Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Book I

“They’re here!”

Orihime’s voice startled Ichigo out of his thoughts, and he looked in the mirror of their bathroom one more time. His lips curved into a smile, but it looked forced, and he settled for scrubbing a hand through his too-short hair to fix it. Random pieces flopped over, too short to be bangs and too long to stay neatly in place. I look like I lost a bet.

He glanced down at the faded t-shirt he was wearing and shrugged. At least it wasn’t stained. Ichigo opened the bathroom door and walked down the stairs of the Kurosaki family home to greet their guests.

“Ichigooooo!” Keigo’s voice still grated on Ichigo’s ears after so long, and he clotheslined the shorter man as he tried to take a flying leap to grab onto him.

“Try not to break anything this time,” Mizuiro said cheerfully as he helped Keigo up. “Hi, Ichigo. We brought snacks.”

“Thanks, Kojima. Everything’s set up in the living room.” Ichigo pointed, and Mizuiro carried in both Keigo and a large, overfilled plastic bag.

“Is Ishida coming?”

“Oh, it’s so unfortunate, Ishida-kun couldn’t get the day off from work,” Orihime’s high voice echoed from the kitchen. “But Rukia and Renji should be here soon.”

And then – there she was. Ichigo opened the door again and Rukia was standing in front of him. His heart leapt for the first time in a decade as he looked at her, standing in his home and smiling up at him fondly. Their eyes met and it was as if no one else existed. Ichigo barely managed to get out of the doorway in time for Renji to push past them, clapping a hand on Ichigo’s shoulder before he went into the living room where the television and snacks were set up.

“I missed you,” Rukia admitted quietly, when it was just them in the entryway of his home.

The rain stopped for just a moment as Ichigo said, equally soft, “It’s good to see you, Rukia. It’s been a really long time.” His eyes focused on hers and his lips curved just slightly. He hadn’t seen her since her wedding over nine years ago. Like a good friend, Ichigo had gone to the wedding, had taken pictures with Inoue’s new camera, and had even sewn strawberry flowers onto Rukia’s veil. He had been careful not to look too closely at Rukia during the wedding; to agree with Inoue that her tears were happy ones. It helped that she’d smiled at him and at Inoue, who cried as passionately as if it had been her own wedding. Ichigo had pretended not to notice that her smile faded away as soon as she looked away from them.

He'd ignored the fact that the rain began again the day of her engagement.

It had been Orihime’s idea to invite them today, to get a message to Soul Society and see their friends for the first time in so many years. He didn’t know where the time had gone or how it was possible that he was suddenly 28 years old.

“Even without a war it’s busy in Soul Society. And I’m captain of the Thirteenth now.” Ichigo could hear the quiet pride in her voice.

“A captain? Since when?”

“The ceremony to make things official was this morning – it’s why Renji and I were late. I’d been acting captain since…” Rukia trailed off.

“This morning?” Ichigo repeated. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? I – we would have come to see it.” Despite his irritation at being left out of the loop, his hand found hers and wrapped around it, squeezing gently. He knew what she hadn’t finished saying: that she’d been acting as a captain since Ukitake’s death a decade ago at the hands of Yhwach. Ichigo spared a thought for the late captain, who’d always been kind to him and who had supported Rukia.

“Idiot.” The word was said with affection. “Only captains and lieutenants attend the ceremony.” Left unsaid: she hadn’t wanted to make a fuss of it.

Ichigo squeezed her hand again. “This is your party too, then. Che, not telling anyone…Ino—Orihime’s going to be upset, she would have baked a cake. And we’ll have to call you Captain Abarai from now on, I guess.”

Rukia blanched and pulled her hand from his with a sharp tug. “Kuchiki. It’s Captain Kuchiki, I didn’t change my name,” she exclaimed sharply, although she kept her voice down. When Ichigo’s eyebrows climbed nearly all the way into his hairline, Rukia put on a smile and waved her hands quickly in front of her as if to ward off his attention. “And anyway, I wouldn’t have wanted Orihime to make a fuss! Aren’t we here to watch Chad’s fight?” Her tone was light, though her eyes couldn’t meet his.  

“Yeah. Guess it’s starting in a few minutes, you should go sit down. And weren’t you going to bring your…” Ichigo choked on the word but managed to stutter out, “daughter?”

That stutter resulted in a sharp look from Rukia, but she shrugged. “Ichika’s around somewhere. I’m sure she’ll get here soon.”

“Get here soon? You mean you let a little kid run around Karakura by herself?” Ichigo spluttered. “What the hell, Rukia?”

“Even in one of Urahara’s gigai she can take care of herself. And I was running around unattended in the Rukongai when I was her age. It’s not like there’s anything in Karakura that can harm her.”

Ichigo’s jaw dropped and he just stared at Rukia incredulously. Zangetsu chose that moment to wake for the first time in ten years and howl. Time stopped and Ichigo stared down into Rukia’s violet eyes, his body shaking minutely, and amber eyes gone blank.

“Ichigo?” Rukia alone seemed to notice the tendrils of dark reiatsu that surrounded them – everyone in the living room was still chatting. “Ichigo?” she repeated. Rukia’s voice was soft, and she reached out as if to touch him, but her hand flinched back as a very different reiatsu buzzed menacingly throughout the home.

Zangetsu quieted immediately; Ichigo shook his head once, to clear it. “That’s…!” He raced up the stairs to Kazui’s room, ignoring a shout from Tatsuki, who’d heard the sudden pounding on the steps. By the time he shoved his son’s door open, Rukia right behind him, the reiatsu was gone.

“What –” Ichigo stared at his son and a girl he assumed had to be Ichika, who was holding a sheathed sword and apparently laughing at something that Kazui had said.

“What’s wrong with you two?” Kazui asked, when he noticed that his dad was standing in the doorway, face set in a scowl.

Ichigo shook his head again. “Was someone else here just now? Did either of you feel something?”

Before Ichika or Kazui could answer, Rukia pushed past Ichigo into the bedroom. Her pretty, pale blue dress swung around her legs as she moved. Her hair had gotten much longer, Ichigo suddenly noticed, and it hung to her waist freely. Her arms were bare except for narrow straps that tied together into bows at the top of each shoulder. He felt himself flushing at the sight of her nearly-bare shoulders and looked away quickly.

“Are you both alright?” Rukia asked.

Ichigo took a moment to look at Rukia’s daughter. She looked so much like Rukia it hurt: the same delicate face shape, the same eyes. The girl’s hair was bright red like Renji’s – Ichigo tilted his head slightly. Did Rukia dye Ichika’s hair? he asked himself. The red didn’t go quite all the way to her roots, where he could have sworn a lighter color peeked out. Maybe it was just the light in Kazui’s room. Zangetsu grumbled something beneath Ichigo’s thoughts and to his surprise, something protective slid through the grumbling. Well she is Rukia’s daughter, Ichigo thought.

Ichika shrugged. “There was a black hole in the room a minute ago. Kazui stuck his hand in it, and the hole went away.”

Ichigo’s head whipped around to stare at the two children. “It went away? Are you sure?” He stepped further into the bedroom, looking over Kazui. “You okay, Kazui?” He received a nod in return.

“There’s nothing here anymore,” Rukia said. “It…felt like Yhwach, don’t you think so Ichigo? I’ll have to report this to Kyōraku Soutaicho when Renji and I leave.”

Ichigo nodded briefly. “Yeah – but it’s completely gone now. Maybe one of Kurotsuchi’s machines picked up something?”

Rukia nodded briefly and put on another smile. “Ichika, I’d like you to meet Kurosaki Ichigo. He’s…” The pause was so brief that only Ichigo noticed the lapse. “A very good friend.”

Ichika jumped down from the dresser she’d been perched on and offered Ichigo a brief bow. “Nice to meet you, Kurosaki-san,” she said.

“Yeah, likewise,” Ichigo replied, distracted a second time by her hair. He shook himself and his eyes met Rukia’s in a silent question – but hers were shuttered. “This is Kazui. Kazui, this is Kuchiki Rukia.”

Kazui smiled up at Rukia and bowed to her; Rukia bowed gravely in reply, but then grinned down at him. “It’s nice to meet you, Kazui.” The boy looked exactly like Orihime, she thought. He even had her gray eyes.

“Ichi-nii, Rukia-chan! Chad’s fight is about to start!” Yuzu called from the stairwell. “Come downstairs before Asano-san eats all the popcorn!”

“What’s popcorn?” Ichika asked, even as Kazui’s face lit up.

“Come on, we can get some from Oba-san!” Kazui exclaimed, and the two children ran downstairs without a backward glance at their parents.

Ichigo shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down at Rukia. “I guess we should join them,” he suggested.

Rukia’s lips curved down into a slight frown and her eyes looked – hurt – for just a second. “Ichigo…” she started.

“The fight’s going to start,” he said.

They looked at one another in silence, her body leaning towards his and his head hanging down. Then they both turned and walked downstairs. For less than a second, a red string appeared between them, twisted and frayed.

That night, after their guests had left and he’d cleaned up the spilled popcorn from when Chad had landed a particularly good punch and Keigo had knocked over one of the popcorn buckets in his enthusiasm, Ichigo laid down on the couch and tried to fall asleep. He often spent the night on the couch with insomnia, and Orihime claimed he snored when he’d been drinking. Even though he’d only had two beers he didn’t want to keep her awake.

Rukia was just behind him, Sode no Shirayuki released into its shikai state. Ichigo was already in bankai, clad in the white bone of Zangetsu with one curved, sharp horn adorning his head. The hilt of his zanpakutō felt awkward in his hands, yet another different shape and size after he and Rukia had left the Zero Division.

“I have already seen all of the possibilities, Ichigo,” Yhwach told him as Ichigo rushed forward, Zangetsu ready to strike. “I have seen every move you could make. And I have seen what will break you.” Even as Ichigo reached him, Yhwach lightly touched Zangetsu, which shattered in his hands. Ichigo fell back, blood spraying from the open slash across his chest.

“Yes, I have seen it. It’s a pity – she was such a pretty girl.” As he said the words, Rukia screamed, and the sound sent fear shuddering through Ichigo’s heart. He struggled to climb to his feet and sought out Rukia.

Just in time to see her fall, blood spraying from a slash that nearly bisected her. “RUKIA!” Ichigo clutched his shihakusho shut across his chest to stem his own bleeding and rushed to her, ignoring Yhwach’s low laughter.

You couldn’t protect the Queen, Zangetsu growled as Ichigo threw himself down beside Rukia and pulled her into his arms. He grabbed the white bandaging that remained of his zanpakuto, wrapping it around Rukia’s chest in a futile effort to reduce the bleeding until someone – anyone – could heal her. She looked up at him, violet eyes already growing dim, and tried to smile.

“I’m…sorry I wasn’t strong enough,” she whispered. “I l—”

“RUKIA!” Ichigo’s reiatsu spiraled out of control, obliterating the ground around them as the shinigami in his arms died and Zangetsu howled his rage.

Ichigo bolted upright on the couch with a shout, narrowly missing the coffee table with his legs. His hair was plastered to his forehead, slick with sweat, and he could feel more dripping down the back of his neck. He was panting, breathing hard as if he had run a mile, and his chest ached as if Yhwach’s strike had been real.

He opened his eyes and saw only the living room, with its beige walls and light, neutral-toned furniture. There was no sign of the destroyed Seireitei. Ichigo fell back against the soft couch cushions and let his head drop into his hands. Just a dream. Yhwach was gone, and Rukia wasn’t dead – he’d seen her just hours ago, healthy and whole.

And happy, he supposed. From the day he’d stopped the Sokyoku from obliterating her soul, he’d wanted her to be happy and safe. If Renji made her happy and protected her, wasn’t that a good thing? It was a good thing, he reminded himself.

When his breathing settled, Ichigo rose again and walked into the kitchen on bare feet. He poured himself a glass of water and glanced at the clock on the oven: it was three in the morning. “I didn’t even drink much,” he grumbled to himself. Maybe it was all the popcorn and sweets.

Maybe it was Rukia being here, his conscience whispered as he walked back into the living room and sat down on the couch. She and Renji had lingered after everyone else had gone, under the pretext that Ichika and Kazui were having fun getting to know one another. That was when the beer had come out, and Orihime had quickly plated some ika ten and small onigiri for everyone to enjoy. As one drink turned into two, she had brought out gyoza as well. Those had been more of a mixed bag: Orihime still liked to…experiment in the kitchen, and some of the small dumplings had been filled with odd combinations. Watching Renji try to figure out which gyoza were filled with shrimp and sweet red bean paste, and which held the more normal mixture of seasoned pork, had been entertaining.

Ichika had been restless and overtired by the time they’d all finished their second beers. Ichigo remembered the scowl on her face and for just a moment he’d thought it looked eerily familiar. Must have gotten that from Renji, he remembered thinking.

Renji and Ichika had left first, the former carrying his sleepy daughter over one shoulder. Rukia had lingered for just a moment longer under the blue lights of the Kurosaki Clinic sign, after Orihime went back inside to put Kazui to bed.

Ichigo dropped his head back against the couch cushion as he remembered what she’d asked him.

“This afternoon, back in the hallway. What happened to you just before we felt Yhwach?”

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. “I think I was just reacting to his reiatsu. Don’t worry about it, midget. You said you’d report it to the Gotei. They’ll figure it out, I’m sure.”

The nickname earned Ichigo a kick in the shin, and he grumbled in pain even as Rukia’s expression turned serious. “Are you sure it was that? I didn’t feel his reiatsu until…afterwards.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, Rukia. Really.” Ichigo pursed his lips, looking toward Renji and Ichika, who were growing smaller as they walked back toward Urahara’s place. “How old’s Ichika, anyway?”

Rukia’s lashes lowered to hide her eyes, and her lips tightened briefly before she looked up at him again. “She’s eight years old now, and a new shinigami apprentice.”

Ichigo frowned and his eyebrows scrunched in. “Only eight? She’s tall for her age, then.”

“Yes, she is.” The words were flat, and Ichigo sensed he’d struck a nerve although he couldn’t imagine how or what he’d said. “I’d better catch up to them. See you later, Ichigo.”

Their eyes met one more time, and Ichigo smiled down at her softly. “Later, Rukia. Thanks for coming today.”

Ichigo drained his glass of water and left it on the coffee table. Yhwach is dead, he reminded himself again, and had been for years, the earlier burst of reiatsu notwithstanding. And even if he hadn’t been – what was Ichigo supposed to do? He hadn’t raised a weapon to anyone, or anything, in seven years. Not since the first time his badge beeped after Orihime gave birth to Kazui and she – exhausted by the ordeal and from Kazui’s nightly screaming – had begged him not to go.

A chill ran down Ichigo’s spine despite the summer heat, but he stretched back out on the couch to try and sleep for a few more hours.

Chapter Text

Renji was waiting for her, Ichika still draped over his shoulder, when Rukia stepped through the Senkaimon. She adjusted the haori she wore; it felt odd to have the extra fabric draped over her when she’d been wearing just the shihakusho for so long. It didn’t help that it was too large: for all that she’d had her measurements taken for the garment, the sleeves were enormous and the shoulders too big.

“I’ll take Ichika back to the manor,” Rukia said. “Nii-sama is expecting me.”

Renji’s lips flattened. “I can put her to bed. Not like I got to see her much this past year.”

“The assignment in Sapporo was important,” she reminded him. “And it makes more sense if I take her, since I have business at the manor.”

Renji rolled his eyes and adjusted his hold on the sleeping child. “The Sapporo assignment was eight months long and boring as shit. An unseated division member could have done it standing on their head. Don’t know why Captain had to send me,” he grumbled.

“Don’t swear in front of Ichika.”

“She’s asleep, it’s not like she can hear us.” Renji pushed past her and disappeared into shunpo before she could say anything else.

Rukia just shook her head and followed. Her haori billowed as she moved, covering the distance to the manor in a few minutes. Renji beat her there thanks to his head start, and she saw him disappear down the hallway toward Ichika’s room. A passing servant told her that Byakuya was still in the office he used at the manor, and Rukia strolled along the long-familiar wooden pathways.

“Ichigo is a doctor now!” Orihime exclaimed proudly, as Ichigo sipped his beer. “Kazui and I are so proud, he finally completed his certifications and took over Isshin’s clinic.”

Rukia’s eyes darted to him. “Congratulations, Ichigo. That’s quite an accomplishment.”

His lips twitched up, but the smile didn’t meet his eyes. “Thanks. Didn’t feel right to let Tousan’s clinic to keep sitting empty.”

“Yes, and now that his residency is complete and Ichigo is working in the clinic, he’s home so much more and we’ll have more time together.” Orihime beamed.

Ichigo took another sip of his beer. His eyes met Rukia’s briefly and one of them glinted yellow before returning so quickly to normal that she thought it must be a trick of the light.

She shook herself and covered the rest of the distance to Byakuya’s office with a quicker pace. He’d been tired, obviously – from what Rukia understood of doctors in the World of the Living, they completed many years of training to be able to practice medicine and treat people. It sounded like a lot of work, and of course Ichigo would be tired if he’d just finished his training, she thought.

Though it did strike her as odd that he didn’t seem to share Orihime’s enthusiasm.

The doors to Byakuya’s office were partially open and Rukia rapped lightly on the wood frame before slipping through.

“Ah. Rukia,” Byakuya greeted as she bowed. “I understand you made a trip to the World of the Living.”

She blinked and knelt in seiza on the other side of his desk. “Yes. Renji and I took Ichika to the Kurosaki’s to see Chad’s fight on television. It was nice to see everyone after so long.”

Byakuya’s eyes flicked to hers and he let out a soft hn under his breath. “I thought he didn’t want to fight if he didn’t have to.”

“Ah – I suppose something must have changed,” Rukia said, and frowned. “None of Ichigo’s other guests seemed to question it, so I suppose he must have changed his mind.”

“Hn.”

“Ichigo is a doctor now, and he has a son,” she reported. “He’s a little younger than Ichika, and they seemed to enjoy themselves together.”

Byakuya acknowledged her words with a nod, although there was something in his expression – a twitch of his lips, the way his eyes glanced away – that seemed uneasy. It was so unlike him that Rukia asked, “Are you well, Nii-sama?”

He straightened up. “I wanted to congratulate you privately on your promotion. I am very proud of you,” he said quietly.

Rukia’s cheeks flushed pink and she bowed her head. “Thank you, Nii-sama. I will do my best to live up to the expectations of the Gotei and of the clan.”

That strange look was in his eyes again, but Byakuya nodded again. “You are up to the challenge, I am sure. You have done well as acting taicho for your division.”

“Aa. I am looking forward to being able to formally appoint officers and take care of a number of administrative matters that could not take place without a taicho,” Rukia commented. “The war was hard on my division.”

“Do you have a fukutaicho in mind?”

Rukia shook her head. “Kotetsu might have been a good fit, but Kotetsu Taicho appointed her before I could,” she said seriously. “Kotsubaki has been a good Third Seat, but he has already told me that he does not feel ready for further responsibility.”

Byakuya’s eyebrow quirked up at that. “I see. Are there other seated officers who seem ready for the role?” When Rukia shook her head again, he said, “You may have to look outside of your division, then. Perhaps an officer from one of the other divisions would be a good fit.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed. “I will speak to the other taicho.”

“I am sorry that I cannot offer you Abarai,” Byakuya commented, but he was looking at her carefully. “He has become quite indispensable to me.”

Rukia shook her head. “There is no need to apologize, Nii-sama. He is…not the right fit for the Thirteenth Division.” And the very idea of having Renji near her all the time, hovering… Rukia shook herself. “I will be able to find a fukutaicho from amongst the officers of the other squads. There must be a number of talented shinigami who are nearly ready for a promotion.”

Her brother seemed to relax minutely. “Very well. Will you have tea with me before you return to your division barracks?”

She smiled. “Yes, I’d like that.”

The tea Byakuya’s servants gave them was an herbal tisane without the energizing qualities of the green tea that Rukia normally enjoyed, and so her eyes were heavy as she stopped by Ichika’s room on her way back to the barracks. Renji was long gone and her daughter was sleeping curled up on her futon. The asauchi she called her own was sitting in a stand against one wall. There was an open book near the futon and Rukia picked it up, marking the place and setting it on the short bookshelf next to the zanpakutō stand.

“I don’t know why I agreed to your becoming an apprentice so early,” Rukia whispered as she watched her daughter’s shoulder and side rise and fall beneath a lightly blanket. But you’re already several times as powerful as I was at your age. She stepped back outside, slid the shoji door shut silently and slipped away, stepping into shunpo with a thought and returning to the division barracks.

The barracks were quiet when she entered them and walked into the fukutaicho’s quarters. There hadn’t been time to move her belongings into the larger taicho’s rooms before she needed to be in the World of the Living. “Ukitake’s old quarters still need to be cleaned out,” Rukia mumbled to herself as she set Sode no Shirayuki in her stand and hung up her haori. The shihakusho came next, piled into a laundry basket, and she changed into a plain sleeping yukata.

It will wait until morning, she thought as she lay down on her futon and pulled a thin blanket over herself. After an hour of tossing and turning, however, Rukia rose from her futon again and pulled Sode no Shirayuki from her rack. Settling herself, she sat jinzen and breathed slowly, focusing on dropping into the state where she could reach her inner world. But that would not come either, and her zanpakutō was silent.

She set the zanpakutō back in the stand and slid a pair of slippers on, then stepped from her quarters. The taicho’s quarters were just next door, and Rukia slid the shoji screen open with a deep breath before sending in a ball of Kido to light the space.

It was just as she’d remembered it, but with a thick layer of dust over everything Ukitake had owned. Even so many years after his death it felt wrong to touch the things that belonged to him, but as the blue light glowed above her Rukia slowly worked her way through the old shihakusho and other clothes, through the many things he’d collected over the years.

She hadn’t realized just how much of a collector Ukitake was, and when dawn crept into the room through a window on the far wall, she still wasn’t done. But there was a neat pile of uniforms other clothes, as well as his old haori to dispose of, and several items that she thought Kyōraku Soutaicho might want. She wasn’t sure what to do with his nicer kimonos, but they were also folded in a neat pile.

“Taicho?” Sentarō’s voice startled Rukia, and she nearly dropped the carved fan in her hand.

“Ah, good morning Sentarō,” she greeted.

The dark-haired man was flushed red as he looked at her, and Rukia glanced down, realizing she was still in her yukata, which had acquired a number of thick, gray smudges of dust. “Ah – some of the other officers said they heard noises in here. Thought it might be a ghost.” When Rukia raised an eyebrow at him, he shrugged. “Do you need help?”

“If you could take care of getting rid of this pile,” Rukia pointed to the old uniforms. “That would be a great help.”

Sentarō’s eyes were a little red-rimmed as he picked them up. “Guess it’s past time this got cleaned up,” he mumbled. “What with you being the new Taicho and all.”

Rukia managed a smile at him, but she felt a suspicion of tears prickle behind her eyes as well. “We will continue to honor Ukitake-sama,” she assured him.

He nodded shortly and turned back toward the door.

“Oh, Sentarō, I’ll need someone to run a box over to the First Division later. I think Kyōraku Soutaicho would like some of Ukitake-sama’s things as well. Please have the furniture removed and given away. And once this room is empty, I’ll need it scrubbed clean. The amount of dust is…impressive.”

Sentarō bowed slightly and hurried away.

Rukia returned to her quarters and cleaned herself up, then changed into clean shihakusho and her too-large haori. She hadn’t slept, and she knew she would pay for it later, but it felt cleansing to finally take care of a task that she’d been putting off for a decade.

The day passed slowly as Rukia tackled the piles of paperwork on her new desk. Though as acting taicho she’d been able to sign off on certain orders, there was some work that had been waiting for her appointment, and Rukia tackled that first, signing off on orders to authorize the selection of new shinigami from the academy to replenish the greatly diminished ranks of the Thirteenth.

“Taicho, message for you from Kurotsuchi Taicho,” Sentarō announced around noon. “He wants a report on your experience in the World of the Living yesterday. Said something about strange reiatsu readings.”

Rukia bit her lip. “I see. Thank you, Sentarō. Is the messenger awaiting a response?” When her Third Seat shook his head, she breathed out slowly. “I’ll add it to my list,” she said, and waved a hand in dismissal.

There were a number of reports on her desk that she needed to read and approve, and Rukia worked her way through those as well. “I need a fukutaicho,” she mumbled after a time. Though she’d made good progress through a dozen reports from the Thirteenth Division shinigami stationed in Karakura, there was still an enormous pile on the desk typically reserved for the fukutaicho – and the pile just kept growing larger.

The sun moved across the sky and had long since set when Sentarō knocked on the office door again. “Taicho, message from Kuchiki Taicho. He asked if you are still planning to join him for dinner.” Rukia looked up and Sentarō frowned at her. “He said you’re a little late.”

“Ah.” Rukia glanced out the window and then at the clock on her desk. “More than a little. Please send a message that I’ll be there momentarily.”

He nodded, but there was an expression of concern on his face as he left. Rukia stood and stretched, feeling vertebrae shifting and popping. She returned to her quarters and changed quickly into a dark blue kimono and a patterned obi. She slipped into geta and hurried out of the barracks still tying her obijime and stepped into shunpo. She stifled a jaw-cracking yawn on the way.

Byakuya and Ichika were waiting for her when she stepped into the dining room, leaving her geta at the door, and she bowed in greeting. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she apologized.

Ichika jumped up to greet her with a hug, and Rukia’s stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. She flushed a dull red but allowed Ichika to pull her to the table.

“I am sure your day was busy,” Byakuya said, and Rukia bowed her head slightly.

“Ah, yes. There is quite a lot of paperwork as a new division leader,” she admitted with a little laugh. “How was your day with your tutor, Ichika?” she asked as servants, at a silent and near-invisible gesture from Byakuya, began to carry platters into the room.

“Boring. Why do I have to learn math? Tousan says it’s useless,” Ichika complained.

Rukia frowned. “Your Tousan is wrong,” she said as she served her daughter a selection of vegetables and a pile of rice alongside her bowl of soup. “Math is very valuable if you want to become an officer someday. I have to use math all of the time to run my division.”

Ichika made a face, but at Byakuya’s gesture they all three said itadakimasu and began to eat. “I guess. I like reading better. Nagata-sensei let me read some books from the World of the Living and they were really great.”

“Hn.” Byakuya looked at Rukia. “What sort of books?”

“He called it literature. Said I’d understand it better when I’m older, but we’re reading something called Twelfth Night. It’s really good!”

“Shakespeare,” Rukia murmured, and hid a yawn behind the sleeve of her kimono. “Well, I’m glad you are enjoying it, Ichika,” she said.

By the time they finished dinner Rukia was stifling a yawn every few minutes. “Will you read me a story before bedtime, Kaasan?” Ichika requested, and Rukia smiled.

“Of course. Thank you for the meal, Nii-sama,” she said, and bowed to him.

Byakuya just nodded.

Rukia followed Ichika through the courtyard back to her room, and waited while her daughter picked a book from her shelf. “Ah, this isn’t the book you were reading yesterday, was it?” Rukia asked. It was thicker than the one she’d put away the previous night.

“No, that’s the book I’m reading with Tousan,” Ichika explained as she changed into her sleeping yukata and unrolled her futon. Rukia settled next to her on the floor.

“Hn. Very well,” she murmured, and opened the book to the first page. Though Ichika could read on her own she still enjoyed being read to, but Rukia’s increasingly frequent yawns made the process more difficult than usual.

“Kaasan, you need to sleep,” Ichika finally said when Rukia had taken several minutes to get through one page because she couldn’t stop yawning. Her daughter took the book from her hands before Rukia could protest.

“Hmn, yes, I’m sorry Ichika. It’s been a long day,” Rukia apologized and kissed her daughter on the forehead. “Time for bed for you, then.”

Ichika scrambled onto her futon and pulled her blanket up. “Goodnight,” she said, as Rukia kissed her forehead again and doused the lamp.

“Goodnight, Ichika.”

It was a struggle just to get back to the barracks, and Rukia fell into her bed fully clothed. But her sleep was restless and filled with vivid dreams of running through a blizzard while pursued by someone with yellow eyes and the dark reiatsu she hadn’t thought she’d ever feel again.

Chapter Text

“Ishi-san, are you well?” Ichigo’s patient, an elderly woman with a fractured wrist, asked.

Ichigo swallowed down a yawn and curved his lips, eyes shutting. “I apologize, Higashi-san. I didn’t sleep well last night.” He finished wrapping her wrist and rolled on a low, padded stool to his computer. “Your x-ray is concerning, so I’ve splinted your wrist but I’m going to refer you to a surgeon to assess whether you need a reconstructive procedure.”

Higashi pursed her lips and glanced down at her splinted and bandaged wrist. “What happens if I don’t need surgery?”

“If you don’t need surgery, then you’ll wear a more permanent cast for several weeks and then a brace.” Ichigo quickly typed notes into the recordkeeping system. “Until you see the surgeon, keep your wrist as still as possible and don’t get the splint wet. Do you have any other questions?”

“No, Ishi-sama. Thank you.”

Ichigo stood and bowed briefly to the elderly woman. “Come out front when you’re ready and Yuzu will help you make an appointment with the surgeon,” he instructed.

He barely waited until the door closed behind him before leaning back against the wall and letting out a jaw-cracking yawn. There had been a steady stream of patients in the clinic over the past few days, but no serious emergencies. But it wasn’t his work that had him exhausted: it was his new nighttime habit.

During the day, everything was normal. Orihime took Kazui to school and then went to her part-time job at the bakery, where she had started working once Kazui was settled in school full-time. Ichigo dressed and, with Yuzu and Karin, opened the clinic to patients.

Nights were a different matter altogether. Following his initial nightmare after Rukia and Renji’s visit, Ichigo had disturbing dreams every night. He’d taken to sleeping in the clinic to avoid waking up his family after he’d roused the entire household screaming bloody murder from the couch two nights in a row. The nightmares only grew in intensity each night, and Ichigo found himself struggling to stay awake during the day due to the lack of restful sleep.

He pushed himself to move faster, even in shunpo. Rukia was just over the next rise, doing battle with a hollow. He could sense her reiatsu, which rose and fell as she fought. He could follow the red string that bound them to one another. Ichigo came to a halt, his coat flying around him, as he saw her: using Sode no Shirayuki’s second dance to blast not one but three hollows with ice. She was cornered.

Save the Queen! Zangetsu roared within him, and Ichigo sprang into action again. He darted behind Rukia and with her next call of “Tsugi no mai: hakuren!” Ichigo roared “Getsuga tenshō!” Their combined attacks eradicated all three hollows with one blow, and Ichigo landed beside Rukia as they disintegrated.

“I could have handled them,” Rukia chided as she sheathed her zanpakutō.

Ichigo allowed himself to drop out of bankai and swung his sword onto his back. “Che. Just say thank you for the assist, midget. ‘Sides, Zangetsu made it sound worse than it was.”

Rukia rolled her eyes but softened at the mention of Zangetsu. “He’s even more protective than you are.”

Ichigo shrugged. “He wants to protect his queen.” He leaned down, and their lips met in a long kiss. He swore Zangetsu was actually purring.

Ichigo stood in his living room, zanpakuto in hand and his old vizard mask covering his face. Orihime was sprawled on the couch before him, her eyes blank and one arm draped over her stomach, body covered in blood from a massive hole in her chest. Kazui was face down midway between the kitchen and the dining area, blood pooling beneath him. The house stank of blood and death. Ichigo looked around in horror for evidence of who had slaughtered his family, zanpakutō held in a defensive position. Even as he pulled his mask from his face, he heard a cackle from beside him.

It was Zangetsu, alabaster skin clad in a white shihakusho and white hair falling into his face. His yellow eyes scanned the dead bodies and he grinned at Ichigo, his black tongue coming out to lick his lips. “That’s a…permanent way to deal with an obstacle. Mind if I eat ‘em? I’m hungry, and you never let me out to play anymore.”

Ichigo backed away in horror. “I did this? But…but I would never. Kazui is my son! Orihime is…is…!”

Zangetsu cackled again. “Sure, sure. Sometimes obstacles come in cute packages, King.”

“Kazui wasn’t an obstacle!” Ichigo shouted.

The hollow just smirked. “Just barriers to the Queen. You should have fought harder. Instead you’ve been fucking around doing what for ten years? It hasn’t fucking stopped raining since you let the Queen go.”

“Ichigo!” The high-pitched voice woke him.

He struggled to open his eyes, and slowly Yuzu’s worried face came into focus. “Huh?”

“You were screaming so loudly that I heard you upstairs. What’s going on? Why are you down here?” Yuzu demanded. Her light brown hair stuck up in various places and she ran a hand through it, sending it into further disarray.

Ichigo sat up and scrubbed his face. That one had felt real. “Sorry for waking you, Yuzu. Just a bad dream about the war,” he lied, and yawned.

“Oh, Ichigo,” she sighed. “I’ll make you some tea.” Yuzu left the clinic room, leaving Ichigo to sit on the bed, head buried in his hands. “What the fuck is going on?” he asked in a low growl and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. I’d never hurt Kazui. Why is Zangetsu in my dreams after so long?

“Here, it’s chamomile.” Ichigo took his hands from his face and reached out for the mug Yuzu offered.

“Thanks, Yuzu. Did I wake anyone else up?” The grassy, herbal odor of the tea turned his stomach, but Ichigo took a few sips.

“No. Karin and Kazui are on the opposite side of the house and Orihime was still snuffling when I came downstairs.”

“Snuffling?” Ichigo raised an eyebrow.

“She snuffles in her sleep, haven’t you noticed?” Yuzu asked. “I’m going back to bed. Try and get some sleep, Ichi-nii.” She left the room with a little wave, leaving Ichigo with his tea.

He wondered when Orihime had started snuffling in her sleep. Ichigo finished his tea and laid down, but it was a long time before he was able to sleep again.

The next morning, he joined his family at the breakfast table, dragging himself in from the clinic.

“Ichigo! You look exhausted,” Orihime’s voice took on a concerned tone as she served Kazui his breakfast of rice, a piece of seared fish, and a fried egg.

“Ichi-nii said he was having nightmares,” Yuzu tattled as she added furikake to her egg. “He woke me up.”

Ichigo pinched the bridge of his nose and dug in the freezer for the ground coffee, then in the cabinet for a filter. “Anyone else want coffee?” he asked.

“Me.” Karin sat down at the table and ruffled Kazui’s hair. “You okay Ichi-nii?”

He glanced at Yuzu and Orihime, who shook their heads, and poured in enough water for two people. He added several tablespoons of coffee. “I’m fine,” he said, and focused on pulling mugs from the cabinet.

Karin and Yuzu ate quickly before hurrying back upstairs to dress for work, while Ichigo added rice and an egg to his bowl. The coffee he drank black, and nearly burned his tongue on the first sip.

“Yuzu said it’s going to be a busy day in the clinic,” Orihime commented as she sat at the table and picked up her chopsticks.

Ichigo shrugged and glanced at Kazui. “Yeah, probably.”

The young boy ate the last of his rice and set his chopsticks down. “Kaasan, can I be excused?”

Orihime turned a brilliant smile on him. “Of course, Kazui. Go get ready and I’ll walk you to school.” She returned her attention to Ichigo and her expression sobered. “Yuzu said you’re having nightmares.”

“Yeah.” Ichigo scooped another pile of rice into his mouth and followed it with a long sip of coffee. He sliced into the runny yolk at the center of his egg and let it run down into the rice before taking another mouthful.

“Ichigo…”

He stared down at his rice. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, and kept eating.

“Aa—” Orihime frowned and began to eat her own breakfast.

Ichigo finished his a few minutes later and bolted the last of his coffee. He rinsed his dishes and set them in the dishwasher. “I’ll be in the clinic,” he said quietly, and left the kitchen before Orihime could say anything else.

He jerked awake in his office as Karin knocked on the door, eyes wild until he realized where he was. “Karin,” he said, and rubbed a hand over his face. The room around him was tiny: it was just a space for completing paperwork. The desk was covered in that paperwork, which he should have completed during his lunch break. His lunch sat barely touched on the corner of the desk furthest from him.

“We have four patients in the waiting room and one in the exam room,” his sister told him. She wore a pale blue uniform, including a hat that kept her hair out of the way, and the look in her eyes was concerned. “We’re running about an hour behind, I didn’t realize you’d fallen asleep in here. What’s wrong, Ichi-nii? Yuzu said it was something about the war. You didn’t eat, either.”

Ichigo yawned and stood. He pulled his white coat back on and shook his head. “I’ll be fine, Karin,” he said, though his hands were shaking slightly. “I should have had more coffee – I guess the afternoon slump hit me too hard,” he lied. “I’ll see the patient in the exam room. Is there anyone in the waiting room whom you or Yuzu could treat?”

Karin shook her head. “I don’t think so. I’ll make you a coffee,” she offered, and Ichigo followed her from the office. She looked back at him, eyes still concerned, but hurried into the waiting and reception area.

Thanks, Karin,” he said, and knocked on the door to the exam room.

“Hashi-san? I’m Doctor Kurosaki. I’m sorry for the long delay,” he said as the door shut behind him.

The rest of the afternoon was a whirlwind of patients. Ichigo gulped down the coffee Karin made for him in between exams and referred another of his patients to a surgeon.

Orihime popped into the clinic late in the afternoon to remind the three siblings that dinner would be in a few hours. “Ah! Ichigo, I brought a snack for you,” she announced as he stepped out of the exam room. She pressed something wrapped in a napkin into his hand.

“Thanks, Orihime,” he mumbled. “Don’t keep dinner waiting on me, I have paperwork to catch up on.”

“Oh – but we always eat dinner together,” she said cheerfully, and her big gray eyes looked into his.

Ichigo glanced down the hall, where three more patients were waiting, according to Karin. “Sorry. It’s time-sensitive.”

“Well of course if it’s important. I’ll keep a plate warm for you.”

“Thanks.” He was still looking away, but Orihime leaned up, cheek raised toward him. Ichigo dutifully pecked it lightly before disappearing into his office again. He shut the door and his head fell to the desk. Ichigo unwrapped the napkin. The snack inside was unidentifiable and Ichigo made a face. He re-wrapped it and tipped the garbage bin beneath his desk so that when he put the snack inside it slid down the side slowly instead of dropping, so that Orihime wouldn’t hear it fall if she was still waiting outside his door. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings – but he wasn’t going to eat whatever that was.

Ichigo checked the records of his next patient on his computer and stepped back outside; Orihime was gone and he breathed out slowly. Then he rolled his shoulders and walked into the exam room to see his next patient.

The last patient didn’t leave until the sun was beginning to set outside, and Yuzu closed down the clinic between yawns. Karin cleaned up the exam room while Ichigo sat in his office again, the door open a sliver, and typed up his notes from his last patient. There was a pile of paperwork, some of it several days late, waiting for him.

“Ichi-nii, don’t forget to eat dinner,” Yuzu called as she walked past the office to the door that separated the clinic from the house.

Ichigo mumbled under his breath and finished his notes, then turned toward the paperwork. Yuzu had completed all of the insurance forms, but they needed his sign off. He reviewed each one carefully, signing off on all but one. The last one he put a sticky note on with a correction in kanji. There were clinic insurance forms as well – policies up for renewal to protect the clinic and to protect him if anything happened.

It was close to ten by the time he finished, and Ichigo closed the door of his office with a jaw-cracking yawn. He walked into the house; the television was on in the living room and it sounded like Orihime and his sisters were watching some kind of reality show, judging by the laughter coming from both them and the TV. He dragged himself into the kitchen; there was a note from Orihime telling him that his dinner was in the fridge; he guessed four hours was a long time to keep food warm.

Dinner thankfully turned out to be much more normal-looking than Orihime’s snack efforts, and Ichigo heated it up quietly and poured himself a drink. He set his plate of warmed rice, vegetables, and tonkatsu on the table and found a pair of chopsticks in the drawer, then sat down to eat.

“Oh! Ichigo, I’m glad you’re finally eating,” Orihime said from the doorway. “You should have taken a break hours ago, couldn’t the paperwork have waited?” she asked sweetly.

Ichigo let out a faint grunt and took a sip of his water before answering. “I wanted it done.” He picked at the pile of vegetables on his plate and selected a carrot, eating that. The sauce was far too salty, but with her looking at him he couldn’t scrape the sauce off.

“Kazui got an “A” on his kanji test today,” Orihime reported as she filled a glass with water and sat down across from him.

“That’s great,” Ichigo said, and glanced up. “I’ll congratulate him in the morning – I know he’s in bed already.”

“Hn. And I had a good day at the bakery. My boss loves my sweet bean buns!”

Ichigo hid his expression behind his napkin. He wondered, briefly, if Rangiku had become her boss when he wasn’t paying attention. The thought of one of the shinigami he hadn’t seen in years sent a pang through him – and so did the guilt of the uncharitable thought.

“Are you alright, Ichigo?” Her high voice startled him, and Ichigo coughed.

“Yeah. Something caught in my throat,” he said, and grabbed for his water glass again.

“Hmn. Well, he really likes them, and said we can start selling them next week! Isn’t that great? It’s the first recipe that my boss has said is good enough to sell.”

“Yeah, that’s great, Orihime,” Ichigo mumbled and scooped more rice into his mouth. The rice was a little salty too, and briefly he wondered if he needed to talk to her about the dangers of high blood pressure.

“I’m going to try to convince him to sell my special bread, next. I think everyone will love it. I sent some home with Tatsuki yesterday when she stopped for a visit. I should give some to Ishida-kun as well. He’s always so kind with his feedback,” Orihime chattered.

Ichigo hummed his agreement and kept eating. His stomach churned, suddenly, and he took another gulp of water. Pain shot through his head just as suddenly, settling into a spike of agony behind his left eye.

“Oh, we should invite Ishida-kun over for dinner next week! Especially since he wasn’t able to join the party the other day. We can invite Tatsuki and I can cook something special, like a pot pie. Kazui loves it, and I can…”

The churning in Ichigo’s stomach grew stronger and sweat beaded at his temples. He swallowed convulsively and his hand tightened. A hairline crack formed in the glass as he watched, and water seeped out in droplets. His stomach roiled and Ichigo managed a, “Sorry,” before he lurched from his chair and hurried from the room.

“Ichigo!” drifted into the air behind him, and the scrape of a chair and footsteps followed.

The closest bathroom was in the clinic, and he barely managed to get the door shut behind him before he heaved and vomited his dinner into the toilet. His eyes watered and he shook violently as he flushed the mess away. Ichigo grabbed onto the sink with shaking hands and turned the faucet on, scooping cold water into his mouth and spitting to rinse his mouth of the acrid taste.

“Ichigo? Are you alright?”

Her voice grated in his head and Ichigo spit into the sink again as he looked up into the mirror above the sink and recoiled. The sclera of his left eye was black and the iris a thin ring of yellow. “I’ll be fine,” he managed to call in reply. The pain was still throbbing behind his eye and he waited, clinging to the cold, white porcelain of the sink.

His left eye winked at him before returning to normal, and Ichigo sagged, body still shaking. He washed his hands and wiped off his mouth before opening the door to the bathroom.

Orihime was still standing there, a worried expression on her face. “What happened?” she asked, and her soft, high-pitched voice made the pain in his eye worse.

“Sudden migraine,” he mumbled, and backed away from her. “I need – I need to go lie down. I have something for it in the clinic.” She followed him as he walked to the storage room of the clinic and began to dig through the medication samples. There was a two-pack of sumatriptan in a foil sleeve with an expiration date only a month out, and he grabbed that.

“Let me help you to bed then,” Orihime said cheerily, and Ichigo turned suddenly. She was less than a meter away from him and he backed up a step.

“No – better down here,” he mumbled again.

“But Ichigo…”

“Please, just go,” he hissed at her, and she backed away with a hurt look in her eyes. He couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty – his head throbbed too much. He tore open the medication packet and swallowed the two pills dry, swallowing several times to get them down. When he left the storage room the door between the clinic and the house was shut, and Ichigo stumbled to the bed he’d been using for the past few nights. He shut the lights off and fell onto it, eyes shut against the sliver of light coming from around the curtains.

His dreams were full of Zangetsu, staring at him from a mirror.

The seventh night after Rukia’s visit, Ichigo hunkered down in the clinic again. His body shook with fatigue, and he finally broke down and took one of the milder sedatives that he kept on hand at the clinic. In Ichigo’s weakened state he passed out in minutes.

Instead of a nightmare, Ichigo fell into his inner world, landing with a splash in freezing cold water and immediately sinking several meters underneath the surface. He inhaled water in his shock but managed to orient himself and swim up to the surface. It was pouring rain – obviously the source of the water – and Ichigo could see that the water was deep enough to leave only a few meters of most of the skyscrapers above the surface. He swam to one and climbed up, landing on the roof. He coughed up the water he’d inhaled, head bowed against the rain.

“What the hell?” he muttered. “I took a pill, this shouldn’t be happening.”

“Like a pill could keep me out, King,” Zangetsu scoffed. He looked just as he had a decade ago: like an inversion of Ichigo himself, with pure white skin, black sclera, and bright yellow irises. “We’re overdue for a chat. Or did you think I’d just go to sleep forever when you curled up and stopped fighting?”

Ichigo had backed into a defensive stance at Zangetsu’s appearance; even after training with the Zero Division and having his zanpakutō re-forged, he knew the hollow wasn’t entirely tamed. “I…have a family,” he mumbled. “I couldn’t run around like the kid I used to be.”

Zangetsu snorted. “The Queen still fights even though she has a family. Even if it’s with the baboon. So what’s your excuse, King?”

The former substitute Shinigami looked away and focused instead on the endless expanse of his inner world. “Being a shinigami is Rukia’s job. I was just a substitute.” He looked up at the dark gray sky. “It’s been raining here a long time, huh?”

Those words were met with a snarl. “I told ya, it hasn’t stopped fucking raining since ya let the Queen go.”

Ichigo stared at him. “I thought that was just a dream.”

“The part where ya killed your wife and that kid was,” Zangetsu acknowledged. “Obviously. Never had it in ya to kill weaklings.”

Ichigo thought for a second that he should defend Orihime – but Zangetsu wasn’t…entirely wrong about her. “So why am I here, then?” he asked.

“I’m fuckin’ tired of all this rain,” Zangetsu snarled. “Fuckin’ tired of you livin’ like some pansy weakling and hoping I’ll just stay asleep. So it’s the horse’s turn now.”

Ichigo blinked and reached behind his back for his zanpakutō – only to find it wasn’t there. “What the hell? I thought we settled this ten years ago. You can’t just have my body!”

Zangetsu just snickered. “Don’t worry, King. You’ll thank me when I bring back our Queen.”

Ichigo’s jaw dropped, and he leapt at Zangetsu. “Don’t you dare hurt Rukia, you bastard!” Weaponless, he swung at the hollow with a fist and was easily dodged.

“Aren’t ya listening, idiot? Rukia’s the Queen.” The hollow pointed a finger and Ichigo found himself bound by a wave of invisible energy. “Sit tight, King, while I go have some fun.”

Ichigo watched helplessly as Zangetsu disappeared.

Chapter Text

Zangetsu knew that he needed to get out of Ichigo’s body, and that required the old badge. He left the clinic in silence and slunk into the house, then up the stairs. The rest of Ichigo’s family was asleep: the twin girls were in their rooms, and the kid was in Ichigo’s old room. Zangetsu sniffed; the badge wasn’t likely to be in either of those. It had to be in the bedroom Ichigo didn’t share with his wife.

The hollow snarled under his breath at that and walked down the hallway to the largest bedroom in the house. The woman had shut the door; Zangetsu opened it slowly and rolled his eyes when the hinges squeaked loudly.

“Is that you, Ichigo?” a sleepy voice asked from the darkness.

Zangetsu cursed silently. “Yeah,” he mumbled. Even stuck in Ichigo’s body his voice didn’t sound quite like the King’s. “Go back to sleep.”

“Aa – you haven’t come to bed in months, Ichigo.”

Orihime’s voice was soft and small in the darkness, and the pitch of it grated on Zangetsu the way it always had. He rolled his eyes again. But he didn’t actually want to kill the woman.

“Nightmares,” he said gruffly. “Didn’t want to wake you.” He moved further into the bedroom and found the nightstand on the side of the bed where Ichigo slept. He pulled the drawer open and started to dig around.

Orihime sat up in bed and looked at him, hair swirling around her in the breeze from the air conditioner whirring above the window. “What are you looking for?”

Zangetsu raised his eyes to the ceiling and then looked at Orihime, who startled. His hand closed around the badge and he shoved it into his front pocket. “Go back to sleep,” he repeated.

“Your eyes…Ichigo your eyes look different tonight. And your voice is…strange.” Orihime shrank back from him when Zangetsu focused on her. 

Zangetsu snarled and shoved the drawer shut, eliciting a squeak from the woman. He stalked back to the door of the bedroom and pulled it shut behind him as he left, ignoring Orihime’s soft, plaintive call. “Lucky I didn’t rip your throat out,” he grumbled under his breath. The occupants of the other bedrooms were silent, and he walked back downstairs. He shoved Ichigo’s feet into his shoes and then left the Kurosaki home in silence.

Urahara’s place wasn’t a long walk, and Zangetsu actually enjoyed the quiet as he made his way toward his goal. It wasn’t too hot even for late July, and the sky was clear, giving him a view of the crescent moon overhead. Zangetsu took a deep breath with Ichigo’s lungs and smirked. It was a perfect night.

He shoved the door of Urahara’s shop open and crept toward the part of the shop where Hat ‘n Clogs had built his Senkaimon. A noise startled him, and Zangetsu swore under his breath – he needed to be fast. Pulling the old substitute badge from his pocket, he shoved it against his chest and let Ichigo’s body crumple to the floor. Pulling his zanpakutō from his back, Zangetsu shoved it into the space between worlds and turned, opening the Senkaimon. He dashed inside and ran for it, his form a slender shape in the darkness.

Behind him, Yourichi crept into the shop in her feline form just as the doors closed once more. She sniffed at Ichigo’s body and immediately transformed into a human, yelling for Kisuke as she did so.

In the dangai, Zangetsu stopped dead as something broke within his head, like a rubber band snapping when pulled too hard. But he shook it off and cackled, then dashed through the space between worlds. “I’m coming for you, your highness,” he yelled. “And ain’t no monkey going to keep you from me this time.”

In his head, Ichigo gave a howl of his own. What the hell are you doing? Did you just break into Urahara’s shop? What the hell? Don’t you fucking touch Rukia! Or Ichika!

Zangetsu cackled. “Well so long as the baboon is fair game. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt the little princess.” Then he leapt fearlessly from the Senkaimon’s exit into the twilight of Soul Society. He hovered for a moment in the air above the Seireitei and allowed his reiatsu to flare. His eyes gleamed gold and the white mask covering his face reflected the light of the moon – nearly full, here – that hung over the Soul Society.

I thought you called her the Queen, Ichigo thought at him inanely. Zangetsu just snorted and then closed his eyes to search out Rukia Kuchiki’s reiryoku. He flash-stepped closer to it, but stopped when something else tickled against his senses. His eyes opened and he snarled: from his vantage point above the Fourth Division he could see the Sōkyoku Hill. And built into and above the cliff was the Sōkyoku itself. The wooden structure was much larger than the one that Ichigo had destroyed when he was fifteen. “What the fuck?” he demanded. They rebuilt it?! Ichigo shouted from within. His rage fueled Zangetsu’s, and reiatsu poured outwards, filled the air around them with anger.

Below, in the captain’s quarters of the Thirteenth Division, Rukia jolted in her sleep with a gasp. “Ichi---go?” she murmured as the spiritual pressure increased. She rolled over and fell deeper into dreams.

Outside, Zangetsu had been spotted by an unseated member of the Fourth Division who shrieked in fear and scrambled into the coordinated relief station. Within minutes the relief station spilled over with members running in and out of the barracks. Zangetsu spotted Ichigo’s old ally Hanatarō. “He looks…tasty,” he commented.

Don’t hurt him! Ichigo’s voice echoed, and Zangetsu sneered. “Why not? He would make a good snack.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Ichigo said quickly, He helped me save the Queen when they were going to execute her.

“Che, fine. I won’t eat him, then.”

“Attention. Unauthorized presence in the Seireitei above the Fourth Division. Assistance is requested immediately to detain the ryoka,” Lieutenant Kiyone Kotetsu’s voice rang out via Tenteikura.  

“Sounds fun!” Zangetsu exclaimed and pulled his version of Ichigo’s zanpakutō from his back. The shorter of the two blades was an oversized black knife, flat and broad through its body. It resembled a trench knife, although it had a curved, wrapped hilt extending from the back of the blade. The other blade was much larger: well over a meter long, with a wide black blade reminiscent of a Khyber knife. The hilt alone was longer than Zangetsu’s forearm.

Ichigo took that moment, as Zangetsu waited for someone to battle, to try and seize control back from his hollow. Zangetsu’s howl filled the air as he jerked in place, snarling at the orange-haired man whose form he’d possessed. “Not so fast, King,” he snarled. “We’re just getting to the fun part!” White spread down over his neck and chest, and this time Zangetsu howled for the fun of it, the sound echoing across the Seireitei.

There were Shinigami gathering below him, and Zangetsu allowed himself to fall into the pack of them. They were fodder, clearly: unseated officers from who knew what division. He howled, the bone mask shaping into a grin, and though they approached with blades drawn, his blades swung out to scatter them all in one blow. “Weaklings,” he hissed in disgust, and as some of them tried to rise he swung again, slashing chests and kicking them away with black-sandaled feet. Blood sprayed into the air and Zangetsu raised his shorter blade to lick a trickle from the black metal.

There were more where they came from, and Zangetsu laid waste to them all, both blades swinging to shred flesh and destroy whomever they touched. Soon the grounds outside of the relief station were crowded with downed Shinigami, and Zangetsu leapt up from the bloodied soil to look for more exciting opponents. He ignored the Fourth Division pansies who were dragging the wounded away; Ichigo kept yelling in his head about non-combatants and it was less annoying to let the man have his way.

“Kurosaki-san?” That was Lieutenant Matsumoto, her pale hair and pretty pink scarf fluttering as she landed, Haineko drawn. “Lay your zanpakutō down, please. I’d hate to have to hurt you.”

Zangetsu just howled his laughter and leapt at her, swinging his longer blade in an aggressive arc that Matsumoto barely blocked. They exchanged blows twice more before she stepped back and unsealed her zanpakutō with a call of “Growl, Haineko!”, sending a trail of fine ash into the air.

Zangetsu countered with a loud growl of “Getsuga tenshō!” and sent flares of blue reiatsu at the ash, dispersing it and singeing Matsumoto’s uniform. He attacked a second time, using sonido to vanish when the ash seemed to gather, and releasing another series of attacks that cut through the ash and destroyed the ground around Matsumoto even as she leapt away to avoid the blow.

Matsumoto panted, blood dripping down one arm where Zangetsu had caught her. “Kurosaki-san, you have to stop this,” she said calmly, even as Kira and Renji flash-stepped and landed on either side of her.

“Ichigo?!” That was Renji, who approached him mid-air with Zabimaru drawn but lowered. “What the hell?”

Zangetsu cackled. “The baboon is here!” he exclaimed, and sent another series of getsuga tenshō flares at the gathered lieutenants. Renji stared at him in shock as he dodged.

“Raise your head, Wabisuke!” Kira called.

The hollow just snorted. “I remember that blade,” he called. He leapt forward again and sent another series of blasts, following the three lieutenants as they used shunpo to avoid him. The wrapping around the hilt of his longer blade unraveled and Zangetsu sent it flying at Kira, slashing him across the chest – where he’d been grievously wounded during the war. The lieutenant grunted and flew backwards, blood staining his shihakusho. Zangetsu swung the blade from its wrapping again, sending Matsumoto flying as well. “Your turn,” he said, “Queen-stealer.”

Renji scowled. “What the hell does that mean?” Then he ordered, “Howl, Zabimaru!” The blade shifted and he sent it flying at Zangetsu, the segments extending with the shriek of metal on metal.

Zangetsu laughed, Ichigo’s voice overlaid with the higher, bad-radio-reception pitch of a hollow, and blocked Zabimaru with his shorter blade, then with the longer when the sword whipped back around. The third time, he caught the end of Renji’s blade in both of his and used it to drag Renji through the air screaming. The Shinigami crashed into the barracks of the Eighth Division, sending more unseated reapers running as Renji’s landing created a large hole in the building.

When Zangetsu let go, he disappeared and quickly reappeared behind Renji, using his shorter blade to drag a deep gash across his back even as the flying blade of his opponent wrapped around them both. Zangetsu disappeared again and cackled as Renji’s blood spilt over the ground. “Is that all, baboon?” he challenged.

“Ichigo, what the hell is going on?” Renji demanded in response. “I thought you got control of your monster years ago.”

The masked, yellow-eyed figure before him laughed again and howled, sending his longer blade chasing after Renji. “King’s not here right now,” was all he said, as the zanpakutō clashed against Zabimaru and then returned to his hand.

Zangetsu felt more than heard another presence behind him, and the blade swung that way as well, knocking the air out of Matsumoto with the flat of it and sending her flying. “Stay down,” he shouted in her direction.

“Bankai! Sōō Zabimaru!” Renji roared, and Zangetsu grinned.

“If that’s what you want,” he purred, as the smoke cleared around Renji to reveal a smoother, gauntleted sword and a green cowl of fur that hung around his shoulders, ending along one side in a baboon’s arm. “Bankai. Tensa Zangetsu.”

His zanpakutō reformed into one massive blade and Zangetsu’s shihakusho blossomed into a long, black coat. The white bone covering his neck and chest extended further, covering his exposed abdomen as his hair grew longer and shaggier. He fired off a getsuga tenshō almost negligently, but one fingertip pointed and a red cero exploded from it. The two blasts hit Renji almost simultaneously, shearing away the green fur. He leapt forward after Renji and swung his sword, hissing another attack and blocking Renji’s blade before shoving the point of his into the shoulder joint. Renji roared with pain and blood spread out beneath him.

Reiatsu flared in the air and Zangetsu sensed the approach of several captains – but he also sensed the reiatsu of the person he’d come for. “Rukia…” he purred, enraging the Shinigami at the end of his blade.

“Don’t you touch her!” Renji commanded, shoving the hollow away with his zanpakutō and forcing the blade away from his bloodied shoulder.

Zangetsu sneered at him. “Idiot.” His blade bit into Renji’s other shoulder joint, severing nerves and tendons and sending more dark blood spraying into the night. Then he fired off a second cero and left Renji to collapse in a pool of his own blood as he leapt away, searching for Rukia.

As the lieutenants battled and reiatsu hostile and familiar filled the air, Rukia jolted awake, breathing hard. “Ichigo!” she repeated in a scream. The familiar reiatsu was darker than usual, and with her next breath Rukia bolted from the bed. Not Ichigo – his hollow? But it’s –   

Automatically she threw her nightclothes onto the empty bed behind her and changed into her shihakusho. She strapped Sode no Shirayuki to her side and threw her new haori on top, then rushed from her quarters into the garden just outside. Even at this distance several of the unseated members of her division were having trouble standing. “Why did no one wake me?” she demanded, and then ignored the sudden babbling of her third seat, who’d approached as she stood in the garden. “Sentarō, put all seated members of the division on alert.”

Rukia flash-stepped out of her division and toward the source of the flaring reiatsu. It took only a few minutes to arrive at the Fourth Division, where a scene of devastation awaited her. Matsumoto and Kira were both being carried away by members of the Fourth Division. She felt Renji’s presence, off toward the Eighth Division – weakened but there. Resolutely, she turned away. The Fourth would have to help him. She grabbed Hanatarō as he ran by her and sent him in that direction. He was a third seat; he’d be able to help.

Quickly, she sought out Ichigo – Zangetsu – and kept her hand on the hilt of Sode no Shirayuki. She flash-stepped and followed the dark, strong reiryoku – and for just a second, as she had a week ago, Rukia saw a red thread tangled around her and leading away. It led toward Ichigo.

“Rukia,” Zangetsu purred when she found him. He was high above the Seireitei. His clothing had taken a few slashes, but he looked almost totally unharmed – except for being covered in the bone-white skin of a hollow.

“Ichigo,” Rukia shouted. “You have to fight him, Ichigo. I know you wouldn’t do this!”

The hollow laughed, and beckoned Rukia closer. “I’m here to save you, Rukia.” The words echoed those that Ichigo had used so many years ago when he’d taken on the entirety of Soul Society and faced down a soul-destroying blade to rescue her.

“Fool, I’m not in any danger,” Rukia retorted. “Except from you.”

Zangetsu howled, and his reiatsu spiraled into the sky before pushing back down, shoving away the captains who were starting to gather below. “Never,” he hissed. “You are the Queen.”

Rukia took a step back, eyes widening. “What – what do you mean?” she asked. “I am the Captain of the Thirteenth Division. There are no queens here.”

“You abandoned the King,” Zangetsu hissed instead. “Why? Why did you all abandon the King? Why did you keep the princess from him?”

The petite captain’s hand fell to her blade and drew it, holding it before her in a defensive stance. But Zangetsu looked offended instead of aggressive. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said calmly.

Zangetsu flickered out of being and reappeared next to her, one hand – still Ichigo’s hand, he wasn’t fully a hollow yet – on her wrist. “You married the baboon. After all you shared. After your time in the royal realm together,” he hissed.

His reiatsu flared again, pushing away Captains Hirako and Hitsugaya. Rukia looked down at the struggling captains below, shocked that she could breathe easily and stand upright. “We…trained with the Zero Division,” Rukia stammered. “That’s all. Ichigo, you have to fight him!”

“I’m—I’m trying,” came Ichigo’s voice, sounding a thousand miles away and exhausted. Zangetsu howled again, his hand tightening around Rukia’s wrist before releasing.

“You did more than train, Queenie. Or do you not remember what you came back with?”

Rukia stared at the hollow. “I…came back with my bankai,” she said hesitantly. “Ichigo, please. I don’t want to hurt you!”

“May…have to…” Ichigo’s voice came from the bone-white mouth and the hollow’s eyes flickered.

Zangetsu backed away from her and roared, hands tightening around his blades as he bled off even more reiatsu into the air. “You’re lying!” he accused and paced in the air before her. “You abandoned the King and left him to that whining, weak human who couldn’t even call him by his name! You all abandoned him, left him for ten years! Left him in a flood so that we both nearly drowned in it!”

Rukia’s jaw dropped open and her eyes prickled, but she kept Sode no Shirayuki pointed at Zangetsu and forced down the churning inside until her face was placid. “Hollow, I don’t have any idea what you mean. Ichigo wanted a normal life. He loves Orihime. But you need to give Ichigo back right now.”

“Zangetsu, and no, he doesn’t,” the hollow hissed. He plucked at the air, and the red thread appeared between them, tangled and frayed but still connected. “This is what I mean. Don’t lie and say you don’t remember. Don’t give me that bullshit about a normal life.”

Rukia shook her head “I am not lying, Zangetsu. I don’t know what that is.”

The hollow grabbed for her wrist again, deceptively gentle even though white was starting to bleed down the wrist and his fingernails were becoming claws. “WHO stole you from us?” he roared, and Rukia flinched back. The hand gentled further, as if responsive to her fear. “WHO?”

She shook her head violently, long hair flying in the wind. Byakuya was beneath them, and she heard a calm Bankai. Senbonzakura kageyoshi drift up. Millions of sharp sakura blossom petals swirled around them, and with another roar Zangetsu swung his blade, destroying half of them with a single getsuga tenshō. The other half swirled, kept back by the absurdly strong reiatsu he was still expending as if it were nothing. His eyes glared down at Byakuya and he hissed, “You will not hurt the Queen!”, causing the Sixth Division captain’s eyes to widen.

“Ichigo, Ichigo you have to come back,” Rukia whispered, and met Zangetsu’s eyes. “We can figure out whatever is going on, but you need to come back to us.”

Zangetsu snarled and settled the shorter of his blades on his hip. His hand grabbed hers, right over the hilt of Sode no Shirayuki. “I’m done with this shit.” Before Rukia could react, he pulled the zanpakutō from her hand and grabbed her, tossing her over his shoulder. He shoved the bare blade through his obi.

“Ichigo!” Her new position gave her a look down at the ground, where Byakuya and Kyouraku were staring up at the spectacle. She started to recite a kidō.

“Stubborn,” he growled, and swung his blade again, dispelling more of the sharp petals of Senbonzakura. Zangetsu leapt higher into the air and flash-stepped toward the Sōkyoku, Rukia held securely over his shoulder and the words torn from her lips.

Rukia was starting to feel a little nauseated as they traveled and closed her eyes to the fast-moving buildings beneath her. He grabbed Sode no Shirayuki so easily. How? she asked herself. They came to a sudden stop and Zangetsu landed. She opened her eyes and wriggled to try and escape his hold. “Ichigo, what are you doing?”

“King and I are in agreement on this one, Queen. Shinigami bastards built a monument to their own stupidity,” he growled. They were standing atop the rebuilt Sōkyoku, towering hundreds of feet above the rest of the Seireitei. Three of the captains had given chase, and Zangetsu snorted as Kyouraku released his shikai.

“Even you can’t hope to win against the entire Seireitei. Put me down, Ichigo,” Rukia pleaded.

Zangetsu eyed her and jumped a short distance above the Sōkyoku. “Don’t move, Queenie,” he ordered, and shoved his blade down into the crosspiece. “Getsuga tensho!” he roared, and black power crackled down the length of the blade and into the Sōkyoku itself. The white structure shuddered and began to crack, raining shards down onto the ground below.

“Ichigo – Zangetsu – you can’t hope to break it this time, it’s much stronger than the old one.” Rukia’s voice fell unheard as Zangetsu roared, his voice echoing like a hollow’s through the air.

The white wood and stone of the Sōkyoku shattered, shards flying hundreds of feet through the air, and Zangetsu leapt higher into the sky and shunpo’d further away, still carrying Rukia. She could see more shinigami gathering below.

They reached a point higher above the Seireitei and Zangetsu stopped, gently lowering Rukia to the ground beneath them. It was the hill on which she and Ichigo had said their goodbyes once before. Zangetsu’s eyes stared into hers, irises yellow and sclerae blackened. “You have to remember,” he demanded.

“Remember what?” Rukia asked and tried to grab for Sode no Shirayuki. Zangetsu’s free hand grabbed her wrist to stop her and the tangled, frayed thread appeared once more. Something snapped like a rubber band inside her head. Zangetsu touched the thread with one fingertip. “Remember,” he demanded, and the world stopped.

“RUKIA!”

Rukia was falling through a dark sky filled with rain. It hadn’t been raining in the Seireitei.

Ichigo was screaming her name.

Sode no Shirayuki was screaming her name.

Zangetsu howled her name even louder.

She landed with barely a splash and sunk beneath freezing cold water, eyes wide with shock. Bubbles burst from her lips as the impact pushed the air from her lungs, and her eyes followed them as they rose toward the surface. A hand reached for hers and she grabbed it, allowing it to haul her up. A second hand joined the first and Ichigo dragged her from the water onto a wide, slick white surface. He held her up as she took deep breaths and coughed out the water she’d inhaled. “Where…?”

Ichigo – the real Ichigo, orange-haired and mask-free – helped her straighten up. It was still pouring rain, and his hair was plastered to his head; his clothes were plastered to his body. “We’re in my inner world. Not sure how you got here.”

Rukia looked up at him, into amber eyes that softened as they met hers. “Zangetsu…did something.”

The words made him scowl. “If he hurt you, I’ll kill him,” he growled.

Rukia shook her head quickly. “No – he said…he kept calling me the queen. He sounded offended by the idea that he’d hurt me.” She observed how the words made a flush climb up Ichigo’s cheeks despite the freezing rain. “He…he accused me of abandoning you and keeping someone from you. Someone he called a princess.”

Ichigo looked away quickly. “I didn’t see you for years,” he mumbled. “Not since your…wedding.”

Rukia’s head hung down. “I didn’t mean for it to be that long,” she whispered. “But…but I don’t know what he means. Or how he pulled me here.”

“I brought you here to see the flooding and to remember, Queen.” The hollow was in front of them, a white mirror image of Ichigo once more and free of the white bone that had been forming on Ichigo’s body in the outside world.

“Remember what?” Rukia asked again.

“Remember what you were forced to forget.” The words were a whisper of snow and ice. Ichigo and Rukia turned, barely aware that they were clutching one another’s hands. A tall, pale woman stood across from Zangetsu, clad in a white kimono covered in pastel flowers, and a lavender obi wrapped around her waist. A star sapphire sparkled in her hair, which was pulled up into an elaborate design.

“S-Sode no Shirayuki?” Rukia whispered. “How are you here? This…shouldn’t be possible.”

The zanpakutō looked upon her wielder soberly. “The red string. It is tangled but still intact, and when Zangetsu brought you here, I was pulled along as well.”

Zangetsu’s wild eyes softened as he looked at Shirayuki and nodded in agreement. “Sorry about that, snow lady.”

Rukia mouthed snow lady, really?

The other zanpakutō spirit waved a delicate hand in forgiveness and offered him a smile from behind her kimono sleeve. “It was necessary, Zangetsu-san.” Rukia’s eyebrows raised at the demure and nearly flirtatious behavior of her zanpakutō.

“What’s happening back outside?” Ichigo demanded. “Weren’t you trying to destroy half the Seireitei?”

“Fear not, Kurosaki-san. Time passes differently here. Not even a second has passed by in the Soul Society.”

“That’s great,” Ichigo replied, “but exactly what was Rukia forced to forget and why did it suddenly make Zangetsu go on a rampage after ten years?” He left unsaid, and how am I going to fix the fact that I beat three lieutenants, including Renji, half to death, if I can take back control?

“You were both forced to forget,” Shirayuki corrected. “But now you must remember.”

Rukia swooned as a sudden wave of dizziness passed over her, and Ichigo cushioned her with his body as the same wave sent him to the ground. Darkness took them both.

“If you remember, why didn’t you tell her?” Zangetsu growled.

Sode no Shirayuki lifted an arm and the sleeve of her kimono covered her face for a moment. “I am ashamed, Zangetsu-san,” she whispered. “But I was bound as well.”

Yellow reiatsu billowed up from Zangetsu and he turned to her. “They bound you? Bound a captain’s zanpakutō?”

Shirayuki pursed her lips. “She has only been a captain for seven days,” she reminded him.

Left unsaid: it had only taken seven days for things to start falling apart.

Chapter Text

Ichigo found himself outside the door of Rukia’s chambers with tea and snack cakes on a tray handed to him by Kirio Hikifune, who had told him to share with “the tiny Shinigami who needed feeding.” Ichigo knocked lightly on the door.

It slid open a moment later, and Rukia looked up at him. She was already dressed for bed, having shed her shihakusho for a pale blue nightgown and a snow white, floral-embroidered kosode. “Ichigo?” she asked quietly.

“Kirio-san sent me with tea,” Ichigo explained, lifting the tray. He was wearing pajama pants already, with a plain, black cotton kosode on top. The kosode was wrapped around him loosely, allowing the top of his chest to peek through.

Rukia flushed pink but opened the door wider. “Aa,” she said, by way of agreement. “Please.”

Ichigo stepped around her and set the tray down on a low table. He waited for Rukia to shut the door and sit before he joined her, sitting cross-legged across from her. The tea set Hikifune had provided was one of the most delicate works of porcelain he had ever seen. The porcelain was thin and translucent at the rim of each cup, and painted with a needle-thin ring of gold. The outside of each cup blossomed into an array of deep blue cherry blossoms. The tea pot was more modest, with only a single blossom on each side. Ichigo set one of the cups in front of Rukia and poured for her before filling his own cup. He set the tea pot to the side and pushed the plate of cookies toward her with a nudge.

Rukia picked up her cup and held it carefully as she inhaled the scent from the steaming liquid. “Hojicha,” she murmured. “Although it smells a little…different.”

“Kirio-san said it would strengthen us. I think it’s like her food, filled with her reiatsu. She said the cookies would do the same,” Ichigo explained. “She sent shiroi koibito.” Ichigo’s cheeks heated and he took a sip of his tea, swearing quietly when it was too hot and burnt his tongue.

“She didn’t send anything for Renji and Nii-sama?” Rukia asked.

“She might have. They’re staying in another guest house that’s pretty far from ours. She stopped me in the hallway, shoved the tray into my hands, and told me that you must need feeding because you’re so short.”

“Idiot,” Rukia shot back. “Stop calling me short.”

Ichigo set his cup down and put his hands on his knees. “She called you short! I’m just repeating what she said.”

“Hmph. Well, at least she was nice enough to send cookies,” Rukia mumbled. She picked up one of the cookies and bit it in half. “These are delicious,” she admitted when she’d chewed and swallowed.

“Yeah? I guess they would be – her cooking is some of the best I’ve ever had. Just don’t tell Yuzu that,” Ichigo ordered. He selected a cookie as well.

They were quiet for a time, sipping tea and eating the cookies. Ichigo poured a second cup for each of them, and he leaned back from the table. “It won’t be long now,” he said quietly. “I think they’ll send us back to Soul Society in the morning. I hope the rest of the Gotei are ready for what’s coming.”

Rukia nodded slowly. “I agree.” Her expression darkened, and she stared into her tea. “I’m sure they will be. Are you, Ichigo?”

Ichigo straightened up and set his cup back on the table. “I have you with me,” he pointed out, “And I have my true zanpakutō now. We’ve been training.”

Rukia hummed under her breath and took a sip of tea. “Ichigo…” Her tone drew his eyes to her, and they met across the table. “You may not have me during the war. There are so many of the Quincy. And their king is…formidable.”

“I always have you, Rukia. I told you before that we’re connected, here.” Without thinking, Ichigo reached across his table and one fingertip touched the center of Rukia’s chest, just between her breasts. They both blushed at the contact, and Ichigo pulled his hand back. Rukia grasped it before he could draw it out of reach. “S—”

“Don’t apologize,” Rukia said quietly. “We’ve always been connected. And if it helps you win…Ichigo, you need to win.”

That drew a small smile from the orange-haired shinigami, and he leaned forward, their hands still clasped together and eyes still meeting. “We’ll win, Rukia. And if we get separated, I’ll come back to you. And you’ll come back to me.”

“Yes,” Rukia whispered. They leaned in nearly at the same time and met over the table. Her eyes fluttered shut as their lips touched. It was nearly chaste at first, just a press of skin against skin, but then Ichigo deepened it, his mouth slanting over hers and his body leaning up to tug her closer. He tasted of tea and the white chocolate from the cookies, Rukia decided, and something more underneath that.

Eventually, it was clear that the table was an obstacle, and Ichigo shoved it out of the way with his free hand to pull Rukia closer still. She came willingly, and Ichigo’s arm wrapped around her waist as her tongue darted out to find his. One – or maybe both of them – moaned, and suddenly Rukia was in his lap, pressed against him from the chest down.

When Ichigo finally pulled back for air, his breathing uneven, Rukia met his eyes despite the blush in her cheeks. “Is this okay?” he asked. “We can stop, if…”

Rukia nodded quickly. “More than okay. I don’t want to stop,” she said in a rush, and leaned up to kiss him again. Their initial kisses and Ichigo’s work to pull her close had loosened her kosode, and it draped open, leaving only Rukia’s thin nightgown between them. Ichigo murmured an agreement into her mouth and pulled her closer, making them both gasp when her breasts pressed against his bare chest. Her hand found the back of his neck and threaded into the locks of hair at his nape.

Ichigo pulled away an indeterminate amount of time later, and Rukia made a noise of complaint in her throat, but his lips trailed down her neck instead and his teeth nibbled at the soft skin where her neck and shoulder met. Rukia’s hand left the back of his neck and she peeled his kosode from one shoulder; Ichigo reluctantly dropped her hand from his to help, pulling the fabric from his body and letting it fall behind them. His hands found the white fabric of her kosode and pulled, but gently. “Is this okay?” he asked again, his voice rough.

At Rukia’s murmur of assent his long fingers swept between them to fully undo the tie at her waist. His hands came back up to her shoulders and his palms pushed the fabric down, but slowly, gently, as if she might change her mind. Her arms were bare, and when she shivered involuntarily with a sudden chill, Ichigo’s hands rubbed along her forearms and then her biceps softly, before sweeping back up to cradle her face and kiss her again, just once. He leaned back a little to look at her.

Rukia lowered her eyes, hiding them from him beneath long eyelashes.

“Beautiful,” Ichigo whispered, and claimed her mouth with his again. She shifted into him, legs straddling his lap, and Ichigo moaned involuntarily. Rukia pushed closer, rubbing her center against his, and Ichigo tore his mouth from hers to groan, hiding the noise against her neck.

“Ichigo,” Rukia murmured finally.

“Do you want me to stop?” Ichigo pulled back and met her eyes with his. His pupils were blown wide, and he was hard against her, but he looked ready to back off if she said so. Even though his hands were shaking against her skin.

“No. I want you to stay. I want you to stay with me tonight.” Rukia’s cheeks flushed pink at the words.

That was all Ichigo needed to hear. He lifted her from his lap and stood, then pulled her into his arms again before Rukia could complain. There was a low platform bed just beyond a pair of shoji dividers, and Ichigo carried her toward it. He had to shake them both free of her kosode, which had gotten caught between them. Then he caught his foot in the fabric from his and needed to hop on the other foot to dislodge it, making them both laugh. Eventually he laid her on the comforter and left her only long enough to slide the dividers shut.

When he returned to the bed, Rukia had taken off her nightgown, and the sight of her nearly ended things prematurely for them both. The bedroom was dimly lit by a few sconces, and the low light made Rukia’s skin glow. Ichigo joined her on the bed and worked his pajama pants off, leaving them both bare to one another.

Rukia’s eyes swept over him. There were scars, despite Kirinji’s hot spring; she knew that she had some as well. Most prominent was the line in the center of his chest where she’d stabbed him – twice – to first give and then restore his powers. Her fingertips reached out to touch it, and Ichigo’s hand pressed hers against his skin in response. There was another scar that wrapped over his shoulder where Renji had thrust his zanpakuto, and another…Rukia pulled away from that line of thought and her eyes drifted downward.

She reached for him, or maybe Ichigo reached for her, but they met in the middle of the bed with nothing to separate them. For a moment he just held her, arms cradling her smaller body against his. When their eyes met again, he smiled down at her and murmured, “I love you.”

The words sent a wave of warmth through Rukia, and she leaned into him. “I love you too. I…want you to touch me.” Their lips found one another again and Ichigo murmured something unintelligible against her mouth.

His hands found her breasts first, but then one swept along her waist and down to the back of her knee. He tugged, just a little, to make more room for himself, and lowered his mouth to worship. Rukia’s hands slid through his hair as he laved first one nipple and then the other with his tongue, then began to suck. His hand left her knee and slipped inwards, fingertips tracing along her inner thigh before finding the very center of her.

A hitched gasp met his ears, and Ichigo lifted his head to meet Rukia’s eyes with his heavy-lidded ones. “Okay?” he asked again.

“Yes,” she whispered, and her hands pulled him closer to kiss him again before her mouth trailed down his neck. Rukia bit, gently, pulling a low groan from Ichigo, who retaliated by rubbing his fingers purposefully over her clit until Rukia was moaning and trembling just a little beneath him as jolts of pleasure shot through her.

“Oh, you do like that,” he murmured into her ear. “Maybe…this?” His hand adjusted between them so that one finger could slide into her heat. “God, you’re wet,” he groaned and his mouth found hers again, licking into her as his thumb brushed over her clit again.

“Y-yes,” Rukia gasped, and her arms slid around his shoulders, nails biting into his back before she pulled away to reach down and grasp him. Her hand was like a lightning rod; Ichigo jerked into her fist and his moan pulled an echoing one from Rukia even as she pumped.

“I won’t last long if you do that,” Ichigo warned, even as he slid a second finger into her and pumped, curling them until Rukia rocked her hips up, up, looking for more from him. Ichigo bit her lower lip and rubbed more firmly, finding a rhythm. “Yeah?” he asked, but the word wasn’t a request for permission. “Do you want more?”

Rukia moaned a wordless assent and Ichigo grinned against her lips, pumping his fingers into her more swiftly. His free hand fell to the bed to brace himself above her, giving them both more room. “Open your eyes,” he mumbled into her mouth and when Rukia did, startled at the demand, Ichigo stared into hers as he pushed against a spot that made her head tilt back and her mouth drop open. He pulled a keening sound from her as she saw stars. “Again,” he whispered, and rubbed harder. “I want…” Ichigo didn’t finish the sentence, he just kissed her again and swallowed her next moan. His fingers pulled out and spread her wetness over her skin, then dove back in.

Rukia was reduced to high-pitched noises, although her hand still pumped him, trying to share with him the pleasure that he was giving her. But hers spiraled up, and her hand fell away as Ichigo pressed just right. Pleasure washed over her in a wave that shook her entire body, rippling outwards as she keened through an orgasm that sent her inner walls clenching tightly around Ichigo’s fingers.

Ichigo swallowed her moans, whispering, “Yes, just like that, Rukia,” against her mouth. His fingers worked her through it until Rukia collapsed, shaking, beneath him and her eyes opened again, heavy-lidded and the violet of her irises only thin rings around blown-wide pupils. She’d been clutching the bedclothes with one hand; the other was on his shoulder, nails biting into his skin. 

“I want—” Their eyes met and Rukia reached for him again, pulling him closer, closer. One leg hooked around his hips and Ichigo dipped his head down to bite her shoulder gently.

“You want?” he asked against her skin.

Rukia’s cheeks burned bright red, but she looked him in the eyes when he lifted his head once more. “I want you inside of me.”

Ichigo needed no encouragement: his fingers slid away, and he used her slick to pump himself once, twice, before his palm wrapped around her hip and pulled her closer. “Have you…?”

“Not…not in a very long time.” Suddenly awkward, Rukia looked away.

“I just don’t want to hurt you,” Ichigo murmured, and his lips brushed hers. He shifted, and then pushed, but gently, gently, as Rukia’s mouth dropped open again and she clutched at him. “You’re so, so wet,” he whispered against her neck, groaning as she enveloped him.

Rukia used the leg wrapped around his hips to pull him in deeper, and they groaned together as he bottomed out inside of her. Her head fell backwards against a pillow and she shook at the feeling of utter fullness, of being so close to Ichigo that they were one being. Their reiatsu spilled out and filled the room, twining together as intimately as their bodies. Ichigo stayed still like that for a long moment, his breathing harsh in the silence of the bedroom. He slid a hand around to the back of her neck and claimed her mouth again, until Rukia demanded against his lips, “I need you to move, Ichigo, I need…”

Then they were moving together, Ichigo pumping inside of her with long, slow thrusts that left them both gasping for air. “More,” Rukia whispered, and Ichigo used her hip to pull her closer. Their bodies slapped together in the warming air, sweat making them slick against one another.

She could feel tension spiraling within her once more, and Ichigo seemed to sense it too, because his hand fled from her hip and found her clit again, rubbing quickly even as he thrust into her. They were short, sharp thrusts that made Rukia’s breath come out in little shrieks that he swallowed, and he whispered into her mouth, “Come with me,” as his fingers pushed, his cock filling her. He stayed there a moment, grinding against her and whispered again, “Come with me, Rukia.”

Rukia shook beneath him, whispering “Uh-huh,” into his mouth. She didn’t recognize her own voice, but it didn’t matter because Ichigo had found that spot again and she spiraled up, up, up and then a second orgasm crashed through her in a wave that Ichigo found too, his thrusts short as he groaned her name into her mouth and wet heat rushed into her with his release. Their reiatsu spiraled with them and crashed down, blowing out the sconces and sending the shoji dividers creaking.

They came back to themselves slowly, when Ichigo lifted his weight from her and turned them so that Rukia was draped over him. “I love you,” he murmured again, and kissed her forehead. His arms pulled her in tight, and Rukia let her head fall to his chest, arm wrapping around him to pull him closer as well.

“I love you too.”

They drifted together for a while, eventually rousing themselves in the middle of the night to crawl beneath the covers and make love a second time. Their reiatsu still lingered in the air, sinking into the walls around them. A bright red thread, fine as silk, drifted in and out of existence around them as they slept.

In the morning, Ichigo kissed Rukia awake and they made love a third time languidly, their reiatsu melding one last time. “Stay with me,” Ichigo whispered into her mouth when they were still again.

“There’s a war,” Rukia reminded him. Her lips were kiss-swollen and she looked as relaxed as Ichigo had ever seen her, despite the subject.

“After the war,” he corrected. “Whether it’s in Soul Society, or the world of the living, or even Hueco Mundo. Say you’ll stay with me.”

Rukia snorted. “Hueco Mundo? Idiot.” But then she softened again. “Yes. Yes, I’ll stay with you.”

They bathed together, then dressed in silence before righting the room. With one more kiss, Ichigo slipped from Rukia’s quarters and into the room he’d been assigned to exchange his nightclothes for a clean shihakusho. He didn’t notice the eyes watching him.

In the end, it was Ichigo, Ishida, and Aizen who defeated Yhwach. Aizen’s illusion created a perfect distraction and as Renji waited in bankai to keep Yhwach from escaping, Ishida shot an arrow into Ychwach’s heart. Ichigo, whose reiatsu warmed the very air around him, leapt forward and even as his cracked zanpakutō broke to reveal another beneath it, Ichigo roared and his getsuga tenshō, his bankai, sliced Yhwach to pieces.

Afterwards, Rukia and Ichigo found each other again. They half-carried one another, both dripping blood from a dozen wounds. Ichigo’s shihakusho was falling apart, leaving his arms uncovered and his chest bare to the waist. Rukia had fared a little better, but she’d lost both of her tekko and the right leg of her hakama was sheared off at mid-thigh.   

“Do you think it’s really over?” Rukia asked as they landed outside of what used to be the Eighth Division barracks. Ichigo’s arm wrapped around her waist to pull her closer, and not coincidentally he applied pressure to a hastily-bandaged slash along her side.

“He said he would find us in our happiest moment,” Ichigo said quietly. He set off toward the Fourth Division, hoping it was still there. They’d left Inoue to heal more seriously wounded combatants. “I killed him, but…”

Rukia shifted closer. “Do you think it’s even possible?”

“If it is, we’ll just – have to beat him again.” Ichigo’s lips brushed her temple. “So long as it’s not right now. You need to get that shoulder looked at.”

“Fool. Your wounds are worse than mine,” Rukia retorted, but there was no heat in her voice.

Renji had landed behind them, but he said nothing. His lips tightened at the way Ichigo and Rukia held one another.

Rukia and Ichigo staggered, Renji trailing behind them, into the courtyard of the Fourth Division. The damage was extensive, but it looked like the relief station had been, if not spared, not completely destroyed. Unohana was gone; so many others were gone. But Hanatarō was there, and with a new maturity in his eyes he guided them to empty beds next to one another and left to assign healers to them. He ushered Renji in another direction and the Sixth Division lieutenant looked over his shoulder as he followed Hanatarō.

It was when Ichigo and Rukia were both being healed by members of the Fourth Division that it happened. Under sedation, and under the watchful eye of someone shadowed in darkness, the part of Rukia’s mind that remembered and treasured the newest evolution of her relationship with Ichigo was blocked off. And through a process known only to that person, Sode no Shirayuki was bound from telling her Shinigami wielder what had happened.

The process having been successful, they repeated the procedure on an unconscious Ichigo Kurosaki, sealing away all memory of their night in the Soul King’s palace. They couldn’t completely bind Zangetsu, but their assailant pronounced the second procedure a success as well.

Given everything that had happened, no one investigated too closely when the Fourth Division’s ninth seat was found dead, apparently by suicide, a week later.

Within Ichigo’s inner world, Rukia stirred first, but it was Ichigo who sat them up as he woke, an arm wrapped around Rukia’s shoulders as he held her against his chest. He stared at Zangetsu and Sode no Shirayuki. His head was bowed. Sode no Shirayuki, the most beautiful zanpakutō in all of Soul Society, was crying. Tears ran down her cheeks and turned to ice, falling and shattering as they hit the ground.

“Why?” Ichigo demanded. His fingers flexed against Rukia’s shoulder. The rain became a deluge, erasing both zanpakutō spirits from his sight before Sode no Shirayuki conjured a covering of ice to deflect it.

“We do not know, Kurosaki-san.” Shirayuki sighed. “Zangetsu-san, you are right, this rain is nearly unbearable.”

“Well excuse me for being upset that my allies apparently erased my memory and Rukia’s and tore us apart,” Ichigo snarled.

“Time’s short, King. What are you going to do to stop the rain?” Zangetsu asked. “Before we all drown.”

“Burn down the entire Seireitei,” Ichigo growled under his breath, but Rukia’s hand on his chest stilled him.

“Nii-sama,” she said, though her cheeks were pale and eyes red-rimmed. She pulled away from him, but only slightly, and dried her eyes. “Nii-sama will help us, once he realizes what happened.”

Ichigo snorted. “He probably wanted it to happen. He hurried your marriage to Renji along, didn’t he?”

Rukia ducked her head. “I don’t think so,” she whispered. “It wasn’t entirely…voluntary. The Kuchiki elders insisted I marry. They never explained why. Renji and I don’t – Nii-sama insisted that he live in the Sixth Division barracks. He sends him away on long-term missions.”

Ichigo’s hand squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll talk about that later. There’s…a lot to talk about later. If you think Byakuya will help, then we’ll ask him first. Hopefully he’ll listen and won’t just set Senbonzakura on me,” he grumbled.

They stood, and Ichigo looked at Zangetsu. “You’re going to have to hand control back over, partner.”

Zangetsu smirked. “I like having control. You haven’t been any fun in ten years.”

“Yeah, well. Rukia and I have to talk to some of these assholes, and I can’t do that if you’re throwing ceros around.” Rukia mumbled something about him calling Byakuya an asshole, and Ichigo grunted.

The hollow shrugged. “Have it your way, King. Go find out why they took the Queen from you.”

Ichigo nodded, his mouth set in a firm line, and he grasped Rukia’s hand. “And Zangetsu…thanks.”

They both faded, leaving Zangetsu and Sode no Shirayuki alone for a moment under a melting ice shield.

“You did not tell them the rest,” Shirayuki pointed out.

Zangetsu sighed heavily and looked over at her. “Snow lady, if we’d told them that, not even your ice would be enough to keep us all from drowning.”

The elegant spirit gave a nod of agreement, and then she, too, faded away, leaving Zangetsu to search for higher ground. “This better work,” he grumbled.  

The world started moving again. The white skin and bone spreading over Ichigo’s body shattered, and his reiryoku fluctuated wildly before stabilizing. Rukia came back to herself as well, and they stared into one another’s eyes for a long moment.

“Kurosaki-kun. Did you have fun destroying my old barracks?” Kyōraku Soutaicho was only a few feet away. He was still wearing his trademark straw hat and floral kosode over his haori, and he looked deceptively cheerful despite the devastation Zangetsu had wrought.

The larger of Ichigo’s zanpakutō came up, shielding Rukia, and she pulled Sode no Shirayuki from his obi. “Dance, Sode no Shirayuki,” she said in a low voice, and the blade shone pure white as a long, white ribbon spilled from its hilt.

“Kyōraku Soutaicho,” Ichigo greeted. He glanced at Rukia’s brother. “Byakuya.”

“Would you care to explain why you attacked three fukutaicho and nearly killed mine?” Byakuya asked calmly. “And kidnapped my sister,” he added.

“Only from the people who keep trying to destroy the Queen in the first place.” Ichigo’s words distorted as Zangetsu made himself known again. “Did you know that someone sealed some of Rukia’s memories, just after the war?” Ichigo demanded. He watched Byakuya’s eyes widen slightly.

“Rukia, is this true?”

Rukia’s blade came up, and she, too, stared at her brother and Kyōraku. “My memories were blocked, and Sode no Shirayuki was bound so that she could not awaken them. When Zangetsu saw me in the world of the living several days ago, our proximity must have awoken him and he realized what happened.” Her eyes narrowed. “Did you give anyone permission to bind my zanpakutō, Kyōraku Soutaicho?”

“Yare yare, Rukia-chan,” Kyōraku chided. “That is a grave accusation.”

Rukia tossed her head, black hair flaring around her; her blade, white ribbon gleaming in the moonlight, rose higher. “Something was stolen from us both. And I will know who did it, and why,” she said, voice flat and eyes staring both men down.

Chapter Text

For the second time in a single night, a pair of doors opened over the Seireitei. Urahara Kisuke, his dark green haori flapping in the wind, leapt out first. He was followed by Shihouin Yoruichi, dressed in a close-cut orange shirt and black leggings.

“I see Ichigo’s been here already,” Yoruichi commented as they landed outside of the Fourth Division.

Urahara straightened up and turned his head toward the Fourth Division courtyard, where members of the division were already starting the clean-up process. “I suppose he has,” he agreed. He raised his head and set off in the direction of the destroyed Sōkyōku, with Yoruichi following close behind.

On the cliff high above the Seireitei, Ichigo kept his eyes on Kyōraku and Byakuya. Zangetsu still roared inside him – and Rukia’s reiatsu, normally so under control, told him more than her words that she was nearly as angry. “Well?” he asked. His sandal scuffed on the ground as he shifted his weight, blades at the ready.

“We too late to join the party, Soutai—Ichigo? Kuchiki Taicho?”

Ichigo stifled a groan. Ikkaku was standing in the air above them, sealed zanpakutō held over one shoulder. The man was as bald as ever, but he had the badge of a fukutaicho wrapped around one arm. Yumichika was with him, hair cut in a bob and a white cape fluttering around his shoulders. “Ikkaku. Yumichika,” he greeted, but kept his blades up. He exchanged a glance with Rukia, and her amethyst eyes were dark and troubled.

“Guess you haven’t gotten rusty after all these years,” Ikkaku drawled, but his eyes darted between Ichigo and Rukia, and he kept his zanpakutō sheathed.

There were others gathering around them; even if he couldn’t see them, Ichigo could feel their reiatsu around him. But he’d been powerful beyond even Aizen’s wildest dreams, once, and he didn’t even care to try and control what he put out. So he let the reiatsu around him spiral high and knock the weaker of the shinigami surrounding them on their asses.

Kyōraku wiped his brow and glanced up at the two men from the Eleventh Division, then at Shinji and Hitsugaya, who were poised but hanging back at a distance. “You’re quite surrounded, Kurosaki,” he pointed out.

But Ichigo bared his teeth as he growled, “I’d rather not fight all of you again. Had enough of that when I was fifteen. But I will if it means keeping Rukia safe from whoever did this.” He really didn’t want to fight his way out of Soul Society – Zangetsu had put down three fukutaicho without much of a struggle, but Ichigo hadn’t swung his blades in years. Don’t be an idiot, King, came Zangetsu’s voice once more. ‘Course I’ll help if we have to break the Queen out. And Shirayuki wants to freeze them all.

Byakuya’s eyes met his, and then fell on Rukia once more as he sealed his zanpakutō and sheathed it, then turned to Kyōraku. “Kyōraku Soutaicho. It is a crime to tamper with another’s zanpakutō without reason, and we must investigate both this accusation and the accusation of memory-stealing.”

Kyōraku pushed his hat up with his thumb and looked at Ichigo and Rukia. “He injured three of our fukutachio,” he said to Byakuya, “while under the control of his own zanpakutō. Including yours, Kuchiki Taicho. And he has caused extensive damage to the Eighth and Fourth divisions and destroyed the Sōkyōku.”

Byakuya just kept his eyes on Kyōraku as he said, “If what Kurosaki Ichigo and Rukia say is true, then his zanpakutō has uncovered a crime against a noblewoman and a leader of the Gōtei 13. Not to mention the man who saved Soul Society. As you may well recall, Kyōraku Soutaicho.” His voice was steady, but his hand was on the hilt of Senbonzakura.

“Hn,” Kyōraku said, and took his hand from his own blade. “I never did like the fact that we rebuilt that thing.”

“May I suggest that we adjourn to the assembly hall and summon Kotetsu Taicho?” Byakuya asked.

“No,” Rukia objected, and raised her chin. “We will speak here, not shrouded in secrets.”

Kyōraku raised an eyebrow and glanced upwards at the four other Shinigami who stood on the air above them. “You’re sure you want to do this here?”

Ichigo shrugged, though he didn’t lower his blades. “Like Rukia said. No more shrouding things in secrets.” He pitched his voice to carry through the air around them. Then he met Byakuya’s eyes and nodded solemnly. “Thank you.” He didn’t apologize for hurting Renji; Zangetsu howled inside of him that the other Shinigami couldn’t possibly be blameless.

Byakuya lifted his hand and a hell butterfly landed on it a moment later, then took off once more, flying toward the Fourth Division.

“Rukia,” Byakuya said in a low voice. Ichigo stared at Byakuya until the older man spoke again. “Rukia,” Byakuya repeated, “I am sorry.”

Rukia looked at him, long hair twining and tangling in the gust of wind that flattened the long grass around them. “Nii-sama?” she asked quietly.

The Kuchiki clan head stared into the distance beyond the cliff and would not meet her gaze. “I should have known that the threads were tangled. I promised not to allow anyone to hurt my pride, and yet again it has fallen to Kurosaki to correct my failings.” After that somewhat cryptic statement, he turned back to Kyōraku, hand still on the hilt of his blade, and nodded.

Ichigo and Rukia exchanged a look and his shoulder lightly brushed against hers.

“Now then,” Kyōraku started. He tipped his hat back up to better look at them with his good eye. “What’s this about stealing memories and binding zanpakutō? And then, Kurosaki, you can explain why you came here without an invitation and attacked us all.”

Ichigo cleared his throat. “While Rukia and I were training with the Zero Division, we…” His cheeks reddened. “We decided to begin a relationship. After we defeated Yhwach, we went to the Fourth Division to find someone who could heal us. Inoue was already…dealing with others.”

Above them, Yumichika nudged Ikkaku, hard, and the bald man rolled his eyes.

“One of the seated officers sedated us both,” Rukia explained. “Then he, and someone else – I don’t know who – sealed away our memories of what had happened. They sealed away the memories of how we felt.

“Tonight, when Ichigo arrived in the Seireitei, his zanpakutō pulled me – and Sode no Shirayuki – into Ichigo’s inner world. Zangetsu must have managed to undo the binding that had been placed on Sode no Shirayuki. Without the binding, they were able to return our memories to us,” Rukia finished.

Byakuya’s eyes narrowed. “You agreed to be together?”

Rukia nodded shortly. “I am sure that Ichigo would have asked for your blessing after the war, if we had not been attacked.” She didn’t even have to kick Ichigo to get him to nod in agreement.

“Instead, I went back to the world of the living and, after Rukia married Renji right after the war, and then I never heard from anyone in Soul Society at all…I started seeing Orihime.”

Rukia’s hand tightened on the hilt of Sode no Shirayuki, and ice-cold reiatsu kicked up around her.

“And so, Kurosaki, how did you end up here tonight?” Kyōraku was looking at them carefully. “Your wife had soul tickets, after all. You didn’t need to break in.”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow at Kyōraku. “I don’t know what those are. When Rukia, Renji, and Ichika came to visit something must have woken up Zangetsu,” Ichigo rolled his shoulders. “He took over my body a week later and came here to take Rukia back.”

“Your hollow decided to kidnap my sister?” A threatening tone had entered Byakuya’s voice.

Ichigo grimaced. “Zangetsu thought Rukia was in danger. He seemed to know that her memories had been bound. And he keeps referring to a princess as well.”

“Orihime?” Rukia asked quietly, but Ichigo shook his head.

“Zangetsu, uh, never calls her that. What he calls Orihime isn’t very nice.” Ichigo cleared his throat. Pretender, Zangetsu hissed in his mind.

Rukia’s head shot up and she looked at Ichigo oddly. “Was Zangetsu just speaking?” she asked in a whisper.

Byakuya’s face drained of all color, but he stayed silent as Kyōraku asked, “And the best way to “rescue” Kuchiki Taicho was to attack us?”

“Ah – I think he actually was just looking for Rukia, but Urahara’s senkaimon let him – me – out over the Fourth Division. I guess Kotetsu Taicho didn’t recognize me and she called for assistance to remove an intruder. He saw that the Sōkyoku had been rebuilt,” Ichigo glanced at Kyouraku, “And then when some of the unseated Shinigami from the Eighth started attacking me, Zangetsu…did what he does best.”

Kotetsu Isane landed on the grassy cliff, haori billowing around her and chin-length white hair swaying in the strong breeze. Hanataro landed behind her and scrambled to keep his balance.

“Kotetsu Taicho,” Kyōraku greeted.

Isane bowed to him but her hands fell to her hips and she glared at Ichigo. “You destroyed my courtyard,” she said flatly, “and injured a dozen men.”

“We’ll get to that,” Byakuya said calmly. “Kurosaki Ichigo and Kuchiki Taicho claim that their memories were tampered with by a member of your division after the blood war.”

Isane looked over at them, eyes wide. “The aftermath was chaos,” she said. “There were so many dead. Captain Unohana was gone, and it fell to the rest of us to sort out who could be saved.” She paused. “We lost more than one member of the Fourth to the stress of it all.” She looked at Kyōraku.

Kyōraku’s voice turned serious, and he focused on Isane as he said, “I want to know what healing procedures the Fourth used on Ichigo Kurosaki and Rukia Kuchiki.”

Isane exchanged a look with Hanatarō, who swallowed. “I cared for Ichigo and Captain Kuchiki,” he volunteered, “When they first arrived at the relief station. They both had serious injuries, and Ichigo was suffering from acute exhaustion. I cast two basic healing kido to slow blood loss, and then assigned our ninth seat at the time, Yosuke Ito.” He frowned briefly. “Unfortunately, Ito-san died only a week after the war ended.”

Ichigo’s shoulders slumped. “So we can’t ask him what he did. Were other division members assigned to us?”

Hanatarō shrugged helplessly. “It was so chaotic, Ichigo. Ito-san may have pulled in unseated members of the division, but we were shorthanded.” He looked down. “I’m sorry that I didn’t assign myself to the task.”

“Perhaps Mayuri Taicho can discover more,” Kyōraku suggested, but Ichigo growled at the other man’s words.

“I won’t let him touch either of us. He should have been executed as a war criminal,” Ichigo bit out, and Zangetsu howled within him.

Urahara and Yoruichi landed on the grass lightly as Ichigo finished speaking.

“Urahara-san,” Kyōraku greeted. “We’re playing host to all sorts of unexpected visitors tonight.”

Urahara bowed slightly in greeting and swept closer, his eyes shadowed by the green and white striped hat on his head. “Kyōraku,” he responded. “Kotetsu Taicho, Kuchiki Taicho…and Kuchiki Taicho, of course.” He turned his head. “And Ichigo. I’d have stayed awake if I knew you needed my senkaimon. I thought I’d come see if I could help.”

Ichigo glanced away. “Ah…long story.”

Quickly, Rukia summarized what had happened, cheeks blushing when Urahara whipped out his ubiquitous hand fan and grinned behind it. But he sobered quickly. “Memory tampering is serious. Especially for you, Kuchiki.” He glanced at Kyōraku. “How can I help?”

“Can you verify whether the memories “recovered” by Kurosaki-san and Kuchiki Taicho are real?” Isane asked.

“Can you figure out who did this?” Ichigo demanded. “Whoever it was took…” He stopped, teeth clenched, and lowered his head. The red thread appeared, tangled and knotted as it wrapped around Ichigo and Rukia, and everyone on the cliff fell silent until it vanished again. When Ichigo looked up again Byakuya’s face was as white as milk, and even Urahara and Kyōraku looked pale and stunned.

“Yes, Ichigo, I can help.” Urahara’s tone turned serious and he took his hat off. Without the shade from its brim it was clear that the skin around his eyes was scarred, and one was covered with a dark green eyepatch. He stood, then, and looked over the assembled group with his good eye. “I suggest that Ichigo and Kuchiki Taicho – Rukia – come with me.”

“And what about the fact that Kurosaki-san destroyed part of the Fourth Division and severely injured three officers of the Gōtei?” Isane demanded.

“Actually, Matsumoto was barely injured, just stunned, and Kira’s condition is mostly due to the fact that Ichigo aggravated a war wound that was never properly healed,” Hanatarō explained. “We’ll finally be taking care of that, and they’ll both be able to leave the relief station tomorrow.” He quailed when Byakuya looked at him, but the nobleman returned his attention to Urahara quickly.

“Soutaicho, with your permission I believe some of the records within the Kuchiki archives will be of assistance to Urahara,” he said calmly. “And I must see to my niece.” Kyōraku just nodded.

“The matter of Kurosaki’s arrival can wait,” Kyōraku agreed. “Kurosaki and Kuchiki Taicho will be studied by Urahara. Kotetsu Taicho, Third Seat Yamada, I leave you to care for our injured colleagues.” He tipped his hat and disappeared into shunpo.

Above the cliff, Yumichika nudged Ikkaku again, and the bald man grabbed his comrade and dragged him off. Shinji and Hitsugaya followed without a word.

Ichigo and Rukia stepped into shunpo after Urahara silently, and if they drifted too close to one another while flash stepping to a small building along the outer wall of the Seireitei, well, neither Urahara nor Yoruichi said anything. “What is this place?” Rukia asked when Urahara led them through a modest door and down a set of dimly lit stone stairs.

“After the war,” Urahara explained, “Kyōraku Soutaicho let me build a small lab. Ah, here we are.” He opened a second door, and they emerged into a low-ceilinged white room. A computer, with a screen that would have caused any homeowner envy in the world of the living, took up one full wall. Another wall held two beds separated by a metal screen. “Onto the beds,” he ordered.

Ichigo and Rukia exchanged a look, but obediently sat down on the edge of each bed.

Byakuya entered the Kuchiki manor silently, using shunpo to slip past the guards with a nod and then walking at a more leisurely pace through the magnificent building. Though it was still the middle of the night, a few servants were awake, and they bowed out of his way whenever he passed one. He found himself looking at Hisana’s shrine and, with no one to see him, sighed deeply and knelt in seiza.

“How did I not see?” he asked quietly, eyes on the picture of Hisana. He sat in silence for a long time, until it was nearly dawn, and then rose once more. A moment’s walk took him to the archives he thought would be of assistance to Urahara, and it didn’t take long at all to find the two books he sought.

