his expression. She isn't sure if he was going to seize Ichigo or strike him; by the way he stares, neither is Ichigo.

Her hands fisting, she holds still. Ichigo's chin rises slowly in defiance that would be flawless if not for the quiver in his jaw. Renji's back is tight, as if both of them were digging in their heels and preparing to hold ground.

Is this the only way they can face each other? Challenging, defying, at constant loggerheads?

"I told you," Renji says. His voice seems too loud after the charged stillness. "So... I'm supposed to grin an' bear it so you can pretend nothin' happened?"

It is like a game of go with invisible stones, Rukia thinks with gently rising panic. She is building a chain piece by piece, but is thwarted by her opponent at every turn, because only they can see the entire board.

"You're asking me?" Ichigo crackles with incredulity. "What the fuck do you think I know?"

"Your own mind, for starters!" Renji bellows. "This isn't exactly advanced kidou theory, so quit playin' dumb, or did you run into a wall one time too many with all that speedin' round in bankai? I thought you had the balls to own up to your shit! What do you want? From me?" He swings a hand at Rukia. "From her?"

That cost him. Both of them, the analytical part of her mind says. The rest is preoccupied with gawking at Renji.

"I..." Ichigo deflates, at least partway.

"I told you," Renji repeats, the stress on the word almost raw. "That I was... serious. Told you what happened."

Ichigo looks up, but not at him; at her, mouth open and head reeling with trying to keep up. His eyes darken with blatant guilt, whether directed at her or Renji.

He isn't stupid. Or, he is, so idiotic I could kidou him senseless, but he knows what is going on. He knows why Renji is so hurt. For all his gruff exterior, Renji wears his heart on his sleeve. Rukia remembers the floating sense of contentment she found when he tracked her down after their falling out. He considers Ichigo equally important in his own way.

She only has Renji's halting explanation of what happened between the two, but it is enough. Renji has paced back and forth around Ichigo's premature departure ever since, while the youth shrinks from the whole issue.

She is no closer to a solution as Ichigo makes a funny, muffled noise and folds into himself.

"Okay," he sighs. "You win. Since you came all the way up here to ambush me."

Her borrowed boot chafes at her heel. She kneels down to keep the shoe from pressing at the spot, motioning for Renji to do the same. Ichigo's belligerent front has mellowed. It will not do to charge in, but let him go at his own pace, if there is any hope of them reaching an understanding.

"I dunno about Soul Society," Ichigo begins, "but... this kind of thing isn't done here. Just Rukia would be weird enough, but..."

"I am strange?"

"Not as weird as him!" Ichigo waves a hand at Renji, then lets it fall abruptly at the stricken face he makes. "Fuck, look, I'm having some trouble here. I said it. Happy now?"

"You have machines on the street that sell shunga made with real people, but it is forbidden to practise..."

"Holy shit, Rukia!"

"It was only an observation!" She has been tumbling headlong into epiphany after realisation after further confusion. Surely she'd be forgiven for voicing the thought before she could filter it. "Well, I understand your world is different. I'd simply expected that with all the... progress, you would have such basic liberties."

"Happy?" Renji echoes, interrupting her. "No, I'm not. Save the social commentary. It's not like you shout on street corners you saved the world from soul-eatin' monsters, is it? Why the hell would this be anyone's business but yours?"

"It's not that simple. I kinda live in this world."

Rukia gives her head a hard shake. This may be the crux of the problem. It is not Ichigo's own emotions, it is not what he wants. He knows those things. The aspects beyond his control frighten him: the reactions of his friends and family, perhaps. In contrast, Soul Society affords its guardians certain freedoms as long as they are not flaunted. Personal relationships belong largely in the private sphere, but there, few look too hard at what goes on once the doors are closed.

"Yeah, maybe Rukia an' I have the easier part," Renji says. "I just don't think it changes too much. We're your friends. Hell, you're the first guy I kissed stone cold sober. That means somethin'. It's important."

Bless him, she thinks. Bless his utter lack of delicacy, maybe he's getting through to Ichigo. The plain truth becomes a battering ram the way Renji wields it, whereas she would have turned her insight into a scalpel, to carve open the precise right spot. That helps with Ichigo, of course, but sometimes, Renji sees what the matter is while she is still sorting the possibilities.

"An' Rukia's as much a part of it as you or me. You said so yourself. Gonna take that one back?"

* * *

A part of Renji dreads the answer. It's beggared by the part that will wrest answers from the young man if necessary. He is tired of running in circles when all the pieces of a solution are laid out in front of him.

He hasn't had many distinct goals in his life. Stay alive in Rukongai. Get out and become a shinigami. Surpass Captain Kuchiki and win back Rukia, who never wanted him to let her go in the first place.

Now he has a captaincy in all but the letter. He has Rukia.

The other half of what he wants glowers at him from his right.

"Well?" This is the that gamble Renji takes. Either Ichigo will break or he will rise to the occasion, but the stalemate will end in either case.

"No, I just—" Ichigo makes to rise. Renji's hand shoots out to trap his wrist; he feels his muscles shiver with tension.

"Don't."

"Renji?" Rukia looks from one to the other.

"High time someone takes him to task for unfair tactics." He clutches Ichigo's wrist to keep his own hand steady.

"Fine, I get it!" Ichigo wrenches his hand free.

"Then stay right there. You're actin' dumber than should be legal, but you had one thing right. She's gotta hear this, too."

"Why, thank you!" she says pithily. "I thought I hadn't had time to grow a cover of moss yet."

Despite the torrent of emotions in the air, most of them only casual acquiantances to him in normal conditions, Renji lets out a hoarse laugh. "Nope, don't see any."

"Very well. Go on."

He looks at Ichigo again. "So, you were serious. Or just tryin' out somethin' to see how much you wanted it?" His throat clenches on the last words.

Ichigo looks like a hundred things all at once, eyes wide and anger clinging to the corners of his mouth, his heart on his face and no way to go. "No," he mutters. "Not that."

"Then what's the catch?" Renji has to press this one and not care how much it hurts. "Were you gonna make her choose? Make me choose, now there's a fun new idea—"

"Renji!" Rukia admonishes. "That is enough! Let him speak."

"It damn well is!" Ichigo scrambles to his feet, fumbling for his rugsack. Rather than furious, he sounds watery. "I'm going now. I can't do this. Fuck this."

"Hey!" "I can't do this." "Ichigo, wait a minute—"

Ichigo ignores him as he tosses the backpack over one shoulder.

Before Renji can formulate a coherent response, Rukia moves past him and, with a single decisive motion, catches the retreating youth in a hug from behind. Her arms wrap around him, her temple pressing into his shoulder blade. With a soft outlet of breath, Renji halts, only to see Ichigo follow suit. He drops the rugsack with a thud. It flops unheeded in the grass.

Yeah, I must still figure he's indestructible, Renji tells himself. He grits his teeth and gets back up, and fuck how much it hurts. There's room for the realisation in the silence that forms. The fight flows out of him like wine from a leaking skin. Until it hurts too much, I guess.

"Is it so terrible, then?" The sound of her voice breaks his reverie, but the question isn't for him.

It takes a moment for Ichigo to react. "What?"

Renji can see the tightening in her muscles. "That I look at you both and feel the same thing each time."

Ichigo doesn't so much pivot as slide around, the movement slack with astonishment. She releases him without moving back. Renji takes that as his cue for a couple of steps closer, scarcely daring to look away from them. It feels entirely possible that he stumbled off the mountain path and all this is unfolding as a rock-induced delirium while Rukia tries to patch up some massive head trauma he's suffered.

He hears his patience stretching with the silence. If this is the alternative to Ichigo countering with a barrage of combative questions, he prefers the former.

"Pretty sure there's a tacit limit as to how long you can keep a lady hangin' after an inquiry like that," he says at last, though softly.

"Please." Rukia makes the entreaty an order. "This is all a great deal to take in."

"C'mon, he's hopeless. You confessed to him." Beneath his nerves, Renji is fine with this, more than fine. He was included. "If he's gonna keep moanin' about propriety..."

"As a matter of fact, I don't think that will be as difficult as..."

"Guys!" From Renji's left, Ichigo waves a hand between them. "Can somebody finish a sentence around here? Like, maybe me?"

His eyes are a tad bright. The glare that lingers on the both of them could spark a forest fire.

* * *

There is a reason Ichigo hasn't yet exited his body and flash-stepped out towards Siberia with all haste. Well, more than one reason. At least two. Two stubborn enough to climb a fucking mountain after him, break him open with nothing more than words, and make him piece himself back together.

That's the weirdest sort of dedication, but it's as good as theme with them. He went missing. He should have known they'd come—sent by his father, no less. He'll settle that with dear old dad at a later date.

"Please do," Rukia says after a tiny pause. "I did ask you a question, after all."

"Try a couple dozen of 'em." Renji has folded his arms over his chest. The stern posture isn't entirely convincing.

"Then file a damn questionnaire. 'Please rate your annoyance with these inane inquiries on a scale from "mild irritation" to "landscape-levelling spleen".' "

He gets his reward when Renji guffaws in his throat. "Right, right. I am gonna add a few points 'bout the shunga."