Before looking for Urahara, however, Byakuya crossed the inner courtyard of the manor to Ichika’s room. The girl was still sleeping on her futon when he arrived, and he watched Ichika sleep, her chest rising and falling evenly. In the low light, her bright red hair was the shade of old blood. The girl already displayed an unusually high amount of spiritual pressure, even asleep, and for the first time Byakuya paid close attention to the feel of that pressure.

What he felt made his eyes widen, and once again his skin turned the color of fresh milk, nearly blending in with his haori. Byakuya knelt down and pulled the blanket away from Ichika’s face. She did not stir, but Byakuya’s jaw clenched. Replacing the blanket and smoothing his expression, the Head of the Kuchiki clan left his niece’s bedroom. He sought out Ichigo’s reiryoku, for the other man still could not conceal it worth a damn, and slipped into shunpo as he hurried in that direction.

“Have you found anything yet, Kisuke?” Yoruichi stretched and yawned, vertebrae cracking in the quiet of the lab. She’d taken up residence in one of the chairs along the back wall.

Urahara turned away from his screen to look at her. “Their memories are certainly real,” he said. “It’s hard to tell exactly what happened after ten years, but I think whoever did this used healing kido.” Ichigo and Rukia lay silently in the two beds where Urahara had put them, eyes closed. Small beads circled above their heads.

Yoruichi’s eyes narrowed. “A healing kido?”

“Aa. There are a few kido spells that deal with memory. I have seen one of them used to temporarily suppress disturbing memories while a patient comes to terms with a traumatic event. Unohana used to use it on Shinigami with post-traumatic stress,” Urahara explained. “Kuchiki-san’s memories were more affected than Ichigo’s; if I am right about the use of the kido spell, then it was practiced on her more than once.”

Urahara looked up. “Ah, there’s Byakuya now.”

The lab door slid open at the touch of a button, and Byakuya swept in. He spared a glance for Yoruichi, but it was Urahara he approached, placing two slender books on the desk next to the other man. “Have you made any progress?” he asked.

“As I was just telling Yoruichi, your sister and Kurosaki’s memories are real. Kuchiki-san’s memories were tampered with a second time later on.” Urahara looked up at Byakuya with his good eye. “Do you know anything about this, Byakuya?”

Byakuya turned, his eyes landing on his sister. She lay still on the narrow bed and breathed shallowly. “Her pregnancy was a difficult one,” he said after a moment. “And she was ill for many months afterwards. It is possible that something was done to her while she was under the care of the Fourth Division.”

Urahara raised an eyebrow. “I see. And these books – you think they will help?”

The captain nodded, once. “I know nothing of how Rukia’s memories disappeared. It is the red string that I am more concerned about, and the books deal with that.”

“Aa, the red string, yes,” Urahara mused. “You think their fates are tied, don’t you?”

“Hn. I should have seen it.”

Yoruichi chuckled lowly from her seat. “Are you sure you didn’t, Byakuya-bo? I heard a rumor that you don’t let Abarai spend much time with Rukia even though they’re married.”

Byakuya glared at her but said nothing.

Urahara fanned himself and looked over at his subjects. “Messy, messy,” he opined. “But it’s more important to find out who did this. Those beads are extracting copies of what our friends’ zanpakutō spirits sensed just before they were sealed.” He eyed Byakuya again. “There’s something else, isn’t there?” he asked, the fan concealing his expression.

Byakuya was still looking at his sister. “The boy’s zanpakutō has apparently referred to a princess,” he commented. “I find it curious.”

Urahara stayed behind his fan but turned his attention back to his computer and tapped a few keys. “There,” he said. “We should be able to wake them now.” He stood and strolled over to the pair of beds, poking at the beads above Ichigo. They flashed, once, and then Urahara snatched them up in his left hand. He did the same to Rukia and pocketed the beads. “Now then…” He poked Ichigo with the tip of his cane.

It was a mistake. Ichigo bolted upright and the shorter of his blades met the cane, eyes golden and the sclera black.

“Yare, yare, Ichigo. You’re safe here and I agreed to help you. Or is it Zangetsu I’m speaking to?” Urahara backed up a step; Ichigo’s reiatsu was skyrocketing and the room shook with barely-suppressed power.

Ichigo’s eyes cleared, but he was slow to lower his blade. “Where’s Rukia?”

“Just on the other side of this screen,” Urahara assured him. “I was just about to wake her.”

Ichigo sheathed his blade and rolled, feet landing on the floor. “Sorry.”

Urahara woke Rukia more gently than he had Ichigo, perhaps hoping to avoid having a second zanpakutō pointed at him in one morning. “Now then,” he said when Rukia was sitting up. “I’ve extracted what I could find of your memories in the Fourth Division. Shall we see if I can make things any clearer?”

Both Shinigami followed Urahara to the screen, and Byakuya joined them. Urahara pressed a key, and an image appeared on the screen: Rukia, unconscious on a bed in the relief station. Two figures stood next to the bed, one of them shadowed.

“The person on the left is Yosuke Ito,” Urahara commented. “He was the ninth seat who healed your wounds.” The glow of healing kido covered Rukia’s body in a number of places, then dissipated.

“The water returns to the ocean. May the waves shield you from the storm. God of forgetfulness be your guide and erase the path behind you.” Ito’s hand touched Rukia’s forehead on the screen and a sickly purple and green glow spread from his finger. “The spell is complete,” he said quietly.

“Very good.” The second figure leaned closer to Rukia, although it did not touch her. “The procedure was successful.” The figure pulled something from a pocket and then snapped its fingers; a chartreuse ribbon formed around Rukia’s sealed zanpakutō and tightened before fading into invisibility. “Now the other one.”

The two figures moved to Ichigo’s bed and repeated the procedure, but when the chartreuse ribbon formed around Zangetsu it shuddered and frayed at the edges before fading. “That will have to do. He won’t be here for much longer anyway.”

The memory-footage paused. “Was that the kido spell you expected?” Yoruichi asked in the silence.

Urahara nodded briefly. From the corner of his good eye he saw Ichigo and Rukia’s hands brush against one another before they pulled back, and he returned to the beginning of the memories with the push of a button. “The binding of the zanpakutō is kido as well; I’m not familiar with it at all. I’m surprised that Zangetsu was able to break it,” he commented.

“Who applied the binding, though?” Ichigo demanded. “Why can’t we see them?”

“Patience, Ichigo. I haven’t finished analyzing yet,” Urahara chided. He tapped several more keys, and some of the shadows hiding the second figure from view lightened. The outlines of a person appeared, not overly tall but broad and bulky. “Hmm. That does look familiar, doesn’t it?” Urahara mused. He tapped several more keys, but the image did not change.

While Urahara tapped away at his computer, bringing up the second memory and manipulating it, Rukia reached for one of the books that Byakuya had brought with him. “Perhaps we can help by reading these?” she suggested. Her hand had barely touched the cover of the top book before Urahara’s cane was in the way.

“I think not, Kuchiki-san,” Urahara said politely, but his eye was shadowed. “Leave that to me.” The image on the computer screen was still distorted, and he turned in his chair. “The red string.”

Ichigo and Rukia turned their heads to look at Urahara simultaneously. “What?” Rukia finally asked.

But it was Byakuya who answered. “We have seen the red string that surrounds you.” As if his words had summoned it, the string appeared again, still tangled and knotted. “The person who worked with Ito must have seen it as well.”

“You mean like the red thread from the old stories? The thread that connects people who should be married?” Ichigo asked. He reached out to touch it, but the thread danced just outside of his grasp.

“It is a little deeper than that,” Urahara allowed. “It means that you and Rukia have always been connected by fate. But this string is tangled and frayed.” He frowned beneath his striped hat. “Something has caused this damage, and we must find a way to undo it as soon as possible.”

“What happens if we don’t?” Rukia kept her voice steady, but her violet eyes looked intently at Urahara.

“Ah, well…if we don’t, Kuchiki-san, I am sorry to say that if the thread breaks you will probably both die.”

It was the wrong thing to say, even if it was true. Zangetsu roared within Ichigo’s inner world, and he bent double from the pain of trying to contain it. I’LL KILL HIM!

Rukia stared at Ichigo. “Ichigo, you have to—you have to calm him down.” Her reiatsu blanketed him, cold against his heat, but still she heard Zangetsu’s roar in her own world. “How is this happening?” she whispered.

It was, as always, Byakuya who stayed calm despite the waves of power buffeting him. “How do we fix it, Urahara?” he asked.

KILL HIM!

“Zangetsu, we don’t even know who it is,” Rukia chided loudly.

Urahara carefully placed the book in his hands back down. “We must unknot the tangles that were created, and free you from the bindings that were placed on you falsely. Unfortunately, without knowing who did this, that will prove difficult.” He took his hat off once more and stared at the pair of shinigami. “Leave it with me a few days, Kurosaki, Kuchiki.”

“A few days? What if the thread breaks before then? What if Rukia dies?” Ichigo asked in a shout.

“Kurosaki Ichigo. You will join Rukia and I at the manor, and you will return here when Urahara has an answer.” Byakuya’s voice was implacable.

“Nii-sama,” Rukia murmured.

“Come, Rukia. Kurosaki.” Byakuya swept through the door of the lab and Rukia followed, pulling Ichigo along with her. They emerged into mid-afternoon light; more time had passed than it seemed.

In silence, the two Shinigami and the former substitute flash-stepped to the Kuchiki manor. “Rukia will show you to our guest quarters,” Byakuya announced. “I have business to take care of.” He stepped through a pair of open shoji doors and shut them behind him.

“I haven’t even told my division what’s going on,” Rukia said quietly when they were alone.

Ichigo shrugged uneasily. “D’you want to show me to these guest quarters and then go check on them?” he asked. “I don’t exactly need to be supervised.”

Rukia snorted. “Apparently you do, without me around you tried to invade Soul Society again.” The joke fell flat; Ichigo just stared down at her, eyes hooded and dark, and Rukia didn’t look away.

Their silent conversation was broken when a manor servant approached and nervously asked if they needed assistance; Rukia waved the servant away and led Ichigo through the manor until they reached a series of rooms overlooking the inner courtyard. “Here,” she said, and stepped inside a small but well-appointed room covered in tatami mats. “There is a washroom through that door, and if you need anything, you can summon a servant with a bell.”

“Thanks, Rukia.” There was a sword stand in one corner, and Ichigo reluctantly removed his blades from his back and hip, then placed both in the stand. He turned to say something else, but the giggle of a small child interrupted him.

“Kaasan!” Ichika ran into the room and leapt for her mother. Rukia held her arms out and embraced her daughter tightly, black hair falling into her face and hiding her expression.

“Shouldn’t you be with your tutor?” Rukia asked finally. She smoothed back Ichika’s hair.

“One of the servants told us that you were here, and Nagata-sensei let me take a break to say hello.” Ichika seemed to notice that Ichigo was in the room, suddenly, and she let go of her mother to bow politely. “Hello, Kurosaki-san.”

“Hi Ichika,” Ichigo greeted. In the late afternoon light, Ichika didn’t look like Renji at all, except for her hair.

“I need to get Kurosaki-san settled in,” Rukia was explaining as Ichigo stared at her daughter. “Go back to Nagata-sensei now, and thank him for giving you a break.”

Ichigo watched as Ichika dashed away. That reiryoku…she doesn’t feel at all like Renji. She feels…she feels like…! “Rukia,” he began.

Rukia straightened up to look at Ichigo. Then they were both falling.

Chapter Text

This time, instead of a flooded city, Ichigo and Rukia landed in a garden. Unfortunately, the garden was covered in snow: they were in the middle of a blizzard. Rukia regained her footing first and hauled up Ichigo after her.

“I take it this is your inner world?” Ichigo shouted to be heard over the howling winds. “Does it always look like this?”

“It has for the last decade, Kurosaki-san.” Sode no Shirayuki appeared out of the storm, Zangetsu beside her.

“Snow lady, when I told the King to fix it, I didn’t mean that we should freeze to death instead of drowning,” he complained.

“Why are we here?” Rukia asked.

Shirayuki sighed, and pointed at a squat, shadowed shape that was barely visible through the swirling snow. “Perhaps we can shelter from the snow?” she suggested. She started walking, practically gliding over the snow and ice.

Obediently, her fellow zanpakutō spirit followed, the snow crunching heavily beneath his sandaled feet. Ichigo and Rukia trailed after them, and when Rukia started to shiver Ichigo wrapped an arm over her shoulders.

The shape turned out to be a small cabin, and though it wasn’t exactly toasty warm, once Ichigo shut the door behind him at least it was quieter.

“Now then,” Shirayuki said quietly. “You have met Ichika twice now, Kurosaki-san.”

Ichigo’s heart started to beat faster. “Yes,” he agreed.

 “You know nothing of how Shinigami have children, do you?”

Ichigo’s head shot up, and Rukia’s eyes focused on the zanpakutō as well. “The same as humans, I suppose. Goat Chin and Kaasan had my sisters and I the normal way, as far as I know.”

“Pregnancy for a Shinigami is…longer,” Rukia said slowly. “Because we age so slowly, the…the fetus takes longer to grow than a human does. Nearly eighteen months.”

Ichigo tore his gaze from Shirayuki and stared at Rukia. “Rukia.” Her eyes met his. “Rukia, how old is Ichika?”

“She’s eight,” Rukia said. “I told you that last week.”

“Ichika-chan will be nine in three months,” Shirayuki corrected.

Ichigo’s eyes widened and he looked first at Shirayuki, then at Rukia, who looked just as shocked as he did. “She’s not Renji’s,” he breathed. “She’s…”

“She’s yours, King. S’why she’s the little princess.”

Ichigo’s pupils narrowed to pinpricks and he stared down at Rukia. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he shouted. Rukia flinched back from him – as she had so very rarely in the more than 12 years they’d known one another. Ichigo’s eyes filled with guilt, and he pulled away from her.

“I didn’t…” Rukia’s eyes were shadowed, the pupils blown wide. She shivered convulsively, and the wind outside of the tiny cabin grew much stronger. It howled at the door and seeped in through the single window in the wall.

“Because she didn’t know, Kurosaki-san.” The words were stern, but Shirayuki’s face softened. “When the Fourth Division realized that Rukia was pregnant, she was not yet showing. Steps…were taken, to ensure that Rukia was married before the birth. And her memory was manipulated so that she did not realize she was pregnant so soon.”

“So Byakuya knew, then?” Ichigo growled. Shirayuki raised her hands in a gesture of uncertainty.

Rukia’s hands threaded into her hair as she curled in on herself. “Renji was…the Kuchiki clan insisted that I marry, Nii-sama told me. He offered Renji to spare me being married to someone I didn’t even know. But no one told me that I was pregnant,” she whispered. “I didn’t find out until much later. How could I not know?” She looked up, and her anguished eyes met Ichigo’s. “How could I not know she is yours?”

Ichigo growled, and suddenly he wished – and immediately regretted wishing – that Zangetsu had actually killed the red-headed lieutenant. “Someone knows. Ichika’s hair…”

“Yes,” Rukia finally said quietly. “Someone…someone must be dyeing it? I don’t…I don’t know. After her birth I was not well.”

Ichigo tensed. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

“Rukia barely left her bed for seventeen months,” Shirayuki explained.

Ichigo’s arm came around Rukia’s shoulders and he pulled her into the shelter of his arms. “Postpartum depression?” he asked quietly.

“I do not know what that is, Kurosaki-san,” Shirayuki said cautiously. “Is that something that women in the world of the living experience?”

“Yeah. It’s…” Ichigo paused, and decided that a simplified explanation was best. “The chemicals in a woman’s body change when she gives birth. Sometimes they don’t go back to their original levels right away. It can cause depression and a lot of other symptoms. I’ve seen it a few times at the clinic, but never…that bad.” His lips found Rukia’s hairline and he whispered into it, “I’m so sorry, Rukia. I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

Rukia’s body trembled in his arms, but then she straightened and took a deep breath. “I recovered. Everyone was told that it was a very difficult birth. I imagine that my weakness made it easier to claim that Ichika was born so many months later.”

“It’s not weakness. It’s stupid that they left you to suffer, is what it is. What the hell? Even in the world of the living we have treatments, and that’s without kido. Unohana taicho wouldn’t have let you be bedridden for over a year,” Ichigo insisted. His face was set in a scowl, and his eyes found Zangetsu’s. “Ichika’s the princess,” he said. “You knew the first time we saw her.”

The zanpakutō nodded his agreement. “She’s ours. And whoever did this needs a blade in his throat,” he hissed. “Got a lot to answer for, King.”

Ichigo grunted. His arms tightened around Rukia and he practically covered her with his body as he leaned down over her. “A lot of people have a lot to answer for. How the hell do you not tell a woman she’s pregnant? And then just marry her off? You deserved better than that, Rukia,” he said into her hair.

Rukia and Ichigo came back to themselves still in that embrace. Rukia opened her eyes and flushed deep red; there was a hell butterfly waiting for her. She extricated herself as Ichigo and held a finger out; the butterfly landed and she listened to its message.

“That was Sentarō,” she explained when the butterfly had disappeared. “Apparently everything is fine in the Thirteenth.” Still, Rukia stepped away from Ichigo and toward the door of the guest room. “You should get some rest. I am sure that whatever Urahara has planned for tomorrow, we will both need all our strength.”

“Rukia…” Ichigo’s voice was pleading.

“Later, Ichigo. We’ll talk about it later.” She was gone before Ichigo could object.

Despite Sentarō’s message, Rukia returned to her division. Rather than risk encountering her officers, however, she took the path to the Ugendo quarters. Following Ukitake’s death, Rukia had ordered that the building be kept clean. Rukia and Kotetsu Kiyone had turned it into something of a shrine for Ukitake, before Kiyone transferred to the Fourth Division. In the beginning, shinigami who knew Ukitake could be seen crowding into the small building to pray at the shrine.

But time moved on, and with it so did most of the shinigami. Now, Rukia and Sentarō were the only members of the Thirteenth who visited on a regular basis. Rukia occasionally thought about moving the shrine to a more central part of the division grounds and turning the Ugendo into something else, but without a captain to requisition the appropriate budget and authorize a major project, her hands had been tied.

There was no one in the Ugendo, and Rukia shut the door behind her to discourage visitors. She turned first to the butsudan: a large cabinet within which sat a picture of Ukitake. Offerings and sticks of incense were scattered on the lower shelves, some of them looking quite old. Rukia took a moment to tidy the shrine, removing the burned-out incense and rotted food offerings and disposing of them. She lit two new sticks of incense and placed them upright in one of the holders, then knelt before the shrine.

The past week had been one of the busiest in the last several years, and Rukia relished the moment of quiet to begin to sort out her thoughts. Instead, a memory from nearly nine years ago resurfaced, and Rukia closed her eyes as it washed over her.

Eight years and seven months ago – Kuchiki Manor

Deprived of comfortable sleep due to her severely distended abdomen, Rukia frequently spent at least part of the night pacing quietly back and forth in her bedroom, her steps muffled by the tatami mats. Previously her walking involved traversing the gardens within the manor, but she’d stopped that when one of the servants admitted that Rukia’s midnight wanderings made everyone nervous.

Her labor began as it did for countless women: with cramping in her belly. Rukia kept pacing, although she rubbed her back with one small hand to ease her muscle soreness. She had been experiencing mild cramps for a few days, something that the Fourth Division called false contractions. They added to her discomfort but the breathing that Kiyone taught her helped.

Liquid splashed onto the mats, and Rukia’s pacing came to a halt. Her cheeks flared red with embarrassment before a contraction sent pain arcing through her body and her brain caught up: the contractions were real this time. She took a deep breath and slid open the door of her bedroom; she needed to summon a hell butterfly and get help.

There was a servant just outside her door, kneeling on the ground and half-asleep; Rukia nearly stumbled over her in the dark. “Oh! Kuchiki-sama!” the small, dark-haired woman exclaimed quietly and leapt to her feet. “Is it time?”

Rukia backed up from the woman she’d nearly stepped on and instead stumbled against the nearest wall, her body overcompensating for the sudden movement of the extra weight she had never gotten used to carrying. “Y-yes,” she finally said, as the servant bowed respectfully. Rukia didn’t recognize her, but then, she had largely stayed in her rooms for the past several days and had only come to the manor once her advanced pregnancy made it impossible to complete even paperwork for the Thirteenth. “Yes, it’s time,” she said. “The Fourth Division will need to be notified.”

“Yes, Kuchiki-sama! I will do so immediately!” The servant bowed again and darted away. Rukia suppressed a groan of pain at another contraction, and slowly walked back into her room. Moonlight filtered in from a single window high on the wall; it was the middle of the night. Rukia returned to her pacing and occasional deep breathing as she waited for members of the Fourth to arrive.

It seemed to take forever. The angle of the moonlight spilling into her bedroom changed significantly as she waited. When two members of the Fourth arrived, she recognized neither of their faces. Neither Kiyone nor Hanatarō were there even though they’d promised that at least one of them would attend the birth.  

Still, they were healers, and as Rukia’s labor began in earnest she was grateful for their help. It was well past dawn before her child was delivered and Rukia could collapse, exhausted and feeling as though she’d been torn in half, upon her futon. A baby’s cry filled the room, and Rukia smiled. “Can I hold her?” she managed to ask.

“Soon, Kuchiki-sama,” came the reply.

But it was a long time indeed before Rukia could hold her child: something went wrong, suddenly, as Rukia groaned in pain and blood spilled onto the tatami mats. The baby was passed to the Kuchiki servant while the two members of the Fourth worked feverishly using both kido and the far more mundane tools of their trade. The door to her bedroom pushed open and two more members of the Fourth appeared in the doorway. They, too, worked quickly around her. Rukia, mercifully, lost consciousness.

When she awoke again, she was in an elevated bed and another member of the Fourth was by her side. The shinigami quickly helped as Rukia struggled to sit up. “Kuchiki-sama! We were so worried, we almost lost you!”

Rukia winced at the other woman’s volume but accepted a glass of water. “How long was I out?” she asked after taking a slow sip. “Is…is the baby okay?”

“Just since this morning. And the baby is fine – would you like to see her?”

Something rose up inside of Rukia, but she firmed her lips. “Yes, please.”

When the woman placed the infant in her arms, Rukia struggled to smile down at the tiny being. They’d wrapped the child in white and covered her head. “She’s… she’s so tiny,” Rukia whispered. “I felt so enormous, I thought she’d be bigger.”

The child’s eyes opened. They were nearly the exact same color as Rukia’s, if a little lighter. Rukia pushed back the fabric covering her head; the child’s crown held the first beginnings of hair, stubbled and oddly pale. Something twisted in Rukia’s chest and tears ran down her cheeks unbidden. A sob stuck in her throat.

“Aa – ah, Kuchiki-sama, don’t cry! This is a happy day!” The shinigami lifted the baby from her arms when Rukia struggled to hold on and placed her in a nearby bassinet before returning with tissues.

But Rukia was inconsolable, and she stayed inside, barely responsive to her brother or his servants. Ichika – what she’d named the girl in a moment of clarity – struggled to latch, and eventually Byakuya hired a wet nurse to assist.

Weeks and then months passed in a blur of exhaustion and anxiety. Rukia ate little and slept for what seemed like days at a time. She struggled to keep her head above the waves of sadness that swamped her and feared touching Ichika lest she might hurt her.

Renji was allowed to visit some months later and presented with the child under Byakuya’s watchful eye. By that time, the girl’s hair had darkened and was obviously the same color as Renji’s. But his attempts to speak with Rukia were rebuffed; she only turned away and pretended to be asleep until the redheaded shinigami left.

It was seventeen months before Rukia returned to the Thirteenth Division barracks.

Rukia roused herself from her memories with a start. The servant, she thought as she stared at Ukitake’s shrine. She remembered – the servant had disappeared fifteen months after Ichika’s birth. Rukia had started to get better after that. “How strange,” she murmured.

Ichigo cleaned himself up, washing himself of blood – most of it wasn’t his – and dressing in a plain shihakusho helpfully left by one of the servants. He slept briefly, but nightmares dogged him and so eventually he rose and sat in the gardens just outside of his quarters for a time, trying to quiet the anxiety and hurt inside of him.

Ichika was his. His daughter with Rukia. While he’d been dating Orihime and letting her try to fill the gaping hole in his being that he hadn’t even admitted existed, Rukia had been pregnant with his child. She had suffered because of him. Ichigo had never wanted to hurt her, had wanted her to be happy – and instead he’d only added to her pain. His head fell into his hands.

You didn’t know, Zangetsu reminded, and the hiss wasn’t unsympathetic. Ichigo groaned. His restored memories, his restored feelings, sat uneasily inside of him. But he was married to Orihime. He had a child with her, too.

Do you?

Ichigo barked a laugh at that. You think the woman who’s been in love with me since I was fifteen would cheat? he asked.

More like obsession than love, Zangetsu snorted. I guess not. Kid smells more like her than you, though.

Ichigo sensed when Byakuya returned to the manor just as the sun was setting. Rukia was still in the Thirteenth. He rose from his seat and made his way to Byakuya’s office, standing respectfully in the doorway until the older man looked up.

“Kurosaki Ichigo,” he greeted. If Byakuya wondered why Ichigo was there, he didn’t let on.

Ichigo stepped further into the room and sat at a nod from Byakuya. The two sat in silence for several minutes, Byakuya calmly writing, but then Ichigo asked carefully, “Did you know?”

“I know many things. You will have to be more specific.”

Ichigo stifled a sigh and reminded himself that Byakuya had opened his home to him, had believed him immediately, and was clearly trying to help. “Did you know about Ichika?”

Byakuya’s hand stilled, calligraphy brush dripping a splatter of ink onto the paper beneath. “I know that she is older than the official records state. However, I thought my sister merely…dallied with someone. When the child was born, I thought she was Renji’s.” He realized that the brush was still dripping ink and set it down. “I realized only this morning that her reiryoku feels like yours.”

Ichigo’s shoulders slumped. “I hoped you didn’t know,” he admitted. “But…Rukia said that the Kuchiki elders pressured you to marry her off.”

“Hn. Someone in the Fourth Division at the time had loose lips,” Byakuya explained. “They reported the situation to one of the elders. I did not want Rukia to suffer any embarrassment. Renji was a safe choice, and when Ichika was born I thought he was the right choice.” He looked up. “If I had known it was you, Kurosaki, my decision would have been much different.”

Ichigo scowled. “If I had known it was me, I—" He stared at Byakuya. I would have asked Rukia to marry me. I would have asked for your blessing. Ichika would have her father. His scowl deepened. You’re married, he reminded himself. And you spent one night with Rukia ten years ago. She probably doesn’t feel the same way anymore. You shouldn’t feel the same way anymore.

For fuck’s sake, King, I’m drowning in here.

“Ichigo.” Byakuya’s tone was oddly sympathetic – and he’d called Ichigo by his first name. “The most important thing right now is finding a way forward.”  

Ichigo nodded briefly and stood, recognizing a dismissal when he heard one. “Thank you, Byakuya.” His head bowed and he left the way he had come in.

Byakuya picked his calligraphy brush back up. The ink was starting to dry, so he cleaned it carefully and then dipped it in his ink pot. And if his hand shook ever so slightly, well, that was between him and the brush.

Chapter Text

Orihime washed the dishes in the sink and wondered where her husband was. Ichigo had been acting strangely since their party just over a week ago. He’d seemed to have a good time – laughing with their friends, keeping Keigo away from his sisters. But then he’d started having nightmares. He’d pushed her away when she was just trying to help him. And two nights ago, he’d come into their room, looked for something in the nightstand, and then just…vanished. She knew he hadn’t left her, Ichigo would never do that, she told herself. But she couldn’t help but think that it was Rukia and Renji’s appearance that had sparked his strange pattern of behavior.

His sudden disappearance had thrown the clinic into disarray. Yuzu and Karin had tied up the clinic’s phone lines for two days, taking turns calling patients and canceling appointments. The clinic doors had a “closed” sign on them.

Orihime considered making a police report. What if something had happened to him? What was he looking for, two nights ago?

The dishes done and set into the drying rack, Orihime removed her frilly blue apron and walked upstairs to her bedroom. She opened the top drawer of the wooden nightstand on Ichigo’s side of the bed. The bed was the same one that Ichigo’s father had been using before he disappeared; the nightstands were the same as well. Orihime trailed a finger over the particle board surface. She’d talked to Ichigo, once or twice, about buying new furniture, but medical school was expensive.

Ichigo wasn’t someone who kept a lot of clutter around, and the nightstand was no different: it held just a few coins, a stick of lip balm with a faded yellow sticker, and his ID from when he’d been a medical student. Orihime shut the drawer and walked back downstairs. She checked her watch; Kazui wasn’t due to be home from his play date for another two hours.

So Orihime picked up her cell phone and dialed a familiar number.

“Kurosaki-san?” His low, gentle voice was surprised; Orihime supposed that she’d never called him at work.

“Ishida-kun,” Orihime began. “I am sorry to call so suddenly like this.”

“It’s fine, of course. Is something wrong?”

“Ah…” Embarrassment rose in her, suddenly. How was she supposed to tell someone, even someone so close to her as Ishida-kun, that she’d somehow misplaced her husband?

“Yes, Kurosaki-san?” his voice prodded through the speaker.

“Ah! Ishida-kun, have you seen Ichigo?”

Across town, Ishida Uryuu took the phone away from his ear and stared at it until Orihime’s high voice echoed, “Ishida-kun?” a third time.

“Is he missing, Kurosaki-san?” Uryuu finally asked, his tone carefully neutral.

“He disappeared two days ago.”

Uryuu stared at the phone again. “Have you spoken to anyone at Urahara’s? Or made a missing persons report to the police?”

“Ah…well, no, I haven’t. I thought perhaps he was covering a shift at your hospital and forgot to tell me. Or perhaps he’s been abducted by time-traveling robots!” The voice on the other end of the line pitched higher suddenly, the way it used to whenever Orihime said something outlandish.

Uryuu gamely stifled his snort. “Kurosaki-san is not working at the hospital today,” he replied seriously. “He hasn’t covered a shift here in three months.”

 “Oh! I thought…” There was a long pause on the end of the line before Orihime said, “Well…I’ll go to the shoten first, thank you, Ishida-kun.”

“Will you be alright, Kurosaki-san?” Uryuu asked tentatively.

“Oh, yes, yes! Perhaps he was just visiting Urahara and got caught up! Thank you for your help, Ishida-kun!” Orihime exclaimed cheerfully. She hung up before Uryuu could reply. He sighed and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose.

“What have you gotten yourself into now, Kurosaki?” he mumbled under his breath and looked down at his cell phone suspiciously. Then he slid it into the pocket of his trousers before stepping inside the exam room where his next patient waited.

In the Kurosaki home, Orihime quickly found her purse and keys. She slipped her feet into a pair of sandals at the doorway and stepped outside, locking the door behind her. The sun beat down as Orihime took off for the shoten. She hadn’t visited in years (had, in fact, visited only once after the war) but her feet still knew the way.

Little had changed about the shop in the years since Orihime had last seen it. It still looked just a touch dilapidated and deserted, as if it received few customers. The sign overhead was still the same, if a little dustier than it had been a decade ago. And although it was mid-afternoon, the doors were shut tightly. Orihime approached the shop anyway and knocked lightly on the wooden frame of the door. She pressed her face against the glass, trying to see inside.

After a few minutes, the door slid open wide enough for Tessai to stick his head out. Most of his body was blocked by the shop door, but Orihime could see that he wasn’t wearing the apron he ordinarily wore. Instead he’d donned a collared, dark blue shirt.

“Inoue-san? I’m afraid the shop is closed today,” he explained. “But it is good to see you after so long. You’re looking well.”

Orihime smiled up at the much taller shinigami, whose gigai had gained a few gray hairs. “It’s good to see you too, Tessai-san. Ah, I’m not here to shop. Ichigo has…well, ah, he disappeared two days ago and I was hoping that perhaps he’d been here.”

Tessai frowned, his mustache drooping downwards with the motion. “Yes, he was here a few nights ago. He used our senkaimon to enter Soul Society.”

“O-oh! He didn’t mention that he was making a trip. I suppose it must have been something last-minute.” She was supposed to know that Ichigo was gone from the world of the living, wasn’t she? Wasn’t that something that Orihime should have felt?

Tessai’s expression turned cautious. “Yes, I do think it was last-minute,” he said softly.

Orihime’s eyes glistened, but then she plastered a smile on her lips. “Thank you, Tessai-san! I’m sure he will be back soon,” Orihime chirped with false cheer.

“Of course, Inoue-san. Have a good day.” Orihime waved to the older man as he slid the door shut, and then turned back toward the clinic. She needed to be home in time to make Kazui his afternoon snack. The walk back seemed longer even though it was the same distance; occasionally she looked back, as though Ichigo might appear out of nowhere, returned from his sudden trip to the Soul Society.

He didn’t, though, and when his classmate’s mother dropped Kazui off at home, Orihime was waiting with a sliced banana and fresh blueberries. They sat down at the table together, and she sipped from a glass of pale green melon soda as her son ate his fruit.

Then he asked, “Where’s tou-san? The clinic’s all dark.”

Orihime plastered a smile on her face as she replied, “He had to take a last-minute trip to Soul Society, where the Abarais live.”

At that, Kazui straightened up in his chair. “Why’s he going there? Do you think he’ll see Ichika?”

She hid a grimace behind her glass. “He might see her. Why don’t you tell me how your play date went?” Orihime asked instead of answering his first question. After all – she didn’t have an answer.

Much later, the doorbell rang and Yuzu, still in her cooking apron, ran to answer it. “Oh! Uryuu,” she greeted. The Quincy bowed to Yuzu, a lost look in his eyes. His white coat was draped over one arm and the shirt he wore was just a little rumpled. His hair fell just below his ears, and some of it stood up in the back, as though he’d been running his hand through it. “Would you like to come in?”

Uryuu pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Ah, Yuzu. Thank you.” He stepped inside and removed his shoes, pushing them up against the wall. “I was hoping to speak with Kuro—er, Orihime. Is she here?”

“Ishida-kun!” Orihime called. She came out of the dining area holding a pair of shallow bowls.

“Ah, Kurosaki-san,” Ishida greeted. “I’m sorry if I’m interrupting dinner, but after your call this afternoon I was concerned.”

His words cracked the cheerful mask on Orihime’s face momentarily and her eyes filled with worry, but as he’d seen her do any number of times before, Orihime quickly smiled again. “Dinner’s almost ready, Ishida-kun. Why don’t you eat with us, and we can talk about it after?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose,” Ishida insisted quietly, but Yuzu was still there, and she just smiled at them.

“Of course you’re not imposing! I always make too much.” She darted off before Uryuu could say any more, so he hung his coat on the rack by the door and set his bag down.

He helped Orihime finish setting the table, arranging white paper napkins alongside five white bowls. Orihime filled glasses with ice water while Yuzu brought in first an enormous pot of cold noodles, then small platters of thinly-sliced vegetables, cold shrimp, and egg crepe. Karin followed with a jar filled to the brim with dark brown liquid, a platter of sliced chicken katsu, and tongs.

Finally, Orihime retrieved Kazui from his room and they all sat down to eat.

“Hiyashi chuka,” Yuzu explained cheerfully when Kazui demanded to know what dinner was. “It’s so hot outside, I wanted to serve something cooling.” She put a small pile of noodles on his plate and, at the child’s direction, added sliced tomatoes, peppers, and cucumber. “See? Then you add the dressing. It’s just like ramen, but cold!”

Uryuu didn’t bring up Ichigo’s disappearance during dinner, and neither did anyone else. But Karin and Yuzu kept shooting him concerned looks and then looking at Orihime meaningfully. Chopsticks scraped lightly on bowls and ice cracked in cold water, shockingly loud in the silence of the Kurosaki home.

“How are things at the hospital?” Yuzu finally asked.

“The new residents are finally settling in. And we have some new diagnostic machines coming that should improve our standard of care,” Uryuu explained.

“That’s great! When will they arrive at the hospital?” Yuzu asked.

“Sometime in the next few weeks. I’ll talk with Kuro—” Uryuu cut himself off and coughed into his hand. “I’ll be speaking with other clinics about referring patients to us when necessary,” he corrected himself. But the damage was done, and the tense mood returned to the dinner table.

Later, after Uryuu helped Yuzu clean up, he followed Orihime into the small backyard behind the Kurosaki house. He’d turned down her offer of a cold beer, and instead sipped at another glass of ice water. They sat in silence for a time, looking up at the sky. “Did you see Urahara-san?” he finally asked.

Orihime sighed quietly. “He wasn’t there, and the shop was closed. Tessai came to the door and said that Ichigo used Urahara’s Senkaimon to travel to Soul Society two days ago. I think Urahara must be in Soul Society too. Yoruichi, too – she always follows him.”

Uryuu sat up straight. “Well, at least you know where he is now,” he pointed out. “Did Tessai say why? I don’t think Ichigo’s been back to Soul Society since the war.”

“He hasn’t. I don’t know what would make him go back now,” Orihime complained.

Uryuu glanced in her direction, although he didn’t look her in the eye. “Didn’t Rukia and Renji come visit last week? I’m sorry I couldn’t join all of you.”

“Ah, yes – it was a nice visit. Their daughter, Ichika, and Kazui get along very well.”

He mouthed the word – Ichika – and kept his eyes on her until Orihime continued, “But neither of them said anything about Ichigo visiting, and he left in the middle of the night without a word.” Orihime frowned up at the sky. “He started having nightmares after their visit, though.”

“Nightmares?”

She nodded once. “I think they were about the war.”

Ishida took another long sip of water. This late into July it was still hot at night, and condensation dripped down the outside of the glass. “He just started having nightmares?” he probed.

“Ah, well,” Orihime’s cheeks flamed red in the dim light from the outdoor lantern above their heads. “You know what training to be a doctor is like, Ishida-kun. Ichigo has always been so courteous, he would get home very late and sleep on the couch so that he didn’t wake me. Even now he doesn’t like to keep me up if he can’t sleep.”

Uryuu’s cheeks flushed in shared embarrassment. He cleared his throat. “I see. Yes, that is courteous of him,” he agreed in a voice that sounded close to normal.

Orihime sensed something in his tone, though, and finally looked at him. “I can’t really blame him for having nightmares,” she defended.

“Of course not, Kurosaki-san,” Ishida soothed. “I’m sure we all have them from time to time.”

“Why don’t you call me Orihime?” she asked suddenly.

Ishida looked away from her, his cheeks flushing again. He took a gulp of water to stall, but the glass was empty after his first swallow. “It’s a reminder,” he finally said. She just looked puzzled. Ishida stood, glass still in hand. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to forget that you are married. Excuse me, I should really be getting home.”

Orihime opened her mouth to respond, but Uryuu had already stepped back inside. He was gone before she could follow him, leaving only a glass in the sink.

Chapter Text

Ichigo woke early from the best night’s sleep he’d had since before he’d started university. A small finger, attached to an equally small hand, was poking his cheek. His eyes squinted open at Ichika, who was the owner of the hand. Apparently satisfied that he’d woken up, Ichika took her hand away and sat cross-legged on the floor next to his futon. “You feel familiar,” she announced.

It was too early for this conversation, Ichigo decided immediately, but he sat up anyway and ran a hand through his hair. It was flattened on one side. “We’ve met a couple of times,” he reminded the child. “Including yesterday.”

Ichika sniffed. “I guess. Feels like more than that.” Then she brightened and, in the way that most young children did, abruptly changed the subject. “Want to see my asauchi?”

Ichigo found himself grinning. “Yeah, sure. You don’t know its name yet, do you?” He wrapped his arms around his knees as Ichika leapt to her feet.

The tiny apprentice put one hand to the hilt of her asauchi and unsheathed it expertly. She held it in front of her, the flat of the blade resting on her free palm, with utmost care. “No. I haven’t learned her name yet, but sometimes I hear someone in my sleep.” The sword was a relatively short wakizashi, although given how tall Ichika was already, Ichigo expected that her true zanpakutō would be longer. The hilt was covered in pure white rayskin, with a black silk tsuka-ito. Peeking through the black silk was a silver menuki of a crescent moon.

“It’s a very nice sword,” Ichigo complimented.

Ichika beamed and turned the blade so that Ichigo could see the other side of the hilt. “There’s another menuki on this side, see?” she pointed out. Further up the hilt was a sun, its center blackened. Ichika sheathed her blade quickly. “I can’t wait to see what she looks like. Kaasan has the prettiest zanpakutō in Soul Society, everyone says so. And Tousan’s is really cool!”

Ichigo barely held back his wince when Ichika referred to Renji. “Yeah, your mom’s zanpakutō is beautiful,” he chose to say instead. “Have you ever seen her bankai?”

Ichika shook her head quickly. “She says it’s really dangerous and she can only use it in a really big emergency,” she explained. “Have you seen it?”

“Just once. She looks like the moon princess and makes the air around her so cold that you’d freeze in an instant. Her zanpakutō turns to ice and her shihakusho becomes a white kimono, like the kind you’d see in a fairy tale.”

Of course, then Ichika asked who the moon princess was. And Ichigo found himself trying to remember the old fairytale that his mother had told him once, many years ago. The story was a long one and he found himself skipping some of the details – he was sure that Ichika’s tutor would come looking for her soon enough.

It was Rukia who found them as Ichigo explained, “The people of the Moon came for the princess, and she realized that she needed to go with them. She left a letter for her parents, and for the Emperor who had fallen in love with her. With the letter for the Emperor was a little bottle of the elixir of immortality. Then she went back to the Moon.

“The Emperor was devastated by the letter and wrote one in reply. He asked his men to take the letter and the elixir of immortality to the tallest mountain and burn them both, hoping that the message would reach her.”

Ichika squirmed in her cross-legged position. “Why would the Emperor burn the elixir? Wouldn’t he want to live forever?”

Ichigo had felt Rukia’s approach, and he looked up, meeting her eyes as he spoke. “The Emperor didn’t want to live forever without the princess he loved.”

“That’s dumb,” Ichika said flatly, and leapt up from her seat. “The princess should have taken the Emperor with her to the Moon.”

“Perhaps she should have,” Ichigo agreed quietly. His eyes were still watching Rukia. The petite captain’s eyes were glistening.

“What happened to the Emperor after that?”

Ichigo scratched his head lightly. “Well…I don’t actually know. The story my mom told me ended after the Emperor’s warriors burned the letter and the elixir.”

“Did his message get to the princess?”

“I’m sure it did,” Rukia said from her position in the doorway. “But you’re both late for breakfast.”

“Kaasan!” Ichika grabbed her mother around the waist and hugged her tightly. “Kurosaki-san tells good stories.”

“He does,” Rukia said, laughter in her voice, “But you’re still late for breakfast.”

Ichigo was staring at them both, something soft and broken in his eyes, but he smiled when Ichika looked at him. “You should get a head start,” he advised. “I need to dress, or your uncle will send his senbonzakura after me for coming to breakfast in jinbei.”

Ichika let go of her mother and leapt away, running for the dining room.

“What made you tell her that story?” Rukia asked, as she slid the door shut. Ichigo stood and rolled up his futon and pillow while she watched.

“She asked what your bankai looks like, and I told her that you looked like the moon princess,” Ichigo explained, his cheeks flushing slightly. There was another set of shihakusho atop the nightstand, and he picked those up, glancing back at Rukia. “She showed me her asauchi. It looks…”

Rukia gave him a rueful smile. “I know. She shows it to everyone.”

Ichigo nodded. “I’ll be ready in a few minutes,” he said, and stepped into the washroom. Rukia was still there when he returned, freshly bathed and clad in clean clothes. They walked in silence to the dining room, where Ichika was already impatiently waiting across from Byakuya to start breakfast.

After breakfast, Ichika’s tutor collected her and Byakuya swept away with no more than a brief nod.

“I think we should spend some time training today,” Rukia advised. “Other than the other night, you haven’t used your blades in years. And that was mostly Zangetsu.”

“You think we’ll stand a chance fighting whoever did this?” Ichigo looked skeptical. “Or that we’ll even find him to do it? He was able to keep this thing going for a decade.”

“You killed the King of the Quincy and defeated Aizen,” Rukia pointed out, “And that was before you turned twenty.”

“Che. Fine, let’s train, then.”

They stopped by Ichigo’s guest quarters to retrieve his zanpakutō, and used shunpo to travel to the Thirteenth Division training grounds. Several dozen division members were already hard at work, led by Sentarō, but Rukia led Ichigo to a smaller, separate plot of land that was hidden from the main grounds by a high wall. “Shikai only,” Rukia commanded. She took a moment to pull her hair up, binding it in a bun with a tie. She looked younger that way, with a few locks of hair falling into her face, and Ichigo swallowed involuntarily at the memory she provoked.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and if his voice was a little rough Rukia didn’t call him on it. He pulled his blades from his back while Rukia unsheathed hers.

“Dance, Sode no Shirayuki,” Rukia intoned, and her blade turned snow white, a ribbon spilling from the hilt and circling her. Ichigo just stared for a moment, until Rukia prodded, “Well?”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I kind of missed seeing her.” And they both ignored the way their cheeks flushed.

Their sparring was slow at first, as Ichigo warmed up muscles he hadn’t used in six years and re-learned Rukia’s fighting style. Soon, though, their blades clashed in earnest and Ichigo was using shunpo to keep up with Rukia’s speed. As her blade and his longer one met again and again, Ichigo grinned: he’d missed this, missed the way they trained together and the way he felt during battle, even if this was only a spar.

“Some no mai, tsukishiro!” Rukia shouted, and Ichigo dodged the towering ice column that shot into the air. He was too slow by a thread: his hakama caught in the ice and he had to pull away, leaving fabric behind as the ice shattered.

“Getsuga tensho,” Ichigo retaliated. He held back the reiatsu that spilled out of him but Rukia was still pushed back from the force of his power, her feet dragging in the packed dirt. Their blades clashed again, and Ichigo pressed his advantage with another grin. He trapped Rukia’s blade between his and for a moment they were locked together. “You’ve gotten stronger,” he grunted when she wouldn’t yield.

“I’ve kept training,” Rukia retorted. She shoved him, breaking free, and danced away on light feet. Her blade pierced the ground four times before she brought it up to point at him. “Tsugi no mai, hakuren!”

Ichigo shot off another getsuga, allowing it to destroy the wave of ice that rushed toward him, and he dodged the rest. Again and again they clashed, until ice covered the training grounds and the ground was cracked in places from the force of Ichigo’s getsuga.

And then Ichigo’s guard slipped. Sode no Shirayuki found his neck, the blade a bare centimeter from breaking skin. Rukia froze and they both heard Shirayuki’s ice-coated voice shout No! Then Rukia’s muscles could move again and she pulled the blade away, backing up half a step. They stared at one another.

“That was Shirayuki,” Ichigo accused, although there was no anger in his voice. Instead he looked shocked, eyes wide as they looked into hers.

Rukia looked just as shaken as he did. “She’s never stopped my blade before.”

Ichigo rubbed the side of his neck where her ice-cold blade had touched him. “Our zanpakutō are a lot more…uh, active, I guess, than they used to be. And your blade was against my carotid. You’re right, I am rusty,” he said.

“There’s only one solution for that,” Rukia said with a grin. At Ichigo’s nod, she leapt forward again, and Ichigo quickly brought his longer blade up to block her while the shorter aimed for her abdomen. Rukia was too fast and deflected both of his blades, using her strike to push back off of him and land a few steps away.

They sparred uneventfully for a while longer, blades moving faster and faster, until a pained scream from the larger training area on the other side of the wall distracted Rukia. Ichigo couldn’t pull his shorter blade back in time and he swung, trying to avoid cutting her, shouting her name. And then Zangetsu took over with a roar. Black reiatsu poured from Ichigo’s body and wrapped around them both while the blade stopped, leaving Ichigo an inch from Rukia while his reiatsu seethed protectively around her. He was so close that if he dipped his head down, he could kiss her.

Instead, when Zangetsu let go Ichigo sheathed his blades. “We’d better go see what that is,” he suggested. Rukia gave him a look that said they’d be talking about both of their zanpakutō later, but she sealed Sode no Shirayuki and they bounded over the wall together.

Though they’d obviously been training nearby, several of Rukia’s unseated division members looked shocked to see her there. They were gathered around a lanky blonde member of the division. Blood spilled from a wound at her shoulder joint; as Ichigo and Rukia drew closer, Ichigo could see that it was a particularly nasty gash. She was breathing shallowly, eyes wide with pain.

He knelt immediately and ripped the shoulder of her shihakusho open further to examine the wound. “It’s bad,” he reported. “I think an artery’s been nicked.” He tore off the sleeve of his own uniform and used it to apply pressure to the wound.  

“What happened here?” Rukia demanded, and the shinigami who’d been milling around uselessly came to attention. “Has anyone from the Fourth been summoned?” They made a space for her as she approached the wounded woman. Rukia bent down and one hand spilled blue healing kido over the gash while Ichigo kept up the pressure.

“Kuchiki Taicho,” a squat, older Shinigami started, “Hasagawa-san and Yoneda-san were training with their shikai. Hasagawa-san lost control of his blade and injured Yoneda-san. The Fourth Division has not been summoned.”

“Ichigo –”

The shinigami in question nodded before Rukia could get out any more than that and held out his fingertips. A hell butterfly landed on him quickly enough, and Ichigo whispered his message to it. He gave it a boost and the butterfly fluttered off as quickly as it arrived. “I sent it to Kiyone,” he told her when he’d finished. “I let her know that you’re stabilizing Yoneda-san but that we still need assistance.”

Rukia nodded her thanks. “Hasagawa-san, stay here. The rest of you, back to your training,” she ordered.

The shinigami dispersed at her direction, leaving a slender man – a boy, really – to linger awkwardly. His features were delicate and almost childlike, and his dark hair hung into his eyes. He said nothing, not even a ‘yes, taicho’ in response to Rukia. 

Yoneda’s eyes started to clear and her cheeks flushed at the sight of Ichigo and Rukia. “A—Taicho, I’m so sorry, you don’t need to trouble yourself, I’m sure the Fourth can help,” she babbled.

Ichigo frowned down at the woman. “You might have bled out before they got here,” he chided. He lifted the makeshift bandage experimentally, then pushed it back in place and looked at Rukia, who pushed more power into her kido in response.

Later than any of them would have liked, two members of the Fourth Division arrived. “Kuchiki Taicho!” one called, and Rukia lifted her hand away from her patient and stood.

It was Ichigo who explained, “Deep shoulder wound, possible nick to the subclavian artery. She’s lost a lot of blood. I applied physical pressure to the wound and Rukia used kido to stabilize her.”

If the two members of the Fourth were surprised by Ichigo’s confident explanation or the fact that he was on a first-name basis with a captain, they didn’t show it. One calmly extracted a collapsible stretcher from the pack over her back and together, they expertly lifted Yoneda onto the stretcher.  

“Now then, Hasagawa-san.” Rukia turned her attention to the boy once the members of the Fourth had left. “Why don’t you explain to me exactly how someone who graduated from the Academy and was skilled enough to join my division lost control of his shikai?”

The next few days continued in much the same vein; Ichigo and Rukia trained together in the mornings and Rukia managed her duties as a captain in the afternoons and early evenings. Ichika, drawn to the novelty of a guest in her home (or perhaps to his familiar reiryoku), woke Ichigo up every morning and demanded a story before breakfast. On his third morning in Soul Society, Ichigo, whose tastes had long since shifted from fairytales to Shakespeare, summoned up long-ago memories of his mother reading to him at night as a child. He told her the story of Issun-Boshi, the one-inch high boy who wanted to become a warrior and defeated an oni with a sewing needle. Rukia joined them as he was explaining that the tiny warrior used a magical hammer to become a normal-sized man and marry the girl he rescued.

The next morning he dredged up his memories of a story from an old English book he’d found in the Karakura High School library, and told Ichika about Tam Lin, a man captured by faeries who was rescued by the courage of his true love. Ichika told him that the part where Tam Lin turned into different animals was “silly”.

That same morning, Sentarō took ill and Ichigo found himself volunteering to run the training drill for the group of division members Sentarō had been scheduled to manage; Rukia graciously agreed and found herself watching him from the windows of her office as her paperwork sat incomplete on her desk. Though so much time had passed, Ichigo was still so very strong, and even a good teacher: he corrected errors of technique calmly and gave praise when it was warranted.

And even after ten years, Ichigo was still so very handsome. Rukia sighed a little as she watched him call one of the newest division members over for a spar; clumsy as the younger man was, Ichigo guided him through fighting an enemy with two blades patiently. He offered a quick smile when the other shinigami managed to hold his own, and the sight of it on his face brought an answering smile to Rukia’s own lips. It must have been getting hot outside, because Ichigo rolled up the sleeves of his shihakusho, exposing a healthy set of biceps. Rukia felt herself flushing a little at the sight. Even after so long without using his sword, Ichigo was still built.

Then he called a break and one of the other Shinigami brought water that Ichigo dumped over his head to cool down. Even from her office she could see the rivulets of water running down his partially exposed chest. Rukia actually felt a little faint at the sight.

“Kuchiki Taicho?” Rukia’s fifth seat, a blue-haired woman named Akemi Eguchi, called. Rukia came back to herself and glanced up. “Taicho, message from the Fourth Division for you.”

Rukia accepted the sheet of paper with a brief nod and scanned it quickly. It was in Kiyone’s handwriting; the former third seat typically wrote messages on her sister’s behalf. “We can expect Yoneda to be released tomorrow,” she said. “Eguchi, see that she is placed on light duty for three more days – Kotetsu Fukutaicho says her shoulder needs additional rest.” Kiyone had been unable to resist adding a little gossip to her note, and Rukia covered a laugh with a cough at her contention that Hanataro had a crush on the division’s sixth seat.

At the end of the note, however, Kiyone added that Renji had woken up and was asking for her.

“Yes, Kuchiki Taicho,” Eguchi agreed. She glanced outside at the scene Rukia had been watching. “That’s Kurosaki Ichigo isn’t it?” she asked. Her cheeks flushed slightly as the man in question held out a hand and beckoned another Shinigami forward. “He’s…”

Ichigo’s bicep flexed as he pointed the zanpakutō in his right hand and fired off a getsuga tensho.

“Wow.”

Rukia cleared her throat. “If that’s all, Eguchi?” she prompted. When the woman gave an embarrassed nod and left her office, Rukia set the note from Kiyone aside and resolutely returned her attention to her paperwork. 

That evening, a hell butterfly summoned Ichigo, Rukia, and Byakuya back to Urahara’s lab. The blond scientist met them at the door and ushered them down the stairs and over to his screen. “I’ve spent the past few days working on the images from your memories,” he explained and tapped several keys with long fingers. The image from Rukia’s memory came back up, and slowly sharpened.

Hyōsube Ichibē appeared on the screen, long beard roughed up and haori stained with blood. The expression on his face was grim as he cast the kido that bound first Sode no Shirayuki and then Zangetsu.

“The monk?” Rukia gasped. “But…why would he do this?” She tensed up, hands curling into fists at the sight of him. “He made us forget and condemned us to this – this.” She couldn’t even finish the words, but Ichigo’s reaction was worse: his reiatsu spun out from his body, rocking the laboratory.

“What the hell. After all that, why would he—”

“Kurosaki, you must calm yourself.” Byakuya’s low voice cut through Ichigo’s shout, through the wildly spiraling reiatsu. “We cannot find out the answer to your question if you bring this building down around us.” He stooped, slightly, as the pressure only grew.

“Ichigo.” The word was a whisper, and Rukia tucked her hand into his. It wasn’t entirely appropriate – they were both married to other people – but it worked. Ichigo exhaled heavily, and he calmed at her touch.

“Aah. Yes, he is one of the members of Zero Division, isn’t he?” Urahara asked, as if nothing had happened. “How strange…”

Ichigo scowled. “Yhwach killed him during the war, but he was able to bring himself back. Afterwards, he told me that we couldn’t win against the Quincy king.”

“But we did win,” Rukia pointed out. “What would be the value in separating us afterwards? You saved four worlds, Ichigo. Why would Ichibē bind Zangetsu?”

“Hell if I know.” Ichigo put his hands on his hips. “Maybe he didn’t like being proved wrong.”

“I think,” Urahara began, “That you will need to travel back to the royal realm and confront this guard.”

“But that’s impossible! You needed to launch us there during the war,” Ichigo exclaimed.

“Hmm. Come back tomorrow,” Urahara said. “I have something I’ve been working on, but I need to finish it first.”

“You just have something lying around that will get us into the royal realm!?” At Rukia’s hand on his forearm, Ichigo exhaled noisily.

“We will return in the morning, Urahara-san,” Rukia said formally. “Thank you.”

Dawn came to Soul Society on the day that they were scheduled to leave for the royal realm. Rukia woke before the sun was fully risen; she’d stayed the night in the Kuchiki manor again. Ichigo and her brother had been surprisingly cordial toward one another during a late supper. In fact the only awkward moment was when Rukia announced that Renji had regained consciousness. Ichigo had just looked down guiltily, while Byakuya said nothing at all.

That was why Rukia shunpoed to the Fourth Division after an early breakfast. Her haori billowed around her as she landed just outside the courtyard. The division had done a remarkable job of cleaning up the grounds in just the past few days, although there was still some repair work to be done.

Kiyone met her at the door. “Kuchiki Taicho,” she greeted. “Are you well? It has been an exciting few days for us!”

Rukia smiled indulgently at Kiyone’s enthusiasm. “So I see, Kiyone. I’ve come to check on Abarai Fukutaicho.”

“Oh! Yes of course. Please, follow me. Would you like some tea to be brought?” If Kiyone thought it odd that Rukia was addressing her husband by her title, she kept it to herself. They walked through the relief station to the back of the building, where there were several small rooms. “Abarai Fukutaicho is just in here,” Kiyone announced.

Rukia nodded her thanks. “No tea is necessary, Kiyone. Thank you.” She stepped inside.

Renji was sitting up in the bed, hair released from his braid and flowing down below his shoulders. He was shirtless but covered in bandages from shoulder to waist and down his left arm all the way to his wrist. He looked up as Rukia entered the room and shut the door behind her. “Finally decided to visit?” he asked in a drawl.

She didn’t answer at first, choosing instead to cast a kido spell that flashed around the door and window, then a second that resulted in two small devices falling from the ceiling. She crushed each of those beneath a dainty, sandaled foot, then pulled a chair from one corner to the bedside and perched upon it, shihakusho and haori flowing over her petite frame in generous folds. “You must be feeling better if you have the energy to snark at me,” she commented.

“Hmph. Guess Ichigo got that power of his under control too, if you’re not moping around.” Renji glanced at the crushed silver devices on the floor. “Think Kotetsu Taicho knows her division is bugged?”

Rukia’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “He did,” she acknowledged. Her reiatsu spilled out angrily for a moment before she reined it in.

Renji’s eyes widened at the pressure that suddenly surrounded him, and in his weakened state he started to sweat. “You’re angry with me.”

Rukia brushed a hand against Sode no Shirayuki’s hilt. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“What the hell, Rukia? He attacked me, not the other way around,” Renji growled at her.

“Yes,” she acknowledged. “Zangetsu was very angry. Did you know that he had been bound, and Ichigo’s memories tampered with?”

Renji’s head jerked as he stared at her, sending vibrant hair spilling over his unbandaged shoulder. “No. Who would do that?”

“The same person who bound Sode no Shirayuki and tampered with my memories. Twice.” Rukia watched with some small amount of satisfaction as Renji’s pupils turned to pinpricks and his body tensed up.

“What the hell would anyone do that for?” Renji finally asked. “And when? Isn’t that illegal?” Then he stared at her. “You don’t think I did it?”

Rukia cleared her throat. “The first time was ten years ago. And no, of course I don’t think you did it. You aren’t good enough with kido.”

“Then who?” Renji’s hands fisted in the blanket covering his legs.

 “Hyōsube Ichibē.” The name made Renji’s jaw drop and he stared at Rukia.

“The monk from Zero Division? Why? What…what did he change?”

“Why did you agree to marry me?” Rukia asked instead.

“What?” She just looked at him until Renji sighed and ran his uninjured hand through his hair. “Don’t…take this the wrong way,” he cautioned. “Taicho told me that the elders were marrying you off and asked if I’d do it. I thought we could be good together. But then he…” He frowned. “He sent me on training missions in Hueco Mundo for months at a time. He had me posted in Naoshima for ten months. Most boring assignment I’ve ever had. Why are you asking this now?” Renji finished.

Rukia tucked her hands into the sleeves of her haori. “Ichigo and I are leaving for the Soul King’s palace later today,” she said quietly, “to confront the monk.”

“You’re what?!” Renji shouted, and Rukia was briefly grateful that her kido spells were holding.

“He tampered with our memories and our zanpakutō. I need to find out why. What he did has consequences, and if he doesn’t…fix it, Ichigo and I will both die,” Rukia explained calmly.

The redhead eyed her carefully. “There’s more, isn’t there. There’s a reason you’re asking why I married you.”

Rukia rose from her chair. “I have to go, Renji.”

Renji struggled to sit up, reaching for Zabimaru with one hand and swinging his feet toward the floor. “Damn Kuchiki stubbornness,” he groused. “You think the two of you are going to face the Zero Division alone? Just let me get my uniform on and tell Taicho.” He groaned when a light push from Rukia had him flat on the bed again.

“You’re still injured,” Rukia admonished. When he tried to rise again, she threatened, “Don’t make me cast Sai on you. Ichigo and I will be fine.” She ignored Renji’s bleak expression and turned on her heel.

She left Renji, still grumbling, and shunpoed to Urahara’s not-so-secret lab. When she arrived, Ichigo and her brother were already there.

“How’s Renji doing?” Ichigo asked.

Rukia grimaced. “He’s recovering. I don’t think he had anything to do with…any of this.” Ichigo opened his mouth to speak again, but Urahara interrupted.

“Kuchiki-san!” the scientist greeted as he turned in his chair. “Right on time. Now we can get started.” He pushed a button and a set of stairs slid down from the ceiling of the lab. “Up the stairs, please.”

Ichigo and Rukia exchanged glances, but obediently climbed up the metal stairs. Urahara and Byakuya followed them, the former tapping his cane on each step as he went. They emerged onto the roof of the small building, where a relatively squat, conical metal structure sat.

“And this is your transport. As I said, I’d been working on it at the shop,” Urahara announced.

Rukia and Ichigo looked at one another, their faces comically incredulous. “Did…did he say that’s our transport?” Rukia whispered, one hand hiding her mouth from view as she leaned closer to him.

“It looks like a spaceship,” Ichigo whispered back.

“It does look like a spaceship!” Urahara crowed. “It will launch you up to the Soul King’s palace. Inside, now, inside.”

But neither Rukia nor Ichigo moved. “What about the Ōken?” Rukia finally asked.

Urahara waved a hand negligently. “Don’t worry about that!”

“Don’t worry about it?!” Ichigo exploded. “How can we not worry about it when having an Ōken is a critical part of getting into the palace?”

Urahara tipped his hat up and looked at them out of his good eye. “I assure you: you will be able to reach the palace in safety.” He gestured, and a panel slid away, allowing entry into the transport device.

Rukia turned to look at Byakuya, who had been impassively watching the display. “Nii-sama, please watch over Ichika for me.” At his nod, Rukia stepped forward and walked through the doorway of the transport.

Ichigo gave Byakuya a solemn nod and turned to Urahara. “Thanks, Urahara-san,” he said quietly. Then he, too, stepped into the transport. The panel slid shut.

Inside, the transport was padded with white fabric. There were two small seats with straps. Rukia had already sat on one and tied the straps around herself; Ichigo did the same quickly. There was little room to move around; Ichigo hoped the trip wouldn’t be a long one.

“How did the discussion with Renji go, really?” Ichigo asked. He watched Rukia carefully, hands itching to take hers.

“I didn’t tell him everything,” Rukia murmured. “About…what we were to each other, or about Ichika. I left it unfinished.” She sighed. “He tried to come with us anyway.”

The transport began to shake around them. “He is your husband,” Ichigo pointed out – in part to remind himself of that fact.

Rukia lowered her eyes. Before she could think to say anything else, the transport shot into the sky. Both of its occupants were jerked down into their seats at the moment of launch, and the sense of pressure continued as they rose into the sky.

“We’ve never acted as husband and wife,” Rukia finally said quietly.

Ichigo cleared his throat. “But you said he thinks Ichika is his,” he pointed out.

Rukia flushed deep crimson. “Well there was that, a couple of times just after the wedding, but we never lived together, and we haven’t slept together in years,” she snapped.

“Neither have Orihime and I,” Ichigo said after a few minutes, when Rukia’s blushes had started to fade.

“But…but you live together,” Rukia stuttered.

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’ve spent most of the last ten years in school and then in my residency,” he pointed out. “Medical school for six years, and then I needed to complete a two year residency. And the new doctors get the worst shifts. I used to get home early in the morning and collapse on the couch.”

 Rukia pursed her lips. “Doesn’t Orihime feel neglected?”

“Jeez, Rukia. I—” Before Ichigo could say any more, the transport started to shake violently. “I think we’re nearly there,” he said unnecessarily. The violent shaking continued and even increased, and the transport seemed to stall in place for a moment.

Then, with a pop that sounded like a cork blasting out of a champagne bottle, the transport lurched up into an arc. It landed a moment later, and a video screen came to life perpendicular to Ichigo and Rukia. “Welcome to the Soul King’s palace!” Urahara announced on the video screen. He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling nearly the whole screen. “Remember, you need to convince Hyōsube to untangle your threads. Try not to kill anyone while you’re there. And when you’re ready to come back, just push the button below this screen,” he instructed. “The doorway will respond only to the two of you.”

The door opened, and Rukia and Ichigo nodded at one another briefly. They untied the straps around themselves and stepped outside, Ichigo first and Rukia following. “Damn,” Ichigo said quietly. “We’re not in Hyōsube’s city – we’re in Kirio-san’s.”

Rukia hummed her agreement. “We’ll need to find a way to get there. They catapulted us last time, but perhaps there’s another way?”

Strong reiatsu struck them both, suddenly, and Ichigo and Rukia turned. Kirio Hikifune was standing just feet away: she had found them, and she was rushing closer. Fast.

Chapter Text

Before either Ichigo or Rukia could raise a weapon, Hikifune grabbed them both. The two shinigami found themselves crushed into the purple-haired woman’s pillowy body. When Rukia squeaked weakly that she couldn’t breathe, the Zero Division member abruptly let them both go, and watched with an amused smile on her face while the two caught their breath.

“I am so happy to see you, my dears!” she exclaimed, as if they hadn’t just broken into her city. “And you, Kuchiki Taicho – how marvelous! Do you have many babies together? Did you bring them to see me?”

Ichigo and Rukia stared first at Hikifune and then at one another in incomprehension. “Ah...Kirio-san,” Ichigo finally said. “We’re not married to one another. We have…other partners.”

Hikifune’s mouth dropped open. “You’re what? But you were so perfect together! And after the night you spent in my city, you glowed like the sun and moon,” she sputtered, causing her visitors to drop their heads, cheeks reddened.

Rukia finally looked up. “We came here in part because of that,” she said quietly. “Well, to this realm. We intended to find Hyōsube Ichibē, but it seems our transport was a little…off course.”

Hikifune drew herself up. “Well, you had better come inside and explain, then. Come, come, I’ll cook you a meal and you can tell me everything.”

They followed her into her beautiful dining hall, glancing wide-eyed at one another. Ichigo hadn’t expected such a warm welcome; they didn’t have permission to be in the royal realm, after all, and he wasn’t even a real shinigami. He’d guessed that Hikifune knew about their night together all those years ago, had guessed that the Zero Division member had even encouraged it, sending him to Rukia’s room as she had, but – her superior had separated them.

A few minutes later, the pair found themselves seated at Hikifune’s enormous table. “Relax, relax, while I cook,” Hikifune admonished and swept into her kitchen, white haori billowing around her. Soon, the sounds of knives chopping and food sizzling in pans met their ears. “Do you think this is a trap?” Rukia asked in a whisper.

“I don’t think so. She seemed genuinely shocked that we’re not together. And remember, she was the one who sent me to your room that night.” They both blushed at Ichigo’s reminder.

“Hn. But the monk – wouldn’t he have told her what he did?” Rukia asked when the color in her cheeks was back to normal.

A substantially more svelte Hikifune bustled out of the kitchen with an enormous bowl of piping hot rice in one hand and a platter of tempura shrimp in the other. Before they could say anything, she was gone again, and then back with a platter each of vegetables and delectable-looking sushi. Finally, she placed tall glasses of cold tea in front of each of them, and sat down at the head of the table, waiting expectantly. “Well?” she said as Ichigo and Rukia stared at the bounty before them. “Eat! And then tell me why you’ve come to find the monk.”

Obediently, Rukia reached for the rice and served a portion for all three of them, while Ichigo served the tempura and vegetables. They selected pieces of sushi as well, choosing from square rolls assembled so elegantly that the sliced pieces looked like stained-glass windows. Both clasped their hands before them and very politely uttered, “Itadakimasu” before picking up their chopsticks. Hikifune did the same a moment later.

Hikifune let them eat silently for a few minutes, and for that time Ichigo let himself enjoy their meal. Her cooking was exquisite, better than anything he’d eaten in ten years: the tempura was perfectly crispy, the rice just the right texture. The sushi contained the freshest fish he’d ever tasted, and the vegetables were still just a bit crisp.

When the tempura was consumed and the rice nearly gone, however, Hikifune set her glass down. “Now that you’ve taken the edge off of your hunger,” she began, “why are you here?”

Taking it in turns, the pair of shinigami explained what had happened since their departure from her city. Hikifune served them each another helping of her tempura while they talked, and then more sushi as well. Her expression grew darker all the while, and when Rukia ended with, “And so, Urahara-san told us that we must come here, to untangle the threads,” Hikifune slapped one hand on the table and set the enormous dishes rattling.

“Preposterous,” she pronounced it. “I saw the red thread between you the first moment we met, and Ichibē must have done the same. To tangle your threads so and create such unhappiness is obscene. Eat, eat, and then rest. And then we will go to the monk together.”

Rukia exchanged a look with Ichigo. “Even if he agrees to do…whatever he must do to help us untangle the threads, will it work?” she asked hesitantly.

Hikifune eyed Rukia. “Finish your sushi, Kuchiki Taicho, while I make dessert.” She rose from the table and bustled away with the empty platters.

Ichigo polished off another piece of shrimp nigiri. “What makes you think it won’t work?” he asked when he was sure they were alone.

“Ichigo, even if Hyōsube fixes whatever he did, I’ll still be married to Renji and you’ll still be with Orihime,” Rukia pointed out. “Won’t the threads still be tangled?”

“Hn. Maybe whatever he did has kept them tangled.”

Rukia eyed him. “What do you mean?”

Ichigo shrugged, but he was carefully sipping his tea instead of looking at her. “You can’t untie a knot if someone pours glue over it,” he said.

Before Rukia could reply, Hikifune swept back out of the kitchen with a surprisingly dainty chocolate cake. She set it down between them, then set down plates, an outsized cake knife, and three little forks. “Go on,” she encouraged. “I’m sure you saved room for dessert.”

Rukia and Ichigo stared at one another over the cake. Finally, Ichigo picked up the cake knife and served them all, offering Rukia her choice of slice. There were fresh strawberries on top and strawberry jam through the middle of the ganache-covered cake, along with a layer of white chocolate mousse.

At the first bite, Rukia nearly melted into her chair and let out an involuntary moan. “This is delicious, Kirio-san,” she exclaimed, and took another bite.

Hikifune just smiled, and watched as Ichigo blushed a little, then looked at his companion fondly before turning his attention to his own cake.

When they were both full practically to bursting, Hikifune stood. “And now that you’ve been fed, you must rest.” When Ichigo opened his mouth to object, she waved a hand. “Just for a little while, Kurosaki-san. You need time to digest.” At another gesture, Rukia and Ichigo stood and obediently followed Hikifune from her grand dining room to a separate building much more modest in scale. She pushed the wooden door open with a light touch and waved them inside. “I’ll return in a few hours; I have preparations to make!”

When Hikifune shut the door behind her, Rukia took the opportunity to look around the space they’d been ushered into. There was a low, teak wood sofa stacked with colorful cushions along one wall, and a matching coffee table in front of it. Open shoji doors framed a second space – a bedroom with a surprisingly large bed laden with pillows. Rukia’s cheeks flushed red at the sight, and she quickly sat on the sofa.

Ichigo joined her there a moment later. He was close enough that they could have touched, although he didn’t reach for her. “She isn’t subtle,” he decided after a few minutes of silence, prompting a strangled laugh from Rukia.

“What a mess,” she finally said, head falling back against the cushions. Her eyes felt damp and she quickly blinked away the moisture.

“Che, we’ve gotten out of worse messes together.” The words made her laugh again, and she rolled her head on the cushions to look over at him.

“By fighting,” she pointed out. “Those messes could be solved with a blade. There wasn’t any memory tampering, or children out of wedlock, or…Ichigo, what are you even going to tell Orihime?”

Ichigo grunted. “I haven’t gotten that far.” His eyes met hers. “I don’t know how much there is to tell yet.”

There was something soft in his tone, something that sounded like longing, and red rushed into Rukia’s cheeks unbidden. “We-well obviously you have to tell her about Ichika. And Kazui should know that he has a half-sister,” she deflected.

“Yeah.” Ichigo looked away from her and sighed heavily. “It’s weird how I thought I was too young when Kazui came along. I was even younger when Ichika was born.” His expression darkened. “I’m sorry I wasn’t –”

“Idiot,” Rukia mumbled. "You already apologized for that. And it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t like you knew about her and abandoned me.”

“I should have known. I should have been able to fight whatever Hyōsube did. I should have fought it off and come back to you!” Ichigo’s voice rose nearly to a shout, startling Rukia into sitting up.

“And how were you supposed to have done that?” she asked pointedly. “The monk is the leader of the Zero Division. He is one of the strongest and most talented shinigami ever to exist. And you didn’t even know that there was something wrong!”

Ichigo still wasn’t looking at her, but as Rukia watched, a tear rolled from the corner of his eye and into his hairline. “I knew there was something missing.” His voice was very quiet, almost inaudible. “I knew it when I had to watch you marry Renji, and when I…” He cleared his throat. “I knew,” he repeated in a rough voice.

She knew it was wrong to reach for him. Rukia did it anyway, her hand finding his and holding tight. “Do I need to shout at you to stop being depressed?” she asked, and she was only half-joking. “We can’t change the past, Ichigo. We can only go forward.”

Just stab him, Zangetsu suggested. It broke some of the tension when they both heard it.

“We can’t go around stabbing people,” Ichigo objected tiredly. He looked at Rukia then. “You hear him too, don’t you?” he asked. “Byakuya seemed really freaked out when he noticed it.”

Rukia murmured her agreement. “I’ve never heard of a shinigami hearing another’s zanpakutō spirit.” She yawned briefly; the heavy food they’d eaten was making her sleepy.

“Something to do with the red thread,” Ichigo guessed. Then he squeezed her hand lightly. “Do you want to take a nap?” he offered. “Kirio-san said that she needed a few hours.” He yawned as well.

“Yes, I think so. Perhaps this was what Kirio-san meant when she said we need to ‘digest’. Rukia rose from the sofa and looked toward the bed. “You should rest as well.”

Ichigo leaned his head back. “Yeah. You take the bed; I’ll be fine out here.”

Rukia looked over the sofa; it wasn’t long enough for him to stretch out on. “I’ll take the sofa and you can use the bed. The sofa’s too short for you, dummy. And you’ll get a headache sleeping like that.”

Ichigo opened one eye and looked at her. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. Rukia forcibly pulled him out of his seat as Ichigo objected – loudly. “Come on,” she insisted and pulled him beyond the shoji screens. She shoved him onto the bed. “Get some rest. I’ll be on the sofa.”

Before she could leave, Ichigo grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Bed’s big,” he muttered gruffly. “Just stay on your side.”

Rukia huffed at him but laid down alongside him to end the argument. She turned her back to him and thought she might at least rest for a few minutes, even if sleeping next to her friend was out of the question. Hikifune’s food really did have a soporific effect, however, and before long they were both fast asleep.

Zangetsu leapt from hillock to snow-covered hillock, following the sweet scent of andromeda that he’d grown to realize was Sode no Shirayuki. She’d always smelled like snow to him, but in the blizzard that was Kuchiki Rukia’s inner world, he’d quickly had to learn the other subtle, winter’s bloom perfume that called him to her. The snow slackened momentarily, and he smirked; he could feel that Ichigo was calming for a moment, settling into sleep – next to Rukia. Maybe it would finally stop flooding in Ichigo’s inner world. Until it did, Shirayuki’s home was a little more hospitable even with all the cold and snow. At least he wasn’t drowning, anyway.

He landed in the shadow of a snowdrift and she was there, kimono sparkling white and obi soft lavender as it wrapped around her waist. Her white hair blew around her in the blizzard, but the star sapphire pin was a spot of bright color amid the snow and ice. “Snow lady,” he said quietly, and she turned.

“Zangetsu-san,” she murmured in return. This close she was already overwhelming; he’d heard others call her the most beautiful zanpakutō in all of Soul Society, and they were right. They’d met, years and years ago, when the Old Man had pretended to be him, and again when the truth of the King’s zanpakutō had come out. They’d been together, just before the King and his Queen had been torn apart.

His snow lady was elegant and delicate – and deadly. And he – he was a negative reflection of his wielder, a yellow-eyed monster who shouldn’t even take her by the hand after leaving her alone for so long. He wasn’t even –  

Shirayuki reached out and took his hand in hers. “You shouldn’t bring such absurd thoughts to my door,” she admonished, but her voice was cool and gentle as it washed over him. “It was you who broke the seal on yourself and on me. And it was us, working together, who brought back their memories.” Her other hand moved and a door opened in the air before them, leading into warmth and light. She stepped in and he followed, hand twined with hers.

“Hn. It took ten years too long. They’re asleep,” he pointed out as the door closed behind him. They weren’t in the cabin from a few weeks ago; this place shut out the blizzard almost entirely. It was warm, dry, and oddly modern. Zangetsu turned in place to look at the pale, polished ash wood floors and walls painted silver-gray. It looked like a studio apartment from one of the television shows that the Kurosaki twins liked to watch: there was a fireplace set in one wall across from a comfortable-looking, plush white sofa, and in one corner, behind a screen, was a huge bed made up with white bedding.

“They are,” Shirayuki agreed. She flushed as she followed his eyes, but together they sat on the sofa. “Neither of them has said anything when we’ve spent time together. I wonder if they can’t sense it.”

“Maybe. If the King doesn’t slit the monk’s throat I’m taking over again and doing it myself,” Zangetsu growled. But her hand touched his again, and some of his ire softened.

“If the monk does not fix it, I’ll help,” Shirayuki agreed softly. “But right now, they are resting, and we should rest too, while they absorb Kirio-san’s power.”

“Hn. Didn’t think you invited me in here to rest,” Zangetsu said, and raised an eyebrow at her. He smirked when a blush dusted over her cheeks, turning the snow-white skin pale pink. “You didn’t, my snow lady, did you?”

Shirayuki cleared her throat. “I have never invited another into my space,” she admitted, cheeks flushing a deeper hue. When Zangetsu raised a white-haired eyebrow at her, she added, “The nue showed up after Rukia married.”

Zangetsu sneered. “Showed up uninvited?” he asked. But his hand gripped hers tightly. He could feel her slender bones beneath pale skin.

“Hn. The first time they – well.” Shirayuki made a face. “The blizzard had already started, and I thought this whole world was going to come apart. I told him that if he ever entered Rukia’s inner world again I would turn him into an ice sculpture and return him to his master in pieces,” Shirayuki said primly.

Her hand shook in his despite her tone, though, and his thumb brushed over soft, cool skin. “He won’t be back,” Zangetsu promised. “The nue or its wielder.”

She murmured in agreement, “He won’t. He came back a second time and I froze him with my tsukishiro. Abarai couldn’t use his zanpakutō properly for a month and had no idea why – the nue was too embarrassed to tell him.”

His attempt to stifle his snort was unsuccessful, but Zangetsu pointed out, “You let me in.”

“Well.” Shirayuki looked up at him, pale eyes gleaming in the light from the fire. “You’re different, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Am I?” He didn’t think that he knew how to be gentle; born of a hollow and built for fighting, Zangetsu didn’t think that any of Ichigo’s softer tendencies had rubbed off on him. But Shirayuki – just looking at her softened him and when he leaned in and pressed his white lips against hers, he kept himself soft; he kept himself under control. But then her mouth moved under his and it sent a bolt straight through him. His hand came up and his fingers slid into the mass of silver-white hair at the nape of her neck, keeping her pressed close to him as they kissed. His teeth nipped, making her gasp, and Zangetsu pressed his advantage, tongue darting into her mouth.

His snow lady gave as good as she got: she was no shrinking, scared flower. One hand fisted in the white fabric of his shihakusho to drag him closer and she was as eager as him, tongue finding his and cool skin heating under the touch of his hand. When he dragged his lips down her neck and bit, marking her white skin, Shirayuki moaned for him and Zangetsu pulled her closer. He wanted to mark her, he wanted her to be his. “If you weren’t, I’d have frozen you for biting me like that,” Shirayuki gasped out, as her cold hands pushed aside white fabric and slipped inside his shihakusho.

He bit again, but lightly, and his tongue slid over the reddening skin. “I’m not gentle,” he warned as his fingers unknotted her obijime and tried to unwrap the lavender fabric beneath it. When the fabric refused to fall away from her, he tore it instead, sharp nails ripping through silk until the ruined fabric fell away from her slender waist along with the pale green obiage.

She smirked at him as her sparkling white kimono fell open, and her own fingers deftly untied the black sash that held his shihakusho shut. “And I’m not fragile,” Shirayuki reminded him, as her hand slid into his hakama.

“Good,” he growled softly as he dragged his mouth further down, leaving a trail of reddening marks where his lips nipped at her skin. His fingers tore at the nagajuban beneath the kimono – she wore so many layers, and he wanted all of them off, wanted to see her bare and flushed beneath him. Zangetsu shuddered against her when she grasped him, and his hand tightened in her silver-white hair as he muttered her name against her skin.

He shucked off his hakama when her fingers undid the knot holding them up, and when Shirayuki was bare for him as well, piles of fabric surrounding her, Zangetsu rose and lifted her slender form into his arms so that he could carry her over to her bed. “Tell me you want me,” he demanded as he dropped her on the soft bedding and then joined her, leaning over her to mark her again with lips and teeth. “Tell me you want this.” And his hand slid down, along the soft skin of her belly and the crease of her thigh to find and cup the core of her.

Shirayuki’s pale eyes met his yellow ones, and she arched her hips up toward his fingers, lips parting on a gasp. “I want you,” she told him through kiss-reddened lips as she grabbed for him.

Zangetsu grinned down at her as two fingers slid along soft, already slick skin, drawing out another gasp. Her fingernails bit into his back and he huffed out, “Good,” and focused his attentions on her breasts, on sucking pale nipples into stiff, pink peaks and laving his tongue over her soft skin. She was so soft – but a live wire under him, fingers threading through his white hair as she writhed beneath him, hips arching towards his fingers while lips parting on moans that were already music to his ears.

“Zangetsu.” His name on her lips like that, breathy and needy, sent a shudder of pleasure through him and he dragged her legs further apart, grinning again when she threw a slender ankle over his shoulder and tried to drag him closer. When he licked into soft folds already wet and warm for him – already delicious for him – Shirayuki choked on air and said his name again, and he loved it. He was already so hard, hips jerking into the bedding beneath him for relief as he lapped at her clit and slid two fingers inside of her. Her hips jerked up toward his mouth and he took it for the hint it was when her hand tightened in his hair and tried to drag him closer.

When she came under his mouth, he almost ruined himself it was so sexy: just her, pale as the moon and writhing underneath him as she called his name, cheeks flushed in her passion. Shirayuki reached for him and he gave her only the barest warning as he rose up, letting her leg fall back to the bed. “You’re mine,” Zangetsu told her as he pulled her closer by the thighs and dragged his cock, thick and hard, through her slick folds. Even just that made them both moan, and he clutched her thighs hard enough that he knew she’d be marked there, too.

Shirayuki slid her arms around him and one hand found the back of his neck to urge him closer, as she murmured Yes in his ear, pale eyes meeting his. When he pushed inside of her they both gasped and she covered his mouth with hers, stifling her moans on his lips as they kissed while he sank deeper into the tight, wet silk of her. He almost came right then and there, sheathed inside of her and shuddering with the effort of holding himself back.

They moved together, hips slapping against one another in the low light as she scored his back with her fingernails again and he shuddered again, loving the sting of them and knowing that he’d be marked too. Zangetsu moved faster while she moaned for him, his name breaking apart in her mouth as he rocked into her, filling her over and over again. “Touch yourself,” he ordered against her lips, and her eyes fluttered open. Then she smirked, and one of her hands slid down between them to cup his sac instead, squeezing as he shook above her before she did as he’d ordered and her fingers settled higher.

He bit her lip in retaliation and fucked harder, slamming into her over and over as she shook beneath him, lips parting on moans that he drank in, even as he dragged her hips higher to change the angle of his thrusts, finding a spot that made Shirayuki’s eyes roll back into her head. He hitched out a gasp when her inner walls fluttered and tightened around him, and that was all the warning he got before she crashed into her orgasm, head thrown back and mouth choking out his name while she clenched around him. He ground his hips against hers, her name a curse and a prayer as he followed, spilling himself into the heat of her before they collapsed together, white skin flushed pink and sweat-slick.

When Zangetsu came back to himself he collapsed off to one side of her and pulled her against him, his chest pressed against her back. She was his – she was his, after a decade of being apart from her. And it turned out, Zangetsu had lied about his ability to be gentle: as he curved himself around her, one pale arm keeping her tucked against him, he pressed soft lips to all the blossoming hickeys and other marks he could reach and promised quietly that he’d never let her go again.

When Shirayuki turned her head he kissed her lips, too, and whispered, “I love you,” into her skin. Her lips curved under his and she whispered the words in return.

Sometime in the several hours that they slept, Ichigo and Rukia drifted together. When they woke with Hikifune standing over them and beaming, Rukia’s head was on Ichigo’s chest and his arm was wrapped around her shoulders. They slid away from one another, cheeks pink, and stared at her.

“I hope you had a good rest!” Hikifune exclaimed as if what she was seeing wasn’t at all unusual. “My preparations are complete, and I am ready to take you to Ichibē’s city. We leave in ten minutes.” Then she swept away, leaving them alone.

“Ichigo…” Rukia’s cheeks burned bright red; in her sleep she’d seen flashes of white skin on white, of Zangetsu and Shirayuki as they twined together. Was it considered infidelity if your zanpakutō had sex? Those images hadn’t been dreams, after all – she didn’t even need to sit jinzen to feel Shirayuki’s satisfaction.

Ichigo’s cheeks reddened again but he barely looked at her as he rolled to put his feet on the floor, facing away from her. “You can use the washroom first,” he muttered.

Rukia shook herself of sleep and combed a hand through her hair, then stood and made her way to the washroom in the corner. Now what? she asked herself as she peered into the small mirror mounted on the wall. Beyond the thin door she could hear rustling and then – her cheeks flushed bright red and she pressed herself against the wall of the bathroom, one hand covering her mouth so that no noise could escape. It was clear that Ichigo had seen those same images, had been affected by them.

Well – she wasn’t immune either, especially not with the knowledge that her best friend, her former lover, was touching himself with just a thin wooden door between them. But there was still Renji. There was still Orihime. Rukia took a deep breath and, as silently as she could, washed up. When she was done freshening up, she left without a word to Ichigo and pretended not to see the guilt and embarrassment on his face.

Once Ichigo had completed his own ablutions they slipped their sandals back on at the door and met Hikifune outside. She led them to the catapult they’d used ten years ago, and Ichigo groaned at the memory. “There really isn’t a better way?” he griped even as he climbed in. Rukia stepped in next to him and his breath hitched before he settled, shoulder brushing against hers. Hikifune launched them into the air before they could say anything further.

This time Ichigo managed not to scream as they were flung through the air toward the monk’s city. Rukia was flying faster than he was, and she landed first, haori gracefully fluttering around her. Ichigo was significantly less graceful but he managed not to hit her as he tumbled head over feet twice before coming to a stop.

Hikifune followed them a moment later, and Ichigo and Rukia both got out of the way quickly as she came in for a landing. “Very good!” she said cheerfully as she straightened up and brushed wrinkles out of her voluminous haori. Her expression darkened and her voice turned serious as she turned toward Ichibē’s palace, which was perched at the top of a long set of stairs. “Follow me, then. It’s time to have a word with Ichibē-san.”

Ichigo reflexively checked both of Zangetsu’s blades – on his back and at his hip – and he saw Rukia do the same with Sode no Shirayuki. They followed Hikifune up the stairs and past the fabric curtains.

“Aah, Hikifune-chan!” a deep voice called. Hyōsube Ichibē emerged from behind another curtain. He was as large as Ichigo remembered, broad and tall, and the outsize beads around his neck were the same as they had been a decade ago. His beard seemed somewhat bushier. “And two shinigami. I didn’t know we were expecting visitors.”

Ichigo growled under his breath, but Hikifune stepped in front of him and a look from Rukia quieted him.

“Ichibē-san, my friends Kurosaki-san and Kuchiki taicho have come to me with a very interesting story,” Hikifune announced cheerfully. “Perhaps you know it?”

“Oh?” Ichibē drew closer and grinned at the two shinigami as if he hadn’t meddled with their lives. “I don’t know any stories about these two, Hikifune-chan. What story did they tell you?”

Hikifune’s expression darkened again and she drew herself up to her full height. “A story about how their memories were sealed, their zanpakutō tampered with, and the red thread between them tangled deliberately. Do you know who might have done that, Ichibē?”

Rukia’s hand fell to the hilt of her zanpakutō even as a whisper of cold rage buffeted through her. She could hear Zangetsu as well, already calling for the monk’s blood. Beside her Ichigo’s right hand reached for the weapon on his back.

Chapter Text

Ichigo drew the blade on his back and waited in silence as Ichibē looked at them: a former substitute, a leader of the thirteen divisions, and his fellow Zero Division member.

“It’s bold to draw a weapon on me, Kurosaki,” he said calmly, “Considering that I can cut your power from you.”

“Yeah, well. It was bold of you to bind our zanpakutō and erase our memories,” Ichigo pointed out.

“I see. You know, then,” Ichibē said calmly.

Rukia and Ichigo exchanged a look. “So, you don’t deny it?” Rukia asked. She drew Sode no Shirayuki, and ice-cold reiatsu swirled around her, sending her too-large haori billowing around her body.

Ichibē just beckoned them forward. “We may as well sit down and have tea.”

“Tea?” Ichigo’s voice was a low growl, inflected with Zangetsu’s, and beside him Rukia’s reiatsu was forming ice patterns on the ground.

“Yes. And then you can decide whether to try your luck against my Ichimonji,” Ichibē said with a shrug, “though I will blacken the names of your zanpakutō as easily as I have erased your memories.”

Before either Ichigo or Rukia could respond, a giant wok chuan – of all things – blocked them. “We will have tea,” Hikifune declared cheerfully, though her eyes sparked with irritation as she looked at her colleague.

Ichigo’s expression promised retribution, but Rukia sheathed Sode no Shirayuki and stepped forward, he did the same with Zangetsu. A servant rushed in and delivered a brown tea pot and four cups. Once each of the four Shinigami were seated on cushions and tea had been poured, Ichibē calmly sipped his tea and eyed Ichigo and Rukia. “So,” he said, “You were able to break some of my bindings.”

“Zangetsu broke free,” Ichigo said flatly. Zangetsu was yelling in his head and he could tell that Rukia still heard him. “He took over my body, stormed the Seireitei, and broke the binding on Rukia’s blade as well.”

“Hn, hn. And so why are you here, if your memories are returned and your zanpakutō are unbound?” Ichibē asked. His voice was still even, and to Ichigo he looked utterly unconcerned.

“We’re here because the threads are still tangled,” Rukia said, and her fingers were tight on her teacup. “Urahara told us that something is still wrong and that if you don’t fix it, we’ll both die.”

Ichibē raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Rukia touched Ichigo’s hand with her free one and the thread appeared around them, still snarled and frayed. “This is what Urahara saw.”

Ichibē reached out a hand and the floating thread pulled away reflexively. “Hn. The exile is right. Interesting – my magic should have kept this from you for the rest of Kurosaki’s life.”

“Why did you do all of this?” Ichigo demanded.

The Zero Division leader sipped his tea and glanced at Hikifune. “I did not believe you could defeat Yhwach,” he explained. “I told you as much. Yhwach claimed he would come back at your happiest moment, did he not?” At Rukia’s hesitant nod, he continued, “I could not let that happen, now could I?”

Ichigo blinked and saw red. “You did this so that we wouldn’t be happy?” The words were a snarl and both Hikifune and Rukia had to grab his arms to keep him for reaching for Zangetsu.

“What is the happiness of two Shinigami weighed against the whole existence of the World of the Living and Soul Society?” Ichibē asked. “It has kept Yhwach away this long, hasn’t it?”

“Actually, his reiatsu appeared two weeks ago. My—our daughter and Ichigo’s son saw it, in the World of the Living. They were able to defeat it easily and Captain Kurotsuchi has verified that there are no traces of Yhwach left,” Rukia said. “And that was without either of us at our happiest moment.”

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, I was pretty happy seeing you after so long,” he mumbled, and Hikifune openly giggled at the way they both blushed.

Ichibē took another sip of his tea. “I see.”

Rukia took a calming breath. “And that was not all you did,” she told him. “You infiltrated the Fourth Division. You probably killed a seated officer in the Fourth to cover up what you did. And you or a proxy sent someone to infiltrate the Kuchiki Manor as well.”

Ichigo’s jaw dropped, and so did Hikifune’s – Rukia hadn’t told either of them that. “Rukia?” he asked tentatively.

Reiatsu began to form around Rukia’s body, sharp and cold enough that the dregs of the tea in her cup froze over. “I was remembering Ichika’s birth a few days ago, and what came after. A servant I had never seen before and whom Nii-sama has denied ever hiring stood guard at my door and summoned help when I was in labor. Strangers from the Fourth attended me. I was bedridden for seventeen months.” She looked Ichibē in the face. “At no point during those months did anyone from the Fourth whom I knew attempt to see me. And at no point during the years since my illness have I seen any of those individuals in the Seireitei.”

Ichigo’s reiatsu reached for and wrapped around her as Ichibē watched, eyes wide with curiosity. “I understand that you wanted to prevent Yhwach’s return,” he said, and his eyes burned yellow, the sclera turning black as he looked at Ichibē. “But how many people did you turn or kill? Your interference kept my daughter from me for ten years. And you made Rukia suffer.” His words were a low growl overlaid with Zangetsu’s voice.

“Fascinating,” he mumbled as he watched the twining reiatsu. “Can you hear one another’s zanpakutō?” he asked, as if Ichigo was no threat at all.

“Yes. Why?” Rukia asked. She glanced into her frozen cup of tea and then set it down.

“Hmm, that shouldn’t be possible with the threads so tangled,” the monk mused.

Hikifune spoke up, then, cheerful but impatient. “You must undo whatever is still hurting them, Ichibē. Yhwach is dead. Ichigo and Rukia saved the Soul Society, the Living World, and this very realm. You must allow their threads to untangle.” Her voice lowered and grew more serious as she told him, “It is an obscenity that you interfered in the first place.”

Ichibē was silent for a time. He watched the way Ichigo and Rukia’s reiryoku intertwined and the way the red thread around them spun and swirled despite its compromised state. Finally, he set his teacup down. “You will spar with one another for me.”

Ichigo’s mouth dropped open and Rukia just stared at him. “…What?” Ichigo finally asked.

Ichibē’s lips quirked up. “I need a great deal of power to fix what I have done. You will spar with one another and generate that power for me to use.”

Even Hikifune looked skeptical at that statement, but she shrugged her shoulders and said only, “I am glad that I fed you both first.”

“Very well,” Rukia said. “We will do as you ask.”

“You must understand, Kuchiki Taicho, Kurosaki-san. What I will do will not undo what has happened in the past ten years. I cannot turn back time. I will merely release your threads so that you may walk forward unimpeded.”

Ichigo nodded sharply. “I understand.” The black coloring receded from his sclera and his eyes were once more a warm amber. He stood and offered his hand first to Rukia, then to Hikifune to help them up. Ichibē rose last and with a gesture led them into his training space.

“Kirio-chan and I will be a safe distance away,” Ichibē assured them. He sat down on a bench along the wall and Hikifune joined him while Ichigo and Rukia walked into the sparring area.

“I guess it’s a good thing I’ve been training for the past few days,” Ichigo remarked. “I thought I’d have to fight Ichibē, but I don’t mind sparring with you again.” He smiled down at Rukia and she gave him one of her own in answer, lips curving up softly.

They stood there looking at one another for what must have been a moment too long, because Ichibē tapped his clog on the ground. “Whenever you are ready,” he invited.

As they had every morning for the past five days, Ichigo and Rukia unsheathed their zanpakutō simultaneously and Rukia released her shikai immediately. They came together in a clash of black and white that sent them both sliding back on the balls of their feet. Well-fed on Hikifune’s reiatsu-infused food, they did not hold back: Rukia performed her first dance immediately, sending a pillar of ice into the sky where Ichigo had been, and Ichigo retaliated with a getsuga tensho that Rukia dodged just as quickly.

Soon the floor was pockmarked with holes and kicked-up dirt from their fight; at one point Ichigo aimed both of his blades for a devastating getsuga jūjishō that Rukia just barely dodged and Shirayuki shouted her annoyance at both of them for being so reckless. When they were sweaty and panting from dancing around his training room, Ichibē called out, “You must use your bankai now.”

Rukia cleared her throat. “My bankai is very dangerous, Ichibē-san. Are you certain?”

Ichibē just grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

“We’ll be fine, Rukia,” Ichigo reassured. “You’ve had your bankai for a decade now.”

Rukia nodded and backed up several steps. “You first,” she invited.

Ichigo grinned and held both of his blades in front of him. “Bankai, Tensa Zangetsu,” he said, and there was a lightness to his voice that hadn’t been there in a long time. Reiatsu swirled around him, edged in black. His blades reformed into one larger, black and white blade while his shihakusho billowed into a black and white coat. Black markings formed around his wrists and white bands with red scales crisscrossed over his chest.

Ichibē just snorted. “What is that?”

Ichigo turned to face him, eyebrows raised. “My bankai,” he said, puzzlement in his voice.

“That’s not your bankai,” Ichibē objected. He stood and walked on his tall geta to Ichigo. “Something else is wrong here.” He circled Ichigo impatiently for a moment, then tapped on Ichigo’s blade with his own, brush-shaped zanpakutō. “I did a better job than I thought, it seems. Or a worse job. There is nothing for it.” He clattered back over to the bench and gestured at Rukia. “Continue!”

Rukia took her time, centering herself and calming her mind. Then, with her blade held before her, she murmured, “Bankai. Hakka no Togame.” Swirling white reiatsu surrounded her, and her uniform lengthened and bled of all color until she was wearing a floor-length white kimono with wide sleeves. Ornamental padding rose from her shoulders and ribbons sprang from her back in delicate loops. Jewels of ice sparkled at her décolletage and in her hair, which had bleached white. Her eyes were lavender in color. Her blade had changed as well: not just the pure white of her shikai, it was longer and looked as though it, too, was made of pure ice. The training grounds turned so cold that Ichibē and Hikifune huddled together for warmth. Ichigo just let the reiatsu swirling around him keep him warm.

He had seen her bankai once before, but in that moment Ichigo thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. Zangetsu murmured his agreement, but then he warned quietly, That bankai is dangerous to her. Shirayuki says she still can’t hold it for long because she was bound.

Rukia swept her blade up and deflected another powerful getsuga tensho as Ichigo leapt forward. Ice spilled out over the training grounds and a pillar of white light surrounded Ichigo. He dodged just as it froze and left half of his long coat behind as the pillar solidified and then exploded into millions of shards of white ice. They danced together across the half-destroyed grounds, his black, red-edged reiatsu mingling with the snow white of hers.

“Yes! That is exactly enough!” Ichibē exclaimed from the sidelines, although his teeth were chattering in the cold and his lips were blue. “Paint it black, Ichimonji!”

The tenor of the room changed, then, and Shirayuki shouted a warning into Ichigo’s head as Rukia began to bring her temperature back up. Ichigo was by her side in a heartbeat, reiatsu pouring out of him to cushion and stabilize her. “Come back slowly,” he murmured. The ice coating the ground began to melt and with it so did Rukia, color gradually coming back into her face and the ice jewelry melting from her hair and crashing to the ground around her.

As they stood together, Ichibē was doing – something – with his zanpakutō, writing with the large brush in mid-air. The red thread appeared around them once more and slowly, the worst of the tangles and snarls eased away. The thread smoothed out and strengthened. There were still a few tangles, but Ichigo sensed that they were no longer “locked” as the others had been. They were tangles that he and Rukia had to decide whether to fix on their own. The thread vanished back into invisibility.

In front of him, Rukia sealed her zanpakutō while Ichigo dropped out of bankai. “You really do have the most beautiful bankai in Soul Society,” he whispered. “And one of the most dangerous, too.” Her cheeks flushed pink in answer.

“You will try your bankai again, Ichigo,” Ichibē demanded.

Zangetsu? Ichigo queried.

Yeah - feels different. Might as well do what the monk says.

Ichigo rolled his shoulders and then held out his blades. “Bankai. Tensa Zangetsu!” Black reiatsu swirled around him, edged in blue, and when it died away Ichigo stood tall in a long, black collarless coat that hung open down his torso and ended at his ankles. The coat split open at the waist in back, and an ice-white lining could be seen underneath. Beneath the coat Ichigo was bare-chested; black markings, like the ones he’d gained after Rukia had given him back his power, crisscrossed his skin. They matched similar markings at his wrists. His hakama looked the same as always. It was his zanpakutō that had changed the most, however: gone was the oversized cleaving blade and in its place was a daito like the original blade that had been his false bankai.

Black metal was interrupted by a line of bright blue from the tsuba to the tip of the blade, and the tsuba itself was different: black metal rays spilled out in a sun pattern. The hilt, when Ichigo looked at it, bore white crescent moon menuki on either side, and a long chain swung from the end, jingling as Ichigo swung his zanpakutō experimentally.

“That is much better, I think. And now, it is time for you to go home, Kurosaki-san, Kuchiki Taicho,” Ichibē said solemnly. “I have released you from my bindings – what you do from now on is up to you.” Though Rukia bowed in thanks, Ichigo just stared at Ichibē until the older man added, “And I am sorry for making you suffer, Kuchiki-san.”

“And the man you killed?” Ichigo asked. “His Division thinks he died by his own hand.”

The monk glanced away. “I can’t rewrite the past, as we have established, Kurosaki-san.”

Hikifune clapped her hands. “We’ll need to go back to my palace for your funny little contraption,” she announced. Ichigo dropped out of bankai, and he and Rukia followed her back to the catapult to endure another trip through the air. When they landed near the transport Urahara had built, Ichigo grinned.

“I don’t know how Urahara did it, but I guess he managed to figure out a way to break through the barriers,” he said.

Hikifune just laughed. “I’m afraid you are mistaken, Kurosaki-san. Urahara’s invention would not have landed here without permission from one of the Zero Division members. As it happens, I wished you would visit me.” Her lips pursed. “I will leave the invitation open for another visit. I want to see your adorable children!”

Then she ushered them into the transport, and Ichigo followed the instructions that alerted Urahara to the need to send them back. The transport lifted into the air and dived back down at a ridiculous rate of speed that plastered Rukia and Ichigo to their seats.

The transport landed surprisingly gently back on the rooftop of Urahara’s lab, and the ex-captain met them as they clambered out of the metal cone. “Kurosaki-san, Kuchiki-san!” he greeted, fan waving lazily in front of his face. “Come inside, quickly, and you can tell me how it went. You were gone longer than I expected!”

Ichigo and Rukia exchanged a look but they followed Urahara down the two flights of stairs and into the lab. Yoruichi and Byakuya were both waiting: the Sixth Division captain stood impassively near Urahara’s computer, while Yoruichi lounged on a chair, her feet propped up on the desk.

Urahara twirled his cane in his hand as he sat down on a chair. He leaned forward and rested his hands and chin on the top of the cane. “Well?” he asked. “You were gone for four days but I don’t see any bandages. Did you find Ichibē?”

The two Shinigami exchanged another look. “Four days?” Rukia repeated. “Are you sure? It felt like we were only in the royal realm for a day.”

Urahara perked up at that. “No one expressed a difference in the movement of time when you were last with Zero Division,” he remarked. “How very interesting.” But then he waved a hand. “Did you find the Monk?”

“Yeah,” Ichigo said. “He fixed whatever was still keeping us tangled up. Said he couldn’t turn back time, but that we can “move forward” on our own now. We didn’t even have to fight him,” he said ruefully. “We landed in Hikifune-san’s city first, and she took us to Ichibē herself.”

“Good! Then I guess everything’s fixed and you won’t be using our Senkaimon without permission again?” Yoruichi teased.

Ichigo ducked his head. “That was Zangetsu,” he reminded. “And…not everything is fixed. It’s just fixable, I guess.” He could sense Rukia looking at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet her eyes.

“Hn. I will inform Kyōraku Soutaicho,” Byakuya stated. He looked between Ichigo and Rukia silently for a moment. “You will both join me for dinner this evening. There is much to discuss.” Then he was gone in a sweep of his haori.

“I need to see Ichika,” Rukia said into the ensuing silence. “And Sentarō. I did not expect to be gone for so long.”

Ichigo grimaced. “It’s been nine days since I was in the World of the Living. If In…Orihime hasn’t figured out by now that I’m here, she probably has search parties looking for me.”

“Tessai spoke to her several days ago, Ichigo. She knows that you’re here,” Urahara said from behind his fan.

“Thanks, Urahara.” Ichigo looked at Rukia, then glanced away uneasily.

Rukia turned to leave, and Ichigo followed. They walked back to the Kuchiki Manor. It was already late afternoon by the position of the sun in the sky; by the time they reached the manor the sun was beginning to set, its dying rays turning the world golden.

Ichika met them at the gates and as soon as the guards let them in, she threw herself on Rukia, laughing her happiness at seeing her mother again and exclaiming, “I have shikai! I have shikai!” As Rukia’s eyes met Ichigo’s in open concern, Ichika threw herself on Ichigo as well and hugged him around the waist. “I know her name!”

“Ichika-chan,” Ichigo finally said, and if there was pain in his chest, he tried not to show it in his eyes as he suggested, “Let’s go inside. Rukia and I would be honored to see your zanpakutō and learn her name.” The bright red color was further away from the roots than it had been a few days ago, and hair similar in color to Ichigo’s was starting to peek through. Ichigo wondered silently if Ichibē’s power had done it somehow – but shook away the thought as ridiculous.

Ichika nodded emphatically and let go so that she could run through the grounds. Rukia and Ichigo followed more sedately, although Rukia kept an eye on her – their – daughter. “It seems too early for her to know her shikai,” Ichigo said quietly. “Do all children born to shinigami parents learn so early?”

“Hn. This is very young, but then, with her parentage…” Rukia glanced up at Ichigo. “I’m not so surprised.”

“Kaasan! Come, come look!”

Ichigo grinned down helplessly at Rukia. “We’d better catch up before she releases her shikai without you,” he prodded. Rukia managed a smile at that, and they hurried into the courtyard where Ichika was perched on a bench. She leapt up and stood on the bench when they appeared.

Ichika unsheathed her zanpakutō with a flourish, and as Rukia and Ichigo gamely watched, she announced, “Rise, Tengoku no Shiragetsu!” Ichika raised her zanpakutō high and the blade turned a brilliant white. Curved black spikes spilled from the tsuba and the hilt darkened to pure black, while a black ribbon spilled from it.

The Shinigami apprentice jumped down from the bench and held her zanpakutō out for her audience to examine. “See?” she said. “Isn’t she pretty? I sat jinzen whenever I wasn’t with my tutor while you were gone, and this morning she told me her name and how to awaken her.”

Up close, it was apparent that the tsuba had turned into a black sun, similar to the menuki that had decorated the hilt in the blade’s sealed form and very similar to Ichigo’s blade in bankai. Rukia looked as pale as the blade, and Ichigo wasn’t much better. “Kaasan? Kurosaki-san?” Ichika’s voice prompted. “Is it…is it a bad zanpakutō?”

The uncertainty in her daughter’s voice brought Rukia back to herself, and she ran a hand through her daughter’s hair as she beamed at her. “No, Ichika, your zanpakutō is beautiful. I am so very, very proud of you.” Ichika let the blade drift downward reflexively as Rukia hugged her close, whispering the words into her daughter’s hair.

When they parted, Ichigo smiled through the twisting of his heart and reached down, ruffling Ichika’s hair. “It’s a great zanpakutō,” he said. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll be able to do together.”

Ichika nodded eagerly. “She’s awesome!” Then she looked at Rukia again. “Can I show Tousan? Oji-sama says he’s going to be released from the Fourth tomorrow morning.”

The words sent a sharp pang through Ichigo’s heart and he turned his head away to hide his expression.

Rukia, for her part, just smiled. “Let’s talk about it in the morning. Renji may still be tired when he gets out of the Fourth, and we need to be respectful of that. Now, do you know how to put your zanpakutō back in its sealed state?” she coaxed.

Ichika backed up a step and nodded. She held her blade perpendicular to her body and drew her hand along the length, just barely touching the steel with her palm. “Set.” The blade shrank back in on itself and dulled to its usual gray steel, while the hilt returned to the black and white motif it held previously. She sheathed her sword and bowed a little. “Can we have dinner together tonight?” she asked, as if she hadn’t just shaken up her mother and birth father’s world.

“Kurosaki-san and I are having dinner with your Oji-sama tonight, and unfortunately it’s going to be a very boring dinner about business,” Rukia explained with false cheer. “But let’s have breakfast together tomorrow, and we can have dinner together tomorrow night, alright?”

At Ichika’s hesitant nod, Rukia added, “I bet Kiyone-san would love to have dinner with you tonight, and you haven’t seen her in a few weeks, have you?” That brought back the smile to Ichika’s face. “I’ll send a message to her and have her come here.”

Rukia sent Ichika running off while she retrieved and sent a hell butterfly to Kiyone. Once Ichika was out of earshot, however, she looked at Ichigo, who sat down on the bench Ichika had been using and buried his head in his hands. “Ichigo…”

Her voice prompted a bark of laughter from the substitute Shinigami. “Tengoku no Shiragetsu?” he said, and his voice held an edge of hysteria. “Rukia, her zanpakutō’s name is a melding of Shirayuki and Zangetsu! If she releases it in front of anyone, everyone will know that she’s not Renji’s daughter. It’s like something out of a damned fairy story.”

Rukia was silent for a while, before she asked very quietly, “Would it be so terrible if they knew she is ours, instead?”

Ichigo looked up, and his eyes softened. He held his hand out to her, and when Rukia took it he pulled her gently to sit down next to him. “Of course not, but Ichika needs to know first, and we need to tell her – she can’t hear it from someone who would see her zanpakutō and start spreading rumors. And Renji needs to know, too.” He hung his head. “We can’t keep this from him for much longer. I don’t – he’s my friend, Rukia. I don’t want to hurt him more than I already have.”

“I think that’s what Nii-sama wants to talk about at dinner,” Rukia murmured. “Maybe Ichika showed him her zanpakutō.” She sighed deeply. “I don’t want to hurt Renji either. He’s my friend as well, you know. And my…husband.” She winced at the word.

“Che. I don’t think so – she was too excited to show you first. It’s this red thread, I think. You saw how he went white when he first saw it. He has books about it.”

Rukia leaned her head against Ichigo’s shoulder. “We should read them,” she said. “Urahara and my brother seemed to know something that we still don’t, even when we were sitting in front of Captain-Commander Kyōraku.”

“Didn’t we leave them with Urahara?” Ichigo’s head dropped lightly onto hers.

Rukia tucked one hand into the front of her shihakusho, and when she pulled it back out, the two slender books were in her hand. “I may have taken them. With the intention of returning them to my brother, of course.” She felt more than heard Ichigo’s chuckle. “Here, you take one and I’ll take the other, and we can switch in the morning.”

Ichigo let out a ‘hmm’ of agreement and tucked the book she pushed at him into the front of his shihakusho. They sat like that for a while, until the sun set, and it was nearly time to face dinner with Byakuya.

Ichigo returned to his guest quarters in Byakuya’s home to clean himself up before dinner. Hung up in the small closet to one side of the room were a juban, a steel blue kimono, matching hakama, and a charcoal gray haori. A silver-gray obi sat on the closet’s shelf. “Che…guess it’s that kind of dinner,” Ichigo muttered to himself. He pulled his longer zanpakutō from his back and the shorter blade from his hip and set them in the stand against the back wall, then divested himself of his uniform and washed up. There was a clean fundoshi on the shelf next to the obi, and Ichigo put that on first, followed by clean tabi socks and the juban. Once he’d adjusted the kimono and hakama to his liking, Ichigo tied the obi snugly and slipped the dark haori on over it. He tucked Byakuya’s book into an inside pocket of the haori.

He had no other shoes besides his uniform sandals, so he wiped them down and donned them. Though he felt momentarily uneasy without Zangetsu, Ichigo shook himself of it. Before the past nine days he hadn’t lifted Zangetsu in seven years. Ichigo took a deep breath and silently reached for Rukia’s reiryoku; as always, even in a reishi-saturated place like the Seireitei, he could still find her. He followed that sense of familiarity through the grounds until he reached a formal dining room. Though Rukia and Byakuya were seated they hadn’t started to eat yet. He slipped his sandals off, leaving them by Rukia’s much smaller pair, and entered the room.

“Kurosaki,” Byakuya greeted. “Sit.”

Ichigo gave Byakuya a quick nod. There was a place setting next to Rukia, and Ichigo took that. Rukia was wearing a pretty, violet kimono patterned with steel blue flowers; it contrasted nicely with the kimono that Byakuya had provided for him.

Thankfully, the older man was sitting cross-legged, and Ichigo did the same. At a gesture from Byakuya, two servants entered the room. One poured tea for each of the three diners and left a pot to one side of the table, while the other set down steaming bowls of miso soup and a platter of vegetable tempura. The first servant returned with two more platters: one of elegantly-plated sashimi and the other of colorful sushi rolls: negihama maki, tekka maki, and shiko maki.

As if all of that was not enough, a bowl of seasoned rice, a platter of grilled fish, and finally a bowl of steamed vegetables followed. Last but not least, a bottle of sake was set at the table, along with three sakazuki. As though it was not at all unusual to be presented with a veritable feast, Byakuya pressed his hands together. Ichigo hurried to do the same, and together all three said “Itadakimasu”.

It was to be an unhurried meal, Ichigo realized. Byakuya sipped his soup as though he had nowhere in particular to be and Rukia did the same. The first part of the meal was quiet, in fact, with only the occasional sounds of slurping and chopsticks softly clacking. When the empty soup bowls had been swiftly removed by a servant and they were alone again, Byakuya casually served himself several pieces of the negihama and tekka maki before he looked up and focused on Ichigo and Rukia. “My niece has achieved shikai,” he said. Apparently, Ichigo had been wrong about whether Ichika had shown off her shikai to her uncle.

“Yes, Nii-sama,” Rukia agreed. “Ichika shared the news with Ichigo and I earlier today.”

“Then you know that it will be impossible to keep up the lie that Ichika is Lieutenant Abarai’s daughter.” It wasn’t a question.

Rukia shrunk in on herself, but Ichigo’s hand found hers beneath the table. “Yes, Nii-sama.”

Byakuya seemed to stifle a sigh. “I am not reprimanding you, imouto.”

That made Rukia’s cheeks heat, but she nodded firmly. She poured a small amount of soy sauce into a little bowl by her place setting and reached for a piece of translucent pink hamachi with her chopsticks.

It was Ichigo who spoke up. “What options do we have? Rukia and I agreed earlier that Ichika and Renji both need to be told before they hear it from anyone else.”

Byakuya chewed a piece of his maki carefully and swallowed before answering. “I agree that Ichika and Renji must be told first. The Kuchiki elders will also need to be informed. However, you will need to decide what you want to do.”

Ichigo and Rukia exchanged a look. “I am not sure what you mean, Nii-sama,” Rukia finally said.

Her brother eyed their arms, which obviously led to still-joined hands. “While obviously there is nothing we can do about the fact that you married Lieutenant Abarai while carrying Ichika, it is inappropriate for you to have such a close relationship with one another, married to other spouses as you are.” He observed the flurry of hands returning to a safer distance, and sighed. “If you are happy in your marriage, Kurosaki, then you must return to your wife, regardless of what memories may have surfaced. If you are not…”

Ichigo looked down at his plate. “She doesn’t even know any of this has happened.”

“You do not need to make any decisions today. And you should not base those decisions solely on your memories of the past,” Byakuya admonished.

Rukia was looking at her brother as though he’d sprouted an additional appendage. “Would… would the elders even permit such a thing?”

Byakuya picked up his cup of tea and sipped contemplatively. “Their opinions are of no consequence in this matter. Fate is not something that can be brushed away.” He paused and glanced at Ichigo. “And your heritage would likely be appealing to them.”

“I suppose it would be,” Ichigo said quietly. His tone was subdued. What now? Zangetsu demanded. He’s practically giving you permission to f--- Ichigo thought Not now! before the zanpakutō could finish the word, but it was too late: Rukia’s cheeks were flaming red and Byakuya was looking at them both with interest.

“I take it your zanpakutō has an opinion. Do you both hear one another’s spirits regularly now?” he asked.

“Yeah – since the first time Zangetsu forcibly pulled us both into jinzen with him,” Ichigo admitted. “Shirayuki is able to do the same thing.”

“I see. And is there anything else they can do?” The Sixth Division captain was openly staring at them over his cup.

“They won’t let one of us hurt the other,” Rukia explained. “We were training a few days ago and Ichigo couldn’t dodge my attack. Shirayuki stopped my blade before it could cause damage. Zangetsu has done the same.”

“How fascinating,” Byakuya murmured. “We’ll have to make sure that Kurotsuchi does not find out.”

Ichigo shuddered involuntarily. “I don’t understand how he’s still a captain,” he muttered.

Rather than reprimand him, Byakuya’s lip curled slightly. “There have been several…interesting decisions in the past ten years,” he commented. “I certainly have not agreed with all of them.”

“Like rebuilding the Sōkyoku?” Ichigo asked pointedly. “I thought the Captain Commander agreed with destroying it, considering that he helped me do it.”

Rukia ducked her head. “The new Central 46 made that decision,” she explained quietly.

Ichigo shoved a piece of vegetable tempura into his mouth; he worried that any reply would be over the line.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, making their way through sushi rolls and sashimi, and then through still-steaming vegetables and grilled fish. Eventually Byakuya filled all three sakazuki and they sipped their sake politely. He waited until Rukia and Ichigo’s cups were empty to say, “I will summon Lieutenant Abarai here tomorrow after he is released from the Fourth Division. You will tell him about Ichika then, before the girl has a chance to release her zanpakutō in front of anyone else.”

Ichigo resisted the temptation to grab for Rukia’s hand again. “Of course,” he agreed. “I think we should tell Ichika beforehand.”

Chapter Text

“Kaasan?”

Orihime turned and smiled down at her son, lips pulling wide to make the apples of her cheeks stand out. Dinner was nearly ready: the rice cooker had just a few minutes left on its timer and the salmon was staying warm in the turned-off oven while she sauteed a pile of sliced vegetables. “Hm?” she asked.

“Ishida-san is here and wants to know if he can help with dinner,” Kazui explained. He was still in his dark blue school uniform, although the jacket was gone and his trousers looked a little worse for wear.

“Ah! Can you ask him to set the table?” she requested. “And then tell Yuzu-chan and Karin-chan that dinner’s ready. They’re still in the clinic.”

Kazui nodded. Then he glanced toward the living room before asking, “When’s Tousan coming home?”

Her heart sank. Ichigo had been gone for nine days without a word, just Tessai’s statement to her that he’d gone to Soul Society. Orihime huffed out a breath, but she smiled down at her son once more. “His business trip is taking longer than expected,” she lied. “I know we miss him, but I’m sure he’ll be home with us soon.”

Her son bit his lower lip. “Will he come back with gifts?” he asked.

Orihime stirred the vegetables in the frying pan before she answered cheerfully, “Maybe! So, you have to be a good boy if you want him to give them to you!”

“Yes Kaasan!” Kazui darted back out of the kitchen before Orihime could say anything else, and over the sizzling and popping of carrots and bok choy she heard him telling Ishida to set the table before the door of the clinic swung open with a bang.

When Orihime looked up from scooping rice into a serving bowl, Ishida was standing in the kitchen. “Ishida-kun! The plates are in the cabinets on the left, glasses are on the right, and chopsticks are in the drawer to the left of the stove. Would you mind filling the pitcher with water?”

Her friend stared at her until the door of the clinic swung shut. “Why are you lying to your son?” he asked quietly, glasses glinting in the light from the pendant lamp overhead.

She cleared her throat awkwardly but didn’t hear the clinic door opening again. “Ah, it isn’t such a very big lie, Ishida-kun. Ichigo must have some business that’s keeping him in Soul Society for so long. I’m sure he’ll be back in another day or two.” Orihime tried again for a cheerful tone of voice, but it sounded brittle in her own ears – and Ishida had always been too perceptive.

“Are you, Kurosaki-san?” Ishida stepped past her to open the cabinet she’d indicated. He counted out five plates and, glancing at the pot of soup still on the stove, selected five modestly-sized bowls as well.

“Of – of course!” she exclaimed cheerfully, though the paddle she was using to scoop the rice dropped into the rice cooker with a clatter. Ishida just raised an eyebrow at her, and her expression fell. “Maybe three days,” Orihime added a little desperately.

Ishida closed the cabinet door and lifted the piled plates and bowls from the countertop. “I think,” he said quietly, “that things won’t be the same even if he does come back in two days, or three days, or five days.”

“Ishida-kun?” she asked just as the clinic door opened and the chatter of Ichigo’s younger sisters filled the living room.

“Something’s changed,” was all he said, and carried the dishes to the table.

They sat outside after dinner again, while the Kurosaki sisters watched a baking competition with the volume on low. This time Ishida had accepted her offer of a beer, and they sat outside drinking from long-necked green bottles. It was still hot outside, and the glass bottles were soon covered in condensation from the night air.

“What did you mean?” Orihime finally asked when Ishida set his half-empty bottle on the little glass table between them. When he tilted his head in inquiry, she added, “You said something’s changed.”

“Ah.” He didn’t look at her but focused instead on the night sky above them. “Chad called me this morning.”

She blinked at him and took another sip of her beer. “He did?”

“He wanted advice on how to break his contracts. He’s quitting boxing.” Ishida picked up his bottle and took another long pull. “He was crying, Orihime.”

You called me Orihime, she wanted to say, but instead she tucked her legs up to her chest and asked, “Why?”

“He made a vow to his grandfather when he was still a kid, that he wouldn’t fight unless it was to protect someone else. Kurosaki was baffled when he started boxing for money after high school,” Ishida said quietly. “When Chad and I spoke this morning, he said that he had a dream of his grandfather and that the old man told him that it was time to honor his vow again.”

Her mouth dropped open and she set her drink down on the table with a loud clink. “He’s giving up his career because of a dream?” she said incredulously.

“A career that, before Yhwach, he would never have chosen in the first place,” Ishida pointed out. He was looking at her from the corner of his eye when she shivered. “And you,” he said. “Why didn’t you go to college?”

“There wasn’t any money,” she said quietly. “I couldn’t afford the tuition when my aunt refused to pay for school.”

“You were one of the best-performing students in our year. There were tuition exemptions and scholarships available,” Ishida pointed out.

“It wasn’t that simple,” Orihime protested, but she gripped her drink tightly and didn’t look at him. “Not everyone gets exemptions or scholarships. And anyway,” she said, and smiled, “I’ve been happy at the bakery, I get to try new things all the time!”

“But you didn’t try,” Ishida pointed out.

She had nothing she could say to that. So instead Orihime said with false cheer, “Well it doesn’t matter anyway, I have a family.”

Ishida raised an eyebrow at her. “Of course, Orihime,” he said, and finished the last of his beer before standing. “You’re right - the important thing is that you’re happy.”

She smiled again, the expression brittle on her face. “Happy. Of course.”

“I should get home, my rounds start early tomorrow,” he said.

If asked later, Orihime wouldn’t have been able to explain why she did it. She meant to collect their beer bottles and walk back inside with him. Instead, when she rose from the chair beside his, she set her empty bottle down and grabbed the front of his shirt instead. Ishida opened his mouth to protest but she kissed him instead, lips covering his thinner ones as he windmilled helplessly before his hands came up to grasp her forearms as if to push her away.

Instead he pulled her closer, lips moving against hers and one arm dropping to wrap around her waist until they were pressed together from chest to knee. For a long moment there in the darkness she reveled in the way he held her, in the way he kissed her as if he wanted her. And then they pulled back to breathe and the moment shattered. “We—” Ishida took a deep breath and pushed her away, gently. “We should not have done that, Kurosaki-san. You’re married. I’m sorry for forgetting myself.”

“He hasn’t touched me in six years,” she whispered into the darkness as his hands fell away from her.

Ishida carefully picked up the empty beer bottles. “I see. Something’s changed,” he said again. “We should go back inside, Kurosaki-san.”

She followed him docilely when he held open the door for her, and then pretended that she hadn’t just kissed her husband’s cousin when she told him goodnight and locked the front door after him.

After dinner, when Ichigo was alone in his guest quarters, he pulled out the book that Rukia had given him. He was glad that Byakuya had served him only a single portion of sake once he opened it; the book was hand-written and some of the kanji characters were difficult to decipher.

It was readily apparent, however, that there was a reason Byakuya had gone sheet-white every time their tangled bond had appeared, and seemed deeply interested in the fact that Ichigo and Rukia’s zanpakutō could interact with one another so easily.

Of the three pairs of shinigami bound by this thread observed by this author, all three were able to locate one another unerringly regardless of physical distance and even across separate planes. They were also able to communicate with one another’s zanpakutō and vice versa. Their zanpakutō spirits exhibited apparent romantic feelings for one another. There is some evidence that shinigami can learn to communicate with one another across significant distances using this connection.

Ichigo nodded to himself. That aligned with what he already knew; he had always been able to find Rukia, and Zangetsu and Shirayuki could clearly communicate with them both. He eyed the comment regarding zanpakutō’s romantic feelings and his cheeks heated – he and Rukia both already knew about that.

In one case observed by this author, connected shinigami were deliberately kept apart due a family feud between two minor noble houses…a few short years after both were forcibly married to others, first one and then the other died of what the families called a “wasting illness.” My observations showed a broken red thread between them. It is unclear how the bond was broken, as there are stories of such individuals finding one another after prolonged involuntary partings.

That matched up as well – disturbing as it was, Urahara had told them both that if Ichibē didn’t fix what he’d broken they would die.

Despite the rarity of these couples within the Soul Society, the Noble Houses agreed following the previously mentioned case that such couples must not be kept apart. The heads of the five most prominent houses decreed that any person or persons interfering with the red thread of fate, or assisting someone in interfering with this phenomenon, would be guilty of a capital offense.

Ah. That must have been what had created such a strong reaction in Byakuya. “Did Ichibē not know?” Ichigo whispered. “Did he consider himself above the law?” Ichigo decided that either explanation was plausible. The passage put Byakuya’s behavior in a new, more logical light, however: trying to keep them apart would be breaking Soul Society’s laws.

Ichigo closed the thin volume and tucked it away on a shelf, then unrolled his futon, blanket, and pillow. He dressed for bed quickly, hanging the kimono and haori so that they would not crease too badly. I’ll tell Rukia in the morning, he thought.

Rukia. Ichigo had focused, since he’d gotten to Soul Society, on the goal of finding out who had locked away his memories, and then on reaching Ichibē and convincing him to fix things (or beating him into doing so). But with that done, and with a plan for talking to Ichika and Renji, the biggest elephant in the room was still unresolved. He laid down on the futon and pulled the blanket over himself.

With his memories restored, Ichigo remembered what they had felt for one another. He had allowed Urahara to sever his chain of fate for her; had stormed Soul Society for her; had trained every day to get stronger for her. When his powers were lost after that final fight with Aizen, Ichigo had been lost as well. Rukia had fought for him, he knew; she had rallied Soul Society to empower the sword that had given him back his powers.

And then the war with the Quincy had started, and Rukia was severely wounded. They had both been swept up to the Royal Realm and received training. And they’d finally admitted what they felt for one another, had… Ichigo stopped that line of thought as his cheeks flushed red in the darkness.

The past five (well, nine) days were the happiest he’d been in the past ten years, even with all of the complications. And there were a lot of complications. He was technically still living, for one thing. He also had a wife who wasn’t Rukia. A son who wasn’t Rukia’s. And…a daughter who was. That was what Ichibē meant when he said that he couldn’t undo everything. He had to decide whether he should go home – home to a woman he was fond of but didn’t really love, but who loved him to excess. Obsessed to excess, Zangetsu corrected.

Or he had to decide that the thread was worth grabbing onto. That Rukia, the woman who he had loved since he was a boy, was the woman he wanted to spend his life with.

Assuming that I’m even the man she still loves, he thought morosely.

Did you not see the blizzard in her soul? a cool voice whispered.

She’s married. I’m married. I have a son, Ichigo grumbled back. Apparently Shirayuki had decided to join Zangetsu.

For a little while. He hates being alone in the rain, and Rukia is…more unsettled than you tonight.  Shirayuki murmured.

Ichigo didn’t really think before he reached, feeling along the red string. She was further away than he expected, all the way in the Thirteenth Division. “She’s still working,” he mumbled.

Yes. She won’t sleep for another few hours. The zanpakutō changed the subject, then: The boy.

He raised an eyebrow. Kazui?

Yes. He’s older than Rukia expected. Why?

Ah. Ichigo scrubbed a hand over his face. I was still in college when it happened. I hadn’t seen Rukia since her wedding. I guess it must have been just after she had Ichika. I took Orihime to a party. We’d been dating for a little while but it wasn’t – it wasn’t serious.

There was a listening silence inside of him. Until Zangetsu said, You’re so slow. Just show her and the world tilted. Ichigo muttered, “Getting tired of you doing that,” as his head hit the pillow.

The party was loud, louder than he expected for a bunch of pre-med students. He was already starting to regret telling Haru that he’d be there. And Ichigo definitely regretted inviting Inoue to join him. She’d dressed up, wearing a pink dress with a low neckline and a fluttery skirt. Her blue hair pins were still present, though to Ichigo’s knowledge she hadn’t used them since the war.

“Sorry,” he apologized, practically shouting to be heard over the music as Orihime winced at the thumping bass playing in the back room of the bar. “This wasn’t really what I was expecting.”

“Oh! It’s okay, Kurosaki-kun!” she exclaimed, smile bright and hands waving as if to ward off his apology. “It’s a lot livelier than the bakery.”

“Hn. I’ll introduce you to some of my classmates,” Ichigo decided. He walked ahead, pushing a path through bodies and making a space for her.

Ishida was there, and Ichigo left her with his cousin while he got drinks.

“Kurosaki,” Ishida greeted when he got back. Ichigo saw…something in Ishida’s expression, but just nodded in return as he handed a glass to Orihime.

Between the pounding music and the shouts of his classmates, Ichigo already had a headache. His chest was bothering him too, and occasionally he rubbed at a spot on his sternum. They chatted, and Ichigo introduced Orihime to some of the others at the party. She brought him another drink, and there was a third, and a fourth…

His apartment was closer and Orihime was just bringing him home, but she ended up inside the apartment – carrying him to bed and bringing him water.

Ichigo never remembered much of what happened after that.

A month later, Orihime met him, shy and too-sweet, for a coffee and sipped decaf tea as she told him very quietly, “I’m pregnant, Kurosaki-kun.”

Zangetsu howled as the world shook and the rain turned into a deluge. And Ichigo said, “I see.” And silently decided that he would do the right thing. There was a ring on Orihime’s finger in less than a month and they signed the registry papers not long after that. She wore a loose dress to hide the fact that she was starting to show.

“Just the once?” Shirayuki asked, voice puzzled when Ichigo resurfaced in his inner world. It was still raining, though not as heavily as the last time he’d been here, and she held an umbrella over her head and Zangetsu’s. They were standing as close together as lovers, his hand in the small of her back.

“Uh. I mean…sometimes after we got married, early on. But just the once before she told me,” Ichigo explained.

“How interesting,” she remarked, and glanced up at Zangetsu. “Do you remember what happened?”

Ichigo’s zanpakutō made a face. “It wasn’t like it was with him and the Queen, when you came to me and we…” Ichigo’s eyebrow raised as Zangetsu actually blushed. “Anyway. It was already raining. With the pretender, this whole place went dead silent and then flooded.”

“Hn. And the boy was born forty weeks afterward, the normal gestation time for humans?” Shirayuki queried. She glanced at Zangetsu again.

“Uh. He was early, I guess.” Ichigo shrugged and glanced up at the sky. Some of the clouds looked lighter, less threatening than they had before.

“How early?”

“Weeks. I was studying full time and working a lot so with the all-nighters it was kind of a blur, but I remember there was a lot of concern. But the doctors said he was perfectly healthy, and big for someone born pre-term.” Ichigo shrugged again.

Shirayuki pursed her lips. “I see. Thank you, Kurosaki-san. You should get some rest.” Before Ichigo could protest he vanished, and she turned once more to her lover. “Do you think this girl would have been capable of what his words imply?” she asked.

Zangetsu wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her up against him as the umbrella turned over their heads. “I didn’t think so – she’s not crafty like that. And he could have gotten the dates wrong.” But he held her tight as he said quietly, “But the kid’s never smelled like him.”

“You don’t call him the prince,” Shirayuki pointed out as her arm wrapped around his waist.

“No.”

“Could the monk have interfered?”

“Maybe. I still think we should have killed him,” Zangetsu growled faintly.

Morning came quickly. Ichika burst into his room again and shouted her excitement at the fact that Shiragetsu had promised to teach her an attack soon. She’d run from the bedroom before Ichigo could do more than smile at her, but it prompted him to get ready for the day. There was another fresh uniform waiting for him – he found it a little unnerving that the servants could get in and out without waking him. He dressed quickly and, as promised, met Rukia and Ichika in the more casual dining space. Byakuya joined them after a few minutes, and they ate breakfast together in peaceable silence except for Ichika’s occasional interjections about her newly awakened zanpakutō.

Finally, breakfast was cleared away. Ichika bounced out of her seat, but Byakuya stilled her with an upraised hand. “Ichika, before you see your tutor this morning there is something we must discuss.”

Perhaps sensing the seriousness in his tone, the girl immediately sat back down on her cushion in seiza and looked between Byakuya and Rukia.

Rukia already looked tense – and tired. There were deep shadows beneath her eyes. “Ichika, there is a reason that Ichigo – Kurosaki-san – and I disappeared four days ago,” she began. “It was because something had been done to our memories a long time ago, before you were born, that made us…forget certain important things.”

Ichika nodded slowly. “Like your bankai?” she asked.

Rukia’s lips curved in a slight smile. “Something even more important than that. We were forced to forget that before I married your Tousan, Ichigo and I were…together.”

“Together like kissing together? Gross,” Ichika decided. Ichigo exchanged a look with Rukia; Byakuya looked rather constipated but simply took another sip of his tea.

“Yeah, something like that,” Ichigo confirmed. “The thing is…when we were together, we created a child. And I was forced to forget that she was mine. Rukia was forced to forget that I was the child’s father.”

Ichika tilted her head. “I thought you couldn’t create babies unless you were married. And does that mean I have a half-sister?”

The back of Ichigo’s neck heated and Rukia looked even more nervous than she had a minute ago. “Ah…well, you really shouldn’t create babies unless you’re married but sometimes it happens anyway,” Ichigo explained. I am really not ready to have ‘the talk’ with Ichika, he thought.

“What Ichigo is trying to explain is that we created you, Ichika,” Rukia finally said. “You’re our daughter, together, and Ichigo is your biological father.”

Ichika’s reiatsu spiked impressively for an eight year old, and she rose from her cushion red-faced. “No he isn’t! Tousan is – everyone says I have his hair!”

Ichigo’s chest tightened, but he knew he should have expected it. “I know that he loves you,” he said, striving for the calm tone he used with his more belligerent patients. “I don’t want to take away what you have with him. But Rukia and I felt it was important for you to know what happened, because it’s going to be clear very soon that Renji didn’t…help create you,” he explained, and the last words sounded a little helpless. “Your zanpakutō’s name and what it looks like will make that obvious.”

“You’re lying to me!” Ichika had her zanpakutō out and pointed at Ichigo, who just smiled sadly.

“I don’t have a reason to lie, Ichika. I’m very sorry that I couldn’t be here for you and Rukia. But a…person who thought he was doing the right thing did something very wrong instead.”

Ichigo’s tone seemed to be working: Ichika lowered her blade and sheathed it, and the color in her cheeks was dying down. “If you were together when you made me, why did you marry Tousan, Kaasan?” she asked quietly. “Isn’t that wrong?”

Rukia looked down at the table. “It is wrong,” she agreed. “I didn’t know that I was pregnant with you when I married Renji. The person who hurt Ichigo and I did…some other things to make it look like you were Renji’s. That’s why your hair is so bright. I was very, very sick after you were born and didn’t realize…” She grimaced. “Well, I didn’t realize any number of things that I should have. None of us did.”

“Does Tousan know?”

“I have asked Abarai Fukutaicho to join us this morning,” Byakuya told her. “We will tell him as well.”

Ichika nodded shortly and sat back down on the cushion. She eyed Ichigo. “Do I have to call you Tousan now?”

Ichigo took a deep breath. “I’d like it if we could keep getting to know one another. But you don’t have to call me Tousan unless you want to. You can call me Ichigo, if you want,” he offered.

“Does my zanpakutō really look like yours?”

Ichigo couldn’t help his grin. “Well, it doesn’t look exactly like mine, but they have similar names.” He pulled the shorter of his blades from his hip and laid it across his palms for Ichika to see. “My zanpakutō is Zangetsu. And the attack I use most often is getsuga tensho. When I use my bankai, the tsuba looks like yours does in shikai.”

The little Shinigami leaned in. “And Kaasan is Sode no Shirayuki.” Her nose wrinkled. “Do all kids with shinigami parents have zanpakutō that sound like theirs?”

“Rarely,” Byakuya said. “Most often, while a child may have the same type of zanpakutō as their parent, the zanpakutō manifests rather differently.” He glanced at Ichigo. “Your grandfather’s zanpakutō is named Engetsu, and he can use Getsuga Tensho as well, but his bankai is very different than Ichigo’s.”

Ichika perked up. “I have a grandfather?”

“You do,” Ichigo confirmed, “But he’s been…missing since the war.”

A servant in a lavender kimono stepped into the room. “Abarai Fukutaicho is here, Kuchiki-sama,” she announced.

“Show him in,” Byakuya said calmly.

Renji stepped through the door a moment later. He looked completely healed, with nary a bandage showing on the skin that his uniform didn’t cover. His bright red hair was braided neatly down his back and his forehead was partially covered by a thick, patterned white bandana. “Kuchiki Taicho,” he greeted, bowing briefly to Byakuya. His eyes looked over Rukia and Ichigo, sitting carefully apart, and then to Ichika, who leapt up and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“Tousan! Are you feeling better? I have shikai now, wanna see?” Ichika spoke quickly, and Renji’s eyes widened. His hand came down to brush over her hair, and he frowned at the odd streaks of lighter color that had begun to appear amidst the familiar red.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine now, Ichika. Shikai, really?! I’d love to see it.”

“You can show him your shikai in a little while, Ichika,” Byakuya said calmly. “Sit down.”

Ichika dropped back onto her cushion and Renji sat next to her, across from Ichigo. “What is this about?” he asked. His eyes met Ichigo’s. “You gonna tell me why the—why you stormed the Seireitei?”

A look passed between Ichigo and Rukia. “Renji,” Ichigo said quietly. “You’re my friend. And I…wouldn’t want to hurt you. But Zangetsu took over my body. He thought that you – that everyone here – were a danger to Rukia. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, Rukia told me that,” Renji grumbled. “But why the—” He glanced at Ichika. “Why did he think that? You know I wouldn’t hurt Rukia. And anyway, it’s not like she can’t defend herself.”

Ichigo thought, Well, the first time you saw her after forty years you tried to choke her, but it was an uncharitable thought that he pushed away.

Rukia cleared her throat uncomfortably. “I told you, when you were still with the Fourth, that our memories had been…tampered with,” she reminded him. “Zangetsu didn’t know who did it.”

“You’re talking like you spoke to Ichigo’s zanpakutō,” Renji said.

“I have, several times in fact.” Rukia took a sip of her tea. “He has become quite vocal. But the reason I asked you here…”

Before Rukia could finish her sentence, Ichika, apparently impatient with her mother’s prevarications, blurted out, “Kaasan says that Ichigo’s my real father.”

Rukia’s mouth dropped open and Byakuya choked on his tea. Ichigo just dropped his head into one hand.

And Renji. Renji’s skin washed of all color, the tattoos standing out even more starkly than usual. His pupils shrank and for a moment he stared at Ichika, mouth slightly open. Then he grabbed for Ichigo across the table, hand closing around his wrist in a punishing grip. “You’re what?” he hissed. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” He leaned up and would have gone further, but Ichigo’s eyes darted to Ichika. Renji let go of Ichigo with a little push that almost sent him tumbling backwards.

“We didn’t…” Ichigo huffed and looked at Ichika again. “Ichibē, the monk, messed with our memories. He made Rukia and I forget that we’d ever been together. That we loved each other. And then he sent some of his minions here and they manipulated the Fourth, you, and Rukia. We didn’t know until I came here.” Ichigo’s voice broke, just slightly. “I’m sorry.”

Renji’s eyes were wild and his pupils shrunk to pinpoints as he focused on Rukia. “Did you know?” he asked desperately.

“No,” she whispered. “I didn’t know that I was pregnant until after we were already married.”

Byakuya was the target of his anger next. “Did you know? Did you know when you asked me to marry your sister?” he demanded in a roar as the other man stared at him.

“No,” Byakuya said, voice calm though his hand clenched so tightly around his teacup that cracks appeared in the delicate porcelain. “I would have made a different decision.”

“This is why you sent me on all those missions to Hueco Mundo and the living world. You kept me away from them so I wouldn’t know,” he growled.

Byakuya stared at him. “I did not know the truth until you were unconscious in the Fourth Division,” he said. Then: “Calm yourself, Abarai.”

“I can’t –” Renji choked. He stood abruptly and without so much as a nod to Byakuya, ran from the room, tabi socks making only a slight susurrus against the wooden floors. Ichika got up and ran after him as Rukia’s head fell into her hands. When Byakuya set the teacup down on the table, it split in half and sent lukewarm tea spilling onto the wooden surface.

Chapter Text

Ichika found Renji in a garden not far from the dining room. He was perched on a bench, doubled over with his head between wide-open legs and hands covering his face. His braid hung limply beside his head, and his zanpakutō was shoved into the ground beside him.

“Tousan?”

Renji looked up through damp eyes. “Suppose you don’t want to call me that anymore,” he said roughly. But Ichika – ever her mother’s daughter – grabbed his braid and tugged, hard.

“You’re my Tousan,” she insisted, and tugged on his braid a second time.

Renji sighed and patted the space on the bench next to him. “Stop trying to pull my hair out, ‘chika,” he said wearily. Ichika hopped up onto the bench and he put an arm around her, holding her against his side. “They told you all of this already, then?”

Ichika nodded against his ribcage and quietly explained what she’d been told. “Ichigo said I don’t have to call him Tousan, and that he doesn’t want to take me away from you,” she finished. She glanced up at him. “Do you love Kaasan?” she asked suddenly.

He tensed up. “What makes you ask that?” he asked carefully.

Ichika grimaced. “You said Ojisan asked you to marry her. And the way they act – Kaasan and Ichigo – is really different than the way you act with her.”

Renji gritted his teeth. “Have they been acting…inappropriately in front of you?” he asked carefully.

She shook her head against his ribs. “No, they don’t…kiss or anything like that. But their reiatsu merges all the time and Ichigo’s always looking at Kaasan like she’s some kind of…” she waved a hand expressively. “Like she’s really, really important to him. And there’s some red thing that wraps around them. It was really ratty and knotted when he started staying here, but since they got back yesterday it looks much better. Red and silky, and it only has a few knots now.”

He filed away the reiatsu and ‘red thing’ statements for later. “Your mom and I have known each other for a long time,” Renji said quietly. “We’re friends, and we’ll always be friends.”

“So you don’t love her?”

Renji cleared his throat. “Friends can love one another,” he chose to say. “There are different kinds of love.”

That seemed to satisfy Ichika because she hopped off the bench quickly. “Wanna see my shikai?”

Renji smiled and straightened up a little. “Yeah, show me your shikai. I’m really proud that you’ve achieved it so early!”

When Ichika called out her zanpakutō’s name and he saw the blade, however, he had to blink away tears and shove down the voice in his head that said, Of course, of course she is not your daughter. Not with that name. Not with that blade. “Do you know what kind of blade she is? Can you use any kido with it?” he asked instead.

“Shiragetsu says that she’ll teach me soon.” Ichika sealed her blade and sheathed it again.

Renji smiled a little at the gesture. “I’m glad you know how to seal your blade. Ichigo still doesn’t know how – he walks around in shikai all the time.”

That prompted a laugh from Ichika. “His zanpakutō sounds really stubborn.” She sat back down on the bench and leaned into Renji again. “Do you still want to be my Tousan?” she asked in a small voice.

“Yeah. If you’ll let me.” Renji leaned over her and kissed the top of her forehead.  

Rukia found them that way a few minutes later, and her eyes gleamed with unshed tears at the sight of them. She took a deep breath and said quietly, “Ichika, your tutor is waiting for you.”

Ichika gave Renji one last cuddle before she ran off, ignoring a call from her mother to slow down.

“Did you really not know?” Renji asked, when Ichika was out of sight.

Rukia shook her head. She took her daughter’s place on the bench, although she sat further away from Renji. “The monk manipulated all of us,” she said by way of explanation. “He…” Her hands wrung together for a moment before she could speak again. “I think he kept me sick for a long time, so no one would realize she’d already been born. I still don’t even know what he did with her hair to make it look like yours.”

His head hung down, braid swaying. “When did it happen?” At Rukia’s questioning look, Renji managed to choke out, “When was she conceived?” The resulting blush on Rukia’s face made his heart sink.

“Ah. When we were training in the royal realm,” Rukia said. She watched Renji do the mental math.

“I never stood a chance, did I?” he asked rhetorically, and Rukia ducked her head.

“I’m sorry, Renji. This isn’t – I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” she whispered. “I’m sorry for causing you so much pain.”

He stood and pulled Zabimaru from the ground. “Do you still love him?” Rukia looked up, violet eyes wet, and Renji just sighed, a defeated expression on his face. “I don’t even need to ask if he still loves you.” The tears spilled over, then, and Renji looked away. Ichigo was standing at a distance, trying not to watch them. “Did the two of you at least beat the shit out of the monk?”

That prompted a watery laugh. “No. Hikifune fed us to bursting and Ichibē agreed to fix the kido that was still affecting us. He made us spar each other to generate enough power for him.” Rukia laughed again. “I’m a little disappointed that I didn’t get to freeze him solid.”

“It’s the least he deserves,” Renji agreed. He looked at Ichigo again. “Has he decided what to do about Orihime?”

“He hasn’t discussed it with me,” Rukia said quietly. “But he has a life in the World of the Living, and I suspect he wants to keep living it.”

“Che. That’s not what his face tells me. ” Renji lifted Zabimaru and rested it on his shoulders. “That’s for you two to figure out, though. I need…I need to get back to work. Paperwork’s probably up to the ceiling after nine days in the Fourth,” he said gruffly. He used shunpo to vanish before Rukia could say anything else.

She was still on the bench when Ichigo sat down next to her.

“I need to go back,” he said quietly.

Tears slid down Rukia’s cheeks, but she nodded solemnly. “I know. You have a life there, and you need to get back to it. We can…discuss how involved you want to be in Ichika’s life.”

Ichigo scowled at her. “I need to go back because I need to put things in order,” he clarified. “I disappeared from my clinic over a week ago. And Kazui…” He frowned. “Zangetsu and Shirayuki think he isn’t mine.”

Rukia startled and looked up at him. “They’ve said that?” she asked carefully. “But…he has shinigami powers, doesn’t he? He looks more like Orihime, it’s true, but…”

“He has something. But Zangetsu says he doesn’t smell like me, and Shirayuki demanded to know when he was conceived.” He ducked his head and scrubbed a hand through his hair.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she said quietly. “And I won’t ask Shirayuki if you don’t want me to. But – but Orihime’s always loved you. You don’t think she would…”

“Kazui was the reason we got married.” The words were so quiet she barely heard them, and her breath caught in her throat. “I don’t even…”

“Ichigo…”

His hand lightly covered hers on the bench. “No, let me say it. It’s okay,” he told her quietly, though he didn’t look at her. “It was after you had Ichika. I didn’t know that at the time but – it was. We went to a party and I drank a lot more than I should have. I’d never been drunk before. I haven’t been since. I don’t even remember doing anything – just that she got me back to my apartment.” Rukia’s hand turned beneath his and she twined their fingers together, and Ichigo scrubbed his other hand through his hair again. “She told me she was pregnant a month later. And I…did the right thing.”

They sat in silence for a long moment, her hand squeezing his tightly. Until she said suddenly, “Shirayuki says Kazui was early. But Orihime…she wouldn’t have lied to you.”

“I didn’t think so,” he whispered. “But it’s weird that I don’t remember anything. I didn’t think I’d had that much. And I wouldn’t have – I don’t think we would have lasted if it hadn’t happened. But the damned monk’s right, I can’t change the past.”

“What now, then?” Rukia asked, as the wind blew through the trees around them.

Ichigo glanced over at her finally, amber eyes shadowed. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I have to think, but I can’t – I don’t think I can go back to the way it was before. Not knowing what you and I were supposed to be.”

Rukia stared at him. “You’ve been married for seven years,” she said just as softly.

“Yeah. But…Orihime and I haven’t been happy together…ever, really,” he explained patiently. “It’s like we were always stuck. My sisters still live in the house, she works part-time in the bakery. Goat-chin’s been missing since the war. I had to have him declared dead when I took over the clinic. But he could still be…somewhere.”

“Have you looked for him?” Rukia asked.

“Before you got married,” Ichigo said quietly. “Afterwards…well.”

Afterwards he was too busy drowning, Zangetsu growled lowly, and Ichigo ducked his head in shame.

But then he reached out and, gently, wiped away the tears beneath Rukia’s eyes. “I don’t – I’m not asking anything of you. If you want everything to stay the way it is, I’ll respect that.”

“Fool,” Rukia whispered, and tilted her face so that it slid against his palm. “Ten years hasn’t changed the way I feel about you. I don’t think even a hundred years could do that.”

Ichigo’s eyes were soft as he looked at her. “Oh?” he asked and shifted a little closer to her on the bench. “It hasn’t changed anything for me either,” he murmured, but he wiped another tear from Rukia’s cheek before he pulled his hand back to find the book in the front of his uniform.

“I take it you read it?” she asked unnecessarily. Rukia’s cheeks flushed and she seized on the book: it was as good an excuse as any to avoid what was most assuredly what her brother would characterize as inappropriate behavior.

“Yeah. It mostly matches up with what we already know, but it explains why Byakuya is being so…understanding,” Ichigo summarized. “Apparently the noble houses made it illegal to keep apart two people like us after a pair of noble-born shinigami with a similar bond were kept apart and died as a result.” He smirked. “Oh, and the author thinks that most of the time, the zanpakutō spirits of a shinigami pair form romantic feelings for one another.”

Already have. And why shouldn’t I? Sode no Shirayuki is strong, and she’s the most beautiful zanpakutō in Soul Society.

Zangetsu flatters me, Shirayuki murmured demurely, But I feel the same way he does.

Rukia’s cheeks flushed brilliantly at their words. “I suppose that’s for the best,” she agreed with a little laugh. “It’s much better than if they hated one another.” Then her expression grew serious once more. “This is such a mess,” she said quietly. “I think Renji’s more heartbroken over Ichika than over me, but Orihime…she’s my friend, Ichigo.”

“Yeah,” he said in a low voice, and hung his head. “Mine too, before.”

“And we need to tell Kyōraku Soutaicho about this eventually,” Rukia pointed out when they’d been silent together for a while.

“Yeah. He left me with a standing invitation to join the Gotei 13, back then. Wonder if it’s still open,” Ichigo mused.

“But what about the clinic?” she questioned. “Didn’t you just finish studying to become a doctor? What about your friends?”

Ichigo just shrugged. “I don’t know,” he said.

She didn’t ask any more questions. Their hands stayed clasped together, and it was a long time before either of them moved.

Two days later Ichigo stepped through the Kuchiki senkaimon. Ichika had come to see him off; she was a little standoffish but still waved goodbye as the doors closed. He tumbled back into the World of the Living in Urahara’s shop.

“Kurosaki-san,” Tessai greeted gravely as Ichigo stood and dusted himself off. “I am glad to see you in good health. We have been keeping your body safe for you.”

“Thanks, Tessai,” Ichigo said awkwardly. A moment later Jinta, who now looked like a young man in his late teens, dragged Ichigo’s body into the room and dumped it at his feet. “Hey!”

“What? It’s not like you were all that careful with it when you left it here.”

Ichigo grunted but focused on shoving himself back into his body. It felt a little odd after being in his shinigami form for almost two weeks. He thanked Tessai again and left the shop. He could feel his substitute badge in his front pocket; at least no one had confiscated it.

There was something new, he thought as he walked back to his house in the evening heat. He could feel the red thread stretching between the world of the living and the Soul Society. He could even feel Rukia, and had the vague sense that she was with Byakuya. He wondered if she could feel him in the same way.

Apparently Zangetsu had at least remembered his house keys; Ichigo unlocked the front door and stepped inside. He removed his shoes and dropped his keys in the little bowl by the front door as he always did, and stepped into the living room. Then he raised an eyebrow.

Uryuu was sitting on the living room couch with Yuzu on one side of him and Orihime on the other. A glass shattered; in her haste to stand, Orihime had dropped her water glass and it hit the coffee table as it fell.

“Ichigo!” Heedless of the broken glass, Orihime ran to him. Only at the last second did she realize that he didn’t have his arms out for her, and she slid to a stop on bare feet, suddenly awkward. (He’d never held his arms out for her, not even when they’d gotten married, but he’d also never been gone for almost two weeks.)

“Hi,” Ichigo said, and his voice was subdued. “I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

“Aa- well it must have been important!” Orihime exclaimed. “Is everything okay? You ran off in the middle of the night and I didn’t know where you were until I spoke to Tessai.”

Ichigo looked past Orihime to Uryuu and Yuzu. Yuzu just looked worried, but Uryuu – Uryuu looked angry and a little guilty. Oddly, all Ichigo felt when he saw him was relief. “Why don’t we talk in the backyard?” he suggested quietly.

“O-okay,” Orihime agreed softly. She followed him through the kitchen and turned the outside light on, then shut the glass door behind them. “What happened, Ichigo? You seem…different.”

Ichigo looked up at the night sky. “How often does Uryuu come over?” he asked instead of explaining. From the corner of his eye he saw Orihime blush.

“He’s had dinner with us almost every night since you disappeared,” she admitted. “He lives alone, you know,” she defended. But Ichigo just huffed out a little laugh under his breath.

“It’s okay, Orihime. You don’t have to explain.” But then he looked at her. “Are you happy in this marriage?”

“Of- of cour—”

“Don’t do that thing where you pretend,” Ichigo interrupted sharply. “Please.”

Orihime slumped and crossed her arms, shivering as though she was chilly. “I thought I could make us happy,” she whispered, and her voice was so broken that Ichigo hung his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and when Orihime looked at him with wide eyes, he added, “We weren’t supposed to be happy.”

“What?”

He gestured to the chairs and waited until she sat before seating himself. And then in fits and starts, he gave her an abbreviated version of what had happened: the memory tampering, the zanpakutō binding, the visit to the royal realm to fix it. By the time he finished Orihime’s eyes were spilling over with tears.

“How awful,” she whispered, and Ichigo had to look away. “But…but that means you can be happy now, right? That we can be happy now?”

Ichigo focused on the brightest star he could find and breathed deeply. “There’s more than that. Ichika is my daughter.” He didn’t even react to Orihime’s broken gasp. “It happened in the royal realm, during the war,” he explained.

“Oh…well, I suppose a lot of things happened during the war that wouldn’t have…”

He took his eyes off the sky and focused on her. “Don’t. Don’t reduce what Rukia and I feel for each other to being because of the war,” he said harshly. He could tell that Yuzu and Uryuu were in the kitchen, probably trying to listen to their conversation, and kept his voice low.

“What you…feel for each other,” Orihime repeated in a horrified whisper. “What you feel…still?”

Ichigo met her eyes. “I’m sorry. I’ve let you try to carry our marriage for a long time, and I haven’t been able to make you happy. I haven’t even tried very hard. And you deserve real happiness, Orihime.”

She let out a single sob and Ichigo winced but didn’t reach for her. When she had composed herself somewhat, Orihime asked, “What happens now?”

He breathed in the hot night air and watched her carefully as he said, “I need you to answer another question for me.”

“Of-of course.”

Ichigo’s hands clenched into fists before he relaxed them. “Zangetsu and Sode no Shirayuki are more active now than they’ve ever been,” he prevaricated as Orihime stared at him, clearly bewildered. “Zangetsu – he’s seen Kazui.”

“I don’t understand,” she said softly, and Ichigo watched her wring her hands in her lap. She looked away from him, and Ichigo took a deep breath.

“Is Kazui my son?” he asked bluntly.

Orihime was silent for a long time – so long that Ichigo thought about repeating himself. But finally, she whispered, “I wanted him to be.”

I wanted him to be, too, Ichigo thought. His leg rocked, heel bouncing up and down on the paved ground beneath him. “How long have you known?” he asked instead.

She just looked down at her hands. “When he was born,” Orihime whispered, as tears filled her eyes and spilled over. They trailed down her cheeks and landed on her hands in fat droplets. “He was weeks early, and it was already too late.”

Zangetsu was silent, and for a moment Ichigo wondered if he’d somehow stayed in Soul Society with Shirayuki. His hands prickled all over with pins and needles, and Ichigo clenched them into fists. “You let me think for seven years that I got you pregnant,” he said quietly. His voice sounded like it was coming from far away; he could barely hear himself over the roaring in his ears. Zangetsu had warned him. So why did it still feel like he’d been punched in the chest?

“I thought it was you,” she whispered, and a sob worked its way out of her throat. “When I told you, I thought it was you.”

“So you lied to me for seven years. I love Kazui, I would die for him. But you lied.” His voice was a harsh whisper. Ichigo had never been so conscious of being watched; of his little sister and his cousin – his friend – watching them both through the glass. “Who was it, then?” he asked. His hands clenched so tightly that he could feel his nails cutting into his palms and drawing blood.

Orihime sobbed again as Ichigo looked up at the night sky. He felt – something – that wasn’t him, suddenly. A rush of cold, but comforting rather than frigid, like a cold compress for a fever. It felt like Rukia. Then it was gone, leaving him with his sobbing wife.

Snow lady and I can’t hold it for long yet. Sorry, King.

It was obvious that Zangetsu’s apology was for more than whatever he and Shirayuki had tried to do. Thanks, Ichigo thought.

“Uryuu,” she finally said brokenly, and scrubbed the saltwater from her face.

Byakuya had told him not to be impulsive. To think things through and not rely on feelings from ten years ago to make a decision. But this – he didn’t think Rukia’s brother had counted on this. On finding out he’d been lied to for nearly his entire adult life, that he’d been raising another man’s child. “Does Ishida know?” he found himself asking. Zangetsu was surprisingly quiet; he’d expected more gloating.

On the chair beside his, Orihime wrapped her arms around herself. “I haven’t told him,” she whispered. “It was just once. You and I were seeing each other but it was before the party.”

His hands clenched tighter, and Ichigo hissed at the biting pain and forced his hands open again. There were four red crescents cut into each palm, and blood beaded up from the wounds.

“Oh! Ichigo, your hands,” his wife said, and reached for her pins.

“Don’t. You don’t get to sit there and act concerned when you’ve just told me that Kazui isn’t my kid and that you haven’t told Uryuu that he’s a father,” Ichigo snapped.

She started sobbing again. They were great, heaving sobs that made her breasts bounce and her shoulders shake. He waited for her to compose herself somewhat before speaking again.

“I’m planning to accept a position in the Gotei 13,” Ichigo said quietly. “I came back to…put my affairs in order.” At Orihime’s gasp, he added, “I’m asking for a divorce.”

Her gray eyes bored into his. “So you’re just going to abandon Kazui and me? And the clinic? You worked so hard for the past ten years, and you’re just going to throw it away to swing a sword around?”

Ichigo winced but didn’t look away. “I’ve raised Kazui for seven years, and I’m not going to abandon him. We can work something out. But you need to tell Uryuu that Kazui is his son, Orihime.”

“And what about the clinic? You can’t just leave your sisters to run it. They’re just nurses,” Orihime pointed out.

Ichigo huffed out a breath. “A doctor can be hired for the clinic, or I can sell it.”

“So you’ll just leave us all homeless?!”

Ichigo held up his bloodied hands.  “No, of course not. It’s just an option. I would give the money to you and to my sisters.  Dad used to say he was sure he could get a lot of money for it if he ever sold.”

“Ichigo…”

He stood and shoved his hands into his pockets, fingertips brushing against his substitute badge. “You lied to me, Orihime. For seven years. But even if you hadn’t – even when I didn’t know, we weren’t happy together,” he said with finality. “You deserve a chance to be happy with someone.” He pushed the door into the kitchen open, ignoring the way Uryuu and Yuzu jumped back.

Ichigo looked at Uryuu. The man had slept with Orihime when they’d been dating. Had been the one to father Kazui. And had lived alone, ignorant of that fact, for seven years. He just sighed and held the door open.

Uryuu walked into the backyard without a word and Ichigo let the door close.

“What happened, Ichi-nii?” Yuzu demanded.

Ichigo occupied himself with pouring a glass of water. “It’s late, Yuzu. I’ll tell you and Karin in the morning, okay?” He brushed past Yuzu and climbed the stairs, turning to walk into Kazui’s room.

His son was asleep already and breathing evenly in the darkness. Ichigo stood in the doorway and watched him for a few minutes. Then he carefully shut the door and walked to his bedroom to find nightclothes before going back downstairs and bunking in the empty clinic.

Chapter Text

Ichigo’s eyes blinked open in the darkness when the door to the room he’d chosen opened with a low creak. He sat up, expecting Orihime, but instead Ishida’s glasses glinted at him in the dim moonlight filtering in through the window on the far wall. “Ishida,” he said quietly. He tapped his phone on the nightstand and the screen lit up with the time: one in the morning. “It’s the middle of the night.”

His cousin and friend stared at him and then closed the door behind him; in the darkness, with only faint moonlight, Ichigo couldn’t see much of his expression. “She told me you want a divorce,” he said after a long moment of silence.

Ichigo reached over and turned on the table lamp, illuminating the room with pale yellow light. “Yeah,” he muttered.

“Bastard. Don’t you know how much she loves you?” Ishida growled, and Ichigo blinked up at him incredulously.

“What did she tell you?” he asked carefully and then gestured at the bed next to his. His cousin crossed the room to sit down on the edge of the thin mattress.

“That you got Rukia pregnant with Ichika during the war and think you’re in love with her.”

His jaw fell slack and Ichigo stared at Ishida, momentarily speechless. You really think she’d tell him the truth, King? Zangetsu prodded sarcastically, and Ichigo silently hushed him. “Is that…all she told you?”

“Pretty much. Then she sobbed for an hour before I got her up to bed,” Ishida admitted. “I cleaned up some more broken glass before I came to find you.”

Ichigo swung his legs so that his feet touched the floor and he could face Ishida properly. “Nothing about Ichibē? Or…Kazui?” When Ishida shook his head, the former substitute shinigami scrubbed his hand through his hair and explained, for the second time that night, the monk’s interference.

Ishida exhaled heavily. “I told her, two nights ago, that something had changed. Chad suddenly called me to tell me he was quitting boxing.”

Good, Ichigo thought. He’d been baffled by Chad’s decision to fight for money in the first place. “I think the monk’s spell extended beyond Rukia and me,” he murmured. “We were the targets, but not the only people impacted.” Then he looked up at Uryuu again. “You slept with Orihime when we first started dating.”

The Quincy looked away from him. “I should have…”

“Uryuu.” And Ishida looked up at him, startled by the use of his first name. “I didn’t know until tonight,” Ichigo said. Then, hearing the thread of desperation in his own voice, he added, “Kazui is yours.”

The thin mattress crumpled under Ishida’s grip and he stared at Ichigo, jaw slack. “He’s – what?” the other man asked in a strangled voice.

“She’s known since he was born. She lied to me – to both of us, for seven years.” Ichigo’s voice was low and rough as he spoke; his fingers dug into the fabric of the faded shorts he wore.

“Kur—Ichigo, are you sure?” Uryuu was still staring, and in the quiet of the clinic Ichigo heard stitches popping beneath the other man’s hands.

“Zangetsu knew.” Uryuu startled, but Ichigo just shook his head. “He was – sleeping, I guess, for a long time. When Rukia visited a few weeks ago he woke up, suddenly. That’s how all this shit happened.” Ichigo scrubbed a hand over his eyes impatiently when they grew damp. “He said Kazui doesn’t smell like me. But he has light hair and Orihime’s eyes, so…”

“So no one ever questioned it,” Uryuu said dully, and Ichigo just nodded. He pretended not to see when his cousin surreptitiously scrubbed at his own eyes beneath his glasses. They sat in silence there in the clinic, lit only by the wan table lamp, for a long time. Finally, Uryuu asked, “Is that why you asked for a divorce?”

Ichigo nodded. “Why didn’t you say anything? If I’d known you loved her, I…”

Uryuu scowled at him and stood from the bed to pace over toward the window. “Because all she wanted was you,” he growled at the pane of glass. “And you never even noticed. You didn’t notice her for years. Not until after Kuchiki-san got married.”

“Because I loved Rukia,” Ichigo said helplessly. “It was always Rukia, until Ichibē took my memories and hers. Even after, I –” He covered his face again.

His cousin glanced back at him, glasses glinting bright in the light from the lamp. “Why Orihime, then?”

Ichigo scrubbed his hand down his face. “She asked. I was a mess, and she was there, and I thought maybe…” He looked up at Uryuu again.

“You thought maybe she could fix you.” The slender Quincy rolled his eyes. “And what about Rukia? She’s married to Abarai.”

“Hn.” Ichigo’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “It’s not really a marriage. Renji was angrier about Ichika than he was about me. Ichika’s upset, but I told her I didn’t want to take her away from him.”

That sparked Uryuu’s interest; the look in his eyes sharpened and he turned toward Ichigo. “And Kazui?”

“You should get to know your son,” Ichigo offered. “And he should know the truth.” Then he glanced at his phone. “It’s almost two in the morning. I need to get some sleep. You should, too.”

Uryuu grimaced and glanced toward the other bed in the room. “Here?”

“Might as well. Breakfast’s going to be awkward, though.”

Uryuu just huffed at him, but he moved away from the window.

Ichigo waited until his cousin stretched out on the empty bed and set his glasses on the nightstand before turning the table lamp off. He was sure he was still too keyed up to sleep, but he drifted off quickly. At least Uryuu was a quiet sleeper.

When Ichigo woke just after seven, Uryuu was sitting up on the other bed with sleep-mussed hair and glasses perched back on his nose. And he wondered, briefly, if he’d somehow landed in one of the k-dramas that Yuzu liked so much. “I’ll uh – get you some clean clothes,” he offered. “There’s a shower in the clinic.”

Uryuu just scrubbed a hand through his uncharacteristically messy hair and nodded.

Ichigo could hear Orihime in the kitchen when he came through the clinic door, and he strode past the room quickly on bare feet, hoping to avoid her. She called his name as he hurried up the stairs, but Ichigo didn’t stop. One of his sisters was in the shower – Karin, he guessed, since he heard movement from Yuzu’s room. Kazui’s door was still closed.

His bedroom door was open and Ichigo dug through his drawers for fresh clothing. Uryuu was a little shorter and thinner than him, but he had a pair of khakis that were snug on him and a few of his shirts were on the smaller side as well.

When Ichigo straightened up, Orihime was standing in the bedroom doorway. He glanced down at the clothes in his hands and then at her. “Uryuu will be joining us for breakfast,” he said calmly. “I’m just bringing him a change of clothes.”

There were already tears in his wife’s grey eyes – and just like last night, Ichigo couldn’t bring himself to care the way he should have. He didn’t expect her to step into the bedroom and shut the door. “You can’t divorce me,” she said, voice cracking.

Ichigo set the clothes on top of the dresser and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Why’s that?” he asked.

Tears fell from her eyes and Orihime impatiently wiped them away. “Because an-an indiscretion years ago shouldn’t ruin our marriage. We’re adults, Ichigo, you can’t just run away from your responsibilities because Rukia came calling.”

Some fuckin’ nerve, Zangetsu growled, but Ichigo just arched an eyebrow. “Rukia doesn’t have anything to do with this,” he pointed out.

Orihime reared back as if struck. “Of course she does. You always went running whenever she so much as crooked her finger,” she shot back, tears still streaming down her face. Her nose was running too, and she wiped at it. “Whenever she had to go back to Soul Society you were a mess, and when she married Renji you moped around for months. You have a wife and a family, Ichigo, you can’t just walk away from us.”

His jaw was slack and mouth open as he looked at her. “You can’t be serious,” Ichigo said finally. “You slept with my cousin. Our friend, who was in love with you. And then you lied to me about Kazui. You lied to Uryuu about him, too, and never told him that he has a child.” He kept his voice to a low, harsh whisper. She was closer to the door, but he listened for the sound of his sisters or Kazui; Yuzu still had a bad habit of listening at doors.

“Kazui is yours no matter who fathered him,” Orihime pleaded. “You can’t just abandon your child. And you love me, you can’t just abandon your wife.”

Ichigo wondered, briefly, if he’d driven her over some kind of ledge last night. “I love Kazui. And I don’t want to abandon him,” he allowed. “But—” He grimaced; Ichigo didn’t want to hurt her, but he said the words anyway: “I haven’t ever been in love with you.”

A shocked gasp left Orihime’s mouth as Zangetsu whistled inside him and said, Jeez, King. Didn’t think you’d say it. Still, another wave of ice-cold comfort wrapped around him for a moment and calmed him. Thank Sode no Shirayuki for me, Ichigo told him as he looked at Orihime.

Fresh tears streamed down his wife’s cheeks and she wrapped her arms around herself. “Yes you have,” she insisted. “You made love to me. You married me. You’ve always provided for our family. You’ve just been tired because of work and getting your medical degree and license.”

“I don’t even remember having sex with you that first time,” Ichigo pointed out bluntly. “Even Zangetsu doesn’t; he just remembers silence and a flood. I married you because you told me that I got you pregnant, because you lied to me. Whether it was wishful thinking or deliberate, you still lied, Orihime.”

“Your – your zanpakutō loves me,” Orihime insisted desperately, “So that means you do, too. He protected me when you couldn’t, in Hueco Mundo.”

Zangetsu snorted, loudly. Ichigo just stared at her, totally baffled. “What are you talking about? He nearly killed both you and Uryuu. He took over because I was dead, and you were terrified of him.”

“But he – he killed Ulquiorra for me!”

I think you broke her, King, Zangetsu rumbled.

Ichigo shook his head. “That’s not why he killed Ulquiorra. But talking about something my zanpakutō did when I was fifteen – it doesn’t change anything, Orihime. I’m not in love with you, and I’m not going to live this half-life where you pretend we’re a happy family and I sleep on the couch or in the clinic because I can’t bear to touch you.” The minute he said the words he wanted to take them back – not because they weren’t true but because they were cruel, and he’d never wanted to be cruel to her.

Orihime’s face crumpled and she sobbed brokenly, arms wrapping around her stomach as though it ached. “I’m not going to just agree to a divorce,” she managed to say, gasping between each word.

Ichigo took a deep breath. “That’s your choice,” he agreed calmly. “I can petition in family court instead. It’s harder that way for both of us, but I can do it. But I can’t stay married to you, Orihime.” He picked the clothes back up from the dresser and stepped around her. “I need to bring these to Uryuu.”

“You can’t just—”

He didn’t turn to look back at her; Ichigo just opened the door of the bedroom and stepped back into the hallway. Kazui’s door was still shut – a small mercy, even though the boy was going to be late for breakfast.

Breakfast was awkward. Ichigo finally handed over his spare clothing to Uryuu, and they took turns quickly showering in the clinic’s bare-bones bathroom before walking into the dining room together. Yuzu didn’t look surprised to see Uryuu still there; in fact, she’d already set the table for six people.

Kazui ran downstairs just as Ichigo finished pouring coffee and sat down at the table calmly enough. Orihime was still upstairs, and they all waited several minutes in awkward silence before Ichigo glanced at Kazui and said awkwardly, “We should get started before everything gets cold.”

Uryuu eyed him suspiciously and Ichigo grimaced. But he just said, “Itadakimasu,” a word repeated around the table, and they all started to eat.

Orihime appeared halfway through the meal, eyes puffy and red-rimmed. She sat down next to Karin, across from Uryuu and Yuzu, and silently served herself from the bowls and plates of cooling food. Not a word was said around the table as rice and fish were consume and coffee drank until finally, Uryuu set down his chopsticks across his plate and nodded politely to Yuzu.

“Thank you for breakfast,” he said quietly. “I have to get to the hospital for my shift.”

Ichigo nodded, but put a hand up to stop him. “Come back for dinner,” he requested, aware of the way Orihime and Uryuu both stared at him; he was aware, too, of the way his sisters were watching him and Kazui was looking at him wide-eyed. He wished, suddenly, that Rukia had come back with him. But she had her duties – not to mention sorting things out with Renji and Ichika – and he didn’t know what Orihime would have done if she saw her.

Uryuu blinked at him behind the thin lenses of his glasses. “Of course,” he said after a moment of strained silence. “I’d be happy to.” He stood and carried his dishes into the kitchen; when he returned to the dining room, he bowed briefly and then gathered his belongings. The door shut behind him with a soft click.

Ichigo glanced at Orihime and opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word she practically bounced out of her chair and began to gather plates. With false cheer she said, “Kazui, come help me put the dishes away!” and hurried toward the kitchen, long hair flaring out behind her and the pins in her hair sparkling.

Kazui looked up at the man he knew as his father but Ichigo just let out a breath, shoulders slumping. “Go ahead, Kazui,” he said, and watched him climb down from his chair and gather up a few bowls before walking into the kitchen after his mother.

“You were in Soul Society,” Karin said flatly when it was just the three of them. “With Rukia-nee?”

“Why were you there?” Yuzu asked.

Ichigo started cleaning up the other dishes on the table, but Yuzu – Yuzu! – glared at him. “Fine. Yes, I was with Rukia. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when we open the clinic.”

Karin scowled at him. “The clinic that you abandoned for almost two weeks? You’re as bad as Goat-chin.”

“Hn.” Ichigo piled up the rest of the dishes and chopsticks, and Karin started to gather the glasses and mugs.

“Is Rukia-nee okay?” Yuzu asked softly.

Ichigo swallowed uneasily and glanced toward the kitchen. “She will be.”

The twins waited until the clinic door was shut behind them to ask anymore questions, but as soon as the heavy, sound-damping wood swung into place they herded their older brother into his office and shut the door.

“Tell us what happened,” Karin demanded. “Your wife moped around the whole time and she had Uryuu-nii over for dinner every night.”

“She kissed him on the patio, three nights ago,” Yuzu blurted out.

Ichigo just pressed his hand against his eyes and sighed. “I asked her for a divorce last night.”

“Finally,” Karin muttered, but Yuzu elbowed her.

“Because Uryuu-nii kissed her?” the younger twin asked.

“Because we’ve never been happy and she lied to me for seven years – Kazui is Uryuu’s son,” Ichigo muttered, and watched as the jaws of both women dropped open.

“He’s – what?” Yuzu demanded. “How did that happen?” When Karin and Ichigo stared at her, she flushed red and sputtered, “I mean that she was always interested in you. When would she have…” She lowered her voice, “slept with Uryuu-nii?”

“When she and I were first dating,” Ichigo explained. “I was still pretty standoffish I guess.”

“And your trip to Soul Society?” Karin prompted. “Does that have something to do with it?”

Ichigo found himself explaining the whole story for the third time, from Zangetsu’s awakening to Ichika’s real parentage to the red thread.

“So we have a niece,” Yuzu said contemplatively when he was done. “Do you think Orihime will still let us see Kazui?”

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck uneasily. “I could petition for custody but – I’m not sure it’s the right thing to do for Kazui. I don’t think Kyōraku would let him stay for good, especially since he’s not…” Ichigo choked up suddenly, and he cleared his throat as his sisters watched. “Well he’s not a shinketsu, is he? His powers are probably quincy powers.”

Yuzu reached over and squeezed his hand while Karin asked, “Are you going to go live with Rukia? And she’s divorcing that redhead with bad fashion sense, right?”

He couldn’t help the snort that left his mouth. “If she’ll have me,” he agreed. “It sounded like she was going to leave Renji, when I left the Seireitei last night.” Ichigo’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t feel good about that, but – it sounded like they weren’t happy together either. Byakuya kept Renji away from her most of the time.”

Karin and Yuzu exchanged a look. “Why?” Yuzu asked. “Didn’t he ask Renji to marry her?”

Ichigo just shrugged. “I haven’t figured that out, yet. But he was as upset as he ever gets when he found out about everything. He apologized to Rukia in public.”

Karin raised an eyebrow, but she checked her watch. “We need to get the clinic open. And call tomorrow’s appointments and tell them that they can show up, unless you’re planning on running off again.”

“What about the clinic?” Yuzu asked. “We can’t run it without a doctor.”

“We should talk about it,” Ichigo said quietly. “Orihime – she told me she won’t just go along with a divorce.”

Karin scoffed. “Of course she won’t. Is that why you invited Uryuu over again tonight?”

He nodded. “That and Kazui doesn’t know yet. Who even knows what she’s telling him now.” Ichigo tugged at his hair and then forcibly pulled his hand away. “We should open the clinic.”

Karin looked back at him as she opened his office door. “Did you see Tōshirō?” she asked, far too casually.

Ichigo shook his head. “Only from a distance.” And he stifled his curiosity when his sister looked strangely disappointed as she left.

Working in the clinic kept all three of them busy the rest of the day, and Ichigo found himself slammed with patients despite the fact that the clinic had been closed for days. There were fractured wrists and suspected sinus infections; there were older women from the neighborhood with minor complaints and one elderly man with a broken hip who Ichigo sent to a larger hospital in an ambulance.

There was also a mountain of paperwork, and Ichigo spent every moment not with a patient working on that to get overdue insurance claims processed and bills paid. By the time Yuzu slipped out of the clinic to start dinner, Ichigo was exhausted but the paperwork pile was nearly done.

Dinner was even worse than breakfast; dead silence ruled the table, punctuated only by the occasional request for a dish or refill of water and the occasional sniffle from Kazui. Orihime just shot pleading looks alternately at Ichigo and Uryuu. Karin rolled her eyes whenever Orihime’s welled up, and Yuzu focused intently on refilling dishes until only a few grains of rice remained.

“Why don’t we talk in the living room?” Uryuu suggested when he’d finished helping Ichigo carry dishes back into the kitchen.

“C’mon, Kaz,” Ichigo said, and when the boy reached up, he scooped up Kazui before Orihime could, and carried him on one hip into the living room. He was getting a little heavy to carry like that, but he just hugged him close and kissed the side of his head before setting him on the middle seat of the sofa and sitting on his right. Uryuu sat down on Kazui’s other side, leaving Orihime to reluctantly sit in one of the armchairs. Yuzu took the other, and Karin settled onto the ottoman with legs crisscrossed.

“Karin and Yuzu already know,” Ichigo told Orihime before she opened her mouth. “And I told Uryuu last night when you didn’t.”

Her hands wrung on her lap. “You had no right! I – I would have told him,” she protested, and looked pleadingly at Uryuu again.

Kazui was already squirming a little next to him. “Che.” Ichigo glanced over at Uryuu. He hadn’t rehearsed what he was planning to say, hadn’t spoken with Orihime about it – not after their fight that morning. “Kazui, we need to tell you something really important,” he started, trying not to stumble over the words. On the other side of him Uryuu was sitting up straight, body taut as a bowstring.

Orihime started crying before Ichigo could say anything else, and Kazui squirmed out from between the two men to dart over to his mother and climb into her lap. “Why are you upset, Kaasan?” he asked, as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Aa! Sometimes I get emotional, Kazui,” Orihime said with more false cheer as she wiped at her eyes and then kissed his forehead. Karin scoffed, but Yuzu looked away, eyes focusing on the blank television screen.

Ichigo exchanged a look with Uryuu. “Kazui, you know how every kid has a mother and a father, right?”

The boy nodded, and Orihime clutched her son until he whined in complaint and squirmed to loosen her hold on him. “Most kids. Akemi just has a mom.”

Akemi’s mother was a widow whom Ichigo vaguely recalled meeting when she’d brought the girl into the clinic for an earache two months ago. “Right.”

“Are you divorcing like Eiji’s parents?” Kazui asked.

“Oh – of course not, Kazui!” Orihime said, though she was still crying.

Ichigo scrubbed a hand through his hair anxiously while Karin rolled her eyes. “I’ve asked your mother for a divorce, yes,” he contradicted. “That’s something for us to worry about – we both love you no matter what. But the thing is, Kazui…” Orihime glared at him, but Ichigo just barreled forward and said, “I’m not your biological father, the one who…helped make you. Ishida is.”

Though everyone in the room but Kazui already knew, Yuzu still put a hand over her mouth and Uryuu’s hands clenched into fists as Orihime cried into her son’s hair.

Kazui stared between Ichigo and Uryuu, grey eyes growing wider and wider. “No,” he said, and shoved away from his mother. Orihime reached for him but he was faster, sliding off her lap and running up the stairs before anyone could stop him.

Ichigo stood and held out a hand to stop his wife. “I’ll talk to him.”

Ichigo took a breath and rapped lightly on Kazui’s door. “Kazui? Can I come in?” There wasn’t an answer, and after a minute he turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. “Kaz?”

His son – not yours, a dark thought insisted and Ichigo pushed it away – was sobbing on the bed. Ichigo closed the door behind him gently. “Kazui?” he asked softly, and sat down next to him.

“Why don’t you want to be my father anymore?” the boy asked, the words punctuated by sobs. “Is it because of Kuchiki-san?”

Ah. He’d heard them that morning, too. Ichigo wrapped an arm around Kazui and hugged him close. “I love being your father,” he said quietly. “It’s been the best part of the last seven years.”

“Then why don’t you want that anymore?” Kazui scrubbed at his runny nose and Ichigo grabbed for a tissue on the nightstand and held it up to the child’s nose.

“Blow,” he instructed, and Kazui’s hands came up to brace the tissue before he did as told. Ichigo dropped the soiled paper in the wastebasket. “It’s not that I don’t want that. You remember how you said Akemi doesn’t have a father?”

A hesitant nod.

“Akemi’s father died when she was very small, but he…created Akemi with her mother first.” Ichigo rolled his eyes at his own awkward phrasing. “Remember how your Kaasan carried you in her body for nine months?”

Another nod.

“Fathers have a different role, and in this case, Ishida…”

Seriously, King, aren’t you a doctor? Just say it.

Ichigo grimaced at Zangetsu’s taunt but took a deep breath. “Ishida is the one who helped create you. But neither of us knew that until now,” he finished.

Kazui scrubbed at his grey eyes and looked up at Ichigo. “Is that why you called her a liar?” he asked.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. I was very angry with her, because she didn’t tell the truth,” he admitted.

“Do you hate her now? Do you hate me?” Kazui’s eyes filled with tears again, and his squat, small body was trembling.

Ichigo wrapped an arm around him again and hugged him close. “I’m still very angry,” he said softly, and kissed the side of his head. “But that’s not your fault, and I couldn’t ever hate you. I love you, and that won’t change no matter what, okay?”

The boy leaned into him and Ichigo rubbed his back lightly. “But – you really want to divorce Kaasan? Eiji’s parents got one and he gets mad all the time because he can’t see his dad anymore. My teacher says he’s lashing out.”

“Ah.” Ichigo took a deep breath. “I do, but I want to stay in your life.”

“Do you want to marry Kuchiki-san instead? When she came here there was something weird around you – this red yarn was all tangled between you. It looked really beat up.”

Ichigo blinked, surprised that Kazui had seen that. Wonder if it’s normal for kids to see stuff like that, he thought. He felt Zangetsu give a shrug. “Ah,” he said. “That’s a longer story. I’ll tell you later, okay?”

Kazui burrowed closer, and Ichigo held him tight for a while longer, lips pressed to the crown of his head.

Chapter Text

Not for the first time, Ichigo was equal parts grateful and irritated that Urahara always seemed to know everything that went on in both Soul Society and the World of the Living. Just four days after his return to the World of the Living, the shopkeeper summoned him with a brief phone call and a request: “Come over this evening; I have someone here who you should meet.”

Ururu brought cups of tea with a little bow, her expression still shy but her childish pigtails long since replaced by a sleek bob. Once she was gone, Ichigo raised an eyebrow at Urahara and the suited young man across from him. “What’s this about?” he asked.

Urahara smirked, the scars on his face pulling with the motion, and sipped unhurriedly from the narrow clay teacup in one hand. “So impatient,” he chided gently. “I wanted you to meet one of my associates, Onishi Kenzo. Onishi-san is a lawyer with significant experience in family law and divorce cases,” the older man explained.

Ichigo blinked, nonplussed. “I’m Kurosaki Ichigo,” he introduced, and received a solemn nod in return from the bespectacled Onishi. “But – how’d you know I need a lawyer?”

Onishi sipped from his own cup and glanced at Urahara. “Urahara-san informed me of your potential need earlier today, Kurosaki-san. I understand that your wife refuses to discuss a kiyogi rikon, and that there is a child of…unexpected parentage involved,” he said smoothly.

“I haven’t told anyone that. I only started looking for lawyers last night,” Ichigo sputtered.

“Karin-chan let it slip,” Urahara admitted, “when she was dropping something off at the shop.” Before Ichigo could puzzle over that, the shopkeeper added seriously, “Onishi-san is an excellent lawyer. And your case is complicated.”

The hand holding his cup of tea tightened. “Is it?” He directed the question at Onishi, who raised an eyebrow. “Look – I’m a doctor, but I only finished my residency recently. I still have loans.”

The fan in Urahara’s left hand fluttered dismissively, but the shadowed eye beneath his striped hat was somber. “Onishi-san’s fees are taken care of, Ichigo.”

“By who?”

When Ichigo stared at him, the fan fluttered again. “A person who wishes to remain anonymous.”

“I don’t—” Ichigo’s fingers dug into the plain khakis he wore. “I don’t like to owe debts.”

“On the contrary, this person owes you a debt,” Urahara assured him. “A big one. Take what’s offered. I understand that mediation can be arduous without legal representation.”

Onishi sipped his tea. “I will need you to tell me everything you can about the situation, Kurosaki-san. Why you are seeking a divorce, all of your assets, and what you want for the child.”

Ichigo glanced Urahara’s way once more, though, and asked quietly, “Does he know about…?”

“Onishi-san knows that you are the son of a good friend, and someone I care about very much, Ichigo.”

So the lawyer didn’t know about Soul Society, then. Someone I care about very much, Ichigo thought, and bowed his head briefly. “Thanks, Kisuke.”

The shopkeeper and former shinigami captain stood. “I’ll give you some privacy,” he offered, but squeezed Ichigo’s shoulder lightly before he left the room and shut the shoji door behind him.

Onishi was ready with a set of papers for Ichigo to sign outlining his engagement as Ichigo’s lawyer. When he’d read and signed everything, Ichigo refilled their cups of tea and took a deep breath. He needed to tread carefully. “When I was twenty, I started dating Inoue Orihime. She slept with my cousin, Ishida Uryuu. When she became pregnant as a result of that relationship, she told me that she was pregnant and that I was the father. I decided that I had to do the responsible thing.”

The lawyer started taking notes. “And when did you discover that you were not?” he prompted.

“Earlier this week. A few years before I dated Orihime, I was in a relationship with a different woman. She had a – very traditional family, and they stopped her from seeing me. Neither of us knew that she was pregnant.”

Onishi’s eyebrows arched. “And she had the child?” he asked.

“Yeah. A daughter, who I didn’t find out about until a few days ago either. I told Orihime about Ichika – that’s her name,” Ichigo explained softly, and then took a sip of his tea. “And then she admitted that Kazui isn’t my son. And that she’s known since he was born.”

Onishi’s pen flew across his legal pad. “I see.” He pursed his lips. “Has she had other relationships during the marriage?”

“No. At least – I don’t think she has,” Ichigo finished in a mutter. She’d always been so focused on him. He still didn’t even understand how she’d ended up in bed with Uryuu.

“And what do you want for Kazui?”

Ichigo scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Orihime’s a good mother, I don’t want to keep him from her. But biological or not, he’s my kid.”

“You’re aware that only one parent can have formal custody of the child?” When he received a nod in return, Onishi added, “We can request regular visitation as part of the mediation process.”

“Yeah,” Ichigo muttered, and his lawyer glanced at him before continuing.

“Tell me about the assets in your name, and what you hold jointly with your spouse.”

“It’s the house and dad’s savings, mostly,” Ichigo admitted. “My father signed the house over to me.”

“Before or after your marriage?”

“Before,” Ichigo clarified. “I was eighteen.”

Onishi blinked at him. “That’s young,” he said, and Ichigo just nodded. “Did you pay taxes on it?”

Ichigo hummed under his breath. “Yeah, we took care of all that.”

“He disappeared right before I graduated from high school. We looked for him, me and Urahara-san. I uh – had to have him declared dead three years ago, to be able to get access to his savings for my sisters and manage the clinic.”

“And what do those savings look like now?”

“A hell of a lot smaller than they were, but it meant that Yuzu and Karin didn’t have to take on debt to go to college. I have loans, but just from medical school, and a little savings of my own.” Ichigo named a figure that Onishi wrote down.

“Is there anything else?”

He shrugged. “There’s the car – it’s not worth much, it’s almost fifteen years old. And there’s the furniture and stuff in the house.”

“How much of it predates your marriage?” Onishi asked.

“Almost all of it. We didn’t really have a lot of money to redecorate,” Ichigo said with a shrug. In fact, it had never come up as a topic of discussion, Ichigo thought. They really had been stuck.

The lawyer just nodded once more and asked, “Do you have a sexual relationship with your daughter’s mother?”

It nearly made Ichigo spit his tea out, and then he choked with the effort to swallow it. “No,” he said through the coughing fit to dislodge the drops of tea that had gone down his windpipe. “No,” he repeated more calmly. “We didn’t even speak for years – her family kept us apart.”

There were other, even more personal questions, and the tea pot was empty long before Ichigo’s new lawyer finally put away his legal pad and pushed his card across the table. “I’ll begin the filing process and will be in touch, Kurosaki-san. In the meantime, I advise you not to attempt to hide or dispose of any assets other than what is necessary for your living expenses.”

Ichigo just blinked at him. He was moving to Soul Society; it hadn’t even occurred to him to try and keep anything from Orihime. “What about old clothes and things like that? I boxed up my father’s stuff but never got rid of it, in case he came back.”

“Hn. For now, you shouldn’t get rid of anything,” his lawyer muttered as he closed up his briefcase.

Rukia sat in seiza, the layers of a formal kimono draped around her. The room she sat in was the most opulent in the manor; hand-painted silk decorated the walls and the tatami mats beneath her legs were well-padded. It was just as well; she expected that she would be here for quite some time.

“You have petitioned for an annulment of your marriage, Abarai Rukia,” a sharp, old voice snapped from her left. The word Abarai was a shock to her ears, a reminder that she had taken Renji’s name upon their marriage. It was a reminder of that strange time in a strange room, a few minutes that had shaped almost ten years of her life.

She took a breath, and her eyes focused on the speaker: Kuchiki Eiko, an elder of the clan and one of the men who had opposed her adoption. The opulent black and gold kimono he wore draped over an ancient frame; he looked, she thought, older than Yamamoto had. “I have,” she agreed.

“You have brought nothing but dishonor to this clan,” the woman next to him snapped. Kuchiki Hideyo was even more ancient, gnarled and crumpled in her pink robes.

Beside her, Byakuya stiffened. “Rukia,” he said calmly, “is a captain of the Gotei Thirteen and a hero of war. She has brought only honor to this clan.”

Hideyo sniffed. “Pregnant out of wedlock, married to another worthless Rukongai brat, and now she wants to annul the marriage and pretend none of it happened.”

Within her sleeves, Rukia’s hands turned to fists, and she kept control of her reiatsu only by a thread. It surprised her when Byakuya’s own control slipped and the sharp anger of his powers shot through the room before he controlled it. “As my petition explained, the marriage was deficient from the outset,” Rukia got out.

“Members of this clan do not divorce,” Eiko snapped. “You made the choice to lie with a dog, and you will live with that.”

Her reiatsu, ice-cold and strong, blanketed the room and beside her, Byakuya’s did the same, pinning the elders to their chairs and causing one or two to struggle for breath. “The choice I made,” Rukia said, voice low and tense, “was taken from me by the interference of the Zero Division, as has already been explained to you. The marriage you forced upon me is the one I seek to annul.”

Power, warm and thrumming, wrapped around her for a long moment. It was Ichigo’s power, the power he’d used to save her so long ago. He hurts for you, Shirayuki whispered, cool and gentle inside her. Zangetsu and I can hold together across the worlds for this much.

Byakuya cleared his throat but did not protest Rukia’s words. Instead, he pointed out, “Soul Society’s laws, the laws shaped by our own clan, do not permit you to object to this annulment.”

A scoff. “The right to grant an annulment is our prerogative. What law do you claim changes that?”

Rukia focused, and the red thread looped around her before it led into the distance. There were soft gasps from the assembled clan elders. “This thread leads to the man who is the father of my child, who would have been my partner years ago if not for the meddling of the Zero Division,” she snapped. “Soul Society’s laws state that it is a crime to keep those bound by such a thread separated. Do not,” Rukia warned, “forget the reason for that law.”

Oh, she knew that too, had researched it before this meeting. The dead woman in the old story was a Kuchiki.

“You are right to take us to task, Kuchiki Taicho,” a soft voice said into the tension. “It is easy to forget what is right when we are focused on what is proper.”

She exhaled, and regained control of herself. “Sayuri oba-san.” Rukia’s voice was quiet. “I am fated to be with Kurosaki Ichigo. Please do not stand in fate’s way.”

“The ryoka? First a brat from the Rukongai and now a boy who doesn’t even belong here!”

Byakuya shifted his weight. “Kurosaki saved us all,” he reminded his elders. “He is a war hero and sacrificed much. He is also a Shiba.”

It was like sending a bull through a narrow street, and Rukia wondered at the way they had called her unrefined and undignified when nearly all of them were screaming to be heard over the din. It didn’t stop until Byakuya’s reiatsu bore down on them again, so heavy that even Rukia struggled.

There was more huffing, more sniffing and picking at kimono fabric as they conferred, but finally, Eiko said grudgingly, “We will grant our permission for the annulment, and for Abarai Ichika to take on the clan name.”

Rukia lowered herself in a brief bow.

In the World of the Living, the situation in the Kurosaki household devolved quickly.

Ichigo presented Orihime with the paperwork for both a mutual divorce and a mediated divorce in less than a week, in his office in the clinic so that his sisters and Kazui couldn’t hear. “I can make this as easy for you as I can,” he’d told her, “or we can do it the harder way. But I’m going to end this marriage. I have a lawyer to represent me in the mediation, and if you want to go down that path, you should speak to a lawyer as well.”

“You mean make it easy for you,” she’d said, and ignored the paperwork set before her. When Ichigo refused to back down she’d run crying from the room – and he’d solemnly called Onishi and let him know that Orihime had refused the kiyogi rikon a second time.

Meals were no longer a family event; Ichigo ate in his office most of the time, sometimes with one or both of his sisters, and sometimes with Kazui. There was more paperwork, so much Ichigo thought he might drown in it. Though Orihime dragged her feet, Ichigo filled out everything his lawyer gave him, and waited for a mediation session to be scheduled.

There was the conversation with his sisters, late at night in the storage room of the clinic with cold beers and a chair nudged under the door. It felt like overkill to Ichigo, but Karin just glared at him and he handed over a beer without comment.

“What do you want after the divorce is final?” Ichigo asked, bottle half-empty and white coat draped over one shoulder. “The first mediation session is scheduled for next week and the lawyer needs to know what I’m going to ask for.”

Karin and Yuzu exchanged a look, and the older twin took a swig of her beer. “I’m almost done with my masters,” Karin said with a shrug. “If you’re going to sell the clinic, I can get a good job somewhere else.”

Yuzu’s bottle was almost full, and when she took a sip she made a face. “I like the other kind better,” she whined when Karin smirked at her. “But I can be a nurse anywhere, Ichi-nii. And…it might be nice to live somewhere that’s mine.”

Karin hummed her agreement. “Yeah, it’s convenient to live here but I feel stuck.”

Since it wasn’t the first time Ichigo had heard or thought exactly that, he just nodded. “So, you’re okay with selling the house and clinic?” he asked. “I don’t know what your share will be after the divorce, it might not be enough for you both to buy your own apartments.”

There was another exchange of glances. “The house is our family’s,” Yuzu said, more sternly than usual. “You didn’t buy it with her. Why is she getting a share?”

“Because she has Kazui,” Karin guessed. “And you won’t petition for custody because you’re moving to Soul Society.”

“There’s an alimony payment, too. She doesn’t make much at the bakery.” Ichigo looked away and drained the last of his beer. “I doubt Kyōraku would want a Quincy running around the Seireitei. And Ishida wouldn’t like that either,” he pointed out. “Assuming it would even be possible, long-term.”

Yuzu curled up in her chair, chin resting on her knees. “No,” she said quietly. “I guess they wouldn’t.”

Karin reached over and ruffled her sister’s hair, but Ichigo just stared down at the empty bottle in his hands.

Soul Society didn’t stay out of it, either: two weeks after his return to the World of the Living, a very familiar face appeared at the clinic doorstep.

“I don’t understand why that woman is here,” Orihime whispered from her position on the couch. She fiddled with the cup of tea in her hand and looked resentfully at Ichigo. “Can’t you tell her that this isn’t any of her business?”

Ichigo scrubbed a hand through his hair. It was getting long again, and he was thinking of letting it grow out; the shorter haircut made his forehead look enormous. “I already have,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m not even sure how she found out about this.” That wasn’t entirely true – the badge had been used to listen in on him before.

At Ichigo’s request, Uryuu had come over on his day off, and the Quincy and shinigami glowered at one another uneasily. Yuzu was distracting Kazui upstairs. The “she” in question – Ise Nanao – sat perched on the least comfortable chair in the living room. Urahara was getting better at understanding human fashion – he’d given Nanao a pretty sundress patterned with pink cherry blossoms along the hem. The First Division fukutaicho pushed her glasses up her nose. “As I have said previously, Kurosaki-san, Ichigo, the Soul Society has a vested interest in ensuring that Kurosaki Kazui is trained as a shinigami.”

Orihime frowned at Nanao and tears formed in her eyes. “But my son is a human. He is alive, and he deserves to have a life here, with his mother. He’s in school full-time!”

“The earlier he learns to control his reiatsu, the better. We have tutors in the Seireitei who can teach him.”

Ichigo’s left leg bounced up and down as he looked at Nanao. “Ise-san, can I talk to you outside?” he asked. When she opened her mouth to protest, he stood and gestured toward the back door. “It’s important.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she allowed him to guide her to the backyard. Ichigo carefully closed the door behind him, then took a deep breath. “Kazui doesn’t need to be trained as a shinigami,” he said, “because he isn’t one. He’s a Quincy.”

She stared blankly at him for a moment. “I thought Yhwach stole your Quincy powers,” Nanao said finally, and adjusted her glasses. “How can he be a Quincy instead?”

Ichigo cleared his throat. “Because he isn’t my son,” he said, and the prickle of pain was no less for having said it to his family, to Urahara, or to Nanao. “He’s Ishida Uryuu’s.”

“I see. Will Ishida be teaching him, then?”

Ichigo shoved his hands in his pockets. “We haven’t talked about that. Guess it depends on whether Orihime lets him see Kazui,” he muttered.

“Does Rukia know?” Nanao asked softly, voice quietly sympathetic.

It wasn’t the question he’d been expecting. Ichigo wasn’t sure what actually managed to get through the bond that first night, or the days after, or what Zangetsu had managed to say to Sode no Shirayuki. Or what she’d managed to pick up using his badge, if she or someone else was listening in on it. “I’m not sure,” he chose to say.

“Rukia has told me a little of what happened. I am sorry for how…difficult this must be for all of you.” Her eyes, studying him over the tops of her glasses, were as warm as he’d ever seen them. “I’ve been asked to give these to you.” Nanao dug into the cherry-hued purse hanging over her shoulder and handed him two envelopes; one bore the seal of the Thirteenth Division, and the other Byakuya’s seal as head of the Kuchiki clan.

Ichigo pocketed the envelopes and ducked his head uneasily. “Yeah…thanks, Ise-san,” he mumbled.

Nanao patted Ichigo’s arm lightly. “As a friend of Rukia’s, I am glad that you will be returning to the Seireitei soon.” Then her expression became stern and distanced once more. “Kyōraku Soutaicho has asked when that will be, exactly.”

Ichigo glanced back at the house. “We’re supposed to meet with the mediators tomorrow. She’s not…” Ichigo huffed. He didn’t really want to share all of his business with Nanao. She was Rukia’s friend, but he barely knew her. “It takes time, and the house still needs to be sold after the divorce is final,” he explained. “I don’t know how long that will take. A few months?” he hazarded.

Nanao just nodded slowly. “I will inform Kyōraku that Kazui does not require training from Soul Society, and that it will take you a few more months to complete your business here.” A little awkwardly, she patted the side of Ichigo’s arm. “Good luck, Kurosaki-san.” Then she lifted a hand in farewell and walked through the side yard before setting off at a brisk walk toward Urahara’s.

Ichigo tucked the letters into his pocket and went back inside. Orihime was dabbing at her eyes and wouldn’t look at him, but Uryuu just arched an eyebrow in inquiry. “It’s taken care of,” he said. “Soul Society won’t bring up shinigami training again.” Then he sequestered himself in the clinic before opening the letters from the Kuchiki siblings. Reluctantly, he opened Byakuya’s first.

Kurosaki Ichigo,

Kyōraku Soutaicho has informed me of your intent to join us on a permanent basis. I strongly recommend that you speak with Shiba K ūkaku prior to taking your oaths as a member of the Gotei 13.

We will have tea upon your return to the Soul Society. After you have spoken to Shiba K ūkaku.

Kuchiki Byakuya

Head of the Kuchiki Clan

Ichigo frowned at the brief letter but re-folded it and placed it back in the envelope. He opened Rukia’s next and laughed – just like she had so long ago, Rukia had put the letter in code. He dug around for a pen and, looking at the “hint” she’d left, crossed off the extra kanji she’d scattered throughout the message.

Ichigo,

Ichika has learned her zanpakutō’s first attack: she can use Getsuga Tensho, just as you and Isshin-san can. She believes that Shiragetsu will show her other attacks soon. She is still upset about our recent conversation, understandably, and has begged to be allowed to stay with Renji in the Sixth’s barracks for a while.

I know that you are not sure when you will return to Soul Society. When you do, you are welcome to stay at the manor. Or in the Thirteenth barracks, if you prefer.

There was another line that still didn’t make sense with the extra kanji crossed out, and Ichigo puzzled over it, turning the letter over in his hands for any other hint. He found it, and translated silently: I am sorry for your hurt, though Sode no Shirayuki cannot tell me what caused it, only that your pain was so strong it reverberated through our bonds. I would take it from you, if I could.

Rukia

Ichigo smiled a little – and then put both letters in the shredder he used to dispose of sensitive documents, turning them into confetti.

The divorce dragged on for months, with Orihime first refusing to get a lawyer and then refusing to speak with the mediators at all while Onishi was first circumspect and then much blunter as to Kazui’s origins. Ichigo sat through hours-long meetings and then spent as much time with Kazui as he could, knowing that once the papers were signed Orihime could keep him from seeing the boy.

His only respite was hunting hollows, something he took on with relish after spending years without Zangetsu in his hands. And if the zanpakutō was battle-eager, if he took out his own anger on hollows who thought they could feed in Karakura with impunity, well – Ichigo knew that he missed Sode no Shirayuki just as much as his wielder missed Rukia.

The day the paperwork was finally signed, seven months after he’d filed, Ichigo’s relief was so great that he wondered whether Rukia could feel that, too. He hadn’t seen her since he’d left Soul Society, though there’d been a second letter, passed to him by Urahara, and he’d sent one back with what he hoped was a clever code. Orihime wouldn’t speak to him – not that he could blame her. The agreement demanded that she pack and find a new apartment; Ichigo packed some of her things himself when she dragged her feet for a full month. He packed everything for Kazui, too, and called the movers when Orihime found an apartment not far from the bakery.

The agreement required that the house and clinic be sold to provide Orihime with an alimony payment – a smaller one than she’d demanded, still hoping to get him to stop the proceedings. Onishi introduced him to a real estate agent, and in the end, it didn’t take more than a few weeks for the house and clinic to receive multiple offers, one of which was from a doctor who wanted to open his own practice and was interested in having Karin and Yuzu continue to work at the clinic. Ichigo and his sisters started their own packing process; his sisters spent weeks mailing letters to patients informing them of the clinic’s change of hands and offering to transfer medical records to other practices around Karakura. In between that, they found an apartment near the clinic and signed their very first lease.

Ichigo found himself giving most of his belongings away. The vast majority of his clothes and other personal belongings went to thrift and charity shops around the city. There were a few books and keepsakes he held onto, and some clothes that he could use when visiting the World of the Living to see Kazui. He hauled bag after colorful bag of carefully sorted recycling and garbage to the communal containers, the products of thirty years of life at the Kurosaki Clinic. The furniture was donated; there were expired medical supplies as well and disposing of some of that was such a headscratcher that he called Uryuu for help.

It was much more difficult to deal with his father’s belongings. Ichigo had put everything in the closet in his old room when he married Orihime. The clothing went straight to the collection bins; none of it had been in style when Isshin wore it, let alone a decade later. But there were items that Isshin had clearly kept after Masaki died – those were harder to part with. Most of the jewelry he gave to his sisters, keeping only a ring and a necklace of his mother’s.

Suddenly, there was nothing more to do. The house was sold for a healthy 90 million yen, the price boosted by the presence of the clinic and the fact that the clinic furniture came with the building. There were taxes, and the real estate agent had to be paid; so did Orihime’s alimony. But the rest went to his sisters and to Kazui.

Just as suddenly, it was time to say goodbye. In Urahara’s shoten Ichigo, his sisters, Ishida, and Chad gathered for a quiet farewell. Kazui clung to Yuzu’s skirt uncertainly, Orihime having been persuaded to let the boy say goodbye, as well.

“You’re sure about this, Ichigo?” Yuzu asked as she clung to her older brother.

He pressed a kiss against the top of her head. “Yeah. But I’ll be back to visit, you know that. Urahara’s going to try and turn my body into a proper gigai, but if that doesn’t work he’ll come up with something else.” When Yuzu sniffled again Ichigo ruffled her hair until she whined in protest.

“You’ll bring Rukia-nee to visit?” Karin asked, surreptitiously wiping at her eyes, and Ichigo’s expression softened.

“Yeah, she’d like that,” he agreed. Once Yuzu let go of him, Ichigo stepped over to his cousin. Ishida’s expression was serious as they shook hands, and though he looked surprised when Ichigo leaned in closer, he listened solemnly as Ichigo said, “Look out for Kazui, will you? I’ll keep Soul Society’s attention off both of you.”

“You didn’t have to ask,” Ishida muttered, and pushed his glasses up. “But thanks.”

Chad’s hand was enormous around Ichigo’s even now, and when he hugged Ichigo and patted him on the back it was a little like being at the center of a small earthquake. “Good luck,” he said, low and rumbling.

“You too. When do classes start?”

“April.”

Ichigo grinned up at his friend. “You’ll be a great school counselor.” Then it was time to hug Kazui, and Ichigo knelt so that he could wrap his arms around him. “I promise I’ll visit as often as I can, okay?” he asked against the child’s hair.

“Can I visit you? And Ichika?” Kazui asked.

Ichigo glanced up at Uryuu. “I hope so,” he said. “But we’ll see, okay?”

Karin was last, and she shoved something into his hands after he hugged her. “Give this to Toshiro,” she ordered, and Ichigo raised an eyebrow at the faint pink shade to her cheeks.

“What is it?” Ichigo looked at the wrapped package, square and unassuming.

“Just give it to him, don’t be nosy, Ichi-nii,” Karin groused. Ichigo raised his eyebrows again but obediently tucked it into his backpack. All of his possessions fit in a single large backpack that he’d carried into Urahara’s shop. Urahara’s matter converter took care of his things and then – with one last look back and a wave, he was running between the worlds one more time, this time with permission to arrive straight into the Kuchiki manor. The red thread pulsed as he grew closer, and Ichigo found himself smiling.

Inside him Zangetsu shouted his own joy, as the rain let up once again.

Ichigo landed on the polished wooden floor, sandaled feet slipping a little with the momentum before he caught himself. He looked up; there were no guards present, but Rukia – Rukia was there. His heart skipped a beat and Ichigo stepped forward, letting the backpack fall to the floor. They reached for one another, hands clasping before Ichigo pulled her even closer and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m home,” he said, and a note of wonder filled his voice.

Rukia’s hands fisted in the front of his uniform and she rested her head against his chest for a moment, listening to his heart beating. “Welcome home.” Her violet eyes gleamed as she looked up at him, lips curving upwards.

Ichigo’s answering smile lit up his whole face.

Then Rukia kicked his shin.

“Ow! What the hell, Rukia?”

“You’ve been gone for almost nine months. Do you know how often Nii-sama and I needed to fend off Kyōraku?” Rukia stomped her foot.

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck. “It was…” He made a face. “Kind of a mess. And then I had to sell the house and get rid of thirty years’ worth of stuff. But it’s done. All of it.”

Rukia’s expression shifted toward sympathy and her hand found his again, squeezing gently. “Why don’t you tell me about it over dinner? We can go to one of the restaurants in the Rukongai.”

His smile mirrored hers again. “Yeah. I’d like that.” His hand squeezed back. “I’ve really missed you.”

Deep within, Zangetsu turned as he felt a presence in Ichigo’s inner world, one he hadn’t felt except at a great distance in months. She was there, snowy kimono draped around her and a parasol shielding her from the drizzle. “Snow lady,” he breathed, and the parasol went flying as Sode no Shirayuki leapt for him. They landed, sprawled together on a rooftop, with Zangetsu cushioning their fall using his own body.

“Welcome home,” the snow-white zanpakutō spirit murmured, as Zangetsu wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her close.

“Miss me?” he asked and leaned in for a kiss.