"Hey!" He can feel heat creeping up his neck. "You think I know a thing about those?"

"Oh, they are easy to find," Rukia supplies. "Orihime showed me this one manga..."

"Not. Another. Word." He makes a two-handed warding gesture. "Does it look like I want her to feature in my nightmares, too?"

"Oi! Anyway." Renji's stance shifts even as his voice drops a notch. "About that answer. Sorry, I don't much care what your world thinks. I just care a damn lot what you think. Nobody here to hear it but Rukia and me."

Ichigo rakes a hand through his hair. They've all been wrung nearly dry for Renji to be able to speak that frankly, that freely. If someone asked, he would name Renji and Rukia both, along with Chad, as the people he could talk to about almost anything. It's not something he ever dwells on, but a simple fact of his life.

Perhaps this is, when he gets down to it, just as simple a thing.

"I look at you both and feel the same thing each time."

"It's not," he says. "When... when it's only me, it's not terrible. Hell, you both know this, though okay, I kinda suck at explaining things, and I should've talked to you—" He indicates Rukia with a quick swipe of his hand, then averts his eyes. "I'm sorry. I really am. And... if you gotta know, I agree with her. It's the same. Right now. For some time now."

For a lingering second, he listens to the rustle of their faint movement, to the wind in the trees. Renji lays a hand on his shoulder, fingers chafing against the fabric. "Nobody's askin' you to tell the future."

"I do not think this can be rushed." Rukia comes close, clasping the side of his hand. "In fact, I... would prefer to keep this between us, for the present."

Should there be—a revelation? Parades and fireworks? Dramatic drumroll? A mental sledgehammer blow to brand the impact of this in his brain? Their hands on him are warm, and steady like you could prize a small planet from its orbit by using them as points of leverage, and now that metaphor has run away from him.

The bout of laughter doesn't ask his leave. It rises past the dregs of anguish and self-doubt and second-guessing and bursts from him. There's more than a little overwrought emotion in it, but there are worse ways of lightening one's mind, so Ichigo leans his face into his hand and laughs. Renji joins in with huskier, coarser chuckles and slaps him on the back until Rukia, too, is muffling peals of mirth in the palm of her hand.

"What?" she finally demands. "Wasn't that a perfectly reasonable request? It isn't as if any of us has prior experience of affairs such as this."

"Oh?" Renji arches a brow. "So sure, are ya?"

Ichigo punches him in the ribs for the joy of being able to do so. "Ah, shut up. You can't harbour any dark secrets past the sixth cup of saké and we all know that."

"Like you've ever got properly trashed with me, smartass."

"I'm curious," Rukia says, pushing between them. "How did you two ever have a conversation that didn't devolve into complete lunacy while I was missing?"

"Hard work and dedication," Ichigo deadpans.

Renji hugs her to his side with one arm, and she presses close without hesitation. "That's why we need you, you know? Somebody needs to draw a few lines. Keep things in hand. Show the way."

"Ichigo has a way with that," she says softly.

"Well, yeah, he was lookin' for you."

"I'm still here! Since a couple certain someones wouldn't let me leave." The crusty affront is easy to affect. Stranger is watching Rukia and Renji's uncomplicated intimacy, the way she relaxes at his touch, the open warmth in his gaze. He hasn't really seen them like this before.

The thought doesn't bother him. It makes him lucky, he has to conclude, as foreign as the blossoming reality of them together still is. The sun dappling the ground glows with the gentler cast of the lengthening afternoon. He's lost all sense of time, of the whole concept that he was climbing a holy mountain here.

Personal illumination, huh? Don't think this is it in any orthodox sense.

"You might want to get used to that." Suddenly Rukia is there, her thin, supple frame leaned into him, combing his hair back from his temple. "I think we've spent enough time looking for each other to last us all a few decades."

Because she is there, Ichigo links his arms around her, only to have Renji drape an arm about his upper body and tug him back against him. "Fuckin' signed."

For once, Ichigo doesn't even attempt a witty riposte. His heart leaps with the nearness, but the moment persists, neither of the others seeing the need to move or speak. Rukia is right, as in so many things: they have all nearly lost the others more than once. Renji carries his own shadows, as does Rukia, the phantoms of her execution dragging behind her. Ichigo supposes the same goes for him.

He crashed into his double life as a substitute shinigami. By the time Renji and Byakuya took Rukia back to Soul Society, he'd already chosen it. He made that choice again and again during the war, and once more after it when the faint, silken trace of Rukia's life led him to Renji's office in the middle of the night.

Now he makes it again, because of something he cannot fully name or comprehend, but he knows he wants, for himself, for these two. He has not lived in only one world since the night Rukia followed a Hollow into his bedroom. If that's his burden to bear, he can think of worse ones—this is, at least, one he embraced himself.

"I'm not leaving," he says low, staring out over Rukia's head. "Not college, not my family, and not you. That work for you?"

"I would consider these conditions." She holds on to him a little tighter. "Your apology is accepted. We can see about earning forgiveness in due time."

"Fine." It comes out a mutter into her hair tickling his nose. "I'll take that."

"Troublesome bastard," Renji grumbles with breathtaking affection. "If that's your final offer, what the hell am I gonna do but accept?"

Ichigo elbows him in reply, but agrees with all of his furiously beating heart.

Chapter Text

"I'll see you next week!" Yuzu pauses in the kitchen doorway. "Remember to put the plates in order. Thank you for doing the dishes, brother!" She throws Ichigo a dainty smile he hasn't seen on her face before, and vanishes out the door in a swish of flower-printed skirt.

"Bye," Ichigo calls belatedly, up to his elbows in hot water. "What's with her? I do the dishes every Sunday."

"The investigation is in progress." His father glances up from his laptop screen. The table is spread with printouts and binders. "But it is Daddy's suspicion that your sweet sister has found a boy."

"Right." Ichigo rinses another bowl. "Should I worry?" Yuzu is level-headed, even if prone to bouts of starry-eyed fawning over TV stars and pop singers. In any case, any guy she'd be in such a hurry to meet must have passed the Karin inspection. His sisters, always close, became all but welded together during the uncertain months of the war, with him away in Soul Society for much of the time.

He has to stop thinking that way. In his mind, before the war is still an aeon apart from after the war.

"You should be glad one of my offspring has embarked on the precarious paths of romance! Someone has to carry on the Kurosaki name."

"They're kids. I'm in college. Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?"

"Never too early to hope, my son." His father gets up to fetch another cup of coffee. Ichigo tenses, but no elbow or foot comes flying his way. "You haven't given me much cause! Rukia-chan has been absent from the dinner table."

Ichigo first bites his tongue, then nearly chokes on it trying to choose silence or a snappy retort. "Yeah. She's busy."

"So I hear. What with chasing you down to Shikoku with that tall red-headed punk."

Ichigo was, if not quite afraid, aware this might come up. His father received him with a suspiciously blithe demeanour as he returned from the mountain climb, alone. He hasn't yet told anyone, even Chad, although he wouldn't put it past his friend to have deduced some things on his own.

"No thanks to you!" Ichigo grabs a towel and begins drying the plates. "Anyway, it's sorted out." That might be both the under- and the overstatement of the year. What else is he going to say? "So, Pop, the fact is I'm gay for Renji, but straight for Rukia, if that helps"?

"There is no need for modesty in matters of the heart! Love with all you have, and drown your sorrows till they die from it." His father raises his coffee mug. "Daddy sowed a few of his own wild oats in his day, long before Masaki came and claimed his heart. This one time I was with Kisuke down in the Southern Thirty-First—"

"Save the reminiscence, old man." Do I even need to mention this? Though it'd be too weird if—if someone figured it out and told him. He can live with the thought. He lives with the reality of it, day to day, and it has held for the last two weeks. The problem, as usual, is other people living with it.

"It is a grand cautionary tale! Of the dangers of awful saké, lovely brown-eyed boys in kimono, and Kisuke's skills in espionage."

"Which is why I don't wanna know!" He sweeps his sweaty palm against the now-damp towel. "Look, Dad..." His father arches a brow; he has just tweaked the conversation towards serious.

"Get some coffee and sit down, son."

"Whoa, now! I wasn't about to... spill my soul on the table. Figuratively, I mean." He begins piling the plates into the cupboard, sorting them precisely as Yuzu would. "Yeah, they found me, and we talked. And... we're good now. That's the gist of it."

"That young lady was trouble the moment she came into the house," Isshin says, and Ichigo has to turn to catch his expression. "You needed that trouble, Ichigo."

"Guess I did." He meets his father's eye and thinks Isshin would need a cigarette to complete the thoughtful look.

"I might have hoped you'd have picked someone closer to home." Isshin sips his coffee. "But if Rukia-chan went home with your heart in tow, who am I to question the course of love?"

What about the part where Renji gets an even share? Rukia had a head start, but maybe the distance evened out. Renji is aggravatingly blithe about the whole arrangement in the first place. So things are more relaxed in Soul Society, and people can choose more freely. Ichigo's betting the bastard doesn't have to hem and haw like this to anyone.