“Excessively,” Sode no Shirayuki murmured against his lips. “We felt the pain from here; the blizzard nearly buried me when she couldn’t stop it.”

Zangetsu just kissed her again. “Sorry, snow lady. It’s been rough for him too.” Then he glanced around and hauled her into his arms. “Let me show you what I found, though.” He leapt from the building as Shirayuki held onto him, parasol forgotten, and onto another rooftop, then another. The third leap brought them to a garden in the sky, perched upon one of the tallest buildings.

“Oh,” Shirayuki said softly. “What is this place doing here?” When Zangetsu set her down she stepped amidst the overflowing greenery carefully. There were flowers everywhere: snowdrops mingled with forget-me-nots, and the scent of andromeda lingered.

At the end of the garden was a set of double doors, and Zangetsu threw them open. “This appeared a few days ago,” he explained as Shirayuki stepped inside a modern penthouse apartment. “Guess it’s mine now.” More shyly, he added, “could be ours, when you’re here.”

“I’d like that.” And her lips touched his again.

Chapter Text

Book II

“Byakuya nii-sama has given you permission to stay in the manor until you have joined the Gotei Thirteen officially,” Rukia explained as they walked along the engawa hand in hand.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, and she looked up at the melancholy tone in his voice.

“Ichigo?”

“I’ll tell you over dinner,” he promised, and squeezed her hand.

She led him to the same guestroom he’d stayed in several months ago, and he dropped his bag just inside the door before they walked to the manor gates. Their hands fell away from one another once they passed the gates in an unspoken agreement not to attract attention. Once they were in a secluded booth in a tiny noodle restaurant, however, Ichigo let one of his legs tangle with Rukia’s beneath the table.

Over bowls of steaming hot ramen – it was still chilly in the Seireitei – Ichigo quietly told Rukia about the last several months of his life.

He should have expected it, but the spike of her reiatsu still took him by surprise when he said, “Kazui isn’t mine.”

Her hand gripped his atop the table, ice cold but comforting. “She…lied to you?” Rukia asked, voice taut and expression incredulous, and at Ichigo’s nod her power spiked higher.

“Rukia – come on, you’re going to knock out the other customers,” Ichigo protested.

“I just can’t believe she’d do something like that,” she growled, but got herself back under control.

“I couldn’t either.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes as he said it, but his hand didn’t leave hers.

“I’m so sorry.” Her fingers twined with his and squeezed gently.

“Worst part of it is that Uryuu and I don’t have any say at all,” Ichigo added, and Rukia winced. “I set up a trust for him that Karin and Yuzu are in charge of, but even that just means Orihime has to be civil to my sisters.” When he mentioned Uryuu’s near-constant presence during the divorce, though, she set down her chopsticks and looked thoughtful.

“Do you think he still loves her?”

Ichigo slurped a ribbon of noodles into his mouth. “Maybe,” he muttered when he’d swallowed. “But I think it’s because of Kazui.” He didn’t know how he felt about the idea of Uryuu still loving Orihime; it wasn’t just him that Orihime had lied to, after all. But he just arched an eyebrow at her. “So how are things here in Soul Society?”

“Much the same,” Rukia murmured. She poked around in the ramen bowl with her chopsticks. “The elders formally allowed the dissolution of my marriage to Renji several months ago, but they’re still sulking over it even though they weren’t very happy when I married him in the first place. Nii-sama and I had…a lively discussion with them.”

Ichigo laughed a little under his breath when she told him about how she’d nearly rendered the elders catatonic, but then his foot pressed against hers lightly. “How’s…how’s Renji taking it?”

“Nii-sama sent him on another mission to Hueco Mundo. He said it was due to a new influx of hollows, but I suspect he wanted to get some space between us.” Rukia refilled her teacup and sipped from it, frowning at the curls of steam rising into the air.

Ichigo scowled. “And Ichika?” he asked. “In your first letter you said she was staying with Renji for a while and that she was angry with you.”

A fond smile bloomed on Rukia’s face, although it was tinged with sadness. “She’s adjusting. It helps that I haven’t been keeping her from seeing him, I think. But she’s still not used to being called Kuchiki Ichika.” Her eyes met his. “How is Kazui?”

“He…” Ichigo let his head fall back for second. “That’s the other reason it took me so long. I didn’t want him to think I was just abandoning him. Even though he’s a Quincy, if I thought he could stay here I’d have pushed for custody.” Not that he knew what he would have done about Uryuu.

Rukia ducked her head. “Did we…did we do the right thing?” she asked suddenly.

Ichigo grabbed her hand again before she could say more. “Yeah,” he said confidently. “It wasn’t the easy thing, but it was the right thing. None of the four of us were happy, Rukia. Not really. It won’t be the easiest thing for Kazui and Ichika, but – we’ll figure it out, okay?”

Her hand tightened around his and they stayed that way for a long moment, eyes meeting, before Rukia nodded her agreement.

They ate in silence for a little while, savoring their meals while they were still hot, but then Rukia said, “Kyōraku wants your induction completed as soon as possible. And I have an offer for you.”

“Yeah?” Ichigo set his chopsticks down in favor of drinking from a large tumbler of water.

“I’d like you to consider becoming the Thirteenth’s fukutaicho.” Rukia watched him carefully, hands clutching the fabric of her hakama beneath the table. “The division hasn’t had someone in the role in ten years, so it will be an adjustment, but…”

He raised an eyebrow. “How will the other division members feel about that? Hasn’t Sentarō been your Third Seat for decades?”

“He hasn’t ever wanted the job,” Rukia admitted. “He still doesn’t. And the division is still a mess. Almost no one from the academy wanted to join a team without a leader; we’re years behind the other divisions.”

“Why the hell did Kyōraku wait so long to appoint you?” Ichigo demanded, though he kept his voice low.

Rukia wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Not here,” she said quietly.

His leg wrapped around one of hers. “I’ll do it,” he decided, “if that’s what you need.”

“Thank you.”

After dinner, Ichigo walked Rukia back towards the Thirteenth Division barracks. “I thought I’d go see Shiba Kūkaku tomorrow,” he offered. “Byakuya seemed to think it was urgent, based on his letter.”

Rukia hummed her agreement. “It is, but you should hear it from her.”

They parted at the gates to the Thirteenth, where Ichigo lightly squeezed her hand before flash-stepping back to the Kuchiki Manor.

She dreamt of Zangetsu and Sode no Shirayuki and their reunion – one much more openly passionate than hers had been with Ichigo – and woke in the middle of the night panting, yukata sticking to her skin and temples damp. Rukia’s cheeks were hot in the darkness, and when she turned on her side, she felt her slick trickling down her thighs. Ichigo was in a similar state; she sensed him at the edge of her awareness, hard and yearning.

You should go to him, the soft, satisfied voice of her zanpakutō whispered. There is nothing stopping you now.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

Why?

“Because we’re not together, he’s been here less than twelve hours, and he’s just gotten a divorce,” Rukia hissed into the darkness of her quarters. “And you may have forgotten, but I just had my marriage annulled.”

Suit yourself, my dear, the cool voice murmured. But Zangetsu says he wants you just as much as you want him. There was a little giggle. Forgive me, he wants me again.

Rukia huffed in frustration and swung her feet off of the platform upon which her futon was spread. She needed a cool bath, and she suspected she wasn’t going to get much sleep.

The next morning, Ichigo dragged himself out of bed, grunting his irritation. Zangetsu had filled his mind with vivid dreams. Dreams of his zanpakutō and Rukia’s twined together; dreams of Rukia in his arms, bare skin against his. It had made for a restless night, especially when he could feel Rukia, far across the Seireitei, experiencing the same thing.

He bathed in cold water and dressed, then strapped on Zangetsu and went in search of the Shiba home. Fortunately, Kūkaku still had terrible taste in architecture: once he was beyond the Seireitei and high in the air, Ichigo spotted a pair of enormous stone arms in the distance. Ichigo shifted in and out of view as he used shunpo to travel the small building beneath the arms and knocked on the door. Surprisingly, Kūkaku herself answered, and she looked at him with an unreadable expression before grabbing the front of his uniform and dragging him downstairs into her home. Ichigo didn’t protest – he’d learned over a decade ago that it wouldn’t do him any good.

They arrived in her living room and Kūkaku released Ichigo, pushing him onto a large cushion on the tatami floor next to a low table. She sat down cross-legged on a second cushion across from him and picked up her pipe. “Well?” she asked, as Ichigo straightened himself out.

Ichigo cleared his throat and, though he was already seated, bowed slightly at the waist. “Kūkaku-san,” he started. “It’s been a long time. I came to let you know that I have decided to stay in Soul Society permanently and become a member of the Gotei 13.”

Kūkaku made a show of filling the bowl of her pipe and tamping it down, then lighting it. She puffed contemplatively. “I thought you went back to the gensei and married that weird girl,” she finally said.

“I did,” Ichigo acknowledged. “It didn’t work out. It’s a really long story involving the Zero Division.”

She snorted and leaned forward. “Shinigami are always meddling. You sure you want to join them?”

Ichigo nodded solemnly. “Rukia is here. And so is my daughter.”

Kūkaku dropped her pipe. “You…found your daughter here in the Rukongai?” she asked.

He ducked his head, cheeks flushing slightly. “Ah…no. Ichika was born here, she’s Rukia’s daughter.”

“Hn.” She grabbed the pipe back up and relit it before taking a long drag. “Thought she was with the pineapple head.”

“That didn’t work out either,” Ichigo muttered. He didn’t think Kūkaku had been paying that much attention.

“Aa. Well, if you’re certain about joining the Gotei to be with the Kuchiki girl…” Kūkaku looked at him. “Are you certain?”

Ichigo met her eyes. “I am.” He’d never made the thread appear on his own before, but Zangetsu guided him and the thread appeared around him, looping and disappearing into the distance. It vanished again after a few seconds.

Kūkaku’s eyes widened and then she smirked at him. “Well then, cousin, no wonder it didn’t work out with the other one.” She drew on her pipe and then grinned at Ichigo’s gob smacked expression. “Did your father never tell you? Isshin is my uncle.” She waved her hand, sending embers from the pipe flying around. “He was the head of a branch of the clan, before he disappeared.”

Ichigo swallowed. “Byakuya suggested that I see you before I joined the Gotei.”

“Ahh, Byakuya doesn’t want his sister to marry a nobody a second time around, does he?”

“Renji’s not a nobody,” Ichigo defended.

“A nobody to the Great Noble Houses,” Kūkaku corrected. “Which you are not. We’ll need to make it official, but you’re a member of the Shiba clan by birth.”

“I don’t want to change my name,” Ichigo said stubbornly, but Kūkaku just shoved the business end of her pipe in his face.

“You’ll be head of the Kurosaki branch, fine, fine. It’s more paperwork for me, so you can have the conversation with Byakuya about what name you take if you marry his sister.”

He frowned. “In the world of the living we need to take the same family name, but Rukia’s still a Kuchiki here, and Renji never took the Kuchiki name as far as I know.” Ichika had been an Abarai, after all, until the divorce.

“Well there’s the name she uses in the Gotei and her family name,” Kūkaku pointed out. “But that’s between the two of you and Byakuya.” She grinned, then. “The war hero as a member of the Shiba clan. Maybe those other stuck-ups will have to consider us one of the Great Houses again.”

Ichigo found himself smirking despite the fact that he didn’t like the idea of his status as a “war hero” being used for anyone’s gain. “If that would make you happy, Kūkaku-san.”

Kūkaku shook her pipe at him, then leaned away and hollered for Koganehiko and Shiraganehiko. When the two men arrived, she asked for paperwork and tea.  “You’ll say for tea, cousin,” she said, and it clearly wasn’t a request. “We’ll catch up, and I’ll tell you more about this noble…nonsense.”

Ichigo just smiled a little, resigned to it.

Ichigo would give his cousin and new clan head this: she was very efficient when she wanted to be. The paperwork to have him declared the Head of the Kurosaki Branch of the Shiba Clan was already filed and official less than forty-eight hours after his arrival in Soul Society. He’d let Byakuya know about his conversation with Kūkaku, and so found himself in a quiet corner of the manor he hadn’t seen before.

It was clear that Byakuya had invited him as Head of the Kuchiki Clan and not as a captain in the Gotei; he’d forgone his uniform and white haori for a navy-blue kimono embroidered with stylized white cherry blossoms. He still wore the pale windsilk scarf that denoted his status as head of the clan.

Ichigo had dressed for the occasion as well. An old memory had surfaced just before he’d left Karakura: the Sakura-Crested Full Access Pass Byakuya had given him nearly a decade ago was still in his possession. He’d brought it with him, hoping it might still work; Ichigo didn’t exactly have money in Soul Society, after all. Bless the Kuchiki clan head; the pass was still good, as Ichigo found when he approached a shop selling kimono with a familiar seal on the door.

So when Ichigo met Byakuya at the door to an honest to god tea house, at least he wasn’t going to embarrass himself in the first five minutes. He’d asked the shop attendant for an ensemble appropriate for an important tea ceremony. The deep green silk kimono and black haori seemed to be the right choices.

“Kurosaki Ichigo,” Byakuya greeted. Ichigo bowed slightly and, at Byakuya’s direction, sat in seiza with a low table between them. “Your conversation with Shiba Kūkaku was productive, then?”

“Yea-yes. Kūkaku has made me the head of the Kurosaki branch of the Shiba clan.” He smiled self-deprecatingly. “She crowed all the way to the records office about the hero of Soul Society.”

“Hn.” Byakuya measured matcha powder into a cup and filled the remainder of the cup with hot water. He lowered a bamboo whisk into the cup and whisked vigorously until the matcha was blended. He repeated the process with a second cup and offered one to Ichigo. “I would not let it get to your head.”

The matcha in Ichigo’s cup sloshed slightly, but he sipped and counted to five before responding. “I’ve never been interested in titles or glory for the sake of it,” he reminded Byakuya calmly.

The words seemed to please Byakuya; though the older man had excellent control of his reiryoku, this close he could feel a whisper of what felt like approval. “Good, then. The elders are concerned that you pursue my sister for a connection to the Kuchiki clan.”

Ichigo had far inferior control of his power, and it showed as it momentarily blanketed the room before he managed to reel his temper back in. “Rukia and I are connected,” he chose to say. “Out of everyone in the Soul Society you know that, and that it has nothing to do with your clan. And given what they said to her during the annulment hearing, my patience for their opinions is limited.”

Byakuya sipped his own tea thoughtfully. “She told you about the hearing?” he asked after a long moment of silence.

“Yes, but I felt when it happened, too,” Ichigo muttered. And realized he’d managed to shock the older man, as Byakuya nearly dropped his cup.

“You felt it. From the World of the Living.”

“Hn. Zangetsu and Shirayuki did something,” Ichigo explained. “I couldn’t hear what your elders were saying, though. Just that she was really upset.”

Byakuya took a long breath. “I see. That is…enlightening. Though you will need to show respect to the elders, Ichigo.”

“I’ll show them as much respect as they show Rukia,” he agreed.

When Byakuya’s lips twitched, Ichigo knew he’d hit the mark he wanted. “Indeed,” he said. “So then, Ichigo,” and his tone was only a touch sardonic, “what are your intentions toward my sister?”

He was prepared for that question – had been prepared a decade ago – even if it was an old-fashioned one. “We both need time to heal,” Ichigo said quietly. “Ichika and Kazui need time, too. But I intend to court Rukia and marry her, if she will have me,” Ichigo said quietly. His eyes met Byakuya’s, fierce and with a hint of warning in them.

But Byakuya just nodded. “You have my blessing,” he said.

Ichigo set his cup down and bowed, briefly, in thanks.

“Do you understand what courtship means for a noble house?”

“Kūkaku gave me a crash course,” Ichigo admitted. “But she said it might be…different since we’ve both been married before.”

“Hn.” Byakuya reached into his haori and pulled out a slim book. He passed it across the table. “Rukia’s marriage was annulled, which is something the noble houses can authorize. In the eyes of the clan, she was never married at all.”

Ichigo’s teacup clattered when he set it down in favor of picking up the book. He scanned the cover and then slipped it into his own haori. “Is it a problem that I was?”

“No.” Byakuya’s shoulders rose in the slightest shrug. “Your marriage was based on a lie, and it took place in the World of the Living. Here, you would have been granted an annulment.”

There was a small plate of snacks on the table, and Ichigo reached for one, chewing thoughtfully. “So in the eyes of the Kuchiki clan, neither of us has been married?” At Byakuya’s nod, he asked, “And Ichika? Is she…” Ichigo scrubbed a hand over his face. “How does the clan see her?”

The teacup clattered again. “Ichika is under my protection,” Byakuya said tautly. “The elders will keep their tongues civil or answer to me.”

“Thank you,” he muttered, and concentrated on his tea for a while.

Before the sun was high in the sky the next morning, Ichigo was officially a member of the Gotei 13. The ceremony was a brief one, with just Kyōraku, Rukia, and Nanao in attendance. Apparently, Nanao was there to make sure that Kyōraku didn’t offer him any sake before breakfast.

Ichigo swore an oath to protect the World of the Living, to purify hollows and convey the souls of the recently departed into Soul Society, and to obey the laws of the Seireitei. Rukia presented him with a badge; it was the one that she had worn for more than a decade. She tied it around his bicep proudly and accepted the oath he made to her – both the one he made verbally, and the one that passed just between them. A nod of the head, an intense stare; it meant that Ichigo would protect her and her division. It meant that she knew he was making that promise.

Afterwards, Ichigo followed Rukia back to the Thirteenth Division barracks. The division buildings were just as he remembered them: more serene than most, with a large garden and a raised path over still waters to the Ugendo. This time, though, Rukia led him to the large building, separate from the barracks, where the offices and their quarters were housed.

A guard opened the ornate wooden gate at Rukia’s nod, and she stepped inside.

Beyond the gate was a narrow courtyard, and a wave of sudden calm swept over Ichigo. Smooth stones formed a path in either direction from where he stood, leading around the perimeter of the two-story building. Willowy hakonechloa grasses sprung up along the outer wall, along with low-growing hostas. There were small bonsai trees scattered along the pathways as well, potted in small containers and impeccably trimmed. He could hear trickling water from nearby, and the scent of wisteria hung in the air.

“This place hasn’t changed much,” Ichigo observed quietly. Rukia smiled, but there was a hint of sadness in her expression as well.

“Until I was appointed we couldn’t change much of anything,” she explained. “Without a division leader I couldn’t ask for a capital expenses budget.”

“Seriously?” Ichigo looked down at her. “I know that the Seireitei can move slowly, but that’s ridiculous.”

Rukia just shrugged. “Well, I’m in charge now, and I asked Kyōraku for three times the normal capital budget this year.”

“And?”

“Well, he gave me half of what I asked for,” Rukia admitted. She led him into the building proper through a carved wooden door. Shoji screens lined either side of the hallway and Rukia pushed open the first one on the left. “This is the office for the seated officers other than the taicho and fukutaicho,” she explained. Small desks of polished dark wood, some of them looking rather battered, were scattered throughout the room. Wooden cabinets lined the far wall, sitting below windows that looked out onto the courtyard.

There were few officers at work, just Rukia’s sixth seat and eighth seat, who both offered a polite “Taicho!” before returning to their work. Rukia slid the door shut and beckoned Ichigo along. “There will be time for proper introductions later.” She slid open a door on the right side of the hallway and they stepped into a smaller room. This space had only one desk, but it was much larger – and stacked high with papers.

Beyond the desk there was a low table with large blue cushions around it; the space looked a little threadbare and the cushions had holes in them. There was a large, round window overlooking the courtyard, and the window in the wall opposite the door overlooked the training grounds.

“This will be your office,” Rukia explained. “You’re welcome to decorate it as you see fit. I have been handling all of the paperwork for…quite some time, so the space is not as organized as I would have liked.” She glanced up at him. “I’m sure you can organize it.”

No one had told Ichigo how much paperwork there would be, but Ichigo – Ichigo was a doctor, and he had been a good student before that. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I’ll figure it out.”

She led him further down the hallway, where her office was; Ichigo noted that it looked as worn as his new workspace and made a note to encourage Rukia to include in her next budget request enough to redecorate her own office, after a decade of the space lying empty.

At the end of the hallway was a staircase, and Rukia led him up the wide plank steps. “These are our living quarters,” Rukia explained. “Only your quarters and mine are up here; the rest of the officers live in the barracks.”

Ichigo hummed thoughtfully under his breath. The living area was nicer than he expected, with the stairs leading to a wide, open area with soft, cushioned sofas and chairs. Past the seating area were two doors.

Rukia turned to the right and pushed open the first heavy wooden door. The space inside was dim despite the fact that it was nearly noon; Ichigo saw that there were shades covering the windows. He stepped inside and pulled up one shade, letting sunlight blaze into the room.

Like everything else he’d seen, it was a little worn, although this space was clean despite that. “You used to live here, right?” he asked. The space was divided in two, he could see now that there was sunlight: the outer part of the room held an empty bookcase that stood up against the eastern wall, and a low writing table.

A small kitchenette took up much of the western side of the room. There were a few cabinets and a sink, as well as an old-looking stovetop and oven. There was a larger cabinet next to the sink and Ichigo could sense the kido coming from it. A shoji divider, opened to allow access to the other portion of the room, contained only a narrow bed with a thin mattress.

Rukia stepped into the room after him and allowed the door to shut, then nodded in agreement. “I moved into my new quarters over the summer,” she clarified.

The shut door, with its implied privacy, allowed Ichigo to turn and slide his hand around hers. “And your quarters are next door,” he said, and Rukia cleared her throat.

“I’ll send a messenger over to the Kuchiki manor for your things. Like the office, you’re welcome to decorate your quarters however you’d like,” she offered.

Ichigo arched an eyebrow but said nothing as she opened the door again and led him into her quarters. Her rooms were twice the size of his, not surprisingly, but they were spartan. “It looks like you haven’t really moved in yet.” He gestured at the bookshelves, which held only a few slender volumes and at the open shoji divider, which showed a bed of similar size to the one in his quarters.

“It hasn’t exactly been my first priority,” Rukia agreed. She turned to step back through the doorway, but Ichigo’s hand stopped her gently.

“Rukia,” he said quietly.

She stiffened just a little. “We’re on duty.” Her voice was just as quiet.

“I know. But I’d like to have dinner with you again, when we’re both off duty tonight.”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed slightly. “I’d like that. For now, though, Kurosaki Fukutaicho, we need to finish your tour and then talk about your duties.”

Ichigo huffed out a laugh and followed her back outside.

Chapter Text

When Rukia stopped by Ichigo’s office several hours later, it was close to nine. She’d gathered the squad together in the training grounds for an introduction to their new lieutenant. There had been some puzzlement and a little grumbling…and a few too many of the members of her division, both men and women, were openly admiring him. After that, she’d left Ichigo to organize his office as he saw fit.

Rukia wasn’t expecting much when she slid the door open. Ichigo had always been an excellent fighter, but she knew she’d be walking into a tornado of paperwork. To her utter shock, the desk was nearly clear. Neatly labeled folders were organized in a short stack to one side of the desk, and one of the filing cabinets from the other office had been moved against the wall.

“Where…where did all the paperwork go?” Rukia asked, a touch breathlessly. Ichigo looked up from a smaller stack of papers and grinned at her.

“Filed, or sent back to the divisions that requested them,” he explained. “This stack needs to be reviewed by you, I think. Some of it wasn’t clear, so there’s a miscellaneous folder for you to look at.” At Rukia’s incredulous look, he laughed. “Rukia, I grew up in a clinic. There was always a lot of paperwork. We still hadn’t digitized our files when I sold the house.”

At the reminder of Ichigo’s short career as a doctor, Rukia’s expression fell and her reiatsu tinged with sadness. Ichigo laid his calligraphy brush down and stood, hand reaching for hers. “Don’t do that,” he said. “We agreed that we made the right choice, remember? There are lots of doctors in Karakura, and my skills won’t go to waste here.”

Rukia took a deep breath. “Yes, we agreed,” she murmured, and squeezed his hand. “You invited me to dinner, didn’t you? I came to see if you forgot, since it’s getting so late.”

“Aa. No, I didn’t forget. What are you in the mood for?”

“Hmn. Sushi? I know a place nearby.” At Ichigo’s nod they set off, and in a little while they were seated at a sushi counter in the first district of the Rukongai. It was less private than their dinner of noodles a few nights previously, and Ichigo definitely recognized a few other shinigami, but everyone seemed to be keeping to themselves.

Rukia spoke quietly to the sushi chef; very shortly, they had a bottle of sake in front of them and two cups. That was followed by delicately plated slices of salmon sashimi.  “So, what did you want to talk about?” she asked when she’d selected and eaten a piece of the sashimi.

Ichigo took a fortifying sip of his sake – she’d ordered good quality sake, he noticed – and set his cup down before answering. “I had tea with Byakuya yesterday,” he started. Rukia’s eyes widened a little, and he huffed out a laugh. “I know. But we have an understanding, I think.”

“An understanding of what, exactly?”

Ichigo’s hand touched hers lightly. “Come on, Rukia. We both care about you.” He just smiled when her cheeks turned pink. “Anyway, I let him know that Kūkaku made me the head of a branch of the Shiba clan, like my dad was. That’s why he suggested I see her. So I’m technically the Honorable Kurosaki Ichigo now.” He rolled his eyes a little.

“Fool. It’s an honor to be part of a noble house. And your status as fukutaicho will elevate the standing of the Shiba clan,” Rukia reprimanded him.

“Yeah, yeah, I know – Kūkaku told me. I’m sure it’s giving some of the other clans palpitations,” Ichigo joked.

Their conversation paused for a moment as the chef replaced their empty plate with another, this time of holding two expertly cut pieces of yellowtail tuna displayed over quenelles of rice.

“Is that the only reason Nii-sama asked you to join him for tea?” Rukia asked when she’d eaten her portion.

“No.” Ichigo couldn’t help another glance around the restaurant before he continued. “Rukia, I don’t want to rush you.” He saw that Rukia’s cup was empty and poured more sake for her.

She raised an eyebrow but stayed silent, making only a “go on” motion with one hand.

Ichigo’s hand found hers on the counter.

The sushi chef on the other side of the counter looked at them and then at the impeccably crafted shrimp nigiri he was about to hand over, and moved to the customer next to him. He seemed to be occupying the man with a conversation about the freshness of the evening’s mackerel.

“I’d like to court you, if you’ll let me. When you’re ready.” Ichigo squeezed her hand gently, eyes shining honey amber as they looked into hers. His cheeks were pink, but he didn’t look away.

Rukia’s fingers tangled with his and when she smiled, her whole face lit up. “Fool,” she said again, affection in her voice, “I thought we were already courting.”

“I just wanted to be sure,” Ichigo said, and squeezed her hand again. “You deserve to be courted properly…whatever that means.”

Rukia couldn’t stifle her laugh entirely. “Whatever that means?” she repeated. “Idiot, you asked to court me and don’t know what it entails?”

“Byakuya gave me a book,” Ichigo admitted, cheeks flushing again. “But I’m only on the second chapter.”

Her cheeks turned pink. “Really?” she asked. She wasn’t sure whether she was touched or embarrassed at the fact that her older brother was so openly helping them. When Ichigo’s eyes met hers, soft and warm in the light of the restaurant, she decided on touched.

A plate with shrimp nigiri slid in front of them and they both looked up at the sushi chef, who made an impatient gesture that had them both blushing.

They spent the rest of the meal talking of lighter matters: what Ichigo needed to know about the other seated officers in the Thirteenth, the rumor that Hinamori had finally asked Hitsugaya out on a date. Ichigo frowned at that.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “Only – my sister and Tōshirō exchange packages from time to time through Urahara. She gave me one when I crossed over the other day.”

Rukia hummed under her breath as she chewed a slice of toro. “Well, it’s just a rumor.” When Ichigo scowled, she nudged her knee against his. “Tōshirō won’t date Momo if he’s courting Karin, Ichigo. He’s not that kind of man.” She pursed her lips. “It’s odd that I haven’t heard anything about that, though. Rangiku and I had drinks last week.” She didn’t mention that she’d had to carry Rangiku back to her division. Again.

“Hn. Guess I’ll find out when I give him that package. Mind if I stop by the Tenth tomorrow to do it? Between Kūkaku and Byakuya yesterday, I didn’t really have any time.”

Around them, the restaurant kept moving, the sushi chefs creating tiny masterpieces with each cut of their knives while diners ate and chatted. But Rukia barely noticed any of it except when a plate appeared or disappeared from in front of her. Ichigo’s cup was empty again and she filled it; when he saw that hers was empty as well, he gently took the tokkuri from her and filled her cup. “He might not be entirely happy to see you,” Rukia commented. “Even with a gift from Karin.”

Ichigo huffed. “I need to apologize to Matsumoto-san, I know,” he muttered.

She laughed again. “It’s not that. Rangiku sort of approves, honestly. She said I—” Rukia fell silent for a moment and took a deep breath. “She said last week that she can tell that I’m happier, even without you here, than I’ve been in the last ten years.”

His knee bumped hers. “Good,” he said softly, and drew close to her. But their sushi chef placed another plate of delicately sliced sashimi in front of them before Ichigo could do anything more than smile down at her. “Tōshirō, then?”

“Oh.” She shook herself; no matter that they were in public, Rukia kind of wished he’d kiss her. “Well, if he is courting Karin, he might think you’ll interfere,” she pointed out.

Ichigo just stifled a snort. “Karin’s an adult. She can make her own decisions. I’m a little concerned about what they’re going to do in the long term since she’s mortal and he’s not. But that’s their decision too, right?”

“That’s so reasonable of you,” Rukia said with mock awe.

“Che. We lost ten years because someone else decided what was best for all of us. I’m not going to take Karin’s choices away from her,” Ichigo griped, and his knee lightly bumped hers again.

Rukia poured the last of the sake into Ichigo’s cup, then placed the empty tokkuri on the counter and signaled to the chef, who replaced it with a full one a moment later. “Good,” she agreed. “Then he’ll just be annoyed that you’re always so familiar with him.”

Ichigo filled her cup again and smirked. “If he’s dating my sister, he’ll just have to deal with it.” And he grinned when she laughed.

At the end of their meal, the last dish the chef slid in front of them had scattered forget-me-nots on it, surrounding a pair of chocolate mochi.

They walked back to the barracks in the darkness, moon gleaming overhead and torches lighting their way. They weren’t drunk, but Rukia felt pleasantly warm from the sake and from Ichigo’s hand wrapped around hers. It was a little awkward that their living quarters were right next to each other, and Rukia half-hoped he’d try and invite himself into her rooms.

Instead, like a true gentleman he just squeezed her hand gently, said, “Have a good night, Rukia,” and let go before stepping into his quarters.

The next morning Ichigo set off for the Tenth Division early, after breakfast but before the first training session he was scheduled to teach. Karin’s package for her friend was tucked in the front of his shihakusho, still wrapped up tightly. He hadn’t opened it; whatever Karin was giving to her maybe-boyfriend was her business, not his. He came to a stop just at the gate to the division and politely requested entry. The guards glanced at the polished badge on his arm and let him through with shallow bows.

“Kurosaki,” Hitsugaya greeted when Ichigo stepped into his office a moment later. Unlike Rukia’s office and his, the space felt like Tōshirō; the polished wooden walls held stately artworks and Hitsugaya’s desk was almost entirely free of clutter. Except for several items that Ichigo was pretty sure Karin had gotten for him. None of it looked like something that could have come from the Rukongai…and one of them looked suspiciously like a soccer trophy.

“Tōshirō.” He grinned when the captain stood. He was taller than he’d been a decade ago and looked like an adult, instead of the child he’d been during most of the war. He was still a little shorter than Ichigo, though. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

Hitsugaya’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance. “It’s Hitsugaya Taicho,” he protested. Then he glanced at the badge on Ichigo’s arm. “So she made you her second, then? Good. I hope you’re better at paperwork than Matsumoto.”

“I heard that!” came a voice from the next room, and Hitsugaya rolled his eyes.

“You wouldn’t have if you did your paperwork!” he yelled.

Ichigo watched in bemusement as he pulled Karin’s package from his shihakusho. “I’m pretty good at it,” he said. “School had a lot of paperwork, and so did the clinic. Anyway, I stopped by because Karin wanted me to give this to you.” He held it out, and Tōshirō took it with a slight flush to his cheeks. Guess he is dating her, he thought.

She could do worse, Zangetsu remarked. There’s that redheaded boy who works for hat ‘n clogs. And yes, Ichigo thought, that would have been worse.

“Thanks,” Hitsugaya said. He glanced toward the open doorway. “Kurosaki, your sister and I…”

Ichigo held up a hand. “She’s an adult, Tōshirō. You only have to worry about what I think if you hurt her.”

The other man relaxed. “Thanks,” he mumbled, and glanced down at the package. Then he raised an eyebrow. “So, you and Kuchiki.”

Ah. Ichigo scrubbed the back of his neck. But before he could answer Rangiku bounded into the room, hair cut short and swaying around her cheeks. “Kurosaki! I thought I heard your voice.”

He bowed, briefly. “I’m sorry for injuring you all those months ago, Matsumoto-san,” Ichigo said as Hitsugaya watched with one eyebrow quirked.

But Rangiku just waved a hand. “You barely touched me. But yes, you and Kuchiki,” she said, and smirked, eyebrows waggling as her arms crossed under her massive breasts. She laughed when Ichigo didn’t even glance at them.

“Are going to get the Thirteenth Division back in good shape,” Ichigo said, and scowled at them both. He didn’t want to share his new relationship with Rukia, yet. Hell, it wasn’t even a relationship; she’d technically agreed to let him court her, but all they’d done so far was hold hands and eat sushi.

Rangiku smirked. “I’m sure you are,” she agreed. Then her expression fell. “What about Orihime? Is she okay?”

Ah. The strawberry blonde fukutaicho had been friends with Orihime, he remembered. Ichigo pursed his lips. He really didn’t want to air his dirty laundry, either. So, he said carefully, “The last few months haven’t been easy for anyone.”

“Maybe I’ll pay her a visit,” Rangiku decided.

“I think she would like that,” Ichigo agreed.

Then she eyed him. “Did you cheat on her with Rukia?” she asked, and Ichigo scowled.

“No,” he said flatly at the same time as Hitsugaya yelled, “Matsumoto!” Ichigo glanced at Hitsugaya, who was still holding the package from Karin. “I need to get back to my division. I’m leading a training and I’d rather not be late my first day.”

Hitsugaya waved a hand in dismissal as Ichigo gave a terse nod to Rangiku. They were already arguing again as he left the barracks.

Ichigo’s first week as an official shinigami – instead of a substitute – and as Rukia’s lieutenant was even more hectic than he expected. While his initial organizational efforts cleaned up his office, it was clear that the other officers each had their own way of organizing things…and so did Rukia. When he’d agreed to join the Gotei he hadn’t thought about the paperwork aspect of things, but apparently Rukia spent almost three-quarters of her time mired in paperwork.

So that was one of the first things he tackled. He spent three days in the seated officers’ workspace, watching how they worked and getting to know them. Despite how he’d fawned over Ukitake and competed with Kiyone, Sentarō was a solid third seat and didn’t seem to resent Ichigo’s appointment. The fifth seat, Eguchi Akema, openly stared at him like he was a particularly tasty snack.

The eleventh and twelfth seats were empty; the previous occupants were casualties of the war, Ichigo learned, and Rukia was considering who to promote now that she had been captain for almost a year.

So Ichigo spent three more days introducing himself to the unseated members of the division. He watched the division members train under the leadership of the seated officers, making notes to himself about who showed particular promise.

Along the way he learned that in fact he was being paid, and quite well at that, and that Uikitake had opened a bank account for him when he’d first been appointed as a substitute shinigami a decade ago. He wasn’t rich by any means, but Ichigo was relieved that he didn’t have to rely entirely on that Kuchiki access pass. Suddenly a few of Rangiku and Renji’s more expensive habits made sense.

On the seventh day, he drew up an organizational plan and handed it to Sentarō, instructing him to get the other officers on board. He shut himself in Rukia’s office before anyone could complain about the extra work, and handed three different sheets of paper to Rukia, who looked exhausted already.

“What is this?” Rukia looked at the first sheet, which was a depiction of a flowchart.

“It’s the new organizational framework for all the paperwork this division generates,” Ichigo explained. “Assuming your other officers can stick to it, it should save everyone hours of time every week. If you stick to it, it should free up a lot of your time, too.”

Rukia just blinked at him.

“Really. You seem to spend almost all of your time on paperwork. That may have been fine when you were fukutaicho and you were shouldering Ukitake’s work as well, but now you have meetings and a full division to run,” Ichigo pointed out.

“I seem to be getting everything done,” Rukia murmured hesitantly.

Ichigo snorted. “Sentarō and Fifth Seat Eguchi ratted you out, Taicho. You work nights to keep up.” He frowned gently and leaned closer, one fingertip brushing at the shadows under Rukia’s left eye. “Rukia, you don’t have to work yourself into the ground. Every officer seat is filled except for two, now. Let us – let me – help.”

She closed her eyes briefly and let herself lean into Ichigo’s touch, into the hand that shifted to curve around her cheek. “Are you just trying this because you’d rather fight than push papers around?” He laughed, and Rukia opened her eyes. “Alright, what else is there?”

“The second sheet is a list of the unseated division members who seem to be performing more strongly than their peers,” Ichigo explained as Rukia scanned over a list of twenty names. “Sentarō told me that the eleventh and twelfth seats have been empty for a decade.”

“Hn. And this?” She held up the third sheet of paper.

“That is my proposed schedule for the next month. We both know that my kido isn’t up to standards and that I’m still rusty in everything else – especially since I just spent the last nine months…well. Not training,” Ichigo explained.

Rukia perused the schedule silently for a minute and glanced at the open door. Ichigo caught the look and stepped away to slide the door shut. “There is something else I’d like you to add to your schedule,” she said quietly when he’d stepped closer to her once more.

“Sure – what is it?”

She tapped the hilt of Sode no Shirayuki meaningfully. “The books my brother had said that it is possible that we could learn to communicate over long distances through our bond. That could be advantageous if we are ever separated in battle.”

He nodded briefly. “Yeah – we can figure it out.” Ichigo smiled down at her and one hand reached out to lightly touch hers. His smile widened when she turned her hand to fit into his. “Especially if that means I get to spend more time with you,” he teased.

Rukia scoffed. “Just wait until you have to start attending meetings with me. You’ll get sick of me fast.”

“Never.” They were on duty, but Ichigo’s eyes focused on her lips. “Come for a walk with me tonight?” he asked.

“Yes,” she murmured, and had to shake herself as she started to lean up towards him. They were on duty, and her window looked right onto the training grounds. “I’d like that.”

Ichigo smiled down at her, and their reiryoku twined around them. “I have to get outside. But I’ll see you tonight.”

According to the schedule he had drawn up, Ichigo’s duties for the day included training in the grounds right outside of Rukia’s window. It was quite some time before she was able to focus on her paperwork.

Later, Ichigo was in the courtyard staring up at the night sky when Rukia joined him, haori billowing around her in the cool night air. “You ready for that walk?” he asked, and slid Rukia’s hand into the crook of his arm.

“Mhm.” Her head leaned against his shoulder; locks of her long black hair whipped around in the wind.

The Thirteenth wasn’t far from a large garden with a meditative labyrinth in the Rukongai, and Ichigo steered her that way. Soon they were surrounded by evergreens as they walked along a winding path that led toward the center of the simple maze. So late at night the garden was empty of any other souls, and Rukia allowed the calm of the space to wash over her despite the heat of Ichigo next to her.

They reached the center of the labyrinth in silence. There was a bench nearby and Ichigo led her to it so that they could sit, leaning against one another. Finally, Ichigo reached into the sleeve of his shihakusho and pulled out a small, wrapped package that he gently set in Rukia’s lap.

“What is this?” Rukia’s free hand touched the package gently.

“It’s…” Though it was dark, Rukia could still see the flush of Ichigo’s cheeks in the light from nearby lanterns. “It’s a courting gift,” he admitted. “Something small, but I hope you like it.”

Rukia bussed her lips against his cheek and freed her other hand to peel off the white wrapping paper. She lifted the lid of the rectangular box inside, and with delicate fingers lifted out Ichigo’s present. “Oh, this is beautiful,” she whispered. “Where did you find this? When did you have time?”

Nestled in Rukia’s hand was a silver hair ornament. Clear and ice-blue crystals dripped down between two silver hair combs. The crystals created a looping and hanging pattern not unlike icicles. She looked closer and laughed just a little; on one comb an enameled white crescent moon hung between one of the loop of crystal beads, while on the other side a black sun nestled in such a way that it would be mostly concealed by her hair.

“I was exploring the first north district a few nights ago, trying to get my bearings. One of the shops was selling hair jewelry like this, and they agreed to modify one of their pieces,” Ichigo explained.

Rukia smiled up at him and carefully placed the hair jewelry back in its box and closed it so that the bauble wouldn’t get damaged. “I love it,” she assured him, and gently tugged at the front of his uniform.

Their eyes met, hers deep amethyst and his honeyed amber in the dim kido lights. They hadn’t kissed in a decade, and even after Ichigo’s arrival in Soul Society they’d done no more than hold hands. But as their lips met, soft and warm in the darkness, it was almost like they’d never been parted at all. Ichigo’s arm came around her back to support her as he deepened the kiss, waiting until her lips parted for him to lick into her mouth and find her tongue with his.

She had to stifle a moan in his mouth as their lips moved together and Ichigo’s other hand rested against the back of her neck. Warmth spread through her body, tingling low in her belly. Rukia could feel her reiryoku beginning to meld with Ichigo’s and she shifted closer to let him envelop her in his warmth. Around them the red thread twined and spun, looping but free of tangles and shining like a string of rubies in the lantern light.

The rumble of his moan echoed in her chest as he pulled her closer and twined his fingers in her hair. His arm tightened and pulled, and suddenly she was on his lap, straddling him as she rocked against him and stifled a little cry of pleasure against his lips. Even through their hakama he was hard against her.

Eventually they pulled back, Rukia resting her forehead against his. They were both breathing erratically and Ichigo shifted uncomfortably on the bench, hips rocking against hers again and sending another shock of pleasure through her.

“We should walk back,” Rukia suggested, when their breathing slowed. “It’s getting late.”

Ichigo straightened up and kissed her forehead, though he looked pained. He was so hard beneath her, and this close to him she could feel how very much he needed her. “Just…give me a minute,” he asked, voice strained, and Rukia flushed brightly.

“Of course.” But she slid from his lap only reluctantly. She didn’t want to give him a minute, she wanted to take.

Eventually, Ichigo stood and offered his hand to Rukia to help her up. They set off through the labyrinth, retracing their steps to the entrance and then walking arm in arm back to the grounds of the Thirteenth Division. The guards at the division gate greeted them with knowing smiles but wished them both a good night. Ichigo walked Rukia to the door of her quarters and kissed her again. He whispered a goodnight against her lips and let her go inside alone before he took the few steps to his own quarters.

Zangetsu huffed out a breath as Shirayuki dropped down to the bed beside him, skin flushed and chest heaving. He flung an arm around her and pulled her close, pressing his lips to hers and then pressing soothing, softer kisses to the marks he’d left on her neck and shoulders.

Shirayuki tucked herself against him and trailed pale fingertips along his chest. “How long do you think they’ll stay apart?” she asked when their breathing evened out.

He kissed the top of her head and stroked a hand along her back. “Dunno. They’re stubborn, and he’s got some idea in his head about proper courtship and not rushing her.”

“Idiots.”

In Soul Society proper Ichigo and Rukia, separated by only a single wall, rolled over in their respective blankets and cursed their zanpakutō.

Chapter Text

“So when can I go to the World of the Living, Taicho?” Rangiku asked only a day after Ichigo’s visit to the Tenth.

Toshiro glared at her over the pile of paperwork on her desk. Unlike his desk and office, which had some personal effects but were neat and not covered in paperwork, Rangiku’s space looked like an entire division’s worth of paperwork had been dropped in it. Paperwork sat in piles on her desk, on the credenza behind it, on the floor, and he knew there was probably more that she was hiding in the desk drawers. For a moment, Toshiro wished he’d been the one to snatch up Kurosaki, who – rumor had it – had reorganized the way his entire division did paperwork.

Colorful clothing was piled up on the credenza, too, and the shelves were littered with stuff. He didn’t even know what half of it was. He did know that there was sake somewhere in the office; she owned more than one set of cups, too, and those were part of the detritus on the shelves.

Sometimes, Toshiro worried about just how much sake was in the office.

Of course, the woman knew he’d let her go, and order her to visit Karin while she was there. “Exactly how far behind are you on your work, Matsumoto?” he grumbled.

“Oh! Not that far behind, Taicho,” Rangiku drawled with a toss of her hair. She’d cut it after Gin’s death and had let it get long again, and she acted cheerful enough, but.

He still worried.

“Get this paperwork done and off your desk properly, and you can go in two weeks,” Toshiro decided. “Ise Fukutaicho sent a threatening message two days ago demanding those reports, and I know they’ve been on your desk for a month.”

Rangiku made a moue of displeasure, but huffed and dragged a pile closer to her. “Yes, Taicho,” she agreed with a faint whine in her voice. “Nanao’s so mean…”

Toshiro dragged a hand through his hair before he could stop himself. “I’ll be sending you a package for Kurosaki-san,” he said, and ignored the way Rangiku smirked at him. “So you’ll need to stop by the Kurosaki Clinic as well.”

“Of course. I’m happy to spend some time with Karin-chan,” Rangiku said with a giggle, and waggled her eyebrows at him. “You know, there’s a rumor going around that Momo asked you out.”

He swore he could feel a vein pounding in his forehead. “Momo is like a sister to me. And I’d say you must not have enough to do, if you’re busy gossiping about my love life,” he growled, “but you’re not even doing your job at all.”

Toshiro stalked away from his lieutenant’s desk without waiting for a response and slid the door to her office shut with such force that the wood cracked. He snarled and threw himself back into his own chair. This bigger, stronger body still took some getting used to, and so did the bigger temper that came with it. But –

But you can’t be a child anymore, Hyourinmaru rumbled calmly.

“Yeah,” he agreed in a whisper. Toshiro sighed and picked up the package from Karin. He hadn’t even opened it yet, wanting to wait until he had some privacy. Not that he thought she’d send something inappropriate with her own brother, but lately his division seemed full of gossips. He glanced at the door into Rangiku’s office and carefully peeled the plain wrapping away.

Ah, he thought. She’d sent a few things this time. There were amanatto, his favorites, in a little pouch. He could get them here in Soul Society, but it was nice that she remembered what he liked. Beneath that were two of the latest tankōbon of a manga series that he couldn’t get in Soul Society. He started to set them aside when a folded sheet of paper – the modern, thin kind from a notebook – slid out from between the two volumes and landed on his lap.

Toshiro,

Hope you enjoy these. I’ve already read them, but I won’t spoil them for you.

Be nice to Ichigo, will you? He’ll pretend he’s fine, and I know he’ll be happier there than he ever was here, but what happened to him is still lousy. I’ll tell you about it when I visit next month.

Anyway, there’s something else for you in the back of the tank ōbon.

- Karin

Toshiro blinked. He knew a little about what had happened to make Ichigo lose control of himself – something about the leader of the Zero Division manipulating Kurosaki and Kuchiki Rukia’s memories. But it sounded like it was more than that. Kido flickered in his hand and turned the note to ashes. He wondered if he should send Karin a note warning her that Matsumoto was planning to visit.

Over the next few weeks, Rukia and Ichigo fell into a sort of routine: every few nights he persuaded her to have dinner with him, or go for a walk to one of the gardens in the Rukongai. During the day, Ichigo ran herd on the other officers to make sure that they were following the new organizational plan, trained in healing kido with Hanatarō, and trained the unseated officers who were still struggling with zanjutsu. Twice a week Ichigo trained with Rukia and worked to get used to his “new” bankai; three times a week they tried to practice communicating through the red thread that bound him.

The books Rukia borrowed from the Kuchiki library were of little help; while both referred to the ability of Shinigami to communicate through the red thread, neither explained how to train that ability. They made no headway except in giving one another headaches.

Finally, Rukia suggested they sit in jinzen and ask their respective zanpakutō for assistance. Ichigo obediently sat cross-legged on one of the pillows in Rukia’s office while she did the same across from him. Though Ichigo was out of practice at voluntarily entering his inner world, he found his way into the necessary meditative state quickly by following along with Rukia’s slow, even breathing.

The difference between his inner world of ten months ago and what Ichigo saw as he landed atop a skyscraper was stark. Gone was the severe flooding, and skyscrapers once again jutted high into the air. It was night in his inner world and a full moon cast its glow over him. One of the skyscrapers looked much different from the rest, shorter but more welcoming; it looked more like an apartment building with a huge balcony. He headed in that direction by leaping from building to building, curious about the change.

He landed in a garden overflowing with flowers and sniffed appreciatively at the scent of andromeda. Ichigo wondered for a moment what the garden meant, but then a set of double doors opened in front of him and Zangetsu stepped out. “Things look a lot better, King,” he said. “Glad you’ve straightened things out with the Queen.”

Ichigo grinned. “Yeah. Feels a lot better not being tangled up,” he agreed. He glanced beyond Zangetsu and caught a glimpse of the apartment his hollow had come from. “Made yourself a home?”

“You made this. It showed up just before you went back to Soul Society to be with the Queen. I just claimed it. Wanted somewhere more comfortable than the rooftops when the snow lady’s here.”

At the reminder of Zangetsu and Shirayuki’s frequent evening activities, Ichigo scowled. “Not that I’m unhappy that you’re with Shirayuki, but do you have to let me know about it every time you’re together?” he asked.

“You wouldn’t mind so much if you and the Queen would take a hint,” Zangetsu pointed out. “We’re part of you, King. I’m only doing with Shirayuki what you want to do with the Queen.”

He flushed bright red. “I don’t want to rush her. And she’s a noble. She deserves all that courting stuff the book says I should do,” Ichigo protested. “I want to give her that.” And he wanted it for himself, too; he couldn’t erase the last ten years, but he could do this much.

Zangetsu snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. “Rushing her would have been jumping her that first night you got here, King. You can give her the fucking she’s practically begging for and court her.”

“She’s not begging for it,” Ichigo objected weakly, and his zanpakutō just snorted again.

“Shirayuki’s part of the Queen,” Zangetsu reminded him with a smirk on his face. “And she’s insatiable.”

Ichigo’s cheeks hurt. “…Really?” he managed.

“Yeah, last night she even let me —” Zangetsu howled his laughter as Ichigo covered his ears. “Didn’t think you were a prude, King.”

“I’m not, but it’s not my business,” Ichigo growled as he lowered his hands from his ears. “And that’s not why I’m here, either.”

Zangetsu huffed and made a ‘go ahead’ motion.

“This red thread thing – one of the books I read said that Rukia and me could learn how to communicate through it. But it doesn’t say how and all we’re doing is giving each other headaches. So, we agreed to ask you and Shirayuki about it,” Ichigo explained.

Zangetsu hummed thoughtfully. “You want to be able to talk in her head, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. Shirayuki ‘n I can connect across the worlds. I think you need some distance between you, King, to practice finding each other,” the zanpakutō mused.

“You…want me to go back to the World of the Living?” Ichigo asked incredulously, and Zangetsu snorted in response.

“Fuck no, just to the other end of the Seireitei. I’ve had enough of being away from my snow lady,” he swore.

Ichigo smirked. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you.” And he couldn’t help his grin when the spirit before him actually blushed.

Rukia opened her eyes onto her inner world to see a garden blooming in mid-winter. Though there was snow on the ground, the sky was blue, and the sun was high in the sky, casting its warmth over her. Snowbells sprouted up around the trunks of evergreen trees. And Sode no Shirayuki – Rukia flushed. “Um,” she said intelligently.

Her ordinarily staid, emotionally distant zanpakutō had draped herself over a white lounge chair. Rather than the beautiful, snow white kimono and lavender obi in which the spirit ordinarily appeared, Shirayuki wore only a simple white yukata. Her long, elegant hair was piled on her head in a messy bun. More shocking than that, though, she had love bites on her neck, the faint red color of them standing out against her white skin.

“Welcome, Rukia.” Sode no Shirayuki’s voice was soft as she turned her head and gestured toward a nearby chair identical to the one she was using.

“You look…different,” Rukia ventured as she sat down in the cushioned chair next to Shirayuki. She’d sat jinzen with her blade often, while Ichigo had been in the world of the living, but the furniture was new. So was the bright sunlight.

“Mn. Forgive me, I’m afraid that Zangetsu was rather insatiable last night,” Shirayuki explained, although Rukia thought sourly that she didn’t look the least bit sorry.

“I see. Do you have to share that with Ichigo and I every time?” she asked peevishly.

Her zanpakutō smirked – smirked! – at her. “Perhaps if you satisfied your urges, you wouldn’t be so focused on mine, Kuchiki Rukia.”

Rukia huffed. “We’re courting.”

“Then you’ll just have to put up with it. Zanpakutō don’t court, and you may be able to deny your needs for years at a time, but I won’t when my fated partner is here,” Shirayuki said lazily.

The zanpakutō was right, of course, but Rukia had to take a deep breath before she could say, “Sode no Shirayuki,” she murmured. “I’ve come to ask for your guidance.”

Shirayuki smiled.

When Ichigo and Rukia opened their eyes a few minutes later, Ichigo stood. “Did Shirayuki tell you what Zangetsu told me? About working on finding each other first?” he asked and held his hand out to Rukia to help her stand.

“Yes. She suggested we put some distance between one another,” Rukia murmured. But her cheeks were flushed pink as she said it, and Ichigo raised an eyebrow, hand still holding hers.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Mm. Shirayuki and Zangetsu…”

Ichigo’s cheeks turned as red as hers. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“I’ll stay here, why don’t you find a good place to practice?” Rukia said, forestalling an embarrassing conversation about their zanpakutō.

They were on duty – it could wait a little while, Ichigo decided as he stepped out of Rukia’s office and sought out a good spot.

While Ichigo and Rukia were practicing, Rangiku waited at the Senkaimon impatiently. She had an entire bag full of treats for Orihime and Urahara had a gigai and his matter converter waiting for her at his shop. The researcher had been happy to hear of her trip, according to the Thirteenth Division member who’d been going off of his rotation in Karakura.

I’m sure Inoue-san would like that very much, Urahara’s quick note had read before promising the use of a gigai.

As soon as the guards finished opening the gate she stepped through, running through the space between worlds at an easy pace. It seemed somehow unlike Ichigo to abandon his child, she thought, even for the sake of Rukia and Ichika. Renji had told her about Ichika, late one night over too much sake just before Kuchiki Taicho had sent him off on another mission to Hueco Mundo. Rangiku huffed. Relationships are messy, she thought. Who needs them?

She ignored the hint of moisture in her eyes and the flash of a memory, there and gone, of silver hair and a fox-like face. Rangiku had done enough crying over him more than a decade ago.

It didn’t take long to cross between the World of the Living and the Soul Society when using a proper senkaimon. Rangiku stepped into the living world and landed just outside of Urahara’s shop. It was warm but raining, and she made a moue of disgust at the dreary sky above. But the door to the shoten was already opening, and she slipped inside quickly.

“Matsumoto-san,” Urahara greeted, grinning behind his usual fan. “It’s good to see you. Your gigai is ready.”

Rangiku gave a brief nod and followed him into the back of the shop. Her temporary, artificial body lay waiting for her, dressed for a rainy spring with a stylish-looking raincoat and a matching umbrella. She sank into it easily as Urahara took care of turning her gifts from Soul Society into things that Orihime – and Kazui – could use.

As Rangiku stepped back outside, she caught a glimpse of Urahara snapping his fan shut and looking deadly serious. But she had a friend to see, and she sought out Orihime’s reiatsu easily. It was in a different place, of course, but she followed it through the town on a meandering walk with her new umbrella shielding her from the rain.

Her reiatsu feels a little…different, Rangiku thought, as she drew closer. But then, she hadn’t seen the girl in years. People changed. Reiatsu usually doesn’t, a little voice whispered.

But soon enough she arrived at a nice-looking apartment building. A security guard buzzed her in and directed her to the ninth floor; Rangiku had rarely used an elevator but it seemed easy enough to get in and push the required button. Then she was at Orihime’s door and ringing the bell.

She hadn’t expected Orihime to be cheerful, but – Oh, Orihime, Rangiku thought.

The woman before her smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her hair was cut short, just below her chin, and fell limply against her cheeks. “Rangiku!” she said. “I wasn’t expecting any visitors today.” Orihime’s voice was cheerful enough but rang false in her friend’s ears.

“I thought I’d pay you a visit. I brought gifts for you,” Rangiku said, equally cheerful. “I’m on leave for three whole days, can you believe it?”

“Aa! That’s so kind.” But Orihime didn’t move to let Rangiku into the apartment.

“May I come in? I’d love to meet Kazui too, if he’s home,” Rangiku said and beamed.

“O-oh, well, it’s a little messy, but of course, come in,” the other woman agreed.

Rangiku stepped by her and left her shoes in the genkan. Little alarm bells had started to go off in her head, and though she kept the smile on her face they only got louder as she looked around. The apartment was on the small side, but the kitchen looked nice enough and there were closed doors leading into what she presumed were the bedrooms and bathroom. But there were still boxes all over the living room, most of them still taped shut and a few with clothes hanging out of them. “Let me set everything down on the kitchen table,” she said, but when she stepped into the kitchen there wasn’t one.

“Oh, I haven’t had a chance to buy one yet,” Orihime admitted. “Kazui and I just eat on the couch.”

She set her bag on the countertop instead. “It’s important to find the right furniture,” Rangiku agreed, tone easy and light as she started to unpack her bag. “I brought some treats that I thought you’d like.” Before Orihime could say anything in response, Rangiku was opening cupboards to put things away. Cupboards that were nearly empty.

Did Kurosaki leave her with no money? she asked herself. But – no, he wouldn’t have done something like that. Especially not when he’d moved to Soul Society and had little use for any yen. There wasn’t exactly a moneychanger in Soul Society. Rangiku placed the little bags of snacks she’d brought in the cupboard. There was a funny smell in the apartment, she noticed. Like wet dog. “I have some things for Kazui too. Is he home?”

“Oh! Yes, let me get him, I’d love for you to meet him,” Orihime said. As she walked away, Rangiku took a surreptitious look in the refrigerator. That was nearly empty as well.

The young boy who followed Orihime from his room looked far less like Ichigo than she’d expected. He bowed respectfully when Rangiku turned to face him, and introduced himself properly, “I’m Kurosaki Kazui, it’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s so good to finally meet you!” Rangiku said and swept the boy into a hug before he could even think of protesting. “I’m Matsumoto Rangiku, I’m a friend of your mother’s.” And her lips pursed when she was sure neither Kazui nor his mother could see them. The boy’s clothes weren’t clean and had that wet dog smell to them. And she didn’t know much about kids, but he felt a little…skinny.

Orihime didn’t seem entirely aware of the mess in her living room, which seemed odd. Rangiku didn’t remember her being a slob. “I’ll make some tea,” she offered. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

There were clothes piled on the couch, and Kazui pushed them to one corner so that they could sit down. The coffee table was a mess too, and Rangiku silently set about tidying the piles of papers so that there was room for the tea set. Some of the papers looked important.

“Those are the divorce papers, and bills,” Kazui said in a whisper. “Kaasan doesn’t like when I move them. Or the boxes…”

Rangiku blinked. “Well, I’ll be very careful,” she reassured him softly. “I wouldn’t want to spill tea on them, of course.” The alarm bells in her head were loud. And she didn’t mean to peek, but she was nosy and Orihime had the water running to fill her tea kettle, so Rangiku looked as quickly as she could.

Even without knowing all that much about how money worked in the World of the Living, she understood quickly that Orihime’s cupboards weren’t bare because Ichigo had been stingy. There was something else going on.

“Oh, sorry! I keep meaning to move those out of the way,” Orihime said when she came back over with the tea tray. But she set it down atop the piles, and served tea and some of the cookies Rangiku had brought.

“It’s okay,” Rangiku reassured her. “I know you’ve had a busy few weeks. You must have just moved in, right?”

“Yes, just recently!”

Rangiku watched Kazui flinch out of the corner of her eye. His reiatsu felt nothing like Ichigo’s; it felt like Uryuu’s, and suddenly she understood far more than she’d meant to.

What a mess. She owed Ichigo an apology.

But they drank tea, and Rangiku did her best to keep the conversation light even as she tried to understand what the hell was going on. “How are things at the bakery?” Rangiku asked, remembering that Orihime had been working at the bakery since just after high school.

“Oh, the bakery is good,” Orihime said, and for the first time a light came into her eyes. “My boss is letting me try new recipes again. I wish I had some of my buns in the house, you’d love them!”

“That’s great!” Rangiku enthused, as Kazui sat silently beside her. “And what about school? I never liked school much, but I bet you’re smart like Orihime,” she said to her friend’s son.

He shrugged diffidently. “It’s okay. I like learning kanji the best, so I can read more.”

“Kazui’s nearly at the top of his class,” Orihime said proudly.

They chatted for a few more minutes, but then Kazui asked, “Can I be excused?” and went back to his room with one last cookie in hand. As soon as the door to his room shut behind him Orihime drained the last of her tea.

“When is Ichigo coming back?” she asked.

Rangiku blinked. “I’m not sure,” she said. “He’s been part of the Gotei for less than a month; he won’t get leave for a while.”

“No, not on leave. When is he moving back here?” Orihime asked plaintively.

Oh. Oh, shit, Rangiku thought. “I don’t think he’s planning to do that, Orihime,” she said gently. “He’s taken a position as fukutaicho in the Thirteenth Division.”

Her face fell, and Orihime’s eyes filled with tears. “I thought he’d be back by now…that he’d realize this was all a mistake,” she whispered.

“Aa – well.” She cast around for something to say. “Can I help you unpack a little, Orihime? I know you just moved in.”

“Oh, um. I’ll get to it, Rangiku-san,” Orihime prevaricated. “It’s not so bad, is it?”

“Are you sure? There are so many boxes, after all.” Rangiku kept her voice cheerful, but in her head, she was already composing a text to Rukia through her denreishinki.

Eventually she persuaded Orihime to let her help unpack, and together they unpacked five boxes before Orihime claimed that she needed a break. At least the clothes pile on the couch had been dealt with. But when Rangiku reached for the papers her friend snapped “Leave them!” in the harshest voice she’d ever heard out of the girl.

Rangiku excused herself and stepped into the toilet, blaming her gigai’s “plumbing”. And she pulled her denreishinki out and quickly tapped orihime a mess still not unpacked no food in house. kazui clothes dirty seems skinny what should I do?

She busied herself using the bathroom, flushing the toilet and then washing her hands before the denreishinki blinked with a new message.

Call as soon as you can.

“Sorry Orihime,” Rangiku said as she left the bathroom. “I need to get going, I have to check in with the shinigami on duty. But I’d love to come back tomorrow. Can I take you and Kazui out for lunch? Dinner?”

“That’s so kind,” Orihime said. “We’d love that. Maybe dinner? Kazui has school until five and I’m at the bakery until four.”

“I’ll come by around six then,” Rangiku decided. “Can I say goodbye to Kazui? I still have something to give him!”

“Of course,” was the response, and Rangiku pulled a couple of packages from her bag and lightly tapped on Kazui’s door.

“Come in,” the boy called.

He had furniture at least, but it was identical to the furniture Ichigo had been using a decade ago, and looked worn. His bed was made, and he had a few books in a low case at one and of the room, but there wasn’t much else. This room had that wet dog smell too. “I brought some things from Soul Society,” Rangiku said, and offered the wrapped packages.

Kazui took them with a little nod, but he did a double take when he saw the labels on them. “From T—” he glanced at the door. “Thank you,” he said, and carefully peeled the labels off. “Can you…?” Rangiku took them and crumpled them into her hand. One of the packages was from Ichigo and one was from Ichika; she understood why Kazui wouldn’t want his mother to know that.

She watched as he opened them, revealing some kind of card game from Ichika. Ichigo had given him a journal – an expensive one, by the looks of it. Kazui frowned, but when he opened it his face cleared. “Oh, it’s a note,” he said quietly. “But it’s gibberish.”

Rangiku raised an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder. It was one of Rukia’s ciphers. “That’s the key,” she said softly, and tapped a strawberry with a kanji in the middle of it drawn in the corner. “Rukia does that.”

Kazui nodded and shut the journal. From Rangiku there were toys that she hoped were age-appropriate. “Are you…going to say anything?” he asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” Rangiku said, and then when she heard the creak of Orihime’s foot on the wood floor, she beamed and reached over to ruffle Kazui’s hair. “I’ll be back tomorrow to take you out for dinner. I know a great place.”

She hugged Orihime goodbye and waited until she was out of the apartment building and around the corner before she called Rukia.

“Kuchiki Taicho,” the other woman’s voice said, low and pleasant.

“It’s Rangiku.”

“Hold on.” Rangiku heard a door slide shut through the speaker, and a low murmur. “Ichigo’s here too. What’s going on?” Rukia asked.

“I’m…not entirely sure,” Rangiku admitted. “Orihime’s a mess, and so is her place. She’s still got almost everything in boxes, the divorce papers are all over her coffee table, and the apartment…smells. There’s hardly any food. Kazui feels kind of skinny, but I don’t spend much time around children so that might be nothing. She thinks Ichigo is going to realize he’s made a mistake and come back.”

There was swearing and something on the other end of the denreishinki shattered.

“Ichigo,” came Rukia’s voice through the speaker.

“Sorry,” she heard in Ichigo’s voice, rough and raw.

 “I thought you said you gave her some kind of settlement,” Rukia’s voice said, clearly talking to Ichigo.

“I did. There should have been enough for her and Kazui to be comfortable for years,” he muttered, coming in and out over the line.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Rangiku said when the line went silent again.

 “Find Ishida,” Rukia said. “She’s always listened to him. And Arisawa Tatsuki, maybe. She might be able to help.”

“And Karin,” Ichigo added. “There’s a trust for Kazui. My sisters are in charge of it.”

“Will she listen to you?” Rangiku asked. But she knew that she hadn’t been wrong about whose reiatsu she’d felt.

There was a deep breath from the other side. “It’s complicated, Rangiku,” Rukia said softly. “Ichigo doesn’t have any parental rights anymore.”

“I see.” The divorce papers she’d skimmed had probably said something to that effect. Rangiku huffed out a breath. “Okay. I’ll find the Quincy and Arisawa, and see if they can help,” she agreed.

“I need to…” she heard Ichigo say.

The denreishinki disconnected as Rukia said softly, “Let Ishida and Tatsuki try first. But we can—”

Chapter Text

“Don’t tell me I can’t help him,” Ichigo roared, the force of his reiatsu shaking the thin walls of Rukia’s office. It was already after dark in the Seireitei, and Rukia was just grateful that all of the other officers were gone for the night.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” she told him calmly. “I’m saying that we need to give Ishida, Rangiku, and Tatsuki a chance to help Kazui. You heard Rangiku. Orihime sounds unwell. Seeing you…I don’t think it would be good for her.”

He pulled a hand through his hair as he paced around the office, shoulders tight and power still spiraling. “But he’s – Rukia, she’s neglecting him. And don’t tell me that he’s not my son and I shouldn’t care, I can’t—” When she flinched back from him, he stopped, expression crumpling.

“I would never tell you that,” Rukia said, voice low and cold.

“I know, I’m sorry, I—” Ichigo threw himself into one of the chairs across from Rukia’s desk and buried his face in his hands.

“Ichigo.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, and he grabbed for her, arms tight around her waist as he buried his face in her slender stomach. “It sounds like Orihime is neglecting Kazui, but he isn’t in immediate danger. Rangiku would have told us if she thought he was. Give Rangiku a chance to talk to Ishida, Tatsuki, and Karin.”

“But…”

Rukia drew him closer, one arm draping over his shoulders while the other settled in his hair. “I’ll ask Nii-sama for permission to use the clan’s senkaimon and contact Urahara. When Rangiku contacts us again, we’ll be ready if we need to go to the world of the living,” she murmured.

His arms tightened. “You’ll go with me?” Ichigo asked, raising his head to look up at her. His eyes were red-rimmed but dry; Rukia could feel the slight dampness of her shihakusho where he’d been pressed against her.

“Idiot,” she said affectionately. “Of course I will.”

In the world of the living, Rangiku didn’t have a hard time finding the Quincy; fortunately for her, it turned out that he liked hanging out on the rooftop of his father’s hospital. He didn’t look happy to see her – not that she blamed him – but he inclined his head respectfully when she stepped onto the rooftop sans gigai the next day. “Matsumoto-san,” he said politely.

“Ishida-san,” she said in return. “Kurosaki and Rukia sent me.”

“What do they want?” Ishida asked disinterestedly and pushed his glasses up his nose, making the light reflect off the lenses.

“It’s about Kazui.” That got his attention immediately, and the young doctor took a step closer to her.

“Is he sick? Did something happen to Orihime?”

A stiff breeze blew over the top of the building, ruffling Rangiku’s hair and sending her shihakusho billowing out. “Maybe we’d better sit down, Ishida-san,” she suggested, but at the stubborn set of his jaw she shook her head and said quietly, “I have reason to believe that Orihime is…struggling to adapt to life as a single mother.”

“Struggling how? I thought Ichigo gave her a lot of money.” The space between Ishida’s forehead wrinkled.

“Ah…money isn’t the problem,” Rangiku said hesitantly. “It seems that she’s struggling to care for him.” And she explained, as his expression grew ever grimmer, her observations from the previous day.

Ishida swore under his breath and pulled his glasses off so that he could scrub a hand over his face. “She hasn’t let me see him since Kurosaki left,” he said finally. “I promised I’d keep an eye on him, but Orihime – she won’t even open the door for me.”

“I…think she’s sick,” Rangiku said carefully. “She seems to think that Kurosaki is going to come back to her. And I think we both know that won’t happen. Not even for his son.”

He shoved his glasses back on and snorted. “Not unless someone erases his memory again. Has he married Kuchiki-san yet?”

“Oh, they’re courting the old-fashioned way,” Rangiku assured him. “Something to do with the noble clans. Anyway, I told Orihime that I’m taking her and Kazui out to dinner tonight at six, and I’m supposed to talk to Arisawa-san too. I thought maybe between the three of us we could help…”

She watched as Ishida scrubbed a hand through his hair, looking oddly like Ichigo in that moment. It wasn’t in his face or his eyes, but in the movement of his hand, in the habit that was so much like the other man’s. “I’ll call Tatsuki,” he decided. “My shift ends at five.” His gaze sharpened. “You didn’t see any bruises?”

“I don’t think she’s hurting him,” Rangiku finally said.

Ishida nodded solemnly. “I’ll meet you at Orihime’s apartment just before six, Matsumoto-san. I need to call Tatsuki and get back to my shift.”

Rangiku nodded and leapt from the roof again once Ishida pulled his cellphone from his pocket.

True to his word, Ishida and Tatsuki were waiting for Rangiku when she arrived at Orihime’s apartment building a few hours later. Tatsuki looked the same as when they’d first met: dark, spiky hair cropped short and a tough, intelligent look in her eyes.

“Orihime’s been avoiding my calls,” Tatsuki said without preamble as they rode up to their friend’s floor in the elevator. “I told her I’d be here for whatever she needed, but she doesn’t even answer my texts.”

Ishida and Rangiku exchanged a look. “I’ll ring the doorbell, and you two should stay out of sight until she opens the door,” Rangiku decided. “She opened the door readily enough for me. Maybe because I can get a message to Kurosaki.”

Tatsuki made a face. “Damn Ichigo, just abandoning her like this! She wouldn’t even tell me what happened.”

The Quincy took a deep breath. “It’s a long story, but it’s not Ichigo’s fault,” he said quietly. The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out onto the ninth floor.

Rangiku led the way to Orihime’s apartment and put on a cheerful expression before ringing the doorbell. There was a shuffling and then a running noise from inside before her auburn-haired friend opened the door. “Oh! Rangiku, you’re a few minutes early. Kazui and I are still getting ready.”

Ishida winced at the false cheer in her voice and glanced at Tatsuki.

“Oh, that’s alright. I’m happy to entertain myself,” Rangiku said, and smiled until Orihime somewhat reluctantly pulled the door open further. Rangiku beamed and put a hand on the door to prevent it from closing until Ishida and Tatsuki appeared behind her.

“O-oh, Rangiku, I didn’t realize you’d invited Ishida-kun and Tatsuki-chan,” Orihime said, voice pitching higher with nerves, as Rangiku herded her out of the doorway so that the other two could step inside.

Ishida’s nose wrinkled and he exchanged another look with Rangiku. The apartment really did smell and there were so many boxes piled in the living room. “I haven’t had a chance to see your new place,” was all he said, though, as Orihime wrung her hands.

“And I haven’t seen Kazui in months,” Tatsuki put in. She sniffed carefully, not at all subtle about it. “Hime, your place…do you have a leak or something? Do you need a plumber?”

Rangiku turned her head and saw Kazui peeking out from the doorway to his bedroom. She shot him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, but when her attention returned to her friend, she was deadly serious. “We’re worried about you, Orihime. And about Kazui-kun.”

Orihime drew herself up to her full height. “Kazui and I are fine,” she said, voice sharp. “And I don’t appreciate you bringing uninvited guests to…to judge me!”

Tatsuki scoffed, but Ishida just crossed the living room to stand in front of Kazui. “You remember me, right Kazui-kun?” he asked gently. At the boy’s nod, he said, “I’d like to examine you, if that’s okay. Matsumoto-san, Arisawa-san, and I are here to help you.”

“Are you going to help Kaasan?” Kazui asked softly, and Ishida reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair. He flinched back, and the doctor’s expression darkened.

But. Maybe that didn’t mean anything. “We’re here to help both of you,” Ishida emphasized. “As much as we can.” He left the door wide open as Kazui sat on the edge of his bed, and pulled out a stethoscope. “Can you remove your shirt? Keep your shorts on, though.”

Kazui pulled his shirt off obediently, and Ishida’s lips thinned. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Ah. Nothing at all.” Except that Kazui really was a little too thin. He wasn’t a large man, and Orihime carried her weight in her chest, but – this seemed like more than just genetics. Ishida stuck the buds of his stethoscope in his ears and rubbed the other end against his shirt to warm it up a little. “I’m just going to listen to your heartbeat and breathing, okay? And then I’ll take your blood pressure.”

Kazui sat quietly as his birth father listened to his heart and then his lungs, and obediently held out his arm so that Ishida could wrap a pediatric-sized blood pressure cuff around his arm.

“How often does Inoue-san do laundry?” Ishida asked when he was done and Kazui had his shirt back on.

Kazui blushed with embarrassment. “I try to wash the clothes,” he said softly. “But I’m not very good at it yet. And I can’t hang them up right, the shower curtain rod is too tall for me.”

That explains the smell, Ishida thought. He gritted his teeth before smoothing his expression. “What do you eat?”

“Leftovers from the night before if Kaasan cooked. But I’m tall enough to reach the rice cooker with a stool, so I’m learning to cook. I know how to make rice and boil eggs,” Kazui said proudly. “And I’m getting better at using the steaming basket with the rice cooker to cook other stuff. Sometimes there’s not much in the house, though. Kaasan forgets to shop sometimes.”

Ishida suppressed a twitch. “Does she ever bring anything home from the bakery?”

The boy shrugged. “She hasn’t been to the bakery in a while, Ishida-san. I don’t think she works there anymore.”

“I see.” Ishida tucked his stethoscope and blood pressure cuff away. “Does she say anything to you about Kurosaki-san?”

Kazui winced. “She um. She thinks he’s going to come back and live with us again and marry her again. But he was really mad when everything happened, Ishida-san. He said he’d come back to visit me, but Kaasan thinks he’ll get bored of Kuchiki-san.” He darted a look up at his father. “She doesn’t call her Kuchiki-san though.”

“What does she call her?” Ishida asked carefully. When Kazui bit his lip, he leaned closer. “It’s okay, you can whisper it to me if you want.” The boy whispered a word into his ear and Ishida blanched.

“Masuda-sensei said it’s not a nice word,” Kazui explained solemnly, “when I asked her what it meant.”

Ishida wondered what else Kazui’s teacher might have observed, and whether she had shared those observations with anyone. “It isn’t. Wait here a few minutes, Kazui. I need to talk to Inoue-san.” He stood and shut Kazui’s door; his conversation with Orihime wasn’t going to be an easy one, and he’d rather Kazui didn’t hear it.

The woman he’d loved for years was sitting on the sofa with Rangiku and Tatsuki to either side of her. There were piles of papers on the coffee table, boxes all over the living room…Ishida took a quick look in the bathroom – not horrifying, but not exactly clean – and then in Orihime’s room, which had several half-full boxes in it and more of that wet dog odor. He walked back into the living area and set his bag down.

Orihime was already in tears. Ishida looked down at the paperwork piled on the coffee table and calmly shuffled several piles together before perching on the resulting patch of bare wood. “Our son,” he began deliberately, ignoring the way Tatsuki’s eyes widened, “isn’t getting enough to eat and thinks you quit your job at the bakery, Orihime.”

Tatsuki looked at Rangiku over their friend’s head and mouthed, he’s the father? as Orihime gave a fresh sob into her tissues.

“He’s learning to cook, which wouldn’t be a bad thing except that he’s doing it because you won’t, and every inch of this apartment smells because he’s trying to do the laundry and can’t hang wet clothes properly,” Ishida continued bluntly. “And he’s under the impression that you think Kurosaki is going to come back and sweep you off your feet. Which is unlikely, given that you tricked him into marriage in the first place.”

Orihime just sobbed into her tissues again.

“Ishida…” Tatsuki’s brow furrowed. He held up a hand.

“I understand that you are mourning what you can’t have anymore, Orihime, but Kazui needs you to take care of him, and you need to take care of yourself. If you don’t, I’ll go to the courts, demand a paternity test, and sue you for custody.”

That caused another fresh wave of tears. “You can’t do that,” she whispered. “He’s my son. And Ichigo is going to come back and…”

There was another exchange of looks over the distraught woman’s head. “Orihime, Kurosaki-san isn’t coming back. Remember what I told you yesterday? He took a high-ranking position in the Gotei Thirteen,” Rangiku explained carefully. “He’s a fukutaicho, like I am.”

“And even if he wasn’t, you still need to take care of Kazui now,” Ishida pressed. “Does she still have no food in the house?” he asked, directing the question to Tatsuki.

“Hn. Just the snacks Matsumoto-san said she brought yesterday and some canned things.”

He sighed and pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger. “Tatsuki is going to go buy some groceries for you, and while she’s gone, Rangiku and I are going to help you finish unpacking these boxes.”

“You can’t—”

“Orihime, I am a mandated reporter. That means I have to report suspected child abuse. If you don’t let us help you, I’ll be forced to call the police and they’ll launch an investigation. Kazui could be taken away from you and put in a center,” Ishida said severely. “And that will only make it easier for me to ask for custody.”

“I’m not abusing him!” she wailed and sobbed into her pile of tissues again. “We’re just still getting settled, that’s all.”

Tatsuki scoffed but grabbed her bag and stood. “I’ll be back in an hour. Is Kazui allergic to anything?” she asked. When Orihime just shook her head helplessly, she left the apartment without a backward glance.

“Rangiku, if you would help Orihime unpack? There are boxes in her bedroom, too. I’m going to sort through all these papers,” Ishida muttered, and pulled one of the piles closer.

“You have no right!” Orihime exclaimed, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks flushed. “Those are my private papers!”

“Which you’ve been storing in plain sight on your coffee table for weeks. Rangiku?”

The older woman stood and pulled Orihime up beside her. “Come on, Orihime. I’ll put on some music, it’ll be fun! And you can show me how to use your laundry machine; in the Seireitei everything has to be washed by hand.” She tugged the protesting woman into the bedroom.

Ishida huffed out a breath and occupied himself sorting out the divorce papers and custody agreements from the bills, both paid and unpaid, that had been gathering dust. There was still the matter of her bakery job, but he knew Kurosaki had given her more than she’d deserved, really. He scrubbed a hand over his mouth. He was almost as much at fault for this as Orihime was. He glanced toward Kazui’s closed door, and continued sorting.

Tatsuki was back in a little less than an hour with several bags of groceries, and Kazui – who’d ducked out of his bedroom to see what was happening – helped her put the fresh vegetables and eggs away while she filled up the lowest shelves in the cabinets – the ones he could probably reach if he had to. They threw the windows open to air out the apartment, and a warm breeze blew through the screens.

Cheerful music filtered out of Orihime’s bedroom, along with the sound of opening drawers and the occasional pop of a box being flattened. The washer was already humming along, the occasional gurgle of draining water echoing out of the bathroom.

Ishida put the paid bills and legal paperwork away in a drawer, leaving the unpaid bills – a not insubstantial pile and two of them overdue – on the table. “Kazui-kun, do you know where these boxes are supposed to go?” he asked when his son had finished helping Tatsuki. “I think it would be best if they weren’t sitting in here anymore.”

His son frowned – looking remarkably like him – and peered into one open box. “This one is towels and stuff for the bathroom,” he announced. “But it smells.”

Everything smelled, Ishida thought. Orihime was lucky that she didn’t have carpeting. “Alright. Can you drag it to the bathroom and take the towels out so they can be washed, and bring the empty box back out here?” Kazui did as he asked while Ishida opened two more boxes. There were sheets, wrinkled and odd-smelling from being packed in cardboard for weeks, and more towels.

Tatsuki discovered a still-sealed box of pantry supplies and shook her head as she carried it into the kitchen to put everything away.

It was almost nine by the time they were done, but the living room was free of boxes, the bathroom was sparkling clean, and a huge pot of curry was bubbling away on the stove while the electric rice cooker quietly ticked away, cooking several cups of rice. Orihime had dried her tears, finally, and was hanging up a second batch of laundry to dry in the bathroom. There was still quite a pile to wash, but it would need to wait until morning.

Eventually, Tatsuki passed out bowls of chicken curry over rice, and glasses of water. Ishida watched Orihime carefully from his seat on the floor, a bowl of curry in hand. Without a proper kitchen table and not enough room on the sofa for five, they gathered on the sofa and floor, eating the chicken curry that Tatsuki had prepared. Kazui ate his portion quickly and asked for more as his mother picked at her nearly full bowl.

“Kazui, why don’t you help me clean up?” Rangiku asked sweetly when they were finished eating, giving Ishida and Tatsuki another opening.

Ishida waited until Kazui had collected his bowl and water was running in the kitchen sink to look at Orihime again. “I know it hurts, Orihime, but you need to move past your divorce. Kazui needs you. I’ll be here for him too, if you let me, but you haven’t been giving him what he needs, and you know that. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to meet with a counselor,” he said bluntly.

The jut of her lip was stubborn and she wouldn’t meet his eyes as she said, “Kurosaki-kun is going to come back, you’ll see! He’s just been tricked by that – that whore.”

His jaw slackened and dropped. “Orihime,” he said more carefully, “Kuchiki-san is your friend, and she suffered He might come visit Kazui, but he isn’t going to pursue a relationship with you. Do you understand that you hurt him by lying to him for so long?”

“Kazui is his son,” she mumbled, and started crying again.

Ishida glanced at Rangiku, whose eyes were wide and shocked. “I see,” he said after a long moment. “But having a relationship with Kazui doesn’t mean that he wants to have a relationship with you, Orihime. Kurosaki was always meant to be with Kuchiki-san. He’s been in love with her since he was fifteen.” The words brought on a fresh wave of sobbing. He scowled and shook his head. He was no psychologist; he was probably just making things worse.

“But he married me,” she whispered.

“I know that it’s not what you want to hear,” Ishida said, pressing on. “But you have to let go of him, Orihime. You can find your own happiness now. You can go back to school and have a career, the way you wanted.”

“And we’ll all be here for you and Kazui, Orihime,” Rangiku said emphatically, and wrapped her arm around the younger woman to pull her closer. “I’ll babysit as often as Taicho lets me, and I know Arisawa-san will too. But you need to let us help.”

When Orihime looked up from her tissues again Kazui was watching her quietly, Ishida’s eyes staring back at her. And she scrubbed her hands over her face. “Kurosaki-kun will come back for his son,” she said firmly, as the blood seemed to drain from Ishida’s face.

They didn’t leave the apartment until nearly midnight, long after Rangiku tucked Kazui into bed and the three of them had another argument, sotto voice, with a still-distraught Orihime. It went absolutely nowhere.

“I hate to say it,” Tatsuki muttered as they rode the elevator down together, “But I think you do need to report Hime. I think she’s sick, Uryuu. Maybe a case worker can help her find a counselor.”

“Hn. I’ll call them in the morning,” Uryuu agreed. “Matsumoto-san, can you call Kurosaki and Kuchiki-san in the morning? I want to talk to Kurosaki before I do anything more drastic.”

“Like file for custody?” Tatsuki asked bluntly. “I can’t believe Kazui is your kid.”

Ishida just scrubbed a hand across his mouth. “Yeah,” he said, and stared at the digital display that was counting down the numbers to the lobby floor. “I can’t believe it either.”

Rangiku texted Rukia as soon as they left the apartment building; it was later in Soul Society than it was here in the world of the living, and she didn’t want to wake her friend if she was already asleep. ishida arisawa + me staged an intervention, she sent. but it’s not looking good call you in the morning w more kazui not in immediate danger but orihime is delusional.

In the Soul Society, Rukia rolled over in bed as her denreishinki beeped at her. She read the message quickly and then settled back down. Ichigo had finally fallen asleep on the other side of the wall separating them, and she didn’t want to wake him. And if you torture us tonight, I’ll make you regret it, she thought sternly at Sode no Shirayuki, and rolled back onto her left side.

He’s awake again, Shirayuki murmured instead of answering directly. He felt your power spike when you read the message from Rangiku.

As soon as Shirayuki drew her attention to it Rukia could feel him, restless and worried. “I’ll make tea,” she said quietly, and rose from her bed. She’d made tea for herself so many sleepless nights in her quarters that Rukia could do it with her eyes closed, and sometimes did. Her porcelain tea set decorated with pale strawberries and their flowers – a birthday gift from Rangiku that Rukia was beginning to think had been unintentionally subversive – was already clean and on the countertop. Hochija leaves from the Kuchiki stores, fresh water, a little sugar – it was all easy to gather, and soon she had a freshly-brewed pot of tea. She opened her door and carried the tea set out to the low table on the landing.

Ichigo was still awake, and Rukia rapped lightly on his door before sliding it open, face lit by a tiny ball of kido. “Ichigo?” she called gently. His tall, lanky form moved in the darkness and his eyes were heavy-lidded when he reached her.

“Was I keeping you up?” he asked, voice low and rough. His shoulders were tight, and his hands clenched and released at his side.

“No,” she said softly. “Come have tea with me.”

He grunted but followed her, barefoot, onto the landing and sat next to her on the sofa. He wore only a pair of dark gray pajama pants; his chest was bare and Rukia’s cheeks flushed slightly. In the light his scars seemed softer, but she could still spot the ones she’d given him, to first give and then return to him the powers of a shinigami. She dismissed the kido light, as the sconces on the landing were a much better light source. “Did Rangiku tell you anything?” Ichigo asked as Rukia filled two teacups and offered one to him.

“Drink your tea first,” she said softly. “It’s hot.”

“Rukia.”

She sighed and pulled the denreishinki from a pocket of her yukata, offering it to him. It didn’t have a password of any kind (and he probably would have been able to guess it, if it did), so it took him just a second to tap the screen and read the message. “We’ll talk to her in the morning,” Rukia promised as he handed the phone back. “And then we’ll go to the manor and use Nii-sama’s senkaimon.”

His eyes gleamed golden in the light from the sconces. “I’ll kill her if she hurts him,” he said, voice half Zangetsu’s. The zanpakutō spirit and hollow was close to the surface tonight, then. Rukia wasn’t surprised; the chill of Sode no Shirayuki was close as well, reaching for her partner sword to calm him.

“We’ll make sure that she doesn’t,” Rukia said briskly, and pressed the left side of her body into his until some of the tension bled from him. “We’ll do whatever we have to.”

He lifted the cup of tea to his lips and took a long sip, heedless of the way it must have burned going down. “I did things the legal way, Rukia,” Ichigo said, voice still rough. “I thought I was doing the right thing, I thought Kazui needed her – he’s her son,” he finished, and his voice cracked.

She took the teacup from him and set it down when his hand squeezed around it a little too tightly. “I know,” Rukia murmured to him, and slid her hand into his. He twined their fingers together and pulled her closer with his other arm, so that her back was pressed against his chest, and rested his chin on the top of her head. His skin was hot through the thin layer of her sleeping yukata. “I know,” she said again. “We all thought that he needed his mother.”

“What if he stayed here?” Ichigo’s voice was a low rumble against her back.

Rukia sipped her tea before responding. “Kazui is still a living soul,” she said, voice gentle. “And he isn’t a shinigami like you. He’s a human and a Quincy.”

“Uryuu didn’t have a problem staying here,” Ichigo pointed out. “And Chad and Orihime were here for a week after we rescued you.” His arm tightened around her and he tugged her closer.

He was starting to put her in mind of a burr, but Rukia didn’t resent it in the least. For all that they’d been courting for weeks now, Ichigo had been respectful almost to the point of shyness, hands never straying and lips going no further than the length of her neck. Having his warmth wrapped around her like this – she wanted it. She wanted him to take comfort in having her close. She set her tea down and covered his hand with her own. “I’ve always been told that it isn’t possible,” she said softly. “But – we can ask Urahara. What about Uryuu, though? I thought you wanted him to have a chance to get to know his son.”

“I do.” Ichigo shifted, and then scooped her up. Rukia squeaked as he stretched out along the length of the sofa and draped her atop him, arms pressing her tight against him. “This is more comfortable,” he said, his voice a rumble low in his chest.

“Hn. How can Uryuu get to know Kazui if he’s staying here?” She settled down against him, legs falling to either side of his and head falling to his chest. He was so warm.

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” Ichigo grumbled. One large hand stroked gently along her back. “Maybe as a last resort, if we can’t…fix this. Maybe she’ll get better.”

Rukia’s hand pressed gently against his heart. “Maybe,” she agreed softly.

“You’ll come with me?” he asked again, and she raised her head to look at him. His eyes were still gleaming gold in the light of the sconces, but the expression on his face was so vulnerable that she reached a hand up to cup his cheek.

“Fool,” she said gently. “Don’t you know that I’ll go wherever you go? Haven’t I already told you that I’ll always support you?”

He drew her closer and pressed their lips together. Her eyes fluttered shut as they kissed, soft and slow against each other. “Yeah,” Ichigo murmured against her mouth, and Rukia’s eyes slid open to look into his. “Guess I am a fool, needing you to remind me.”

“Hmph.” Her lips were on his again, thorough but gentle as his heart sped up under her hand. “I’ll remind you as many times as you need to hear it. I’ll bear your pain when you need me to, I’ll fight in your place if you can’t.”

The words were similar to ones she’d used so many years ago, just before he’d lost his powers, and Ichigo pulled her more tightly against him. “I know,” he said softly. “I know.” They kissed again and again, until their hearts were pounding in their chests and the red thread was swirling around them, gleaming and glittering.

It was Ichigo who stopped them this time, tucking her head beneath his chin and tightening his arm around her when she shivered against him. “We should try and get some sleep,” he whispered, voice rough.

“Yes.” Rukia let her eyes slip shut and breathed out slowly, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. She wanted nothing more than to keep kissing him, to run her hands over every inch of him, but Ichigo was right. And this – she didn’t want to take advantage of him when he was upset about Kazui, about Orihime.

Still, neither of them moved. Ichigo’s arm tightened again and their reiryoku twined together as they lay together quietly. Eventually, they drifted to sleep right there on the sofa, breathing even and slow. Despite everything, it was the best night of sleep Rukia had gotten in years.

Chapter Text

They barely waited until morning to call Rangiku, who answered on the first ring and explained, voice taut, what she, Tatsuki, and Uryuu had done to help Kazui. “Ishida wants to talk to the local authorities first,” she said finally. “He needs to make a report, and wants to see if Kazui’s homeroom teacher has made one, too.”

“And then what?” Rukia asked, as she and Ichigo huddled around the table in her quarters, tea stone cold in their cups. The denreishinki sat in the middle of the table, its speakers as high as they could go.

“He said something about the court system,” Rangiku admitted, voice a little tinny. “He threatened Orihime with it, but I think he’s serious.”

Ichigo scrubbed a hand through his hair, the other fisting tightly in the fabric of his shihakusho. “I don’t want Kazui to end up in a guidance center,” he said roughly. “Onishi-san – the lawyer who handled my divorce – might be able to help. Urahara has his contact information.”

Rukia reached over and took Ichigo’s hand in hers. “How long does Ishida want us to give him?” she asked softly. “We were going to use the manor’s senkaimon tonight.”

There was a soft murmur on the other end of the line, and Ishida’s voice came over the speaker. “Give me a few weeks, Kuchiki-san,” he requested. “I’ll speak with your lawyer, Kurosaki. It’s been a while since my pediatric rotation, but I know it’s better if Kazui stays here and in the same school.”

“You’re sure he’ll be okay for a few weeks?” Ichigo pressed, hand tightening around hers. Rukia winced and he loosened his grip on her hand before mouthing an apology.

“She’s not hitting him,” Ishida said, “and Tatsuki and I will check on them. Orihime’s mad at us, but she won’t want a case worker involved, so I think she’ll let one of us into the apartment.”

They exchanged a look, but Ichigo gave Rukia a brief nod. “We’ll give you a few weeks, then,” she agreed.

“Urahara-san has agreed to give Ishida-san a denreishinki so that he can contact you if he needs to,” Rangiku said, coming back on the line. “And I’m stopping by your sisters’ place this morning before I come back to Soul Society.”

“Thanks, Matsumoto-san,” Ichigo said quietly. “Say hi to Karin and Yuzu for me, will you?”

“Of course, Kurosaki-san.”

After they hung up, Rukia pulled him closer and he followed, wrapping himself around her. They needed to go back on duty – he had a training session to run and she had a captain’s meeting – but for a long moment they held one another, reiryoku twining tightly and bond thrumming around them.

Eventually, they parted to get dressed. Ichigo washed and dressed in his quarters, then picked up his badge before pulling on his sandals and stepping back onto the landing. Rukia was waiting for him, wearing the crystal hair ornament he’d given her as his first courting gift. “It looks pretty on you,” he complimented, and leaned down so that he could brush his lips against hers. “Do you mind? I always get my sleeve caught,” Ichigo muttered when he pulled back, offering the badge to her.

Rukia rolled her eyes good-naturedly and tied the badge onto his left bicep carefully. “I think you just like when I do it,” she teased.

A smirk played over Ichigo’s lips. “I might,” he agreed, and took her hand to escort her downstairs. Ichigo let Rukia’s hand go as their offices came into view, but Sentarō was waiting for them, a smirk playing on his face.

“Good morning Kuchiki Taicho, Kurosaki Fukutaicho,” he greeted. “The group of new division members you requested are waiting on the eastern side of the training grounds, Fukutaicho.”

“Thanks, Sentarō,” Ichigo said and gave Rukia a nod before he pushed his way through the large wooden doors and headed in that direction.

“I have some reports for you to review before your meeting,” Sentarō said, the picture of propriety as Rukia looked at him. “Ise-san will appreciate having them on time.”

“Hn. Thank you, Sentarō,” Rukia murmured, and took the pile from his outstretched hand.

He nodded in acknowledgement and stepped back toward the room set aside for the seated officers. As soon as he rounded the corner, Rukia heard him mutter, quietly but not quietly enough, “Next round of sake is on you, Eguchi. Your date in the pool’s passed as of this morning.”

“Stubborn,” Eguchi muttered. “She should just pin him down and tear his clothes off. I would.”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed. Were they – betting on when she and Ichigo would sleep together? She stepped closer to hear more despite herself.

“Tch. She’d bust you back down to the academy, if you tried. He’s courting her, the way Kuchiki Taicho deserves after the last ten years married to that red-headed baboon.”

“Romantic,” Eguchi agreed. “But I’d still have torn his clothes off by now.”

Shaking her head, Rukia stepped into her office. Sentarō had never liked Renji; trust him to be a romantic about her and Ichigo. She settled in at her desk and set up her ink and brushes before taking a look through the reports her Third Seat had given her. She had to admit that the paperwork situation was much improved already; most of her officers seemed happy enough to go along with Ichigo’s new system. And Nanao had been very complimentary about the timeliness of the division’s reports.

Reports reviewed, Rukia tucked them under her arm and hurried for the captains’ meeting. She was neither the first nor the last to arrive and took her place next to Zaraki and across from Kurotsuchi. Both captains eyed her with interest, but it was Zaraki who asked, “You gonna let me at Kurosaki anytime soon, Kuchiki?”

She smirked. “You missed that opportunity a year ago, didn’t you?” she asked.

“Che. I knew who he was here for.” When Rukia blinked up at him like she’d been poleaxed he smirked, one eye fixed on her while the other remained covered with a patch.

“How…?”

His teeth gleamed as he grinned openly at her, sharp canines a touch too prominent. “He only ever broke into this place for one reason.”

Kyōraku Soutaicho called the meeting to order before Rukia could respond, but Zaraki’s remark stayed with her. The Eleventh Division, ordinarily so bloodthirsty, had stayed away from the action when Ichigo – taken over by Zangetsu – had broken into Soul Society. Even Madarame and Ayasegawa, when they’d finally shown up, had hung back when they saw Ichigo with his zanpakutō drawn to defend her.

Huh, she thought, and forcibly turned her attention to the Soutaicho.

Ichigo and Rukia spent the next month biding their time and exchanging texts with Ishida about his attempts to navigate the legal system. Onishi-san refused to take the case. He said even with a paternity test I won’t get anywhere, one text read.

Kazui’s teacher made a second report to the police. Hoping it will go somewhere, said another.

In the meantime, Ichigo and Rukia spoke with Urahara, cornering him in the not-so-secret lab he kept in the Seireitei. The former exile hummed under his breath, cane tapping lightly on the floor as he listened. “Kazui will be fine,” he said, and traced a pattern on the ground with the concealed Benihime. “It’s not ideal at his age, but he can easily spend months or even years here without a problem.”

Even as Ichigo breathed a sigh of relief, Urahara narrowed his eyes. “Except if Kurotsuchi gets his hands on him. He’ll want to, given that he’s the son of a Quincy and someone as powerful as Inoue Orihime.”

“Kazui will live at the manor while he’s here,” Rukia said firmly, one hand touching Ichigo’s forearm lightly. “Nii-sama won’t let Kurotsuchi onto the estate; he detests the man.”

Ichigo’s scowl lightened. “He’d let Kazui stay there?”

“If we ask him,” she said quietly, “He’ll say yes.” A look passed between them and Ichigo nodded.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, hand finding hers, as they both ignored the way Urahara watched them with interest.

They were right to consult Urahara: Ishida threw in the towel the next morning. “Onishi-san says I have no options, and that your sisters don’t have any grounds to sue for custody either,” he said bluntly as Ichigo and Rukia once more huddled around Rukia’s denreishinki. “Kazui’s homeroom teacher made another report two days ago, but my contact in the agency says Orihime wouldn’t open the door to a caseworker and they won’t push it.”

“You mean they’ll just let Kazui continue to suffer just because she won’t…open the door?” Ichigo demanded.

“Not exactly. Karakura's agency is understaffed and the caseworker has sixty other families on their list. But the report…” Ishida hesitated.

“Ishida?”

“I think you need to intervene, Kurosaki.”

Rukia covered Ichigo’s hand with hers. “We’ll be in the world of the living in an hour,” she said, and hung up. “I’ll send a message to Nii-sama about the senkaimon. You tell Sentarō that there’s an emergency and that he’s in charge of the division until we get back,” she ordered.

Ichigo took a deep breath. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

They were at the manor in less than twenty minutes. Byakuya was waiting for them, expression blank. “You’re going to retrieve the boy,” he said flatly.

The younger couple exchanged a look. Their control over their bond had strengthened further in the last month, and Ichigo managed to send two words through – he knows? he asked, pushing behind it his intent. Did Byakuya know about Orihime was what he meant. He received a slight nod in return.

“We have to, Nii-sama,” Rukia said, voice just as flat.

Byakuya’s gaze shifted between them. “He cannot stay here permanently,” he said finally. “Even with Urahara’s machines, he is still a living child.”

“I know,” Ichigo told him. “It’s just until we can get Inoue…sorted out.”

“Hn.” But the older man looked oddly sympathetic as he held out his hand, reiatsu limiters in his palm. “I will have a room prepared for the boy here in the manor, near Ichika’s quarters.”

Ichigo and Rukia reached for the limiters and applied them just over their hearts, Ichigo carefully looking away as he swallowed a lump in his throat. “Thanks,” he said roughly. Wisely, neither of the Kuchiki siblings remarked on his voice. He hadn’t expected Byakuya to just come out and offer to house Kazui, and he wondered if it was lingering guilt over Rukia, or something else entirely.

“Open the senkaimon,” Byakuya ordered one of the two guards stationed at the gate.

Rukia nodded her thanks, but Ichigo was the first through, and they ran alongside one another through the space between worlds as the gate closed behind them, following the hell butterflies ahead.

Urahara was waiting with gigai when they arrived at his shop a few minutes later. He took one look at them – both grim-faced and tense – and said only, “I’ll be here when you return, Kuchiki-san, Kurosaki-san,” the expression on his face serious and fan nowhere in sight.

It was already late afternoon in the World of the Living; Ichigo and Rukia hurried along under the bright sunlight. Urahara had dressed their gigai in clothing appropriate for the warmth of early summer. Rukia’s lavender dress swung around her knees as she lengthened her strides to keep up with Ichigo, but she stopped as her denreishinki beeped. “Ishida and Tatsuki are waiting for us in the lobby,” Rukia said after checking the message on the screen. They rounded the corner to the apartment building, and she shoved the device back in her purse before taking Ichigo’s hand. “What’s our plan?”

His hand squeezed hers. “Get in, get Kazui, get out.”

“That’s not a plan,” Rukia scoffed. “Maybe I should go up with Tatsuki and Ishida while you wait in the lobby. Orihime…she might react badly to seeing you.”

Ichigo privately thought that his former wife would react poorly to seeing either of them. Ishida wasn’t prone to exaggeration; if he said that Orihime was delusional and thought that her ex-husband was secretly pining for her, the Quincy was probably right. “No,” he said as they reached the doors. “I’m not letting you go up there without me.”

“She’s not exactly a threat,” Rukia muttered as they walked into lobby. Ishida and Tatsuki were waiting for them, seated on a plush gray loveseat that the building management had tucked into an alcove for visitors.

Ichigo hadn’t seen Tatsuki in months – not since well before he moved to Soul Society – and his old friend stood to greet him. With a punch in the arm. “Ow, what the hell, Tatsuki!”

“That’s for not saying goodbye to me before you moved,” she grumbled, but the nod she gave Rukia was friendly enough. “Good to see you, Kuchiki-san. Orihime doesn’t know we’re here yet - what’s the plan?”

Ichigo glanced at the security guard, then shoved his hands in his pockets and raised his chin towards the elevator. He waited until they had crossed the lobby and were enclosed in the elevator car to speak. “We go inside, tell her that she needs help and that Kazui’s going to live with me for a little while.”

“You’re sure you want to see her?” Rukia asked, a note of worry in her voice.

He wrapped his hand around hers. “I don’t, but maybe if I tell her myself, she’ll…snap out of it,” Ichigo muttered as Tatsuki and Ishida exchanged skeptical looks.

“If it gets heated, we’ll take Kazui downstairs to the playground,” Ishida volunteered. “You should be the one to ring the doorbell, Kurosaki – she’ll open the door for you.”

Rukia squeezed his hand when she caught his involuntary shudder. “Yeah,” he muttered. And then they were on the ninth floor and in front of Orihime’s door. As Ishida and Tatsuki had done previously, they kept out of sight – as did Rukia – while Ichigo rang the doorbell.

The door swung open. “Ichigo!”

He blinked, nonplussed. Orihime had cut her hair so that it was barely chin-length. The ends were jagged and uneven, as if she’d done the job herself, and her blue flower pins gleamed just above her ears. “Inoue,” he said in greeting, and watched as she flinched at the sound of her family name.

But. “I knew you’d come back!” Orihime cried, and launched herself at him, arms wrapping around him tightly as Ichigo recoiled and then went stiff as a board.

Ishida had told him that she was delusional, but Ichigo hadn’t expected her to fling herself at him. He grabbed for her arms and gently pulled them from around his waist. “We need to talk about Kazui,” he said firmly.

“Tousan!” the boy’s voice came from behind Orihime, and before she could stop him her son wriggled around her and reached for Ichigo.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Ichigo said quietly, and scooped him up. He felt a little too light, and Ichigo’s expression darkened. He smelled, too, of dirty laundry, and his hair was limp against his head. “We need to talk, Inoue,” he said darkly as he settled Kazui at his hip.

“Where are your things?” she asked, as if he wasn’t glaring at her.

“He isn’t staying,” Tatsuki said from behind them, and pushed her way through. “You cut your hair,” she said disapprovingly as she grabbed Orihime by the arm and guided her into the living room. Ishida followed, leaving Ichigo, Kazui, and Rukia standing in the doorway.

“It’s nice to see you, Kazui-kun,” Rukia said a little awkwardly. She was nearly eye-level with the boy, perched on Ichigo’s hip as he was.

The boy smiled uncertainly at her before shoving his face in Ichigo’s chest.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Ichigo murmured reassuringly, large hand resting against his back. “Rukia’s a friend, remember?” The face buried in his chest moved in a nod. “It’s okay to be shy, but Rukia won’t ever hurt you.”

“Did you really come back to be with Kaasan?” Kazui pulled back a little to look up at him. “She said you were coming back to marry her again.”

Ichigo grimaced and shot a dismayed look at Rukia. “No,” he replied. “I came back because my friends said you needed my help. You’re the reason I came back.” Kazui’s grip tightened on him, and Ichigo swallowed around another lump in his throat as Rukia rested a hand on his arm. “We’d better get inside.”