"There's more," he blurts out, and pours himself a mug of coffee after all. It occupies his hands. "I mean... the whole different worlds thing. What if I'm never gonna... bring someone nice and decent home for a Sunday lunch?"

"You may have to choose some day. Find something that's worth it, and it may even be easy."

"You stayed here. Even after Mom died. For us."

"Don't be so stiff! You'll get a cramp. Soul Society will be there when my time comes." Tilting his chin down, his father smiles. "It'll also be there in the meantime. You chose your trouble, and you haven't pulled back so far."

"I don't think I will." He means more than the substitute shinigami job, or the training with his powers. He could no more give up Soul Society and his people there than he could cut out his own heart. Even less, because in the latter case, he'd just die and join shinigami ranks for good.

"I will tell you something. There aren't many stories like yours," Isshin says. "But Soul Society has changed, and few people thought that was possible either. So work your reflexes, my foolish son. Juggle both worlds."

"It takes a bit more than some feat of dexterity!"

"All good things can hurt." Rising a little rigidly, Isshin comes to the counter. "And the best things hurt like hell."

"Sometimes." Ichigo nods. His father reaches over and sets a hand on his shoulder. A slow, airy gladness spreads through him. They're worth it, though. "I guess... thanks. That sounds right."

"Take your time, Ichigo," his father says. "But when you get your act together, your best things had better show up for lunch on a Sunday."

* * *

The downpour pelts the meeting hall roof as the officers begin to assemble. The storm-shutters are drawn to cover the veranda running around the building, so lanterns have been lit to supply for the lack of natural illumination. The subdued auras of the gathered shinigami create a patchwork of power, intent and will that permeates the entire hall. Renji stands back from the people, tries to find a comfortable stance, and finally shuts his eyes and draws a few methodical breaths.

Nothing to it. The requisite bit of pomp and circumstance, then a few well-wishes and pats on the back with a chance of congratulatory speeches, and then he can ditch the crowd and proceed to get drunk off his rocker with a few choice companions.

It's the first captain inauguration since the war. He probably should count himself lucky that the event is even this low-key. But it is his inauguration, so he'll jitter if he wants to, even if it would be better done out of the sight of the wide-eyed rookies of his own division.

A high, placid reiatsu detaches itself from the general susurrus and settles next to him like a wave cresting on the shore. "Abarai-kun? A word?"

"Sir?" Renji snaps to attention in spite of Ukitake's familiar address. "Uh, 'course. Though maybe you want to make it short, there's not that much time... Sorry, sir." He rubs his knuckles against his temple, half apologetic.

The captain-general nods towards a sliding screen leading out of the central hall. "We'll have time for lengthier discussion later. I'd hoped to speak with you before the ceremony, but things have been busy all around."

Renji follows, some of the strain flowing from his shoulders as they cross into the side room. "I know, sir. The Hollow infestation in the Eastern Sixties—I had to ask Captain Komamura for more troops. Can only imagine how your week's been."

"Under control, Abarai-kun." Ukitake closes the door after them. "Rukia has been a blessing, if a slightly overindustrious one."

A laugh escapes him. "Colour me unsurprised. Whenever I see her, it's always somewhere else that she's gotta be..." That isn't the entire truth. The last thing Renji needs is for the conversation to be derailed into his personal relationship with Ukitake's fifth seat, so it will do.

"She will be here," Ukitake assures him. Rukia is still missing from the throng of shinigami; not that he thinks wild Hollows could keep her away. She is simply cutting it close. "Her knowledge has been much in demand. The Yellow Springs delegation has left, but they wish to return shortly."

"Oh?" He's kept himself apart from the diplomatic business. The news trickling through Rukia have been more than enough. "Things went fine? Not that Rukia's said anythin' to the contrary."

"Quite fine. Little that is concrete was decided, but this is an opportunity unlike any we've had in a long time."

Renji has a healthy respect for Ukitake. Tranquil, pleasant, razor-sharp, the captain-general sees hope in the unlikeliest places and builds consensus over old schism with an adroit hand. He has been invaluable in salving the war wounds that still gape in many parts of Soul Society. Now, he is being kind, but a covert expectation echoes in his tone.

"Somethin' wrong?" Renji fists his hand lightly before he can rub at his brow. It's become a nervous tic he could do without.

"Rukia has made me aware of the details of your imprisonment. I also read your report to Captain Kuchiki."

His teeth grit. "If I've jeopardised the negotiations, then you have my apologies, but I did what I had to do. Nothin' is gonna change that." In his mind's eye, Rukia clutches at her throat and sags forward as blood wells between her fingers. That justifies the death of the man responsible, and more.

"As far as I am concerned, you defended fellow shinigami, as well as yourself. We had no diplomatic relations with any part of Yellow Springs at that point. The first is a personal viewpoint; the latter is fact." There's nothing threatening in Ukitake's demeanour, but Renji shrinks back a step. What did he even think the captain was implying?

"Yes, sir," he says, abashed. "I... Did it come up? Hu Wei, that is?" The name scratches in his throat, but comes out clear.

"Not in so many words. I expect it might, if and when the talks continue."

"I'm not proud, sir." Renji aligns his hands to his sides, tilting his head to look past Ukitake. "Don't think I did the right thing. Just the only thing I could, things bein' as they were."

The captain-general gives him a weighed look. "You know as well as I that I need you, Abarai-kun. Soul Society needs you. Our ranks are thin. We must have capable leaders if we are to regain our strength."

Renji nods, reeling a little with the apparent change in gears. The conversation moved forward while he tangled with memories. Ukitake's martial prowess ranks among the foremost in Soul Society; fewer people realise he wields words with the same supple grace.

"You saved one of my soldiers. You are doing as much for one of my vice-captains, after more than one knowledgeable party considered her recovery unlikely," Ukitake says, in that same even, unassuming timbre. "You will fumble, but I believe you'll strive to do better for it."

"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence," Renji manages. His mouth turns up in a self-ironic smirk. "Good to know what's expected from me, sir."

"I also believe we are expected back any moment now." The noise level beyond the door screen is dropping; people are beginning to find their places. "I will see you shortly."

"Sir." Renji bows his head, and when he lifts his gaze, only a stirring of air marks Ukitake's exit. Maybe in five hundred years he'll come and go like that, too, in mere ripples in the fabric of space. He shakes his head at the thought and pushes the door open into the hall.

The captains and their seconds have formed the customary lines in the middle of the hall, odd division numbers facing the even. Behind them cluster the seated officers, backed by the rank and file of the Fifth, the only division attending almost in full.

From outside rattle the sounds of a proper summer lightning storm. Renji emerges from the side room as two figures dart in from the rain, halting by the front door with their heads bent together. Rukia dashes stray droplets from her hair. Renji can almost hear Ichigo's pointed remark on how her shunpo seems to lack the speed to dodge the downpour. Whatever the young man actually says, it earns him a swift shove in the ribs before they sidle away to take their places with the Thirteenth.

He would laugh. He knows he'll learn the story in lurid detail later, whether Ichigo was late or Rukia simply had to brush up a report before they could go. He'll listen and chortle at the guilty party, and the incident will shape another link in the chain of their entwined lives, strange and extraordinary and everyday.

Ukitake's third seats call the gathering to order. Through the receding bustle of people settling, Renji goes to join his vice-captain in the row of officers.

* * *

"Abarai Renji. By the decision of the Captains' Council, you are hereby invested with every authority and responsibility of a Captain in the Gotei Thirteen.

"You can look up now, Abarai-kun," Ukitake concludes more softly. Renji lifts his head from the respectful incline and holds still as Ukitake sets the haori on his shoulders. The crisp, bone-white silk has a weight of its own, more than the falling folds of the cloth.

There are gaps in the rows of senior officers, but the seated officers press in behind them to fill the empty places. Captain Kuchiki is flanked by his freshly promoted vice-captain, a seated officer Renji remembers as both headstrong and skilled. Building a theme there, is the captain? He nods furtively to the woman, still grateful that the official part is over and he didn't have to say much at all.

As the captain-general withdraws, the more raucous parties in the crowd seize the opportunity. Renji catches Ikkaku's crowing "Hell, yeah!" before it is lost in a swell of gleeful noise.

Rukia flies in first to embrace him, having manouevred past Ichigo, Ikkaku and Hisagi with a few well-placed stomps and some quiet but no doubt dirty language. "This will have to do for now. I'll congratulate you properly afterwards," she murmurs as he squeezes her close, derailing him entirely for a heartbeat. "I'm so proud of you, Renji."

He lets his hand trail down the length of Rukia's arm. She makes way for his vice-captain, letting him turn to Hinamori.

"Now they can stop using 'Captain' as an abbreviation," she says.

"We'll get them used to 'Cap'n' in a couple decades," he replies, if only to hear her stifle laughter and disapproval.

"In that vein, you should say something to them later. After you've dealt with the first wave, of course." Hinamori waves a meaningful hand at his looming friends, held at bay by Kira's rapidly diminishing efforts. "And please try to be coherent by noon tomorrow. There is a plan about to go into action."

"A plan? Sounds nefarious."

"A plan about a party." She fixes him with a look. "Which you did not hear about from me. So we'll go out and celebrate to our hearts' content tonight, but we'll be back by midday eager and bright-eyed. Are there any questions?"

"No, ma'am." He buries her in a quick, one-armed hug. "Midday. Sober an' lucid. Got it. You better clear the way, they're comin'."

Hinamori shies away with a silvery laugh as Ichigo, Hisagi and a slice of the Eleventh descend on him, trailed by Kira a step behind the most enthused shoulder-claps and back-thumps. Renji twists away from Ichigo's celebratory armlock and tumbles into a loud declaration by Ikkaku that he always knew the scrawny hothead was going to make good for himself one day. He refrains from the mention that "scrawny" hasn't described any part of him for the better part of a century, guffawing at his old mentor and friend.

" 'Captain Abarai', huh?" Ichigo gets a word in edgewise at last. "Looks like they hand out those haori to just about anyone these days."

"Funny thing, that." Renji folds his arms. "I'm half surprised they didn't send ya one. I mean, if a bankai is all it takes..."

"Fuck, don't give them ideas! My summer exams are killing me, I don't have time to beat off any crazy job offers. 'Least before August."

"So... call you in a month?" He pitches his voice a tad lower. The question has a private side. They all make time best as they can; wry quips don't hurt when reality dictates otherwise.

"Whenever you get the chance. I just have anatomy exams."

Renji snorts with helpless laughter. "Sure, I'll keep that in mind."

"I'll leave you to your adoring audience. I better find Rukia before someone squishes her underfoot."

" M'sure she'd be deeply moved by your concern. Right after she punched out anyone that tried."

"Yeah, yeah, crush my chances at chivalry, why don't you?" Ichigo vanishes into the crowd.

Smoothing the haori—it will be a while before he gets used to it—Renji turns to receive the regards of his new peers. He knows most of the captains at least superficially, but they will be his close colleagues instead of superior authorities now. His old captain is the last to speak to him.

"Captain Abarai." The title still has the cadence of the matter-of-fact address of his first name. "My congratulations."

"Captain Kuchiki." Appending the name to the title turns it somehow awkward. "Thank you, sir. I'll, ah, do my best."

"I vouched for you. You will perform adequately."

Torn between laughter and exasperation, Renji allows himself a chortle. "Yes, sir. Will do."

"There is no need for that. We are of a rank." Captain Kuchiki nods to him. His worldview has shifted to accommodate this change and locked into place. Renji has, in his day, caught glimpses of his old captain that tell him there is a man behind the officer. it doesn't stop an errant thought whether it would be comforting or horrifying to be able to live a life as regulated and logical as the one Kuchiki Byakuya leads. Somehow, though, that life has room for Rukia, and even for Renji himself on occasion.

"That might take a bit of practice," he says, grinning. "I'll keep at it, sir."

"See that you do, Captain."

As Captain Kuchiki takes his leave, Renji is momentarily left alone. The captain has accepted his forward movement. Whether it extends to his personal as well as professional life, he doesn't yet know. Rukia will bring the matter to her brother when she thinks the time right. She is the second child, as it were, and an adopted one at that—that gives her more freedom in some choices.

For the present, he is content to take things day by day. He doesn't get much further than that when Hinamori tugs on his sleeve and steers him towards the beaming ranks of his division. He lets her sweep him along, knowing there will be another time for finishing his thought, and for whatever follows.

Tomorrow is soon enough. Tonight they'll celebrate.

* * *

Rukia tucks the lacquered comb in her hair and peers around the door of Ichigo's tiny bathroom. "What is the racket now?"

Karakura Town celebrates an August festival night, and she and Renji were invited to attend with Ichigo's family and friends. The two seem to have hit a sour note in their preparations. Leaning against the front door, Ichigo is glaring at Renji. They both ignore her question in favour of their stare-off. "I said 'traditional', not 'causes brain bleeding'."

"What's wrong with this?" Renji points at what looks to be a box with a folded-up yukata in it. Rukia supposes the Kuchiki family seamstress might use, in diction dripping with immaculate disdain, such turns of phrase as "colourful", "eccentric" or "certainly imaginative" to describe it.

"Let me count the ways."

Around item five, Renji puts away the offending yukata and retaliates with a lemon yellow tee-shirt and the hat he seems so fond of, with a four-letter English word sewn above the cap. His shaggy mane of hair is nowhere near its old length, but he consents to Rukia taming it into a ponytail. Her own blue and pale green yukata passes Ichigo's inspection.

When they are ready, she stops to kiss him in the doorway. "You could always have pretended you don't know him."

"I'm gonna do that anyway." Ichigo cups her face, careful of her hair once she pinches his palm. "Maybe now we won't get sued for causing a public panic."

"I can hear you," Renji says from half a staircase down.

"Anyone asks, I'll tell them you're colourblind. Red-green and blue-yellow."

"Can I hurt him? Just a little?"

"No," Rukia says, her geta clipping against the stone of the stairs. "Perhaps after the family visit."

A train ride later—the seats are nowhere near as comfortable in this local variant, Rukia notes—they land at Ichigo's family clinic and are promptly enveloped in the merry chaos of the Kurosaki family. Rukia is commissioned into helping to pack an enormous picnic lunch, which she quite prefers to Ichigo and Renji's lot of planning outdoor games with Isshin.

With surprising efficiency, however, the effort gets under way. They pile into another train, then exit to climb a lushly wooded hill that overlooks the town. Rukia spots the shapes of moss-topped tombstones and crumbling statues off between the trees. The graveyard has sat here a long time, even if it is now concentrated around the temple at the top.

At the cemetery entrance, Ichigo reaches up and confiscates Renji's hat.

"Hey! What was that?"

"You're not swearing in front of my Mom!"

Renji adopts a skeptical countenance. "What's that say?"

"Censored." Ichigo wads the hat in his shoulder bag.

All Rukia can offer in consolation is a puzzled look before she and Renji trail the Kurosaki family. The summer's day is breathtaking, especially this high above the screen of hot air clogging the streets. She turns towards the breeze playing through the foliage, breathing in the dry fragrances of the temple grove.

They make their offerings after Ichigo's sisters. Rukia touches a match to a stick of sandalwood incense and watches Ichigo, with one hand on the gravestone, and Renji, hanging back a ways as if not positive of his welcome. She goes over to him to take his hand. "You're new. Come on now."

"Rukia-chan is correct! Daddy will welcome his newest son with open arms—"

Ichigo nothing so much as materialises to intercept his father before Renji is smothered in a dubious embrace. "Shut up, old beardo!"

"What is this, Kurosaki Adoption Agency?" Karin is sporting a glower very reminiscent of her big brother. "Are we gonna keep feeding and housing every stray Ichigo drags in?"

"Karin-chan! How cold-hearted Daddy's precious girl has become!"

"I didn't drag Rukia anywhere, she invaded my closet! And they live in Soul Society!"

"This means they like you," Rukia explains in an undertone.

"What's not to like?" Renji leans down so she can hear. "You don't think there's anythin' familiar about this? The hittin' and yellin' at your family?"

Yuzu pushes between Isshin and Ichigo to defuse the situation. Ichigo stalks up to them with a backwards glance of singular annoyance. "Seriously. Can you believe them?" His tone implies that agreement with him is the only sane option.

"I can," Renji drawls. Rukia presses her cheek against his arm and laughs.

Twilight falls as they go to the Karasu River to light lanterns. The banks where the river wends through the shrine gardens are crowded with people. A more festive assortment of vendors and amusements is gathered on the street beyond the trees. Here, a solemn ambience reigns among those who have come to send their dead home.

In spite of the cemetery visit, Rukia sets a light afloat for Kurosaki Masaki—a more private show of gratitude, in a way. They all love you so much. Thank you for Ichigo. I'm so fortunate, and your son is to thank for a large part in it.

Renji comes to her with three more lanterns, not saying a word. As she lights the wicks, he covers the wavering licks of fire with their orange paper hoods. They release the lanterns onto the current together. Live well, my friends, wherever you are. This is what she wants to believe. The three graves in Rukongai are only for remembrance.

Ghost-lights, soul-lights, guide-lights. This festival night is so old that it's known even in Soul Society. There the candles are lit for the lost, those who die unclean deaths and can't be laid into the purifying embrace of the Sea. She likes the way of the living world better.

"Hey. We're gonna walk to the beach." Ichigo steps up behind her and Renji, still hunkered down by the water's edge. "You coming? I told Chad and Tatsuki we'd catch them there—and there's gonna be fireworks."

"Of course." Rukia glances at Renji for affirmation and finds him already standing.

"Lead the way." He claps Ichigo on the shoulder. She falls into step between them as they make their way towards the shoreline path to the ocean.