Rukia went first, leaving her shoes in the genkan – a mistake, Ichigo quickly realized as Orihime shot up from the sofa. “Ichigo, what’s she doing here?” she demanded as he stepped into the living room, Kazui still in his arms. “She’s not – she’s not welcome in our home!”

He sighed and rubbed Kazui’s back lightly. “Rukia is my partner, Orihime,” he said repressively. “And your friend. We’re here because you’ve been having trouble taking care of Kazui properly since I divorced you.”

“There is nothing wrong with Kazui!” she protested.

Rukia’s eyes raked over her. “Kazui’s too skinny, his clothes and hair are dirty, and we’ve been getting reports from Ishida-san and Arisawa-san for weeks that this is an ongoing problem,” she said coolly. “I’m sure you don’t mean to hurt your son, but you have.”

Orihime reared back as if struck. “You’ve been spying on me?”

“We’ve been keeping an eye on Kazui, which you knew, Orihime,” Ishida reminded her. He looked at Kazui, eyes pained. “And it’s clear that you can’t take care of him. You’re not even taking care of yourself.”

“We’re fine,” Orihime protested again. “Isn’t that right, Kazui-tan?” she asked, voice pitching higher as she spoke to her son. Kazui just buried his face in Ichigo’s chest again.

“You need help,” Ichigo said sternly. “Rukia and I are going to take Kazui with us for a little while so that you can get it without worrying about him. He’ll have a chance to get to know Ichika, and we’ll make sure he’s safe.”

“You and your – whore are not taking Kazui anywhere,” Orihime shot back.

Ichigo’s jaw clenched and he shot a look at Tatsuki. “Tatsuki, can you take Kazui down to the playground for a few minutes? We need to have a discussion.”

“I want to stay,” Kazui protested, clinging more tightly to him. Ichigo hugged him closer.

“I know. But this is a conversation your Kaasan and I have to have without you. I promise I’ll come down to the playground in a few minutes, okay?” he asked.

Reluctantly, the boy let Ichigo hand him over to Tatsuki, and she and Ishida left the apartment while Orihime stood, tears rolling down her cheeks, in the middle of her living room. “You can’t do that,” she protested. “Kazui is my son.”

“He is,” Ichigo acknowledged. “And you haven’t been taking care of him. You need…therapy or something, Inoue. Or the authorities here will take Kazui away from you and he’ll end up in a guidance center or foster home.”

“But – but with you here everything will be fine again,” she said, voice high and almost childish. “That’s why you came back, isn’t it?”

He just shook his head, fist clenching until Rukia gently touched his forearm. “We’re not getting back together. I’m sorry that I hurt you, Orihime, but our marriage was empty. I just pretended to be happy for seven years and so did you.”

She sank back down onto the sofa, arms wrapped around herself as she cried in earnest. “None of this would have happened if you – if you hadn’t come to Karakura,” she told Rukia, whose gaze was filled with pity. “You – you lured him away again to that awful place. You’re nothing but a whore.”  

“Don’t call Rukia that again,” Ichigo demanded, voice a low snarl. “You cheated on me and lied to me so that I would marry you. You lied to me for seven years, and Rukia had nothing to do with any of it. Rukia and me – we didn’t even kiss until after we’d both been divorced.”

But Orihime wasn’t listening. Her fingertips came up to her hairpins and she chanted, “Tsubaki, koten zanshun, I reject!”

Ichigo’s jaw slackened in shock, but Rukia calmly stepped forward, hand glowing with kido, and batted the fairy away with her bare hand. Tsubaki flew backwards, smashing into the far wall and sliding down against it, dazed. “You don’t want to attack me, Orihime,” she said flatly. “I am not the source of your sorrow, and even in gigai I am much stronger than you.” Her other hand rested on Ichigo’s arm, keeping him in place.

“Tsuba—” She stopped, voice muffled by Rukia’s hand clapping over her mouth – she’d been so fast to move that Ichigo barely realized she’d stepped away from him.

“I’m sorry for your pain, Orihime,” Rukia said, voice low. “But I can’t allow you to try and hurt either of us. You’re sick, and you need help. And until you get that help, Ichigo and I are going to take care of Kazui. Ishida will help you find a counselor, and Arisawa-san will be here for you however she can.”

When she took her hand from Orihime’s mouth the other woman started sobbing again, fat tears rolling down her cheeks and arms wrapping around herself again, this time over her stomach as if it ached. “You can’t take my son from me,” she got out, voice breaking up in between her sobs. Her breaths came in huge gasps that shrieked through her throat. “You can’t, I won’t let you.”

Ichigo just shook his head. “We have to do what’s best for Kazui,” he reminded her, voice raised over the sound of her sobbing. “Ishida, Tatsuki, and Matsumoto-san needed to unpack for you even though you’d been here for weeks. They did laundry because you wouldn’t and bought food because you were letting Kazui fend for himself in an empty kitchen. His homeroom teacher reported you three times.”

“You need help,” Rukia said again. “And when you get it, Kazui can come back. But you’re neglecting him because of your own pain, and that’s not fair to him.”

“I’ll – I’ll call the police!” Orihime threatened, and Ichigo snorted.

“And tell them that your shinigami ex-husband took your son to another world? I’m not doing this to hurt you, I’m doing this to protect Kazui.” Then he jerked his head at Rukia. “Come on, Rukia,” he requested, voice gentle again. “I want to stop by my sisters’ place before we go home. They haven’t seen their nephew since I left.”

Rukia straightened up and crossed the living room to stand by her partner. “I really do hope you’ll get better, Orihime,” she said – and as the younger woman continued to sob, they put on their shoes and left the apartment.

They took the elevator down to the lobby and together they walked to the doorway that led out to the building’s playground. It was a cheerful space, with manicured grass and a huge, blue and green playset with slides, swings, and even a set of monkey bars. Kazui was just coming down the slide when they stepped onto the lawn, and he ran to Ichigo once more.

There were a few other families outside, and Ichigo tried to ignore their eyes on him as he scooped the boy up once more and let him rest on one hip. “Ready to go?” he asked. Tatsuki and Ishida followed him. “Do you want anything from upstairs, Kazui?”

“No,” he said quietly, and buried his face in Ichigo’s shoulder. Rukia pressed a sympathetic hand to his back as Ichigo huffed out a breath.

“We’re going to see Karin oba-san and Yuzu oba-san before we go to my home, okay?” Ichigo asked. He got a nod against his cobalt blue shirt in reply. “Ishida, Tatsuki, will you stay with Inoue? She took it poorly.”

Ishida scowled. “My shift starts in less than an hour. Tatsuki?”

“Yeah, I’ll keep an eye on her,” she agreed, and scowled. “Assuming she’ll let me back in her apartment.”

They walked back inside together, nodding goodbye to Tatsuki as she took the elevator back upstairs, and parted ways with Ishida as he turned toward the hospital.

“Where’s home?” Kazui asked when they were on the sidewalk, headed for Yuzu and Karin’s apartment. He still hadn’t let go of Ichigo, although every so often he lifted his head to look at Rukia, walking alongside them with her dark hair swinging in the warm breeze.

Ichigo glanced around, but the only other person nearby was an older woman across the street. “Do you remember when I went through that weird doorway in Urahara’s shop?” he asked. When Kazui nodded, he explained, “Home is a place called Soul Society that you can only get to through doors like that. It’s really different from Karakura, but some parts of it are nice. You’ll see it in a little while, after we visit Yuzu and Karin.”

Rukia was busy typing into her denreishinki again. “Tatsuki was able to get Orihime to let her back inside,” she reported.

“Hn. Good,” he muttered.

“Are Karin oba-san and Yuzu oba-san going to come with us to Soul Society?” Kazui asked. He squirmed a little in Ichigo’s arms. “Down, please.”

Ichigo stopped and bent down so that Kazui could more easily climb down before he answered. “They’re not going to come with us right now, no,” he said, keeping one hand wrapped around Kazui’s. “They both have jobs here as nurses. But Karin sometimes visits Soul Society because she has friends there.” He didn’t need to know, yet, about Karin and Hitsugaya.

“Am I going to stay in Soul Society for forever?” was the next question. Ichigo exchanged a look with Rukia.

“Not forever, but for a little while. Inoue-san is sick and we’re going to take care of you while she works to get better,” Rukia said, voice cheerful. “You’ll be able to spend time getting to know Ichika a bit more.”

“What about school?”

“Well, Ichika has a tutor,” Ichigo said after Rukia gave him a slight nod. “She’s a little older than you, but her tutor might be willing to work with you as well. Otherwise, I’ll hire a different tutor for you so that you don’t fall behind on your lessons.” Ichigo remembered what Kazui had been learning a couple of months ago; sure, Soul Society operated like it was hundreds of years behind the living world, but he could probably find someone with a more modern set of knowledge. Maybe someone from the Twelfth Division, if he could go around Kurotsuchi…

“Are you going to marry Kuchiki-san?” Kazui asked suddenly, making both Ichigo and Rukia’s cheeks flush pink. “Is Ichika going to be my sis—” Then he stopped and bit his lip.

“Aa. I’d like that very much,” Ichigo finally said. He realized that Kazui still had no idea that Ichika was Ichigo’s daughter – but the sidewalk was hardly the place to have that conversation. He just reached down and squeezed Kazui’s shoulder lightly, until the boy looked up at him. “I still want to be your father, remember? So, if Rukia agrees to marry me someday, yeah, Ichika will be your sister.”

“Does that mean I have to call Rukia-san Kaasan?” His voice was so small that both Rukia and Ichigo stopped in their tracks.

“Aa…”

Rukia rolled her eyes at him and knelt down next to Kazui so that she was eye level with him. “I don’t want to take Orihime’s place,” she said gently. “But I’d like us to be friends.”

He gave a little nod, and glanced back up at his father. “Okay,” he said, and when Rukia stood up again he took her hand.

Chapter Text

Kazui may have wanted to get to Karin and Yuzu’s apartment building on his own two feet, but when he began to grow tired and his footsteps dragged, Ichigo picked him up once more and carried him piggyback, just like he used to. The ginger-haired boy was half-asleep on his back by the time the three of them arrived at the modest stucco apartment building not far from the former Kurosaki clinic. Ichigo checked his watch; his sisters were almost certainly home for the day.

Rukia held the door open as Ichigo kept ahold of Kazui, and a security guard nodded politely from the desk to one side of the lobby.

“Who are you visiting this afternoon?” he asked diffidently.

“Ah – Kurosaki Yuzu and Kurosaki Karin,” Ichigo said.

“And your name?”

“Kurosaki Ichigo. I’m their brother.”

“Ah.” The guard tapped a few keys and reviewed something on his computer screen. “Yes, you’re on the approved visitors list. And the young lady with you?”

“Kuchiki Rukia,” she murmured.

The mouse wheel clicked under the guard’s fingers, and he nodded firmly. “Yes, of course Kuchiki-san. Have a nice day.”

Ichigo followed Rukia to the elevator, and they waited, Kazui still half-asleep, for the doors to open. “I didn’t think they’d add me to the approved visitors list,” Rukia said quietly.

He just smiled down at her, dark amber eyes soft. “Why not? Yuzu and Karin always liked you. And – they’ve known about us for months.” A high-pitched bell rang and the doors opened. They stepped into the elevator. “They’re on the fifth floor, Five C.”

Rukia hit the appropriate button on the panel, and the stainless steel-clad car whisked them up the five flights. “I just thought – they’ve had to change so much since everything happened.” She yelped when Ichigo lightly hip-checked her.

“Stop that,” he grumbled. “It’s good that they have their own place. It was—” Ichigo cleared his throat. He didn’t want Kazui to hear him speak badly of Orihime, and conscious of the weight of his back, he just said again, “It’s a good thing.”

“Hn.” The elevator door opened and Rukia stepped out first, glancing at the directional sign on the wall opposite. The carpeted hallway was empty and their footfalls were muffled by the thick padding beneath them. “This seems like a nice building,” she said quietly. The exterior of the building had been plain stucco, but the walls looked clean and freshly painted, and the hall was well-lit.

“Yeah, we looked at a lot of apartments before they signed the lease. I didn’t want them to live somewhere unsafe.”

Rukia pushed the plain white doorbell on the door of 5C, and a chime echoed through the closed door in front of them. Kazui stirred against Ichigo’s back and squirmed until Ichigo crouched to let him get down as either Yuzu or Karin unbolted the door.

“Ichi-nii!” Yuzu exclaimed and threw herself at her brother. His arms came up around her in reflex, and they hugged for a long moment before Ichigo drew back and ruffled his sister’s hair. She threw herself at Rukia next, and the older woman stiffened with shock before her expression softened and she hugged her in return. “I’m so glad you’re here, Rukia-nee! And Kazui-kun!” But Yuzu’s expression faltered at the sight of her nephew before she gathered him into a hug as well.

“Can we come inside?” Ichigo asked, and Yuzu nodded firmly.

“You’ll stay for dinner, right?” she asked as she pulled Kazui into the apartment with her. He toed his shoes off as Ichigo and Rukia did the same, leaving their footwear in a neat line as Yuzu shut and locked the door. “Karin, guess who stopped by for a visit?” she called.

Kazui hung close to his father shyly as they followed Yuzu into the living room. They’d clearly used some of the proceeds from the sale of the clinic to decorate: a new-looking sofa covered in pale blue microfiber took up a good portion of the space, and there was a new flat-screen television against the opposite wall. The coffee table was a large rectangle, lacquered white and with discreet hinges on both sides. They’d put some art up as well, and Ichigo smiled, blinking back the sudden dampness in his eyes, at the portrait of his mother and father that took up part of the far wall. It wasn’t anything like the poster his father used to keep around; Ichigo guessed that Yuzu had probably had it painted from a photo.

“Ichi-nii!” Karin stood from her place on the sofa and offered her brother a hug. He ruffled her hair and let go of her so that she could hug Kazui and then Rukia; like her twin, she gave Ichigo a significant look when she straightened up from hugging her nephew. “We weren’t expecting you.”

“Yeah, it was an emergency visit,” Ichigo said. But he dug into his pocket and offered her a package. “Toshiro sent this.” His sister grabbed for it and it was obvious that she was trying not to look too eager to open the paper-wrapped rectangle.

“An emergency. Was it a hollow?” Yuzu asked from behind them.

“Ah. No,” Rukia said, and at Yuzu’s gesture she perched on the sofa. Kazui immediately climbed onto the cushions next to her, and she offered him a little smile. “Kazui’s going to come stay with us for a little while.”

Ichigo’s sisters – both registered nurses, and both of them with a decade of experience helping their father in the clinic – exchanged a look. “That sounds like fun!” Yuzu chirped, smiling so widely that her eyes shut. “You’ll have fun there, I think, Kazui-kun. And I’m sure Ichika-chan will be happy to see you.”

Rukia’s lips curved in an answering smile. “She will,” she agreed, and when Kazui inched closer she hesitantly slid an arm around him. He leaned into her, and she relaxed. But she felt the anxiety practically pouring off of Ichigo as she did it, and met his eyes. Sorry, she pushed through the bond, but he only gave a minute shake of his head.

Not you, came back to her.

“We can’t really stay for dinner,” Ichigo finally said. “We’re supposed to be back at Urahara’s in an hour.”

“Hmph. They should have given you more time,” Yuzu complained, but she sat down next to Kazui and ruffled his hair. “But I’ll take what time I can get with Kazui-kun, right?” she said, and the boy squirmed until Rukia let him go so that he could climb into Yuzu’s lap instead. Ichigo and Rukia both caught the stricken look that crossed her face, but she covered it up.

“My certification program’s been done for a couple of months now,” Karin said suddenly as she perched in an armchair cattycorner to the sofa. Ichigo sat down on the ottoman that matched it and raised an eyebrow at her.

“That’s good,” he said. “Did Sasaki give you a raise afterwards?”

“He did, but I’m thinking about making a change,” she said reluctantly. Toshiro’s package was still in her hands and she rubbed a hand over it absently. “Nursing was just kind of something I fell into, you know?”

“What are you thinking of going into, Karin?” Rukia asked curiously. She sat up straighter as Ichigo shot her a questioning look. Kazui was already falling asleep again on Yuzu’s lap, head resting on her shoulder. It was a little worrisome, but Rukia thought to Fourth, at Ichigo – they’d have Isane and Kiyone take a look at him when they got back to the Seireitei.

“Well – I was kind of thinking I wanted to go into the other family business,” Karin muttered, cheeks a suspiciously pink color.

“You want to become a shinigami?” Rukia asked. But it wasn’t exactly shocking. She’d apparently kept up a long-distance relationship with Hitsugaya for years.

“Maybe a substitute,” Karin agreed. “That weirdo in the striped hat helped me figure things out a while back, and the guy assigned to Karakura isn’t very good.”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. “Rukia replaced Afro-san years ago,” he said. “Didn’t you.”

The shinigami captain hummed under her breath. “I did, but no one likes the Karakura posting,” Rukia pointed out. “Even when—” she huffed out a breath. “Even when you stopped being a substitute, Ishida intervened, and so did Chad until he became a boxer. Anyone assigned to the post complains.”

Yuzu frowned at her sister. “But why would you be a substitute?” Her voice took on a teasing note as she asked, “Don’t you want to be with Toshiro?” When Karin’s cheeks turned even redder she grinned. “I knew it! Can’t she be like you, Ichi-nii, and be a shinigami full time?”

“But – but then it’ll just be you in Karakura,” Karin protested. “And it’s not like that between me and Toshiro, we’re just…”

Ichigo snorted. “Don’t lie, Karin. He practically asked for my blessing when I handed him your gift a few months ago.”

“And the longer you stay here, the older you’ll get, and he won’t,” Yuzu said, face set in a little pout. “You should go, if Soul Society will let you.”

“Will it?” Ichigo asked Rukia. The ottoman was opposite her seat on the sofa and he nudged his ankle against hers gently.

She just shrugged. “They might, for a member of the Shiba clan and your sister.” And if they didn’t, there was always, well – the usual way souls arrived in Soul Society, Rukia thought. But she wasn’t about to suggest that, here in front of his family.

“But I don’t want to leave Yuzu alone here,” Karin said plaintively. Her sister just smiled, though, and rubbed a hand lightly along Kazui’s back.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” she said quietly, “because I didn’t want to leave you alone, but – I really want to travel, Karin. We’ve never been further from home than Hokkaido, you know.” As her siblings stared at her, she added shyly, “I applied for a traveling nurse service a few months ago. They place you in countries with a shortage of nurses.”

Ichigo’s ankle bumped against Rukia’s again, and she pressed against it lightly. “That sounds like an interesting program, Yuzu,” she agreed.

“It is! And last week they called me and told me I’d been accepted! The first posting is for a year, and if I take their offer I’ll be going to Australia,” Yuzu said brightly, though both Rukia and Ichigo caught the nervous look in her eyes and the way her hands shook slightly.

“Australia?” Karin repeated.

“Yes! My English is good enough for the work I’ll be doing, and I’ll get paid just like I do here. I think they pay more, actually, because I have to agree to stay for a full year. But I’ll get to see Australia and New Zealand, and maybe other places too!” Yuzu’s brown eyes, much like her brother’s, were wide in her face as she looked at them. “It’s something I really want to do, I just – was afraid to tell you,” she finished.

“You’re sure this is what you want to do?” Ichigo asked finally. He shared a look with Rukia and some of the sudden tension left his shoulders when she pushed a hint of reassurance through their bond. It was funny, the red thread didn’t seem to care that they were both in gigai and using reiatsu limiters besides. When Yuzu opened her mouth to protest he hurried to say, “Only, a year’s a long time, Yuzu.”

She just smiled. “It’s not really that long,” she said. “But now you don’t have to keep dancing around whether you want to be with Toshiro, Karin,” she teased. “I’ll be safe in Australia. And maybe you can even come visit! I don’t know how Soul Society works, but there has to be a way to get to Australia from there. They have souls too.”

Rukia hummed under her breath. “They do,” she allowed. “Their world is called the Land of the Dead, and there are different paths to it, across the waters. I met one of their people, once.” But when Ichigo looked at her curiously, she shook her head. “It’s hard to explain. They are not shinigami, but they are guides. I believe we have a treaty of sorts.”

“Hn. There’s probably psychopomps in every country, I guess,” Ichigo muttered. And then he looked at Karin. “You’re sure about this? Moving to Soul Society, I mean.”

His younger sister huffed. “I didn’t ask you that when you decided to move,” she pointed out. Her hands clutched at the fabric of her trousers, though.

It was Kazui, though, who spoke up, rousing himself a little. “Tousan and Kuchiki-san are s’posed to be together,” he said drowsily, head still resting on Yuzu’s chest. “There’s a red thread like in the stories.”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed as Yuzu and Karin looked from her to Ichigo, grins on both of their faces. “When are you thinking of…moving, Karin?” she asked.

“After Yuzu goes to Australia, maybe,” Karin said with a shrug. “But I have to get that weirdo Urahara to help me, right? If I want to be able to uh – visit?”

“There’s no way I’m letting you do what I had to in order to gain my powers,” Ichigo snapped.

Rukia’s ankle pressed against his again. “We’ll figure something out,” she said reassuringly.

Kazui insisted on Rukia giving him a piggyback ride back to Urahara’s shop, and she lifted him onto her back easily. Ichigo walked alongside them quietly, something twisting in his heart at the sight. He wished – but wishing was useless, and Ichigo had already gotten so much more than he’d hoped for when Zangetsu broke into Soul Society. When Kazui looked back at him he took a breath and smiled.

A howl split the air, suddenly, and Ichigo and Rukia both stiffened. Kazui looked around curiously. The shinigami on duty can get that, right?” Ichigo asked, but there was another howl, and a shrill scream behind it. “Sh—”

Rukia scrambled for her denreishinki while holding onto Kazui. “It’s a big one,” she said when she tapped the screen and an image appeared. “There are two more across town – that’s probably where Kitagawa is.”

“Three at once?” Ichigo asked, but he was already looking around for somewhere to stash his gigai.

“I’ll go. Protect Kazui,” Rukia ordered as she crouched. “Kazui-kun, I need to take care of something.”

“Is it that angry noise?” the boy asked as he obediently climbed down.

“Rukia, I should—” But their eyes met and Ichigo nodded, mouth set in a grim line. “Be safe,” he said, and caught her gigai when she erupted from it, white haori billowing around her. The hollow came into view in the same instant, and Ichigo looped an arm around Kazui and the other around Rukia’s gigai.

The hollow was huge, but at least it wasn’t a gillian, Ichigo thought as he watched the creature rear back and roar. Its body towered over the residential area, muscular and gray with darker stripes along its arms and legs. Its head was covered by an enormous white mask, shaped oddly like a starburst with a huge, distorted mouth and eyes that gleamed red in the open sockets.

Unfettered by a gigai or the pretense of being human, Rukia flew through the air with her zanpakutō already unsheathed. “Dance, Sode no Shirayuki!” she called, and the blade gleamed white under the later-afternoon sun as a sparkling ribbon spilled from its hilt.

“That’s Kuchiki-san?” Kazui asked, gray eyes wide as he stared.

Well that answered the question of how strong Kazui’s powers are, Ichigo thought. He kept a tight hold on his son. It was just a normal hollow, and Rukia was a captain. She’d be able to handle it easily without him, he told himself.

Snow lady’s got her back. You worry too much, Zangetsu sneered. But there was the slightest hint of anxiety in him, too, and Ichigo couldn’t help a smirk in response.

Yeah, yeah. I know you’re nervous about not being able to back up Sode no Shirayuki. Inside him, Zangetsu grumbled but didn’t deny it.

The hollow swiped an enormous, clawed hand at Rukia that she dodged effortlessly. “Some no mai, tsukishiro!” she called, zanpakutō spinning in a slow circle. The air chilled and the scent of snow wafted past him as a pillar of white shot into the sky, solidifying into ice around the hollow. The creature shattered into a million pieces as Rukia landed atop a nearby building, blade gleaming.

“That looked so cool!” Kazui shouted from under Ichigo’s arm and wriggled until his father put him back down. “What was that weird monster thing though? Do you fight them too, Tousan?”

“Ah – they’re called hollows,” Ichigo said, but he was watching as another hollow emerged into the visible world, and another. He swallowed down a curse as Rukia’s voice called her second dance and sent a wave of ice at the second hollow, then leapt out of range of the third. With her uniform flowing around her she looked like she was floating rather than falling, and she landed gracefully before atop the roof of a single-family home. “They’re corrupted souls, and part of my job – and Rukia’s job – is to purify them so that they’re no longer a danger.”

A third hollow emerged and Ichigo swore, out loud this time.

“Kaasan doesn’t like hearing words like that,” Kazui said, but his gaze, like Ichigo’s, was focused on Rukia and the three hollows she was fighting. Make that five – where the hell were they all coming from?

Where the hell was the shinigami who was stationed in Karakura? Ichigo spotted a bench and grabbed Kazui up, setting both him and the gigai on the wooden surface before digging in Rukia’s purse – and blessed her for being more prepared than him. She had a Chappy dispenser. He dispensed the little green gikongan and shoved it in the mouth of Rukia’s gigai.

“Pyon!”

He hated Chappy. But. “This is Kazui. I need you to protect him. Don’t hurt him,” Ichigo ordered. He dispensed with his own gigai as Kazui watched. “Don’t hurt my gigai, either. Kazui, Chappy will keep you safe until Rukia and I finish these guys off.” He reached behind his back and grabbed for the larger of Zangetsu’s two blades.

“Your sword is really big,” his son said, eyes big as dinner plates.

Ichigo managed a laugh. “Stay here,” he commanded, and leapt into the air after Rukia, the other hand grabbing for the oversized knife at his side. He had one blade buried in a hollow mask almost immediately, and waited only until he was sure it was dissolving to join Rukia.

“What did you do with Kazui?” Rukia shouted. Ichigo knew in the next second what she was about to do, even before she raised her hand, and jumped out of the way as she blasted an insect-like hollow with a bright blue flare of kido, sending it flailing backwards.

“Chappy’s watching him and my gigai,” Ichigo reported. “And I’m kicking Kitagawa’s ass after this. Where is he?”

“I’d like to know the same thing.” Rukia moved as Ichigo shot off a getsuga tenshō that destroyed another of the hollows, and Rukia’s tsukishiro took out a fourth.

Unfortunately, the other two were smarter and more powerful. Ichigo dropped back into a defensive position as the two hollows regrouped. The first lumbered on all fours, white mask oddly benign looking; it reminded him of a capybara, something he’d only seen in a zoo. The other, taller and humanoid, shot a tentacle out that Ichigo sliced off before it could reach Rukia, making the corrupted soul screech so that they both had to resist the urge to cover their ears.

They didn’t look all that threatening, but both gave Ichigo and Rukia a run for their money with their reiatsu limiters in place; it turned out that the capybara-like hollow spat acid and the other hollow had an endless supply of tentacles eager to grasp and trip them up. They were smart enough to work together, trying to separate the two shinigami.

“The boy,” the humanoid hollow said suddenly, a grin cracking open its heavy teeth. Almost too late Ichigo realized they’d been herded closer to the bench down below where Kazui, Chappy, and Ichigo’s body waited.

Rukia blocked the tentacle shot out by the hollow, grunting as it batted her away before she could cut it off. “Rukia!” Ichigo screamed as she fell. He put on a burst of speed and caught her in mid-air just feet from Kazui.

She was just stunned, and as Ichigo came to a stop Rukia shook it off. They exchanged a look. Hakuren and tenshō, Rukia thought as he set her down in mid-air. Beside him, Ichigo inclined his head. “Tsugi no mai,” she intoned, zanpakutō piercing the very air and voice low and calm as Ichigo batted away the acid that the capybara-hollow spat at them, “Hakuren!”

“Getsuga tenshō,” Ichigo roared as she finished. Their combined power roared at the two hollows, waves of white ice combining with the red-edged black of Ichigo’s attack, and obliterated both with a flash so bright that they had to shield their eyes. Rukia grabbed for her denreishinki as Ichigo dropped down to the bench.

“Are you hurt?” he asked Kazui, but the boy just stared open-mouthed. “Kaz.”

The ginger-haired boy shook himself. “That was awesome!” he shouted. “Do you and Kuchiki-san do that all the time? You guys look so cool flying around like that!”

Ichigo laughed, a little embarrassed by Kazui’s enthusiasm. “Ah – yeah, it’s part of our jobs,” he said again.

Rukia landed next to him, zanpakutō already sealed. “I don’t see any others,” she reported. “And Kitagawa must have dealt with the two across town.”

“How come Kuchiki-san’s sword is white and yours is black?” Kazui asked as Ichigo slung one sword onto his back and set the other at his side. “Why do you have two?”

Ichigo and Rukia exchanged another look. “We should get back to Urahara’s,” Ichigo said. Kazui opened his mouth to object. “I promise we’ll answer your questions when we get to Soul Society, okay?”

“Okay,” the boy mumbled. He watched as Ichigo settled himself back in his gigai and Rukia did the same, placing the gikongan back into its dispenser. “You can just get in and out of your bodies like that? What would happen if you switched bodies?”

“Rukia would probably trip over my legs at the shock of being twice as tall as she usually is.” Ichigo grunted when Rukia elbowed him in the side, cheeks just a little flushed.

“It’s generally not a good idea,” she said flatly. “Now let’s go – we’re late.”

“What’s Chappy?” Kazui asked. Ichigo took his hand and grimaced at the question.

“Oh! Chappy’s a wonderful bunny,” Rukia started enthusiastically as they resumed their walk.

Urahara was waiting for them, and he looked at Kazui from behind his fan, saying only, “I hope you’ll have a nice visit to Soul Society, Kazui-tan,” before ushering them to his senkaimon.

Ichigo and Rukia divested themselves of their gigai as Kazui watched, looking between their false bodies and their spirits a little uneasily. “Do you just abandon your bodies like that all the time?”

“They’re gigai, fake bodies,” Urahara explained as Tessai picked up first one and then the other to prepare them for storage. “Without them, most people wouldn’t be able to see Kuchiki-san or Kurosaki-san when they’re here in Karakura.”

Kazui blinked up at him. “Is that why there wasn’t any running or screaming while Tousan was swinging his sword around?”

Urahara fluttered his fan. “Yes! You inher—” He stopped. “You also have some power, so you’re able to see them. Now,” he said, “In order for you to get to Soul Society, since you can’t separate from your body, I’m going to have to use a special device on you.”

“Does it hurt?” he asked. Ichigo’s hand fell on Kazui’s shoulder and squeezed lightly.

“Not at all! The Reishi Hankan-Ki is completely painless. Though you might feel a slight tingling,” Urahara allowed. He glanced at Rukia and then Ichigo. “Shall we begin?”

Ichigo just took a deep breath and tried to relax the space between his eyebrows. Rukia looked as guilty as he felt, and he could hear Shirayuki gently berating her for that guilt. “We’re using the Kuchiki senkaimon to get back,” he said.

“Ahh. Of course, of course.” Urahara hummed under his breath. When Tessai returned from storing away their gigai, Urahara tapped his cane on the floor again. “Kuchiki-san, if you are ready?”

A hell butterfly landed on Rukia’s outstretched fingertip. “I am,” she agreed.

“Very well.” Urahara and Tessai knelt, and slowly their senkaimon and conversion device began to charge.

Ichigo was brought back suddenly to the moment he’d first seen this device, the moment when as a sixteen-year-old boy he’d put his hand to his zanpakutō and leapt into the dangai, head and heart both determined to save Rukia. Without really meaning to, his hand found her free one and she twined their fingers together and squeezed. She knew, of course, without him saying a word.

“Come back and visit soon,” Urahara said, and fluttered his fan in farewell as the gate opened.

Ichigo scooped Kazui up with one arm. “Don’t touch anything, and hold on tight,” he commanded. Kazui obediently clung to his father’s neck. Rukia let loose the butterfly and they dived in, running through the space between worlds. They ran alongside one another, sticking close. There was no sign of the cleaner, but they hurried through just the same and leapt together through the glowing doorway at the other end of the dark tunnel.

Ichigo nearly fell on his face as he skidded to a stop; Rukia, of course, landed with perfect grace.

“You are late.” Ichigo huffed out a breath at the sight of Byakuya – but Ichika was behind him, and she grabbed for her mother enthusiastically.

“Oh, Kazui’s here!” she said, and Rukia’s arms loosened. Ichika’s hair had been getting progressively lighter, and nearly a year after Ichibei’s interference had stopped, only the lowest few inches of her hair still bore the old crimson color.

Ichigo glanced at Rukia. Ichika and Kazui didn’t actually know about each other, yet. He bent to let his son climb down. “He’s going to be staying here for a little while,” the shinigami lieutenant explained as his daughter and Kazui looked at one another.

“Your hair’s different,” Kazui said bluntly.

Ichika scowled, looking so much like Ichigo in that moment that Rukia had to cover her mouth to suppress a laugh. But then: “I hate it,” she snapped. “It was supposed to be red, like Tousan’s, and now it’s orange!”

“Ichika!” Rukia frowned at her daughter as Byakuya watched impassively.

Ichigo’s heart twisted in his chest. His daughter hated having his hair color. What must she think of him? He’d abandoned her pregnant mother, and then her, for years, only to drop a bombshell on her and go back to the World of the Living to deal with Orihime, and –

Rukia’s hand found his at the same time as Zangetsu grumbled loudly, for the last fuckin’ time, none of that is your fault. And if you make it rain in here and ruin the garden Shirayuki’s going to be pissed. The absurdity of Rukia’s zanpakutō being angry over a garden in his inner world startled him out of the spiral of self-loathing he’d been going down.

“I like it,” Kazui said quietly, and ignored Ichika’s glare in response. “It looks like Tousan’s, and he has nice hair now that it’s longer.”

He actually flushed a little and reached up to run a hand through his hair. He hadn’t cut it in nearly a year, and it was getting too long in the back and starting to fall into his eyes. It felt better, though, than the crewcut-like style he’d let Orihime talk him into.

Her mouth opened to say something else, but then Ichika huffed instead. “Ichigo does have nice hair,” she admitted.

Rukia let go of Ichigo’s hand and took Kazui’s instead. “Let me show you where you’ll be staying,” she said, changing the subject, and glanced at Byakuya.

“His rooms are next to Ichika’s,” Byakuya said calmly. He shot Ichigo a meaningful look.

“Go on ahead,” Ichigo said when he caught it. “I’ll follow in a minute.” And he watched Rukia lead their daughter and his son (not his son but still his son) away.

At Byakuya’s gesture Ichigo followed him, until they were out of earshot of the guards. “The boy isn’t yours,” he said bluntly, but not unkindly. “I am aware that the Inoue girl is unwell, but I was not aware that the boy is a Quincy.”

Ichigo’s gaze was steady as he looked at Byakuya. He’d been an enemy, once, and then a grudging comrade. And now – he rolled shoulders to push the tension from them. “He’s mine, even if he’s not my blood. Just like Rukia’s no less your sister. She was neglecting him, and Ishida doesn’t have any standing, legally.”

“The Quincy is the father, then.” Byakuya looked away from Ichigo, then, across the courtyard at the sight of Rukia leading both children along the engawa. Kazui’s voice carried, asking about Ichika’s zanpakutō. “I will need to adjust the manor’s security.”

Ichigo blinked. “Ah – what?”

“If Kurotsuchi gets wind of the boy’s presence he will try to study him. The boy will be under the protection of my clan while he is here,” Byakuya said calmly.

“Thanks, Byakuya,” Ichigo said quietly. “We got held up by a hollow attack,” he said then. “There were six of them – big ones.”

Byakuya’s eyebrow twitched. “I see. I assume you’ll be reporting this.”

“Yeah. Seemed weird, that many showing up at once.”

“Hn.” Byakuya glanced at him again. “Abarai has been in Hueco Mundo for several months now. His squad should have been thinning out the hollow population.”

“How long has it been since you heard from him?” he asked.

“Two months.”

Ichigo swallowed.

Chapter Text

Rukia ushered Kazui into a large guest room two doors away from Ichika’s rooms, and the boy looked around the almost completely empty space with ill-concealed disappointment on his face. Rukia didn’t blame him; fusuma against one wall concealed storage space where she knew the futon was being kept, and there was a small pot on the shallow wooden windowsill with a tiny bonsai growing out of it, but otherwise the room was a blank slate with tatami mats on the floor and not much else.

“We’ll have to get you some things tomorrow to make this feel more like home,” she said gently as Ichika bounded into the room from behind them. “But for now, there’s a futon in here,” the shinigami explained and tapped one of the fusuma, “that you’ll sleep on for tonight. And I’m sure that Ichika will be willing to loan you some of her books. Right, Ichika?”

Her daughter huffed but smiled down at Kazui when he looked at her hopefully. “Yeah, I have lots of books you can borrow and there are toys, too.”

“Do you have Pokémon?” he asked. His hands fisted in his shirt and he looked at it, grubby and stained as it was, then at Rukia in her shihakusho and white haori and Ichika in her own, smaller version of Rukia’s hakama and kosode. “Do I need to start…dressing like that here?”

Ichika blinked at him. “What’s Pokémon?” she asked. “And this is a shinigami uniform, dummy, you don’t—”

“Ichika!” Rukia interrupted sharply, “What have I told you about calling people names?”

Her daughter just snorted. “You call Tousan names,” she pointed out. “And I’ve heard you call Ichigo an idiot.” She rested her hand on the hilt of her zanpakutō. “But I guess I shouldn’t call you that since you don’t live here and wouldn’t know,” she muttered to Kazui as a sort of apology.

He scrubbed at his shirt again. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

“Anyway, you don’t have to wear it unless you’re a shinigami or an apprentice like me. But you’ll stick out in that stuff,” Ichika continued.

“Hn. Yes, we’ll get you some things that fit,” Rukia said thoughtfully. She stiffened suddenly at the wave of anxiety she felt coming from Ichigo, the feeling along their bond tainted with guilt. Before she could ask him about it, she felt him coming closer, and soon enough his footsteps echoed along the engawa and he stepped into the room.

“Hey. Getting settled in?” he asked and rested a hand on Kazui’s shoulder. He looked down at Ichika and Rukia felt another trickle of guilt from him.

“Abarai-chan doesn’t know what Pokémon is,” Kazui reported, clearly puzzled, “and Kuchiki-san says I need new clothes.”

“The Seireitei doesn’t really have much in the way of electronics—" Ichigo started to explain.

“It’s Kuchiki-chan,” Ichika grumbled sullenly, interrupting him, and glared at her mother. “Kaasan says I can’t use Abarai anymore.”

Ichigo’s brows furrowed and he glanced at Rukia, who looked away from him. “Sometimes names do change,” he said slowly.

Kazui nodded in agreement with his father. “I have to go by Inoue Kazui now,” he said, and glanced up when Ichigo’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “Cause Tousan and Kaasan got divorced.”

The young shinigami huffed again and crossed her arms. “Well, ‘least he’s still yours. She,” and Ichika jerked her chin at Rukia, “told me that Ichigo’s my father.”

“What?” Kazui looked up at Ichigo, mouth slightly open.

Rukia suppressed a groan and saw Ichigo do the same. They hadn’t actually told Kazui about that yet, and Ichika had clearly not inherited Rukia’s sense of discretion. “We were planning to tell you, Kazui-kun,” she said, keeping her voice as gentle as she could. “But Ichika is my daughter with Ichigo.”

“You – what about Kaasan?” Kazui demanded and pulled back from Ichigo. “You said she lied to you about me, but you had Ichika the whole time? Did you lie, too?”

Ichigo scrubbed a hand over his face. “It’s – more complicated than that,” he finally said, and crouched so that he could be at Kazui’s level. “I didn’t lie,” he said firmly. “I didn’t know until last year that Ichika is my daughter, and Rukia and I never betrayed your mother.” He looked over at Ichika, whose eyes were lowered. “Ichika was already born before I even started dating Inoue. We only told her late last year, just before I told you about…everything.”

His daughter huffed again. “Why’d you have to tell anyone?” she demanded suddenly. “You chased Tousan away and he’s been gone for months now and Oji-sama won’t even tell me where he is and you ruined everything!” she cried. Before Ichigo or Rukia could move she ran from the room, the sound of her feet slapping the engawa growing more distant.

Kazui’s eyes looked suspiciously glassy and he scrubbed at them impatiently. “She’s really mad,” he mumbled. “Did you really chase away Abarai-san? Where did he go?”

Rukia just sighed. “I’ll go after her,” she said, but Ichigo rose and stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“I’ll go.” At her incredulous look the corner of Ichigo’s mouth turned up. “Just a feeling,” he said. “Will you help Kazui get settled?”

She didn’t like it, but – Ichika seemed angrier at her than at Ichigo just then. Maybe he was right. “Alright. Why don’t I help you get washed up for dinner, Kazui, and then we’ll all eat together?” Assuming Ichigo could calm down their daughter by then.

The boy looked between them but finally nodded shyly. “Okay,” he said softly. “Can I – wash my hair?”

“Of course you can,” Rukia agreed, and shot another concerned look at Ichigo.

Ichigo squeezed her forearm and dropped a kiss on Kazui’s forehead, then stepped outside.

He doubted that Ichika had gone far. She’d clearly inherited a certain amount of recklessness from him and probably learned more from Renji, but Ichigo didn’t think she’d leave the manor. Soul Society was always so saturated with reishi that it was difficult to find anyone, but Ichigo had always been able to find Rukia no matter what; Ichika was theirs, so maybe he could find her, too.

It only took a moment with his eyes closed to locate her, a ribbon that led to a sullen girl throwing pebbles into one of her uncle’s ponds. At least it wasn’t the one with the white koi. He flash-stepped to her side with ease but rather than speak, he just stood beside her and let her toss the little stones, one after the other, into the water.

“Going to make me apologize to her?” Ichika demanded when she’d tossed in the last one. “Oji-sama always makes me bow and say I’m sorry.”

Ichigo looked down at her. In the dying light from the sunset she looked so much like her mother, bright hair aside: her eyes were Rukia’s, and the stubborn set of her mouth was all hers, as well. “A forced apology isn’t much of one,” he said.

She shoved a stray bang from her face impatiently. “You sound like Nagata-sensei. And he gives me lectures about anger and trauma.”

Ah. Ichigo turned his head, taking in the pond and the beautiful courtyard surrounding it. She’d chosen a nice location for her sulking. “We hurt you,” he said gently. “Neither of us wanted to, but I understand why you’re angry.”

Ichika scoffed and looked away from him. “Why’d you have to tell everyone?” she asked again. “Kaasan and Tousan were married, why’d you have to come here and mess it all up? And then – then you just left for almost a year!”

His heart clenched and twisted. Beneath her anger he could hear her hurt. And he realized that in trying to protect Kazui, he’d hurt the daughter he’d barely gotten a chance to know. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and his lips curved a little when Ichika looked up at him, surprised. He dropped onto the soft grass, drawing his knees up towards his chest, and after a moment she joined him. “I didn’t want to mess it up,” Ichigo murmured.

“Well, you did,” she said, but there was less open rancor in her voice.

“Do you think they were happy together?” He watched her carefully. Ichigo was a doctor, but he wasn’t a pediatrician or a psychologist, and he had no idea if Ichika was even mature enough for this conversation. But it seemed better than just telling her that she couldn’t yell at Rukia.

“Hn.” She folded herself up, legs to her chest and arms wrapped over them. “They fought a lot, when they thought I couldn’t hear them,” Ichika admitted. “And they lived in the barracks, not together like my friends’ parents do. Tousan was gone a lot, like he is now. B-but they were married until you came and – and—”

He sighed. “They were. And I told Rukia that I didn’t want her to leave Renji if she loved him. I just wanted to get to know you, Ichika.”

“But she did leave him. And you’re courting her.” His daughter grubbed around for another pebble and flung it into the pond. It sailed over the water and landed in the shallows at the far edge of the body of water; she had a pretty good throwing arm.

“She did, and I am,” Ichigo acknowledged.

“Is it ‘cause of that red thread thing?”

“Aa. You see it too, then?” he asked, and at her nod, Ichigo offered a faint smile. “She and I have always been connected.”

“Always?” Ichika asked skeptically. But she rested her chin on her knees to listen.

“Yeah. Even before this lifetime, I think. Felt that way the first time she stabbed me with her zanpakutō,” Ichigo said, voice soft. He looked up at the darkening sky and closed his eyes for just a second, remembering that moment when she’d changed his entire world and gave him the power he needed to save his family – and protect a whole mountain load of people.

“Wait, she stabbed you?” Ichika asked. “Were you fighting against Soul Society or something? Weren’t you just a kid when you met Kaasan?”

He opened his eyes and grinned at her. “I wasn’t fighting Soul Society, but I was just a kid. Rukia was hunting a hollow that was hunting me, because I was already leaking reiatsu all over the place, even as a human. She got hurt and couldn’t kill the hollow – so she stabbed me with Sode no Shirayuki so that I could borrow her powers.”

Ichika was silent for a long moment, and then her head shot up as she blinked up at him, mouth dropping open. “Wait. You’re the ryoka in the story,” she accused. “And Kaasan is the shinigami?!”

Uh. “What story?” Ichigo asked, but he was pretty sure he knew the answer already. Zangetsu cackled inside him, all amusement and mirth at his wielder’s sudden dread.

“The story. Everyone knows it,” Ichika insisted. “A shinigami girl gave her powers to a human boy so that he could save his family and his friends. When the other shinigami found out, they dragged her back to the Seireitei to be executed for her crimes.”

Zangetsu snickered. Wondered if they’d turn you and the Queen into a story, he commented. Ichigo huffed softly but didn’t interrupt his daughter.

“The shinigami’s brother tried to kill the boy, but he survived because he loved her so much and got even more powerful because he wanted to rescue her. Then he broke into the Seireitei and fought everyone so that he could save her. He defeated Zaraki Taicho even though he’s one of the strongest men in the Seireitei. He almost didn’t make it!” Ichika exclaimed. “The other shinigami had already brought the girl to the execution site and they released the Sōkyoku to destroy her soul. But the boy got there just in time and he rescued her! He destroyed the Sōkyoku, and then he kissed her right there in front of everyone!”

Ichigo’s cheeks burned as his daughter finished the story and Zangetsu cackled. Further away he could feel Sode no Shirayuki laughing too, not even a little sympathetic. “That’s – not exactly how it went,” he muttered. “I didn’t get to kiss her for another two years.” He shouldn’t have been surprised that Soul Society had turned his rescue of Rukia into a story, he supposed. If he’d had time to think about it back then, the Gotei 13 must have thought he was in love, to take them all on to save her.

She snorted. “But you wanted to,” Ichika guessed.

“Well, yeah,” Ichigo mumbled, cheeks hot again. “But I was sixteen and kind of an idiot, and there was a war.”

Ichika nodded solemnly. “The story says that the ryoka boy sacrificed his powers to save us all and that he and the shinigami shared one last kiss before she disappeared.”

“That’s not how it really happened,” Ichigo said quietly. His arms tightened around his knees. “I didn’t kiss her then, either. I didn’t kiss her until we were training to defeat Yhwach.”

She hummed under her breath. “Why did you leave after telling me that I’m your kid?” she asked, changing the subject. “Kaasan just said you had to go home, and then she got the old people to let her leave Tousan.” Her expression darkened. “She was really upset after meeting with them, and so was Oji-sama. I don’t think they were very nice to her. And then you were gone for a really long time.”

He grunted. “I didn’t want to leave you, either of you. But I had to take care of things in the World of the Living before I could come back.”

“Like Kazui,” she guessed, and as Ichigo watched from the corner of his eye, she shuffled closer. His heart started to beat a little faster.

“Like Kazui,” he agreed. “I want you both to be safe and – taken care of.”

“Is he going to stay here forever?”

“Hn. Not forever,” Ichigo said quietly, and when Ichika shuffled closer again he hesitantly slid an arm around her shoulders. When she didn’t pull away immediately he let out a slow breath, trying to hide his relief. Maybe his daughter didn’t hate him. “But for a while, until we get some things sorted out.”

She huffed again. “And Tousan? He’s coming back too, right? Oji-sama won’t tell me anything.”

Ichigo’s heart lurched, but he squeezed her shoulder lightly. “He’ll be back. I’ll talk to Byakuya about seeing where he is, okay?” Don’t make me a liar, Renji, he thought. As far as he could tell there’d been a détente between the remaining espada and Soul Society since the war, but Byakuya had looked worried.

“Okay,” she said, and leaned into him. They stayed like that, watching the last of the sunset, until a servant found them and summoned them to dinner.

Ichigo and Rukia spent the night in the manor, her in her old room and him in a guest space not far from Kazui, and after breakfast Ichika’s tutor greeted them at the door. Ichigo looked over the older man carefully.

“Kurosaki-san,” Nagata said with a shallow bow. “Kazui will join Ichika’s lessons with me while he is here, and he will be free to spend time with you in the late afternoons and evenings,” he explained. “I will begin with an assessment to ascertain his skill level today, and he will be free to join you at lunch.”

Ichigo gave him a brief nod. “I’d like to talk with you about it afterwards. School is a little different in Karakura than it is here.”

“As you say, Kurosaki-san,” Nagata agreed.

Kazui looked up at him. “Wait, I’m not going with you?” he asked. His hair was freshly washed, and he wore a deep blue kimono and hakama, as well as brand new waraji. He tugged anxiously at the obi wrapped around his waist, but didn’t object to his new outfit. Ichigo silently thanked Rukia and whatever manor servant had found brand-new clothes for his son in the last twelve hours.

Ichigo bent down and ruffled his hair again. “I have to work, and Nagata-sensei is a much better teacher than I am. Maybe even better than your teachers at the school in Karakura. I’ll see you again at lunch, okay? But it’s really important that you keep up with your studies while you’re here.”

Kazui pouted a little but he nodded. “Well – if it’s me and Ichika, I guess that’s okay,” he said. The older child smiled at him a little hesitantly.

Nagata nodded to Ichigo and Rukia before urging along his charges. “Lunch will be at one, Kurosaki-san,” he called back.

“Does that mean you’re taking a half day, Kurosaki Fukutaicho?” Rukia asked teasingly when they were alone.

Ichigo grinned down at her. “I was hoping you’d consider taking some of that half day with me, Taicho. Maybe we can all have lunch together, the four of us?”

“Hm. You don’t think Kazui will mind?” Rukia’s feet were quiet as they walked along the engawa and he kept pace with her.

“I don’t think so. You’re Ichika’s mom, after all,” he reassured her. “I could take Ichika the rest of the afternoon, if you want.”

Rukia curled her arm through his. “Alright. But next time you need to ask me for permission ahead of time,” she said loftily, and squawked when Ichigo scooped her up. “Put me down, Ichigo, this is so undign—mmph!” Ichigo’s lips against hers interrupted her, and Rukia slid her arms around his neck as she deepened the kiss and pulled him closer to her.

“Thank you,” he said when they parted, and touched his forehead to hers.

“For what?” Her fingers trailed through his hair and brushed the spiky, bright-hued bangs from his eyes.

“Coming with me to get Kazui and helping him get settled. Convincing Nagata-sensei to tutor him. Oh, and kicking hollow ass and making us look cool in front of him,” Ichigo added jokingly.

Her lips curved and Rukia nuzzled his cheek. “I’m glad that I could,” she said softly.

“Maybe on their rest day you can spend some time with us, too? We can walk through the first district and show Kazui around. Maybe Ichika, too – has she been out of the Seireitei before?” Ichigo set Rukia down gently when she squirmed against him.

“I’ve taken her to several of the districts within the Rukongai,” Rukia said, patting lightly at her blushing cheeks. “And what did I tell you about manhandling me while we’re on duty?” she asked, clearly trying to preserve her dignity.

Ichigo just huffed out a laugh. “We’re not on duty until we get back to the barracks,” he pointed out.

Rukia lightly smacked his chest. “We’re going to be late unless we hurry. Come on,” she ordered, and when she slipped into shunpo he followed.

He wasn’t sure when he’d last seen the sun. Three months ago? Six? The days had blended into one another in this world of endless night. Renji sheathed Zabimaru as the hollow he’d just killed dissolved into reishi, and then hefted Maekawa back over his shoulder. The man had lost his leg above the knee and the only things holding him together were bandages and hastily cast kido.

Takedo, at least, could still fight, but his left arm was immobilized – it was broken in three places – and like Maekawa, his torso was swathed in bandages from shoulder to waist. Renji wasn’t much better; the top half of his shihakusho was gone, replaced by bloodstained bandages that wrapped around both arms and his abdomen.

“Gotta keep moving, Fukutaicho,” Takedo muttered, hand still on his zanpakutō. He looked around the barren, sandy wasteland nervously. Overhead, the endless night was lit only by a crescent moon. A hollow roared in the distance and they both winced.

Renji scrubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the feel of the scraggly beard that he’d been growing. Three of his men had fallen, taken down by a vasto lorde, but the other five members of his squad were missing. They’d been gone for more than two months, separated from him in the Forest of Menos on the same day their communications devices had been smashed by a lucky shot from an adjuchas.  Their supplies had dwindled down to nearly nothing, and neither Renji nor Takedo had the skill to get a message through to Soul Society.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “Maybe we can try the forest again. There’s gotta be something. And it’s just Renji. Not much use for titles, here.”

The other shinigami sighed, no longer bothering to disguise it. “We’ve looked everywhere but Las Noches,” Takedo pointed out, but he sheathed his blade and adjusted the pack on his shoulders. “Not that we can even find it.”

“Hn. Who knows what those damned espada are up to?” Renji muttered. He set off, following the trail that would take them back toward an entrance to the forest, the underground part of Hueco Mundo where the weaker hollows resided.

“Didn’t a couple of them ally with us during the war?” Takedo asked. “If we could get to Las Noches maybe one of them could open a garganta and get us back to Soul Society.”

The sand underfoot was cold and cutting; Renji left bloodied footprints that disappeared as the surface shifted and buried the red-stained grains. He hefted Maekawa higher on his shoulders and glanced back at his companion. “Maybe Nelliel would,” he agreed reluctantly. “No telling what Grimmjow and Hallibel would do. It wasn’t exactly a formal alliance.”

The man beside him grunted and they fell into silence as they walked together under the moon.

Renji was pretty sure they were going to die here. He didn’t mind the idea of it so much; he’d go down fighting the way he always thought he would, taking out the hollows that tried to prey on the people of the World of the Living. But – Ichika’s face flashed through his mind, hair still crimson in his memory, and he sighed. Daughter by blood or not, he missed her. And he didn’t want to break her heart by dying here, nearly alone in another world.

They walked for hours, traversing endless terrain and finding nothing – not even the sight of Las Noches in the distance. Zabimaru was only a dull hum in the deepest part of him, the zanpakutō as subdued as he was. The nue had kept its own counsel for weeks now, though it still responded whenever Renji released his blade.

“Think we’ll run into that weird shinigami that lives here?” Takedo asked after a while.

If he ever got out of Hueco Mundo, he was going to bathe in the hottest water he could find and make Rangiku buy him a pair of those soft, fleece-lined boots she always raved about. He would have bandaged his feet, but they were running low on clean bandaging. Maybe he could rip off part of his hakama to wrap his feet for a while. “Maybe,” Renji acknowledged. They were close to the underground forest again; he swore he could smell the hollows congregating beneath the sands and through the quartz crystal trees. “Rukia always wondered what happened to him.”

Here, a dimension away from his former wife, bringing her up only hurt a little. He wondered what she was doing, and if Ichigo had finally come to stay in Soul Society. That had been the rumor, before Byakuya sent him on this mission: that the savior of Soul Society was moving there and bringing his kid with him. Renji didn’t believe the part about Kazui – Ichigo’s wife was way too attached to the kid.

The ground moved, suddenly, and Takedo cried out as it gave way beneath them. Renji swore and held on tight to Maekawa as they fell through the fetid air and landed on the ground, encircled by hollows. Renji had Zabimaru unsheathed in a heartbeat and he didn’t hesitate to call, “Now roar, Zabimaru!” as Takedo released his own shikai. The nue rumbled inside and woke up, still ready for a fight after all this time.

The first swath of hollows was easy to kill: they were just fodder, creatures of limited intelligence who dissolved easily under the might of his extending blade and the lightning-fast spear that Takedo wielded. The guy had guts and Renji was grateful that he still had someone to fight alongside as a gillian-class hollow roared its anger to the unseen sky above and leapt for him. Still holding his comrade’s body over his shoulder, Renji bounded and swung Zabimaru again, the serrated edges of the long blade taking out chunks of crystal from the tall, leafless trees. He summoned up a savage grin and swung again, taking out an entire row of the creatures with one blow.

There were more, though, and Takedo fell back, closer to him, as Renji called, “Bankai! Sōō Zabimaru!” The green fur of his zanpakuto’s bankai covered him. “Hihiō Zabimaru!” he cried and the enormous arm that had become part of him swung, crashing into and crushing their enemies. Takedo’s spear darted out at any hollow that got too close, flashing silver in the dark world around them.

“There’s too damn many,” Takedo swore. “We have to cut a path out.”

“Hn.” Renji gave a nod and the arm moved again, crushing another pair of hollows. It took time, but together they cut a path out of the clearing and followed it, dodging hollows and purifying them all the while. Eventually the forest grew quieter and they slowed down, moving more cautiously through the crystal pillars.

“I think I see a cave,” Takedo said quietly. “See that shadow over there?”

“Yeah. Maybe we can hole up for a while,” Renji agreed. Maybe they could even find Kanō. He’d somehow managed to survive decades in Hueco Mundo; maybe he could help them. He adjusted his grip on Maekawa, who groaned faintly, and kept a firm hold on Zabimaru as they skulked toward the cave through the gloom of the forest.

The cave was blessedly free of hollows, and Renji breathed out a faint word of thanks. “We’ll rest in shifts,” he decreed as he and Takedo sealed their weapons and he set their injured companion down carefully toward the back of the cave. As he straightened up he realized there was something in the shadows, and he put his hand back on the hilt of his sword. The other conjured a small light made of kido as he approached it.

Kido light gleamed and bounced back off it in places, and as Renji stepped closer, he realized why. The shape resolved itself into a longhaired brown cloak and several hollow masks, separated from their former owners. He reached out a hand and pulled the cloak up quickly. There was a broken zanpakutō beneath it, the metal already disintegrating.

He bowed his head. Kanō Ashido had met his end here, months or maybe even years ago.

“What’s that?”

Renji dropped the cloak back onto the ground. “Kanō’s dead,” he said bluntly. “This must have been where he stayed when he wasn’t killing hollows.”

Takedo sighed and let his pack fall to the ground as well. “I’m going to see if I can help Maekawa,” he said.

At least he could do that much. Renji swore silently at the fact that neither of them could manage Tenteikūra; maybe they could have found the rest of the squad that way. A quick exploration of the cave showed no evidence that the other five men had ever sought shelter inside its boundaries, and as Renji looked it over he decided that this couldn’t have been Kanō’s home, for lack of a better word. Maybe there were other caves, other places in the forest where his men could be taking shelter.

They stayed in the cave for a time that Renji didn’t bother to measure. Takedo used healing kido to lessen the worst of Maekawa’s wounds and then their own; Renji took first watch and Takedo to the second. They moved on after they’d both gotten some rest.

Hours later, or maybe days, they stumbled onto a whole company of adjuchas and Renji swore as he grabbed for Zabimaru once more.

Takedo, carrying Maekawa, fell first, bloodied and with one arm nearly ripped off as he took out one last hollow with his spear. Renji swore and scrubbed blood from his eyes, the result of a wound to his temple that bled like a stuck pig. Something grabbed at his ankles and he swore again, whipping Zabimaru around to dislodge whatever had grabbed him. He took a hollow’s hands off at the wrists and cringed away from the high-pitched shriek the thing let out in response. His blade swung again and came down through the thing’s mask, purifying it and stopping its screams.

But there were more, so many more, and a set of claws dug through the muscles of his back as he spun to avoid the stinger of an upright hollow with a scorpion’s tail. Renji called for his bankai desperately but it couldn’t stop the bleeding, and he roared with pain as another adjuchas got past his guard and ripped open the skin along his ribcage. Blood dripped on the ground beneath him and spilled from his mouth, coughed up and spit out when it choked him.

The arm of his bankai swung and knocked away his enemies, but Renji swayed from the blood loss. His crimson hair fell free around him as he swung once more and collapsed, the crystal quartz pillars blurring in his vision.

As he fell, Renji saw a flash of Ichika’s face, and then nothing.

The remaining adjuchas drew closer, cautious but eager as their opponent’s bankai disappeared and left only a sealed sword. “Three shinigami,” one crowed. “Delicious.”

“I don’t want the crippled one, you can have that one,” said another.

A long, oddly shaped shadow fell over them. “I will take all three,” its owner said in a deep voice.

Chapter Text

Ichigo tied and re-tied the obi around his waist, adjusting the fit of his dark green yukata as he went. It was already July and he wasn’t looking forward to the midday heat, but he had promised to take Kazui and Ichika into the Rukongai for the afternoon. Their tutor had approved the outing on the condition that his two students write about the experience for him afterwards. He pulled a black haori on over the yukata and tugged at the front to adjust the neckline. There was a wrapped package on the desk beside him and he tucked it into the pocket of the haori before checking his hair – too long, I need a haircut, he thought – and slipping on his geta.

Rukia was waiting for him when he stepped out of his quarters and into their shared living area, radiant in a dark purple yukata embellished with a pattern of scattered blossoms. The silk obi she wore was a delicate silver hue, and when she turned, he saw that she was once again wearing his first courting gift in her hair. Her cheeks turned pink at the sight of him watching her, and she snapped, “We’re going to be late!” in a transparent attempt to take his attention away from her blushes.

“You look pretty,” he said instead of taking the bait, and watched her cheeks redden further. Ichigo touched the package in his haori lightly and took a slow breath. He hoped she liked it. “But you’re right, we’re going to be late if we don’t hurry,” he agreed and took her hand in his.

They left the barracks at a quick pace, neither of them noticing the way Sentarō, Eguchi, and three other seated officers watched them.

“It’ll happen tonight,” one claimed, but Sentarō just shook his head.

“They’re taking the kids on a trip into the first district, they won’t have a chance to do anything except chase after Ichika when she runs off the way she always does,” he claimed.

“And he’s only on the second courting gift,” Eguchi said, huffing out a frustrated breath. “Maybe we should lock them in a room together,” she mused.

“Kurosaki would destroy the building. I’ve told you what he’s like when she’s in danger,” Sentarō pointed out.

Eguchi just sighed.

Across the Seireitei, Ichigo landed in front of the gates to the Kuchiki manor a second later than Rukia. Kazui and Ichika were waiting for them in the entryway, hands held firmly by Ichika’s nanny. The older woman bowed gracefully and pulled her charges down with her. Ichika’s hair was bound in a low ponytail that looked like it had been dipped in red paint, but she was otherwise tidy enough in a pale blue yukata and low geta. Kazui’s hair was neatly parted to one side and he was clad in a yukata of a much darker blue color.

“Kuchiki-sama, Kurosaki-sama,” the nanny greeted when she straightened up. She smiled down at her charges. “Ichika-chan and Kazui-kun are ready for their outing. Will you be joining them for supper this evening when you return?”

Rukia held her hand out to Ichika, who took it a little reluctantly, and then to Kazui, who responded with far more enthusiasm and slid his hand into hers. “Yes, we’d love to join Ichika and Kazui for supper,” she agreed. “We’ll be back in the late afternoon, Ueda-san.”

Ichigo held back the sigh he wanted to expel; he’d been hoping to have dinner alone with Rukia so that he could offer his gift in private. His stomach immediately twisted with guilt at the thought – he had supper with Rukia all the time, and Kazui needed him. “Sounds great,” he agreed out loud, and offered a nod to Ueda. “Ready to go?” he asked Kazui and Ichika, who both nodded, Ichika with rather more enthusiasm.

It was a long walk to the gate into the Rukongai, and after a few minutes Ichigo and Rukia exchanged a look, one fond and the other a little mischievous. “Why don’t I carry you?” Ichigo offered. “We’ll get to the Rukongai a lot faster. I heard there’s a festival today.”

Ichika looked up at her father and then at her mother. “Can you carry us both?” she asked skeptically.

Ichigo grinned and winked at Rukia. “I can carry all three of you, but Rukia would hit me over the head with Sode no Shirayuki.”

Rukia scoffed and tossed her head, the crystals in her hair sparkling in the mid-morning sunlight. “Of course I would. I’m not a sack of potatoes!” she agreed, and smiled fondly when Ichika stifled a giggle.

His daughter already had her arms held out to be picked up, and Ichigo swept her up over one hip. “Hold on tight,” he ordered, and reached down for Kazui.

But his son pulled away. “I want Kuchiki-san to carry me,” he said quietly, teeth biting nervously at his lower lip. His foot scuffed against the packed-hard ground and he didn’t meet his father’s eyes as he said the words.

Rukia smiled gently and lifted the boy into her arms. “I’m happy to carry you, Kazui-kun. Now hold on tight. Ichigo and I can run really fast!” Kazui wrapped his arms around Rukia’s neck and she and Ichigo leapt into the air, running along the rooftops and occasionally using shunpo to reach their destination, the first northern district. The gate was open, and they ran through without trouble and into the neatly paved streets of the wealthiest district in this section of the Rukongai.

Ichigo kept his hold on Ichika with one arm as they walked through the first segment of the district, which was filled with elegant homes and neatly manicured courtyards. Rukia kept pace beside him, and his other hand fell to the small of her back, guiding her along and keeping her and Kazui close to him. It wasn’t that the district was unsafe – this close to the Seireitei walls, they were safe as could be – but Kazui had never been to a place like this before, and Ichigo liked having Rukia near him.

“Where’s the festival?” Ichika asked after a few minutes.

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Rukia assured her, looking up at her daughter. She blinked back moisture in her eyes and smiled, but Ichigo caught her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked gently and stopped in the middle of the street to tuck her a little closer.

But Rukia just laughed softly. I’m happy, she sent through their bond. Seeing you and her. “Nothing,” she promised. “Now come on, or we’ll miss the best performances!” She set off before Ichigo could stop her, and he smiled fondly.

“Kaasan really loves you,” Ichika said suddenly, and Ichigo squeezed her gently.

“Yeah,” he agreed. “And I love her, too.” Ichika burrowed close to him, and Ichigo rested his cheek against her head as he hurried to catch up with the woman he loved and his son.

It wasn’t hard to find the festival: they followed the sounds of biwas being plucked and of a crowd gathered to watch. Stalls with street food and games lined either side of the street, and Ichika sniffed appreciatively as she looked toward a nearby stall selling taiyaki.

Rukia tucked herself up against Ichigo, Kazui on her other side. “Where to first?” she asked, eyes gleaming in the sunlight. Instead of answering right away, Ichigo snuck a kiss and grinned when Rukia elbowed him in the side. Kazui stared at them and Ichigo remembered belatedly that he’d never done that with Orihime, never initiated affection or reached for her. Like she always had, Rukia sensed the sudden dip in his mood and tugged him down for a second kiss. “Fool,” she said fondly.

“Yeah, yeah. You said there were performances,” Ichigo said. “I hear a biwa – is there anything else?”

“Aa. There are some one-act plays on the western end of the festival,” Rukia explained.

“Let’s check those out, then. And then maybe some games?” he suggested. “How does that sound?” He looked up at Ichika and then over at Kazui, who nodded shyly.

Much to Ichigo and Rukia’s consternation, though, the first play – billed as a “timeless story of love and bravery” – was about them. Called The Shinigami and the Strawberry Ryoka: A Story of True Soulmates (somewhat pretentious, Ichigo thought, but not exactly wrong), Rukia’s role was played by a woman whose shape was closer to Rangiku’s than to Rukia’s own, making her flush hotly, and Ichigo’s role was played by a musclebound man in a cheap orange wig. But Ichika and Kazui watched eagerly, tucked in between their parents, as “Ichigo” and “Rukia” were attacked by a hollow who dealt the girl a near-fatal blow before she shared her powers with the boy to save him and his family.

The playwright had taken a certain amount of creative license, and when the stand-ins for Byakuya and Renji showed up on screen “Renji” was practically a parody, with hair twice as garish as the real thing. Still, he felt Ichika squirm uncomfortably beside him, and squeezed her shoulder gently.

Rukia’s rescue was dramatic and poetic, with Ichigo proclaiming his determination and love to anyone who would listen, including an actor doing a dead-on impression of Zaraki. By the time Ichigo rescued Rukia from the Sokyoku, half the Gotei was on his side and swooning as Ichigo destroyed the execution stand and gave Rukia a kiss so passionate that the audience around them erupted in appreciative whistles and claps.

Ichigo, who’d gotten a preview of the love story from Ichika, was blushing hotly when the story ended to thunderous applause with Ichigo as a hero and Rukia as his blushing bride in white, the simple white yukata of her time as a prisoner replaced with an elaborate kimono. But Rukia –

Ichigo chanced a look her way. She looked absolutely mortified, face and neck flushed a dull red and mouth covered by one hand. When Ichika tried to squirm away he kept a hand on her. “Rukia,” he said gently. “It’s just a story. They made half of it up, you know that.”

She shook her head quickly and as the audience around them began to filter out, she squeaked out, “I had no idea anyone cared about…any of that.”

“Everyone knows the story, Kaasan. Haruhi and Sadashi told me it was their favorite bedtime story.” Ichika scowled and looked up at Ichigo. “Did…did they really do that? Did they really attack you and try to have Kaasan killed?” she asked as Ichigo exchanged a frantic glance with Rukia over his daughter’s head.

“They admitted they were wrong afterwards,” Ichigo said quietly. “Sometimes people make mistakes.”

His daughter scowled, jumping up from her seat on the long bench and grabbing her mother’s hand. “I want to play a game,” she demanded, and dragged Rukia toward the booths as Ichigo picked up Kazui and followed along behind them. He found them at a darts booth a few minutes later, where Ichika was taking out her sudden irritation on a set of increasingly small targets. Like he’d observed the other day, she had a damn good arm.

She won a set of adorable blue kanzashi as a prize and insisted that Rukia help her put them on before grabbing Kazui’s hand. The younger boy blinked up at his father, confused, in the second before Ichika dragged him through the festival to another booth. She helped Kazui try his hand at throwing beanbags to earn points, and after a few games the children won a chappy that they presented to Rukia with such solemnity that she swooped in and kissed them both on their cheeks.

They had lunch after that, and far too many sweets. Ichika ate an entire taiyaki by herself, and Kazui ate sticks full of dango until his mouth was covered in sweet syrup. Ichigo was a little more moderate, but one of the vendors had chocolate mochi and he scowled when Rukia stole one from him.

“Don’t be greedy, strawberry,” she teased before biting into the soft confection.

“I haven’t had proper chocolate in months,” Ichigo complained mildly, but he offered her a second mochi when she finished the first.

They watched a second performance after lunch, this one by a musician with a shamisen who, thankfully, was not retelling any of their exploits. Kazui dozed off in Ichigo’s arms toward the end of the performance and Ichika was rubbing her eyes and scowling. “Home?” he asked Rukia, and she nodded in agreement.

Ichigo got his wish for a private moment with Rukia after all, when they returned to the manor and helped the children wash up and change. After they were tucked under light blankets for a nap – Ichika protesting that she wasn’t tired right up until the moment she started snoring – Rukia led him into one of the many courtyards within the manor. This one was a particularly calming space, full of delicately scented flowers and benches to rest on.

“At least they seem to be getting along,” Rukia murmured as Ichigo wrapped an arm around her. She settled closer, cheek rubbing against his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he agreed softly. “I’m a little worried about Ichika though – she seemed pretty upset about Renji and Byakuya.”

“Hn. All we can do is tell her what you did, I think. Say that they made a mistake and have tried to make up for it.” Rukia stifled a yawn against his haori and Ichigo pressed a kiss to her temple. The fresh air, sunlight, and too much street food had made them both a little sleepy, he guessed.

“I have something for you,” he said, and slid the package from his pocket. Like his first courting gift, Ichigo placed it on her lap.

Rukia straightened up and took the package in hand. “What is this?” she asked, turning it over in her hands curiously. It was larger than the box that had held the crystals she wore in her hair, and heavier as well. The paper wrapping was plain but of good quality.

Ichigo’s cheeks heated and he scrubbed the back of his neck, nerves fluttering even though he and Rukia had only grown closer over the past few months. “It’s my second courting gift,” he explained quietly, and watched as she unwrapped the paper and opened the box inside.

“Oh,” Rukia murmured. She looked up at him. “What made you think of these?”

The nerves in his stomach only grew worse. “Ah – your hair’s gotten so long, and you complained about your old brush getting stuck in it. I thought you might like having something better,” Ichigo said, hearing the nerves in his voice, too. “I’m sorry, I don’t know wha—mmph!”

Rukia dragged him closer and her lips pressed against his, quickly stifling his words. Ichigo looped an arm around her waist to keep her there, his other hand grabbing for the package when it nearly slipped from her lap. “I like them very much,” she murmured when they parted, breathing a little uneven. “And I accept your second courting gesture.”

Ichigo didn’t bother to stifle his sigh of relief, and he scowled when Rukia laughed at the sound. “Am I not allowed to be nervous?” he demanded. “I don’t want to screw it up!”

Another bubble of laughter escaped Rukia’s lips, but she reached up to cup his cheek and smooth the scowl away. “You’re not screwing it up,” she said gently. “Don’t worry, strawberry. I already know what I want.”

A grumble left his throat at being called strawberry, but Ichigo leaned into the touch of her hand on his cheek, eyes drifting shut. “You deserve to be courted,” he mumbled, and turned his head to kiss the center of her palm.

When he opened his eyes, her cheeks were red. “Fool,” Rukia whispered affectionately, and pulled him into another kiss.

As summer wore on, Ichigo began to visit the Fourth more often. With Rukia’s blessing he started volunteering in the station for a few hours each week, and spent another three hours a week learning from Hanatarō. “I need you to teach me the cooling kido you use,” Ichigo demanded. The relief station was pleasantly cool; he’d stopped sweating for the first time in days. Rukia, not shockingly, hated the heat and so did Sode no Shirayuki. If he could keep her office and quarters cooler, maybe she’d be a little less…strained.

Or you could just fuck her, Zangetsu suggested unhelpfully. She won’t mind the heat so much if she’s too—

Ichigo cut him off with a quiet growl as Hanatarō watched, wide-eyed. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“O-oh it’s okay!” his teacher exclaimed. “I’m not really supposed to teach this one to anyone outside the Fourth, but…”

“Please,” Ichigo begged shamelessly. “Rukia’s office is a furnace and she almost destroyed it today trying to cool it down with her zanpakutō.” He didn’t mention that he’d also walked in on her half-naked on the landing the night before, fanning herself and sipping tea from a frosted-over glass.

Again, you should have just f—

There are seven courting gifts, and none of them involve that, Ichigo interrupted. Zangetsu huffed but lapsed back into silence.

“If it will help Kuchiki-san,” Hanatarō said, still hesitating. But then a gleam came into his eyes and he nodded his head. “I will need something from you in return, Kurosaki-san.”

“Sure, fine. And it’s just Ichigo,” he reminded. He shifted on the gray floor cushion he was using,

His friend nodded again. “I need to know when you plan to give Kuchiki-san her seventh courting gift and what it will be.” When Ichigo’s brows furrowed, he said firmly, “There is a bet and I want to win it. The prize is a three week trip to the most famous cooking school in Japan.”

Ichigo’s jaw slackened and he stared at Hanatarō, mouth hanging open. “There’s a bet,” he repeated.

Hanatarō nodded eagerly. “A-huh. It’s Seireitei-wide. The Sixth is convinced someone from their division will win because you’ll have to talk to Kuchiki Taicho, and Kotsubaki-san is convinced he’ll win, because you’re in the Thirteenth.”

“What is the bet, exactly?” Ichigo demanded. He knew about the bet the Thirteenth had over when he and Rukia would sleep together, since Rukia had told him what she’d overheard, but this sounded like something else. Just how many different wagers are going on around here? he asked himself.

“When you’ll propose marriage to Kuchiki-san, of course,” Hanatarō said as if it was perfectly normal to be betting on such a thing. “Matsumoto Fukutaicho is in charge of the books. I think there are about two hundred participants so far.”

He scrubbed a hand over this face. “That’s…well I guess I’m not surprised,” Ichigo admitted. The last few days had taught him that he and Rukia were more prominent than he thought, after all. “Is it exact date or closest date?”

“Closest,” Hanatarō said, and leaned forward eagerly.

It was cheating, but – Hanatarō was his friend, he’d helped save Rukia all those years ago, and most importantly, he was going to show him how to keep Rukia from freezing the entire division. “You should wager on a proposal near—”

A ringing alarm bell cut him off, along with yelling from the main entrance to the relief station. Hanatarō sprung to his feet and Ichigo followed, running from the side room they’d been practicing in.

“Yamada! Men back from Hueco Mundo in critical condition!” Kiyone cried, and Hanatarō’s eyes widened before he hurried toward the entrance.

Renji, Ichigo thought suddenly. He stayed out of the way as members of the Fourth poured out of the doorways and into the courtyard. But though he’d traded in his stethoscope for his position in the Gotei, Ichigo ran out after them. He knew enough healing kido now that maybe he could help.

And Renji needed it: Ichigo’s heart stopped as he caught sight of his friend, barely upright as he carried one man over his shoulder and the other under one arm. The entire top half of his uniform was gone, along with his armband, and so was the left leg of his hakama. Blood poured from a wound at his temple and one eye was – Ichigo swallowed down his sudden nausea – gone. His chest was hastily bandaged but blood seeped through them in a growing stain as he struggled forward. His feet, bare, left bloodied footprints on the ground.

“First relief team, take Takedo!” Kiyone shouted, and three men separated themselves from the crowd. “Second relief team, take Maekawa.”

But Renji backed away from them suddenly as they approached, grabbing for Zabimaru with his free hand. “Don’t! I have to – have to keep them safe,” he growled low in his throat, teeth bared and hair swinging loose as he shifted his weight. “Have to get back—”

“You’re safe here,” Iemura said, voice low and soothing as he stood just out of range of the sealed zanpakutō. “It’s Iemura, remember? You’re in the Seireitei, and you’ve made it home, you’re at the relief station. Let us take care of Takedo and Maekawa now, okay?”

But Renji backed away again, his pupil pinprick-small and remaining eye wild as he swung at Iemura. “Need to get out of the forest,” he muttered to himself, and hitched Maekawa back onto his shoulder when he started to slip. Blood spilled on the ground: there was an open gash in his left arm, unbandaged.

“Abarai Fukutaicho! You are in the Seireitei, you need to let us take care of you and of Takedo-san and Maekawa-san,” Kiyone said, stepping closer. Renji took a swing at her and she jumped back, reaching for her zanpakutō.

“Roar, Zabimaru!”

This is bad, Ichigo thought, and grabbed Zangetsu’s larger blade. Hanatarō caught sight of him and signaled to Kiyone, who called back the relief teams with her. “Renji!” he called and leapt forward to block a swing of his friend’s extended blade.

But no recognition sparked in Renji’s eye, and he swung for Ichigo, sending the flexible blade of his shikai at him again. He was weak from blood loss and Ichigo blocked the second swing easily with a shower of sparks and the screech of metal as their blades met.

Baboon’s real messed up, Zangetsu commented. Ichigo huffed under his breath; he already knew that. “Come on, Renji. It’s Ichigo. Let Kiyone and Hanatarō take care of your men now, okay? They can help.”

Another swing and a shower of sparks, and Ichigo leapt into the air and backwards to avoid getting caught in Zabimaru’s looping blade. Internal injuries, Ichigo thought as Renji coughed and brought up a mouthful of blood. “Come on,” he yelled. “You’re going to kill yourself.”

He waited for Renji’s third strike and smacked away Zabimaru’s blade again, then leapt forward until he was toe to toe with the other lieutenant. “Renji, it’s me, Ichigo, remember? You’re not in Hueco Mundo,” he yelled. Renji’s mouth firmed up and he tried to swing again, tried to step back, but Ichigo was faster. He slammed the butt of Zangetsu’s hilt into Renji’s wrist hard enough to make it go numb and force him to drop Zabimaru. “Renji.”

Finally, recognition dawned in the other man’s eyes. “Ichi—?” He coughed again, spattering blood all over the front of Ichigo’s shihakusho, and slumped forward, unconscious. Not dead, not dead – please don’t be dead, Ichigo thought wildly. For Ichika’s sake please don’t be dead.

Ichigo caught the weight of all three men and his knees buckled, but he held on. “Need some help here!” he yelled, and felt more than saw the two relief teams dart forward.

Iemura and his team took Maekawa from Renji’s shoulder, loading the man onto a stretcher. Ichigo could see that his leg ended at the knee, wrapped in bloodstained bandages. Takedo, whom Gima Hamari, the division’s fourth seat, took, had bandages roughly wrapped around his torso from shoulder to chest and around most of his head. Blood was slowly soaking through the white cloth, and he was unconscious.

“Yamada, with me on Abarai Fukutaicho,” Kiyone ordered, and when Hanatarō and Kiyone carried over a stretcher Ichigo helped them lay Renji on it.

The courtyard emptied out as quickly as it filled, and Ichigo was left alone, shihakusho streaked with Renji’s blood. This is really bad, he thought, and summoned a hell butterfly. He sent it winging off to Byakuya with a message that Renji and the two other division members had returned. Then he reached for Rukia. Their bond was getting stronger, slowly, and while they still couldn’t exactly hold a conversation through their bond, it was strong enough for this. Ichigo pushed through Renji’s injured. It’s very bad and felt an answering jolt of concern. Then he turned and walked back into the relief station.

Not that he could do much: the Fourth clearly had everything under control. Iemura and his team carried Maekawa to a curtained-off area and he could hear orders that sounded mostly familiar: “Get me three bags of blood and get an IV started. Not sure how he’s still alive but we’re going to keep him that way,” Iemura growled. Then something unfamiliar: “Unwrap his leg, we need to see what’s left. Send a hell butterfly to the Twelfth, we’re going to need to regrow it.”

Takedo’s injuries were less severe, judging by the lack of yelling from behind that curtain, but Hanatarō, Isane, and Kiyone were all working on Renji. Ichigo felt Byakuya’s reiryoku before he heard the man, and when Byakuya arrived he strode unerringly to the curtain hiding Renji from view and pulled it back, demanded a report in a voice that was so strained it made the hair on the back of Ichigo’s neck stand on end. Renji, who’d regained consciousness, tried to grit his teeth and answer his superior’s questions while Hanatarō stuttered through trying to get Byakuya to leave Renji alone while he was being treated.

Well, that Ichigo could help with. “Byakuya,” he said firmly, and took the man’s arm to pull him away; the Sixth Division captain reached for the hilt of Senbonzakura before he realized just who had grabbed him and instead stared, wild-eyed, at the blood staining Ichigo’s uniform. Isane shot Ichigo a grateful look and Kiyone pulled the privacy curtain back around their work area.

“Kurosaki. I need to hear what happened to my men,” Byakuya said, voice still strained and – were his hands shaking?

“I know. But let them stabilize Renji first,” Ichigo told him. When Renji groaned in pain and Byakuya started forward Ichigo held him back, hands on the shorter man’s shoulders, and sent to Rukia, Byakuya and Renji?? along with a feeling of confusion. “Byakuya.” The older man’s eyes met his and Ichigo nearly startled backwards at the emotion in them. “Byakuya, he’ll be fine. Isane, Kiyone, and Hanatarō are really good at their jobs, remember? Renji and the men he brought back will be fine.”

If someone had asked Ichigo a year ago whether he could ever picture himself comforting Byakuya, he would have thought they’d taken a bad hit to the head. Or been given mind-altering drugs. But he grabbed a passing, unseated member of the division and demanded tea, sugared, before leading Byakuya to a waiting area.

Along the bond he felt Rukia’s answering confusion and a sense that she was getting closer. When she swept into the Fourth a few minutes later, she found Ichigo unerringly, blanching at the sight of the blood. “Ichigo! What happened to you? Where’s Renji?”

“Renji came back from Hueco Mundo with two of his men. Members of the Fourth found them and carried them in,” Ichigo explained. “Blood’s not mine, Renji uh – freaked out and I had to help the Fourth restrain him.” He stood from the chair he’d been using and led Rukia away with a hand under her elbow. He glanced at Byakuya, who was sipping tea from a plain white cup, and dropped his voice. “Your brother seems a lot more worked up than I expected. For him, I mean. I had to drag him away from Renji.”

“Byakuya nii-sama cares about Renji, but – I’ve never seen him like that either,” Rukia admitted quietly.

They waited together, draining Isane Kotetsu was covered in Renji’s blood when she stepped around the privacy curtain. “Abarai Fukutaicho is stable,” she reported quietly. “But he must rest. Among his other injuries, his reiryoku is significantly depleted. Kuchiki Taicho – Byakuya-san – a report from your lieutenant will have to wait.”

The captain in question grunted under his breath but Ichigo could see some of the tension leaving his body. “And the other men from my division? I am told that Abarai returned with two.”

“Yes. Iemura and Gima have been working on them. Maekawa will be our guest until we can work with the Twelfth to restore his leg; he is still too unstable for the procedures needed,” Isane explained.

“Only two,” Byakuya murmured, and Rukia and Ichigo exchanged a look. “Abarai left with a squad of ten men.” He focused on Isane. “You will contact me the minute any of the three of them are able to make a report. I must know what happened, and the location of the other eight men in his squad.”

Byakuya strode from the relief station before anyone could object, leaving Rukia and her lieutenant. Isane smiled wearily at the pair of them. “I am sorry, Kurosaki-san, but Third Seat Yamada will need to continue your kido lessons at another time. He is still working on Abarai-san.”

Ichigo just nodded. “Yeah, not a problem, Kotetsu Taicho.” He glanced at the curtain hiding Renji from sight. “When do you think Ichika will be able to come see him? Renji’s been gone for months now and I know she misses him.”

“I’ll send a note when he is stable enough for Ichika to visit,” Isane agreed.

Ichigo and Rukia left the relief station a few minutes later.

“I’m going to see Ichika,” Rukia said quietly. “Before she finds out from someone else.”

Ichigo nodded, once, and caught her hand up in his. “I’m going to get cleaned up. I’ll keep an eye on things at the division. I’ll let you know if I hear anything from Hanatarō or Captain Kotetsu,” he reassured her. She looked lost for a moment, and Ichigo, never one for protocol anyway, tugged her closer. “Hey – what’s that look on your face?”

“What look?” Rukia’s voice was casual, but she wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.

“The guilty one,” Ichigo guessed. “Like I told Byakuya, Renji will be fine. He has three officers, including the captain, working on him.”

 “But if we hadn’t—”

Ichigo sighed. “Weren’t you the one who told me that your brother kept sending Renji on months long missions so that he rarely saw you?”

“Yes, but—”

Ichigo squeezed Rukia’s hand and sent a wave of comfort through their bond, then leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Go see Ichika,” he urged. “Worry about the rest one step at a time.”

Rukia’s eyes shined up at him, and she turned, disappearing into flash-step.

Ichigo turned in the other direction and flash-stepped back to the Thirteenth after one last backward glance at the relief station.

Fortunately for Rukia’s peace of mind, Ichigo had solidified his “in” with the Fourth Division despite destroying Isane Kotetsu’s courtyard a year ago. Meeting with Hanatarō on a regular basis to learn healing kido was part of that; he imagined it also helped that unlike members of some of the other divisions, Ichigo respected the Fourth and had medical training of his own.

As a result, when Renji was stable enough four days later to begin accepting visitors, a messenger from the Fourth found Ichigo while he was observing a batch of very new, very green recruits. Ichigo leapt from his perch on the high wall surrounding the training grounds. Finding Rukia was now the work of no more than a second’s concentration, and he strode into her office a moment later. Sentarō was there giving a report, and Ichigo waited for the other man to take a breath.

“Captain, message from the Fourth,” he announced after rapping on the wooden frame of the door.

Rukia’s gaze met his. “Excuse us a moment, Sentarō,” she requested, and stood, following Ichigo out of her office and into the hallway. “Well?”

“Renji’s awake and stable. Hanatarō says Ichika can see him. Your brother is already there, apparently.”

Rukia’s shoulders slumped in relief and she didn’t object when Ichigo’s hand squeezed hers gently. “I have meetings until mid-afternoon,” she said after a moment. “Do you think—”

“I can take Ichika for a visit,” Ichigo offered. He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. He hadn’t seen Renji since before he moved to Soul Society permanently, other than stopping him from wrecking the Fourth a few days ago.

“Please,” Rukia murmured. “She’s been very worried.”

A thread of jealousy slid through Ichigo and he tamped it down ruthlessly. “Yeah. You get back to Sentarō, I’ll go over to the manor now and spring Ichika from her tutor. It’ll give me a chance to spend some time with her.”

Ichigo arrived at the manor a few minutes later. The servants were used to his comings and goings, and he found his way to the room Ichika and her tutor used for academic instruction. He rapped on the door and Nagata looked up. He was an elderly-looking and refined man, who to Ichigo bore a vague resemblance to an owl. Ichika’s head shot up from her book and so did Kazui’s, both of them looking at him curiously.

“Yes, Kurosaki-san?”

“Nagata-san, I need to borrow Ichika for a little while,” Ichigo said carefully.

Ichika stood quickly. “Is it Tousan?” she asked before Nagata could reply.

“Ichika, I did not give you permission to leave,” Nagata cut in.

Ichika groaned, but sank back into her seat. “Please, may I go with Kurosaki Fukutaicho?” she asked politely.

Nagata looked toward Ichigo again. “I take it this is important, Lieutenant?” he asked. Ichigo was reminded suddenly of a professor who, during his first year of university, was much more difficult to fool whenever Ichigo tried to slip out of class to handle a hollow.

“Yeah. She’s needed in the Fourth Division.”

“What about me?” Kazui asked, and Ichigo cleared his throat uneasily.

“Just Ichika for now, Kaz. But I’ll come have dinner with you tonight, okay?” His son nodded, a little sullen about the mouth – but the last thing Renji needed was two little kids running around his hospital bed.

“Very well. Ichika, we will continue this lesson when you have returned,” Nagata announced and waved a hand in dismissal. Ichika jumped out of her chair and followed Ichigo when he started the walk back to the manor gates.

“Is it Tousan?” Ichika asked as they hurried along the engawa.

“Yeah. He’s awake and we’re going to visit him now,” Ichigo explained. He stopped and turned as Ichika came to a halt beside him. He crouched down so that he was closer to her height. “How much did your mother tell you?” he asked seriously.

Ichika frowned. “She said that he had been in Hueco Mundo and that he was hurt,” she said.

“Hn. Ichika, Renji was hurt very badly. He brought back two of his squad members, but when he returned from Hueco Mundo four days ago the other eight were still missing. So, he may not be his usual self, okay?” She nodded, and Ichigo straightened up. “Do you know how to use shunpo yet?”

“No. Kaasan refuses to teach me and Nagata-sensei says I have to wait until I join the Academy in a few years.” Ichika scowled, and she looked so much like Karin in that moment that Ichigo had to try very hard to hold back a laugh.

“Alright. We’ll have to walk, then.” Ichigo kept his strides shorter to match the much smaller girl’s, and they moved slowly from the manor toward the Fourth Division’s relief station. It was an awfully slow walk, and finally Ichika looked up at him.

“This would probably be a lot faster if you carried me,” she admitted.

Ichigo stopped and took a deep breath. She’d let him carry her earlier in the summer, when they’d gone to the festival, but she’d seemed a little standoffish since, and with Renji… “If that’s alright with you, Ichika,” he said quietly.

Her eyes were soft – so much like Rukia’s and his at the same time – as she looked up at him. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Hn. Climb up on my back then,” Ichigo offered, and crouched. She scrabbled up onto his shoulders and Ichigo straightened as her short, skinny legs tried to hitch around his waist. Ichigo caught her under the knees with his arms to stabilize her. “Hold on tight, okay?”

“I am.”

Ichigo set off at a much quicker pace, giving her a piggyback ride through the Seireitei. Ichika laughed behind him, and Ichigo couldn’t resist a little grin at the sound, despite how fragile things still seemed between him and his daughter. “Having fun?” he asked, and sped up. The answer he received was another giggle, and quite a few shinigami stared at them as they ran by.

When Ichigo reached the relief station he crouched down again, and Ichika climbed off. “Where’s Kaasan?” she asked. “Is she with Tousan?”

“Ah.” Ichigo scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Rukia is in meetings until late tonight. She asked me to bring you here, though.”

Ichika frowned and stared at the door of the relief station, then looked up at him again. “Oyaji,” she said quietly.

Ichigo went still, only the bob of his Adam’s apple betraying him as he swallowed, hard. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Can I call you that?” his daughter asked.

A nod. It was all he could manage.

“Oyaji, will…will you come in with me?”

The question sent a sharp little pain through his heart, and Ichigo let a hand fall to her shoulder. “Yeah, of course I will.”

They walked into the building together, and one of the unseated division members directed them to a small, private room at the end of a corridor. The door was open and Ichigo’s arm came up quickly, the sleeve of his uniform blocking her view. He looked inside quickly before he lowered his arm. “You have to be gentle,” he said in a low voice. “Renji is still banged up.”

Ichika nodded solemnly, but she still ran forward more quickly than Ichigo would have liked. He stepped inside after her and shut the door.

Renji was lying flat on the hospital bed, bandages wrapped around his head and one of his eyes. There were more bandages around his arms and chest, and Ichigo was sure that there were plenty more beneath the blankets.

“Tousan!” Ichika’s voice rang through the little room, and Ichigo gently grabbed her by the shoulder before she could leap on Renji.

“Remember what I just said about being gentle, Ichika,” he said, as Renji turned his head to look at them out of his good eye.

“’Chika,” the crimson-haired man rasped. His eye rolled up to look at Ichigo. “You brought her? I thought—”

Ichigo just frowned at him. “Yeah, I did. Rukia’s got meetings.” He looked Renji over carefully. “Here, Ichika, I’ll get you a chair.”

“Oyaji says you were hurt really bad,” Ichika announced, and sat down on the hard-backed chair when Ichigo set it behind her. She swung her legs, which were too short for her feet to reach the floor, and her hands pushed against the hard seat.

“Yeah,” Renji grumbled, and glanced up at Ichigo again. “But I’ll be fine. The Fourth Division will have me good as new soon.”

“Good! I need to show you what I can do with Shiragetsu. It’s really cool.”

Ichigo caught the wince even if Ichika didn’t, and he said, “You’ll have to heal up a bit more first. Byakuya come to see you yet?”

Renji shook his head minutely. “Nah. Kind of surprised really, he’d usually be here demanding a mission report by now.”

“The report from the Fourth said he was here, and he showed up when you were brought in,” Ichigo said carefully. “He seemed very concerned about you and your men.”

Renji barked a laugh and then winced. “Don’t make me laugh, you—” he glanced at Ichika and finished, “it hurts.”

Ichigo just shrugged. “He seemed freaked out. Kind of weird, actually – I haven’t seen him that worked up since the war. How’d you get out of Hueco Mundo, anyway?”

“Nel,” Renji said quietly. “She uh – tried to heal me up a little, enough to get me upright, and sent me through a garganta.”

Ichika was watching them, curious, and Ichigo patted her shoulder lightly. “I’ll be outside, okay? I’m going to talk to one of the squad members about Renji’s condition.” He shut the door behind him as he left and flagged down Hanatarō.

Chapter Text

“Thank you for doing this, Arisawa-san,” Uryuu said quietly. He checked his watch; Orihime’s therapy appointment was due to begin in less than fifteen minutes and they were still waiting outside her door.

Tatsuki huffed under her breath. “You can’t call me Tatsuki, after all this time?” she asked, and smirked when Uryuu’s cheeks turned slightly pink. “Orihime’s my friend; of course I’ll help get her to therapy.”

The door slid open hesitantly and the woman in question stood before them, hair cut in a short bob and a pink dress covering her. She wasn’t wearing shoes – not a good sign. “Tatsuki-chan, Ishida-kun,” she greeted, voice high and sweet.

“Orihime,” Uryuu greeted. “Tatsuki’s car is downstairs; why don’t you get your purse and put your shoes on so that we can get to your appointment?” When he glanced past his onetime lover he could see that her apartment was untidy again; they still, he supposed, had work to do. But she’d clearly gone to the hairdresser the way Tatsuki had suggested when Orihime kept her jagged, self-cut style for nearly two months; someone had fixed up her hair and it was sleek and neat.

“O-oh, I’m not feeling that well today,” Orihime said softly as she glanced down at her feet.

“You look fine,” Tatsuki said implacably. “And your doctor charges a huge cancellation fee. Put your shoes on and let’s go, Orihime.” She held the door open with her foot while her friend reluctantly picked up her purse and slipped into a pair of white pull-on shoes. “Come on, before we’re late. Uryuu has a shift and I have to get to work after I drop you both off at the hospital.”

In the two months since Ichigo had taken Kazui to Soul Society, they’d come up with a simple plan to get Orihime back on her feet: get her to see a counselor, and make sure she couldn’t skip out on appointments, which she’d done the first few weeks. “Yes, Tatsuki-chan,” Orihime said softly, and followed them to the elevator and then out to the little white car parked just in front of her apartment building.

“Will you be okay getting to the bakery on your own afterwards?” Uryuu asked as he opened the rear passenger door to let her climb in. “I know it’s your first day working there again.”

“Aa. I’ll be okay. There’s a bus route that runs from the hospital right past the bakery,” Orihime reported. “And I have the prepaid card you gave me to pay the fare.”

Tatsuki put the car in gear as soon as Uryuu and Orihime were situated. “If you have a problem just call me,” she instructed. “I can have one of the apprentice teachers take over, or I’ll call Chad and have him come get you. He doesn’t have classes this afternoon.”

Uryuu hummed under his breath. Chad had just started his coursework for his master’s program; Uryuu wondered how he was getting on, since he hadn’t been in school in more than six years. He needed to call his old friend and check on him.

The streets of Karakura flew by quickly as Tatsuki took the fastest route to the hospital where Uryuu worked and Orihime had her twice-weekly therapy appointments. He checked his watch again; they were going to get there right on time, assuming they didn’t hit any traffic.

They pulled up to the front of the hospital and Uryuu got out first, helping Orihime out of the back seat. “Thanks, Tatsuki,” he called, and their friend waved a hand before she pulled out of the way and headed off to the dojo. “Come on, Inoue-san,” he said gently as he adjusted his glasses and the grip on his messenger bag. “We don’t want to be late.”

“Yes, Ishida-kun,” Orihime said. She walked alongside him, his hand at her elbow, through the automatic glass doors. This was part of the routine as well: Uryuu walked her to her therapist’s office so that she didn’t get lost. “When will I get to see Kazui-kun again? When is Ichigo coming back?” They passed the glassed-in gift shop, where balloon floated and teddy bears with “get well soon” inscribed in kanji mingled with overpriced fruit and last-minute bouquets.

Ah. Uryuu stifled a sigh; even after several therapy appointments she hadn’t let go of the belief that his cousin – and her ex-husband – was going to come back to her. “That depends on what your doctor says, remember Inoue-san? You need to be able to take care of yourself so that you can take care of Kazui.”

“But I’m feeling much better already!” Orihime pointed out.

“I know, and that’s great,” Uryuu enthused as they passed an elderly woman using a walker. “But remember what your doctor said. Being stable financially and emotionally is the best way you can help Kazui right now.”

She made a face, but didn’t object when Uryuu ushered her into the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor. They turned right out of the elevator and Uryuu held open a plain wooden door that led into the waiting room. “I’ll sign you in, Inoue-san, and then I have to get to work.”

Orihime sat down on one of the hard plastic chairs and nodded. “Have a good day, Ishida-kun,” she said. He patted her shoulder lightly and spoke to the receptionist briefly, then left her in the nondescript waiting room and hurried to the men’s locker room. He still needed to put his belongings away and pull on his white coat; coaxing Orihime out of her apartment meant he was probably going to be a few minutes late for his first appointment.

It couldn’t be helped, he supposed.

Elsewhere in Karakura, a man asked, “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Kurosaki-san?”

The false sun beat down on the top of her head, made worse by her dark hair, but Karin just stared down Urahara. “I’m sure,” she said flatly. “You promised to help me become a shinigami like my brother.”

Urahara tipped up his striped hat and looked at her over the top of his ever-present fan. They were in the basement of the shop, the vast expanse of open land spread around them. Ururu was nearby; she looked like she was in her early twenties, like Karin did, and she’d easily hauled buckets of water and other supplies down the ladder into the basement. “Ichigo was a special case,” he pointed out. “His determination to save Kuchiki-san was what helped him become a shinigami. There are easier ways than this, Kurosaki-san. Less painful ways.”

She shrugged. “Those mean I might forget everything, and that I can’t come back to Karakura. Yuzu’s off to Australia for a couple years but she’ll be back. I want to be able to visit my sister.”

The fan fluttered once more. “Well, if that’s what you want, Kurosaki-san. But this is risky. If you fail, you’ll turn into a hollow.”

The hatch into the basement opened and they both turned at the feel of a distinctly familiar reiatsu as a slender but built, white-haired man dropped from the ladder and landed on the ground before them with a puff of brown dust. Karin waved the sand and debris away. “Tōshirō?” she asked, eyes widening at the sight of him.

Even though she’d seen him a few times after he’d gotten the hang of his adult form (just a few. Cross-dimensional relationships were hard), Karin was still startled by the way he looked. He was in soul form, and his lanky body was in the shihakusho and long, white haori representing his captain status. His white hair hung messily in his face, spiky bangs nearly covering one cerulean eye. “Your brother told me what you’re up to,” he said without preamble or so much as a greeting.

“Here to stop me?” Karin tossed her hair back and looked up at him. He was tall in this form.

Tōshirō huffed out a breath. “Give us a minute?” he asked Urahara without looking at him.

Urahara’s fan fluttered suggestively. “Of course, Hitsugaya Taicho. Ururu, I think I left a piece of training equipment in the shop. Will you help me locate it?”

“Ah…” Then the young woman glanced at Karin and Tōshirō, and nodded quickly. “Of course, Urahara-san,” she said quietly. They climbed up the ladder, one after the other, leaving the young couple alone in the enormous basement.

“Well? Are you here to stop me?” Karin challenged.

Tōshirō took in her appearance, body and soul still bound together and a mulish set to her jawline. And he laughed, shaking his head helplessly. “There wouldn’t be any point. You’re just like your brother when you’ve got your mind set on something, Karin.” He stepped closer to her and held his hand out. She took it, and flushed faintly when he tugged her against him. “Kyoraku Soutaicho gave me leave – I’m not here to stop you, I’m here to help train you.”

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Soul Society’s sanctioning this? I thought we needed to keep it under wraps.”

“Not this time. Being the sister of the man who saved everyone and got a raw deal from Zero Division counts for something, apparently,” Tōshirō explained. And then he glanced away, a faint flush on his cheeks. “I put in a word for you, too.”

“Did you?” Karin asked, and fisted one hand in his haori. “Why’s that?”

“Might have something to do with wanting to see you more often,” Tōshirō admitted reluctantly. Then he closed the distance between them, lowered his head, and pressed his lips to hers, cool and soft. She’d grown, but so had he, and he was a full head taller than her now.

Karin hummed under her breath and draped her arms around his neck to keep him close. “So, you’re going to train me,” she said, and snickered when his entire face turned a dull red.

“Are you finished making out?” Ururu called hesitantly from above, and Karin’s cheeks turned as red as her boyfriend’s. “Urahara-san wants to know if he should make a pot of tea while he waits.”

Karin scuffed her foot on the ground. “Yeah, you can come back down,” she called. There would be time to make out with Tōshirō later, she hoped. “You’re not planning on staying here at the shop, are you? Yuzu and I have an apartment now, you can stay with us.”

He turned red again as Ururu and Urahara climbed back down the ladder. “Yuzu won’t mind?” he asked.

“Nah. She likes you,” Karin said with a shrug. “And she’s moving out in a few weeks anyway, she’s going to Australia for two years.”

“…Australia.”

“Let’s begin!” Urahara called before Karin could explain, and swung his cane towards her forehead. At a glare from Tōshirō he softened the blow, tapping her lightly and pushing her from her body. “One last time, Kurosaki-san: you’re certain about this?”

Karin looked down at the silver-gray chain that led from the center of her chest to her body a few feet away. It was lying unnaturally still, like a puppet with cut strings. “I’m sure,” she agreed.

Urahara nodded solemnly and, with a single blow, severed her soul chain.

In short order, she was in the same pit that her brother had been consigned to so many years before, little mouths eating at the broken chain of her soul while a strong bakudo bound her arms.

Up above, Hitsugaya kept one hand on the pommel of his sealed zanpakutō and a measured glare on Urahara. “You’d better not let her become a hollow,” he said darkly.

Urahara closed his fan and looked at Hitsugaya out of his good eye. “That’s up to Kurosaki-san now,” he said quietly. “But I think she has enough motivation to succeed.” More cheerfully, he added, “Perhaps you should cheer her on. Would you like my fan?”

Tōshirō rolled his eyes but stepped closer to the pit. He should have brought Matsumoto with him – she knew how to cheer. He just knew how to worry.

Fortunately for Karin, and for Urahara, since Tōshirō might have killed him otherwise, she was just as stubborn as her brother. She had the advantage of being older, as well, and without the trauma of having her powers taken from her. Still, as Urahara quietly explained that Karin had seventy-two hours to become a shinigami or perish, Tōshirō paced around the shaft and chased Jinta away when he tried to taunt her.

Below, in the shaft, Karin panted as her soul chain devoured itself. It hurt, and she could barely breathe through the pain. But Ichigo had done this at sixteen, desperate to save Rukia, and Karin could feel Tōshirō waiting for her at the lip of the pit. She could hear him, too, calling for her and telling her that he believed in her. But damn, it hurt. She had no idea how much time had passed, here in the darkness; she didn’t feel hungry or thirsty, and she didn’t really need to sleep, either.

Karin, a voice said quietly. The voice was unfamiliar; it wasn’t Tōshirō, or anyone from the shoten. Karin, it repeated.