* * *

The faded indigo of the sky is already punctured by shining bursts of light and colour, raining down towards the upturned faces of people crowding along the beach. The circle of their closest friends is assembled: Chad, Tatsuki and Orihime greet their trio with various degrees of effervescence but equal amounts of warmth. Tatsuki promptly throws Ichigo flat in the sand for never calling. After a minute he spies Ishida on the fringes of the group and is gratified by the discovery, even though it takes a few tries from Orihime to pull the Quincy into their company proper.

The fireworks, while pretty, don't seem quite as great as in the years before. It may be that Ichigo is too preoccupied by other things.

Nights like this are fewer and further between than they used to be, now that the lot of them are scattered across two worlds and four cities. Tatsuki has a point about the phone, Ichigo has to admit, still scraping sand from his jeans. He does envy the ease with which shinigami can pop into any part of the country via the dimensional gates. It's pretty damn vital to keeping in touch with the other side of his social life, anyway.

He watches Rukia, smiling in unbound delight, caught up in an animated narration of the unfolding fireworks by Orihime. Renji and Ishida are standing some way off, debating some tactical issue whose finer points elude Ichigo, save for when Renji raises his voice to hammer home a detail. Hurrying back from the smattered line of stalls that has sprung up along the beachside, Tatsuki slips between the two other girls to hand out the fruits of her food-fetching trip.

With a sort of wistful grin, since no one can see but Chad, Ichigo turns his eyes back to the fireworks and decides that they are just fine.

A little later, Ichigo books Tatsuki for a rematch, since they'll have her for three weeks before holidays are over. She gives Renji and Rukia the occasional sidelong eye, but humours him—in her own words—with stories of Kyoto, her new karate instructor and the terrible roommate she tossed out on her butt at three in the morning. Grinning with appropriate devilment, he steals her for as long as he can in good conscience, before returning her to Orihime. His conscience is salved when he discovers her engaged in teaching Renji to catch fish at a stall with a flimsy little hoop-net.

"It is all in the wrist, Renji-kun," she's saying. "Oh, it's fine, I can pay for a few more tries, I know Urahara-san's exchange rates border on extortion. But I think all you really need is a bit of finesse."

"You already got six fish," Renji points out. "You know, since you'll have to keep mine, too. I don't think they'd survive the trip back to my place."

"Ah." She sounds the tiniest bit dejected. "I could keep them for you, though! You could visit them when you come to see us."

"Timeshare of a fishbowl, hm? Can't say I've heard that before."

"Need me to rescue you?" Ichigo quirks an exaggerated brow at Renji, even as Orihime is distracted by her best friend's reappearance.

"Nah, I'm good. She's fun. Though if Arisawa'd like her back, all those fish kinda made me hungry for taiyaki." Renji cranes his head towards Orihime. "You name them for me, 'Hime! I'm gonna drop by, so take good care of 'em!"

Her lilting "Yessir!" drifts after them.

"And you're expecting me to fork over the cash to cover your culinary whims, right?" Ichigo's eyebrow has not descended, only its tilt changes from inquisitive towards aggravated.

"You heard that bit 'bout extortionist exchange rates, right?"

Ichigo rolls his eyes. He will mooch right back when he is in Seireitei, so it all evens out in the long run. "Come on then. But don't get used to it. I'm gonna keep a tab."

* * *

Eventually Rukia breaks away from their loose cluster of people and towards the breakwater that guards the mouth of the cove. The tide is out, the murmur of the ocean clement. The wind impresses the outline of her body into her yukata as she climbs atop a water-smoothed rock.

"What's out there that's so interesting?" Ichigo eyes her from the shore. He's found a rock to sit on, his weight leaned back on his hands. Renji slouches in the sand at the base of Ichigo's sitting place.

"The end. You gotta forgive her if she gets a bit weird sometimes."

" 'The end'?"

"You were at the funeral ceremonies, after the war." Renji hears the gravity in his own voice. "You saw the Sea." He isn't much given to any sort of pageantry, but this is instilled in every shinigami. It begins as legends in the Academy and solidifies into lore of death rites and reincarnation and the endless cycle of souls. Soul Society has no gods, but it has its own faith.

"On the border, yeah."

"That's close enough. In Soul Society, the ocean's the end of your journey. I know it sounds all poetic an' shit, but it's one of those things that are."

"That's the Pacific Ocean. There's America on the other side, not some... uncharted territory."

"You wanna debate metaphysics? I'll hook ya up with Vice-Captain Ise."

"Rukia sees something out there." Ichigo scratches his temple.

"She was almost ripped apart." Renji speaks softly. "Mind and body torn in different directions. She copes, she's great, but yeah. Sometimes she gets like that. Goes all quiet, stares off into the distance."

"That sorta sounds like a near-death experience. I get it."

"Don't think about it too much. She'll sort through it." That is the best advice he has to give. Besides, Rukia is as hearty and happy as he's ever seen her. If she gets contemplative sometimes, it is a small price to pay.

" 'Course she will."

Renji can hear the unvoiced, and we'll be here to watch her back. He leans to the side until he can feel the warmth from Ichigo's skin on the side of his face. Hands off in public places, he agrees, but there's something comfortable about the sensation of Ichigo's presence, the heat and smell of him.

"Damn," Ichigo says. "I can't even go, 'If you hurt her I'm gonna kill you', can I? Since we're all in on this."

"Probably not." Renji stretches forward, his fingers skimming the sand. "She can speak for herself, anyway."

"And if she hurts you? What am I supposed to do then?"

"Let us sort it out, dimwit."

"I am gonna cap the non-intervention period for silent treatment at a week." Ichigo probably thinks he sounds stern. "You guys have that down a bit too well."

"What, you're suddenly some kinda relationship expert?"

Ichigo prods him in the side with a sand-crusted foot. "I figured out I could just swing your way. Don't push your luck."

"No, sir," Renji drawls, to hear Ichigo groan in indignation. "Never crossed my mind."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't. I got proof."

"Show you proof." Ichigo clamps him into a headlock. He jabs his fingers into Ichigo's ribs and wrenches free. They are on the brink of a full-fledged scuffle when there is a splash into the water some way off.

Renji looks up, leaving himself open to a shove in the side, to realise that the rock where Rukia perched is vacant. "Rukia?"

" 'The end', my ass." Ichigo laughs. "You sure she wasn't planning a swim?"

"I'll kick your disrespectful behind later, how's that?" Renji elbows him. "Better go see she doesn't drown herself."

"You are not gonna go skinny-dipping in the cove, is that clear?"

"Who said anythin' about swimmin'?" Renji lets a hint of a leer into his expression. "Nah. She's gonna want a towel. Thought I'd be a gentleman, throw off some expectations."

"Right." Ichigo stands up to slap sand from his jeans. Renji looks about for the shoulder bag. As he gets to his feet, Ichigo grabs the shoulder of his shirt. "Hey. About just now, I..."

After a desultory glance to either side—the others have scattered along the beach, and they might as well be alone—Ichigo turns his head down until the angle works for the both of them, and kisses him. It doesn't last long, but it's warm, quiet and comfortable.

It's the way you kiss someone you expect to stay around a while: there's no rush, since I'm going to keep you.

Renji doesn't think he's ever been kissed quite like that.

He thinks in long term only in the broadest of senses, his plans hooking onto a concrete goal, no matter how nebulous. He isn't sure how long this will last. Ichigo withdraws, neither breaking the moment nor dwelling on it. When he turns to go, calling out to Rukia, Renji doesn't follow right away.

Ichigo is alive, Rukia in Soul Society. He's looked for them both across the borders of worlds. Time and distance matter, but they don't decide fuck.

Renji doesn't think in forever. He knows what he has now, and he knows it is worth hanging on to.

He comes to the rock in the dark, the bag slung over his shoulder. Eyes away from her, Ichigo is holding a steadying hand out to Rukia, who clambers up from the sea.

"Is there a particular reason I couldn't swim for a moment?"

"We can have a beach day if you want," Ichigo grouses as he gestures at Renji, mouthing "towel, now". He pulls out the towel and hands it on until she can curl into it. "You don't need to flash the coast guard."

"Lay off, Ichigo. So she took a dip. What's the harm?"

"Was there someone watching?" Rukia's eyes widen. "It's dark!"

"Could've been," Ichigo says, but his voice mellows. "You're fine, dummy. And it's getting pretty late. We better start heading back."

She sneezes into a corner of the towel, imperiously. "My yukata, then, please."

She wraps herself in the robe and pins up her wrung-out hair with alacrity. Her feet are bare and her geta in her hand when she joins them on the shore path. The rest of their party of friends seem to have gone their ways into the night.

"Okay, step lively and we'll make the last train." Ichigo squints at his wristwatch. He stops and turns, half illuminated by the tawny globe of the street lamp above them. "I mean, if you're not just... going home."

Rukia's dangling geta clack together. "I suppose we—Renji?"

This isn't quite the first time. They have slept in close proximity before there was any talk of feelings and attraction and ties beyond those of friendship. The scenario has repeated itself in small variations since they came to their present understanding; it suits him better than well. What surprises Renji is that the question comes from Ichigo, and that Rukia echoes it to him. He bites back a reactionary bit of levity. It is new, but pleasant, being the occasional centre of their undivided attention.