Suddenly, she was elsewhere. Green grass spread out around her and the air smelled faintly of petrichor. Fog clouded her vision, and Karin stepped forward hesitantly. What had happened to the pit? Where were Tōshirō and Urahara?

“You are still in the pit,” the voice explained, alto and not unkind in tone. Karin turned. She squinted through the fog at a figure shrouded by the mists.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

A soft chuckle echoed. “You know my name, Karin. You always have.” A blast of wind cleared the fog away for a moment and a woman stood before her, clad in a set of white monpe and a crimson suikan. The bright sleeves of the suikan were tied back with brilliant white fabric. She was taller than Karin, dark eyed and with crimson hair that tumbled down her back. “Say it,” she demanded. “Say it, before your ice dragon is forced to kill you.”

“Moeruryū,” Karin murmured, and the world exploded. In Urahara’s basement, a blast sent both Tōshirō and Urahara flying away from the pit. Tōshirō was up in a heartbeat, bounding from the dirt back to the pit. As the dust cleared, Karin stood grinning, black shihakusho wrapped around her body and a slender blade in her hand.

“Wow, she looks really hot in that uniform,” Jinta said from somewhere behind Tōshirō. His eye twitched but Urahara was faster, smacking the boy in the back of the head.

He wasn’t wrong, though. Tōshirō stepped closer and grinned down at her. “Show me,” he said, and pulled his blade as Hyōrinmaru rumbled with interest.

Karin smirked and glanced down at her katana. “Flare, Moeruryū,” she said, and fire covered her blade.

“So, Ichigo, today’s the day,” Urahara said more than a week later as the doors to the shop opened. The day was bright and sunny, and the trip through the senkaimon had been easy even with Kazui holding onto him.

Ichigo set Kazui down carefully and scrubbed a hand through hair that was nearly to his shoulders. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We wanted to see Yuzu off, and maybe see if…” He glanced meaningfully down at Kazui.

Urahara glanced at the younger man over the edge of his fan. “I don’t think it’s time yet,” he said quietly.

Ah. Ichigo squeezed Kazui’s hand gently, and on his other side Rukia’s hand found his forearm. “Well, at least we’ll say goodbye to Yuzu at the airport then,” he decided.

The shoten was the same as always, faintly decrepit looking and full of merchandise almost no one needed. It was full of gigai, too, and Urahara had theirs ready. Kazui didn’t need one, of course, but Ichigo and Rukia slipped into false bodies appropriately dressed for a sunny August afternoon. The shop had no air conditioning, and Ichigo started to sweat immediately, but he and Rukia waved goodbye to Urahara and accepted the set of keys he handed over.

“Give this to your sister as well,” Urahara ordered and handed over a slim phone and charger. “Tell her to be very careful with it.”

“A cell phone?” Ichigo asked.

“She’ll be able to reach you in Soul Society,” the former captain explained, “and call Karin-chan without expensive international charges. It’s a special model, so she’d better not lose it. Don’t worry, it doesn’t send hollow alerts. This is the number to call the phone.” He handed over a slip of paper as well.

Ichigo wondered just how much guilt Urahara still felt. But he took the phone and nodded. “Thanks, Kisuke. I’ll make sure she knows to be careful with it.”

Urahara had somehow arranged for a rental car so that they could take Yuzu to the airport, and it was a big car, by his standards: a dark blue hatchback with a third row of seats and a booster seat already in place for Kazui.

“This is a nice car,” Rukia observed as Ichigo unlocked the doors.

“Yeah. Come on, Yuzu’s plane takes off in just a few hours and the airport’s an hour away.”

“Why wouldn’t we just take the – train, is it?” she asked, but climbed – with some difficulty – into the passenger seat while Ichigo lifted Kazui into the booster seat and helped him fasten the buckles.

“Because we’re a big group,” Ichigo explained, “and Yuzu has a lot of luggage.” He got into the driver’s seat and buckled his own seatbelt. “You need to buckle up. See that strap?” he pointed out as Rukia’s brow furrowed in slight confusion. He’d forgotten that she’d really never ridden in a car before; it wasn’t like he could drive back when he was a teenager, and then Rukia had only been back to Karakura once after she’d gotten married.

He pushed that thought aside, sharply, when he felt Rukia’s concern through their bond. She reached over and squeezed his hand gently before buckling herself in the way he’d instructed. Ichigo put the car in gear and they drove in silence to Yuzu and Karin’s apartment.

“Am I going to see Kaasan while we’re in Karakura?” Kazui asked from the seat behind him. Ichigo exchanged a look with Rukia and he waited to answer until they stopped at a red light.

“She’s sick,” Ichigo fibbed, “But maybe next time, okay Kaz? Today we need to see Yuzu off at the airport in Tokyo, and then have dinner with Karin and Hitsugaya.” He saw Kazui make a face in the rearview mirror, but he didn’t object.

Yuzu, Karin, and Tōshirō were already waiting for them in front of the apartment building; Yuzu had two enormous suitcases with her, plus a backpack that looked filled to the brim.

“Ichi-nii!” she called when Ichigo parked the car and got out to help her load her luggage. She threw her arms around him and Ichigo ruffled her hair gently.

“Hey, Yuzu. You ready to go?”

She nodded quickly. “I have my tickets and passport, and lots of snacks,” Yuzu recited.

“And enough luggage for six years,” Karin added. She smirked when her twin pouted. “I had to make her take stuff out of her suitcases so the airline doesn’t charge her a million yen in overage fees.”

“Karin!” Yuzu whined. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Ichigo smirked as his sisters bickered, and nodded to Tōshirō in greeting. “Tōshirō. Enjoying your posting in Karakura?”

His fellow shinigami made a face at him, but when he glanced at Karin his expression softened. “The training is going well. I have a report about your division member, however,” Tōshirō added, and Ichigo huffed out a breath in annoyance.

“Yeah? Everyone hates the Karakura posting. Come on you two, we need to load the luggage and get to the airport,” Ichigo said to Karin and Yuzu. Then he glanced at the car. “Don’t say anything about Inoue to Kazui; he thinks she’s sick today.” He received cautious nods from Tōshirō and Yuzu and a more skeptical look from Karin, but she just shrugged. Ichigo tapped a button just above the license plate on the back of the rental car and the hatchback rose, revealing the storage area behind the third row of seats.

He could hear Rukia and Kazui chatting as he picked up Yuzu’s first suitcase and grunted at the weight. It was something about whether Ichigo could be persuaded to buy ice cream or mochi on the trip back to Soul Society. He grinned and listened as he loaded the first suitcase, but he must have lingered a little too long, because Karin poked him in the side, hard, and muttered, “Stop mooning over Rukia-nee and get the other bag.”

Even with that delay, Yuzu’s luggage was loaded in just a couple of minutes. Ichigo slammed the trunk shut and they clambered into the car, Yuzu sitting next to Kazui and Karin and Tōshirō taking the third row. He could hear Karin explaining how a seatbelt worked to Tōshirō, and Ichigo waited until he heard the belt click before putting the car back into gear.

The drive to the airport was longer than Ichigo expected; he should have anticipated the rush hour traffic they’d be driving through for Yuzu’s overnight flight. “At least we left plenty of time,” he muttered. Yuzu would still be at the airport with plenty of time to check in her luggage and get settled.

Beside him, Rukia fiddled with the buttons on the console and a piercing screech came out of the speakers until Ichigo pushed the volume button on the steering wheel. “Isn’t this supposed to play music?” she demanded when the rest of the family had uncovered their ears.

“Yeah, but you need to pick the right radio station,” Ichigo explained. “Here, let me.” He reached over and pressed buttons until a much more melodious tune came out of the speakers, and increased the volume. “Better?”

“Taylor Swift, Ichi-nii?” Karin whined from the back seat, and Ichigo rolled his eyes good-naturedly before pushing another button.

A burst of a melody from an electric guitar left the speakers and Karin crowed, “I love this song,” so Ichigo left Ichirin no Hana on. He grumbled about the fact that it was on a station for so-called “older rock music”, but when Rukia started bobbing her head in time to the drum beat he laughed faintly and turned the volume up a little more.

They reached the airport eventually, waiting in a line of cars as Yuzu consulted her ticket and called out, “terminal X” when her airline name came up on the boards. Ichigo turned into the parking lot for that terminal, and once he parked, the minivan disgorged all six of its occupants and the luggage in a flurry of opening doors and giant suitcases.

At his insistence, Rukia carried Kazui as they walked from the parking lot, across a footbridge, and into the airport terminal. The sun hadn’t quite set yet, and the airport gleamed in the remaining sunlight as Yuzu checked her ticket again and led her family in a procession to the correct ticket counter.

“Ah, I’m sorry Kurosaki-san, but your family won’t be able to go past the security checkpoint with you since they are not ticketed customers,” the employee of All Nippon Airways said apologetically. She smiled kindly at the small group as she weighed Yuzu’s luggage, attached tags to each suitcase, and checked Yuzu’s passport.

Yuzu’s smile was a touch tremulous, but she nodded firmly. “We’ll say our goodbyes here, then,” she agreed. “Thank you.”

“Have a safe flight, Kurosaki-san,” the employee said politely, and the group moved away to let other customers check in.

There was a little café near the security screening area, and they gathered there, buying too-expensive water and juice boxes for Kazui – and Rukia, who grinned up at Ichigo when he scowled and offered him her box. “Will you open this?” she asked.

“I already showed you how to do that,” Ichigo scoffed, but he still took the box and poked the straw through the foil, stealing a sip before he handed it back to her. He did the same for Kazui without complaint – and without sipping from it.

“I can’t believe you’re really going to Australia for two years,” Karin said, ruffling Yuzu’s hair as her sister whined a complaint.

“I can’t either! But the agency has a job waiting for me in Canberra,” Yuzu replied enthusiastically. “I have a whole rental house, too, with two other roommates. We’ve been exchanging emails.”

“Where are they from?” Ichigo asked.

“One of the other nurses is coming all the way to Canberra from England, and the other is from this town called Fargo, in the United States,” Yuzu explained. Then she lowered her voice to add, “I think I’ll be doing most of the cooking. We’ve had a few video calls and I don’t think they’re very good at it.”

Tōshirō snorted in amusement as Ichigo dug in his pockets and produced the special phone from Urahara and its charger. “Before I forget – this is from Hat ‘n Clogs.” He held them out for Yuzu to take, and she looked them over curiously.

“A cell phone?”

“You’ll be able to reach me wherever you are, and wherever I am,” Ichigo explained, keeping his voice low. “My number’s already pre-programmed in, and so are Karin and Rukia’s, if you can’t reach me.”

Tōshirō’s white eyebrows arched up toward his hairline. “You got that from Urahara?” he asked. “Kurotsuchi hates letting anyone outside of the Twelfth get their hands on denreishinki with that kind of range.”

Ichigo shrugged. There was some advantage to the fact that Urahara seemed to feel guilty. But all he said was, “She’s my sister. Guess they didn’t want me haring off to Australia if I thought something was wrong.”

“Yes, you’d probably cause an international incident,” Rukia joked, and sipped loudly on her straw while Ichigo glared at her.

“I’ve grown up a little!” he protested as Karin and Tōshirō laughed.

“It’s okay, Ichi-nii,” Yuzu said, and elbowed Karin in the side. “I know you worry about me.”

He just huffed.

The group chatted for a little while longer, but the security line was long and so was the walk to the gate. “I’d better get going,” Yuzu finally said. “I don’t want to miss my flight.” She was the first to stand, but they all climbed reluctantly to their feet.

She reached for Karin first, and her twin nearly choked at how tightly Yuzu hugged her, but they embraced for a long moment, Karin muttering into her ear as Yuzu sniffled and her eyes gleamed wetly.

Tōshirō grunted as Yuzu hugged him next, and he turned panicked eyes on Karin as Ichigo snickered behind his hand until his little sister turned her attention to Rukia.

“Take care of my idiot brother,” she demanded, ignoring Ichigo’s outraged “Hey!”

Rukia hugged her tightly and said, “Of course I will. Someone has to keep him out of trouble.”

“I’ll show you trouble,” Ichigo muttered as Yuzu leaned down to hug Kazui and promised to send back souvenirs from Australia. Then it was his turn, and he, too, had the breath driven out of him from the force of her arms around his waist.

“You can call whenever you need to,” Ichigo promised as he looked down at her, expression uncharacteristically soft. “Okay? I mean it. And call or text us or something when you get to Canberra.”

Ichigo and his family walked Yuzu to the security line and then watched until they lost her in the sea of travelers. The walk back to the car was quiet, and so was the ride back to Karakura. Karin and Tōshirō talked quietly in the back seat, and Ichigo concentrated on driving while Rukia exchanged texts in the front seat. “Who are you texting?” he finally asked.

“Ishida,” Rukia explained. “Urahara’s right, she’s…not ready to see Kazui, and especially not ready to see you.” She said the last in a whisper with a meaningful glance back at the boy falling asleep in his booster seat.

“I was hoping at least a visit would be possible,” Ichigo muttered. “How bad is it?”

“She’s seeing a doctor, but Ishida and Arisawa take her to every appointment. She still think you’re going to re-marry her.”

Ichigo just sighed. “Let’s stop for dinner somewhere before we go back home, okay?” he asked, changing the subject.

“There’s a new place in downtown Karakura,” Karin piped up from behind them. “It’s a family restaurant, and it’s supposed to be good. I’ll bring up directions on my phone.”

Much later, when they were back in the barracks and separated only by the thin wall between their quarters, Ichigo struggled to fall asleep. His littlest sister was high over the ocean and Karin was training to take up the mantle of shinigami daiko with the unspoken goal of becoming a full-time shinigami eventually; Ichigo knew it was only a matter of time before she and Tōshirō got more serious.

As for him and Rukia – Ichigo rolled over and tried once more not to think of her in her thin sleeping yukata. He’d finally learned the cooling kido from Hanatarō so at least neither of them were boiling hot, but Rukia was probably still underdressed.

Elsewhere, Sode no Shirayuki fanned herself lazily with one hand as a false sun shone down above. The garden around her was in riotous full bloom, flowers of all colors and all seasons mingling together on the rooftop of the building that was Zangetsu’s home. “He’s still being stubborn, isn’t he?” she asked as her lover rolled over on the enormous daybed that had appeared on the rooftop one day.

Zangetsu hummed under his breath and pressed kisses along her shoulder and up to her neck, occasionally nipping at the pale skin beneath his lips. “So is she,” he pointed out. “I may have to take over again to get him to make a move before he gives the Queen the rest of the courting gifts he has planned.”

A sigh left her and Shirayuki reached up, stroking a hand through his hair. It was as long as his wielder’s, and she much preferred this look to the much shorter cut he’d been sporting a few months ago. He looked a bit rakish. “She would just knock you around until you gave the King back,” she muttered. “What if she…took ill and needed to recuperate?”

“Hn. He’d take her to the Fourth and sit on her until those pansies fixed her up.” Zangetsu tugged her closer, hand dragging along the soft skin of her belly and then lower so that her breath hitched. They were both nude, white skin gleaming beneath the sunlight, and he apparently wanted to take advantage of that. Again.

“Near-death experience?” Shirayuki suggested. That wasn’t ideal – it meant her wielder risking an injury – but there were only so many ways she could think of to get Ichigo to tear Rukia’s clothes off. “Or what if you put it in his head that one of his courting gifts should be time away from the Seireitei? Haineko told me, once, that there is an excellent resort in the northern Rukongai.”

“He might see through it, but I can be subtle,” Zangetsu murmured. His fingers pressed and he grinned as she moaned for him, arms coming up around him to pull him closer. Her nails left crescent marks in the skin of his bare back. “And until then…”

“Until then,” Shirayuki gasped out, and pulled him into a deep kiss.

Chapter Text

“When am I going to get an asauchi, Nagata-sensei?” Kazui asked as he watched Ichika sit jinzen, Shiragetsu resting across her lap. It was a fine fall day, sun shining brightly and the air fresh and clean, and Nagata had been persuaded by his young charges to hold their tutoring sessions in one of the manor’s courtyards. Kazui had a funny feeling in his stomach whenever his friend sat like this; he’d seen his father and Rukia fight, and her zanpakutō looked so much like theirs. His wouldn’t, he already knew; he wondered what it would look like, since his mother wasn’t a shinigami and his father – well. Kazui didn’t know what Ishida-san was, just that he had power and that it felt kind of different.

Nagata pursed his lips. “That is something you will need to discuss with Kurosaki-sama,” he prevaricated. “For today, you should continue practicing how to control your reiatsu, as we discussed.”

Kazui made a face but settled on the bench cross-legged and closed his eyes. He knew he was younger than Ichika, but having to sit and focus on pulling in and pushing down, as Nagata-sensei put it, was really boring. Ichika always got up from her practice talking about Shiragetsu’s beautiful appearance and the attacks that the blade was slowly teaching her.

He could feel the power that flowed through him and around him, a bright blue light that didn’t feel anything like the power he sensed from the people at Kuchiki-sama’s manor. Kazui wondered if he was broken somehow – but Nagata-sensei hadn’t said anything like that, and neither did his father or Rukia.

They kept at their work until lunch, when Nagata-sensei led them into the smaller dining room and left for his own meal elsewhere. Ichika’s nanny joined them instead, bright-eyed and solemn as she led them through an entirely different set of lessons: etiquette. Kazui always liked the food at lunch, but he wondered when he’d ever use some of the trickier manners she was teaching them. His mother wasn’t ever going to serve a big, fancy meal.

If he ever saw his mother again. Kazui scowled – his father had said she was sick when they went to Karakura, but he’d been looking at Rukia carefully as he said it, and that weird Urahara guy had been watching them with a funny look on his face. Kaasan hadn’t been taking good care of him, he knew that, but…

“Remember,” the nanny, Ueda, said, “How we express our thanks for our meal.” The words jogged him out of his thoughts.

“Itadakimasu,” both children said together, bowing their heads slightly over their place settings. Ueda gracefully served bowls of miso soup from a pot on the table, and Kazui picked his bowl up carefully, cradling it so that he wouldn’t spill as he sipped. Today there were large plates on the table, as well as steaming rice in smaller, individual bowls.

“Remember, when you serve yourself from a shared plate, you should use the opposite ends of your chopsticks,” Ueda said, “Like this.” She gracefully held back the sleeve of her kimono with her left hand as with her right, she reversed her chopsticks and plucked several pieces of sliced chicken and vegetables from the larger plates. She placed them on her rice and reversed the chopsticks once more, then began eating.

Across the table, Ichika did the same, easily picking several choice pieces of bok choy and chicken. Kazui waited until she was done before he picked his own selection, and they ate quietly, practicing how to pour tea for one another and then how to tidy up after the meal.

After lunch, they got to play in the gardens for a while before Nagata-sensei returned, and Ueda sat on one of the benches embroidering a design into a long piece of blue fabric as she watched them. Kazui still grumbled a little over the fact that there wasn’t anything like a computer game or even a playground, but he and Ichika chased one another around the garden, carefully avoiding Kuchiki-sama’s prize flowers – on pain of certain death by flower petal, Ichika had warned him several times.

Today Ueda-san had brought a ball with her, and Kazui perked up. Karin obasan had taught him how to play football, and the ball looked similar to the one she used. “Let me teach you how to play football,” he demanded, and Ichika acquiesced with a shrug.

But it turned out that she was really good at kicking and at dribbling, and soon she was monopolizing the ball, kicking it back and forth along the grass as Kazui watched. “Come on, share,” he said finally, when she’d had the thing for a while and he was starting to get bored.

Ichika stuck her tongue out at him. “You’ll have to take it from me,” she taunted, and Kazui meant to steal the ball the way his aunt had taught him, but Ichika dodged him and laughed, and when he tried again, he thought about how she had a zanpakutō, and his father was actually her dad and not really his, and he didn’t really belong to anyone anymore and –

“Ow! Kazui!” Ichika screeched as the ball went flying and they both tumbled to the ground as he tackled her. She hit him in the eye as she tried to shove him away and Kazui kicked out, catching her in the gut and shin, she got him in the stomach with her knee, and then Ueda was pulling them apart as he started to cry, covering his eye with one hand.

“What is the meaning of this?” Ueda demanded, as she knelt and checked first Ichika and then Kazui for injuries. “How dare you fight in Kuchiki-dono’s garden? You are far too old to be so childish! I will be speaking to Kuchiki Taicho and Kurosaki Fukutaicho about this.”

Heat filled his cheeks and Kazui sat down right there on the grass and sobbed, tears streaking down his face and stinging his swiftly bruising eye. Beside him, Ichika scowled but then she started crying too, and Ueda sighed and crossed her arms. “Crying won’t get you out of trouble,” she said calmly. “You know better than to hit one another.”

“B-but she took Tousan from me,” Kazui mumbled suddenly, and Ichika scrubbed at her eyes in astonishment.

“N-no I didn’t!” she yelled. “You’re taking Kaasan from me!”

Ueda stared at them and sighed. “We’re going to have a talk with Kuchiki-sama and Kurosaki-sama,” she said finally. “Now come, let’s dry your eyes and get some ice for yours, Kazui-kun. We will talk about your punishment afterwards.”

Rukia scrubbed at her eyes, but the paperwork before her didn’t go away. For all that Ichigo’s efforts to organize the division had worked, there were still some orders that only a captain could sign, some things that only she could approve, and the giant pile of budgets and renovation plans were just a few examples. Half of the meager budget from Central Forty-Six and Kyōraku Soutaicho to renovate and update the division buildings had already been spent on planning, and unless she made some changes, significant portions of the plans were going to have to be set aside until next year.

A knock on the doorframe interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to see Ichigo in the doorway, a concerned frown on his face. “Hey,” he said, and waited for her gesture to step into her office. “That looks like a lot of paperwork.”

She snorted. “It is. And no, I can’t just delegate it. I’m trying to figure out how to make our repair and renovation budget stretch.”

“Hn.” Ichigo stepped behind her desk without being asked and looked over the plans laid out across her desk. They were complex: a full rejuvenation of the squad barracks, which had been given basic repairs but no improvements thanks to the lack of a captain, a rebuilding of the ugendo into a space that the seated officers could use, and a complete overhaul of the training grounds. “They should have given you twice the budget,” he grumbled, making Rukia laugh.

“I’ll let you tell the Soutaicho that,” she said.

“I will,” Ichigo promised. “I’ll tell him all about how he should be treating Ukitake’s protégé and our division. But uh. We have to go to the manor, first.”

“The manor?” She blinked up at him. “Did we promise to have dinner with Ichika and Kazui? I’d like to get this back to Nanao tomorrow…”

He frowned. “Ueda-san sent over a messenger,” he explained. “Ichika and Kazui had a fight earlier today.”

“A fight?”

“Yeah.” Ichigo shifted his weight uneasily. “They were playing football and Kazui tackled her. Ichika got him in the eye, and Ueda had to pull them apart before they could do anymore damage.”

Rukia’s mouth dropped open, and she rose from her seat immediately. “But they get along so well! Why would they be fighting now?”

“Kazui accused Ichika of trying to take me away from him,” Ichigo mumbled as Rukia’s face fell. “And…Ichika accused him of trying to take you from her.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Her stomach churned, though, and when she reached out Ichigo’s hand wrapped around hers, warm and soothing.

“I know,” he agreed. “But they’ve had a lot of change in the last year and they were going to act out at some point.”

Rukia huffed out a breath. “I suppose,” she agreed. “I…” When Ichigo raised an eyebrow, she flushed with embarrassment. “I don’t think I’ve always been the best mother to Ichika.”

“Why do you say that?” Ichigo perched on the edge of her desk so that he could more easily look her in the eye.

Rather than answering him out loud she focused on their bond and pushed. A memory and a thought slid through the invisible string between them.

“Ah,” he said after a moment, and drew her closer. “But that doesn’t make you a bad mother. You were sick, remember?” He kissed her, then, soft and chaste. “But we do need to go talk to them and nip this in the bud.” His power settled around her, as comforting as his warmth and his hand around hers, and Rukia let herself bask in it for just a moment.

Then by silent agreement they left her office and then the division grounds altogether, using shunpo to travel to the Kuchiki manor as the setting sun turned the sky above deep orange and red. Moving as fast as they were, it took only a few minutes, and the guards – very familiar with both of them by now – waved them through the gate with a glance.

Ichika and Kazui were waiting for them in Ichika’s room, both looking decidedly sulky. Ueda was silently embroidering, but she rose and bowed in greeting as Ichigo stepped into the room, Rukia right behind him.

“That’s quite a bruise,” Ichigo observed as he looked Kazui over. He sat down on the floor and held his son’s face still to examine him as the boy pouted. “But just a bruise.”

Rukia stepped back onto the engawa with Ueda at the other woman’s gesture, and the nanny quietly explained the fight in more detail than Ichigo had given her.

“They’ve squabbled a little, but never like this, Kuchiki-sama,” she said, clearly puzzled. “It’s never gotten physical. I would ordinarily assign a punishment, but when they said what they did about you and Kurosaki-sama, I thought it best to let you handle it.”

“Of course, Ueda-san,” Rukia agreed, keeping her voice low. “Ichigo and I will speak with them. We’ll see to things the rest of the night.”

Ueda bowed again and, tucking her embroidery away, left for her own quarters.

Rukia walked back into her daughter’s room and shut the door. Ichigo was quietly healing Kazui’s eye with kido, a sight that would have been truly shocking just a few months ago – but she supposed Hanatarō was much more patient than she’d been, years ago. Ichika was openly sulking, jaw set in a stubborn line and lower lip pouting. “Are you hurt?” she asked, and Ichika silently pulled up the right leg of her hakama to reveal a nasty set of bruises along her shin.

“He got me in the stomach too,” she muttered.

Ichigo and Rukia exchanged a look, and Rukia’s hands glowed with the blue kido of healing. She focused on their daughter’s stomach first, then moved to her shin. The bruising disappeared beneath her hands and faded away into pale, unblemished skin.

They settled on the tatami mats, Rukia in seiza and Ichigo cross-legged. “Why don’t you tell us what happened?” Ichigo asked after a moment. He kept his voice level, but Rukia could feel the way his stomach clenched, much like hers did.

Silence filled the room for a long moment, and finally Kazui mumbled, “We were playing, and she didn’t want to share.”

“You just thought I wouldn’t be any good at football,” Ichika sneered. “And you knocked me over!”

Ichigo held up a hand. “Did you knock her over, Kazui?” When the boy just shrugged and stared down at his hands, Ichigo repeated, “Kaz. Did you knock down Ichika?”

“I tackled her, like some of the guys do during matches,” he objected. “But then she hit me in the eye, and I pushed her away!”

“You kicked me in the stomach!”

“Yeah well you kneed me and told me I was trying to steal Rukia-san and I’m not!”

They both huffed when Ichigo held up a hand again, and fell silent. But it was Rukia who spoke. “I thought I taught you to share, Ichika. And I certainly didn’t teach you to fight with people,” she said calmly. “And I’m sure, Kazui, that Ichigo and –” She paused and swallowed. “Inoue-san didn’t teach you to hit people. You should only hit someone when you’re trying to keep them from hurting you or someone else.”

“But I was defending myself! He attacked me!” Ichika protested.

“You deserved it, you’re trying to take Tousan from me,” Kazui shot back, still sulking.

“Hey, what’s all this about you two trying to steal us from each other?” Ichigo asked. “That’s not what’s happening at all.”

Ichika sniffed, nose in the air, but her eyes were glistening suspiciously. “Kazui got to visit the World of the Living with you, and always wants Kaasan to hold him.”

“But—” Ichigo glanced her way, and Rukia subsided.

“Do you know why we went to Karakura, Ichika?” Ichigo asked. When she shook her head, he explained, “My sister, Yuzu, was traveling to a country called Australia, and we wanted to see her off. We also hoped that he could see Inoue, but she was sick. She’s been sick for a while.”

Their daughter scrunched up her nose. “But I saw Tousan when he was sick and in the Fourth. You even took me there.”

“It’s a different kind of sickness,” Rukia said quietly. A few words passed back and forth through the bond and then she said, “I love you both. We both do. We care about you and want you to be safe, and happy.”

“You’re both my kids,” Ichigo added. “I didn’t get to spend the first years of her life with Ichika,” he said, directing the words at Kazui, “and we’re trying to get to know each other.”

Rukia hummed her agreement and tucked a strand of hair behind Ichika’s ear. There was only a little red left, and she was still refusing to cut it; Rukia didn’t want to force her. “The same way Kazui and I are getting to know each other. Kazui is part of Ichigo’s life, and so he’s part of ours, too.”

Ichika made a face. “That sound so sappy, Kaasan,” she said, but leaned into Rukia’s touch. “It’s just – Tousan’s not around much anymore, and I don’t want someone to take Oyaji away either.”

That’s her name for you? Rukia asked, and Ichigo inclined his head. “No one’s going to take Ichigo away,” she said gently. “Not from either of you. We’d like to be a family, all four of us – right, Ichigo?”

“You do sound sappy,” Ichigo said, and winked at his daughter. “But yeah. I want us to be a family.”

“I’m sorry for tackling you and kicking you,” Kazui mumbled.

“I’m sorry for hitting your eye,” Ichika said back.

Ichigo and Rukia breathed out twin sighs of relief. “We’ll make sure we spend more time with both of you, okay?” he asked. “And we’ll take both of you, the next time we visit Karakura.”

Kazui crawled into his father’s lap and Ichigo pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Does that mean I can see Kaasan soon?” he asked. “I miss her.”

“I know,” Ichigo said quietly. “I’ll talk to Ishida and maybe we can arrange a visit soon.”

“And can I have a zanpakutō soon?”

Ah. Rukia bit her lower lip. “I’m afraid that…isn’t possible, Kazui,” she said gently.

“Why not? Ichika has one, and she’s only a little older than me,” Kazui protested.

Ichigo cleared his throat uneasily. “Remember how your mother has those hairpins instead of a zanpakutō?” he asked. When he got a nod, he added, “and Ishida doesn’t have a zanpakutō either. He’s a Quincy, and he uses reishi to create a bow and the arrows for it.”

“So?”

Rukia reached for him, pressing one hand lightly to Ichigo’s forearm in comfort. “Because neither Inoue-san nor Ishida-san are shinigami, you aren’t a shinigami either,” she explained gently. “Nagata has been training you to control your power because it will help later, if you decide to train to become a Quincy. Ishida-san is one of only a few left in the world.”

“What’s the difference between a Quincy and a shinigami?” Kazui asked.

“Quincy killed the Soul King and the shinigami defeated and killed them,” Ichika said suddenly. “Does – does that make Ishida-san and Kazui our enemies?” she asked her mother.

“Of course not,” Rukia said immediately. “Ishida-san fought to defeat Yhwach with all of us. He’s our friend!” She tucked Ichika close to her. “And Kazui is only a child; he’ll have to decide whether to use his power eventually, that’s all.”

“Why’s it different?” Kazui asked.

Ah. He’s never seen Ishida’s powers, Rukia reminded herself. “Ishida-san will have to show you exactly how it’s different, but their weapons are different. They pull reishi, which Nagata has probably told you about, from the air to create them at will. Shinigami channel their powers through their zanpakutō.” There was more to it than that, but the children had already had a lot of excitement for one day and Rukia herself didn’t know exactly how to explain every tool that Ishida had at his disposal.

“Kuchiki-sama? Kurosaki-sama?” a voice asked, and Rukia looked up. A servant stood in the doorway, bowing in greeting. “Kuchiki-sama asks to know whether you will be dining with him this evening.”

Ichigo and Rukia exchanged a glance. “Yes, if it isn’t too much trouble,” Rukia replied. The servant gave another bow and left, pushing the shoji door shut once more.

“Do Quincy have something that speaks to them, like Shiragetsu talks to Ichika?” Kazui asked.

“I don’t think so,” Ichigo admitted. When Kazui’s face fell, he added, “But they still have their conscience, and a lot of the time that’s what a zanpakutō is, really. Only louder and sometimes kind of annoying.”

I resent that, Shirayuki thought.

You and Zangetsu kept me up until dawn, Rukia pointed out.

Pfft. Not our fault you and the King are still being stubborn.

Rukia huffed. There was a faint snicker, but Zangetsu subsided.

Ichika giggled. “Yeah, Shiragetsu’s a kid like me and she sometimes just wants to play tag instead of teaching me anything,” she added. “She’s really pretty though…”

“What does she look like?” Kazui asked.

“She’s really pale, and has a white furisode with a really fancy obi. It’s got little white crescent moons on it and black suns,” Ichika explained. “And her hair is white and pulled up with fancy hair stuff. But sometimes she takes those off so we can run around. Her eyes are pretty, too, they’re golden.”

I wish we could see her, Shirayuki said suddenly, wistfully. I…think she might be ours.

Rukia exchanged a look with Ichigo and silently wondered if their zanpakutōs’ actions in the royal realm had somehow influenced the appearance of their daughter’s zanpakutō. Something to ask Urahara, she thought, and Ichigo nodded.

“She sounds pretty,” Kazui said only a little sulkily.

“Tousan!” Ichika called a few days later as Renji walked towards them, still favoring his left leg. He’d spent more than a month in the Fourth Division, healing both physically and mentally from his ordeal in Hueco Mundo.

His leg, though, didn’t stop him from swinging Ichika into his arms as she reached him. They spun around for a moment before he set her down again and looked at Ichigo and Rukia, who’d followed at a more sedate pace with Kazui in tow. “Hey,” he said, voice subdued.

Rukia hid a grimace. She’d heard from Ichigo about how out of it Renji had been when he’d finally returned to Soul Society, wounded and convinced he was still among the enemy. He seemed better now, though shadows still lurked in his eyes and the hand he rested on Ichika’s shoulder was heavy and a little twitchy. She wondered just how mended he was, after all. “Renji,” she said, just as quiet, and beside her Ichigo gave a nod.

“How’s your eye?” Ichigo asked.

Renji touched a finger to the patch covering it. “Better than it was,” he said. “Isane has me wearing the patch to give everything time to heal.”

“Guess Kurotsuchi’s good for something,” the orange-haired shinigami muttered.

Kurotsuchi had grown – not built, grown – an entirely new eye for Renji, and with the Fourth Division’s most talented healers Renji would soon be able to see out of both eyes again. Though both Kyōraku and Urahara had chosen to use eye patches rather than undergo the same procedure, Renji was a lot younger than they were – and a lot more prone to engaging in frontline combat.

“Yeah,” Renji agreed. Then he looked down at Ichika and Kazui. “Thanks for bringing ‘em this far. Taicho’s still got me on light duty, so we’re just going to be watching the exhibition match in the Sixth.”

A look passed between Ichigo and Renji, and something in Rukia unclenched when she saw it. “Thank you for watching over them both this afternoon. I know Ichika will be glad to spend time with you.”

“Yeah, I haven’t seen you in days, Tousan,” she chimed in. “Not since Kotetsu Taicho let you out.”

Kazui looked up at him uncertainly but let go of Ichigo’s hand willingly enough. “Thank you for letting me join you, Abarai-san,” he said, sounding a little rehearsed.

Renji snorted. “Should be thanking you. You can help me judge.” Then he glanced down at Ichika. “Take him to the training grounds, will you, ‘chika? I need to talk to Rukia and Ichigo for a minute. Try not to show off your zanpakutō to everyone on your way there,” he drawled.

Ichika smirked up at him but took Kazui’s hand readily enough. “Come on,” she said. “On exhibition days the cook makes taiyaki!”

When they were out of earshot, Renji pinned both his ex-wife and his friend with his good eye. Rukia flushed with guilt, but he just snorted at the look on her face. “I already know you’re going on a date,” he said. “Tangerine-head here acted all guilty until I told him I knew you were courting.”

“Ah,” Rukia murmured. “I did not want to rub it in your face.”

The crimson-haired shinigami just shrugged. “I’ve had months to get used to the idea,” he admitted. “But I want to know what the hell Kazui’s doing here.”

Oh, that.

“Inoue couldn’t take care of him,” Ichigo explained. “She uh – didn’t take it as well as you did. Kazui being here is supposed to be temporary, but this was kind of the best idea we could come up with.”

“Yeah, she was…” Renji cleared his throat. “Guess I’m not surprised, is all. Anyway, I’ll make sure he and Ichika have a good time.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Rukia ordered. “Kurotsuchi wants to get his hands on him.”

“Kurotsuchi? Because he’s got Inoue’s powers?”

“Hers and Ishida’s,” Ichigo said bluntly. When Renji’s eye widened, he shrugged but apparently got the message.

“That sucks,” Renji offered. “But yeah, I’ll keep an eye on him, tell the men it’s a closed match today, and let Taicho know he’s here.”

Rukia breathed out. “Good,” she said. “Nii-sama is aware of the…situation and will stay close to the division.”

They took their leave of Renji and walked, side by side, toward the closest gate. “So,” Rukia said when they’d passed through the gate and into the Rukongai, “Where are you taking me, exactly?”

Ichigo looked down at her and smiled shyly. “I wanted to show you something I’ve started working on,” he murmured. “It’s in Inuzuri.”

“Inuzuri?” Rukia found herself clutching at the fabric of her too-large haori.

“Yeah. It’s a trip, but – I promise it’s worth it,” Ichigo said.

She nodded to him, and together they set off, flickering through the air so much faster than they could ever have walked. He’d been faster than her when they were younger, and Rukia could tell that he was holding back a little for her sake, so that they arrived together.

Where they arrived was a shack on the border between Inuzuri and its neighboring district. Rukia blinked – no, not a shack, precisely. It was a plot of land that was clearly a construction zone, with the shack on one corner of the land. Workers came in and out, carrying tools and supplies. “What is this?” she asked as they landed on the ground. She’d shaken her feet of the dust of Inuzuri years ago, first when she’d left with Renji and then again after her memories had been sheared away, taken by a brother and sister whose love for her had nearly destroyed the Seireitei.

And yet, her waraji once more had the dust of Inuzuri on them.

“Your next courting gift,” Ichigo said, pulling her out of her thoughts. “I don’t know if it’s fair, exactly, since it’s for more than just you, but – I made a promise when you put this badge on my arm, that I was going to change things.”

Her heart sped up and Rukia raised a hand to it, unsure why she was having a sudden fit of nerves. Around them there were murmurs – residents of the Rukongai in faded yukatas noticing the appearance of two high-ranking shinigami in their midst. The workers seemed less alarmed. Ichigo, she realized, was keeping a tight rein on his reiatsu; it wasn’t leaking everywhere the way it normally did. “What is this, then?” she asked again, embarrassed by the breathlessness of her voice.

Ichigo’s hand touched the small of her back, grounding and soothing. “It’s going to be a community center of sorts, and a clinic,” he said, a touch of pink in his cheeks. “Somewhere safe where people can come to get water, and play if they’re little kids, or get healed up if they’ve gotten sick. It won’t be that big, and it’ll only serve a couple of districts, but it’s a start. There’s going to be a well on the property to make sure there’s always a good source of water. That’s why I picked this area – there’s a source underground.”

“But…” It was gauche to ask how he was paying for her courting gift, Rukia realized, and shut her mouth. Beside her, Ichigo just chuckled and pressed his hand more firmly against her skin.

“Officers get paid, remember? And Ukitake, uh, had some kind of arrangement made for me when I was still just a substitute.”

Rukia blinked. “Arrangement?”

“Yeah, he set up a stipend or something once my being a substitute was sanctioned. I found out when I moved here and was worried I’d be relying too much on your brother’s access pass.” Ichigo looked down at her. “I’m going to build more, over time, Byakuya agreed to help.”

“Nii-sama agreed to help fund clinics in the Rukongai,” Rukia repeated flatly, and wondered when he’d even had time to speak with her brother about it.

“I know,” Ichigo said, and grinned. “He and Kūkaku met, and he agreed to match whatever she did.” Before Rukia could goggle at that, he added, “Come on, let me show you the site.”

They accepted white cloths to tie around their noses and mouths from the project’s foreman, an older gentleman who introduced himself as Ishikawa Shinzo. “Just be careful around the well, Kurosaki-san,” he warned after giving Rukia a brief bow of greeting. “We’re still reinforcing the structure and installing the pump.”

“Thanks, Ishikawa-san,” Ichigo said, and led Rukia along the perimeter of the plot. Stacks of stone blocks and wooden beams lay in organized areas; there were guards, she noticed, casually patrolling the area. “Volunteers,” Ichigo said as he saw her looking around. “They don’t really trust me, but Ishikawa is a good guy.”

Sticks in the ground, strings tied and stretched taut between them, formed an outline of the area. “The biggest area inside is going to be the clinic, but there will be a room where people can eat, too, if they have the reiryoku to need it. There’s uh – going to be a retired shinigami stationed here too, if I can persuade anyone. Just to help people learn control and maybe some healing kido, I’m not trying to recruit or anything,” Ichigo explained sheepishly.

Her hand slipped into his and she could feel some of the tension leave his body. “What’s this third area for?” she asked.

“That’s the play area. No Pokémon,” Ichigo said jokingly, “But one of the other workers had some ideas. Turns out she remembers a little of her time on earth as a teacher. I guess there’s going to be swings and stuff.”

Rukia stopped short and Ichigo stopped with her, turning to face her. Her eyes burned and she tried, unsuccessfully, to blink away the tears she could feel forming. He’d decided to build here, because he knew the kind of life she’d had here, and wanted to make it better for the people still here in Inuzuri.

“What – did I do something wrong?” Ichigo asked frantically and, heedless of the fact that they were in public, pulled her against him. “Is it a terrible gift?”

“It’s a wonderful gift,” Rukia choked out, and pinched him in the side so that he yelped, muffled by white fabric. “Don’t be an idiot, this is the best thing you could have done.”

“Ow! Funny way of showing it,” Ichigo muttered, but he just lifted a hand and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But really, you’re okay with this as a courting gift? The book said they’re supposed to be things for you, but I thought…”

Rukia just huffed and dragged him down by the front of his shihakusho, tugging the cloths on their faces down and kissing him in front of far too many workers for her comfort – but for just a moment she didn’t care. “I don’t need baubles,” she said, “And it’s not like you to just follow instructions, strawberry.” She couldn’t help the bubble of laughter that escaped her at Ichigo’s slightly dazed look.

Ichigo’s tongue darted out and swiped over his lips. You deserve to be courted, remember? he sent, and Rukia’s heart thumped, hard, at what came with the words: a warm blanket of his feelings, of love and honor, of wanting her to feel loved and cared for. There was another thread that slipped through and she wanted to chase it, but Ichigo huffed. “That’s a different surprise,” he said.

“You don’t have to do all this just to make me feel…valued,” Rukia mumbled. “Most people just get kanzashi and fancy calligraphy brushes.”

“Do you want fancy calligraphy brushes?” Ichigo asked, lips curving in a smirk. “This felt more lasting. I could even name it the Kuchiki Rukia Clinic, if you want,” he teased.

“Don’t you dare,” Rukia ordered as her cheeks heated with embarrassment.

“Fine, fine. Anyway, come on. Renji has the kids for hours yet, and there’s a play in the second district,” Ichigo urged as he loosened his hold on her.

“Please tell me it’s not about us,” Rukia groaned, and Ichigo laughed out loud as he held his hand out to her.

“Actually, it turns out that some of Shakespeare’s plays have made it to Soul Society. It’s a production of Much Ado About Nothing.”

They bid goodbye to Ishikawa and leapt back into the sky together.

Chapter Text

“You’re sure you’ll be fine for four days?” Ichigo asked. He kept his voice low, because Rukia was still in her office and he didn’t want her to overhear this conversation.

Sentarō nodded solemnly. “Eguchi and I can keep things running, Kurosaki Fukutaicho. I’ll redistribute your training sessions to the rest of the seated officers,” he agreed. “And we’ll go to Ise Fukutaicho if there’s an emergency. That’s what we did when…” He cleared his throat. “When Kuchiki Taicho was sick, years ago.”

“Thanks, Sentarō.” Some of the tension left Ichigo’s shoulders. “We’re not leaving until tomorrow, so let me know if you need anything before then. I’ll be in the Fourth later for another kido lesson but I’m around.”

“Of course, Fukutaicho,” Sentarō said and bowed before Ichigo stepped out of the room and slid the shoji door shut behind him.

Sentarō counted to ten under his breath and then turned, grabbing for Eguchi. “Send a message to Matsumoto Fukutaicho. It’s happening.”

“What’s happening?” the Fifth Seat asked as her superior officer shook her a little. The blue hair atop her head, cut short and set in a high pompadour, shook with her.

“He’s taking her on leave,” Sentarō explained, keeping his voice low. “They’ll be gone for four days. They’re not taking the kids.”

“Oh.” Then, “Oh!” Eguchi pulled away and summoned a hell butterfly. “Did he say where they’re going?”

“Hn. That fancy place in the Northern Rukongai, the one with the little guest cottages,” Sentarō mused.

Her eyes widened. “Oh. That’s expensive,” she muttered, then turned her attention to the butterfly perched on her fingers. Eguchi whispered her message to it, voice low and urgent, before she set it flying once more.

“Where are we?” Rukia asked as they landed in a forested area far beyond the Seireitei. The air smelled fresh and clean here, and it looked nothing like the crowded streets of Inuzuri or even of the district they’d taken Ichika and Kazui to visit. A sparkling lake spilled out before them, clearly the central feature of whatever this place was. Surrounding the lake were little cottages, most looking no bigger than their quarters in the barracks, but far more luxurious, at least from the outside. Some had porches and to her left, Rukia could see that the one nearest them had fencing around an outdoor area, too tall for her to see over. The sun shone high overhead and people in yukatas drifted along paths between the cottages and played in the lake.

Ichigo scrubbed the back of his neck, clearly a little nervous. “I know it’s insubordination,” he began, “but uh – I asked Kyōraku for four days of leave. I thought after – everything – maybe you could use it.”

“It is insubordination,” Rukia muttered. “But why don’t you tell me why we’re here, and I’ll decide how to punish you afterwards.” She did not expect the way his eyes widened and his pupils dilated, suddenly, and belatedly she realized just how her words could be taken. Sode no Shirayuki had the audacity to laugh as she sputtered, “I mean how to discipline you—”

Oh, keep going, this is priceless, her zanpakutō purred.

Ichigo flushed red from his hairline all the way down to the gap in his shihakusho. “Uh,” he said intelligently, and cleared his throat. “This is your fourth courting gift, and I brought your fifth here too since four is kind of bad luck.”

“Go on,” she muttered, her own cheeks hot with embarrassment.

Ichigo ducked his head. “This is a resort. We’ll be staying in one of the cottages for the next three nights. We can swim in the lake, or kayak on it, and there are restaurants and shops, too. I guess shinigami do take vacations sometimes; Isane recommended this place to me.”

“And Ichika and Kazui?”

“Know we’re here, and Byakuya knows how to reach us if necessary,” Ichigo assured her. “They’ll stay on the grounds of the estate until we’re back, just to be extra-safe.”

Rukia blinked. “So we’re staying in a cottage… alone together for three days,” she ventured, and watched his blush deepen. It was pretty funny, actually, that he could still be shy like this after all they’d been through together.

“I uh. Got us one with two bedrooms,” he mumbled. “Since we’re still courting.”

Pity, that, Shirayuki sighed. Secretly, Rukia agreed with her.

“And our clothing for the next four days?” Rukia asked.

“Should already be on-site. The resort provides yukatas and geta, and I uh. Had some help from one of the Kuchiki servants, gathering whatever else you might need,” Ichigo admitted.

She huffed out a breath. “What am I going to do with you?” she asked him, but there was affection in her tone and Rukia smiled up at him as she said it. Through their bond she heard, quickly cut-off, You could marr— and tugged him down so that she could brush her lips against his.

Ichigo looped an arm around her and held her against him for a long moment, lips moving over hers. “Let’s get checked in and assigned our cottage,” he suggested when they parted and he’d straightened up. “The office is this way.”

They walked a short distance to a larger building, built in the same design as the cottages but less luxurious-looking, and stepped inside. An older woman bustled about behind a tall desk, and she smiled in greeting when she saw them.

“Welcome to the Chiba Ryokan. I am Morikawa Chihiro. Do you have a booking with us?” she asked. Her gray hair was tucked into a neat bun and she wore a simple navy kimono, but she wore it elegantly, with a beautiful white brocade obi. The kanzashi in her hair complemented her attire, sparkling flowers lending her an additional air of elegance.

Ichigo offered a shallow bow in greeting as Rukia did the same beside him. “I do, under Kurosaki for three nights,” he said.

The older woman nodded in acknowledgement and opened the book on her desk, paging through it quickly. “Ah, yes. Welcome, Kurosaki-sama, Kuchiki Taicho,” she greeted. “We have a lovely, one-bedroom cottage suite reserved for you on the western side of the lake. One of our best, perfect for couples.”

Rukia blinked. “Ah—”

“I’m sorry,” Ichigo interrupted before she could say any more. “I had booked a two-bedroom cottage for the three nights.”

She frowned thoughtfully. “Oh? Let me take a look.” Her hands, a little gnarled with age, turned additional pages in the book and then she brought out a second set of papers, thumbing through those as well. “I’m so sorry, Kurosaki-sama, but it seems we made an error in your booking. Unfortunately, all of the cottages with more than one bedroom are booked for the next week.”

Ichigo flushed brightly.

“I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience,” she said. “We have an elegant restaurant on the western side of the lake that serves kaiseki, please allow me to make a reservation for you for tomorrow night, on the resort, to make up for it. Or if you no longer wish to stay with us, I can offer a credit toward a future visit…?”

Rukia placed her hand on his forearm before he could speak. “That’s very kind of you,” she said, voice pitching a little higher than normal. “Of course the cottage you have reserved for us will be fine, and we truly appreciate the offer of dinner tomorrow night.”

She brightened. “Wonderful! Let me get the keys for that cottage. And oh, Kurosaki-sama, the bags that you sent ahead are already in the cottage, along with several yukatas for each of you,” she explained. She puttered behind the desk for a moment and set two keys before them, each attached to a figurine. “You’ll be in cottage nine. I really do think you’ll like it.”

Rukia grabbed the bunny immediately, as Ichigo rolled his eyes affectionately and took the other, a strawberry. Ichigo looked at Morikawa with a touch of suspicion, but she just smiled. “Thank you, Morikawa-san,” he said.

They bowed briefly in farewell and stepped back outside, then made their way along the perimeter of the lake. The cottages, Rukia noticed, were spaced further apart than she’d first thought, and many had details unique to each cottage, to make them stand out, she supposed. There was even a cottage with a small zen garden off to one side.

Eventually, they reached a pretty building with blooming fuchsia planted to either side of the door. Like the other cottages it was on low stilts to accommodate an overflow from the lake. A set of steps led up to the doorway and Ichigo let her precede him, but he was the one to unlock the door and push it open for her.

Rukia blinked at the light and airy space before her as they stepped inside and removed their waraji, leaving them in a clearly designated spot just inside the doorway. Silk panels lined the walls and off to one side was a beautifully furnished living space with tatami mats and a low table for dining, as well as more comfortable lounge furniture in a surprisingly modern style. A bookcase in one corner of the room was filled with books and games – she recognized both shogi and go.

There was a little kitchenette as well, with a stove and a cooling box; Rukia could sense the kido spells that kept the food cold. To the right was a pair of closed fusuma. “Well,” she said, “I suppose we should see what the um. Bedroom looks like.”

“Yeah,” Ichigo said, and Rukia pretended not to notice the change in his voice. He stepped past her and slid them open, revealing a second beautifully appointed room. Instead of the open space for futons that she expected, however, there was a large, modern bed with cloud-white pillows and a comforter that looked so soft she just wanted to sink into them immediately.

“There’s only one bed,” Rukia pointed out, and she couldn’t stop herself: she laughed, helplessly, even though Ichigo just got redder and redder in the face.

“What’s so funny?” he finally asked.

“I’m sorry.” Rukia caught her breath. “It’s just that it’s like a story from some of the romance manga I used to borrow from Karin and Yuzu.”

Ichigo grumbled faintly. “I don’t see what’s so funny about that. I wanted to do this right. Maybe we should have come back another time…”

Shihakusho, Rukia decided, really were convenient for pulling Ichigo down so that she could kiss him. Her lips moved over his, gentle but insistent, and she sighed into his mouth when he looped an arm around her and pulled her closer. “You’re so worried about offending me,” she teased. “Or do you not want me?”

And – oh. Saying that was a mistake, Rukia realized immediately, because true origins and a truce or not, there was still a little of the hollow in Ichigo. His eyes gleamed golden as they met hers and then Ichigo took control of the kiss, arm clamping tight to keep her pressed against him. He nipped at her lips and slipped his tongue past the seam of them, sliding hot against hers while Rukia clutched at him and moaned, low in her throat. His hips pressed against hers, sparking heat between them that had her gasping. He was already hardening against her thigh, thick and hot even through her hakama. The red thread gleamed bright as a ruby as it looped around them.

“Don’t,” he ordered as her breath hitched against his lips. “Don’t ever say that again, Rukia. I’ve wanted you almost since you gave me this scar.” His hand came up and pressed hers against the thin line on his chest, faded by a decade’s worth of time and then some. Then Ichigo loosened his hold on her and stepped back with obvious reluctance. “I told you that I wanted to do this properly, because you didn’t get to – I didn’t get to – ten years ago.”

Her heart turned over and Rukia realized just how worked up he was over her teasing, and even how she’d hurt him. She knew – of course she knew – that he wanted her. Their zanpakutō, reflections of themselves, made that plain, and so did the bond between them. “Ichigo,” she whispered, and drew him close to her again. “I know. I know you’ve been trying to do everything right, and properly. It’s much more than I deserve.”

His forehead touched hers. “That’s not true. If anything, you deserve more, but – I know you don’t want me to act like more of a fool than I already am, and shower you with stuff you don’t want.”

Rukia chuckled softly. “You’re not really a fool, you know,” she whispered between them.

“I’m a little bit of a fool.” They stood like that for a long moment, and then Ichigo pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Let’s see the rest of the cottage, okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” she murmured. They stepped away from one another and, by silent agreement, walked through to the back of the cottage and onto a beautiful hiroen that overlooked the lake. Fencing on either side of the space granted them privacy from the neighboring cottages, and a few steps down took them into a little garden flourishing with greenery and more fuchsia.

An enormous stone basin, partially sunk into the ground, filled up half the space and a wide faucet arched over it, clearly a way of filling the outdoor bath. It was big enough for two, or even three, people to bathe at the same time. “Oh,” Ichigo said quietly. “I guess Morikawa was right about this cottage. I uh – didn’t reserve one with a garden this nice.”

There was a hinge at the far end of each length of fencing, and Rukia saw that there were additional panels that could be shut, like gates, for extra privacy. Huh, she thought. “Let’s make sure our clothes actually made it here,” she suggested.

Ichigo swallowed, but he followed her back inside and into the bedroom. Sure enough, a second set of fusuma revealed a closet with yukatas in his size and hers – and they’d gotten the height right, Rukia saw – and one fancier kimono for each of them. Drawers below the hanging garments held their undergarments and tabi socks.

There was a proper bathroom as well, with her toiletries neatly stacked to one side by a sink – including the new mirror and brush set Ichigo had given her – and Rukia flushed at the sight of a second enormous tub.

The cottage really was designed for a lovers’ getaway, and Rukia wondered if the reservation mix-up was entirely accidental. She kept that to herself; Ichigo would only get upset if he realized someone had meddled. Rukia, though, had her money on Rangiku, or maybe Eguchi.

“It’s still early afternoon, we could go swimming in the lake or go check out the shops,” Ichigo suggested, and Rukia shook herself from her thoughts. She slipped out of her haori and hung it up as he watched, then started to untie the thin obi that held her kosode and shitagi shut. “Rukia!”

She looked at him as he turned his face away and huffed out a soft breath. He really was terribly determined to court her properly. “I’m going to change into a yukata. You should too, so we don’t stand out as shinigami. We’re on leave after all, right?”

“Y-yeah,” he muttered, but he kept his gaze averted as she pulled her hakama off and slipped on a pretty lavender yukata that was just the right length for her.

“I’m decent,” she said when she’d finished tying her obi shut. Ichigo turned to look at her, cheeks still pink, and reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Shops, then?” he asked, and Rukia hummed in the affirmative. There were a few different pairs of geta in the closet; she tried on the smallest pair and found they were a perfect fit.

“Huh. Did you give them my measurements or something?” she asked.

“I gave them a range,” Ichigo agreed. “I made sure to tell them your height, anyway,” he mumbled as he untied the belt of his obi and pulled off his kosode and shitagi. Then he got to his hakama and paused and cleared his throat. “Can you uh – give me a minute?”

Rukia, who’d been taking a good, long look at his bare chest, startled. A flush formed on her cheeks and throat. “Of course,” she agreed, and stepped out of the bedroom, closing the fusuma behind her. Through them she could hear the way Ichigo shuffled out of the rest of his uniform, and she heard a faint groan as well and – oh. Her cheeks heated. But then there was only silence until the fusuma slid open again.

Rukia, if you do not sleep with that man in the next seventy-two hours you are never wielding me again, Shirayuki threatened. She rather got the impression that both Shirayuki and Zangetsu had decided they’d waited long enough, thank you.

Ichigo stepped out wearing a rich, dark brown yukata, one that brought out his eyes and complemented the lavender one she’d chosen. She wondered if he’d done it on purpose. He had a set of geta on as well. “Come on, then,” he said, apparently ignorant of Shirayuki’s ultimatum. Although – judging by the lingering color in his cheeks, maybe Zangetsu had told him something similar.

Less tactfully, Shirayuki agreed. Though you are the Queen, and he would not insult you by being too crass.

Neither of them brought up their conversations with their zanpakutō as they pocketed their keys and locked the cottage door behind them. The path to the shops along the lake was a smooth one, and though they encountered a few other guests, no one approached them or offered anything more than a brief nod of greeting. The shops looked much like the cottages: pretty and quaint, most of them quite small. Rukia could see that one sold kimonos and other garments, while another had an extensive collection of pottery in the windows.

They browsed for a time, drifting in and out of each shop along with their fellow guests. There was a candy shop, and Rukia insisted on buying treats for Ichika and Kazui. “Since we’ll be away from them for a few days,” she said.

Ichigo just chuckled and helped her pick out a selection of sweets for both of their children. He signed the purchase to their room and they moved on, poking around a toy store. “Oh, they have Chappy,” Rukia said, and Ichigo quickly steered her away.

“They’re going to be super overpriced here,” he muttered, though something about that didn’t quite ring true. Oh. He’d mentioned a fifth courting gift, hadn’t he? Maybe it was a Chappy and he didn’t want her to pick out the same one.

Being a small resort, there weren’t that many shops, and soon they found themselves wandering down to the lakeshore. Rukia slipped off her geta and dipped her feet in the water, laughing as a few small, silvery fish came to investigate. Ichigo joined her after a moment and they sat on the sandy lakeshore beneath the sun, feet cooling in the clear, sun-warmed water.

“You’re right,” Rukia admitted after a while.

“Hm?” Ichigo slid an arm around her, and she tucked her head against his chest.

“I feel more relaxed already.” Though she hoped there wouldn’t be any emergencies in their absence.

“Good,” he murmured, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Later, as the sun started to set, they made their way back to their cottage, having dried their feet on the soft grass beyond the sand before putting their geta back on. “Do you want to eat in one of the restaurants tonight, or in the cottage?” Ichigo asked. “I can cook something, there’s a bunch of stuff in the pantry.”

Rukia hummed under her breath. “Let’s eat in tonight,” she suggested. When they set their geta down in the entryway a few minutes later, Ichigo turned for the kitchenette while Rukia tucked the candy away and examined the books their host had provided for them.

It was obvious, after dinner, that Ichigo was nervous about actually using their bedroom. Rukia was willing to admit that she was a little nervous, too. Even though they’d had sex before, it had been more than ten years ago and her experience since then had been… lacking. And so had his. It seemed a little silly, since they were adults with two children between them, but.

But they’d also been courting for months and had been holding themselves back from anything more than kissing, even though their zanpakutō had not done the same.

“I’m going to try out the bath outside,” she announced when they’d spent a little while reading, settled close to one another on the soft sofa in the living room. Ichigo looked up at her as she stood and stretched, cotton fabric riding up her legs. “Why don’t you join me?”

“Ah – are you sure?”

She put her book away. “I’m sure. Come on, it’ll be relaxing. And you did want me to relax, didn’t you?”

The look in Ichigo’s eyes softened, and he set his book down. “Yeah,” he agreed.

Rukia darted outside to start filling the enormous stone tub. Then they took turns scrubbing up in the bathroom, and by the time she stepped onto the hiroen in a white sleep yukata the bath was mostly filled with steaming water. Ichigo had closed the gates, blocking their view of the lake but ensconcing them in the privacy of the garden. She placed a pair of towels on the wooden platform and slipped out of her white sleeping yukata, then stepped down into the garden.

Sconces against the outside wall of the cottage cast enough light to see by but didn’t diminish the sight of the stars overhead, gleaming and glittering in the black velvet of the night sky. Ahead of her, Ichigo turned off the flow of water as she came to stand beside him.

“Ru—” Ichigo stopped, and she watched his eyes dart up to stay on her face. “The bath is ready,” he said a little hoarsely. “There are some steps on this side.” He let her step into the tub first, averting his eyes from her bare skin all the while as Rukia sunk herself into the deliciously hot water. She wondered, vaguely, what the resort had done to it; though the water had come from a pipe it was faintly scented with something herbal. The night air around them had gotten relatively cool, and the water sent spirals of steam into the air around them.

Ichigo turned away from her as he unwrapped himself from his own yukata, and Rukia turned bright red. She’d forgotten for a moment just how good he looked from behind, broad-shouldered and lean but muscular. As he’d done for her, she averted her eyes when he stepped into the tub, only returning her attention to him when he was sitting across from her and submerged up to the middle of his chest. As she watched, he rolled his shoulders back and, though there was still pink high in his cheeks, he smiled at her. “This is nice,” he admitted.

It was better than nice. The stars sparkled above them and all around them it was quiet except for the occasional lapping of the lake water against the shore, and the occasional birdcall or other sound from the forest around them. The water was hot but not uncomfortably so, and Rukia let her muscles relax, let herself relax after a year and more of stress and worry. Here, there was only Ichigo, his leg resting against hers under the water and his shoulders growing ever less tense as the water worked its magic on him, too.

They sat in silence for a long while, breathing in the scented steam and soaking their bodies, but eventually they exchanged a look across the water and Ichigo murmured, “Come here?”

And – he did feel too far away. She moved through the water to him and tucked herself beside him, bare hip to bare hip, as Ichigo’s arm slid around her shoulders. He was so much bigger than her that his hand came to rest on the lip of the tub. “Better?” she asked. They spoke in hushed voices, as though they were both reluctant to break the silence around them. As soon as they touched the red thread gleamed around them, shimmering and looping before fading back into invisibility. Rukia wondered if it would always be like that, a sometimes-visible symbol of their connection.

“Yeah,” Ichigo whispered, and his lips brushed her temple.

There were nerves in them both, still, she could feel them through the thread, but – they calmed, slowly. She leaned her head on his shoulder and Ichigo let his head fall against hers, their bound hair mingling sunset-light and midnight-dark together over the water. “Thank you for bringing me here,” Rukia murmured after a while as she watched the steam rise and the water ripple around them, moved by a cool breeze from the west.

“Thanks for not kicking my ass for not telling you ahead of time,” he joked.

Rukia scoffed. “I still might when we get back. You know Sentarō and the rest of the seated officers have a betting pool.”

His head turned and he pressed a kiss to the crown of hers before settling again. “Apparently there are several betting pools,” he informed her. “Did I tell you Hanatarō asked me when I’m giving you a seventh courting gift?”

“No. Hanatarō is running a betting pool?” The idea of the shy co-third seat betting on them was pretty funny, actually.

“Rangiku is.” Ichigo chuckled softly and traced shapes in the water with his free hand. “But Hanatarō wants to win. They’re betting on when I’ll propose.” Then he cleared his throat and Rukia felt him tense up a little.

“What’s the prize?” she asked lightly, hand reaching up where his rested to link their fingers together. She squeezed, once, and Ichigo settled.

“Apparently, it’s a vacation at some fancy cooking school in Japan.”

Rukia laughed softly. “Well, did you help him?”

“Maybe. And no, I’m not going to tell you what I said to him,” Ichigo murmured.

She hummed under her breath. The water was starting to cool down and so was the air around them; when she shivered Ichigo pressed another kiss to her crown.

“Let’s go back inside,” he suggested. No longer quite so self-conscious of their nakedness, he helped Rukia out of the tub and then followed; they dried off and slipped their yukatas back on before stepping inside.

She stepped inside the bedroom, but he didn’t follow right away; she heard him tidying up the kitchen a bit more as she stepped through the fusuma and headed toward the bathroom. Her hair was so long now that she slept with it loosely braided at night to keep it under control. She took it down from the high bun she’d used to keep it out of the way while bathing and twisted it into the loose braid that was most comfortable for her. Rukia completed her evening ablutions by the time Ichigo stepped into the bedroom, and she slid the fusuma shut, enclosing them both in the cozy space.

He eyed the closed doors and said quietly, “I’ll just be a minute,” then stepped into the bathroom and shut the door after himself. Rukia hummed her agreement and busied herself removing all of the extra, decorative pillows from the bed, then turning down the comforter.

Ichigo stepped back into the bedroom and Rukia blushed when she turned to look at him. The white yukata he wore fell open at his chest and in the stronger light of the bedroom it exposed the muscle he’d regained from months of training, as well as the scars he still had from fighting Soul Society’s wars.

Then Ichigo said, “I can sleep in the living room, if you’d be more comfortable,” and Rukia swore she heard her zanpakutō curse.

Rukia held her hand out to him. “We’ve spent enough time apart from each other, haven’t we?” she asked softly. “I don’t want to spend another night tossing and turning with a wall between us.”

His hand slid into hers, but he hesitated, still. “You have to tell me what you mean by that.” Ichigo’s voice was rough, and when his eyes met hers, she could see the mix of nerves and anticipation he felt; after all, she felt them, too.

“Was I unclear?” Rukia raised an eyebrow.

“I need to know if you want to sleep next to me, Rukia, or if you’re telling me that you want to have sex,” he said bluntly. “I can control myself if you just want me to hold you, I’m – I’ll never go further than you want.”

“I know,” Rukia murmured. She tugged, and Ichigo came closer to her, finally, his free hand cupping her cheek. “I want both. I want you, Ichigo.” She turned her face into his hand, kissing his palm.

Inside them, Sode no Shirayuki murmured a welcome and she felt Zangetsu answer, low and possessive.

Their eyes met again, and around them the red thread gleamed. Ichigo leaned down to press his lips to hers, slow and gentle as his love for her spread through the bond between them, warming her from the inside out. They were both still warm from the bath, too, and Rukia sighed as he let go of her hand to wrap his arm around her instead, drawing her close to him. She lifted her arms to wrap around his shoulders and they stayed like that for a long time, lips meeting and parting over and over again.

She drew him with her back towards the bed, finding it with the backs of her knees and nearly falling before Ichigo caught her. His eyes opened, darkened amber as they met hers and flashing gold. Ichigo reached for the tie of her yukata and asked softly, “May I?”

“Please,” she murmured, and color rode high in her cheeks as Ichigo unknotted the fabric and let her yukata fall open. Though he’d seen her earlier, it had been dark outside in the bath and she resisted the urge to cover herself as he looked his fill now, fingers gently pushing the cotton fabric from her shoulders to bare her to him completely. Rukia let the garment drop to the floor and watched Ichigo swallow, hard, at the sight of her.

Beautiful, he murmured into the bond between them as he kissed her again, lips soft and reverent as they pressed to hers and then drifted lower, finding her neck and shoulder. You are so, so beautiful.

She found the tie of his yukata with her hands and Ichigo murmured, “Please,” into her lips in turn, standing still so she could untie it. He shucked the garment off, and when they drew back to look at one another again Rukia suppressed a giggle at the sight of him blushing.

Rukia bit her lip and met his eyes shyly before she lowered her gaze, first to his chest and then lower still. “Oh,” she whispered. “I’d um. I’d –” The distance of time had thrown a haze over just how… big he was, and he wasn’t even fully hard yet.

His cheeks only grew darker; she felt a thread of embarrassment from him and looped her arms around his shoulders again to pull him close. “Don’t,” Rukia whispered. “It’s not that, it’s like this.” And she pushed her thoughts through the bond, shared with him the kick and curl of arousal low in her belly at the sight of him.

“Yeah?” Ichigo pressed another kiss to her lips and together they fell onto the bed, her pulling him and his hands sliding down to her ass to help her along until she was stretched out along the soft sheets and he was above her, braced on one hand while the other cupped her hip. Their eyes met again, and he asked quietly, “Can I taste you?”

Oh. A pulse of arousal moved through her at those words, and Rukia blushed at the answering trickle of wetness between her legs. She nodded eagerly, though, and when Ichigo chuckled she smacked his chest lightly.

He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Promise me something,” Ichigo murmured as he lowered his head, finding the top of one breast with his lips and then looking up at her with eyes dark and full of his own promises. “If you want me to stop or slow down, if I do anything you don’t like – tell me, Rukia.” There was more, through the bond: that he wanted her to feel good, that he wanted to show her how much she meant to him, how much she’d always meant to him. He never, ever wanted to hurt her.

“Promise,” she said, hand lifting to tunnel her fingers through his hair. And then her mouth dropped open on a soft gasp as his closed over her nipple, tongue eager and lips soft as he urged it to a hard peak in his mouth. He kept one hand on her, stroking patterns into her skin while she arched toward him.

They hadn’t been skin on skin like this in more than a decade. Each touch of his fingertips on her skin, gentle but firm, set fire to her. They sparked a memory of that single night, both endless and over too soon, when they’d made promises left unkept for too long even though they’d bared their very souls to each other. The press of tears behind her eyes was sudden and she tried to blink them back, but Ichigo felt it and his lips left her breast to find her mouth again, long and slow. “I love you,” he murmured, hand rising to cup her cheek and brush away a tear lingering on her eyelashes. “I am here now. We are here now.”

Rukia opened her eyes and smiled up at him, though she felt the hot trail of a tear slide down into her hairline. “I love you too. Always.”

“Always.” Ichigo lowered his mouth to her other breast and Rukia held him close against her, felt him murmur her name against her skin before he slid further down her body, leaving kisses and the occasional nip of her skin. He looked up at her when he pressed her knees apart and slid between them, raising one leg so that it was braced over her shoulder and keeping her spread open for him.

The first touch of his lips on her thigh was a tease, and Rukia grabbed onto the bedsheets with one hand as Ichigo pressed kisses onto her bare skin, following a path along her inner thigh until he reached her pussy. “Ichigo,” she whispered, already shivering for him.

“Touch me,” he husked into her skin, and then pressed his mouth to her, tongue licking up her center and pressing flat against her clit as Rukia threw her head back and choked out his name. She was so sensitive, and he took his time to find out just what she liked best, stroking his tongue along her skin and listening for her moans, for the way her other hand slid into his hair and pressed him closer whenever he licked just right.

“I-Ichi-go,” she keened when his lips closed over her clit and sucked, hands keeping her pinned to the bed as she tried to buck into his mouth.

That’s it, he murmured into the bond between them. He slid one finger into her and then a second, stretching her open and curving up so that she moaned high and sweet into the air. Show me. Show me what you need.

Rukia bucked her hips again and then her hand dipped down. Ichigo drew back a little to make room, mouth wet with her slick, and he smirked up at her as she spread herself for him. “L-like this,” she rasped, one fingertip pressing and making her gasp.

“Mm. Show me again,” he murmured as his fingers pressed deeper, slick and thick inside her.

The skin at her throat flushed pink, the color spreading down her chest. He wanted to watch her touch herself. Her finger flicked and pressed as Ichigo watched, still fucking her slowly with his fingers, until she was gasping and shaking in his arms. He smirked and dropped his mouth back down to her, tongue flicking the way her finger had. He didn’t stop until she fell apart beneath him, shaking through an orgasm that left her panting and his fingers drenched.

Then he did it again, using his mouth to make her come a second time, keening his name and falling limp on the bed as he pulled his fingers from her and licked them clean while she watched. Ichigo pressed kisses to her stomach and then higher, finding her lips once more. She tasted herself on him, and though it was a little odd it was also hot. “Touch me?” he asked then, and Rukia stroked her hands along his back before rolling them so that she was on top, draped over him.

But then she knelt between his legs and Ichigo let out a low, almost pained moan as she wrapped her hand around his length – fully hard now, with precum spilling from the tip – and stroked. “Like this?” she asked teasingly, watching as he twisted the sheets in his hands.

“God, yes,” he told her, eyes dark with need that only redoubled as she pumped him, first slow and then faster. Then her cheeks flushed pink as he watched, and his eyes widened as he caught at the thought that slipped between them. “Please.”

Rukia took his cock into her mouth slowly, arm thrown over his hips to keep him from bucking up too high. She watched him strain against the bed, mouth slack jawed on a deep moan of her name. And – oh, she liked being able to make him feel like this, being able to sink her mouth lower and watch while he shook with need and tried desperately not to buck too far. Like this? she asked and got back only an incoherent mess of pleasure and love, of need for her.

She took more of him as Ichigo watched with wide eyes, though she couldn’t take all of his cock. Rukia’s hand wrapped around the base and she shivered as another burst of incoherent pleasure sped into the bond. She bobbed her head up and down, lips tight around him as she sucked, making him choke on air with the pleasure of it.

“R-Rukia, please,” he begged, and she looked up at him, cheeks flushed and lips swollen.

She lifted her mouth from him and whispered, “Tell me.”

Instead, he dragged her back up his body and kissed her, frantic and deep as his hips rocked against hers. His cock dragged against her thighs; Rukia reached down to stroke the underside and felt him shudder in her arms. But then he slowed down and dropped his forehead to touch hers. “Fuck,” he whispered, the word a harsh curse, and Rukia opened her eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Ichigo’s cheeks burned bright red. “I… don’t have condoms. I really wasn’t planning to seduce you this weekend.”

Oh, that. Rukia pressed her lips to his. “I learned a kido spell for that,” she explained. “See?” Then, though it had been a long time since she’d practiced this particular spell, she cast a complicated, slow kido that glowed blue against the slight curve of her lower belly.

He let out a slow sigh and then kissed her again, warm and slow. “I feel like an idiot,” Ichigo muttered, but Rukia just laughed softly and wrapped her hand around him again.

“My idiot,” she told him as he shook against her. “I need you.”

Ichigo pulled her closer. “I need you too,” he promised. She pulled and he guided until she was beneath him with her legs thrown over his hips. Their hands found each other, her left and his right, fingers twining as they kissed again. “Rukia?” he asked. His hips rocked against her and his cock slid along her pussy, brushing her clit and making her gasp.

“Yes,” she answered, and then moaned again as he pressed inside her, slowly so they could both savor it as he stretched her open and filled her, as she wrapped him in tight, wet heat.

“You feel so good,” Ichigo moaned in a rush, his free hand bracing him above her. When their hips met they were both panting, hands clasped tight and her legs tightening around his hips to keep him still inside her.

She leaned up to kiss him and they stayed like that, shuddering together with the feel of being joined for the first time in so long. Rukia felt tears forming in her eyes again and when they opened their eyes to look at each other Ichigo’s were glassy too. “Love you,” she whispered.

“Love you too.” He rocked his hips, pulling a sharp little cry from her mouth. “You like that?”

“A-huh. I need you to move,” she managed, and Ichigo pressed one more kiss to her lips before he did as she told him, giving her long, slow thrusts. Her hips rolled to meet his and they moved together, slow at first and then faster when they found a rhythm as natural as breathing.

Around them reiatsu filled the air, sparkling in the low light and lending light of its own. Their reiryoku twined as Ichigo held her close and filled her over and over, as Rukia kissed him and met each stroke with a thrust of her hips, clenching tight around him as she groaned his name.

His hand dipped between them and he stroked her clit the way she’d shown him. “I want you to come for me,” he whispered into her mouth. “I want you to come while I’m inside you.”

She gave him a tight nod, lip bitten as she chased what wasn’t quite in reach yet. Ichigo dragged her hips up to shift the angle and Rukia’s eyes rolled back into her head. Like that like that, she told him frantically through the bond and he listened, thrusting exactly the way she told him to until the wave was looming. “T-together,” she demanded. “I want –”

“I’m there,” Ichigo promised. “I’m – f-fuck , Rukia, come with me!” And on his next thrust he pushed them both into the wave of pleasure that crashed over them, burying himself in her so that she came around his cock with a keening cry of his name as he followed, spilling himself into her and panting her name between them.

Reiatsu burst through the room, knocking the fusumas off their hinges and blowing out the lights; every wall and window in the cottage rattled, and the bed creaked ominously as the bond seemed to change somehow, growing wider and deeper. The thread that spun around them widened, gleaming red and gold in the darkness. In the living room, soft thuds signaled books falling from the case in the corner.

Slowly, slowly, they came down, but Ichigo stayed buried within her and Rukia held him there, arms wrapped around him tightly. Their chests pressed together, and their hearts beat frantically against one another, a rhythm in perfect sync. He rocked into her, pulling another little gasp from her throat.

He slid from her, making them both gasp, then rolled them onto their sides and tugged her close once more. You are mine, Ichigo thought through the bond. And I am yours.

Yes, she thought in return, and their lips met in another kiss. Yes, always.

They curled into one another, just kissing and touching as their hearts slowed back to normal. Ichigo kept her so close, so warm around her that Rukia began to drift into sleep. “Rukia,” he murmured, rousing her.

“Mm?” She smiled as she looked at him and reached out to cup his cheek.

“I love you,” Ichigo said again. He stroked a hand along her hip and met her eyes with his, warm amber and soft now that he was sated. Then: “Something’s changed, with… this.” The thread reappeared around them and looped around his fingers.

“I know,” she said softly. “I feel it too. But it’s a good thing, I think. It feels stronger.” Rukia let the thread spiral around her hand as well and then it vanished, invisible once more. “Like it can’t ever break.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, and kissed her again. Taking notice of their surrounds for the first time since they’d guided one another into bed, however, Ichigo winced. “Uh. I really hope we can fix all this.”

Rukia raised herself to look and laughed. “Oh,” she said, cheeks hot. “I hope so.” Then she looked at him and another bubble of laughter spilled from her. “Oh, your hair.” All her grabbing and their lovemaking had made it stick up on end, bright and messy like he’d been in a windstorm.

“Yours too,” Ichigo teased. He grinned and pulled her back down into his arms. Cleanup could wait until morning. They drifted to sleep, tangling together and shifting during the night but never fully parting. In the bond between them, their zanpakutō twined just as tightly, relieved and satisfied.

Chapter Text

Ichigo shoved a hand through his hair to get it out of his face. It was dark in the forest and he could hear sounds of battle up ahead. The cool air sent a chill through him; the sky was pitch black overhead, and the air smelled of rain.

Familiar voices, and one not familiar at all, reached his ears. “Taicho! If we don’t help…” Her words faded in and out of his hearing along with another voice that told her to stand down, to wait.

Rukia. She was here and fighting. But - Taicho? Who else is here? Ichigo held Zangetsu’s blades at the ready as he hurried forward through the darkness. Clouds hid the moon from sight, but he still found his way.

Rukia’s voice called a name that he could not make out and another responded, “You called, ojou-san?” Ichigo gritted his teeth at the sound of it. He knew that distorted voice – it was a hollow!

“Run, Kuchiki!” he heard, and still Ichigo could not reach her. The voices were so close, where was she?

“Rukia!” he yelled. Shadows twisted and turned in the night and he heard a yell, heard her feet running through the forest undergrowth.

He burst into a clearing only to watch as a white-haired man in a captain’s haori fell back, coughing up blood and weakened by his illness. Ukitake. How - he’s been dead for ten years.

A blade flashed and Ichigo saw her. But –

“What the hell?” he demanded. The Rukia before him wasn’t his lover, the powerful woman with a haori on her back and his crystals in her long hair. This was a girl, years younger and terrified as Ukitake yelled at her to raise her blade while a monster wearing a shinigami’s skin leapt for her. “Rukia!” Ichigo tried to get in front of her to block the hollow but suddenly he could barely move. He struggled to lift his blade, to step forward, but could only watch helplessly as she hesitated, eyes wide and terrified.

The world went silent except for the loud, wrenching sound of a blade tearing through fabric and flesh. And – oh, oh no.

“Kai – Kaien-dono?” she asked.

Ichigo stared wide-eyed at the man who’d thrown himself on Rukia’s blade. The man with a face like his, hair black and eyes different but still like his, and oh Rukia, he thought, and knew where he was, now.

“Thanks… to you, my heart can still stay here…”

The skies opened up and in an instant the rain came down in sheets, pouring from the sky and drenching him. His shihakusho was soaked through in seconds.

But more important was Rukia – Rukia, who was crying as she held a dying man up with her body and her sword. “What the fuck?” Ichigo demanded. He could move again, suddenly, and he ran through the rain with Zangetsu roaring inside him. This man had caused Rukia pain, had arrogantly tried to fight alone and then forced Rukia to kill him. This man with a face like his and his weight on her and – “You asshole,” he cursed softly even as he let his own blades fall to reach for Rukia. “Rukia, this isn’t your fault, this isn’t even real.”

But it wasn’t just a dream, Ichigo remembered as she turned her head toward him. This was a memory.

Wide, terrified violet eyes looked at him and she recoiled. “Who—”

His heart twisted. This Rukia was decades younger than the one who’d stepped through his window. “It’s me, Ichigo. Come on, you can let go, I’ve got you.”

“I don’t deserve to be rescued,” she whispered to him. “I don’t deserve to have anyone standing by me.”

“Like hell.” Ichigo growled the words and felt Zangetsu echo them, felt Sode no Shirayuki – the younger one in this memory, still only barely awake – weep for her young, traumatized wielder. “He used you to kill himself, because he didn’t want to hurt either of you.” Silently he cursed everyone who’d let her believe otherwise for so long – because this was an old wound, a deep, deep wound that Ichigo knew about but had never seen, not like this.

“It’s my fault,” she whispered, and Ichigo held her up when she buckled under Kaien’s weight.

“No,” he said quietly. “Years from this – you’ll say that. You’ll say you don’t deserve to be rescued and you’ll be wrong.” He hadn’t been in the Senzaikyuu with her, but suddenly Ichigo knew she’d said those words to herself in that lonely, awful place. Her eyes focused on his, finally, and her face changed just a little, as though she was shifting into the woman he knew, the one of the present day who’d fought and killed Aaroniero Arruruerie and As Nodt. “I’ll come for you, and I’ll fight anyone who tries to keep me from reaching you.”

“Ichi—”

“I swear on my soul, Rukia.”

The world faded.

Rukia shot up in bed beside him and Ichigo grabbed for her, wrapping himself around her as she shook in his arms. “I’ve got you,” he whispered, reiatsu blanketing her. He tried to keep it contained around her; they’d already done some damage to the cottage and he was sure the guests in the buildings nearest them had felt the explosion of reiatsu earlier. “I will always, always come for you, Rukia.”

She buried her face in his bare chest and Ichigo held her even tighter, one hand stroking through hair that had come free of its braid and the other keeping her pressed against his warmth. She was freezing. “You… you were really there,” Rukia said finally. “In my memory.”

“Something to do with the bond,” Ichigo guessed in a low voice. As her shivering eased, he let up on his reiatsu. It was the middle of the night, he thought; a glance toward the window showed only the stars and the gleaming white moon, low in the sky. “I didn’t mean to barge in uninvited, I just – opened my eyes and I was in that forest with you.”

“I know.” Rukia took a long, slow breath. “I suppose you know, then, about Kaien.”

Ichigo held her closer, pressing his lips to the top of her head. Shiba Kaien, his long-dead cousin and the man who had been fukutaicho of the Thirteenth more than fifty years ago. She’d blamed herself for killing him, the memory told him. And everyone around her had let her think that. He needed to tread carefully; he couldn’t tell her that he didn’t care, because he cared that it caused her pain. He couldn’t say it didn’t matter, because it was a trauma that had shaped her. “Yes,” he murmured quietly into her hair. “What I said – in there – is still true. Kaien threw himself on your sword, Rukia.”

She wasn’t crying when she lifted her head to look at him, there in the darkness with only a sliver of moonlight to let them see one another. Her eyes were dry. But he could feel the twist of pain in her heart through the bond. “But I still raised my sword,” Rukia whispered.

“You did, and because of that you saved Ukitake and yourself, and whatever other shinigami might have fought the hollow if you’d failed.” He scowled as he looked down at her. “And I’m going to kick the ass of anyone who let you think otherwise.” Never mind that one of those men was dead. At least he could say he’d already kicked Byakuya’s ass, right?

“Fool. It’s been fifty years.” But Rukia’s voice was stronger, and Ichigo’s expression softened.

He brushed his lips against hers, soft and chaste. “Che. If you keep calling me a fool in bed, I’m going to think you don’t like me,” he teased, stroking her bare back gently to take any sting out of his words. In the back of his mind, though, he worried about the red thread. If their bond was so strong now that it could pull him into one of her worst memories while they slept, it could pull her into his. And what else could it do? What would happen during a battle, if one of them got hurt? Ichigo tightened his hold on her.

She was so much smaller than him, but they were both off-balance and so when Rukia shoved him Ichigo fell back against the mattress in surprise. “Well we can’t have that,” she said, and though her eyes were still dark a smirk curved her lips. They were still naked, bare to each other in the shafts of moonlight that shone through the window. She reached for him and Ichigo dropped his head back, groaning her name when her hand wrapped around his cock.

His concerns about the bond would have to wait. Right now, Rukia needed all of his attention, and he was more than happy to give it to her.

He was getting hard for her again, and silently he blessed whatever mistake or meddling had resulted in this, in Rukia between his spread legs gleaming like a moon goddess wherever the light touched her. In knowing that this was theirs to have, now. Rukia was his, body and soul and in every way that mattered, just as he was hers. Eventually there would be pieces of paper to sign and a ceremony that proved it to everyone else, but right now this was theirs. “Ggh – Rukia,” he groaned again, and his hand slid into her hair as he leaned up, bringing them together in a deep kiss, all tongues and teeth and words panted in the spaces between each meeting of their lips.

“More,” she murmured to him and Ichigo grinned, his other hand sliding down to find her already getting wet for him again.

“You want me again, don’t you?” he murmured into her lips as he stroked, drawing stuttering breaths from her that he matched when her hand stroked just right. “Tell me what you want, Rukia.” Instinct had him reaching for the bond, and when their eyes met again, they shivered together, frozen for a moment in the threads that wrapped around them and sent pleasure back and forth between them.

“Oh,” she whispered. “I need you to touch me.” But something changed in the bond again, making Rukia cry out, soft and pleased though he’d barely begun.

“Yeah,” he said roughly and slid his fingers through the soft, wet folds of her, dragging it up to circle her clit and then curving two fingers inside her while his thumb stayed high, stroking the soft bud beneath it. Like this – stay like this with me, he thought to her, pulling her close in the bond between them. Ichigo got an urgent nod in return before Rukia pressed her lips to his once more and tightened her hand around him.

By the time she slid down onto his cock, enveloping him in tight, wet heat, they were both shaking with need and the bond was a live wire, passing pleasure back and forth until Ichigo couldn’t tell where his ended and hers began. He wasn’t even entirely sure they were still two people.

Rukia rode slow and languid above him, hands buried in her own hair as she arched back and canted her hips to find just the right angle. Ichigo’s hips stuttered at the sight of her like that, riding him for her own pleasure with her breasts painted by moonlight and her bottom lip bitten between her teeth as she moaned for him, soft and wordless. He reached for her again, one hand at her hip to keep her close and the other finding a breast to cup and tease at a hardened nipple with the callused pad of his thumb. It made her sigh with pleasure and squeeze him tight; it made him gasp her name again. Touch me, she thought, and Ichigo dragged his hand lower, savoring the softness of her skin beneath his fingertips and the strength he could feel beyond.

Like this? he asked, fingers dipping to find her clit once more. Rukia’s gasp and the squeeze of her inner walls around his cock were answer enough. He choked out her name and rolled his hips to meet hers. He needed her so much, wanted to grab her hips and pound into her, but Ichigo let her set their pace, stroking slow and gentle until she sped up and demanded more without words.

He wanted to watch the way she moaned for him, the way she sought out her own pleasure and let her hands drop down to pinch at her own nipples. That’s right, he murmured through the bond. Touch yourself while I touch you.

They shuddered together as the bond spread wide with their shared pleasure and their reiryoku twined around them. “Ichi—” She couldn’t even finish the word, half-drunk on pleasure as she was.

He was no better. When Rukia clenched around him again, hot and wet and so tight, it sent a jolt up his spine, and Ichigo groaned her name, hand gripping her hip tight enough to bruise. Rukia rode him harder, her slick inner walls driving him closer and closer to the edge. He used two fingers to rub her clit in time with her thrusts, holding back for as long as he could even though with every stroke he wanted to lose himself in her. He wanted to fill her up while she shook above him like this; but he wanted to make her scream his name first.

Their eyes met in the darkness and she cried out, head thrown back with pleasure. Her walls clamped tight around him and rippled, clutching and pulling him with her so that he drove his hips up into her and spent himself with a roar of her name. This time the wave that crashed over them was so great that the whole world went white for them both, even as their reiatsu rattled the windows. Ichigo caught her as she collapsed down onto his chest and held her tight, skin slick with sweat and heart pounding against hers.

They slept until midday and Ichigo woke first, eyes opening to see that it hadn’t been a dream: Rukia was behind him, spooning him with her arm thrown over his chest and the rest of her pressed up against his back and ass. He turned as slowly as he could to avoid waking her, but it didn’t work: her eyes opened and met his as soon as he draped an arm over her.

“Hi,” he whispered.

Rukia smiled at him drowsily, amethyst eyes still heavy with sleep. She was a mess: the dark silk of her hair was all over the place, there were love bites on her neck, and he could see purple bruises on her hip where he’d clutched at her in the middle of the night. “You’re a mess too,” she grumbled, and Ichigo grinned at her.

“I know.” Then he leaned in and kissed her, languid and gentle.

“We should get up,” Rukia said finally, when her lips were swollen and his were, too.

“Yeah. We uh. Should try and fix things up in here,” Ichigo said, cheeks a bit red. He snuck a look at her and when she did the same to him, they burst into laughter. It felt so good to laugh with her like this, to be close like this and uncaring of their nakedness.

Together they did their best to set the bedroom to rights, setting the sliding fusumas back on their tracks and picking up clothes and other things that had fallen from their rightful places. They left the bed unmade to air it out. Fortunately, nothing seemed broken, not even in the bathroom where the towels had all fallen from the shelves.

They bathed together, sitting across from one another in the tub. “I’m a little sore,” Rukia admitted after she’d washed her hair and rinsed it, and Ichigo flushed a dull, embarrassed red.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, but when Rukia held her hand out to him he pulled her into his arms and settled her between his legs. The water sloshed around them before settling.

“I just said—”

“I know.” He pressed his lips to her cheek and his hands gathered her hair up. “I’m kind of sore too, I just need to touch you.”

That wasn’t exactly new, he’d been taking every opportunity to hold her hand or kiss her for months, but the sheer need to touch her this morning was. Intense. Ichigo clipped the mass of her wet hair up with one of the plain, brown hair things she’d brought with her, and his hands fell to her shoulders, squeezing and then slowly massaging them right there in the warm water.

“Oh. That feels so good,” Rukia murmured, eyes fluttering shut.

He smirked; he should have known she’d love a massage. Ichigo took his time, tending to her back and hips. “Sorry about these,” he murmured when his fingers brushed over the purple bruising shaped like his fingertips. His hands glowed faintly with healing kido as he soothed them away.

“Don’t be.” Rukia smirked up at him before she settled back against his chest. “I’m not.”

Ichigo gave a low, considering rumble that vibrated in his chest and kissed her shoulder as his hands drifted lower and reached her inner thighs. He tried to keep his touch soothing rather than arousing, though he had to think of other things – like cold rain and how much paperwork would be piled up on his desk when they got back – whenever Rukia’s breath hitched.

But.

“How sore are you?” he finally asked a little desperately, when he was hard against her despite his best intentions. Rukia arched back against him and then turned to look up at him, cheeks flushed pink.

“Not… too sore.” Their eyes met, knowing and full of desire.

Water sloshed over the lip of the tub as his hand pressed against her, and Rukia’s next breath was a low moan.

They finally made it out of the bathroom and into clean yukatas after a second bath, and then cleaned up the living area too. Ichigo reshelved fallen books while Rukia picked up the pillows that had flown the sofa. There were apples and grapes, and other little snacks in the kitchenette, and they made a lunch of that, sitting curled up on the sofa together and feeding one another. Ichigo’s hands skimmed over her, glowing faintly again with kido.

“You’re getting better at that,” Rukia observed in between sipping from a tall glass of water. She relaxed into him more and more as his touch eased aching muscles.

Ichigo hummed his agreement and lifted a hand away to reach for his own glass, downing half of it in a few gulps. Tending to Rukia’s needs (and his) had left him thirsty. “It’s coming in handy,” he admitted. “And maybe now I won’t be so bad at other forms of kido.”

She slanted a look up at him. “We’ll have to start practicing again. Maybe some of the easier bakudo.” A thought filtered through the bond and they both blushed. “N-not like that!” Rukia protested, but the bond told him otherwise.

Ichigo popped a grape into his mouth and pressed a sweetened kiss to her lips. “Whatever you say, Rukia.”

“Mm.” She dropped her head to nuzzle at his neck, pressing her lips to a reddened mark that peeked out from under his yukata. She’d left it there in the bath, when he’d had three fingers deep inside of her and was whispering hotly into her ear, telling her how he wanted to –

“We’re going to end up in bed again if you keep thinking like that,” Ichigo pointed out, breathing already a little uneven.

“Don’t worry, I’m not just using you for your body,” she teased. But Rukia backed off a little, twining her fingers with his and focusing on the little pile of grapes they’d been working through.

He huffed quietly and pressed a kiss to her temple. “It is kind of overwhelming, though,” Ichigo admitted softly. Even having her close to him like this and half on his lap wasn’t quite close enough; he wanted to be skin on skin again, even though they’d just had each other in the bath less than an hour ago.

“It is,” she murmured, and squeezed his hand. “I feel it too. Maybe it’s Zangetsu and Sode no Shirayuki…?”

There was a low chuckle between them, one they both heard. We gotta rest sometimes, too, Queen. It’s not the snow lady and me.

“Maybe it’s the bond, then,” Ichigo guessed. “Maybe it’ll uh… settle after a while?” His cheeks heated.

“Maybe. In the meantime, though… Maybe we could cool off in the lake? We have that dinner reservation later,” Rukia pointed out. Her cheeks were still pink too, though, and Ichigo breathed a faint sigh of relief that Rukia felt the same way, that he wasn’t being a pervert or something after a long (really long) dry spell.

Not that he liked reminding himself that he’d ever –

She nudged him, and it was clear she’d followed his train of thought when she said, “Don’t. Like you said last night, we’re here now.”

Ichigo pressed his lips to her temple and breathed in slowly. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Come on, let’s go down to the lake.”

When they walked back into the bedroom to change into their swimsuits, though, Ichigo put his hand on a bag in the closet and realized that he hadn’t yet given her the fifth courting gift. He brought the bag out and swallowed heavily as Rukia dropped her floral yukata on the bed and wriggled, fully naked, into a swimsuit bottom. Her ass bobbed a little as she moved and Ichigo’s mouth went dry as he watched her. It was the same one she’d worn to a beach near Karakura, striped pink and white. The top followed with more squirming - she filled it out a little more than she had all those years ago.

“What’s that?” she asked when she was done and wrapping her yukata around herself once more.

Ichigo breathed in slowly before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her brow. “It’s your fifth courting gift. Go on,” he offered, and held the bag out to her. He grabbed for his swimming trunks when Rukia took it and perched on the edge of the bed.

He’d put her gift in a fancy, shimmering bag with lots of tissue paper, and Rukia pulled the paper out carefully to uncover the gift. “Oh,” she said softly as she pulled the last piece of tissue away and lifted the Chappy from the bag. “Ichigo, how did you find this?”

It hadn’t been easy. There’d been a bribe involved, actually, and Ichigo wasn’t sure when that favor was going to come due. But he just shrugged. “I saw it and thought you might like it.”

“Ichigo, this isn’t even limited edition, it’s – practically no edition! These were all handmade by the same artist, and only ten were released with the lavender party dress,” Rukia said a little breathlessly. Through their wide-open bond he could feel her excitement.

The Chappy in her hands was fluffy and white as most of them were, but rather than cotton the stuffed animal’s ears were lined with fine pink silk and the “fur” was a special wool that, Ichigo had been assured, was harvested from only a select few extremely pampered sheep in the Rukongai. Its outfit was silk too: a pretty, lavender dress with embroidery and crystal details.

“So you like it, then?” he asked, fingertips reaching to brush her cheek. Rukia leaned into his touch and smiled up at him.

“I love it,” she murmured, and pressed her lips to his. “I can’t believe you deigned to touch a Chappy,” she teased when they parted.

“Che. Just don’t expect me to make a habit of it,” Ichigo told her with pretend annoyance. “Here, let me change and then we can go down to the lake.”

Rukia wrapped the precious stuffed animal back up while he changed into his swimsuit and wrapped his own yukata back around himself. They selected clean towels and then left the guest cottage in their geta. There was a note on the front door of the cottage and they both turned bright red – but all it said was that they had a dinner reservation at six, and that they would be well taken care of.

Ichigo dropped off the note in the kitchenette and then they walked down to the lake hand in hand. The sun shone bright overhead and other couples and families were scattered along the sandy shore when they reached it, far enough away from one another that only the occasional burst of laughter reached their ears.

They doffed their yukatas and left their getas with their belongings, then ambled down into the water, plunging in but staying close as they waded together in the cool, clear lake water. “Thank you, Ichigo,” Rukia murmured when they were in deep enough to float beside one another, hands occasionally bumping together.

“Hm?”

Another couple swam by and Rukia fell silent, but Ichigo looked at the peaceful expression on her face and thought, I’m so glad we could be here together. I’m so glad we are together. And he reached out, twining his fingers with hers as she drifted closer and smiled up at him.

“That’s just what I was thinking,” Rukia said softly when they were mostly by themselves again.

“Do you think Ichika and Kazui are getting along alright?” Rukia asked quietly. There’d been another squabble, less dramatic than the last one but still upsetting, a few days ago, and Ichigo had taken Kazui away for a long talk while Rukia and Ichika had spent time together.

“I’m sure they are,” he said, and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. “Ueda, Nagata, and Byakuya all have things under control, and if something happens Byakuya knows that we’re here, remember?”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed at the reminder and she hissed softly, “Did you at least tell him that you reserved a cottage with two separate beds?”

Ichigo snickered, stroking his hand along her back and then grunting when she pinched him. “Ow! Yes, I told him that I was honoring the traditional courtship rituals and that we had separate bedrooms. He definitely rolled his eyes at me.”

“Nii-sama would never do something so – so undignified!” Rukia muttered, but then she snuck a look at him. “Do you think he didn’t believe you?”

“Hah. I uh – I think it was more like he couldn’t believe it,” Ichigo admitted. “But then he just agreed that he’d keep a close eye on the kids until we get back. He said something about teaching them calligraphy.” Hopefully neither of them would spill ink all over the older shinigami.

There were other people around them, but they weren’t so close. The water was still shallow enough that he could stand, and Ichigo let his feet fall to the sandy bottom as he looped an arm around her. He nuzzled at her neck gently, hiding a smirk against her skin when Rukia shivered and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Rukia hummed under her breath and dropped her head down to his shoulder. “Good, then. Hopefully everything’s fine at the division, too.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. Sentarō’s been helping run the division for a long time, remember? And he has Nanao as backup, she could probably run every division at once if she had to.” Ichigo held her close in the cool water. “Relax, okay? I know you probably haven’t had a day off in years, but let someone else worry about everything for a few days.” When Rukia grumbled against his skin he added, “You can terrorize the division for having a betting pool when we get back, if you want.”

And when Rukia threw her head back and laughed beneath the late-afternoon sunlight, eyes bright and hair gleaming like dark silk, Ichigo thought silently that she was as beautiful in sunlight as she was beneath the moon.

Thanks, Zangetsu, he thought as he held her, and felt his zanpakutō hum with curiosity. If you hadn’t woken up, she wouldn’t be in my arms. He heard a low murmur of satisfaction and pride.

After a while though he was glad, too, that the water around them was cool; it kept him cool as Rukia stayed close to him in that little bathing suit of hers. It wasn’t even so revealing, despite being a two piece; the top was more modest than a lot of the other suits he’d seen women wear. But she was so close to him, and already he wanted her again.

After years of not being able to see her and then months of holding himself back, maybe he wanted to make up for lost time. Maybe it really was the bond, though the book from Byakuya’s collection hadn’t said anything about this.

Rukia hummed under her breath and pressed a kiss to his bare shoulder. “You want to go back to the cottage, don’t you?” she guessed, and Ichigo didn’t miss the way her breath quickened or the way her hips rolled against his under the water.

“We have a dinner reservation,” Ichigo pointed out. “And it’s kind of an early one.”

“Mm. We could be quick,” Rukia murmured.

They exchanged a heated look, but then he rolled his hips against hers and savored the little gasp she tried to hide and the way her cheeks turned pink. “I don’t think I want to be quick,” he murmured in her ear, and savored the way her breath hitched. “I think I want to take my time with you.”

Rukia bit her lower lip. “Exactly how do you think we’re going to make it through dinner if you talk like that?” she whispered harshly, clearly conscious of the other swimmers around them.

That was a good question, actually. Morikawa had said it was a kaiseki meal; that would mean a long, leisurely dinner. Ichigo dropped his forehead to rest against hers. “Guess we’ll find out,” he murmured. He glanced up; the sun was already lowering in the sky. “We should go change for dinner.”

Reluctantly they disentangled themselves and swam back toward the shore.

Chapter Text

Orihime looked at her reflection in the mirror and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She’d let it grow out again in the months since Ichigo had taken Kazui away, and now it was just below her shoulders. It wasn’t as long as it had been two years ago, before… everything. But she liked it better this way.

The apartment around her was neat and tidy, and smelled faintly of the lemon-scented cleaning products she’d used that morning. The table where she – and often Tatsuki or Ishida-kun – ate her meals was bare except for a little blue vase in the middle with fresh-cut daisies. Her countertops were clean, and the refrigerator had a week’s worth of groceries inside of it. Her bedroom was tidy too, and there weren’t any boxes lingering around anymore.

It was a far cry from the way she’d been living a few months ago. Her therapist had reminded her many times that she’d been in mourning, and that the shock and depression of her husband leaving her had led her to let clothes remain unwashed, let her apartment remain packed in boxes. Yet she’d also told Orihime in no uncertain terms that, while Ichigo had been legally wrong to take Kazui away from her, he’d had an obligation to make sure her son was getting the care he needed and that she hadn’t been providing, by her own reluctant admission.

The doorbell rang, and Orihime hurried to answer it, taking a deep breath before she unlocked and opened the door. “Oh! Uryuu,” she said with a little smile. “Come in, I was just about to start cooking dinner.”

“Orihime,” he greeted quietly, the lenses of his glasses gleaming in the light cast by the ceiling fixture overhead. Ishida smiled down at her and took his shoes off in the genkan. He shut the door behind him and followed her into the kitchen. “I brought some dessert from the bakery near the hospital.”

“Ah! Thank you, I’ll set it in the fridge for later,” she offered and took the bag he held out to her.

“Can I help with anything?”

“If you’ll set the table? Tatsuki called to say she’s running a little late from the dojo,” Orihime informed him as she made room in the refrigerator for the box of dessert – she hoped it was cake – and started pulling bags of fresh vegetables from the shelves. There was a piece of fresh salmon as well, and she set that off to one side. To her right, plates and chopsticks clattered as Ishida pulled them from shelves and drawers to set on her clean kitchen table.

He watched her as she chopped vegetables and prepared the salmon, tidying up after her without needing to be asked. He’d always been such a good friend to her.

She hadn’t been much of a friend in return.

“What do you mean?” he asked, and Orihime realized she’d spoken out loud. But – there was a knowing tone in his voice, she thought.

“You’ve stayed by my side all this time,” Orihime pointed out softly. “You and Tatsuki-chan both, and Rangiku-san whenever she can. I let you all carry me after – after everything with Ichigo and then Kazui.”

“Hn.” Ishida’s glasses glinted brightly under the kitchen lights. “We’re your friends,” he pointed out.

“I know! But you’ve had to do so much because I…” Orihime cleared her throat uncomfortably and looked down at her cutting board. Carrots and bell peppers were neatly chopped and lined up along one side; she left the onion for last, as always, because onions made her cry. “I was really sick, Uryuu,” she admitted.

He watched her silently.

“My therapist says I have to acknowledge that, so that I can get better,” Orihime explained as she reached for the onion and peeled off the papery, outer layer. “We’ve been talking a lot about Ichigo and how… much it must have hurt him when he realized that I lied about Kazui.

“And how much it must have hurt you, too,” Orihime added. She chopped the onion in half and sliced it length and crosswise. Her eyes started to sting, and she blinked quickly, turning her face away.

Ishida took a long, slow breath. “Yes,” he said quietly.

“I – I used you, and then I lied and said that Kazui was Ichigo’s. And I thought he would love me the way I loved him,” Orihime continued quietly. She realized that for the first time she’d used the past tense in talking about her love for her former husband. She expected it to hurt but – it felt freeing, somehow. “It still hurts that he never did, but – it means I have another chance, right Uryuu?” she asked, voice pitching higher.

“Another chance?” he asked. He was eyeing her carefully, and Orihime sniffled a little as the onion fumes burned her eyes and tickled her nose.

“To love someone else,” she said finally. “Someone who loves me, and doesn’t feel obligated. And maybe I can have another chance with Kazui too, if he doesn’t hate me.” She snuffled and laughed a little, even as tears ran down her cheeks. “Oh, this is a very strong onion!”

“Kazui-tan doesn’t hate you,” Ishida said quietly. “I’m sure he doesn’t. You’re his mother.”

“But he’s been… there for months,” Orihime said. She put her knife down and wiped her eyes on her apron. “What if Rukia and Ichigo tell him he’s not supposed to love me anymore?”

“Kuchiki-san and Kurosaki-san would never do that,” Ishida said severely, so much so that her eyes flew to his, wide with surprise. “The plan was always for Kazui to come back here if and when you got better.”

Orihime frowned down at the onion on her cutting board and tackled the other half, still tearing up all the while. “I don’t think I’m better enough for that yet,” she admitted softly. “But I miss him so much.”

A sigh reached her ears. “It means a lot that you think that,” Ishida murmured. “And I think you’re right. But what about a visit?”

Her heart leapt. “I’d like that,” she whispered. “But…” Orihime cleared her throat. “I’m not ready to see Ichigo or – or Kuchiki-san, yet.” She wasn’t exactly ready to forgive either of them.

Or yourself, a voice pointed out. It sounded like her doctor’s.

Ishida just nodded. “I’ll talk to Kurosaki. Maybe Matsumoto-san can bring him for a few days.”

Orihime had figured out already that Ishida had been given one of Urahara’s denreishinki to stay in contact with her ex-husband. Of course he had one, instead of her and – she stopped that line of thought. Of course he had one and she didn’t – she’d been sick, and he and Ichigo had been trying to protect Kazui. From her.

Remember what Doctor Masuda said, she reminded herself sternly. The older woman was adamant that she be honest with herself. So she said: “I’d really like that.”

The doorbell rang again, and Ishida stepped away to let Tatsuki in as Orihime poured vegetables into her largest frying pan and then placed the salmon into the little grill that had come with her oven.

“I brought soup from the shop you like,” Tatsuki announced when she padded barefoot into the kitchen. She startled at the sight of Orihime with eyes red-rimmed as she cleaned her cutting board. “Orihime?” she asked carefully.

“Oh! It’s just the onion,” she explained with a smile. “Here, I’ll heat up the soup so we can have it with dinner.” She took the bag with its two plastic tubs of cold soup from Tatsuki and got out another pot. “The onions I get from the store down the block are always so strong, but they’re fresher than the ones at the bigger grocery,” she chattered as she poured soup into the pot and turned on the burner beneath it. The salmon was halfway done according to the clock on the oven, and the vegetables were frying nicely.

“Hm. If you say so,” Tatsuki muttered. She got out the pitcher of ice water without being asked and set it on the table, then reached for the smaller soup bowls. “How was work at the bakery today?”

“Oh, it was good! They’re thinking of making me the manager of the day shift, since their current manager is moving to Osaka with her husband next month.”

“That’s great, Orihime!” Tatsuki enthused.

“I’m not sure I want to take it, though,” she said softly. Ishida and Tatsuki both looked startled, and she smiled up at them. “I think I want to go to college. I know it’s late, but maybe – maybe I can be more than a bakery manager? Karakura College has a program just for older students, and I can go part-time. But I don’t think I could work full-time at the bakery if I did.”

“That – that’s really great!” Tatsuki said. “What would you study?”

Orihime looked down at the countertop for a moment and smiled. “Nursing,” she said. “I think… that I’d like to help people. And there’s a big shortage, you know.”

Tatsuki’s jaw slackened, but Ishida smiled at her. “I think that’s a great idea, Orihime,” he said gently, and she smiled, bright and so sunny that her whole face lit up, in return.

Ichigo and Rukia knew that there would be some whispers when they returned from their four days of leave, but the outright stares they received upon landing in front of the gates into the Thirteenth Division grounds were more even than they’d expected. Rukia drew herself up to her full height and looked imperiously at the guards who opened the gates for them, but it did nothing to stop the grins.

She supposed it was only to be expected. She’d never felt more relaxed, and Ichigo hadn’t either – she could feel it through the bond, a deep peace that had settled into his bones and hers. She wondered if there was something in that lake water, or if it was the result of spending most of the last four days wrapped in one another’s arms. Perhaps it was both.

“Welcome back!” Rukia turned as Sentarō jogged towards her, waving enthusiastically with Eguchi not far behind him. “Kuchiki Taicho, Kurosaki Fukutaicho.” They bowed when they reached the couple.

“Has the division been well in our absence?” Rukia asked.

“Quiet and calm,” Sentarō reported. “There’s a bunch of paperwork on your desks, but it’s been quiet. Kotetsu Taicho dropped by looking for you yesterday, Fukutaicho,” he added.

Rukia looked up at Ichigo curiously, and he gave her a little grin. “About the clinic, right? Did she leave a message?” he asked.

“She just asked that you set up a meeting with her when you had time,” Eguchi said with a shrug. She was eyeing them both carefully, poorly concealed glee in her expression. “Did you have a good time on leave? I heard the resort you went to is really nice.”

“It was really relaxing,” Ichigo said, and he slid his hand around Rukia’s.

She almost balked at the public display, but – Sentarō and Eguchi both knew about them already. A little hand holding was hardly going to affect division morale when who knew how many people were wagering money on when they’d get engaged. It might actually help morale, Rukia thought, and next to her Ichigo covered up his laughter with a cough.

“We’re going to put our things away and look over that paperwork. We’ll be having dinner with Byakuya tonight, but I want a report on how the training sessions went, first thing tomorrow morning,” he added.

“Of course, Fukutaicho,” Sentarō said quickly. But he darted a look at Eguchi. “We’ll be here if you need anything.”

Rukia nodded serenely and allowed Ichigo to guide her into the officers’ building and then up to their quarters. They looked at the closed doors before them and Ichigo squeezed her hand.

“If you want to go back to sleeping separately…” he said quietly.

She laughed, loud and hearty, and heard the chatter downstairs fall silent. “You’re such a gentleman, strawberry,” she teased gently, then rose on her toes to kiss him.

“Mm.” Ichigo wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Yeah, yeah. Told you I wanted to do things right.”

“And I told you I’ve had enough time sleeping with a wall between us,” Rukia said quietly, conscious of the fact that the offices below them were still far too silent and that there were probably at least two or three officers listening at the bottom of the damn stairwell.

Ichigo pressed a kiss to her brow. “Me too,” he murmured. Then, with a grin, he asked, “are you asking me to move in with you, Rukia?”

She poked him in the side, and he exaggerated a wince. “I’m telling you that if we go back to sleeping separately, Zangetsu and Sode no Shirayuki will never let us get a good night’s sleep again. Where you want to keep your spare uniforms is up to you.”

His laughter was quiet but heartfelt, and Ichigo tucked her close against him. “Probably not,” he agreed. “Come on then, let’s put our stuff away. I bet Ise Fukutaicho sent back modifications to those plans of yours.”

Rukia groaned. “Probably,” she agreed, and stepped away from him to open the door to her – soon to be their – quarters.

Ichigo stepped in behind her and looked at the narrow futon behind a plain folding screen. It was the same one she’d been using for more than a decade. And he huffed out a breath. “There’s no way we’re both going to fit on that.”

He had a point. Ichigo was more than forty centimeters taller than her, and he was just… bigger. “How big is your futon?”

“It’s longer, but it’s not big enough for both of us.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll take care of it,” Ichigo offered. Then he touched a hand to the small of her back. “How did you feel about the bed in the cottage? I can get a bigger futon, but you seemed to sleep well there. When uh… we actually slept.” His cheeks shaded red and so did hers. “Morikawa was getting mattresses and bedframes from somewhere.”

Rukia looked around her quarters. The space was certainly large enough to accommodate a bed rather than a futon. And it had been very comfortable… whether or not she’d been sleeping. “Okay,” she agreed. “But not as a courting gift. It’s furniture, and I’m going to help pay for it.”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug.

She sensed a little relief through the bond, actually. Rukia wasn’t surprised; the resort and Chappy would have set him back, along with whatever he was paying to get the clinic built. A fukutaicho’s salary was pretty good, and he had that stipend from Ukitake that had sat untouched for a decade (and Rukia wondered how she’d never known about that, given that she’d been Ukitake’s second in command and then acting taicho for years), but Ichigo wasn’t exactly wealthy.

“I guess we’ll have to sleep on futons tonight, but I’ll get something more permanent in the next few days.”

Rukia hummed her agreement, and they drew apart from one another so that she could put her belongings away while Ichigo sauntered into his quarters next door. He was back before she’d put her toiletries in the bathroom, carrying his rolled-up futon and a couple of bags. “Do you have room in your dresser, or do you need me to drag in mine?” he asked as she blinked at him.

“Um.” Her cheeks heated. They’d just talked about it, but here he was actually moving into her quarters, just like that. She wondered suddenly what the division would think of it, what her brother would think.

And then he was in front of her again, bags and futon discarded in favor of his arm wrapping around her shoulder and his lips pressing to hers, so soft and light. And the tension that had been building in her fled. “Better?” Ichigo asked quietly.

“You can’t just kiss me whenever I get tense,” Rukia said a touch waspishly, but Ichigo kissed the tip of her nose.

“Not all the time, but you’re getting stressed out over something I can help fix. Most of the division won’t know, and most of the people who figure it out won’t care,” Ichigo said, and smirked when she blushed.

“You know they’ll care,” she argued.

“Eh, only if there’s a wager on that, too. Sentarō and Eguchi might care, but it’s not like they’ll disapprove. And Byakuya won’t find out unless we tell him.”

Rukia sniffed, looking up at him skeptically. “Nii-sama always finds out everything somehow.”

Ichigo tugged her closer and muttered into her hair, “Tell me what you want to do, Rukia. If you want me to stay in my quarters, I will. If you want me to sleep in here but on a separate futon, I’ll do that.”

She snorted. “We both know that won’t work,” Rukia pointed out. “You haven’t been able to keep your hands off me since that first night.”

“You haven’t exactly been able to keep your hands off of me, either,” Ichigo teased. “Or was it someone else who woke me up last night and…” His cheeks heated and he leaned down, whispering into her ear, “rode my face until I made you scream?”

A bolt of heat shot through her at his words. It had turned out that she could be loud, and Ichigo had reveled in wringing every moan and drop of pleasure he could from her. Their kido skills had gotten a lot of use, both in easing sore muscles and erecting a barrier around the bed so that they didn’t bring down the entire cottage. “We’re on duty,” Rukia hissed, and flushed when Ichigo pressed a kiss to her neck.

“Technically we’re not on duty for another hour,” he murmured. Ichigo kept her close, lips traveling over her neck.

She clamped her thighs together, embarrassed by the trickle of wetness she could feel. “Technically, the offices are downstairs and there are half a dozen officers likely to eavesdrop on us.”

His chuckle was low and soft in her ear. “There’s kido for that. Or you could just be very… very quiet,” Ichigo’s hand had drifted down while he was speaking, and Rukia moaned softly when his hand cupped her through the fabric of her hakama and the heel of his hand pressed lightly against her clit.

Her knees went weak at his touch. They obviously needed to do something about the bond, she thought. It had been near-impossible to keep their hands off of one another, and even days later she was still ready to go after just a few words. How were they going to work if they were keyed up like this all the time? “Ah! Fuck, Ichigo,” Rukia muttered, and scowled at the way he laughed.

“Is that a yes, then?”

Rukia rolled her hips and shivered at the way he gently ground the heel of his hand into her in response. “Lock the door and I’ll cast the kido,” she hissed.

“Mm.” He reached one long arm back and flicked the lock, ignoring Rukia’s halfhearted protest about the kido spell as his lips met hers and then slid lower. “Better cast fast,” he suggested as he tugged at the knot holding her hakama up and then dropped to his knees in front of her when they fell to her ankles.

Rukia choked on her words and her knees buckled as his mouth pressed hot and firm against the core of her, tongue licking through wet folds. “H-how am I supposed to cast when you’re – ah! – doing that?” she demanded as her hands fell to his shoulders to hold herself up. His mouth felt so good on her, and she couldn’t help the way she bucked against him to get more, to get him to lick harder or even suck.

“Mm.” His eyes watched her, molten amber with a ring of gold. Didn’t think a little distraction would stop you, Ichigo teased even as he licked deeper and kept one hand on her hip while the other slid up her inner thigh. A thick, blunt finger pressed inside her and Rukia slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her moan.

“A-all beings bow their heads in sacred silence,” she gasped out when she’d lowered her hand, “Mouths bound and e-ears deafened. N…mmm… No sound shall shatter these walls. Bakudo nnn…” Rukia was shaking by the time she finished the incantation and traced her fingers through the air. Yellow light spilled from her fingers and ran up the walls, muffling all noise until all Rukia could hear was the lewd slurp of Ichigo’s tongue on her skin.

“Better,” he breathed against her skin and sucked her clit into his mouth while Rukia clutched at the fabric of his shihakusho and gasped out his name, legs shaking and pussy dripping for him. His finger left her and two returned, curving carefully and driving another choked moan from her throat.

“Ichigo,” she begged, and felt him smile against her.

“Mm?” His tongue flicked and pressed just the way she liked, and if not for his other hand steadying her, Rukia would have fallen.

“P-please.”

A low chuckle vibrated against her, making her shake. Hold onto me, she heard through the bond, and the hand bracing her slid away. When Rukia looked down, hands gripping his shoulders for dear life, around his head of sunset-bright hair she watched him untie his hakama and push the fabric down enough to release his cock, hard and ready for her. His lips and tongue worked her as he did it, then suddenly his fingers were gone and both his hands were grasping her hips instead, dragging her down onto his lap.

“You’re gonna come on my cock,” he breathed and Rukia’s mouth dropped open on a low, loud moan as he sheathed himself in her in one stroke, moaning her name when her hips settled over his. “Like that?” Ichigo asked breathlessly.

Their eyes met and Rukia nodded, just as breathless from being filled and stretched by him. “Fuck me,” she demanded, and Ichigo’s lips stretched in a hungry, feral grin.

“Better hold on,” he warned, and that was the only warning she got as he held her hips and rocked up into her, slow and thorough on the first strokes but then harder and much faster as she grabbed on tighter and their mouths met in a clash of lips and teeth. She could still taste herself on him.

This fast neither of them was going to last very long, and in minutes Ichigo was shaking beneath her, demanding, “touch yourself,” into her lips. Her fingers dipped between them and Ichigo muttered, “Rukia, I’m c-close—”

“Yes,” she whispered, even though she wasn’t quite there with him yet.

He knew, though, and wrapped his fingers around the base of his cock to slow himself down. “You look so hot like this,” he whispered in her ear as she rocked atop him and pressed her fingers against her clit. “Fucking yourself on me. You’re going to come all over me, aren’t you?”

“A-ahuh,” Rukia breathed, and clenched around him in warning. Ichigo pulled his hand away and fucked up into her harder as she keened for him.

“Come for me,” he breathed, and between his thrusts and her fingers she tipped over the edge, biting his shoulder to stifle her moans as she shook in his arms, clutching at his cock over and over until he followed with a groan of her name and another powerful thrust that buried him in her to the base. Her thighs were wet, and they’d soaked his hakama by the time they came down, her head resting on his shoulder and his lips gently pressed against her neck.

Eventually she shifted, uncomfortable and a little clammy, when their breathing had evened out just a little. “We really need to clean up,” she muttered.

Ichigo huffed out a laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed.

“And I should heal that bite mark,” Rukia added.

He leaned away far enough so that he could reach up to touch it, then grinned down at her. “Nah. I like when you mark me up a little.”

Rukia’s cheeks burned; she liked to mark him more than she wanted to admit. But she protested, “And what happens when you take off the top of your uniform? Which you do often, especially when you’re training in front of my office window.”

His lips found hers. “Guess the trainees will know I’m all yours?” he suggested and laughed again when Rukia smacked his chest lightly. “Come on, we probably need to get some of the paperwork done today.” Ichigo slid her off of his lap and then lifted her into his arms as he stood. Thankfully, being in charge of a division meant she had her own private bathing room, and Ichigo carried her into it.

They kept their hands mostly to themselves in the bath, washing up quickly but thoroughly and then changing into fresh uniforms, then walked back down the steps to their offices and exchanged a smirk at the sound of scurrying feet. Their subordinates really had been trying to listen in on them. And even though she’d set up the kido, Rukia knew that there would be speculation that the Taicho and Fukutaicho had decided to have a last quicky before their leave ended.

Ah well. Rukia wasn’t fond of the idea of being fodder for gossip, but there wasn’t much to be done about it. And she did have some division pride; if anyone was going to win one of the betting pools, she wanted it to be someone from the Thirteenth.

Or Hanatarō, Ichigo interjected, and Rukia chuckled softly.

“We’ll go over to the manor at six?” she offered, and Ichigo nodded in agreement. His lips pressed against her temple before he let her go into her office, and she didn’t have the heart to protest his familiar treatment.

Sentarō had warned her about the paperwork that had piled up in her absence, and Rukia huffed out an irritated breath at the sight of her desk, so clean when she’d left just a few days ago, piled once more with papers. Ichigo’s irritation mirrored hers and she got the sense that he’d expected a little less of it. There was nothing for it, though; she settled into her chair, set out her brushes and ink, and got to work. First thing was first: Ichigo was right about her capital plans. Nanao had sent them back with three sheets worth of notes.

On the other side of the wall Ichigo settled down as well; Rukia could feel him sorting through paperwork and occasionally grumbling over whatever he saw. Is it that bad? she asked and felt him hum.

Could be worse, Ichigo admitted.

“Kotetsu-san.” Ichigo stood and nodded his head in greeting as the silver-haired woman stepped in through his open office door. “Thanks for seeing me on short notice.”

“Hanatarō convinced me to make time for you,” Isane said with a little smirk playing on her lips. She sat down on the padded cushion Ichigo offered and watched as he poured green tea from a plain pot into a blue-rimmed cup. She took it and sipped when he pushed it across the table to her.

Ichigo sat cross-legged on the other side of the low table and sipped from his own cup. It was just a middling tea, nothing special – but it was what he’d gotten used to over long hours completing paperwork. “I wanted to talk to you about the clinic I’m building in Inuzuri,” he said without preamble.

Isane blinked at him. “You’re building a clinic?” Her cup clattered down onto the table. “I know you were a doctor in Karakura, but doesn’t Rukia keep you busy enough?” Then she seemed to realize the double meaning of her own words as her cheeks turned pink and she waved her hands in front of herself quickly. “That is, your duties as a fukutaicho, don’t they keep you busy?”

He stifled a snort and passed his amusement along to Rukia. A faint, embarrassed groan filtered through the thin wall separating their offices. “We have a lot of work to do here,” Ichigo agreed. “I’m sure every division does. But the people in the outer districts don’t get much access to medical care. It’s something Kyōraku Soutaicho and I discussed when I took up my position here.”

“A single clinic is hardly going to solve all of the Rukongai’s problems,” Isane pointed out. “Especially not one as far out as Inuzuri.”

“I know, but it’s a start,” Ichigo argued. “Anyway, I wanted to know if some of your unseated officers – the new kids – need extra time learning to heal, whether it’s with kido or the kind of doctoring I used to do. Ishikawa has a couple people in mind who have some basic skills, and I’ll be out there a couple days a week. But I could use some extra people.”

Isane blinked at him and sipped her tea slowly. “You’re serious about this,” she said quietly.

“Serious enough that I’m meeting with Kyōraku to talk about building more.” Ichigo pushed a small plate of mochi across the table toward her. They weren’t quite as good as the cookies the division cook made for him and Rukia, or as good as Hikifune’s chocolate cake, but they were good enough for a meeting like this. “Your people would be safe there; Ishikawa has a volunteer guard all set up and I’ll have a couple guys from the Thirteenth stationed there every day.”

She bit into one of the pink-hued mochi and chewed thoughtfully. “You’ve been helpful in the relief station,” Isane mused. “And you don’t treat us like some of the other divisions, like my people, as you put it, are just wimps and cleaners.”

Ichigo snorted. “I spent almost a decade learning to be a doctor. It’s harder to heal people than swing my sword around.” He got a smirk in response to that.

“I can give you a small group,” Isane said after a moment. “Three unseated members for half-days, four days a week. Hanataro will be your point of contact.”

The faint tension that had been building in his shoulders relaxed, and Ichigo bowed his head in thanks. “Thanks, Kotetsu Taicho,” he said quietly.

“I heard you’re trying to find a retired shinigami who can teach kido,” she said, and Ichigo arched an eyebrow.

“I’d kept that quiet so far,” he pointed out. “But yes. Eventually I’d like the clinic to be staffed at least partially by locals.”

Isane nodded and rolled the teacup between her palms, fidgeting with the nearly empty vessel. “There’s an older woman in the second southern district who may be willing to help. She retired from my division after the war.” Her expression darkened, eyes going glassy, and Ichigo sat silently while she gathered herself. “You’ll keep my people safe, Kurosaki.”

“As safe as I can make them,” he promised.

Isane stood, then, and Ichigo scrambled up after her, bowing shallowly. “Good. I’ll leave it in Hanataro’s hands, then; by the time you stop by for your next kido tutoring session he’ll be informed, and you can plan out a rotation with him.”

“Thanks, Kotetsu-san,” Ichigo said quietly, and when she’d taken her leave, he stepped into Rukia’s office, eyeing the paperwork still piled on her desk. The clock half-buried beneath it told him that they’d need to leave for dinner soon.

Rukia looked up at him and sighed, already looking less relaxed than he would have liked. “Central Forty-Six wants to cut my capital budget by twenty percent,” she said, and offered a handful of papers to him.

His reiatsu spiked before he could stop it, but Ichigo settled down on a chair on the other side of her desk and paged through the documents carefully. “The budget was approved already, wasn’t it?” he asked after a long moment. “This says they want to claw back the funds for potential emergency repairs.”

She made a face. “Yes, it was approved when the year changed over. I’m going to appeal it, but I’ll probably lose and have to adjust my plans again.”

“Haven’t they been denying you a capital budget for years because you weren’t officially in charge?” Ichigo asked. “And I know it kept us short on recruits compared to the other divisions.”

Kyōraku and the other eleven taicho had dragged their feet for years, and that slowness over time meant that Rukia’s division was, while not hamstrung, well behind where the others were in terms of both personnel and budget. Ichigo wasn’t sure what the other divisions’ budgets were, but he had the figures – thanks to years of recruits being turned off by Rukia’s acting status, the Thirteenth was almost a third smaller than the next-largest division, and half the size of the largest. Occasionally, he regretted not beating up the Soutaicho on the Sokyoku hill that night, for leaving Rukia such a mess to clean up.

“Yes, I was able to secure ordinary funds,” Rukia murmured. “But there’s not much I can do if they want me to cut expenses.” Then she nudged his foot with hers beneath the desk. “How did your meeting with Isane go? You seemed pretty happy about it.”

“Ah, yeah.” Ichigo pressed his foot against hers lightly, affectionately, and explained the conversation he’d just had with Rukia’s peer and friend. “It’ll make a big difference,” he said quietly when he finished. “We’ll be able to keep the clinic open almost every day, and maybe lengthen the hours over time, if there’s demand.”

“Oh, there will be demand,” Rukia assured him. Their eyes met. “At the very least you’ll have all the orphan children coming through for water and maybe food, after all. And people get hurt easily, that far out. No one has shoes, and people are always fighting for water.”

Ichigo’s reiatsu flared again and he tamped it down as quickly as he could. “There are a lot of children without families in Inuzuri, aren’t there?” he asked finally.

“Almost no one actually finds their blood family,” Rukia pointed out. “Most people who die in the world of the living are sent to random districts. Sometimes they make their own family; children get taken in by souls who want to be parents. But my friends in the Rukongai…” She took a slow breath. “The five of us were on our own.”

The idea of Rukia as a child being left to fend for herself in the Rukongai hurt, and the idea that Ichika or Kazui could have done the same didn’t bear thinking about. But. I could change things, Ichigo thought, keeping the idea back from Rukia. There were still the sixth and seventh courting gifts, after all. And he needed to have a talk with Kyōraku.

“You’re planning something,” Rukia guessed, but before Ichigo could respond her denreishinki began to ring. She grabbed for it from beneath a pile on the desk. “It’s Ishida,” she said quickly, and they exchanged a worried look before she answered the call. “Ishida-san,” she said as she tapped the icons to answer the call and put it on speaker. “I have Ichigo here with me.”

“Good,” said the voice on the other end of the line, slightly tinny. “I want to talk to you both about bringing Kazui to Karakura to visit Inoue-san.”

They exchanged a look, and Ichigo reached for Rukia’s hand without thinking. She grasped it and squeezed tight. “Do you think she’s… well enough for that, Ishida?” Ichigo asked after a long moment of silence. “When we went to Karakura to send Yuzu off, Kisuke said she wasn’t ready for that yet.”

“She wasn’t, at the time. But she’s been seeing a doctor for a while now, and she’s been working at the bakery successfully for a while now. Inoue-san knows that she isn’t ready to have Kazui back with her full-time, but she misses him very much.”

Ichigo squeezed Rukia’s hand in return. “I’m not sure I’m ready to leave Kaz alone with her,” he admitted quietly. “And are you sure she’s ready to see us?”

“I understand, Kurosaki, and that’s why I think you should send Kazui with Matsumoto-san for the visit, if she’s willing. She can stay with Inoue-san, and I’ll make myself available as well.” There was a slight hesitation on the line. “I’d… like to see him, too.”

Ichigo’s heart twisted. He heard what Ishida wasn’t saying: moving Kazui to Soul Society, however temporarily, had meant not having a chance to get to know his son. “I think that’s a good idea,” he agreed. “I’ll talk to Kazui about it after dinner tonight.”

“Is Orihime really doing that much better?” Rukia asked carefully.

“I really do think so, Kuchiki-san,” Ishida said calmly. “We had a conversation a few days ago that gave me hope for her continued recovery. She’s even thinking of going back to college to be a nurse.”

“That’s – that’s great!” Rukia exclaimed.

“It is,” Ishida affirmed. “Arisawa-san and I are still helping out, but things are much better.”

“That’s very good to hear,” Rukia said softly. “We’ll talk to Rangiku and to Kazui, and I’ll call you about a date for the visit, if they agree.”

They exchanged a few more words and then Rukia hung up, setting the denreishinki back down and looking at Ichigo carefully. “Are you okay with the idea of Kazui visiting Orihime?” she asked.

Ichigo’s hand squeezed hers again. “I’d…” His throat and cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’d almost let myself forget, for a little while, that his being here is supposed to be temporary. But he’s her son, and I really do want Ishida to get the chance to know him, too.”

“I know,” Rukia said quietly, but she confessed, “I let myself forget for a little while, too.”

Chapter Text

“It’s just for four days,” Ichigo explained as he crouched in front of Kazui and adjusted the obi tied around his waist. He was still wearing one of the yukatas that the Kuchiki servants had procured for him; this one was black with a geometric white pattern printed along the hem. “But it’ll be good for you to see each other again.”

Kazui looked at his father and then up to Rukia uncertainly. “So Kaasan’s not sick anymore?” he asked. “Are you sure?”

Ichigo gripped his son’s shoulder gently. “She’s feeling much better,” he said, keeping his own nerves from his voice. “But Rangiku is going to go with you, and Ishida and Tatsuki will be there too, okay?”

“Why aren’t you coming with me?” he asked, darting a look at Rukia and then at Ichika, who was perched on a bench by the Senkaimon point. She kicked her legs, hands pressed against the bench as if she was going to push herself from it any second now.

Rukia took a long, slow breath and Ichigo looked up at her. They’d talked about that: how to tell Kazui if he asked. Whether to fib and say it was because of their duties (even though Rangiku was of equal rank to him) or give him an edited version of the truth. “Rukia and I have a lot of work to take care of in the Thirteenth,” he said, deciding on the fib. Kazui didn’t need to know that Orihime didn’t want to see either of them yet. The anger between him and Orihime was just that – between him and Orihime. He didn’t want Kazui to see it, or resent either of them for showing it. “But we’ll try and take you next time, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered, but held his arms out and burrowed into Ichigo’s chest when his father hugged him tightly. When Kazui pulled away he reached for Rukia next, and she knelt to hug him as well.

“Rangiku will take really good care of you,” Rukia promised as Ichigo straightened up. “And when you come back, we’ll take you and Ichika someplace fun.” She hugged him closer when Kazui nodded his head against her chest. Rukia was small, but Kazui was even smaller, and the enormous sleeves of her haori covered him from neck to ankle in layers of white fabric.

“Thanks for doing this,” Ichigo said quietly to Rangiku, who had a pack thrown over one shoulder and a seal on her power already applied.

“I’m happy to,” she said, and when Kazui finally pulled away from Rukia she smiled down at him. “We’ll have a lot of fun, right? And I’ll get to see Hitsugaya Taicho, he’s been in Karakura for almost two months now.”

Ichigo raised an eyebrow. “He hasn’t been back to Soul Society in that long?” he asked. He knew that Hitsugaya had promised to help his sister train – and that had been a hell of a conversation, when he’d found out after dropping Yuzu off at the airport that Karin was already a shinigami and had gone through exactly the torture that he’d sworn she would be able to avoid. Oh, he’d known his sister was up to something, and had told Hitsugaya about it, but she’d kept the actual process a secret from him until it was over.

There’d been some yelling, mostly Karin telling him that I’m an adult Ichi-nii, but Rukia had given Tōshirō an impressive dressing down for not telling them that he knew about Karin’s plan. Ichigo smirked at the memory of her, fired up and facing down a man a foot taller than her. He wondered if Urahara still had the lump on his head from where Yoruichi had hit him over the head for not telling Ichigo about this, Kisuke you idiot.

“No, he’s still with Karin-chan.” Rangiku grinned at him. “Kyōraku Soutaicho isn’t entirely happy about it, either. He thinks Taicho should have dragged her back here for training instead of spending all their time in Urahara’s shop.”

Rukia snorted as she straightened up. “Nanao’s been keeping him from trying to drag Tōshirō back here. And you are going to owe her a favor for that,” she told Ichigo.

“Me?! I didn’t ask her to do any of that,” Ichigo groused. “Besides, we had permission from him to go forward and train her. I thought we’d agreed to talk to him about how instead of doing things Urahara’s way.”

Rukia made a rude noise. “As though you Kurosakis have ever done what you’re told.”

Did what you told me to last night, didn’t I? Ichigo couldn’t resist prodding, and yelped when she pinched him in the side.

Kazui and Ichika are right here, she shot back.

“It’s time, Kuchiki Taicho,” the Senkaimon guard called before Ichigo could come up with a reply to that, and straightened up when the three turned their attention to her.

“Alright. We’ll be waiting here for you when you get back,” Rukia assured Kazui, and reached out to ruffle his hair. She kept a smile on her face even though it didn’t quite reach her eyes, and Ichigo could feel the conflict in her heart; he shared it.

It was only ever supposed to be temporary. Kazui wasn’t a shinigami and he wasn’t dead; he deserved to live his life in Karakura with his mother.

Rangiku reached down and Kazui obediently wrapped his arms around her neck and held on tight while she straightened up. “Just hold on tight to me, Kazui,” she said cheerfully, and nodded once to Ichigo and Rukia. “I have my denreishinki – I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

And then the doors slid open and she stepped through, following a black-winged butterfly. In just a few seconds they were gone.

Ichigo took another breath and when Rukia’s hand crept into his, he held it a little too tightly. “Well,” he said, and looked over at Ichika. “I heard Nagata-sensei gave you the rest of the morning off.”

She jumped off the bench and nodded. “He said I need to be back after lunch,” Ichika explained. “He wanted to adjust today’s lesson since Kazui won’t be there.”

“Good,” Rukia said, smiling down at their daughter. “I had an idea, but we’ll need to go someplace quiet.” She beckoned for Ichika, and together they left the Senkaimon room in the Kuchiki manor. She led them to the quietest garden on the estate, and Ichigo raised an eyebrow at her when they reached it.

He’d only been there once, and recently, when they’d walked through the estate one night after dinner and talked about Kazui’s visit to Karakura. Willow trees grew tall and strong in a grove at one end of the garden, their weeping branches partially concealing a set of colorful cushions. It was to these cushions that Rukia led them, and when she gestured Ichigo took a seat on a black cushion, while Ichika took a bright pink one. Rukia unsheathed Sode no Shirayuki and settled herself on the third cushion, this one bright purple.

At her gesture, Ichigo did the same with his blades and so did Ichika, settling her smaller zanpakutō across her knees. “So,” Ichigo said, “What are we doing?”

Rukia smiled up at him. “We,” she said, “Are going to try and meet Shiragetsu.”

Ichika blinked up at her mother. “But Nagata-sensei said people can’t see each other’s zanpakutō manifestations,” she objected. “Kazui wanted to see her, and he said it was impossible.”

“Mm. It probably wouldn’t be possible for Kazui unless we used something like the tenshintai device that Urahara has… but you have another idea, don’t you?” Ichigo asked, raising an eyebrow at Rukia.

She shuffled closer so that her knee was just barely touching Ichika’s. “Nii-sama’s library is really very helpful,” Rukia explained with a smirk. “We’re going to sit jinzen, the way you’ve been taught, Ichika. Because of the red thread, Ichigo and I are able to enter each other’s inner worlds at will. Hopefully, because you’re our daughter, we’ll be able to pull you and Shiragetsu along.”

You really think we’ll get to meet her? Zangetsu asked, and there was an eagerness in his voice that Ichigo wasn’t used to; but then, he supposed, Zangetsu and Sode no Shirayuki had told them: they believed that Shiragetsu was theirs.

She is ours, Shirayuki’s voice murmured in Ichigo’s thoughts, full of quiet conviction. I know it.

“Shiragetsu wants to try it,” Ichika reported. “We can’t really talk much in words like this – not unless I’m already in jinzen,” she explained. “But I can feel it.”

Ichigo reached over and squeezed her knee gently. “That’s great,” he said quietly. Then he looked up at Rukia. “So, how are we going to do this?”

“Rest part of your blade against Shiragetsu, and I’ll do the same with Sode no Shirayuki,” Rukia instructed, and showed Ichigo what she meant. He hurried to copy her, and Ichika took a sudden deep breath.

“That feels weird,” she said, and hurried to add when her mother started to pull back her blade, “It doesn’t hurt, but it feels kind of like the two of you are hugging me really tight.”

Ichigo and Rukia exchanged a look. He’d always been able to feel someone’s intent through their blade when he fought. Maybe their daughter was the same. “Right,” Rukia said, eyebrows raised. “Now we’re going to try and meditate, the way you usually do when you sit jinzen.” Then, conspiratorially, she added, “Your father isn’t very good at this part.”

“Che. Never had to be - Zangetsu just grabs me when he needs my attention,” Ichigo explained. But he closed his eyes and took long, slow breaths, trying to center himself. Beside him, Rukia and Ichika did the same.

It came easy, this time, maybe because Zangetsu and Shirayuki wanted it so badly. Ichigo opened his eyes and found himself in the balcony garden that Zangetsu had claimed as his own. It was even more lush and beautiful than it had been the last time he’d seen it, and as he looked around, he saw more flowers in full bloom, even some that shouldn’t have been able to thrive in the same season: snowdrops and day lilies mingled with tulips and hellebore, and the scents of honeysuckle and elderflower drifted in on the breeze.

There was a huge daybed off to one side of the balcony, soft and covered with fancy pillows.

“The bond’s influence,” Zangetsu explained from beside him. His hair had grown longer just as Ichigo’s had, but he otherwise looked the same, wearing a white shihakusho in a mirror of Ichigo’s black one. “When you and the Queen finally slept together the whole place started blooming like crazy.”

Heat filled Ichigo’s cheeks. “Don’t mention any of that in front of Ichika,” he ordered, and his zanpakutō just snorted.

“Yeah, yeah. I swore to protect the princess too, even if it’s from my mouth,” he said with a good-natured roll of his eyes. And then, more quietly, “and the prince, too, King.”

Ichigo nodded. “Thanks,” he murmured.

Rukia landed beside him and a moment later so did Sode no Shirayuki, arriving in a flurry of snowflakes and the scent of andromeda. She offered Ichigo a shallow bow in greeting, but Zangetsu’s welcome to her was far more passionate: he swept her into his arms and pressed a kiss to her pale pink lips as a false sun shone brightly overhead. “Snow lady,” he said softly, affectionately, and Ichigo looked away to give them a modicum of privacy.

He’d never quite gotten used to Zangetsu acting so soft toward Shirayuki, but then – it wasn’t all that different than it was between him and Rukia, he guessed. “Think Ichika and Shiragetsu will make it?” he asked.

Rukia hummed thoughtfully under her breath. “I hope so. But if they don’t this time, we’ll try again. The book I consulted said it might take a few tries, or not work at all.”

“Woah, these buildings are huge,” Ichika’s voice said, and she spun around in place as she appeared before them. “And so is this garden, wow. This is your inner world, right Oyaji? Why’s almost everything sideways?”

Ichigo grinned. “I never did figure that out. But you can’t fall here.” He wouldn’t let her, and neither would Zangetsu.

She turned her attention to Sode no Shirayuki and Zangetsu next, making a circle around the pair of zanpakutō with her mouth slightly open. She tucked herself beside Shirayuki and peeked up at Zangetsu from around the older woman’s silk clothing. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered to Shirayuki, who covered her smile with the sleeve of her kimono. “But he’s kind of scary. Like a negative of Oyaji.”

Zangetsu crouched down and smirked at her. “I’m a lot cooler than him, princess,” he drawled, ignoring Ichigo’s protesting “Oi!”

“Princess?” Ichika asked.

“Yeah. He’s the King,” Zangetsu explained, pointing his thumb at Ichigo, “and she’s the Queen. So, you’re the princess. Means I’m only scary if someone’s trying to hurt you.”

Ichika hummed thoughtfully under her breath. “Guess it’s good that you look scary, then,” she agreed.

Another cold breeze blew over all of them, and everyone but Ichika stopped at the sight of her.

Tengoku no Shiragetsu alighted on the balcony, first on one foot and then the other. And, oh, Ichigo thought. Shirayuki and Zangetsu are right. There was no question that she was theirs, the same way that Ichika was so clearly his daughter with Rukia.

Shiragetsu was a child, like her wielder, and like the two zanpakutō from which she had taken her name she was pale as the moon. The silken furisode she wore, sleeves so long they trailed on the ground beside her, was the color of freshly fallen snow, but the obi tied around her waist was embroidered, as Ichika had told them, with shimmering crescent moons and black suns. The girl’s silver-white hair was bound up with crystal kanzashi that gleamed like ice beneath the sunlight. Her eyes, when she turned to look at them, were as golden as Zangetsu’s.

“Oh,” Rukia said softly, and her hand found Ichigo’s.

Sode no Shirayuki and Zangetsu were similarly stunned, falling still beside Ichigo in favor of staring at the zanpakutō that was so much like each of them.

“How come everyone’s just staring at me?” Shiragetsu demanded, hands falling to her hips. “And where are we?” This she asked of Ichika, who grinned at her.

“We’re in Oyaji’s inner world. Everyone wanted to meet you now that you’re awake,” Ichika explained. “Kaasan and Oyaji and their zanpakutō, I mean.”

Shiragetsu bounced closer, kanzashi tinkling as the crystals moved, and as Ichika had done, she circled Shirayuki and Zangetsu, who’d straightened up from his crouch. “Oh,” she said, and smiled up at them. “You’re like me.”

Shirayuki hummed under her breath. “We are,” she agreed, voice soft. “We are the zanpakutō of Ichika-chan’s parents. Sode no Shirayuki and Zangetsu.”

The younger zanpakutō spirit tilted her head thoughtfully, golden eyes gleaming as she looked between the two of them. She touched the sealed sword at her hip, its hilt decorated with sun and moon menuki. “Yeah, but you’re mine,” she said. “Like those two,” and Shiragetsu pointed at Ichigo and Rukia, who were still looking their fill of her, “are Ichika’s.”

Zangetsu cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he said, voice still rough. “We’re yours, and you’re ours.”

And Shiragetsu beamed, reaching for them both. Zangetsu shot Ichigo a panicked look but Shirayuki laughed, pulling him with her as she leaned down to hug Shiragetsu the way she clearly wanted. “As Zangetsu says,” she murmured into the girl’s ear, “we’re yours.”

Rukia tugged Ichigo off to the side, behind a particularly large honeysuckle bush, and grinned up at him. “Let’s give them a minute,” she said as Ichika joined them, tucking herself against her mother’s side. Rukia wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close.

“I’ve never seen Zangetsu that soft,” Ichigo whispered.

His partner snickered softly. “Zanpakutō are a reflection of the soul,” she reminded him. “He’s just acting the way you do around us.”

“Yeah Oyaji, you get all soft and mushy around Kaasan, Kazui and me,” Ichika said, and yelped when Ichigo reached down and ruffled her hair until it was a disorganized mess atop her head and her ponytail was loose.

“Che. Not both of you ganging up on me,” he complained, but there was a grin on his face, and he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to Rukia’s lips. He could hear Shiragetsu and her – parents, he guessed – talking quietly, but then she darted around the bush and grabbed for Ichika’s arm.

“Come on, show them!” she demanded, and dragged Ichika from her parents. “Show them how pretty!”

Ichigo exchanged an amused look with Rukia, and they trailed after their daughter and her zanpakutō as they darted into the center of the garden. Shirayuki tucked her arm into Zangetsu’s and they followed too, all smiles in the sunlight.

Ichika reached down and unsheathed her zanpakutō, then called its release with a firm, “Rise, Tengoku no Shiragetsu!” Beside her, Shiragetsu clapped as the sword in her hand moved into its released state, white blade gleaming and the black hilt growing the sun-like spikes.

“You have a very pretty shikai,” Shirayuki complimented.

“It’s kind of girly,” Zangetsu muttered, and yelped when Shirayuki pinched him. “Ow! Ow, fine, it’s gorgeous.”

Rukia stifled her laughter in Ichigo’s bicep. “They really are just like us,” she muttered, and Ichigo squeezed her lightly.

“Show them what I taught you!” Shiragetsu urged. “But um…” She looked around, and then gestured at the wide-open space beyond the garden. “Maybe point it over there, so we don’t mess up the garden and make Kaasan angry.”

“She’s my Kaasan,” Ichika mumbled, and Shiragetsu rolled her eyes.

“She’s yours,” she said, pointing at Rukia. “I mean mine.” And she waved a hand at Shirayuki while the older zanpakutō spirit hid another smile behind her sleeves. Ichigo could see the way her eyes gleamed wetly, though.

“Wait, you’ve learned an attack already?” Ichigo asked and raised an eyebrow at Shiragetsu. “Is that…wise?”

The girl shrugged. “There might be an emergency or something. But come on, show them! It’s so cool!” she said, giving Ichika’s arm a strong nudge.

Ichika grinned at her counterpart and aimed her blade toward the empty sky. She fairly glowed with pale blue reiatsu as she called eagerly, “Getsuga tensho!”

Pale blue energy erupted from the slender, white blade and blasted into the air, traveling a good ten meters before it dissipated harmlessly, leaving only the faint smell of ozone as Ichigo and Rukia watched, jaws slack.

“Well,” Rukia said after a moment of silence. “That’s very impressive, Ichika,” she praised breathlessly.

“That’s not the only attack we’ll have, but Ichika’s not ready for the others yet,” Shiragetsu explained authoritatively. When Ichika grumbled, she nudged her again. “I told you, getsuga’s for emergencies. You have to practice a lot before I’ll show you anything else. The rest is more complicated cause they’re all… complicated.” She gestured at Shirayuki and Zangetsu as if that would explain things.

“What’s that mean?” Ichigo asked. Even though he had mixed feelings about just how early his daughter’s zanpakutō had manifested and how early she’d achieved shikai, the sight of her using the attack that he and his father used caused a swell of pride in his chest. Still, Rukia squeezed his hand as she caught the expression on his face when he thought of his father.

Shiragetsu shrugged. “We have getsuga because we’re yours. But I like the cold best,” she explained.

“You’re an ice-type zanpakutō?” Rukia asked. The girl shrugged.

“Maybe,” she agreed. Then Shiragetsu unsheathed her own sword and nodded at Ichika. “Come on,” she said, “Let’s show them what else you know.”

And their parents – shinigami and zanpakutō alike – settled on the daybed and watched as their grinning daughters faced each other in the garden and brought their swords together.

Kazui clung tightly to Matsumoto as they landed inside a smelly old building in a quiet part of Karakura. He recognized it after a moment – it was the shop that belonged to the old guy that his father sometimes called Hat ‘n Clogs. Rukia was more polite; she at least called him Urahara-san most of the time.

“Alright, let me get my gigai,” Matsumoto said, “and a change of clothes for you. Then we can go to Orihime’s place.”

He nodded silently and allowed her to set him down. He’d felt the shift when they’d come through the weird double gate; he felt heavier, as though in Soul Society he’d weighed a lot less. He wondered what Tousan and Rukia were doing, or Ichika; maybe they were eating lunch or doing something fun together without him.

Rukia said we could do something fun when I get back, he reminded himself. And she and his dad had been worried and kind of sad about letting him come to Karakura, he could tell even when they were trying to hide it.

Kazui followed Matsumoto further into the shop. There were bins with lots of colorful things in them, and he looked around curiously. He didn’t recognize any of the names on them, but he did understand the kanji that told him he was looking at things with weird names like “Hollow-B-Gone” and “Ready-Made Reiatsu Boost.”

His foot met air suddenly, and only Matsumoto’s grip on his arm kept him from falling into an open hole in the middle of the floor. “Kisuke,” she called, annoyance in her voice, “You left the damn trap door open!”

He looked down, expecting to see a basement or maybe a storage area. Instead, a ladder led down into… “Is that a desert?” he asked. “It looks like some of the pictures from school.”

“It’s my special training room,” Urahara said from his left, and Kazui jumped, startled by his sudden appearance. “Sorry about that, Matsumoto-san. Karin-chan and Hitsugaya Taicho are training today. Come back through and I’ll get your gigai ready.” He fluttered a fan in front of his face, but Kazui could still see the scarring and the patch covering one eye.

“Well, tell him I’m coming back to see him tomorrow night,” Matsumoto demanded, but she pulled Kazui along gently as she followed Urahara into another room in the shop.

She settled easily into her gigai while he changed into the dark brown trousers, navy blue henley, and fancy-looking woolen coat that Urahara offered him. They were a little big, but only a little – even though he’d grown over the past few months. His father had measured him and said he’d grown more than five centimeters and that he weighed more, too.

“We’ll be off, then,” Matsumoto said, and Urahara waved them off cheerfully.

After a while he found it hard to keep up with the much taller fukutaicho of the Tenth Division, and finally she looked down at him, grinning. “Come on, then. I’ll give you a piggyback ride,” she offered, and knelt. He clambered up and locked his arms around her neck as she slid her forearms beneath his legs. He rested the side of his face against her back as she carried him through the late fall cold toward his mother’s apartment.

It was further than the shop was from the old clinic, he thought; and they did pass the clinic on their way there. The old Kurosaki sign was gone, a different name in its place, and the house was a different color than he remembered. Kazui turned his face away so he wouldn’t have to look at it. It wasn’t home anymore, but sometimes he missed his old bedroom, the one that had been his father’s and had always felt a little bit like him.

The sun was starting to set by the time they got to the apartment building that Kazui still barely recognized as home (home had become an old-fashioned room with tatami mats and Ichika in the next room over, Tousan having lunch with him and Ichika twice a week and having dinner together, all four of them, whenever they could). They stopped by the security guard’s desk, and he smiled genially at Kazui before directing them to the elevator.

Then they were at the heavy door into Kaasan’s apartment, and Kazui clung to Matsumoto’s hand as she rang the bell. He hadn’t seen her in months, what if she didn’t recognize him? What if he didn’t remember what she looked like and it was weird? What if she was still sick even though Ishida had said she wasn’t?

What if Ishida was there? Tousan said he was his real father, but they barely knew each other.

Slowly, the door swung open and she was there, hair longer than when she’d cut it herself, but her eyes were just the same as she looked down at him – and promptly burst into tears.

“Don’t do that, Orihime,” Matsumoto gently chided her, and drew her into a strong hug as Kazui watched uncertainly.

“Oh! How embarrassing,” Orihime said, smiling despite her tears when she pulled back. “I’m just so happy to see you both.” Still teary-eyed, she knelt before Kazui. “You’ve gotten so tall and strong,” she added more quietly. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Kaasan,” he said softly, and when she held her arms open, he stepped into them, cautiously returning the hug she offered.

“I’m so sorry, Kazui,” she whispered into his hair as she tightened her embrace. She was warm around him and she smelled like she used to, something soft and clean with a little hint of the spices she’d probably been cooking with. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Eventually Matsumoto managed to herd them both inside and he toed his shoes off by the door; Ishida and Tatsuki were waiting, the latter offering him a far more cheerful hug complete with a hand ruffling his hair until it stood on end like his dad’s used to.

“It’s good to see you, Kazui-kun,” Ishida said, more reserved than either his mother or Tatsuki.

He nodded shyly from around the pale blue cotton of his mother’s skirt. “It’s good to see you too, Ishida-san,” he replied.

“There’s still an hour left until dinner,” Tatsuki said after a minute. “Why don’t you let me finish cooking, Orihime, and you and Uryuu can take Kazui down to the playground?” Then she glanced at Matsumoto, who nodded so slightly that he doubted his mother or Ishida noticed it.

He only noticed because Nagata had been teaching him about noticing things, after all.

“Oh! Yes, that’s a great idea, Tatsuki!” Orihime exclaimed.

“Sure,” Ishida agreed.

The playground behind the apartment building was almost empty, with only a single nanny and her two charges occupying the huge space. He hadn’t seen a playground since he’d gone to Soul Society, and Kazui eagerly ran over to an empty swing, his mother and Ishida trailing behind him with bemused looks on their faces. He settled onto the flexible plastic seat and grinned when Orihime gave him a little push to get him going before she settled onto the swing next to him and swung more sedately, using her feet to sway back and forth.

Behind him, Ishida gave him another push when he slowed down, and then backed away when he pumped his legs to get higher into the air.

“You’ve grown so much,” Orihime whispered again when he swung by her, and Kazui slowed his legs so that he could sway like she was doing.

“Tousan says I’m a lot taller,” he agreed, and bit his lip. Was he not supposed to mention his father? Even though he’d said it was because they were busy, Ichigo had kind of looked away from him when he’d said it. Like he wasn’t being entirely truthful.

“Lots taller,” Orihime agreed, and smiled down at him. “Have you been enjoying your time in the Seireitei?”

“A-huh. Nagata-sensei’s been teaching me a lot, way more than I was learning in school, and Ichika’s really nice,” he said. “I got to go to a festival, and Abarai Fukutaicho took Ichika and me to a really cool demonstration match, and…”

Ishida hummed under his breath. “You’re gathering reishi around you,” he observed after a moment.

“Oh, yeah. Nagata-sensei taught me how to do that,” Kazui explained. “He’s been teaching me how to meditate and stuff too, he said I’d need it later.”

The two adults exchanged a look. “Did he say why you’d need it?” Ishida asked carefully.

Kazui swung back and forth slowly. “Not really. But he isn’t teaching me some of the stuff he’s showing Ichika about her sword. Tousan and Rukia said I don’t get to have one of those. They said that you might teach me some stuff eventually, Ishida-san, ‘cause I’m a Quincy.”

Ishida took a slow, deep breath before he smiled down at Kazui. “If your mother agrees to it, I’d like that very much.”

His mother didn’t like that very much, he could tell, but Orihime hid her initial grimace behind a smile, eyes shutting tight. “Maybe some things,” she allowed.

“They said you have all sorts of cool weapons,” Kazui told Ishida, losing his shyness as he spoke. “Ichika’s sword is really cool, it looks just like Tousan and Rukia’s swords.”

Ishida cleared his throat uncomfortably. “The reason I wield a weapon is to protect,” he explained carefully. “It isn’t to look cool. And I’m sure Kurosaki and Kuchiki would tell you the same.”

“Yeah, they said that to Ichika,” Kazui agreed with a little grumble. “But it’s still really cool.”

Orihime snuffled a bit beside him, and Kazui looked up at her curiously. “Are you okay, Kaasan?” he asked.

“O-oh! It’s just that you’re so young,” she said, and he could tell it was a bit of a fib. “You don’t need to grow up too soon.”

“Just a few things, Orihime,” Ishida promised. “Just so there aren’t any accidents.”

And Kazui wasn’t sure what kind of accident Ishida meant, but if it meant he got to learn some cool stuff, that was enough for him.

She’d left Kazui safely under the supervision of Ishida and Tatsuki; between the two of them, they’d spot it if Orihime started acting squirrelly again. Rangiku, in the meantime, had an appointment with her superior officer. He’d been gone from the Seireitei for far too long.

Freed from her gigai, which was on a futon in Orihime’s apartment, Rangiku leapt from rooftop to rooftop with ease until she once again landed in from of Urahara’s shop. Ururu let her in with a quick bow and led her to the trap door. She took the rungs two at a time and landed on the sandy floor of the enormous training space that was hiding beneath the old, unassuming shop. The clash of swords reached her ears and she smirked; her taicho and his girlfriend were sparring.

Determined not to interrupt them, Rangiku pulled in her reiatsu as best she could and sought them out, following the sounds of swords and grunting.

They’d been working hard: the part of the training grounds they were using was practically destroyed, with rubbles and craters everywhere. Rangiku settled herself on a hillock a short distance away to watch them.

They were both in shikai, Hitsugaya’s zanpakutō bearing its trademark long chain and crescent moon while Karin’s blade, a long katana, burned with fire. Fire and ice, she thought, in the same way that Ichigo and Rukia’s blades were the white moon and the black sun. Guess the Kurosaki kids are good at finding their opposites, she thought with a little laugh.

And their soulmates.

She’d thought she’d found hers too, years ago, but Gin had been gone for more than a decade. Her chest tightened and Rangiku forced those thoughts back down where they belonged, consigned to history and the dustbin of her other regrets.

They fought below her, clearly not going all out – Karin would have been on the ground if that was the case, given Hitsugaya’s comparatively vast experience.

They’re hot together, Haineko purred, and Rangiku stifled her laughter. Her zanpakutō was right, not that she’d ever admit that to her captain, who had always been like a little brother to her. Then the spirit said matter-of-factly, You know the snake will be back someday, right?

She blinked. “What do you mean?” she asked carefully, one hand resting on the hilt of her sealed blade. A boom echoed in the distance and she watched as Hitsugaya struggled to pick himself back up, one sleeve of his shihakusho burned off and haori singed, from the crater he’d formed as he fell. Karin ran to him, blade sealed once more, and their raised voices drifted up to her.

“Why the hell didn’t you dodge?! I could have killed you!”

Hitsugaya shrugged off her irritation and pushed himself up, grabbing for Hyourinmaru. “I’m a lot tougher than I look,” he reminded her solemnly. “And you need to understand your own power.”

“Like hell! Man, that looks bad,” Karin grumbled loudly, grabbing his forearm with both hands as he yelped in pain. “Come on, we need to stick it in that hot spring of Urahara’s or it’s going to blister.”

“Karin it’s fine,” Hitsugaya growled, but let her lead him toward a small, steaming pool a short distance away. He knelt at its edge and dipped his forearm beneath the surface, hissing in pain as hot water met the burn on his skin.

“Maybe I should train with Ichi-nii, Moeruryū says his zanpakutō’s more like mine.”

Hitsugaya rolled his eyes. “Moeruryū and Hyorinmaru won’t let us hurt each other too badly,” he pointed out.

From her vantage point, Rangiku blinked in surprise. There’d been a rumor about Ichigo and Rukia, that when they sparred their zanpakutō wouldn’t let them hurt one another at all, but she’d chalked that up to rumor and someone with an even more romantic mind than hers. But what if Karin and Hitsugaya were the same? That was probably for the best, she supposed. She’d never really been able to hurt Gin, either, before he’d…

The snake’s soul wasn’t destroyed, Haineko drawled.

“But don’t shinigami become reishi when they die?” she asked her zanpakutō a little desperately.

Yes, Haineko said. Usually.

“Then what are you babbling about?” Rangiku demanded, attracting the attention of her captain and of Karin.

Don’t snap, old lady.

“Matsumoto? Are you spying on us?” Hitsugaya called as he stood and shook the water from his arm.

She sighed and leapt from her perch, landing lightly beside him and looking over his arm briefly. “I told Urahara to let you know I was here,” the strawberry blonde shinigami whined. But then she looked Karin over and beamed. “Karin-chan, you look so good as a shinigami!” And saying that, she grabbed her in a strong hug, one that incidentally shoved the shorter woman’s face uncomfortably close to her generously sized breasts.

“Mmph!” Karin tried to pull her face away.

“Matsumoto!”

“Taicho!” Rangiku grinned and pulled him into the hug as well, the smile on her face overly bright. Haineko’s words lingered at the back of her mind. What did her zanpakutō know that she didn’t?

“It’s good to see you Matsumoto-san,” Karin said when they finally squirmed away. She patted her hair self-consciously, cheeks slightly pink.

“Matsumoto…”

“Taicho! Kyōraku Soutaicho is starting to get impatient,” Rangiku explained cheerfully. “So I said I’d come check on your mission here in Karakura. And I brought you these.” She pulled a sheaf of folded papers from her uniform; she’d wedged them between her shitagi and kosode.

Hitsugaya grumbled under his breath but accepted the papers and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I suppose he’ll be expecting me to put in an appearance soon.” He glanced down at the paperwork and then in Karin’s direction. “Can you get some time off from your nursing job? Maybe you can come with me to Soul Society and train with your brother for a few days while I handle all this.”

“Or with me! I won’t go easy on you, Karin-chan,” Rangiku trilled, and when her captain leveled a glare at her she just laughed. “Or too hard, I know, Taicho.

“Hn.” Hitsugaya returned his attention to the paperwork. “Take a few minutes, Karin,” he ordered. “I need to deal with these.”

Rangiku immediately looped her arm through Karin’s and dragged her away, ignoring the smaller woman’s yelp.

“How’s Kazui?” Karin asked when they’d walked some distance away from her boyfriend. Dust kicked up around them, turning their tabi socks a faint sand color. She sheathed her zanpakutō with a little grunt. “Uryuu-nii gave us an update on Inoue a few weeks ago and said she’s doing better.”

“Growing like a weed,” Rangiku said. “And mostly getting along with Ichika. But he’s in Karakura for the next four days, for a visit. Do you want to see him?”

Karin blinked up at her. “He’s here? Is he staying with Inoue?” she demanded. “Matsumoto-san, did you leave him alone with her?!”

Rangiku huffed her indignation. “Of course not. I’m staying with her, and Ishida and Arisawa are switching off, to make sure Kazui has someone else with him. She knows she’s not ready to look after him again yet,” she explained.

The older Kurosaki sister breathed out a sigh of relief. “At least he has someone taking care of him,” she muttered.

“Orihime really does seem a lot better,” Rangiku pointed out as they walked. Behind them she could hear Hitsugaya muttering something about the reports she’d given him; for once she’d managed to get them done on time, though they probably weren’t quite up to his standards.

“Maybe,” Karin conceded begrudgingly. “But you saw what she was like before you and Ishida-nii got involved. And what she was doing to Kazui.”

“I did,” she agreed, hand still resting on Haineko’s pommel. “You’re carrying a bigger grudge than your brother,” she pointed out.

“Hah. He was always too forgiving.” Karin shook her head. “He probably thinks it’s his fault, too.”

Based on what she’d managed to trick out of Rukia when they’d gone for drinks just after everything had gone down with Ichigo’s invasion of the Seireitei and she’d finally gotten her annulment from Renji, Rangiku had to agree with that assessment. “So do you want to see Kazui?” she asked again. “Orihime and Ishida want to spend time with him, but I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

“Yeah,” Karin said, and her lips curved in a small smile. “And I think Tōshirō wouldn’t mind seeing him, either.”

“Good,” Rangiku agreed. “Tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah, that works.” Karin touched the pommel of her zanpakutō. “I could use a break from training.”

“I’ll bet.” Then Rangiku slanted a look at her. “So is Taicho still sleeping in Yuzu’s old room in your apartment, or are you finally doing something with all that sexual tension besides fighting?”

Karin’s cheeks turned cherry red and her mouth dropped open, Hitsugaya yelled, “Matsumoto!” in a strangled voice loud enough to echo through the entire basement, and Rangiku just grinned.

Chapter Text

“This is a Quincy cross,” Uryuu explained to Kazui. He’d had no idea that Orihime’s apartment building had a rooftop lounge in addition to the playground on the ground level, but the lounge was perfect for his purposes. Hardly anyone in Orihime’s building used it, and the high barriers around the perimeter, meant to keep residents back from the edge of the roof, blocked them from being seen by anyone in the surrounding buildings.

Though it was already late fall, it was a mild, sunny day and Kazui seemed warm enough in his woolen coat. Uryuu wore his own navy-blue wool coat unbuttoned, revealing the white sweater he wore underneath.

“Like the one you wear,” Kazui said, and his small hand reached up and tugged at the silver cross attached to Uryuu’s wrist.

“Just like it, yes. When you go back to stay with Kurosaki, you’ll need to keep it hidden. It makes shinigami nervous.”

His son frowned but let him slip the fine thread around his wrist and tie the cross on, too snug to lose the silver charm but not so tight as to bite into his wrist. “Will Tousan or Rukia-san be upset that I have this, though? Or Kuchiki-sama?”

Uryuu pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, a nervous habit that he still hadn’t broken after so many years. It still hurt to hear Kazui call Ichigo Tousan, but the other man had been Kazui’s father for the first years of his life, hadn’t he? He should be grateful that he was getting to spend time with Kazui at all, that Ichigo and Rukia – and even Byakuya, if Matsumoto was to be believed – had been taking such good care of him.

“Kurosaki-san and Kuchiki-san won’t be angry,” Uryuu said finally. “Remember when you said that they explained that you’re a Quincy, like me? It’s because they want you to know about your heritage. Kuchiki-sama is more traditional, though. Don’t let him see it.”

He’d been developing a different way to channel his arrows, one that he thought might change the way Soul Society saw him – saw Kazui, eventually – but that was still only an experiment, and one he hadn’t had nearly enough time to test.

“Okay.” Kazui played with the charm hanging from his wrist and looked up at Uryuu, who knelt to be closer to his son’s height.

“A Quincy’s power comes from channeling the reishi in the air,” Uryuu explained. “Remember how your tutor, Nagata, taught you?” He received a nod. “Well now we’re going to take the next step. You’re going to use the cross as a focus and form a bow out of it, like an archer.”

“An archer,” Kazui repeated. He frowned in concentration and for a moment Ishida wasn’t sure if his face looked more like his or Ichigo’s.

For a long, long moment nothing happened, and Kazui scowled – and that expression was all Ichigo. But slowly, blue light formed in his grasp and curved, before it cracked and shattered into sparks of blue light in his hands. “Oh!”

“That was a good first effort,” the Quincy said calmly. “No one ever gets it on their first try. I certainly didn’t. Try it again.”

Kazui set his jaw and did as he was told, once more forming part of the bow before losing his focus. The third time wasn’t the charm either, and nor was the fourth.

By the twentieth time Kazui tried to form the Quincy’s bow, the boy was nearly in tears and the position of the sunlight and shadows on the ground around them had shifted considerably.

A distraction came in the form of the doors behind them opening to reveal Orihime, carrying a tote bag and wearing a wide-brimmed hat. “I thought you could use a break,” she said cheerfully when Uryuu and Kazui both turned to look at her. She set her bag down on a gray metal table surrounded by three white, padded chairs and waved them over. “I brought juice and snacks.”

“Thank you, Orihime,” he said politely as he ushered Kazui over to the table. “We have been out here a long time.” Kazui scrambled up into one chair and he took another, while Orihime claimed the third.

“Over two hours! Rangiku-san is still visiting with Hitsugaya-san, but she should be back for dinner. Here, I brought some juice for you, Kazui-tan, and some treats we can all share.” Orihime pulled a juice box from her tote and handed it to Kazui, who immediately pulled the straw off the back and poked it through the small foil hole on the top of the box.

“Can I take some juice boxes back to Soul Society?” he asked after he’d taken a sip. “They don’t have any there, and Rukia-san really likes them. She said it’s one of the first things Tousan taught her about when she lived here in Karakura.”

Orihime froze for just a few seconds, but it was more than long enough for Uryuu to notice. “Oh!” she said when she’d recovered herself. “I’m sure we can send you and Rangiku-san back with some juice boxes.” She pulled a covered bowl from the tote and then a bag of nori snacks, followed by a plate of takoyaki smeared with bean paste. Uryuu carefully hid a grimace; Orihime had been getting better about making food that was more palatable to people without her… unique tastebuds, but sometimes she still backslid.

He hesitantly pulled the plastic cover off the bowl, but his shoulders relaxed when he saw that it was just full of fruit.

There were little plates, next, one for each of them, and little picks to get the chopped pineapple and colorful berries from the bowl. “This looks great, Orihime,” Uryuu praised as he used one of the picks – the top was shaped like a monkey, and he supposed they must have been intended for Kazui’s bento boxes – to snag several pieces of fruit and put them on his plate.

“How is your training going?” Orihime asked once they each had something on their plates. She’d brought cold water for herself and Uryuu, and they drank it out of plastic tumblers.

“I still can’t make a bow,” Kazui admitted, a touch sullen. “But Ishida-san says I’ll be able to do it soon and that I just need to practice.”

“O-oh, I didn’t realize you’d be learning the bow so soon,” Orihime said haltingly, and shot a look at Uryuu.

“It’s the way my grandfather taught me,” Uryuu admitted. “It’s the best way to learn how to control reishi, once he’s past the focus exercises that his tutor’s been teaching him. Don’t worry, Orihime, we won’t be hunting. This is just so that Kazui-tan won’t be defenseless.”

“If you say so,” Orihime agreed. She forced a smile onto her face and opened the bag of nori snacks, then, and poured some onto her plate. “Isn’t anyone going to eat the takoyaki?”

“Ah. Such an unusual flavor,” Uryuu said, and reached for the plate slowly. He carefully put a single takoyaki on his plate and then more fruit.

Kazui reached for some of the small, fried takoyaki with far less trepidation than his father, and shoved one into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed quickly before reaching for another. “These are really good, Kaasan!” he exclaimed.

Uryuu hid his expression behind his water. If there had ever been any doubt that Kazui was Orihime’s son, that would have laid it to rest. Though he was surprised that the Kurosaki family’s influence hadn’t prevented Orihime from having quite so much influence on his palate.

“Aren’t you going to take more?” Orihime asked him, after he’d watched Kazui eat three.

“Ah. I don’t want to ruin my appetite for dinner,” Uryuu fibbed. “The family restaurant we’re going to is supposed to be very good.” He’d made the reservation that morning, finding a location where Rangiku wouldn’t seem too out of place (though she was more “normal” looking than some other shinigami – he was enormously grateful that Kurosaki and Kuchiki hadn’t sent, say, Renji as Kazui’s chaperone. There was no hiding those tattoos or that hair).

“Oh, that’s right. It was written up in the newspaper, wasn’t it?” Orihime commented. She poured more water for each of them and leaned back in her chair, smiling as sunlight fell over her. “It’s been such a nice day; I should have come outside with you earlier. But I was hanging up the laundry.”

Uryuu’s lips curved, and he watched as she turned toward the light like a sunflower chasing after it. She looked so pretty like that, relaxed and with her eyes closed against the brightness that picked up the lighter strands in her hair and turned them to burnished copper. “We’ll be training again tomorrow after my shift. Come join us then – I took an early shift at the hospital so that I could spend more time with you both.”

Orihime’s eyes opened and met his, gray like her son’s but more complicated. “Thank you,” she said softly. Then: “I’ll bring home a cake from the bakery tomorrow, since it’s Kazui’s last day with us. Karin-chan will spend the morning with you, and then we’ll all have the late afternoon and dinner together,” she said to Kazui.

Their son nodded eagerly. “Can it be chocolate cake?” he asked and glanced at Uryuu with concern when his mother’s expression faltered momentarily.

“Of course!” she said, smiling at him. “We make a chocolate mousse cake, I’ll bring that home. It’s so rich, you’ll only be able to eat a little.”

“I’ll eat a lot,” Kazui decided firmly. “Chocolate’s my favorite.”

Just like Kurosaki, Uryuu thought, and reached for another piece of pineapple so he wouldn’t have to respond right away. “Why don’t we invite Tatsuki over as well?” he suggested. “And – would you be opposed to inviting Karin-chan and Hitsugaya-san to join us as well?”

Orihime bit her lip, but after a long moment she nodded. “Alright,” she agreed. “But I’ll have to buy a bigger cake!”

Uryuu nodded gently and added more fruit to Kazui’s plate as the boy sipped his juice box. Orihime wasn’t ready to see Ichigo or Rukia, but agreeing to have Karin and Toshiro over was a good sign, even though she’d hesitated.

After they’d eaten all the fruit and nori snacks, and Kazui and Orihime had made a good effort at eating all the takoyaki, they repacked the tote, using the leftover water in the pitcher to wipe down the table and then water a box of flowers nearby that looked a little dry.

“I’ll let you get back to training,” Orihime said when she’d put the pitcher into her tote as well.

“We were about done,” Uryuu said, and helped Kazui push his chair in. “I don’t want you to overexert yourself,” he explained to Kazui. “You need to get stronger slowly.”

“Oh! Good, then you can help me clean,” Orihime decided. “I usually don’t have so many people in the apartment at once and things have gotten a little untidy.”

“Sure,” Uryuu agreed. He and Kazui followed her back inside through a pair of sliding glass doors and then to the elevator.

“You can help too, Kazui. I’ll show you the most fun way to dust!” Orihime said cheerfully.

Kazui gave him an uncertain look, and Uryuu hid his expression behind his hand. “Okay,” he said quietly.

Uryuu supposed he didn’t know that much about chores. Orihime had only worked part-time when she was still married, and the Kuchiki estate had servants for all of that. He hoped that his son hadn’t gotten spoiled by living in Soul Society for months.

But he needn’t have worried. Armed with a fluffy, colorful duster and some upbeat music, Kazui ran through the apartment dusting everything in reach while Uryuu took care of cleaning the light fixtures and the kitchen.

“Thank you,” Orihime said when he’d finished wiping down every cabinet and countertop until they gleamed.

“It’s only fair. I’ve been eating dinner here quite often, Orihime,” Uryuu said solemnly.

“No, for everything,” she murmured.

“Oh.” He reached up with his clean hand and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear. “I wanted to,” he admitted.

And then he leaned down, and, while Kazui was in the next room singing along to a cheerful song about love and sunlight, he kissed her cheek.

Ichigo took a slow breath as he stepped into the offices of the First Division. He hadn’t seen Kyōraku much since joining the Thirteenth officially and becoming Rukia’s second in command. Polished wood creaked under his feet as he followed an orderly to the older man’s office. A heavy packet rested in the folds of his shihakusho and Ichigo pressed a hand against it lightly, taking another slow, calming breath. His heart sped up anyway.

The orderly slid open a heavy wooden pocket door and murmured something into the room beyond; whatever response he received must have been positive, because he pushed the door the rest of the way open and bowed Ichigo into the room.

“Ah, Kurosaki-kun,” Kyōraku greeted as the younger man stepped into his office, a wood-paneled space three times the size of Rukia’s. “Nanao-chan said you made an appointment.” He gestured at the chair on the other side of his large, teak desk. Despite his status as Soutaicho he still wore that pink floral kimono over his haori, though he’d dispensed with the hat and wore his long, dark wavy hair tied back. Ichigo pulled Zangetsu from his back and leaned it against the wall before he took the offered seat. “Tea? Sake?”

Ichigo’s lips curved. “Just tea, thanks. I still have a training session this afternoon with a new group from the academy. Bunch of amateurs.” Off to his right was a comfortable-looking seating area with a low teak table and several thick zabutons, but it seemed Kyōraku wanted to be a little more formal than that – which was just fine with him.

At a nod from Kyōraku, the orderly still standing in the doorway hurried off. “I thought the last crop of academy graduates had potential,” he said casually, raising the eyebrow over his good eye. The one he’d lost in the war was still covered by a black eyepatch. Ichigo once again wondered why; the Fourth, after all, had been able to restore Renji’s sight with help from Kurotsuchi. But then, Kyōraku Soutaicho’s choices weren’t his business.

“They do, and the Thirteenth got a better group than the last round,” Ichigo agreed. “But we both know that the academy instructors are still pushing shinigami through faster than they should to replenish the ranks.”

“Hn.” Kyōraku paused as the orderly returned with a dark earthenware kyusu and two matching cups on a tray. He set them on Kyōraku’s desk before bowing and leaving them, the heavy door sliding shut behind them. Kyōraku lifted the kyusu by the handle on the side of the teapot and poured, allowing steaming hot tea – oolong, Ichigo thought by the scent of it – into each cup. “Now then, Kurosaki-kun. I know you didn’t come here to complain about your division members.”

Ichigo picked up the cup closest to him, and took a moment to inhale the steam from the tea. “No,” he agreed when he’d taken his first sip and set the cup down. “I’m here to talk to you about the Rukongai.”

“The Rukongai?” Kyōraku picked up his own cup and sipped thoughtfully. “Ah, Nanao-chan mentioned something about the clinic you were building out there. Have you come to ask for more help with that?”

The younger shinigami shook his head. “The clinic will be finished in a few months, and Kotetsu Taicho has agreed to help staff it. I’m here to talk to you about an orphanage.”

“Oh?”

He pulled the packet of papers from within his uniform and slid them across the desk to Kyōraku, who glanced down but didn’t reach for them immediately. “Nearly everyone arrives in the Rukongai alone,” Ichigo reminded him quietly. “And most people lose their memories. They might drift together, and some people do take in and protect children. But in the outer districts, children fend for themselves with no one to care for them. They steal water to survive, and if they have reiryoku they forage and steal food, too.”

Kyōraku sipped his tea but said nothing.

“A lot of the children don’t survive,” Ichigo continued. “Kuchiki Taicho and Abarai Fukutaicho grew up in Inuzuri. They grew up with three boys who were like brothers to them, until they died, one after the other.”

“Life in the lower districts is harsh,” the Soutaicho agreed. “But one orphanage won’t solve a problem present in hundreds of them.”

“No,” Ichigo acknowledged. “But I don’t want to build just one clinic, or just one orphanage. They’re just the start. In the living world they call it a pilot program – you start small, prove that it works, and then scale up. I’m asking for your help to fund the pilot, Kyōraku Soutaicho. The noble houses are willing to kick in funds if Central 46 and the Gotei match them.” Then he took a sip of tea, set his cup down, and kept his mouth shut.

Kyōraku looked down at the papers Ichigo had presented to him, and he picked them up. As Ichigo waited in silence he paged through them, reading the neat mixture of kanji and hiragana characters that Ichigo had painstakingly written on each page.

“Has Central 46 already agreed to the funding?” the head captain asked when he’d set the papers back down.

“They’re considering my petition next week,” Ichigo explained. “I have endorsements on the petition from the Kuchiki and the Shihouin clans, and spoken pledges from the others. It might sway them if I had yours as well, Soutaicho.”

“Aa.” Kyōraku looked down at the papers again. “And you’re funding the build personally as well, I see.”

“I am. I can’t ask everyone else to fund something if I won’t.”

“I see. I’ll agree to support this, Kurosaki-kun, if you’ll do something for me in return.”

Ichigo kept his hands on his knees and asked steadily, “What can I do for you, Kyōraku Soutaicho?” To his shock, the older man cleared his throat heavily, and he swore he saw a gleam of wetness in his eye before he blinked it away.

“When you build the second orphanage and clinic, I’d like you to build it in Sakahone, the 76^th District of the Eastern Rukongai,” Kyōraku requested. At Ichigo’s puzzled look, he explained, “Juushiro lived there as a boy.”

The younger man’s expression softened. “I’ll start working to establish contacts there,” Ichigo agreed. He cleared his own throat and took a sip of tea. “I respected Ukitake Taicho very much.”

It was Kyōraku who had to look away. “Everyone did,” he agreed roughly. Then: “You’re sure you don’t want any sake?”

“Rukia would be pretty annoyed if I showed up tipsy for training,” Ichigo pointed out.

“And how are things with our Rukia-chan?” Kyōraku asked, smirking when Ichigo’s cheeks heated. “Have you given her all seven gifts yet?”

“Ah. The orphanage is the sixth,” Ichigo admitted. “I’m trying to surprise her, if I can.”

“I won’t say a word,” Kyōraku promised solemnly. “But when are you giving her the seventh gift?”

“You have a wager in Matsumoto-san’s betting pool, too?” Ichigo asked with a groan. Sometimes he wondered if there was anyone – other than maybe Byakuya – who wasn’t betting on some aspect of their relationship. And Ichigo had his doubts about his future brother-in-law.

The serious mood between them broken, Kyōraku poured more tea for them both and Ichigo caught the mischievous glint in his eye. “Your courtship of Rukia-chan has the most excitement we’ve had around here for some time, Kurosaki-kun. It’s a respite from the hard work of the last ten years.”

“Che. It’s a lot of attention, but I wouldn’t want to deprive anyone of that, I guess,” Ichigo agreed with a smirk, though his cheeks felt warm.

His superior officer chuckled. “And I’m sure my old friend Isshin must be thrilled.”

The expression on Ichigo’s face shuttered and he stared down at the dark cup in front of him. “He might be, if he knew.” He’d had no idea that Kyōraku knew his father, though he shouldn’t have been surprised – his dad had overseen the Tenth, decades ago.

“You haven’t told him?”

Ichigo looked up again and blinked at the confusion on the other man’s face. “He’s been missing since the war ended,” Ichigo said slowly, and watched understanding dawn. “Ishida Ryuuken, too. Urahara and I looked for them afterwards. We thought maybe the remaining Quincy took them, but it’s been more than a decade.” He shrugged, pretending an indifference he didn’t feel.

“That must have been difficult,” Kyōraku said as he sipped his tea.

“Hn. Harder for my sisters.” Not that Ichigo had had an easy time of it. Having to petition the government to have his father declared dead had been a special kind of nightmare, but the earlier years, when he’d tried to be both a big brother and a father to his teenage sisters, hadn’t been easy either.

I can feel your guilt from here. Her thoughts sounded as low as her voice did, a pleasant alto that soothed him. But then: You’re not drinking with Kyōraku Soutaicho, are you?! I’ll assign you overnight shifts for a week if you are!

We’re drinking tea, Ichigo grumbled back. I’ve already turned down his offer of sake twice.

“Kurosaki-kun?” Kyōraku asked curiously, and Ichigo cleared his throat.

“Sorry, Kyōraku. I should get back to the division grounds, I have some squad members to chase around.”

The older man chuckled. “I see. Well, thank you for joining me for tea, Kurosaki-kun. Don’t forget to say hello to Rukia-chan for me.”

Ichigo stood from his chair and bowed low before he hefted Zangetsu onto his back. “Thank you for agreeing to my proposal,” he said in return.

Nanao was waiting when he stepped out of the office, and she raised an eyebrow at him, sniffing experimentally.

“Che. I’m not dumb enough to drink on the job when Rukia could find out about it,” Ichigo muttered when he caught on to what she was doing. “Thanks for getting him to make time for me, Ise-san.” He strode away, just barely catching her surprised laugh, and smirked. She’d probably mention it to Rukia the next time the two women went out for a drink.

Which isn’t often enough, he mused as he left the division grounds and slipped into shunpo as easily as breathing. His form flickered in and out as he traveled back towards the Thirteenth. He’d been monopolizing Rukia’s time since he’d moved to Soul Society permanently. She’d only gone out with her friends a couple of times in the past few months. Maybe he could offer to do something fun with Ichika and Kazui one night when his son got back, and encourage Rukia to go out with Nanao and Rangiku. Or take on some of the paperwork she still hesitated to delegate.

Ichigo landed in the flourishing green courtyard of the Thirteenth, and took a deep inhale of the faint, floral scent around him. It had been Ukitake who liked having so much greenery in the division grounds, but he was glad that Rukia had seen fit to maintain it in the more than eleven years after the older man’s death.

He could sense that Rukia was in her office, probably completing some of that paperwork. Ichigo glanced at the doorway into the offices, but he had a training session to lead, and he could hear Eguchi gathering the newest recruits in the training grounds nearest Rukia’s offices. He couldn’t help the smirk that formed on his lips at that thought, but quickly covered it up with one of his old scowls as he strode away from the offices and into the training grounds.

Eguchi, blue hair tipped with green and styled into an even bigger pompadour than usual, nodded to him as he swaggered into view. “Kurosaki fukutaicho,” she greeted with a shallow bow. “These are some of our newest recruits assigned to the Thirteenth Division from the academy. These ten scored the highest in their zanjutsu classes.” She offered him the clipboard in her hand, and he took it, glancing down at the kanji-filled paper clipped to the wooden board.

“They warmed up already?”

“They stretched and ran ten laps around the grounds,” Eguchi confirmed.

“Good. Any of them have shikai yet?” he asked quietly while the ten men and women stood silent in their shihakusho. They looked green, no matter that they’d graduated from the academy and been assessed by Eguchi and some of the other seated officers.

“Two of them do. Of the rest, two seem close to achieving it,” Eguchi explained.

“Better than none I guess.” He handed back the clipboard. “I’ll take it from here. You have the kido group, right?”

“Right. The water basins are full in case they get thirsty,” Eguchi said. “Or in case you get too hot and need to cool off.” There was a smirk on her lips as she said it, and she glanced back toward the building not too far behind them, where the large window in Rukia’s office overlooked the training grounds.

He would not blush in front of a bunch of newbies. “Che. Go try and keep the amateurs from blowing anything up,” Ichigo ordered.

Eguchi grinned at him and bowed once more before trotting off, clipboard in hand.

“Right then,” Ichigo said, and looked over the group assembled before them. “Partner up. You’ll be using wooden practice swords until I’m sure you aren’t dumb enough to kill each other.” When none of them moved even a millimeter, he huffed out a breath. “You,” he said, pointing at a dark-haired man who looked to be about his age – though appearances in Soul Society were always deceiving. “Pair up with him.” His finger shifted to point out a tall, slender blond.

“Is it true that you’re Kurosaki Ichigo?” one of the other men in the group asked, a redhead whose hair color could have made him Renji’s long-lost sibling.

Ichigo sighed. “Right. Yes, I’m Kurosaki Ichigo, Kurosaki Fukutaicho to you. I’m training you, instead of one of the other seated officers doing it, because the ten of you are the most skilled in zanjutsu from among the Thirteenth’s new unseated officers. Any other questions?”

“Is it true you killed all the Quincy?” The question came from a green-haired woman further down the line.

“No. The entire Gotei Thirteen fought the Quincy,” Ichigo said in a more somber tone. “We lost a lot of good officers, all of the divisions did. That’s why all of you are going to train to get as strong as possible.”

“Did you really kill Aizen when you were sixteen?”

“Che. I defeated Aizen but he’s not dead, he’s imprisoned and you’re lucky you don’t need to face him,” Ichigo drawled.

“Are you really a human?”

Ichigo scowled at the questioner, the blond he’d tried to partner off with the first guy. “I’m a shinigami.”

“Did you really beat up the whole Gotei Thirteen to rescue Kuchiki Taicho from execution and kiss her right in front of Yamamoto Soutaicho?”

“Is it true you’re dating Kuchiki Taicho?”

He could feel a vein throbbing at his temple, and Ichigo huffed out a breath to calm himself. “I meant about training, not personal questions about me and Rukia.” Oops. Probably shouldn’t have said her name so casually, he thought. The sun was too bright for him to see into the window of Rukia’s office, but he felt a little hum of mild amusement.

“Pair up,” he said again, a hint of a growl in his voice. “Unless you want to run yourselves to exhaustion instead. I have no problem watching you all run laps for two hours.”

That at last convinced them, and they hustled to grab wooden practice swords and partner up. Ichigo nodded in satisfaction. You gonna be pissed if I use a wooden sword to demonstrate so I don’t accidentally kill them all? he queried Zangetsu.

The zanpakutō snorted. You could just seal me.

You never taught me how do to that, Ichigo reminded. You never liked being sealed.

Still don’t, but better that than you using a wooden sword like some whelp still in school. He got the impression of a heavy sigh, and when Ichigo pulled one blade from its place on his back and the other from his hip, he murmured the words Zangetsu told him quietly.

The two blades in his hands settled and became a single, slender katana, the hilt decorated on either side with black sun menuki only partially hidden beneath the fabric wrapped around it. Ichigo nodded and looked over the five pairs of shinigami. “Now then,” he said. “Let me see how you do sparring against one another.”

Rukia hummed under her breath as she carefully dipped her brush in ink and drained off the excess before forming the next kanji on the sheet of paper before her. It needed to be perfect. Central Forty-Six tended to get sniffy about the appearance of reports as much as they did the content, and that was doubly true of any report coming from Rukia. She was, after all, only an adopted member of the Kuchiki clan, not a real noble in their minds.

Outside her window, Ichigo was holding a training session for some of their new division members, and Rukia’s lips curved in a faint smirk at the irritation she could sense through their bond. This close she could pick out even more clearly the fact that her troops were asking him personal questions. She was surprised it hadn’t happened before with other groups he’d trained. Through the window she could see the way his shoulders tensed and rose towards his ears; but he’d learned how to rein in his temper in the last decade, and soon she saw the other shinigami picking up practice swords. She returned to her paperwork with another little smirk.

The next time she looked up, she’d completed two pages in her budget appeal documents and the shinigami outside had switched partners. Ichigo was giving them a water break; she could see each of them walking toward the water basin, and several of the men had stripped off the upper half of their uniforms while the women had dispensed with their kosode but kept their shitagi.

Right in front of the window Ichigo stripped off his kosode and shitagi, and Rukia nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight of him, bare chested and tanned skin gleaming under the early afternoon sunlight. He’d only gotten even stronger after months of training again each day, and it showed. He disappeared around the corner, probably toward the basins.

Rukia rested her chin in her hand and watched the rest of the ten recruits as they took up their positions again, hefting wooden swords and switching partners for a third time. Then Ichigo returned, water dripping down his broad, bare chest, walking so close to the window she could see a rivulet of water sliding down his neck. Need sparked low in her belly and she bit her lip, hard, as he reached down and grabbed for his sealed blade, clad only in low-slung hakama.

Like something you see? he teased gently.

Her cheeks burned hot. Rukia glared out the window at him, even though Ichigo had already turned away and was correcting the stance of one of his students. You did that on purpose!

Did not.

Rukia glanced at the closed shoji door to her office and then the plate glass window. It was probably still sunny enough that no one would be able to see her if she –

You wouldn’t.

Her fingers dropped to the thin, white fabric of her obi and started to loosen the knot. Outside, Ichigo stopped dead and turned to stare at the window, taking a hit to the stomach from the flat of a crimson-haired shinigami's practice sword.

Rukia smirked and picked her brush back up.

Chapter Text

She expected him to finish the training session a little annoyed with her for teasing him; after wordlessly threatening to disrobe in full view of the window, Rukia returned to her report, but their little game had continued. Over the next hour, while she crafted the third and fourth pages of her appeal and explained in writing to Central Forty-Six just why she needed the full budget they’d originally approved, Ichigo had upped the ante. He’d sparred right in front of her window with two of the recruits, showing off chiseled abs and muscled arms while he fought with a sealed Zangetsu.

In return, Rukia had removed her haori and obi, letting her kosode and shitagi hang open. Her office was a little too cool for it, but it had been worth it to feel Ichigo’s frustrated arousal at knowing that a pane of glass – and his duties – separated them.

He’d retaliated by thinking something so filthy at her that Rukia almost froze her office. Sode no Shirayuki had merely hummed her amusement.

She’d stuck her hand down her hakama, then, and Ichigo had taken another hit to his side in his shock before he’d shut her out entirely.

So, when the door to her office slid open so hard that the wood clacked as loud as one of those practice swords, Rukia expected it. She was sure that Ichigo was annoyed. She expected the way he shoved the door shut again and flicked the lock.

She didn’t expect him to stride across the room to the enormous plate-glass window. One tug had the curtains pulled shut, and then he was prowling toward her, lips already forming a kido that she hoped didn’t blow up her office.

“All beings bow their heads in sacred silence. Mouths bound and ears deafened. No sound shall shatter these walls,” he recited, broad body getting closer and closer to her. His kosode and shitagi were draped loosely, obi nowhere to be found, and he smelled of the outside, of sweat and the scent that was just him. “Bakudo number eleven: shizuka basho.”

Rukia breathed out a faint sigh of relief when instead of exploding, yellow light spilled from Ichigo’s fingers and coated the walls. But. “You can’t just storm in here and yell at me because you’re pissed, Kurosaki Fukutaicho,” she pointed out, a reminder that they were on duty.

The smirk that pulled at Ichigo’s lips was just this side of savage. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” he asked lightly. He glanced down at the paperwork on Rukia’s desk. “Looks like you’re done with the budget appeal.”

“Yes.”

“Ink’s dry?”

Her eyebrow crooked up. “…Yes. What are you up to, Ichigo?”

“Good.” He very calmly pulled the four sheets of paper into a neat pile and set them on top of her filing cabinet. Then he was at her side, spinning the chair she sat in and lifting her by her thighs onto her desk. “Bakudo number two: neru,” he added, and Rukia winced reflexively. But once more Ichigo surprised her, and suddenly her hands were pinned – more gently than she expected – against the desk. Her still-loose kosode and shitagi revealed the cotton fabric wrapped around her breasts and the pale skin of her stomach, toned but less chiseled than his.

“Ichigo…”

He smirked down at her. “I just spent the last two hours trying not to get a hard-on in front of our new recruits because you kept teasing me,” he murmured in her ear, breath hot against her skin.

“You started it!” Rukia protested. She struggled against the bindings on her wrists, but not too much. After all, Ichigo was standing between her legs, crowding against the desk and close enough to touch, and well.

She wanted to see what he would do next.

“I was warm from training,” Ichigo pointed out as he slid one hand up her side, beneath the fabric still covering her, and found the fastening holding the cotton tight around her breasts. By now he was an expert at getting her out of her uniform; the fabric loosened and fell immediately, revealing her pert, petite breasts to him. “But you started to undress right here where anyone could see…” And his hand slid up to cup her breast, thumb flicking experimentally over a nipple. “And then touched yourself,” he finished, voice low and taking on a husky tone.

“Ah!” Unable to touch him in return, Rukia leaned into his hand. “That’s your fault too, you told me you were going to – ah! Ichigo!” Distracted by his hand on her breast, she had barely noticed the other untying her hakama until his hand cupped her, fingers sliding through folds already slick for him.

“Mm. Wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmured in her ear. “I told you I was going to what, Rukia?” His fingertip dragged through her wetness and then traced an upside-down U shape through her folds, pressing gently against soft skin. It just barely grazed the hood of her clit before dipping lower to slide into her.

“F-fuck.” She pulled at the spells binding her again, and when they didn’t break, Rukia dragged a leg over Ichigo’s hip.

“Heh.” He murmured the binding spell again and suddenly her legs were pinned against the desk. “Told you I was getting better at kido.” Ichigo smirked in response to the glare she leveled at him and slid his finger deeper. “Well?”

“Ichigo.” A low moan worked its way through her when he lowered his mouth to her neck, pressing soft, openmouthed kisses to the sensitive skin he found there. His mouth trailed down to her shoulder and then lower still, until his lips closed around her nipple. “Ah! You told me you were going to get me back for teasing you.” When his tongue flicked over her nipple it sent a bolt of heat straight down between her thighs, and Rukia squirmed on the desk despite the way Ichigo had her bound and boxed in.

“Mhm,” he hummed around her swiftly hardening nipple. By doing what? Tell me, Rukia, he coaxed. A second finger slipped in beside the first and they curved up, pressing for the soft spot that always made her see stars, while his thumb trailed circles around her clit. She shivered against him, lips bitten into redness, and Ichigo clearly sensed her embarrassment and sudden shyness because he raised his mouth to find hers, drawing her into a long, slow kiss. Tell me if this isn’t okay, Rukia.

She leaned up into his mouth, savoring the way his lips worked over hers, the way their tongues slid hot against one another. I want this, just needed… She sent a jumble of emotions at him and sighed into his mouth when he nipped at her plump lower lip.

Always. His thumb circled again, drawing another gasp from her lips that he swallowed.

“You told me,” she murmured against his mouth finally, “that you were going to tie me to my desk and fuck me, and that you wouldn’t let me come until I begged.” A flush of heat worked its way up her chest and neck to her cheeks.

“Like that idea, don’t you?” Ichigo asked roughly. “I can feel how wet you are for me.” He pressed another hot, openmouthed kiss on the join of her neck and shoulder.

“A-huh,” she whispered, head thrown back to give him more room.

Ichigo lifted a hand to pull her long hair out of the way so he could kiss his way up to her ear. “Then I will,” he agreed, the words sending a soft shudder of arousal through her, and before Rukia could respond he pressed another kiss to her lips and then dropped to his knees, dragging her hakama down with one hand to expose her to him, fingers still working inside her until his mouth replaced them.

And Rukia was suddenly so grateful for the yellow kido spell that still glowed faintly on the walls and ceiling of her office, because the first touch of his tongue on her lower lips pulled a sharp cry from her mouth, his name mixed in with unintelligible syllables.

In the semidarkness of her office, curtains closed against the sunlight but allowing hints of it to bleed through, Ichigo’s hair was sharply bright against her pale thighs, eyes turned golden-amber when they glanced up toward her. He smirked against her skin; she could feel the curve of his lips against her thigh before he turned his head again and his tongue slid higher, slick on her heated skin.

Bound hand and foot to her own desk, Rukia could only rock her hips up toward his mouth and watch, nails biting into the wood, as Ichigo worked her over with his lips and tongue until her breath came in short pants of his name, of broken syllables that meant nothing. The slick sounds of his mouth on her skin were loud and lewd in the silence of her office; her eyes drifted shut, and she shuddered against him.

Two fingers dipped inside her and fucked, curving up to press against just the right spot, and she spiraled up, up, and…

He stopped.

“Ichigo,” she groaned, hips canting up towards his mouth even though he’d already pulled away.

Her lover rose, pupils dilated and heat in his gaze, and he drew the back of his hand across his mouth and chin before he spoke, canceling the binding on one of her wrists. “Need you to do the kido,” he muttered while he tugged at his obi and then at the ties of his hakama. His kosode and shitagi swung open to reveal his chest, while his hakama dropped below his hips.

She couldn’t help herself; Rukia’s cheeks flushed hotly at the sight of him, of the expanse of firm muscles and tanned skin that was all hers. Her fingertips skimmed over her lover’s chest, watching the way it seemed to twitch at the lightest touch. I need you, the raven-haired shinigami admitted, lips bitten between her teeth as her eyes met his.

“I know,” Ichigo murmured, the corner of his mouth tucking up as he lowered it to hers. “Cast the kido spell, so you can have me, Rukia.” His words were muffled by her mouth, swallowed when she leaned up to deepen the kiss and her free hand slid up to the back of his neck to keep him close. She could taste herself on him, still.

He kissed her breathless, fingers dipping to glance off her clit, and smirked against her mouth when she gave a shaky cry against his lips. When their lips parted their foreheads touched, and Rukia whispered the incantation, traced the symbol low against her belly until the telltale blue glow illuminated the space between them.

“Neru,” Ichigo murmured again, and her hand was once more pinned to the desk. He curled his fingers over her hip and held himself steady with his other hand while Rukia watched through heavy-lidded eyes.

He was inside her in a heartbeat, stretching and filling her until her eyes rolled back, and thrusting while the desk rocked beneath her. Ichigo dragged her into another hungry kiss, hand sliding up pale skin to cup her breast and thumb at her nipple. Pleasure coiled tight between her thighs again; Rukia keened his name, using her palms against the desk to give her hips leverage to match his thrusts. She caught the way Ichigo grinned against her mouth, the huffed out, pleased chuckle before he dragged his mouth down to her shoulder and sucked a mark into her skin past the curve of it, where no one would see but him.

She did – something – and her pleasure was his and his was hers. Red and gold ribbon twined around them, whirling in and out of the visible world with each thrust. Rukia’s nails bit into the desk beneath her, and oh was she going to be sore later from the way Ichigo’s thrusts shoved the backs of her thighs against the hard wood.

“Like that?” Ichigo gasped out, breath hot against her neck before his teeth bit and left another mark, one she’d have to heal with kido but she didn’t care, all that mattered was the slick slide of him inside her, the way his fingers pressed just the way she loved best, the way all she could do was feel because he’d bound her against her own desk.

“Yes – ah! – Ich-i-go, I need—” Her breath left her in a rush with his next thrust.

“Tell me – hah – what you need,” Ichigo ordered, hips speeding up and making the desk creak ominously beneath them. “Fuck, you feel so good.” The words were huffed into her ear and the sensitive place just behind it that he’d recently discovered.

“Harder,” she begged. Her reiatsu and his twined together, seething between them, and it drove her higher, so high the bindings on her ankles snapped and Rukia threw her legs over his hips, fucking herself on him and nearly sending them both to the floor until Ichigo grabbed a handful of her ass and steadied her.

His thumb pressed and circled once more, sending a throb of pleasure through her, and then it was gone, leaving Rukia to mewl her displeasure and drag her eyes open to stare up at him. “Don’t stop,” she growled, and Ichigo laughed breathlessly, lips pressing first to her neck and then finding hers.

“Beg for it,” he murmured, nose brushing against hers and some of the longer strands of his hair fluttering against her cheek. Their eyes met and his were dark with arousal, amber irises reduced to thin rings around dilated pupils. Ichigo gritted his teeth when she clamped down around him, and he fucked into her, hard, in retaliation.

Her thighs tightened around his hips. The desk creaked again, and her nails dug scratches into the wood beneath her hands. “Please.” Touch me, she begged through the bond.

Ichigo slid his hand between them again. “That’s it,” he murmured into her mouth while she shook against him and the bonds on her hands broke, no match for the reiatsu that swirled around them. She grabbed for him and dragged her nails down his back, biting into tanned skin and hard muscle. “Rukia,” he groaned into her mouth. “I’m gonna—”

She nodded frantically, mouth still so close to his that she was almost kissing him with every word. “Come for me,” Rukia breathed.

Ichigo shuddered apart, gasping out her name in between sharp, short thrusts that buried him deep inside her. She watched him with heavy-lidded eyes; the way he bit his lip before his mouth dropped open, the way his fingers dug into her hip. His other hand didn’t stop, though, not until she followed him a moment later, head thrown back and her moan stuttered out of her throat.

“We’re really not supposed to have sex on duty,” Rukia said after a while, when Ichigo had slipped out of her and they were on the floor of her office, cushioned by their discarded uniforms.

“Heh. Everyone already thinks we do,” Ichigo pointed out. He tucked a lock of her hair behind one ear and cupped her cheek, leaning in to press a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. Something crumpled loudly beneath him. “Oh,” he said, and shifted his weight to dig for it, finally coming up with a folded sheet.

“Hm?” Rukia dragged her eyes open to look at him. “What’s that?”

“Uh.” His cheeks flushed slightly. “I hadn’t really planned to give it to you like this but uh… It’s your sixth gift. Sort of. It’s… more like a promise.”

Rukia took it with a curious look in his direction and unfolded the paper. And. “Oh,” she said softly.

She’d known he was up to something, petitioning to be heard by Central Forty-Six and then visiting Kyōraku. “You’re building an orphanage,” Rukia said softly.

“Yeah.” He looked away, cheeks red. “It’s a pilot program. We’ll build one in Inuzuri and if it’s successful, we’ll build the next in Sakahone.”

“Is that what you promised Kyōraku Soutaicho?” Rukia glanced at the clock on her desk and huffed. “We need to get up, I have a meeting in twenty minutes,” she hissed as she sat up.

“Tch. Yeah, that’s what I promised if he agreed to fund part of the pilot,” Ichigo confirmed. He levered himself up and brushed a hand against her arm. “Let me heal that,” he offered, fingers traveling up to the bite mark on her neck.

Rukia’s cheeks flushed a pretty pink, but she stayed still and let Ichigo use kido to ease away the love bite he’d so eagerly given her. “I’m going to clean up,” she muttered when he’d finished, and dragged her hakama and kosode back on. “Alone.” That last word she emphasized when Ichigo smirked at her, a hint of suggestion in their bond.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll use my old quarters,” he agreed as he dressed. Between training and then having sex with Rukia on her desk, he needed a bath as much as she did. Ichigo glanced at the desk they’d made a mess of, and his cheeks flushed. “I’ll – clean up here. You need to get to that meeting.”

She was definitely going to be late. Still, she pulled him down to her height for one last kiss before she hurried upstairs.

The scent of incense permeated the air, too thick and cloyingly sweet. He made a note to have the rest of this particular batch disposed of, and the scent banned from the manor. Byakuya breathed out, slow and even, as he knelt in seiza before the clan’s butsudan. The incense burned before his wife’s portrait, and silently he reflected on a time, more than a year ago now, when he had knelt just like this. Then, he had berated himself for not seeing what had since become so very obvious.

The red thread of fate, he thought quietly. He should have seen it when the boy had tried to keep him from taking Rukia back to Soul Society, or when he’d rescued her from the Sōkyoku and beaten him – him! A Kuchiki and a captain! – bloody to force him to apologize to Rukia. Or if not then, when she’d done her best to hide her pain following the war with Aizen and his espada, when she’d led the charge to return Ichigo’s powers to him. Or even when someone had let slip that she was pregnant, or when she’d spent seventeen months confined to her quarters in the manor, near-catatonic with despair and…

Byakuya took another slow breath. There was no point in dwelling on what he should have done differently, not when each of those moments was years in the past. There were other things to focus on, now: on his niece, who was building a relationship with her father and maintaining one with the man who had helped raise her. On Kazui, who would be returning to the Seireitei in the morning.

On his sister-in-law as she was now, happier than she’d ever been and being courted by an honorable man who wanted to keep her that way.

I really should find out when he is planning to ask her to marry him, he thought suddenly. Shiba Kūkaku and I still need to discuss exactly how the clans will partner from now on. There was also the matter of the betting pools that were still running wild around the Seireitei. There was a rumor that even that bastard Kurotsuchi had money riding on the outcome of at least one of the pools.

Probably the one about whether they are… intimate. One eyebrow twitched in irritation; it was distasteful to speculate, much less wager, on such things.

He rose from his kneeling position and touched his fingertips to his lips, then to Hisana’s portrait. There was much to be done and he could not linger before the altar when daylight was already fading. His retainer was waiting for him when he stepped onto the engawa and bowed low to him.

“Have the number of guards on duty increased by ten percent beginning this evening,” Byakuya ordered calmly, and received another bow in acknowledgement.

“It will be done, Kuchiki-sama. Will you take tea in your office?” the other man asked. He’d grown even more stooped over the years, even grayer, yet he held himself straight as he spoke.

“Yes.” He stepped away, then, and his retainer followed, walking in silence behind him along the wooden platform and then through the series of rooms that led to his office in the manor. It was far quieter than the office on the grounds of the Sixth Division; here, he could work without distraction.

There was the invitation to the Shiba clan head for tea, first, because there would be clan alliances and heirships and other such matters to attend to no matter when Ichigo decided to formally propose to his future bride.

His retainer arrived with tea, and Byakuya sipped absently as he crafted a message to Shiba Kūkaku with a careful hand. Though the language he used was coded and couched in the bloodless terms of a potential alliance, he smiled faintly as he wrote it. A wedding would follow the alliance and the proposal, but Byakuya set that aside for the moment; there would be time to plan for that, plenty of time.

The thought of a wedding took him back to that moment a decade ago when he’d walked Rukia to her groom the first time around. Had felt her hand shaking on his arm though she’d steeled herself and mimicked a stoic expression. Kurosaki had looked like he’d swallowed a lemon, though he’d gamely held up the camera that his own future bride had insisted he use to take photos.

(And what a request – Byakuya wondered, sometimes, if the strange girl had any inkling that Ichigo and Rukia’s budding relationship had been sacrificed to prevent Yhwach’s return. She’d been the only one overjoyed by the benighted event.)

Renji had looked little better.

Renji.

Byakuya took a slow breath. He’d spent almost a decade sending his second-in-command on missions to the most remote parts of Japan, to the furthest outreaches of the Rukongai and beyond. He’d left his sister without her husband and his niece without her father for weeks and even months at a time. Rukia had never complained or even hinted to him that she would have preferred that Renji be around more; had never asked him for space in the manor for her family or approached the First Division about the house to which she’d been entitled following her promotion.

In the privacy of his office, he grimaced.

He waited patiently until the ink was dry on the invitation to ring for his retainer once more. “Have this sent to the Shiba Clan,” he ordered. “And… send for Kurosaki Ichigo. Have more tea brought when he arrives.”

“Yes, Kuchiki-sama.”

Byakuya returned to his paperwork, approving the clan’s budget for the next month and reviewing a set of requests from the elders. Denied, he wrote next to a request for an increased clothing budget. He’d worked his way through a good portion of the pile by the time a light rapping at the door signaled his guest’s arrival.

“Hey, Byakuya,” Ichigo called, and stepped inside at the other man’s nod, waraji removed and set aside. He still wore his shihakusho, armband tied snug around his upper arm, but the uniform was clean, and he smelled freshly washed. He met Byakuya’s gaze evenly, but there was the slightest hint of a flush in his cheeks.

Ah. Well, that answered one question. Perhaps he should have placed a wager. Byakuya gestured at a cushion on the other side of his desk and Ichigo sank down onto it easily, legs crossing in a casual stance. He waited until a servant brought tea, and poured them each a cup of pale, yellow genmaicha. “Ichigo,” he greeted. “Your son is scheduled to return from Karakura tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Matsumoto and Ishida said it’s gone really well.” Ichigo took a sip of tea. “Inoue told them that she’s not ready to look after him again. Which is progress, I guess. Thanks, again, for… letting Kazui stay here.”

Byakuya accepted the thanks with a diffident nod. “The security on the manor will be increased accordingly, and Nagata-san has been informed of the boy’s impending return.”

Ichigo hummed his agreement and took another sip of tea. He watched Byakuya carefully over the rim of the painted porcelain cup.