Ichigo's eye has a hopeful gleam he is trying to hide, all the more disarming for how badly he fails in the attempt. Rukia looks up at Renji, mischief flickering under her calmer smile; her free hand is extended towards Ichigo. It would take a step forward for him to close the circle.

So is there anywhere in the worlds that he would, or should, rather be? They have had an evening in excellent company. Whatever the rest of the night will bring, there are hours until dawn, waiting to be stolen.

Renji drapes one arm around Ichigo's, the other around Rukia's shoulders, and feels their hands fumble and join together behind his back. Leaving behind the nighttime ocean, they go to catch the last train home.

Chapter Text

Seireitei is changing.

The thought occurs to Renji as he takes in the sunny day, maybe the last of its breezy, glowing kind before autumn tumbles in. In fact, it's too grand a description for what's happening here, in the streets that wind out into dirt roads towards Rukongai. The city is a cumbersome giant, change flowing sluggish and dreamy in its veins.

He sees it in the people, though. As days blend into weeks, the Gotei is recovering. Confidence grows in his friends and colleagues, an eagerness to spread wings, break new ground, build upon the past.

He picks up his pace. The dimension gates loom at the high end of the slope, quiescent under the afternoon.

"Hey, slowpoke!"

"Only I am allowed to use the paperwork excuse for tardiness, you understand?" Rukia joins in Ichigo's greeting. They're standing together beside one of the gates.

"Figured you could fetch him yourself." Renji runs the last steps to meet them. "You know you only gotta holler if he gives you any grief."

"He had better not. I knocked."

"Yeah yeah, we're all proud of you." Ichigo knuckles the crown of her head. "So, what's the occasion? I am missing a family dinner for this."

"Don't try that on him!" Rukia wheels on Ichigo in a swirl of indigo sleeves. Her hair is wound into a bun, held with chopsticks pushed through it. Renji guffaws at her vexation, then at the humour in Ichigo's eyes. "I almost fell for that. He isn't sorry in the least."

"Well, you guys had a holiday? It's a regular Sunday in the living world."

"The nobles are talkin', basically," Renji says. "They put the Gotei on standby so the officers that come from the houses can join in. It's more a historical thing, from before the Central Forty-Six."

"Rukia's not..."

"My brother would have asked me if he wished me to go," she says. "There are festivities and deliberations among the nobles. There was no chance to properly celebrate last year, with the war—or so I understand."

"Yeah, so they're makin' up for lost time or somethin'. An' we get a couple days off from the grind." Renji waves a hand. "You had a plan, Rukia?"

"I do. This way." She leads them down the gate hill. Trailing her, they shimmer into flash-step towards the western gate of the city. Seireitei swishes past as the sunlit shapes of buildings blur around them.

Once in Rukongai, the Second Western District, they slow down to enjoy the walk. Time together is still too rare, but Ichigo's vacation has helped matters. Rukia turns to heed a query from Ichigo, growing animated as she explains, and Renji hangs back a couple of steps.

They are changing, too. Ichigo bursts into laughter at some snappish reply that escapes Renji; the sound brims with unmixed joy. When Ichigo speaks of his schooling, of learning to save people's lives, Renji thinks it is pride that prickles his throat. It isn't much different from seeing Rukia remake her place in the Thirteenth. Her strength and tenacity have seen her through the murky waters of her disappearance and tentative return. She is more resilient, yet a touch less hard on herself.

He likes all of that.

As for himself, he has time to mould to his new duties. He has Hinamori, and support and swift kicks in the behind from the rest of his friends. He'll make it.

"Over there," Rukia is saying as she points. "I don't think it was an excessively long trip."

The shape of a building looms through a screen of lush pines. The tavern stands at the end of an alley, roofs in rows beyond it, bearing plumes of woodsmoke that float up into the wind. The faraway chatter and bustle of people fills the air.

"The food better be worth it," Ichigo says with a crooked grin.

"She's payin', so suck it up and be thankful, ya ingrate."

"It's about time, too, she's eating me out of house and home back in Karakura. Hell, you both are."

"Oh, see if I am feeding either of you ever again!"

Really, Renji thinks as he ducks away from Rukia's gentle double slap upside each of their heads, sometimes they are begging for it. Maybe it is simply that they can, and that there is a joy in knowing it.

* * *

Rukia has taken care to pick a tavern with a certain amount of class, but nowhere so stuffy that they'd garner undue glares when one of them gets a little loud in volume. The food is varied and toothsome, when Ichigo has a moment to consider it. He wouldn't mind if they huddled at a noodle stall on a street corner, though. It is the company that counts.

Rukia pesters Renji until he relates an incident during the Fifth's cleanup of the nooks and crannies of the division, involving malfunctioning reiatsu dampeners and concluding with the Twelfth closing off half the division grounds. At the end, Renji is chortling and shaking his head, but his quiet satisfaction shows as he speaks of his officers handling the issue. They move on to news from Karakura, to Ichigo's school, the new people who still think he is weird and a delinquent. Rukia's mouth twists a little at that, but Ichigo shoos aside her concern.

It's fine. I got better things in trade. He's content where he is, for all the oddness of his circumstances.

They share tea and saké afterwards, as evening creeps across the sky beyond the windows. It is the last Sunday of his summer vacation. He'll come here again next weekend, drag his textbooks to Renji's quarters or whisk Rukia from her office for a few precious hours. Evenings have become their time, whether here or in the living world. It doesn't seem too different from how his classmates deal with dating—well, other than the obvious ways.

Rukia tips the last of the tea into his cup and lays the pot down. Taking her hand, he slips it from the handle and onto the table. She threads her fingers through his. There's a faint chink as Renji sets the dish in his hand down, too.

"Things are gonna get busy again," Ichigo says into the stillness. "You know."

"We'll miss you, too," she says, replying to what he meant, rather than what he said.

"Mm-hm," Renji affirms. "Isn't it a bit early for this part? It's still light out."

"Yeah." Ichigo scowls up at him. "It's not like I said anything."

"Except you did," Renji quips, but his eyes are dark, warm, tilted down a tad. "Summer's gotta end some time, so we'll live with it."

"There is still tonight." Her voice sounds faraway as she draws Renji's hand to cover their linked ones. "You don't think we should make the most of it?"

The choking sound he makes is in all likelihood hilarious, but Ichigo can't bring himself to care. If she is suggesting what he thinks, and a glance at Renji lends credence to the theory...

It isn't a new idea. Of course he's thought of it, thrilling and intimidating and amazing. Now Rukia has cast it on the table like it's the plainest thing in the world.

"Now?" Renji's gaze moves from her to Ichigo to her again.

"Yes," she says, full of meaning.

Ichigo swallows. Those two words rush through him, sharper and headier than the doubtlessly fine rice wine that he tasted at Renji's goading.

There's only one sane answer, as mad as it is in itself.

"Yeah." He runs his thumb over her knuckles, over Renji's wrist.

"So, my place?" Renji says before the silence can stretch. A tenuous grin brushes his mouth.

"Uh, it's closest?" He's talking about this like it is a done deal.

"It is the most private," Rukia decides, sealing the matter.

This is where the evening veers off any course Ichigo dared picture. This is how they end up at Renji's door, a little before midnight, landing on the veranda and stumbling inside in a flurry of quiet, charged movement.

The point is, he is here with the two people who have crept into the very heart of his life. That's no small thing. There is a name for what he feels, many names, not all of which he'll say aloud. It makes no difference. He knows. They know.

And they both make his knees go weak.

He kicks off his sandals and steps inside.

* * *

Rukia insists on lighting candles, a safe distance from the bed. She isn't about to fumble through this blind. Renji kicks the futon open; Ichigo sits down on it with a sigh.

A pause forms when she sets the matches down. They have both waited for her. It all feels too deliberate. Ichigo seems skittish, but Rukia feels her own stomach flutter, too. Renji's half-lidded eyes betray less as he languishes back on the futon.

"C'mere." She twitches forward only to realise the command is not for her, but Ichigo. Renji grasps the back of his neck and kisses him, open-mouthed and involved. Ichigo stiffens and then slides into the challenge of the kiss. A parting for breath and Ichigo leans into Renji, grasping at his tied hair. It's not a struggle so much as an invitation, a dare, a confession.

It takes her breath away.

"Rukia." Ichigo's voice is husky as he turns. Her hand is curved into the collar of her yukata.

"You want to watch?" Renji arches a brow. "I mean, I suppose we lay our own rules..."

"Oi!" A flush overtakes Ichigo's face.

"No," she says. Her yukata will be a rumpled ruin. The carefully tied obi needs another pair of hands to unravel it neatly. Yanking off the cord, she lets the silk sash whisper down her body. She feels their eyes on her as she steps closer. "Not only that."

Up on one knee, Renji pulls her down to them. The yukata flows off her shoulders into a pool of fabric. The rest of her robes follow; she shakes her hands free to reach for Ichigo. His eyes are wide as he pulls her into an awkward, insistent kiss. Splayed over Renji's lap, she lets their mouths tangle and goes to work on his kimono.

It is all a mess as they work through sashes and knots and hakama folds. Rukia pushes both men aside to undo her breast bindings. Ichigo cups her bare shoulders almost reverently. She holds herself at an arm's length, letting a hand glide down his body, tracing its path with her gaze.

"Oh, fuck," Ichigo mumbles, as she presses herself against him and cranes her head to kiss Renji over her shoulder, needing to have both of them right there.

Ichigo makes his way down her neck and shoulder kiss by kiss. Renji leans up behind her and closes a hand over his on her breast. The joint pressure of their fingers, Renji guiding Ichigo's thumb to tease and caress, makes her whimper and grasp blindly at Ichigo's head. She's cradled against Renji's frame, a sheen of sweat gathering where her skin slides against his.

Her hand coasts down Ichigo's neck, limning the shapes of his shoulder blades. He starts into a tense arch, his face almost colliding with hers. "Whoa, Rukia..."

"That was—was unexpected," she manages. Renji's hands haven't stopped their circles and loops over her breasts. He takes the moment to roll a nipple between his palm and thumb. Her assessment of Ichigo's reaction is lost in a pitched whine of pleasure.

Renji laughs against the back of her head. "Likewise."

"Shut—shut him up for me, please—oh!" She feels, to her satisfaction, Renji gasp as Ichigo reaches past her to claim his mouth.

"You know," Ichigo murmurs. "Just an educated guess, but this might be easier lying down."

There's a throaty sound of assent from Renji. Rukia takes it as a yes, pushing him in the side until he goes over, splaying onto the futon, tattoos shifting with his choppy breaths.

Ichigo follows suit and promptly knocks his elbow into her skull.

"Ow!" She glowers, although her bun droops in her face and her mind is hazy with desire.

The sting fades as he takes hold of her while his mouth traces her throat. She could melt into this closeness, his face against her collarbone and their limbs twining. She brushes a questing hand to nudge his nipple. Behind her Renji shifts, his hand on her hip. Her mind races to keep up with everything; the hoarse sounds Ichigo makes, the taste of his skin as she nips the lobe of his ear.

"Rukia," he mutters.

"Yes?" she says. Renji's hand wanders over her leg and onto Ichigo's. He's circling, taking his time, teasing with a lazy whimsy. Ichigo grits his teeth on a groan.

"You don't think..." His voice is a mere breath on her ear. "Think he's a bit too sure of himself here?"

She chuckles. "I suppose."

"So... are we gonna do something 'bout it?"

Renji's hand skims between them, sweeping her belly, counting her ribs, turning to veer down Ichigo's side. It's heady and strange how much contact there is, so unlike any memory of such a situation that she can summon. Things are building up, with hiccups, tilts and climbs, but a constant warm tension thrums underneath.

"Whatcha talkin' about?" Renji looks down at them, his face haloed by the messy fall of his hair. "Thought I heard somethin' suspicious."

Rukia locks gazes with Ichigo. "Let's," she whispers.

Then she twists around as Ichigo loosens his grip of her. One of her legs hooks around Renji's hip and she uses the leverage to bring herself flush to him. Her move is rewarded with a choked gasp from him as their hips grind together. She sidles to the right of him. Ichigo braces a hand on Renji's left shoulder, and their combined weight sprawls him flat.

"Just suggesting we take you down a notch," Ichigo says, his grin cocky and easy.

"Or up, as it were," she says.

"Okay, that was bad."

"Oh, hush, you. That is your plan, is it not?"

Renji's shoulders shake with laughter. "Look, you two..."

Hiking herself up, she pushes the pillows on top of the rolled-up blanket to make a support. "No," she says breezily. "You are to lie back and not speak. Certain nonverbal noises are encouraged. Now come here."

His cheek hollowed, Ichigo looks like he's desperately sucking down laughter. She settles her back against the pillows and makes a beckoning motion. Renji looks at her with a different countenance, something amazed in his demeanour. Still, he makes no protest as she draws him against her.

* * *

Renji is biting back incredulity and laughter as he finds himself leaned against Rukia, her bent knee under one arm that she tugs back. Her body is a soft contour under him against the propped-up pillows.

"You had this planned?" He strives for levity.

"You ought to know." Ichigo's tone is not much steadier than his. "Teamwork. One thing we had from the word go."

"I said 'certain nonverbal noises', Renji." Rukia takes hold of his chin with her free hand and kisses him with deceptive lightness that sends a shiver along his spine.

"In short, you talk too much." Then Ichigo straddles him, the movement fluid and comfortable as if it were all he's ever done, and runs a single bent knuckle down his hip and then up along his cock. The touch is airy, fleeting, and drives sharply home how much he wants. He almost bucks up into it, groaning into Rukia's mouth.

"Better," Ichigo decides, and his hands glide away, sword-chapped fingers studying the quickening rise and fall of his chest.

Renji isn't used to this, to being held and teased, touched according to the whims of someone else. Rukia kisses his face without any hurry, unwraps her hand from his to have freer range to roam his skin. His fingers clench into a pillow instead, his head slumping back against her shoulder. Ichigo presses a heady, blurring kiss on his mouth and is gone almost before he can respond. His heart hammers under Rukia's hands.

Ichigo draws a swaying pattern on his skin with a fingertip, and he realises the young man is trailing the line of a scar: an older, diagonal one, over which the patterns of his tattoos already spread.

"Gave you this one, didn't I?"

He musters the breath to laugh. "Your memory's a funny thing. Yeah, you did."

In answer, he gets a wet mouth pressing to the slightly raised skin.

Rukia gives a soft noise as he shifts, shocked by the intimacy of the gesture. This should be harder, more raw and straightforward, but Ichigo lifts his head, draws a breath as if for concentration, and slides down Renji's body in a sinuous slip of hands and mouth. He feels Rukia grip his chin and then she's kissing him, slow and deep and tantalising, as if fighting Ichigo for his unravelling attention.

He moans out loud as Ichigo's mouth trails the dip of his hipbone. The hot knot of lust winds tighter within him. It takes a moment before he realises Ichigo's speaking.

"I said, you want me to—" He feels the words vibrate in Ichigo's throat; he's barely raised his head.

"Shit, what'd you think?" He'd joke about the overstating the obvious if his mind wasn't a jumble of want, reason shoved aside.

He gets his assent out just in time. His back bows against Rukia, her arms around him an anchor as Ichigo makes good his promise. His heartbeat stutters and then jolts at the sensation, wetness and warmth and the hint of teeth rasping on skin, whether by design or accident.

He bucks up, spouting curses and pleas in the same ragged breath. Ichigo wrests his head away with a gagging noise.

Renji realises he moved too fast, too hard. Concern and aggravation vie in his mind.

"All right," Rukia says above him. "It's fine, but don't—" Renji coughs to find words; they damn well better go on, he doesn't care how, but—

Ichigo's hand wraps around him and smothers what thought he has left. Ichigo leans down to him. Renji can't do much but welcome the weight of him, skin hot with arousal and closeness and movement. Ichigo tumbles on top of him as Renji hauls him close and takes the other route, fumbling a hand down between them to show Ichigo what he means.

Ichigo gasps, all need and amazement, betraying his own diminishing composure.

* * *

Rukia rolls away, clumsy in the shift of bodies. Renji's hand lands on her elbow. She squeezes it and lets go, content to let the two be lost in each other. She's drenched in sweat, tingling with awareness of Ichigo's low moans and Renji's thicker noises. She catches her breath and flexes her limbs to banish the numbness. As pleasant as it was to hold Renji, to feel his desire echoed in her own frame, he is heavy.

Ichigo's hands rake through Renji's hair, gold-sheened flesh against the red that darkens to black in the twilight. This, she thinks, is something no one else sees, both of them so wanting and vulnerable, bound by mutual need. Renji pins Ichigo with a leg over his, shifting the pace to his liking. Ichigo shivers, burying his head in Renji's throat.

She has stretched out, her head cushioned on her arm, her breath thick in her chest. Her own desire ebbs and swells, climbing at nothing more than the sight of them.

Renji's breath hitches unmistakably, coming in needy tears of air. His shoulder digs into the pillows; Ichigo lets out an annoyed noise, but rises enough to take hold of Renji's cock, pushing his hand out of the way.

"Let me," he mutters. Surprise snaps through Rukia at Renji's distracted nod. There, there is something that is more than her, more than their absolute, shared regard of her. She knows she can reach for it and have it, always, but it exists between them even without her.

Ichigo's attention is on Renji, no hesitation in the motion of his fingers. His free hand strokes Renji's neck, shoulder, along skin taut over muscle and bone as Renji arches back.

Warm feeling and liquid sensation run together in her. Her hand makes a detour over her breast. Her two companions blur into soft-edged shapes and sounds that send little thrills down her spine.

* * *

There's no art in Ichigo's touch, no deliberate seduction. It sinks through Renji's skin in streaks of fire until he's awash with heat. They strike a common rhythm, Ichigo's breath shortening, too. Renji can still tell that he is much further gone, riding the crumbling edge of orgasm. He yields like he almost never does, clawing for a grip of the rumpled pillows as if that could give him purchase. Rukia, Rukia is near, too, he can glimpse her out of the corner of his eye.

Sure now, Ichigo's fingers swirl over him. He pushes into the contact even as it gains a purpose and pace that will be his undoing.

Ichigo rasps out something, a demand, a challenge. Suddenly the cadence of his voice and the pressure of his hand and the strength of his hold are enough. Stammering, Renji comes, gasping, sinking into reality.

The post-orgasmic haze is pierced by a frustrated sound from Ichigo. "So, are you gonna lend me a hand?" he manages a laudable dose of attitude. "Or am I gonna have to do this myself?"

Renji chuckles even as he realises the problem. Tension is ebbing from him, but Ichigo is still skimming the edge, tight with dammed need.

"Maybe," he can't resist quipping. "Maybe I'd prefer to kick back and watch."

Ichigo's fingers burrow in Renji's shoulder as he glares at him. "Assuming I'd let you watch."

Shoving himself up, Renji flips them over. Ichigo yelps as he falls onto his back. Renji catches his hand and folds their fingers together, trapping it to the bed. The trace of his open hand down Ichigo's body sends a quiver along his muscles. "That close, huh?"

"Renji, I swear, if you don't—" Ichigo tosses his head back, his hand latching on Renji's arm, and moans low and unabashed. "Oh, fuck, yes."

Renji muffles a laugh and tightens his grip, firm, smooth strokes that coax rather than tease. Ichigo doesn't last long: there's a frozen moment when he goes rigid, his mouth dropping open, and gives a startled, exultant noise.

Renji lets him fall through the aftershocks, surprised when Ichigo, his grasp anything but boneless, hauls him down for a kiss. It's wet and close and forceful; another point-making kiss, he figures.

"Fine," Ichigo says. "Now we're even. Except for her." Renji trails his gaze to Rukia, who lies on her side, watching them with hooded eyes.

* * *

Her hands seem to have a will of their own.

Enveloped by the charged atmosphere, she floats on a drift of feeling. There's the line of her neck under her hand, where Ichigo's mouth lingered. There's the swell of her breast, where Renji's hand swept as he disrobed her. Her hip quivers as her fingers dip over its rise; she remembers the smooth-hard weight of Renji's cock on her thigh.

Perhaps she did mean to watch. Perhaps she wanted to see them tangle in each other and anticipate what it would be like to have that fierce focus turn to her.

"Hey." Renji tugs on the vowel until the sound is all but lewd despite its gentleness. He clasps her hand and she starts at his nearness, enough that Ichigo escapes her notice until he lies down on her other side, speaking next to her ear.

"You want a hand here?"

A blush washes over her. "I, ah—" She feels even more foolish for her embarrassment. They are in this together, so why would she flounder at their attention?

"Not that I minded—" Renji's mouth slides down to work wonderful distractions on her flushed skin. "Minded seein' you, like that."

"Am I the only one here who doesn't get off on watching?"

"She oughta complain, not you."

"Better make sure it's worth the wait then." That seems aimed at Renji. "Right?"

"Well, I am—ah!—not complaining yet." It is unfair how their hands span her skin so easily.

Ichigo draws long lines up her body, beginning from her sides, diverting to palm her breasts, up under her arms until her hands rest in his. Her fingers curl on Ichigo's, hard, when Renji parts her thighs.

Then she is on her back and a whimper spills from her. Renji licks a light streak across her folds. His fingers push inside her achingly slowly. Bent over her, Ichigo kisses her, all but forcing her to answer. She hangs onto that point of contact as Renji strokes her, tongue soft on slick flesh. Bringing down a hand, she nudges his to show where she wants it.

He complies with a satisfied bark of a chuckle. His fingers curl and drag within her, and it is good, bright and amazing and then too much. She gasps out as much as her hand clamps on Ichigo's and white blots out her vision.

* * *

Ichigo has a moment to relish the feel of Rukia shuddering out her peak. She clings to him, her eyes inky with unbridled pleasure.

In a fit of self-consciousness, he realises he's hard again, folded against her side to let Renji lean in between her legs. It's not neat or smooth by any measure, this system they are working out, but his senses are full of the other two. He's learning that he likes the way Renji snaps off his moans, and how that restraint crumbles away bit by piece, and the way Rukia shivers, tiny, hot pulses of need, when she is about to come.

Panting, she slackens against him, even as Renji reclines on her other side.

" 'Good'?" Renji echoes her breathless statement.

Fond caprice flickers in her eye. "Mmm, passable. It'll do."

Ichigo levels a measuring look at Renji. "She thinks she can get something more outta this." He drags the pads of his fingers along Renji's abdomen, making him jump through the warm lassitude.

"Hmm, ya think so?"

"I know so." Ichigo knows this is a lull, a drifting in still waters, but when Rukia wriggles next to him, as if too aware to lie quiet, his blood quickens at the contact.

"I'm still capable of speaking for myself, Ichigo."

" 'Course you are." He tucks a kiss on her shoulder.

"Then do not speak of me as if I'm not—oh—present."

"As if anyone could forget you are." Renji rolls over to face Ichigo over her. "Or maybe she needs a reminder."

"Yeah, maybe," he says. "Any ideas?" He has time to quirk a brow before Renji nudges Rukia's hip up, turning her onto her side. A sly glint in his eye masks a more involved, hungry undertone.

Rukia slides to spoon against Ichigo, and Renji arrests his flinch back with a solid hand on his hip. Her body curves flush to him, pliant and sweat-smooth, the apex of her thighs damp and heated. A gasp lodges in his throat. "Whoa, that..."

Thought is soft and fleeting. Ichigo could shake Renji's grasp, yet moving seems impossible. Rukia reaches up for Renji and kisses him, her voice high and breathy. "Yes."

"Objections?" Renji sounds equal parts gentle and tart. Ichigo tries to speak, then shakes his head.

He should raise a protest, make a token attempt at control, but is there a point in pretending he doesn't want this more than he could say? Any imaginary variations he's played out in his head pale next to the reality.

So he buries his face in Rukia's hair and lets her lift a knee over his leg. Guided by Renji—damn him for staying so steady when Ichigo has to seize Rukia's shoulder to still his own hand—he pushes into her. Her whimper melts into a pleasured sigh as he settles in deep. She's supple and wet and hot around him and oh, fuck, he has to set his jaw and force out a breath so as not to come there and then.

"Move," she says, a hoarse order. "Ichigo, please."

He isn't sure if that does it, or the kiss into which Renji tugs him. The world shrinks to the three of them. The kiss grows urgent, delirious; Renji does not release his hip as Rukia shifts between them to echo his tentative thrusts. The sound of her name tears from Renji, thwarting the kiss, and tension ripples through him. Without looking Ichigo knows that her hands are at work, clever and knowing, stroking their way down across Renji's body.

His last perception is that this is the closest they've come: the shattering climb of sensation, hands fumbling and interlocking, mouths meeting and parting until he can't tell the taste of one from the other.

* * *

The air is thick with the scents of sweat and sex. A breeze rushes in from the window, though who opened the shutters escapes Rukia. Little seems noteworthy that is not within her immediate reach, clasped by hand or pressed to skin.

It takes a few minutes before anyone speaks. "That was... new."

"Ichigo, hush." She puts her fingers on his lips. "It must be too late for talking."

"Try early," Renji says. "He's got a point there somewhere, Rukia. We're gonna have to—"

"Figure this out?" Ichigo leans up on his elbows, hair in sweaty spikes. "You mean it's not actually this complicated with fewer people?"

"We have made some headway there," she says. "Though it does... make things more interesting." Strange, heady, complicated, as well.

" 'Interesting'," Ichigo says. "Yeah, that's the word I wanted."

"He's tryin' to be clever again."

"Sheesh. What does it take to shut you up?"

"You need suggestions? Thought you had lots of ideas a moment ago."

Ichigo makes a grab for Renji over her. She is squashed between them as Renji seizes his head and, with a muffled sound, silences him.

She counts to five, then pushes hard. "Are you loons trying to make a habit of choking me?"

"Mmh—oh shit, sorry." Ichigo looks down at her. Renji's hand splays over her shoulder blades.

"Just watch out. There are three people in this bed."

"Couple more than I'm used to."

"Wouldn't have it any other way, wiseass." Half of Renji's sentence comes out a yawn. His fingers rub soothing circles on her back. "You all done now? Could a guy get some sleep in his own bed?"

"You're sharing now," Ichigo says as if he can't resist. Renji hums at him, arm falling over his side. They both almost glow with heat; Rukia is thankful there is no more than a thin sheet covering her.

She glimpses the old moon beyond the window. The world seems muzzy beyond the three of them nestled in the futon. In the morning, she will ache, and push at too many elbows and knees in close proximity, but she might even be looking forward to it.

Rukia curls up against Renji's chest, her hand twined with Ichigo's, and knows herself sated, weary, and loved.