“Your courtship of my sister,” Byakuya said. “I am told there are a number of… wagers regarding your progress.” He suppressed a smirk when Ichigo choked on his tea.

“Heh.” Ichigo thumbed away a drop of tea from a corner of his mouth. “It’s kind of weird to have so many people watching us. Guess there’s not enough excitement around here. But I gave Rukia her sixth gift earlier today.” He glanced up. “Thanks again for twisting the arms of the Omaedas for me.”

This time a smirk did play on his lips. “I only told them that it would be notable if they chose not to contribute to the project.” Byakuya poured more tea for himself, lifting the Sakura-painted tea pot and allowing the stream of still-hot liquid to flow into the matching cup. “But Central Forty-Six has not yet approved funding, have they?”

“I’m meeting with them soon,” Ichigo acknowledged. “But I have Kyōraku Soutaicho’s pledge. With four clans and the Gotei Thirteen backing it, I think they’ll agree to make up the rest of the funding.”

Byakuya raised his cup to his lips. “What did you promise the Soutaicho to gain his support?”

“Ah. He asked that the next clinic be built in Sakahone, where Ukitake-san lived.”

“A double gift for Rukia,” he mused. “She cared for him very much, and would approve, I think.” There was a suspicious gleam in the younger man’s eyes. “You were fond of him as well, were you not?”

Ichigo cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he agreed. “I was.” He glanced down at his cup. “Has Renji been to see Ichika lately? She and Kaz went to that exhibition match in your division, but she hasn’t mentioned him coming here.”

It was Byakuya’s turn to choke on his tea, and he coughed delicately to dislodge the sip that had lodged in his windpipe. “Abarai has not been to the manor since I sent him to Hueco Mundo months ago. Presumably, when he wishes to see Ichika, he speaks with you or Rukia.”

“Wait. But didn’t he used to spend as much time with Ichika as he could?” Ichigo asked. “They have a pretty strong bond. We’ve only brought her to see Renji a couple of times since he was released from the Fourth.”

“Hn. He did.” Another sip. “His time in Hueco Mundo was difficult. It would not surprise me if he blamed me for his injuries and the deaths of most of the squad he brought with him,” he said calmly. His hand clenched around his teacup, and he forced himself to loosen it. Ichigo was watching him, still carefully, like he might bolt. Byakuya almost snorted at the thought.

“But you didn’t send him to Hueco Mundo to die, you sent him to… give him and Rukia space. And anyway, you’re his commanding officer,” Ichigo said, blinking at him in apparent confusion. “Doesn’t he see you all the time?”

Byakuya remained silent. His hand shook, ever so slightly, as he lowered his cup to the desk.

And then his future brother-in-law, whom Byakuya had thought was book smart – he’d become a medical doctor after all – but hopeless when it came to people, asked, “You’re blaming yourself, aren’t you? Why?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again, lips forming a tight, thin line.

“Che.” Ichigo set his cup down and grabbed for the bell on his desk, ignoring the glare Byakuya leveled at him. He rang, twice, and waited.

“Kuchiki-sama?” a low voice asked.

Ichigo turned in his seat and bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “Sorry to bother you. Could you bring some sake for Bya – Kuchiki-sama and me? I think we need something stronger than tea.”

The servant, a petite woman clad in a kimono and coat with the Kuchiki crest, looked to him for acknowledgement, and Byakuya waved a hand in dismissal. “You have become comfortable here,” he observed when she left.

Ichigo had the grace to look mildly embarrassed. “Well, Rukia and I are here all the time having lunch or dinner with Ichika and Kazui. I had to get comfortable enough to ask for more tea, at least,” he drawled with a self-deprecating smile.

“Hn. Are you planning to get me drunk, Kurosaki Ichigo? I am told the fukutaicho make a habit of drinking too much sake.”

Ten years ago, the man across his desk would have sputtered and yelled. But today, he smirked. “Drunk is a strong word. And I don’t drink much with the other fukutaicho, don’t have the tolerance everyone else has. Matsumoto could probably drink me under the table twice over and still walk home by herself.”

 The Kuchiki clan servant returned and set down a tokkuri of sake, along with two small, white porcelain cups. She bowed and left as silently as she’d arrived, leaving Ichigo to pour a small amount of sake into each cup. “Kampai,” he said, cup raised.

Byakuya echoed the toast and sipped. It wasn’t the best sake that he kept stocked on the manor grounds, but it was good enough for late afternoon drinking in his office. Not that he’d done that in more than fifty years.

Ichigo bided his time, filling Byakuya’s cup and his own a second time before he spoke again. “Not that Renji and I are on the best of terms yet, but he hasn’t said anything about blaming you.”

“Hn.”

“Rukia told me once, that she’d wait for me to tell her about my mother, when I was ready. And I’d say the same to you, but my daughter’s involved and I don’t want her to feel abandoned because her uncle and her… the man who raised her are having some kind of stand-off.”

The sake must have been going to his head more quickly than he thought. Byakuya’s cheeks felt a little too warm, his head a little light. He frowned at Ichigo, who looked like he’d been sipping water instead of alcohol. “I kept them apart,” he said finally.

“Who?”

“Abarai and Rukia. I sent him on missions to the World of the Living and to Hueco Mundo, for months at a time. You say that Abarai raised Ichika, but I kept them separated, too, as a result.”

Ichigo pursed his lips and took another sip. “You arranged the marriage,” he pointed out, voice flat. “You thought Ichika was his. Why keep them separate?”

Once more he opened his mouth and shut it without saying anything. Ichigo poured more sake. “I told myself that it was for Rukia’s sake,” he said finally. “Or perhaps his. She was unhappy in the marriage, disinterested in her husband and married life.”

“She told me,” Ichigo agreed. “Said they never lived together.”

“I am a selfish man, Kurosaki Ichigo.” Byakuya set his cup down as he said the words, and took the tokkuri from Ichigo’s hand to pour for them both. “I did not keep them separate for my sister’s sake.”

Ichigo pressed his hands to the floor behind him, leaning back on the thin cushion to stretch his lower back. “We haven’t always gotten along, Byakuya, but selfish isn’t exactly the word I’d use to describe you. Uptight and stuck-up, maybe.” He grinned when Byakuya glared at him.

“Hn. You haven’t lost your insolence, I see.”

“Heh.” Ichigo sat back up and took another sip. “Guess I haven’t.”

Byakuya held the cup in his hand up to the light, examining the clean lines and the delicately carved mark that served as the Kuchiki crest. “I kept them separate for my own sake,” he said, and Ichigo coughed, then spit sake all over the letter from one of the elders demanding that Byakuya do something about the rumors surrounding his sister and Ichigo.

“Sorry, you – what? Wait, you don’t feel –“ Ichigo’s eyes were wide and dark in his face, reiatsu flickering out. “Not for your sister.”

“Of course not, Kurosaki. That would be sick,” Byakuya growled out. The flickering reiatsu vanished immediately and Ichigo slumped down on his cushion in open relief. “Have I not fought this clan to support your courtship and her happiness with you?”

“Yeah, but – oh.” Ichigo sat up straight again and scrubbed a hand over his face, fingers pulling at his chin. “Renji,” he said. “You have feelings for Renji.”

“Hn.”

“That’s why you were so freaked out in the relief station. You weren’t just worried about your men, you were scared you’d lose Renji,” Ichigo breathed. “And now he’s barely talking to you, and you think it’s because he blames you for how much he suffered over there, and getting healed up again here.”

“I trust,” Byakuya said solemnly, despite the sake swimming in his empty stomach, “that you will not tell anyone of this. Including my sister. If she knew that I harbored… affection for someone other than Hisana…”

“I can’t keep anything from Rukia,” Ichigo said bluntly, and when Byakuya started to protest he held up a hand. “No, I really can’t. Even if I don’t tell her, we started walking in each other’s dreams weeks ago. She’d find out one way or another.”

Byakuya drained his cup in one long sip. “Then she will know what a… selfish man her brother has become.”

“That’s not what she’ll think,” Ichigo disagreed. “And I don’t think she’d be upset with you for wanting companionship, Byakuya. I know you love Hisana. She knows it too. Rukia wouldn’t want you to spend hundreds of years alone for her sake.” He hiccupped, suddenly, somewhat ruining the effect of his impassioned speech.

“Hn. When did you start to sound wise?” Byakuya muttered sullenly.

“It’s probably Rukia’s fault,” Ichigo admitted. “So, when are you going to tell Renji?”

Well not that wise, Byakuya amended foggily. “Abarai does not need to know,” he decided. “He does not reciprocate my… feelings and it would only ruin our working relationship.”

“Shouldn’t he get to decide whether he feels the same way you do?” Ichigo switched back to his teacup and took a long sip of the cold liquid. “And whether it will “ruin” the rest of your relationship?”

“It would go against the Kuchiki Clan’s tra-- traditions.” He was starting to slur his words, and his tongue felt thick in his mouth.

“The same traditions that made you to marry Rukia off in the first place?” Ichigo asked, voice full of sarcasm.

“…” Byakuya swayed in his seat and blinked owlishly at him. The room swam ominously, and his cheeks suddenly felt numb.

“Oi. Didn’t think you were that much of a lightweight,” Ichigo groaned. “Rukia’s gonna kill me.” He rang the bell again and levered himself up when the same petite woman pushed open the shoji door again. “Can you get him something to eat? Something easy on the stomach and carby.”

“Pardon me, Kurosaki-sama?” the woman asks.

“Oh, uh. Carbohydrates. Like bread or rice,” Ichigo clarified.

“Of course, Kurosaki-sama,” she murmured, and hurried off with a bow.

Ichigo stood in the doorway for a long moment, head tilted and eyes unfocused.

“What are you… doing, Kurosaki?”

“Telling Rukia that I’m going to be late for dinner,” Ichigo explained. “And that you’re only a little drunk.”

He took in stride the fact that his sister and her lover had apparently developed a strong enough bond to send actual messages back and forth across the Seireitei. “Hn. Did she threaten to kill you?”

“Heh. Nah, just to make me sleep in my own quarters tonight.” Then he froze and stared at his future brother-in-law, eyes wide. “Uh…”

Byakuya rolled his eyes and grabbed for the tea pot, splashing a measure of stone-cold tea into his cup. “I am already aware that you and my sister are intimate,” he said stoically, though his words slurred. “I considered entering a wager when you took Rukia to the ryokan, however I decided that it would be cheating.”

Ichigo’s cheeks flushed bright red. “Wonder who won that bet,” he muttered, and dropped back down onto the cushion.

“You would have to ask Matsumoto Fukutaicho.” Byakuya drained his cup of tea, lips tightening at the bitterness that told him it was over-brewed. “You are still planning to marry my sister,” he said darkly.

The last of the sake spilled into Ichigo’s cup, poured by a much steadier hand than his, and Ichigo swallowed it in one gulp. “I’m just waiting for the final courtship gift to be ready,” he confirmed. “The craftsman said it’d be ready in another week.”

“Hn. Good.”

Rukia slipped into shunpo easily, unbound hair trailing behind her. Her meeting with a representative from Central Forty-Six had run over and she was late. Ichigo had gone on ahead, reluctantly leaving her office when she urged him along, telling him to get to his next meeting. It had been a necessary ruse; that still-corrupt governing body had no idea that the Kuchiki clan, and two division leaders, were harboring a quincy in their midst.

She paused long enough at the manor gates to identify herself to the guards – her brother had increased security around the manor, she noted – before hurrying to the private senkaimon. Soft crying reached her ears, and Rukia prodded Ichigo gently. What’s wrong?

When she didn’t get an answer right away, Rukia stepped around the corner and found her lover holding Kazui against him, one arm under the boy’s legs and the other pressed gently against his back. “Hey, it’s alright,” he murmured against auburn hair. “Look, Rukia’s here to see you too, like I said. She couldn’t wait to see you either.”

Kazui raised his head from Ichigo’s shoulder, tear-stained face turning to look at her.

Rukia forced a smile onto her face and hurried to them, her own hand pressing to his back as she stood on her toes to kiss his cheek. “What has you upset, Kazui?” she asked gently, and took him into her arms when he let go of Ichigo’s neck to reach for her. It was just them in the senkaimon room; Byakuya and Rangiku were nowhere to be found.

He buried his face in her shoulder instead of answering, and Rukia held him close, rubbing her hand along his back soothingly. Her eyes met Ichigo’s and he shook his head; he hadn’t gotten an answer, either.

He was fine when Matsumoto got here, Ichigo said finally. As soon as she left to get back to the Tenth, he freaked out.

Rukia pressed a kiss to Kazui’s temple. “Do you want to tell us what happened, Kazui?” she asked gently. “Or do you just want to get cleaned up and have lunch? I know Ichika will be happy to know you’re back.”

The arms around her neck tightened in response. “Kaasan got really upset when I had to leave,” he mumbled against her skin. “She cried a lot, and Ishida-san had to take her out of the shop so Matsumoto-san and me could leave.”

I thought Matsumoto said that Inoue knew she wasn’t ready, Rukia thought. “I’m sure she’s going to miss you very much,” she said out loud. “But we’ll arrange for another visit soon.”

So did I. She didn’t say anything about that. Ichigo wrapped them both in his arms, then, and pressed a kiss to Kazui’s forehead. “We will. And eventually, she’ll be well enough that you can spend a lot more time in Karakura with her,” Ichigo promised. He exchanged an uncertain look with Rukia. We should call Ishida tonight.

Agreed, Rukia sent back.

“Kaasan’s still sick,” Kazui agreed softly, his warm breath tickling Rukia’s neck. “Ishida-san and Arisawa-san stayed with us when Matsumoto-san left. And Oba-san and Hitsugaya-san had dinner with us one night.”

“That’s great! Did you enjoy seeing them, Kazui?” Rukia asked. He nodded against her skin and burrowed closer.

Footsteps echoed on the wooden planks outside, and Rukia raised her head as she recognized the feel of her daughter’s reiatsu. Ichika burst into the room and skidded to a stop at the sight of her parents wrapped around Kazui. “What’s going on?”

Ichigo held out his hand in welcome and she closed the rest of the distance between them, letting her father wrap an arm around her and pull her up against them. “Kazui’s just a little upset,” he explained.

“But why? You’re back home now,” Ichika said reasonably, one arm wrapping around her father’s waist while the other reached up to squeeze Kazui’s arm gently.

Rukia caught Ichigo’s wince no matter that he tried to hide it. Soul Society wasn’t home for Kazui, and wouldn’t be for decades. But Kazui blinked down at Ichika. “I know,” he agreed softly. Then, “We can still have lunch together, right?”

“Of course! And you can tell us all about your visit,” Rukia enthused. “Here, let’s wash up and then go to the dining room. Ichika, did Nagata say what time he wants you back for lessons?”

“Two. And Nagata-sensei knows Kazui is back today, so he has something fun planned,” their daughter answered.

“Good.” Ichigo unwound himself reluctantly from his family and pressed another kiss to Kazui’s forehead. “Plenty of time to catch up.” His hand brushed gently against the small of Rukia’s back before he reached for Ichika’s hand.

Chapter Text

Hearing about Byakuya from Ichigo – or rather, picking it up through the bond, which since that first night in the ryokan had been more like a wide-open conduit – was the easy part. “You told my brother exactly what I would have said,” Rukia said as they laid in the dark on a shared futon after tucking Kazui and Ichika in at the manor. After Kazui’s emotional return, they’d decided to spend the rest of the day and night with their children, staying only one room away from them in the manor.

“What about Renji, though?” Ichigo tucked her closer against him, his much larger frame dwarfing hers.

“If Byakuya doesn’t want us to tell him, we can’t. We’d be breaking his confidence,” Rukia murmured. “And if Renji doesn’t want to come to the manor, we’ll just – have to bring Ichika to see him.”

That was workable. At least for the time being. “We can talk to Renji,” Ichigo agreed. “And we’ll need to make sure Kazui doesn’t feel too left out. Renji probably doesn’t want to be our babysitter.”

“Maybe he won’t mind. He seemed to like having Kazui around for the demonstrations a few months ago.” Rukia turned in his arms to face him and reached up to brush a hand over his cheek. “But I know you worry.”

“Tch. We both worry,” Ichigo corrected, turning his face into her touch. The family they had begun to forge together was still so fragile, after all. “About Kazui…”

She moved deeper into his embrace. “We said we’d tackle that when we had to, remember?” Rukia murmured. “She’s made progress, but right now Orihime still isn’t well enough to take care of him full-time, and…. Even when she gets to that point, Uryuu said she’s going back to school, right? She’ll still need help caring for him.”

I just worry that he’ll grow up without friends in Karakura if he’s always going back and forth, or without anyone here but Ichika, since we need to keep him safe from Kurotsuchi, Ichigo shared through the bond. He nuzzled closer to her, and Rukia held him tighter. I want him to be happy, Rukia.

Rukia breathed out a slow sigh. We’re doing the best we can, she reminded him. And… maybe Uryuu can take on a bigger role when Orihime is well again.

True. That had been what Ichigo originally wanted for Kazui, after all: enough time with Uryuu to give them a chance to develop a relationship. It was only Orihime’s behavior that had forced him to bring Kazui to Soul Society instead.

“We should get some sleep,” Rukia murmured. “You’re leading a patrol in the Rukongai tomorrow, and Kyōraku Soutaicho scheduled a meeting for first thing in the morning.”

“Che. Nanao scheduled a meeting, you mean,” Ichigo corrected, but he lifted his arm obligingly and grunted softly when Rukia rolled over again and put too much weight on the arm beneath her.

She shifted her weight again and adjusted the pillow beneath her head, then pulled Ichigo’s arm around her waist as he chuckled softly at her casual manhandling.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Hn. I’m getting spoiled by our bed,” Rukia admitted.

“Heh.” Ichigo pressed a kiss to the top of her head and Rukia snuggled back against him. The bond settled soft and easy around them, and one after the other they drifted to sleep.

Morning brought with it their respective appointments and responsibilities: a meeting of the captains during which Rukia struggled to stifle her laughter at Ichigo’s pointed commentary through the bond until he and the eleven-member team he’d brought with him began their patrol in the outer reaches of the Rukongai. Not that Rukia blamed him; Tetsuzaemon spent more than half an hour making an impassioned plea for more funds for the Shinigami Men’s Association, until Isane had snapped and told him to stop whining and create a fundraising calendar the way the SWA had been doing for years.

By the way, you’re the July spread for next year, Rukia sent through the bond, and smugly enjoyed Ichigo’s embarrassed yelp. There’s no getting out of it, I already promised Nanao.

And – he grumbled about it, but muttered back, a little shyly, only if you’re the one who takes the photos.

Wisely, Kenpachi said nothing when the air around him turned frigid as Rukia desperately tried to stop herself from blushing.

Midday brought far too much paperwork and a hasty lunch, and then Ichigo and his team returned to the division dirty, sweaty, and exhausted.

“Get Myoga and Tokei to the Fourth,” she heard him order as she returned from her quick lunch in the division’s mess hall. “Make sure Kotetsu Fukutaicho takes a look at Myoga, he’s got a head injury and she’s good with those.”

 “Yes, Kurosaki fukutaicho,” two of Ichigo’s team members intoned. Rukia turned a corner and saw him, uniform torn up and blood dripping from one forearm.

“Taicho! Kuchiki Taicho!” The squad came to attention around him. Ichigo straightened up but the grin on his face was lazy and welcoming.

“Reporting back from our patrol of the south seventieth district, Taicho,” he said. “We had a couple injuries but nothing serious.”

“Good. Join me in my office, Kurosaki Fukutaicho, and give me your formal report,” she ordered. “The rest of you are dismissed. Get cleaned up and then back to your usual duties.”

“Yes, Taicho.” The other men and women drifted off; Rukia caught a mumble of, “She’s really a hardass, dragging him in for a report when he’s still bleeding.”

“Thought I’d get cleaned up,” Ichigo ventured when they were alone in her office.

She looked him over, taking in the shredded left sleeve of his kosode and the equally damaged legs of his hakama. “In a minute,” Rukia agreed. “You can give me your report while I heal your arm. Since I know you didn’t let anyone treat it.”

“Che. I treated Myoga and Tokei in the field and rushed ‘em back here for proper care. This little scratch on my arm wasn’t exactly urgent,” Ichigo said with a shrug. But he leaned against his desk and held his arm out to her just the same.

He smelled of sweat and the dust of the outer districts, and beneath that was a lingering hint of the soap that they both used, sharp and clean. Rukia wiped away the blood and huffed. He was right that the other division members were a higher priority; the cut was long but not terribly deep. “Still, you could have used kido.”

“Hn. We flushed out the nest Sentarō told me about,” Ichigo ventured as blue light spilled from Rukia’s hands and began to glow around his wound. “I’m not sure how so many hollows got into the district without being noticed earlier, but they’ve all been purified now. We conducted a search of the surrounding districts for more, and found a couple guys with middling reiryoku, sent ‘em off to the academy.”

Rukia hummed under her breath. “And Myoga and Tokei’s injuries?” she asked.

“Myoga took a blow to the head and got knocked out. Tokei’s simpler – some slashes to his legs. They’ll be back up in no time,” Ichigo explained. Beneath Rukia’s hands his wound closed until it was no more than a thin line, and then even that vanished. “Thanks,” he said when she was done, flexing his arm.

“Get cleaned up and get something to eat. I need to go talk to Renji.” Rukia bit at her bottom lip as she said it. She’d only spoken to Renji a few times since the annulment; he’d been gone in Hueco Mundo for so long, and then recovering from his injuries after that.

“Want me to come with you?” Ichigo wrapped his hand around hers and tugged her closer, pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead when she leaned into him.

“Mn.” She relaxed into him for a long moment, letting his reiatsu – controlled but present – blanket her. It felt a little like taking a dip in a hot bath at the end of a long day, forcibly relaxing her muscles but energizing her at the same time. “You realize I can handle him on my own.”

He snorted. “That’s why I’m asking instead of forcing my way in. You can handle anything on your own, Rukia, you just don’t need to.” Ichigo squeezed her hand lightly before letting go.

Rukia pursed her lips, considering. “I’ll be fine,” she decided. “And you have paperwork to complete.”

“I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.” Ichigo rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “If everyone just used my system there’d be less of it, you know.”

“Try convincing Kurotsuchi of that,” Rukia groaned. “It’s him who wants to analyze every hollow attack involving so much as a hangnail.”

“Don’t tempt me, I’d probably convince him with a sword in his gut,” Ichigo grumbled. “Or sic Kenpachi on him.”

“Don’t let anyone else hear you talk that way.” Rukia lightly smacked his chest with the back of her hand, and huffed when he curled an arm around her waist and pulled her closer again.

“Yeah, yeah.” He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers. “If you need backup with Renji just tell me and I’ll be there in a flash, alright?”

“Alright. Now go bathe, you’re dusty and you smell,” Rukia complained.

“Tch. Don’t lie, you like me a little rough and tumble.” He kissed her nose, grinning when she wrinkled it in response, and stepped away. “Fine, I’m going, I’m going.”

Once he was out of sight, Rukia smoothed down her haori and took a deep breath. It was just Renji. He’d been her friend, first, before he was her husband and then ex.

You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you? Ichigo asked through the bond.

Eavesdropper.

Can’t help it, you’re being as loud as Sentarō when he’s fighting with Kiyone.

Rukia huffed, but her nerves were dissipating in the face of Ichigo’s teasing. Still, she couldn’t let him have the last word. You take that back!

Stop arguing and go talk to Renji about Ichika. And uh… don’t tell him about, you know. Okay?

She stepped out of her office and poked her head into the larger office space where Sentarō and some of the other higher-ranking officers were working. “I have business in the Sixth,” she told Eguchi when the younger woman looked up. Her hair was set in a series of complicated waves and curls atop her head today, and instead of blue it was dyed bright green. “Kurosaki Fukutaicho is available if you need anything.”

“Yes, Taicho,” Eguchi replied, already looking back down at her paperwork.

It was a shockingly nice day out, temperate and sunny with a soft breeze, and Rukia decided to walk to the Sixth instead of using shunpo.

It was a mistake.

Other shinigami stared at her as she walked past; perhaps because of the billowing haori, perhaps because of the sparkling crystals in her hair or her diminutive height. Perhaps they weren’t used to seeing a captain walking so casually.

“Rukia!” a voice called, and she turned.

“Ah! Rangiku.” Rukia grunted when the buxom blonde practically tackled her, pulling her into an enthusiastic embrace. “Can’t… breathe…!”

“Oh! Sorry!” Rangiku apologized and loosened her hold. She looked down at Rukia’s left hand pointedly and pouted at her bare fingers. “Kurosaki still hasn’t proposed?” she demanded.

Rukia’s cheeks turned pink. “He hasn’t,” she said plainly. “And I’m not rushing him.”

“But Rukiaaaaa, I’m going to miss my date and lose the prize,” Rangiku whined.

Ah, right – the betting pool.  “You’ll have to take that up with Ichigo,” she said with a shrug. But Rukia looped her arm through Rangiku’s. “Come walk with me to the Sixth, I want to hear about your trip to Karakura,” she ordered.

Rangiku yelped as Rukia whirled her around and pulled her toward her destination. “Didn’t Kurosaki tell you?” But at Rukia’s look she relented. “It was a good trip,” she started, “and Orihime really is doing much better.”

As they walked, Rangiku filled her in on some of the details that she’d apparently left out of her report to Ichigo. “Orihime was really upset when it was time for me to come back,” she admitted. “She didn’t want to let him go, but she did at least realize that she had to.”

The huge paving stones beneath their feet shifted to the smaller cobblestones that demarcated the line between one division and the next. “It upset… you know,” Rukia said quietly. “He held it together until you left him with Ichigo, I suppose, but by the time I got to the manor he was crying.”

“Poor thing,” Rangiku murmured. “It’s a good thing he has you and Ichigo. He adores you both to pieces. That upset Orihime a little, him singing your praises.” Rukia winced. “It’s going to be too bad when he has to go back to Karakura permanently.”

Rukia scowled. “I’m trying not to think about that. Anyway, did anything else happen that you didn’t tell my fukutaicho?”

“Well…” Rangiku bit her lip and looked down at Rukia. “I watched Karin-chan and Hitsugaya Taicho train for a while, and Haineko started talking about… Gin.”

Rukia blinked. “Oh,” she said softly, and squeezed Rangiku’s arm. Her friend had so rarely mentioned her dead lover in the nearly fifteen years he’d been gone. “I’m sorry, Rangiku.”

The older woman pursed her lips and stepped carefully over a loose paver in the road, stabilizing Rukia when she nearly tripped over the same one. “She said… his soul wasn’t destroyed.”

“You think he’s back in the cycle of reincarnation?” Rukia asked a touch breathlessly. Shinigami supposedly became reishi when they died, returning to the earth of Soul Society. That’s what Kaien had told her, years and years ago.

“Maybe. But even if he is, it’s not like I’ll ever see him again.”

“Haineko wouldn’t have said that if she didn’t have a reason,” Rukia pointed out.

“She’s kind of a bitch, she might have said it to piss me off.” The offices of the Sixth Division rose in the near distance, and Rangiku unhooked her arm from Rukia’s. “Come have a drink with Nanao and me next week,” she ordered, changing the subject abruptly. “We haven’t gone out in months.”

“I know, things have been hectic. But next week, I promise,” Rukia agreed. “Thursday? I’m buying.”

“Ahh, someone’s getting used to her bigger salary,” Rangiku teased. “Thursday it is. And in the meantime, tell Kurosaki to propose, I want that vacation!” There was laughter in her voice and a grin back on her lips.

Rukia waved her off as she stepped through the gates, offering a nod to the shinigami who stood guard. They stood at attention as she passed through. As a captain and Byakuya’s sister she could enter the division offices unquestioned at all hours, though she rarely took advantage of the fact. Soon enough she was inside the main office building, walking through a polished, wood-paneled hallway.

Byakuya and Renji were both in their offices, and Rukia stepped into Renji’s with a light tap on the doorframe. He was behind his desk, practically surrounded by stacks of paperwork. It was surprising; leaving that much paperwork undone wasn’t something her brother would ordinarily tolerate. His hair was down, covering the tattoos that crawled up onto his scalp, and he was no longer wearing the eyepatch he’d been using for months while his new eye was still a work in progress.

“Just leave the paperwork at the end of the desk,” he muttered.

“I’m not here to drop off paperwork,” Rukia said blandly.

“Ru… Kuchiki Taicho,” he said tightly, head shooting up to look at her. His eyes looked the same as they always had; awful as Kurotsuchi was, he’d done a good job.

“How are you, Renji?” she asked, sliding the door shut behind her. Rukia sat in a chair across from his desk without asking, her haori spilling and draping around her. It really was enormous; originally created for Kaien, Rukia had worn it since her swearing in as a captain, but now…

Does wearing it honor his memory or give weight to my guilt? she asked herself.

From across the Seireitei, a curl of love and comfort wrapped around her. Before you call me an eavesdropper again, you sent that through loud and clear, Ichigo’s voice murmured.

Sorry. Rukia shifted her weight.

“…Fine.” Renji frowned at her. “Is this a social call? Not sure if you noticed, but I’ve got a lot of paperwork to get through.”

“It’s not exactly a social call, no,” Rukia said. “You haven’t been to the manor in several months.”

His expression fell and he looked back down at the paper on his desk. “Been kind of busy.”

“I know your recovery has been difficult, but Ichika misses you.” Rukia kept her voice low and calm. “We both told her that her relationship with you didn’t have to change. That you would still be her father. So if you don’t want a relationship with Ichika anymore, I need you to tell me.”

Renji threw his brush down on the wooden desk, sending ink droplets spilling onto the paperwork. A few flecks hit her pristine white haori. He didn’t apologize for it. “That’s not it,” he denied. “It’s…”

“About my brother,” Rukia finished when he cut himself off and stared out the large window set along one wall. Like her office, he had a view of the training grounds. Outside, a group of twenty shinigami sparred against one another, led by someone Rukia assumed was likely a seated officer.

“You’ve gotten blunter since you started fucking Kurosaki,” he grunted. At Rukia’s expression, jaw dropped with shock and the beginnings of outrage, he waved a hand. “Sorry, I know that’s not fair,” Renji apologized.

“Hn. I’m not wrong, though.”

“He kept sending me on bullshit missions,” Renji grumbled. “And the last one nearly got me killed, Rukia. It did get eight men killed, and Maekawa is still in the Fourth because his new leg wouldn’t take.

“Bastard hasn’t even apologized, you know that? So no, I haven’t been going to the manor to hang out with Ichika.” Despite his angry words his hands trembled. “Look, I’m sorry if it’s hurting her, but… I can’t.”

Some things about Byakuya never changed. “I see. But you can’t take out your anger at your superior officer on a child,” Rukia said severely. “If you can’t come to Ichika, we’ll bring her to you. Here at the Sixth, or you can come to the Thirteenth. Or somewhere else.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” But he still wasn’t looking at her.

Her heart twisted, heavy in her chest. “Have you… spoken to him about it? Or to anyone?” she asked hesitantly.

“I talk to Kira sometimes,” Renji admitted. “It’s not the same thing as with Ichimaru, but it helps. And I talk to Isane.” And his cheeks turned pink.

“Isane?” Rukia asked, keeping her tone light. But an alarm bell went off in her head. Oh no.

“Yeah, we… see each other sometimes,” Renji admitted. He scrubbed the back of his neck, cheeks still dark. “It’s not serious or anything, but she’s nice.”

Concern seeped through the bond and Rukia sent back the image of Renji blushing over Isane.

Ah… guess Byakuya’s probably right, Ichigo said, if Renji’s dating Isane. Poor bastard.

He hasn’t even apologized to Renji, no wonder he doesn’t want to spend time in the manor.

Well he can just come to the Thirteenth, like you offered. He and Ichika can hang out with the koi, or in the Ugendo.

“Rukia?”

Until it’s under renovation, anyway.

“Hey, Rukia. What’s with that vacant expression?” Renji demanded. She snapped back to attention.

“Oh! Ah – I was just thinking,” she demurred. It felt rude to tell her ex-husband that she had a telepathic bond with her lover. “It’s… good that you and Isane are enjoying each other’s company,” Rukia said awkwardly.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“You can use the Thirteenth to see Ichika,” she offered again. “We’re still not using the Ugendo for anything.”

“Sure,” Renji agreed, and offered her a faint smile. But he seemed to be warming to the idea. “Want me to take Kazui sometimes, too?”

“If you’re willing. They get along very well, but they fight if they think one or the other is getting less attention from Ichigo or me,” Rukia explained.

“Heh. Yeah, alright. I can probably make time once a week. Your brother the hardass has me buried in paperwork, but I can sneak out.”

“I’m sure he’d let you go if you told him it was to see Ichika,” Rukia ventured.

“Maybe, but he doesn’t talk to me except to throw more paperwork at my head,” Renji drawled. “Which I have to get back to – send a butterfly and I’ll make the time work, alright?”

Rukia stood and tried to brush one of the flecks of ink from her haori, spreading it instead. “Alright,” she agreed awkwardly. “I’ll speak with Ichika’s tutor.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

As Rukia pushed open the door once more she glanced back at Renji. He was already cleaning his brush and staring at the paperwork on his desk.

Rukia hurried back to her division, reminded of her own paperwork. She wanted to do something about her brother and Renji’s strained relationship – the question was what. And that question would have to remain unanswered for the time being. Between meetings, paperwork, and training, the rest of the day passed in a blur. Ichigo dragged her from her office for a late dinner, and then they fell into bed together, too tired to do anything but sleep.

Life continued in that vein for a full week, though they made time to have either lunch or dinner with their children most nights, or at least read bedtime stories, before it let up.

“Where are you taking me?” Rukia asked as Ichigo drew her from the grounds of the Thirteenth Division after dusk. Shinigami patrolling the perimeter hailed them both as they passed by.

“Just trust me, will you?” Ichigo asked, and crouched. “Climb up.”

“Like the old days?” Rukia teased, but did as he asked, slinging her arms over his shoulders and letting Ichigo hook his arms beneath her knees. As soon as he straightened up they were off like a shot. She hung on tight and Ichigo hummed contentedly beneath her.

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly. “Do you ever miss them?”

Rukia laughed softly, voice trailing through the air as Ichigo leapt into the sky and ran along rooftops above the other divisions to get – wherever they were going. “It was certainly simpler in some ways,” she admitted. “But I like our life now much better.”

“Me too.” Ichigo tightened his hold on her knees, pulling her more snugly against his back.

Before she knew it, they’d landed on Sōkyoku Hill, and Rukia climbed down from Ichigo’s back hesitantly. “Why did you bring us here?”

The Fourth Division had cleaned up the area since that first fateful night when Ichigo had broken into Soul Society, kidnapped her, and utterly destroyed the Sōkyoku. Nothing remained of the stone edifice that Central Forty-Six had ordered rebuilt following the last war; the rubble had been cleared away and grass grew long and luxurious on the ground.

Ichigo murmured a kido and a glowing ball of light sprang to life in his hands. He let it float above them, illuminating a circle around them. “Kind of a strange place for us, I know,” he agreed. “But – it’s an important one.”

“This is where you saved me,” Rukia said quietly. “Twice.”

“Yeah. I would’ve burned the world down for you if I had to.” Ichigo was fumbling with something in one hand, and Rukia’s heart sped up. She was suddenly inexplicably nervous.

“Ichigo…”

He smirked down at her, but his eyes were soft. Around them, the by now familiar red and gold ribbon spun and wove together lazily in circles. “I know the red string says we’re destined to be together,” he began, as Rukia watched him in the light of the kido, in the light from the rising moon overhead. “But that’s kind of a cop-out, isn’t it? The red string says who you’ll marry, says who you’re meant to be with.”

She bit her lip, eyebrow quirking up.

“We’re a lot more than just fated.” Ichigo’s voice was soft, and his eyes never left her face. “We’ve fought and bled for each other, nearly died for each other. The scars on my chest tell that story, the ones you gave me to save my family, to save me.” He reached for her hand, and she let him take it, let him press her palm against the faded twin scars beside his heart.

“They do,” she agreed softly, feeling his heart beat heavy and warm beneath her palm. Rukia couldn’t help the smile that curved on her lips, the way her cheeks heated at his words.

“Things got tangled up along the way,” he continued. “And I’m saying this almost twelve years later than I wanted to. But - even with everything else that’s happened, all of the… stuff that we’ve had to untangle the past couple years. Meeting you was the single best thing that’s ever happened to me, Rukia.”

Tears burned in her eyes and Rukia blinked them away. “Ichigo, just ask me,” she said, voice choked with emotion.

“Che. I had a whole speech written,” Ichigo complained lightly. “I was going to tell you how you have the most beautiful soul in Soul Society and maybe the whole universe. How you’re stubborn and strong-willed, but you’re warm and kind and loving. How you’ve never given up on me. How I’ll never give up on you.”

Her cheeks burned red beneath the kido light. Sode no Shirayuki laughed softly, though she could sense that her zanpakutō was equally flattered and embarrassed. “Ichigo.”

He grinned down at her. “You’ve given me everything, you know. Your love, your trust. A life here with you. A bright, spunky daughter. You’ve made room in your heart for my son, too.”

“Of course I did,” she snapped, but she was grinning too. “Ichigo.”

“Guess you’re going to keep interrupting,” he grumbled, but there were tears in his eyes, too. Ichigo lifted his other hand, then. He wasn’t holding a ring, but a flatter box that contained a gleaming metal chain. At the end of the chain hung a simple pendant, an open circle with small diamonds embedded along the thin platinum. A pear-shaped diamond sparkled in the center.

“Will you marry me? I know swords and rings don’t really mix,” he said ruefully when she gave him a questioning look. “So I had the pendant made from my mother’s engagement ring.”

“Oh,” she whispered, reverently. Then she grabbed at the front of his shihakusho and pulled him closer, dragging him down and standing on her toes to press her lips to his.

Ichigo wrapped his arm around her tightly, hauling her against him. His tongue slid along the seam of her mouth and she opened for him immediately, sighing into his mouth and shivering as his tongue found hers. The bond, too, seemed to sigh with contentment when they drew back, noses brushing against one another and foreheads touching.

“Yes, I’ll marry you,” she whispered finally. At Ichigo’s sigh of relief she poked him hard in the chest. “Fool. You can’t think I’d have said no?”

“No, but… I didn’t take it for granted that you’d say yes, either.” Ichigo pulled away from her, but only to gently turn her around and drape the necklace around her neck. He fastened the tiny clasp carefully, and when Rukia turned back to him he kissed her again. “I love you,” he murmured against her lips.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and yelped when he slid his beneath her thighs to lift her up. “I love you too,” Rukia whispered back, and claimed his mouth with hers.

He’d planned more than just the proposal; after dousing the kido light he carried her to the manor. Ichigo landed outside, in the courtyard, where the moon shone overhead and Sakura trees waved in the breeze. Ichigo escorted her to the engawa, pausing to remove their shoes. They stepped into the dining room to find Byakuya and their children waiting; Ichika and Kazui were both in good quality yukata, her in pink flowers and him in dark blue.

“Ichigo, imouto,” Byakuya greeted calmly. “Can we assume that congratulations are in order?”

Ichigo offered him a shallow bow, then wrapped his hand around Rukia’s and squeezed gently. “Kuchiki-sama,” he began. Ichika and Kazui both sat up straight, eyes wide at how formal he sounded; even around them he usually called Byakuya by his given name. “I have courted your honored sister, Kuchiki Rukia, as befits her status as the daughter of a noble house and the sister of its Head. I have presented Rukia with seven gifts as evidence of my respect and regard.”

“I see. And have you accepted those gifts, Rukia?” Byakuya asked.

Hand rising to the pendant that hung from her neck, Rukia’s lips curved in a smile, cheeks turning pink. “I have.”

“This evening I asked Rukia to marry me,” Ichigo finished. “And she said yes.”

And Byakuya, so often stoic and unmoved, smiled. “Then, Kurosaki Ichigo, Rukia, you have my blessing and my congratulations.”

Rukia bowed shallowly, formally, but when she rose, she was beaming, and her hand clung tightly to Ichigo’s. “Thank you, Nii-sama,” she said softly.

He gestured to the table, and Rukia sat at his right hand, Ichigo lowering himself to the floor on her other side. “Thanks, Byakuya,” he echoed. Ichika grinned up at them, but Kazui’s lip was trembling and he was tearing up “What’s the matter, Kaz? Did something happen today?”

His son scrubbed at his eyes impatiently. “If you’re marrying Rukia, does that mean you don’t want me around anymore?” he asked. Byakuya exchanged a concerned look with Rukia.

Ichigo scooted to the other side of the table and opened his arms, allowing the boy to climb into them and sit on his lap. “That’s not what marrying Rukia means at all,” he said sternly, but softened his tone with a hand rubbing against Kazui’s back.

Ichika scooted closer, too, and ground her knuckles on the top of Kazui’s head, but lightly. “Remember what Kaasan and Oyaji said,” she reminded him as he pouted, rubbing his head exaggeratedly. “They want us all to be a family.”

“Exactly,” Rukia said before Ichigo could. “All four of us.” Then her eyes slid to Byakuya. “All five of us. Right, Nii-sama?”

Byakuya inclined his head. “You may refer to me as Oji-san if you wish, Kazui-kun. You are Ichigo’s son, and you will be part of this family as well.”

“But I’m not really his son,” Kazui said in a very small voice.

“Blood is irrelevant,” Byakuya said severely before Rukia or Ichigo could respond. “Family can be chosen, and just as I choose to call Rukia sister, you choose to call Ichigo your father. He chooses to call you son. And so, you are his son, whatever blood may say.”

Rukia sent her brother a grateful look.

I think that’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen out of him, Ichigo sent through the bond.

I think being an uncle has grown on him, Rukia murmured back.

Ichigo hugged Ichika against his side. “Alright?” he said, and Kazui nodded hesitantly. “Come on then, dry your eyes and let’s have dinner.”

Kazui scrubbed his face clean with a napkin and sat back down beside Ichika; Ichigo returned to his place beside Rukia and squeezed her hand beneath the table.

Crisis averted, she thought.

Supper was a much calmer affair after that, with an array of well-seasoned dishes for them to share, and blander but still tasty food for Ichika and Kazui. Byakuya had even arranged for dessert, and they shared chocolate mochi and little bowls of shiratama, one of Rukia’s favorites. Ueda took Kazui and Ichika to get ready for bed, and Byakuya poured more tea. The soothing scent of hojicha rose along with curls of steam from their cups.

“Now that your engagement is official, there are decisions you will need to make before you can marry,” he said bluntly. “Primary among them, which clan you will be part of following your marriage.”

Ichigo exchanged a look with Rukia. “I hadn’t thought about it much beyond staying Kurosaki for work, or you still using Kuchiki, if it wouldn’t bother you, Rukia. Just to avoid confusion. But I guess we have to go by a single name on the official paperwork.”

She hummed under her breath. “We’ll talk about it,” Rukia agreed.

“There is also the matter of children, and where you will live,” Byakuya added. “While Rukia has chosen to live in the barracks, you are both high-ranking officers and eligible to purchase your own home within the Seireitei. Or you may choose to move into the manor, if you wish.”

Ichigo’s cheeks colored. Guess we have a lot to discuss, he thought. Preferably not in front of your brother.

Agreed, Rukia sent in return, her own cheeks pink.

“In Japan married couples have to have the same family name, but… we’ll still be part of our clans no matter what, right?” Ichigo asked.

“Not exactly,” Byakuya said before taking a sip of tea. “Forgive me, imouto. When Rukia married Abarai, she married out of the clan, and became an Abarai. That meant that she could no longer be my heir, because she was no longer a member of this clan.”

Ichigo had been working on his reiatsu control, but wisps of it spiraled out and heated the air before he took a breath and brought himself back under control. “You forced her to give up being your heir?” he demanded.

Rukia shot a quelling look at him, but her stomach was in knots. She and Byakuya had not discussed the matter of an heir following her annulment; it hadn’t made sense, she supposed, since she would only be removed again if she married into the Shiba clan. And Ichika wasn’t even a provisional heir, since she’d been an Abarai until the annulment.

“The elders did not want to accept Abarai as a Kuchiki,” Byakuya explained. “I doubt they will have the same issues with you, given your status as a member of the Shiba clan and as a hero.”

Her hand shook in his, and Ichigo squeezed it gently. “I think maybe we’d better talk about all of this in private,” he said after an awkward moment of silence. “No offense, Byakuya.”

His future brother-in-law sipped his tea and said mildly, “No offense is taken.”

Rukia squeezed back. “We’ll say goodnight to Ichika and Kazui, and walk back to the Thirteenth,” she decided.

“Hn. Good. Kyōraku called another meeting of the captains for tomorrow morning at eight,” Byakuya said as Ichigo stood and levered Rukia up with him. Byakuya joined them.

She blinked. “I hadn’t heard anything,” she said suspiciously. “And I was on the grounds of the division most of the day. Did he provide an agenda?”

Byakuya’s eyebrow twitched. “Central Forty-Six is making additional budget cuts.”

“You must be joking. I just presented an appeal against the budget cuts to my division!” Rukia exclaimed. “I refuse to take another cut; the Thirteenth has been underbudgeted for a decade and we have unfinished repair work and renovations languishing because of it.”

Her brother’s eyebrows arched nearly into his hairline at her vehemence, and he glanced up at Ichigo. “You must remain calm during tomorrow’s meeting,” he advised. “Your fiancé’s method of yelling and swinging a zanpakutō to solve problems will not help you. Kyōraku still sees you as Ukitake’s young protégé, and not as an accomplished leader in your own right.”

Ichigo’s hand clenched into a fist. Last time I yelled and swung a sword around it got Kyōraku to let us investigate why your zanpakutō was sealed. But all he said out loud was, “If you want, we can go over your appeal again.”

“Fine,” Rukia agreed. “Thank you for the meal, Nii-sama, and for your blessing.” Irritation soured her stomach; Ichigo’s hand at her lower back soothed it, if only for a moment.

Sometimes I think Soul Society would be better off without those old geezers, Ichigo muttered to her as they left the manor. Ichika and Kazui had been tucked in, bedtime stories read, and they’d been well on their way to dreaming when the couple left them. By silent agreement they used shunpo once they’d left the grounds of the estate; it took only a few minutes to get back to their division and then to Rukia’s quarters.

Ichigo made more tea while Rukia retrieved her copy of her appeal documents from her office, and they sat together on the sofa outside their quarters after Ichigo cast a barrier to keep curious ears from hearing them, sipping tea while Rukia silently reviewed the four page appeal. “Walk me through it?” he asked after she’d read it through twice.

“It’s pretty simple,” Rukia said with a shrug. “They wanted to cut twenty percent from my already-approved budget.”

“Sure, but what’s your argument for why they shouldn’t?” At Rukia’s irritated look, Ichigo pressed a chaste kiss to her jaw. “I’m sure it’s a good argument, Rukia. I’m only asking if you want to practice before you have to act all stoic like your brother in front of Kyōraku.”

She leaned into him, humming her appreciation when Ichigo looped an arm around her waist and hugged her against him. “I think I’d rather talk about other things,” she suggested, and tucked herself closer. The pendant around her neck, warm as her skin, slid on its chain.

“Yeah? Like what?” Ichigo nibbled delicately on her ear and she laughed, smacking his chest lightly.

“About names,” Rukia clarified. “And… children, and where we want to live.”

Ichigo huffed softly but rubbed his hand, slow and gentle, along her back. “Children’s easiest, at least for me. I wouldn’t mind having more kids with you, Rukia, not at all, but – I’m not in a rush. We have Ichika and Kazui and they’re still young.”

“Mm. I’m not in a rush either,” she agreed softly. “But I’d like more children with you, eventually.” She smiled up at him shyly.

He scowled at the unintentional reminder that he hadn’t been there for her while she was carrying Ichika, that he’d missed the birth, first steps, first words, first…

Stop. We’re here, together, now, Rukia said firmly through the bond. You’ll be here for Ichika now. For her graduation from the academy, for her division entrance ceremony when we finally let her join one. For her first love, her first heartbreak…

First time watching her father pound someone into dust? Ichigo suggested with a low growl, and grimaced when she poked him in the side. “I’m just saying!”

“What about where to live?” Rukia asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Um. I wouldn’t mind having a little more room.” Ichigo scrubbed the back of his neck. “Especially if it meant we could have Ichika and Kazui with us.” Then he paused and his cheeks darkened. “Our bedroom probably needs locks on the doors, though.”

Rukia’s laughter only made his blush darker, but she leaned up and kissed him, fingertips gentle on his cheek. “I’m sure that can be easily arranged,” she said, and Ichigo kissed the smirk from her lips.

“So we’ll find a place of our own, something big enough for Ichika and Kazui, and… more, when we’re ready.” Ichigo tucked her even closer, leaning back against the arm of the sofa so he could recline with her in his arms.

“So there’s the clans, then,” Rukia said with a sigh. “If I marry into the Shiba clan they’ll almost certainly be reinstated as a full noble clan,” she pointed out.

“With another clan we’d have more influence, wouldn’t we?” Ichigo mused. “Over Central Forty-Six.”

“What are you thinking?” Rukia asked, fingers twining with his.

“Hn. That a single clinic and single orphanage are band-aids. With the noble houses pushing, we could make the Rukongai better for more than just one or two districts,” Ichigo said quietly. “If Byakuya and Yoruichi were willing to back us.”

“Hn. I don’t know if the Tsunayashiro clan would,” Rukia mused. “After the incident involving their last head years ago, that family’s leadership has been… strange.”

“Yeah, they’re the only major house that hasn’t chipped in on the clinic or orphanage.” Ichigo twirled a lock of Rukia’s hair around one finger. The movement sent the crystals in her hair clacking against one another. She wore his first courting gift nearly all the time now, and not for the first time he admired the look of it against her black hair. “It would be easier to change things if you became a Shiba, but – Rukia, I know how much being a Kuchiki has meant to you. I don’t want to take away your name. And I know Byakuya could live for a thousand more years, but if you want to be his heir, I don’t want to take that from you, either.”

She rested her head against his chest, listening to the strong beating of his heart beneath her ear. “What’s my name, compared to the chance to make things better for the outer districts?” she asked softly.

“Don’t do that,” Ichigo snapped, and she met his eyes, hers widening with shock. “You’re always so damn willing to sacrifice yourself for everyone else.”

He has a point, Sode no Shirayuki murmured.

Rukia huffed and pulled away from him, sitting up on the sofa. “The laws and policies in the Seireitei are crystal clear,” she snapped back. “If we marry, either you leave the names Kurosaki and Shiba behind, or I am no longer a Kuchiki. If the Shiba family becomes one of the great noble houses again, we might be able to change things faster than if you became a Kuchiki.”

He scowled up at her and reeled her back into his arms, but brushed his lips against her temple in apology. “I’m not going to tell you that I want you to be selfish, because I’m not sure you even know how. But if you want to stay a Kuchiki, Rukia, if you want to be Byakuya’s heir or want Ichika or – or another child to be his heir, tell me. Tell me and I’ll figure something out.”

Her eyebrow rose. “You’re going to figure out how to change a law that’s thousands of years old?”

Ichigo huffed. “There has to be something I can do, right?”

“I’m not sure there is,” she said quietly, but let him pull her down against him, until her head was resting on his chest. “But if there’s anyone who can change the Seireitei, it’s you.”

“I’ll take that as a vote of confidence,” Ichigo said into her hair.

“Because it is one,” Rukia said back, and curled closer into his arms.

“You sure you don’t want to go over your appeal again?” he asked after a while, when the sconces had burned low and the tea was ice cold.

I’d rather you took me to bed.

His hand slid lower. I think I can do that.

Deep within, Zangetsu landed on a hillock covered in snow but surrounded by snowdrops and perfumed with the scent of andromeda. She was there, white silk furisode gleaming beneath the false moon of Rukia’s soul.

“Snow lady,” he murmured, and took her hands in his when he reached her. As their wielders came together so did they, his golden eyes meeting hers, his hands warming her cold ones.

“Do you see?” she asked just as softly.

Zangetsu looked around. When he had first come here after they’d been reunited, the world had been barren, the forest destroyed and only a cabin for shelter. It had been storming, that first time, a blizzard that reflected the struggling state of Kuchiki Rukia’s soul. But now…

Now, the night sky was cold but clear, a full moon shining high overhead and casting silvery light, a reflection of the sun, upon white snow. White snow that was not so pristine anymore: everywhere around them, blooming snowdrops thrust green shoots and white flowers up through the snow. Saplings pushed upwards as well, reaching for the sky and growing taller even as he watched.

“Not so barren anymore,” he surmised, and grinned down at her. “It’s warmer, too.” One hand dropped from hers and his arm wrapped around her slender waist instead. “It’s beautiful, snow lady. Just like you.”

Her cheeks flushed pink, and she rose up on her toes to kiss him, drawing him close with the hand still clasped in his. “My knight,” she murmured when they parted.

“Just a horse, snow lady,” Zangetsu protested.

“Never just. And Ichigo has said it himself: if not for you, we would not be here. So, you are my knight. The Queen herself would tell you the same.” Shirayuki smiled up at him, silken white hair flowing and fluttering around her in the mild breeze that blew in from the west.

Just like his wielder, Zangetsu blushed, pink bright against his alabaster skin. “King finally got the courage to propose,” he said, changing the subject.

“I know,” Shirayuki agreed. She reached up a hand and pushed open the neckline of her furisode. A new pendant sparkled here, a duplicate of Rukia’s.

“Heh. Feels like I should have gotten the chance to ask you, myself. Guess I’ll just have to settle for what comes after.” And he lifted her into his arms despite her token protest before she wrapped her arms around his neck. A door opened before them and he stepped inside, into soft light and softer warmth. The door snapped shut as he kissed her.

Chapter Text

Book III

Byakuya carefully measured fine, powdered matcha into the cup before him and picked up his chasen. By eye he poured in just the right amount of water, and with confident strokes he began to whisk. He could have chosen to have a servant perform the task, but this tea ceremony was important; almost as important as one he’d held a year ago, when a bright-haired man had sat across from him and sought his blessing.

Today, Shiba Kūkaku held that place instead, dressed in a fine kimono. He’d seen the pattern before, more masculine than feminine, that the Shiba claimed as their own. He remembered seeing it on Shiba Kaien during his wedding ceremony. She sat silent in seiza, hand resting on her lap. The right sleeve of her kimono was pinned shut at the shoulder, where her arm ended abruptly.

He never held much respect for the Shiba family, in the old days; they were loud and uncouth. Kūkaku was far from a proper woman, and the younger brother smelled of boar. Even Kaien, the head of the clan before his death, was too jovial and mischievous to be a proper lieutenant, in his estimation.

But he had Kūkaku to thank for the cannon that launched Ichigo into the Seireitei to save his sister. And Ganju had stood up to him to try and do the same. And Ichigo…

Byakuya huffed out a breath. Ichigo was the reason Shiba Kūkaku sat in his tea house. He finished whisking the tea in the bowl before him and turned it carefully in his hand before setting it in front of her and turning to his own. The grassy, fresh scent of his very best matcha wafted up from the bowls he used; they were of the finest quality, dark in color so that the thick, foaming tea in each bowl seemed all the brighter.

Only when the bowls had been emptied did Byakuya speak.

“Shiba-san,” he said calmly. “Kurosaki Ichigo, of your clan, came to me a year ago now and asked for my blessing to court Kuchiki Rukia, my sister by marriage and adoption.”

Kūkaku smirked up at him, but replied in kind: “With my blessing, Ichigo has offered seven courting gifts to earn your sister’s regard.”

“They have been accepted, and my sister has agreed to marry your cousin. It is my honor to offer an alliance between the Kuchiki clan and the Shiba clan, when we are joined in marriage.”

“Whose name are they taking, Kuchiki?” she asked bluntly.

Byakuya’s lips firmed. “They wish,” he said, “to take both clan names.”

Her smirk widened into a grin. “My cousin thinks he’s going to fight the system for your little sister? That should be interesting.”

“Hn.” He took another sip of his tea. “They wish to change things. The Rukongai, in particular. I find myself in agreement with their plans.”

Kūkaku raised an eyebrow. “A Kuchiki in agreement with reform? Isshin’s boy must be more persuasive than I thought.”

Byakuya’s lips twitched. “Given time, he could become quite formidable. And quite the threat, if not properly guided.”

“By you, of course.” Kūkaku’s lip curled.

But Byakuya’s expression did not change at the accusation. “In part,” he acknowledged. “It is my sister who has the power to keep him on the right path.”

She snorted. “No kidding. Kid would burn this whole place down for her if she asked, and you’re lucky she didn’t. What’s your angle, Kuchiki?”

Crude as her phrasing might be, Kūkaku wasn’t wrong. “Kurosaki once trampled upon our rules and traditions to save Rukia,” Byakuya said calmly. “With guidance, the traditions he continues to destroy will be the right ones.”

A smirk played on Kūkaku’s face. “Well then, Kuchiki. Let’s talk about an alliance.”

Across the Seireitei, Ichigo paced in front of his office window. Between paperwork, training duties, and arranging Renji’s first visit to the Ugendo to see Ichika (and Kazui) for the first time in more than two months, Ichigo had little time to consider the issue of clans and names until more than a week had passed. It made his blood boil every time he tried; he’d never met any of the elders in Rukia’s clan, but he would gladly fling a getsuga at all of them for tearing Rukia’s name from her.

Then there was his name. Kūkaku had, at his insistence, allowed him to use Kurosaki, but if he became a Kuchiki, the Kurosaki name might die out – in both worlds. Yuzu would almost certainly take her husband’s last name if she ever got married. He had no idea what Karin would do (and didn’t much want to think about what Karin and Hitsugaya were getting up to in Karakura, even if she was in her mid-twenties already).

Though, he didn’t think Hitsugaya had any family besides Momo; maybe he’d take on Kurosaki. Kurosaki Toshiro had a decent ring to it.

Maybe worry about your own wedding before you start planning Karin’s, Zangetsu suggested wryly.

“Che. That’s going to take months anyway,” Ichigo said dismissively. Over dinner two nights ago Byakuya had mentioned having Kūkaku over for tea this afternoon, and the agreement that he was planning to draw up with the head of the Shiba clan. He didn’t mind if the wedding took a while; they’d both been rushed to the altar the first time around. Rukia, at least, deserved to have whatever kind of celebration she wanted.

And you don’t? his fiancée (and just thinking that word made his lips curve) asked.

Instead of replying immediately, Ichigo stared out the window of his office – where he’d been composing a note to Byakuya – and thought for a long moment. I still feel a little guilty, he admitted finally.

On the other side of the thin wall that separated their offices, he felt Rukia pause. About?

Unable to fully articulate it, he sent a jumble of emotions at her: lingering guilt for not being there for her a decade ago; guilt for being so happy when he’d left Orihime and made her so desperately unhappy that she’d neglected Kazui; for even wanting a proper wedding in front of their friends and families instead of the hurried paperwork signing of years ago.

The door to his office slid open and shut, and slender arms wrapped around his waist from behind. Her reiatsu wrapped around him next, cold but comforting. “Fool,” she said, but the word was soft and affectionate instead of insulting. “You’re carrying around too much guilt.” Ichigo turned in her arms and dropped a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Yeah, I guess.” But Rukia felt guilty too, she shared in the bond: for not breaking free of Ichibei’s powers on her own; for everything Renji had gone through after the annulment; for feeling resentful instead of grateful toward her brother for marrying her off to save her from shame when she’d been pregnant and unmarried; for being the reason he’d left Orihime; for being a bad friend.

“You carry around a lot, too,” Ichigo said quietly. Around Rukia’s neck her engagement present gleamed and sparkled, and Ichigo couldn’t resist reaching up and brushing his fingers over it like a touchstone. His mother’s diamonds sparkled in the design, in platinum warm to the touch from laying against Rukia’s skin. She wasn’t wearing her haori, he noticed, though she rarely took it off outside of their quarters. Carefully, he kept from her the thought that without it, she looked less overwhelmed; he knew who had given her the garment and didn’t want to trample on her feelings, complex as he suspected they were.

“Hn.” Rukia leaned into him. “It’s okay to want a proper wedding and the san san ku do ceremony and everything else that comes with it. Including the traditional clothes.” That last was said teasingly, and Ichigo huffed, one corner of his lips tucking up.

“Yes, including those,” Ichigo said quietly, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Privately, he thought about how she’d look in the traditional shiromuku, wrapped in white, and held her tighter. The times in his life that he’d seen her in white weren’t happy ones: the thin, plain robe she’d worn when she’d nearly been executed; the shiromuku and veil she wore for her first wedding. “Then it’s okay to be happy with me. And you’re not a bad friend.”

“Ugh, listen to us,” Rukia muttered, and pushed back from him. “I have paperwork to do, and don’t you have a meeting with the lower seats?”

“Hn. Yeah,” Ichigo agreed. He brushed another kiss against her temple before letting her go.

A deferential knock on the sliding door to his office pushed them further apart, and Ichigo brushed his hand against the small of her back before calling, “Come in.”

Instead of one of their subordinates, one of the Kuchiki guards, whipcord-thin and masked, knelt in the doorway. “A message from Kuchiki-sama,” he said solemnly, holding out a thin, sealed envelope.

Rukia crossed the distance between them after a look at Ichigo and took the envelope from his hand. “Thank you,” she said. “Does he require a response?”

“No, Kuchiki Taicho,” the guard murmured. He rose and disappeared into shunpo so quickly the door rattled on its track.

Rukia slid it shut and brushed her fingers over the wax seal on the paper. “This is a reiatsu seal,” she mused. “Nii-sama only uses them for sensitive correspondence.”

“A what?”

“A reiatsu seal. The letter can only be opened with the right reiatsu signature. If you try to force it, the letter explodes.” Rukia forced a tendril of her power into the wax, and it snapped, allowing her to open the letter. “Oh. This is… odd.”

“Hm?” His greater height made it easy for Ichigo to look over her shoulder at the neat kanji that spread sparsely across the page. “He doesn’t usually hand-deliver invitations to the manor.”

“No,” Rukia agreed. She grabbed for a brush and carefully struck out several kanji across the page.

“Wait, I thought that was your trick,” Ichigo said, laughter leaving his throat in a huff.

She scanned the letter again. “It is,” Rukia acknowledged. “But when Kurotsuchi started his… surveillance after the war, I taught it to him.”

The initial paragraph was simple, but the second was sheer nonsense until Rukia spotted the key: one letter with a too-heavy brushstroke, not like her brother’s impeccably neat work.

It is past time that Ichigo was presented to the Elders. Come to the manor two nights from now, at half past seven. Dress as you would for a formal function. Do not be late. A private gathering will follow the presentation and supper.

Once the odd kanji were removed, a second message appeared: Ichika and Kazui will be in the Rukongai with the Shiba retainers, supplemented by my handpicked guards, to avoid detection. Abarai will guard them as well. There is much to discuss following the presentation.

Ichigo snorted. “I guess I have to promise to behave?” he asked when Rukia had let a flicker of kido burn the letter.

“Please try not to kill the Elders,” Rukia said wryly. “Some of them are awfully fragile.”

“Che. I’ll keep myself in check as long as they don’t say anything bad about you,” Ichigo agreed. “What’s with the second part?”

“I have no idea,” Rukia admitted. “We’ll find out.”

“Hn. Not sure how I feel about having Kazui in the Rukongai.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about the fact that Nii-sama is sending Renji along,” Rukia murmured. “They’re still not speaking.”

Ichigo shrugged. “We can’t force them. If Byakuya’s being stubborn about it, he’s not going to budge. Not unless I beat the stuffing out of him again, anyway. Hey!”

Rukia rubbed the place on his chest that she’d lightly smacked. “Don’t even think about it,” she admonished.

His hand covered hers. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe I can put Renji up to it instead, get them to work out their tensions.”

She made a face. “Please, don’t talk to me about my brother’s tensions.”

Ichigo snickered. “Fine. I have to get to that meeting, and then I need to make sure I have an outfit fancy enough for this thing. It’s just like your brother to give me two days to get a fancy kimono.”

As it turned out, Ichigo needn’t have worried: a package from Kūkaku arrived a few hours later, with instructions to wear his best hakama and kimono, along with a thinly veiled threat of dismemberment if he ruined the furoshiki’s contents. It smelled faintly of herbs and cedar, and had obviously been stored for a long time.

“Don’t freak out,” Ichigo said quietly when Rukia stepped out of their bathing room, a lavender sleeping yukata wrapped around her slender form and her hair in a long, loose braid down her back. “Kūkaku sent this over. I won’t wear it if you don’t want me to.”

Nestled in the patterned fabric was a silk haori, black in color and embroidered with the white mon of the Shiba clan and the Gotei Thirteen.

“Oh,” she said faintly. “That’s…” Kaien’s.

He took a slow breath. “Yeah. Seriously, if you don’t want me to wear it, I’ll send it back to Kūkaku and say it didn’t fit right or something.”

But Rukia shook her head firmly. “No! No, you have to wear it, Ichigo. It’s a show of support from the Shiba clan.”

“Yeah but…”

“I will be fine.” Her fingertips touched the silk fabric lightly, and though her hand shook for a moment, her expression was calm when she turned to look at him. More importantly, so were her thoughts. “I promise.”

Two days later, in the courtyard just off the entrance to the Kuchiki manor, Ichika tapped her foot impatiently. “Where are we going, again?” she asked. “And why can’t we have supper with you, Oji-sama?” The sun shone brightly overhead and glinted off of her bright hair; the last of the crimson color had faded away despite her best efforts, leaving her hair bright as her father’s.

“Hn. You will be visiting some cousins of yours,” he explained. “Shiba Kukaku and Shiba Ganju. You will have dinner and spend the night in their home in the Rukongai.”

Kazui blinked up at him. “If they’re cousins, how come Kaasan and Tousan aren’t here?” He tugged at his obi and yelped when the fabric slipped from its knot.

But something else had slipped out, too, loud enough for both Byakuya and Ichika to hear it. Ichika darted a look at her uncle. “Kaasan and Oyaji have something important to do with Oji-sama, I think.”

Still clutching the loose obi to keep his clothes from falling open right there in the courtyard, Kazui blinked up at her, seeming to realize just what he’d called Rukia. “Is it… is it okay if I call her that?” he asked softly.

Byakuya had given the children’s tutor and nanny the afternoon off, and it was just the three of them in the courtyard. He watched Kazui carefully as he lowered himself onto one knee and reached for the loose strip of fabric. “You haven’t tied this quite right,” he explained. “Tuck your kimono tighter around you.”

“Yes, Oji-sama.” Kazui did as he said, neatening the kimono around his slender body. With careful hands Byakuya wrapped the obi around his waist and tied it snugly.

“You must use a knot like this, and the obi will stay tied even if you insist on running through every courtyard in my home.” Byakuya straightened up when he was finished. “Yes, that is much better.” One hand fell to Kazui’s head, combing lightly through his hair. “We choose our family,” he reminded.

“Thank you, Oji-sama.” Kazui beamed up at him. “Tousan says it’s okay if I run as long as I don’t destroy any of the flowers. He said you’d get really mad if I did that.”

“Hn.” A slight breeze ruffled Byakuya’s hair, and he nodded with satisfaction as six of his best guards landed on the neatly trimmed grass, forming a neat circle around the two children. “Abarai is late,” he muttered.

Another breeze sent Ichika and Kazui’s kimono fluttering, and Renji flickered into existence. “You two ready to go?” he asked, turning his back on Byakuya entirely to ruffle Ichika’s hair and fist bump Kazui. “Wait until you see the Shiba place! Your cousins have the weirdest taste in statues.”

“Tousan!” Ichika yelped at having her hair mussed but threw her arms around him. Kazui grinned up at him. “Oji-sama didn’t say you were coming with us.”

“Heh. Yeah, I’m your escort for the night, along with these guys. We’ll be using shunpo, so we’ll get there really fast.” Renji tapped his palm lightly on the pommel of his sealed zanpakutō. “I’ll carry you, Ichika, and one of the guards will carry Kazui.”

Byakuya nodded to the head of the guard team. “You will escort the children and Abarai Fukutaicho to the Shiba estate and remain on guard, discreetly, until morning, at which point you will provide a return escort back here.”

“Yes, Kuchiki-sama,” the guards responded in unison.

Renji lifted Ichika into his arms and one of the guards, a slender, dark-haired man with elfin features, picked up Kazui. Byakuya watched them flash out of sight, then turned on his heel and stepped onto the engawa. He needed to finish his preparations.

A few hours later, in a room borrowed from Byakuya, Ichigo changed into his very best hakama and kimono, and pulled the black silk haori over his shoulders. He neatened his shoulder-length hair as best he could while a maid helped Rukia tie her silver-threaded obi. She was a vision in her irotomesode kimono, the plum fabric bright against her pale skin. The upper half of the kimono was plain, save for the crests at her sleeves, shoulder, and chest, but the lower half shimmered with a bright pattern of dyed and embroidered flowers. Thanks to some additional help from the same maid, Rukia’s hair was twisted up and pinned with the crystal kanzashi he had given her. Her new necklace sparkled at her throat.

“Remember,” Rukia said as she stepped closer to him and smoothed the front of his haori, fingertips lingering on the Shiba crest, “You need to keep your reiatsu under control. And your temper.”

“Tch. I’ll behave as long as they do,” Ichigo muttered. Don’t forget, I know what they did. He remembered the day he’d felt Rukia’s anger and pain even in Karakura, the day Zangetsu had reached, as far as he could, so they could comfort her.

And you know they can’t actually stop us, Rukia reminded him. She gave the haori one more pat and stepped back. Sayuri oba-san is a potential ally.

Fine, I’ll try to be nice to her, Ichigo said through the bond. He smoothed an errant strand of hair behind her ear and cupped her jaw, bending down to drop a chaste kiss on her lips.

They left their guest room behind, their zanpakutō resting on a stand together with power thrumming softly between them. Ichigo could feel that Zangetsu wasn’t entirely pleased to be left behind; desperately in love with Sode no Shirayuki as he was, the zanpakutō glowered at the thought of the Kuchiki elders upsetting her wielder once again.

Ichigo held his arm out and Rukia rested her hand in his as they strolled along the engawa. It was well past dusk, and their heavy, formal clothes held the chill in the air at bay. Lanterns lit the wooden platform and the courtyard beyond, casting circles of warm, yellow light around them. Kazui and Ichika were well away from the manor, Renji having spirited them away hours ago to Kūkaku’s place outside of the Seireitei, deep in a forest in the Rukongai.

Their walk took them halfway across the enormous manor, until they reached an open set of sliding shoji screens leading into the most formal room that Ichigo had ever seen in all his time spent in the Seireitei. Silk panels lined the walls, each hand-painted in a panoply of colors. The tatami floor was bare, and Ichigo suppressed a groan; he just knew he was going to be expected to sit seiza, something he still did rarely and generally only under duress.

Byakuya was waiting for them.

So were more than a dozen men and women, each in formal, elegant kimono. They were all much older in appearance than Byakuya; Ichigo wondered idly just how old they really were, given that most people within the Seireitei could live for hundreds of years without sprouting a single gray hair.

The woman second from the center is Kuchiki Sayuri, Rukia murmured through the bond. Ichigo glanced her way; like the others she looked elderly, but there was something a little kinder, less harsh in her expression. The rest of them seemed less than pleased; one or two looked as though they’d swallowed a wasp.

“Rukia, Ichigo,” Byakuya greeted calmly. He, too, was dressed for the occasion: like Ichigo he wore dark silk hakama, and his haori bore the crests of the Kuchiki clan and the Gotei Thirteen. “Welcome.”

“Kuchiki-sama.” Ichigo took his arm from Rukia’s to bow in sync with his fiancée. Byakuya had given them only the briefest outline of what to expect.

“So, this is the ryoka who thinks he can marry into this clan,” one of the Elders commented before Byakuya could say more. Old and wizened, he had draped himself in a black kimono patterned with gold, and an equally opulent haori.

Kuchiki Eiko, Rukia supplied.

Not a fan, then? Ichigo kept his expression as neutral as he could, and his power tight against him; Rukia had asked him to play nice, and he would.

“May I present Kurosaki Ichigo,” Byakuya said smoothly, as if Eiko had not spoken. “Head of the Kurosaki clan, a branch of the Shiba family, and Fukutaicho of the Thirteenth Division.”

“You’re Shiba Isshin’s boy,” another of the Elders – Kuchiki Junichi – said bluntly. “You have the Shiba look.”

“I am.” At a gesture from Byakuya, Ichigo sank to the floor to sit in seiza, one hand raised solicitously to offer Rukia something to balance herself if she needed it.

At another signal, servants appeared, setting a low table before them and pouring tea from an elegant, gilded pot into equally elegant cups.

More servants arrived, offering tea to the elders and to Byakuya, who folded himself into seiza far more elegantly than Ichigo’s efforts.

“Did this ryoka even follow the proper courtship rules?” Junichi demanded. Irritated muttering filled the room.

“The girl is an adopted urchin from the Rukongai, she hardly merits them even if he didn’t,” another spoke up.

Ichigo’s reiatsu flared before he could stop it, and only Rukia’s presence beside him cooled his ire. His teacup clicked when he set it down. A glance at Byakuya revealed that his future brother-in-law was stone-faced, with not even a whisper of his power leaking out. Still has ice water in his veins, he muttered to himself. “I have presented seven courting gifts to Kuchiki Rukia, and she has accepted them,” he said sternly.

“But we have not accepted you, ryoka.” That was Eiko again, looking as though he’d smelled something particularly rotten.

“Kurosaki Fukutaicho is my second-in-command.” Rukia’s words were calm, but Ichigo could feel her irritation roiling beneath the surface. “I will thank you not to refer to him as though he does not belong here in Soul Society.”

“More importantly,” Byakuya added, “It was Kurosaki Ichigo who saved all of us from Aizen Sosuke and Yhwach.”

There was more grumbling.

“What gifts did you present, Kurosaki-sama?” Kuchiki Sayuri asked. “I am eager to hear what you offered to Rukia-chan.”

Guess she is an ally, Ichigo mused through the bond. “I gave seven gifts as tokens of the esteem I feel for Rukia,” he began. “Two of them she is wearing this evening.” He explained each of them: the kanzashi and mirror set earned no more than a blink, and even Eiko nodded with approval when he mentioned the origins of the necklace, but the clinic…

“Building something in the cesspit that is Inuzuri hardly qualifies as a courtship gift,” another of the elders sneered.

“Rukia grew up in the Rukongai. When I joined the Gotei Thirteen, I made a promise to her that I would make things better in Inuzuri, and beyond. I was a doctor in the living world, and I made a promise to myself to use my skills to do more good than I can by swinging a sword.” Ichigo’s gaze didn’t falter as he looked at each of the elders in turn. “My sixth gift to Rukia is the creation of an orphanage in the same district, which this clan generously supported.”

Eiko scoffed, but Sayuri’s lips curved. “You have given Rukia compassionate and lasting gifts,” she said approvingly. “What of the fourth and fifth courting gifts?”

Before Ichigo could sputter through an explanation, Byakuya spoke again. “As you know, leading a division of the Gotei Thirteen is a stressful job. Kurosaki Ichigo thoughtfully arranged for Rukia to spend several days relaxing at an exclusive ryokan,” he said smoothly.

“He also gave me a highly sought-after, limited-edition plush for my Chappy collection,” Rukia added, before they could dwell on the matter of her vacation. “Only ten were ever made.”

“A childish toy,” Junichi opined with a sniff. “But then, you are from the Rukongai, I suppose you can’t be expected to have any taste.”

Ichigo’s reiatsu flared, setting the teacups rattling on their tables and pressing down upon the old men and women who’d assembled just to judge him, just to poke and prod at Rukia. “I promised,” he said, voice low and taut, “that I would be civilized this evening, and not shame my future wife. But I won’t let you insult her.”

“Ichigo,” she murmured beside him. Unlike everyone else – even Byakuya had a few beads of sweat at his temple – Rukia sat calmly, breathing easy beneath his power.

He reached a hand over and wrapped it around hers, squeezing gently. “I’m sorry,” he murmured to her, and with an effort dampened his power. “You know I can be a little overprotective.”

“Byakuya!” Eiko croaked out, when he’d shaken himself of his stupor. “This boy just attacked and insulted your entire clan! Throw him out and break off this ridiculous betrothal immediately!

“The Shiba clan is a fallen one, surely the girl is more valuable married off to the Tsunayashiro boy, or the Omaeda Fukutaicho,” Junichi put in.

Over my dead body. Ichigo’s reiatsu flared again in warning.

“He will do no such thing,” Sayuri piped up from her seat, and Ichigo swore she winked at him. “He would be breaking a law that is in place because of us. Show us, Rukia,” she ordered.

Together they reached, and the red thread, thick and edged with gleaming gold, twined around them in the visible world. “Ichigo has followed our courtship traditions even though they are not his traditions, and he has treated me with honor and care. But even if he did not do those things, Elders, each of you already knows that neither Nii-sama, nor you, nor Central Forty-Six can object to our marriage.”

“You deserved them,” he muttered beside her, and shifted his hips discreetly; sitting in seiza was already getting uncomfortable. He didn’t know how someone as old as Sayuri was managing it.

She’s using a stool, Rukia explained. It takes some of the pressure off her legs but makes it look like she’s in seiza.

“Tch. That pointless old law,” Eiko muttered. “That red string is a parlor trick, a warped kido.”

Sayuri – bless her – leaned over and smacked Eiko on the shoulder with a folded fan. “Don’t be a fool,” she admonished. “Kuchiki Hikari and Shiba Giichi died because this clan kept them apart. The law exists because of our folly.”

Eiko flinched and drew away from her, rubbing his shoulder. “That story is so old it’s practically myth!”

“The story is real.” Byakuya took a sip of his tea. “The oldest of our records tell us that she was a member of this clan, and that she was kept apart from the Shiba boy against her wishes.”

Ichigo blinked. Who the hell were Hikari and Giichi?

The old story in Byakuya’s book, remember? Rukia prodded. They were the couple who died because their clans kept them apart.

A Kuchiki and a Shiba. Ichigo exchanged a look with her. He’d said, once, that he thought their first meeting hadn’t really been their first, that maybe there were other lifetimes before. You don’t think…?

Rukia’s shoulders lifted. It’s not impossible.

“Very well,” Eiko muttered. “I suppose there is nothing we can do to stop you.” Sayuri smacked his shoulder again.

“You have our blessing, Kurosaki Ichigo, Rukia-chan,” she said far more graciously. “The wedding will go forward.”

“Thank you,” Rukia said quietly, and Ichigo echoed her words.

“I suppose with this marriage, the Shiba clan stands a chance of becoming one of the Great Noble Houses once more,” Eiko said shrewdly. “You will have to find another heir, Byakuya.”

Byakuya cast Ichigo a quelling look, and Ichigo reined in his temper – and his power – with an effort. “That matter is not yet decided. The clan will be informed of my choice in due course.”

At a gesture from Byakuya, the door at the far end of the room slid open and a veritable parade of servants entered silently, bringing dish after dish of elegantly plated, piping hot food. Each of Byakuya’s guests received a veritable feast at their table; he clearly didn’t like to leave his guests hungry. No one spoke until the servants had once more departed, and the conversation turned to the meal for a time.

“When will the wedding take place?” an older woman, one who hadn’t said a word up to that point, asked.

“Ah. We have yet to set a date,” Rukia murmured after taking another sip of tea. “We are not in a rush; there will be much to plan, and Ichigo will want his family to attend, so we will set a date with plenty of notice.”

And getting Yuzu here from Australia will be a challenge, Rukia reflected.

“The Shiba clan is providing a bride price, I presume?” Junichi asked.

“Hn. We are in discussions. Shiba Kūkaku is amenable to my suggestions.”

Dowry? Byakuya didn’t say anything about that. Ichigo hadn’t even considered that the Kuchiki clan might require one.

Nii-sama and Shiba-san did have tea the other day, Rukia reminded him.

When the remains of the meal had been cleared away, a servant knelt next to Byakuya and murmured something in his ear. Byakuya rose, and at his gesture Ichigo and Rukia followed.

“Please,” he said, “continue to enjoy yourselves. I must speak with my sister and her betrothed privately regarding a matter of some importance.”

Rukia and Ichigo bowed in farewell and followed Byakuya from the meeting hall into a smaller dining room, one more opulent than the one they usually used when having supper with the children. Like the ceremonial space, painted silk covered the walls, and the wooden beams were carved with the Kuchiki crest.

Kūkaku was waiting for them, and so was Yoruichi, dressed in the fanciest kimono Ichigo had ever seen her wear. “Yoruichi? What are you doing here?” he blurted out.

“That’s Yoruichi-sama to you tonight,” Kūkaku corrected, and smacked him on the back of the head before he thought to dodge.

“Ow! What’s going on?” Ichigo asked, rubbing the sore spot on his head as Rukia hid her laughter behind her hand.

“Congratulations on your engagement, Ichigo, Rukia.” Yoruichi grinned up at them from her position before the low dining table. “Byakubo sent a lovely, cryptic invitation for drinks.”

“We will have another guest joining us this evening,” Byakuya explained. “Please, sit. We will have more tea in the meantime.”

I’m going to float away on all this tea, Ichigo groused. Thankfully there were thicker cushions here, and he lowered himself onto one and sat cross-legged, once more holding out a hand for Rukia to steady herself if she needed it.

“Did the old goats give you a hard time?” Yoruichi asked when Byakuya had joined them and poured tea into her cup.

“They tried,” Ichigo muttered, and grunted when Rukia poked him in the side. “Well, they did! They didn’t like that I gave you something more meaningful than calligraphy brushes.”

“They eventually gave us their blessing.” Rukia laid a hand on Ichigo’s arm. They’d let the bond dissipate back into invisibility, but it still wrapped tight around them. At least they didn’t ask too many questions about our vacation.

Thankfully. That would have been… awkward.

“So, who won the betting pool?” Yoruichi asked with a smirk.

Their cheeks turned pink as Kūkaku snorted. “Which one? Ganju had a wager on when you’d sleep together.”

Byakuya cleared his throat. Oh good, Byakuya’s going to tell them both to shut it, Ichigo thought.

Instead, his future brother-in-law said thoughtfully, “I believe Eguchi Akemi from the Thirteenth Division won that bet.”

“I can’t believe you know that,” Ichigo groaned.

“My own subordinate.” Rukia’s voice was faint.

“What about the engagement? That’s the one I had big money on.” Yoruichi threw back the rest of her tea and held out her cup for more.

“There were a few pools for that one,” Kūkaku said with a smirk. “You shinigami must get bored easily.” She chortled at the twin blushes on Ichigo and Rukia’s faces.

“Hah! A near-tragic love story, fifteen years in the making, between the savior of Soul Society and one of its captains? No wonder everyone got into it.” Yoruichi laughed. “So, who won, Byakubo?”

Byakuya’s lips thinned at Yoruichi’s second use of what, Ichigo guessed, was a long-hated nickname. “Matsumoto Fukutaicho has not yet revealed the results of the Seireitei-wide wager. And you would need to ask Kotsubaki who won the Thirteenth Division’s wager.”

The shoji door at the far end of the room slid open, and one of the Kuchiki servants bowed before stepping aside to let Hirako Shinji into the room.

“Welcome,” Byakuya said as he rose. At a signal from Rukia Ichigo stood as well, taking her with him. Surprise buzzed through the bond.

What is he doing here? Ichigo hissed through the bond. Still, he offered Shinji a nod in greeting.

“As you know, Ichigo and Rukia will be getting married.” Byakuya gestured to the empty place remaining at the table.

“Congratulations,” Shinji drawled said as he took a seat at the table. “Matsumoto told me I lost the bet. Heard her and the Yamada kid are splitting the big prize. But that isn’t why you called me here this evening, Kuchiki.”

Byakuya signaled to the servant still waiting by the door, and she quickly left, sliding it shut behind her. “No,” he agreed. “Though I am pleased with my sister’s choice of husband, this is not a celebratory gathering.”

Woah, that almost sounded like a compliment. Beside him, Rukia hid her smile behind the sleeve of her kimono.

A servant stepped into the room bearing a tray of cups and a large carafe of pale, yellow liquid, as well as a smaller one of water. Byakuya poured for each of them. Ichigo brought the cup to his lips and sniffed; umeshu, he identified. Plum wine.

“Well, Kuchiki?” Shinji asked. He swirled the pale yellow umeshu in his cup and took another sip.

“Soul Society,” Byakuya said calmly, “Needs to change.”

Ichigo and Rukia exchanged a look. No wonder his note had been so cryptic.

“This marriage has the opportunity to elevate the status of the Shiba once again,” he began. “But right now, our laws require that Rukia give up her claim to the Kuchiki clan if she marries into the Shiba clan. And vice versa.”

Shinji raised an eyebrow. “Why not just give the heirship to the kid? Ichika?” He smirked at Ichigo. “Subtle, Kuchiki.”

“The Kuchiki name is heavy with expectation. I can’t put that on a child,” Rukia objected, ignoring Shinji’s jab. “But Nii-sama, I already told Ichigo I would give up the name if it meant that we could improve the Rukongai and Soul Society’s laws.”

Byakuya took a measured sip. “You could, but that would leave me without an heir unless I claimed your daughter, or a future child, for the role.”

“The clan laws have stood in Soul Society for a thousand years,” Kūkaku pointed out. “What do you think this group will do about it?”

Yoruichi smirked. “You want me to talk to him, don’t you?” she asked.

Ichigo glanced Rukia’s way. Him? He received only confusion in return.

“What makes you think he’d back you?” Kūkaku asked.

“The clan funded Ichigo’s orphanage project,” Byakuya said simply. “Every major clan made a donation except for the Tsunayashiro.”

The fifth house. The one he hadn’t even known how to get in contact with. He hadn’t needed to, in the end. “I didn’t even have to ask,” Ichigo put in. “A messenger showed up with a donation one morning.”

Shinji tossed back the rest of his umeshu and waited for Ichigo to pour more into his cup. “How big?”

Ichigo wrapped his hand around Rukia’s under the table. “Big enough that we can start building in Sakahone next,” he said quietly. “We should have enough to buy the land and break ground, once the orphanage in Inuzuri is up and running.”

Yoruichi let out a low whistle. “Maybe he will back you. That’s not his usual style.”

Ichigo glanced at Shinji. “No offense but – why are you here?”

Shinji snorted. “If you want to change things, you’re going to need an inside man.” When Ichigo stared blankly at him, he rolled his eyes and waved a hand dismissively. “There’s a spot opening up in Central Forty-Six in about ten years. Better if you don’t know how I know.”

“Sure…”

“That means the Fifth’s going to need a new leader,” Shinji added.

Rukia’s hand tightened in Ichigo’s. “You want Ichigo to take over for you,” she blurted out.

Shinji smirked. “You’ll need training. Rukia-chan might be working you hard but she’s still new to her role.” He took a long sip from his glass. “If you want the job, you’ll start shadowing me and Kensei, and Byakuya, to learn the ropes. And we’ll nominate you when it’s time for me to step down.”

I won’t even be 40. Ichigo took a slow breath.

Shinji’s right, we need an inside man, Rukia replied. But it’s a big responsibility, Ichigo.

Means less time with you. But… the taicho have influence. And one who’s also the head of a clan…

Right.

So why is Shinji handing this to us on a platter?

“Do they do that a lot?” Shinji asked Byakuya as he jerked his thumb at Rukia and Ichigo where they sat, eyes meeting, in absolute silence.

“Often enough,” Byakuya said blandly.

“What about the other fukutaicho?” Ichigo asked, surfacing from his private conversation with Rukia. “At least three of the others have bankai, and they’ve all been in their roles much longer than I have. Maybe Ikkaku doesn’t want the job, but what about Renji and Hisagi?”

Yoruichi shrugged. “In terms of sheer power, you could beat every single one of them, and most of the taicho besides. And you’ll have ten years to learn from these two.” She filled Kukaku’s glass and Rukia’s.

“What do you want from the Shiba clan in return for all this?” Kūkaku demanded. She’d stayed silent, though Ichigo had caught her watching him. “You’re willing to hand over one of those fancy white haori on a silver platter. Why?”

Shinji smirked at her. “I don’t want anything from the clan, that’s Kuchiki’s bag. I was treated as a traitor for a hundred years because old Yamamoto was old and set in his ways. Kyōraku’s more flexible but he still goes along with Central Forty-Six’s bullshit. But this one?” He gestured at Ichigo with his half-full glass. “This one won’t put up with that shit.”

Byakuya sniffed at the vulgarities but nodded his agreement. “As Kurosaki Taicho, you will have influence. You will, of course, need to be loyal to the Gotei Thirteen.”

“You think I’m not loyal enough now?” Ichigo demanded.

Yoruichi laughed. “You joined the Gotei Thirteen because of Rukia. Only an idiot would think your loyalty is stronger to them than it is to her.”

Well. Ichigo couldn’t exactly deny that. His knee bumped against Rukia’s beneath the table.

“Right now, you could go up against most of us and win. In ten years, in a hundred years, you could be as powerful as Yama-jii. I want that power on our side, the next time someone like Yhwach comes around.” Shinji shrugged expressively. “I want that influence on our side, the next time Central Forty-Six does something stupid.”

“So you’re willing to put me in charge of an entire division, and help us change Soul Society’s laws just to make sure I swing my sword in the right direction?” Ichigo stared, nonplussed, and didn’t touch his wine.

“I’m willing to help you change Soul Society’s laws because Central Forty-Six is as corrupt as they were when Aizen killed them all,” Shinji corrected. “Bastard turned me into a visored and tried to become a god, but he wasn’t wrong about the corruption.”

I wanted power to protect my friends. To protect you, Ichigo murmured through the bond.

Rukia’s fingers threaded through his again. I know.

If I do this, we could change the Rukongai. Make it so that kids don’t have to live like you and Renji did. So that people like Hisana…

“Seriously, what’s with them?” Shinji demanded.

Kūkaku refilled his glass. “You’re not going to have influence over Central Forty-Six for another decade,” she pointed out. “How are you going to change the marriage laws now? Or are those two idiots going to be shacking up for ten years?”

Byakuya choked on his wine while Yoruichi cackled, jabbing Kūkaku in the side so hard she nearly fell over. “Don’t act like they’re not, Byakubo,” she teased.

Rukia’s cheeks turned bright red. “Nii-sama…”

Her brother coughed lightly into a napkin and dabbed at his lips with it. “An engagement of that length is not my preference,” he said, expression blank. “I presume, Hirako, that you have an idea.”

Shinji grinned, showing far too many teeth. “Of course I do.”

Chapter Text

They didn’t talk about Shinji’s plan right away. Exhausted from the strain of meeting with the Kuchiki elders and then from talking (and drinking) late into the night with the group that Shinji had jauntily dubbed the Six Eighty-Six Conspiracists, they’d barely managed to divest themselves of their fancy clothes before falling onto the futon in their borrowed room and into sleep.

When sunlight spilled over her face the next morning Rukia groaned faintly and burrowed beneath the covers, hiding her face from the light against Ichigo’s side. A steady drumbeat of pain echoed in her head and her mouth tasted awful. Ichigo grunted, waking up enough to look down at his fiancée with eyes cracked open just enough to see her.

“Why’s it so bright?” he mumbled, and turned in toward her, pulling the covers up over their heads to block out the sun. His arm wrapped around her, warm and heavy over her back, and Rukia snuggled in close against his bare chest.

She still felt awful but having him wrapped around her was soothing. “Because it’s morning and we’re probably already running late,” she mumbled into his chest.

“Ugh. I need the day off, Taicho,” Ichigo joked. “You should take the day too, you’re looking peaky.” He grunted when she smacked her hand against his chest.

“Just what I want to hear about my appearance.” But he nuzzled closer and Rukia relaxed into him.

Still, they didn’t exactly have time to lie in bed. She squirmed from his arms and, reluctantly, he followed her as she rose from the futon. They bathed and changed into fresh uniforms. After some judicious use of kido to tamp down the worst of the lingering headaches and nausea, they hurried off to breakfast and then to the Thirteenth Division. The first pieces of Shinji’s initial plan needed to be put in place right away, unless they wanted to wait until Ichigo was a captain to get married.

Kūkaku was responsible for the first piece of that plan, and even before Ichigo and Rukia woke she had – according to a message that was waiting for them in Rukia’s office when they finally arrived, headaches reduced to a dull throb – already filed the paperwork to petition for the recognition of the Shiba as a Great House, backed by the Kuchiki and Shihouin. Word reached them at noon that a third petition of support had been filed alongside hers.

In the meanwhile, between training sessions and a second appeal to Central Forty-Six to return her clawed-back capital budget, Ichigo and Rukia finalized the orphanage proposal, and Ichigo filed a formal petition for a hearing – with Rukia, Shinji, and Kyōraku’s formal stamps alongside his. “Guess all we can do is wait,” Ichigo said when the final stamp was applied and the proposal and petition were taken by a uniformed, masked member of the Kuchiki guard to the rebuilt hall from which Central Forty-Six deliberated and governed.

“You could complete the paperwork that’s been waiting on your desk for three days,” Rukia suggested tartly.

“Che. Yeah, yeah,” Ichigo agreed. Rukia had once again taken her haori off, leaving it in her office while they worked and waited for the messenger. Hey, Rukia, he murmured through the bond, and kept his power light and reassuring against hers. You haven’t been wearing your haori lately.

It was supposed to be Kaien’s, she confessed. Ukitake was going to step down and Kaien was going to take his place. Kyōraku gave it to me after I got married.

He knew without her explaining further – because the bond was more like a firehose than a thread these days – why she’d started to feel reluctant about wearing it. Do you want a new one?

She bit her lip. I think I want to make it mine, finally. And stop feeling like I’m wearing a coat that doesn’t fit.

Ichigo squeezed her hand. Alright, he agreed. You know, we could bring it to Uryuu. When… we next go to Karakura.

She hummed her agreement. “No more distracting me,” she said then, and pushed him away lightly, hand lingering on his chest. “You have paperwork, and I have a meeting.”

“It’ll be done by the time you get back,” Ichigo promised. He hadn’t agreed to stop distracting her, though, and so it was a few more minutes – and a few kisses – before he returned to his own office next door.

Their next trip to Karakura arrived sooner than the dates set by Central Forty-Six for any of the petitions. More than a year after he’d moved to Soul Society, Ichigo and Rukia rose early. It was Saturday afternoon in the World of the Living, and the second time Kazui would be going back to Karakura. They finished their work and hurried to the Kuchiki Manor, where Kazui and Ichika were waiting for them, both in casual yukata.

For the first time Ichigo realized just how tall his son had gotten in the last year; seeing him nearly every day it was easy not to notice such gradual growth – but suddenly Kazui was almost as tall as Ichika. There were guards posted when they reached the private clan senkaimon, and Ichigo nodded to them briefly as they stepped aside to let the family pass.

Using an official passage between Soul Society and the World of the Living made a huge difference, and when Ichigo landed near Urahara’s shop, he didn’t have a hair out of place. Kazui held his hand tightly and Rukia followed a second later with Ichika, landing gracefully with her shihakusho billowing around her.

He took a slow breath. It was the first time he’d been back to Karakura since seeing Yuzu off at the airport months ago. The air felt thinner, somehow; maybe it was the lower concentration of reishi compared with Soul Society. Ichigo led his family through the open shop doors and nodded to Ururu and Jinta. “Urahara home?” he asked.

The shopkeeper in question appeared from around a corner, ubiquitous fan in hand. “Ah, Kurosaki-san,” he greeted. “You’re looking well.” His fan fluttered excitedly. “And Ichika-chan and Kazui-kun! It’s been a long time, Ichika, you’ve gotten so tall!”

Rukia and Ichigo exchanged a fond look. “We promised Ichika that she could visit this time,” Rukia explained.

“Yes, yes – I have your gigai ready for the three of you.” Urahara waved them further into the shop. “How long will Kazui be staying in Karakura?”

Ichigo’s free hand fell to the small of Rukia’s back. “Two weeks. We’ll be back right before Christmas, and we’ll spend Christmas Eve and Day here.” Assuming all goes well was left unspoken.

His body looked the same as it always had when Ichigo looked it over, and fortunately Urahara hadn’t dressed it in the weird clothes that some of the shinigami thought was high fashion. Ichigo merged with his old body with only a little difficulty, and stretched carefully. It felt heavy after not having a real body for months, but Ichigo grinned. “Thanks, Kisuke. We’ll swing back through on our way back to Soul Society.”

He’d sent word ahead, but Ichigo was still nervous as he walked toward Orihime’s apartment. He hadn’t seen her since they’d taken Kazui, and even though Uryuu had said she continued to improve, she’d also tried to attack Rukia the last time they’d seen each other.

“Do you want a piggyback ride?” Ichigo asked Kazui when they left the shop. “It’s kind of a long walk, we didn’t ask Urahara-san to rent a car this time.”

“I can walk,” his son said firmly. “I walked the whole way there with Matsumoto-san.”

“Alright. Just stay on my right side, away from the street, alright? You too, Ichika,” Ichigo ordered.

“What’s a car?” Ichika asked. She followed Ichigo’s instructions and stayed to Rukia’s right, walking alongside her mother. Despite her youth she was almost as tall as Rukia already – maybe she’d gotten her height from him.

She’ll slow down soon, Rukia pointed out. Their bond felt a little weaker, maybe due to the gigai, but Ichigo still heard her loud and clear. I did, once I reached her age. But Kazui wouldn’t, they left unsaid but not unheard. Rukia glanced back at him, eyes dark.

“It’s like a cart, but instead of having an animal pull it along, it uses liquid fuel for power, and the driver sits inside, using a wheel to steer it in the right direction,” Ichigo explained. “Like that one. There are lots of kinds.” He pointed at a newer model sedan that drove by them, gray paint gleaming in the late-afternoon sunlight.

“Are Hitsugaya Taicho and Karin oba-san still meeting us for dinner?” Kazui asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” Ichigo said. “Guess they weren’t in Urahara’s shop. Might be on patrol or something.”

Rukia’s denreishinki beeped urgently and she dug it from the purse Urahara had given her. “Hollows,” she said with a groan. “Half a dozen of them incoming, and less than a minute away.”

Ichigo stifled a swear. “Can the shinigami on duty handle them?”

“Do you sense anyone in the area?” Rukia asked flatly. “I don’t.”

They were more than halfway to Orihime’s apartment building, too far from Urahara’s to go back and drop off their children. “Alright. I’ve got Kon, do you have Chappy?” To Ichika and Kazui he said as Rukia grabbed for her Chappy dispenser, “We’re going to take care of these hollows quickly to keep everyone safe. I need you to stay with Kon and Chappy, okay? They’ll keep you safe, just like Chappy did that one time by Karin and Yuzu’s apartment, right Kaz?”

“Right!”

“But I have shikai and can fight them!” Ichika protested.

“No. I need you to be the last defense for you and Kazui, okay Ichika?” Ichigo said seriously. He grabbed for the small green pill in his pocket. “Shiragetsu told you that the Getsuga is for emergencies. Don’t use it unless it’s really an emergency.” He popped Kon’s pill into his mouth and burst from his body, badge gleaming on his arm. “Kon! Get Kazui and Ichika out of sight,” he ordered.

“You have some nerve, Ichigo, keeping me in that pill for a year and then expecting me to jump when you say,” Kon whined, but then he looked down at the children and sighed. “Come on, we’ll find a good place to hide while Ichigo beats up the big bad hollows.”

“Pyon! Hurry up, Kon,” Chappy ordered in Rukia’s gigai as she grabbed for Ichika’s hand.

And to Ichigo’s surprise, Kon blushed and pecked Chappy on the cheek. “Che. Even our mod souls, huh?” he mumbled.

A roar split the air and Ichigo followed Rukia into battle, pulling Zangetsu from the sheath at his hip and unsealing him with a murmured word. Two blades filled his hands and he leapt after the first hollow, watching Rukia unseal Sode no Shirayuki.

They were strong, he could tell immediately; stronger than the small fries he used to take out back in his early days as a substitute, but nothing they couldn’t handle. The first of them perished with a single swing of Rukia’s zanpakutō, and Zangetsu crowed his pride as a getsuga tensho destroyed two more.

But there were more, three more and then a full dozen, and Rukia returned to his side. “What the hell’s attracting them all?” Ichigo asked with a low growl.

“Don’t forget, there’s a lot of power in Karakura right now.” Rukia changed her grip on the hilt of her sword. “Hakuren and tensho?”

“Aa.” They moved together, and their combined power cut a swath through the broken line of roaring white masks and misshapen bodies.

“Flare, Moeruryū,” a voice called, and Ichigo’s head shot up.

“Karin!”

His sister stood in midair, clad in a black shihakusho that fluttered in the chill wind. In one hand she held a slender katana covered in flickering flames. “Long time no see, Ichi-nii,” she called with a grin. Hitsugaya wasn’t far behind, blade still sealed but wielded in one hand as his haori billowed in the breeze.

And though it wasn’t exactly the life he’d wanted for her, Ichigo was glad that he finally got to watch his little sister fight.

She was graceful and fast in the air, flaming katana seeming light as a feather in her hands as she cut through mask after mask. More hollows appeared and Ichigo sprang back into action, sending out another getsuga while Rukia unleashed her first dance nearby.

Fire cut through the air, burning hollows to a crisp just as Ichigo was swinging Zangetsu at them, and nearly taking the hem of his hakama with them. “Hey!”

“Sorry!” Karin called, shooting him a quick grin on her way by. “But you have to be quicker than that!”

“The hell are you teaching my sister, Toshiro?!”

“It’s Hitsugaya Taicho!” Hitsugaya called back before shoving Hyōrinmaru through the mask of another hollow.

Between the four of them, they took care of the last of the incursion quickly. Ichigo landed near Chappy and Kon, and waited for the other three shinigami to join him. “Didn’t expect to see you until dinner time,” he said casually when Hitsugaya landed beside him.

“We were in the area when I got the alert,” Hitsugaya said solemnly. “That damned subordinate of yours is never around, Kuchiki.”

Rukia sighed; in the last decade she’d never been truly pleased with any of the division members she’d assigned to Karakura. “It’s time to reassign her back to Soul Society,” she agreed.

Karin sealed her zanpakutō as she landed on the ground. “I can handle Karakura now,” she said. “Man, it’s still weird seeing two of you, when Kon’s in your body,” she huffed. “And two of Rukia-nee, too.”

“Oba-san, your zanpakutō’s so awesome!” Kazui exclaimed. “Tousan’s doesn’t get all fiery like that!”

“Ehh?” Karin nudged Ichigo with a wide smirk. “That’s right, you didn’t see it last time. Moeruryū likes to show off, especially around Hyōrinmaru.” Then she spotted Ichika, off to the side near Chappy, and her eyes widened. “You brought Ichika?”

“It’s good to see you, Kurosaki-san,” Ichika said stiffly, formally. Her hands clutched at her skirt until Rukia slid an arm around her shoulders.

Karin grinned down at her, one hand falling to her hip. “So formal! You’ve been spending too much time around Rukia’s brother, haven’t you? I heard he’s kind of a stuffed shirt. You can call me Oba-san if you want, the way Kazui does. Or just Karin.”

Ichika returned the smile shyly, bright eyes meeting Karin’s. “Oba-san then,” she said quietly.

Did you really call my brother a stuffed shirt? Rukia asked.

In fairness, I was seventeen and Byakuya was really uptight, Ichigo defended with a grimace. “You’re coming back to Soul Society with us tonight, Toshiro?” He swore he saw a vein start to pop in the younger man’s forehead.

“Yes. I need to see to my division; Kyōraku Soutaicho is displeased that I’ve spent so much time in Karakura, though Matsumoto has been… surprisingly good at running the division in my absence.” Hitsugaya set a hand on Karin’s shoulder. “We should get back to the apartment, we need to pick up our gigai before we meet everyone at Inoue-san’s apartment.”

“Ah! Yeah, we’ll meet you there, okay Ichi-nii, Rukia-nee?” Karin scrubbed the back of her neck and eyed them. “We’ll bring wine.”

At the reminder that they’d be eating dinner with Orihime and Uryuu, Rukia suppressed a grimace. “Perhaps two bottles,” she suggested brightly.

Hitsugaya hid his mouth with one hand and coughed, unsuccessfully trying to cover up a laugh.

They left Rukia, Ichigo, and the kids behind, still shifting back into their gigai, and hurried across rooftops back to Karin’s apartment – their apartment, for the past several months. “Rukia’s right, we should bring two bottles of wine,” Karin said when they landed on the balcony. They slipped in through the balcony door and into the living room. Their gigai – hers was her body, converted by whatever means Urahara had used on Ichigo’s – were curled up together on the sofa where they’d left them.

“It can’t be all that bad,” Toshiro protested as he eased himself back into his gigai. He grunted at the heavy feeling that always came with wearing the false body.

Karin followed, arms stretching once she was properly in her body once more. “You’ve never had to eat Inoue’s cooking.”

He made a face. “Matsumoto made me when we stayed with her years ago. Fine, two bottles.” But Karin was warm and soft against him, and Toshiro curled an arm around her waist. “We don’t have to be there until half past six, right?”

“Right. Ichigo wanted some time in case Inoue uh… freaked out about something. You know, since she hasn’t seen Ichika since… everything happened.”

Toshiro slid his hands beneath her thighs and pulled her closer, onto his lap. “We should give them some time,” he said.

Karin didn’t object to that.

Orihime’s apartment building wasn’t so far from Urahara’s, but it was still a long enough walk that, between the distance and their unplanned hollow fighting break, the sun was lower in the sky by the time it came into view. Ichigo held the glass door open for Rukia and their kids, and gave his name to the security guard behind the desk in the lobby. They waited as he called upstairs. Ichika roamed around the lobby, looking over the wall of mailboxes and eyeing the fake orchid on the desk, but Kazui clung to Rukia’s hand, fingers cold in hers.

“You can go up, Kurosaki-san,” the guard announced after setting the phone down. Ichigo nodded his thanks and the four of them piled into the silver-walled elevator.

“What’s this?” Ichika asked as the doors closed.

“It’s an elevator,” Kazui explained. He reached over and hit the button for the correct floor. “It carries us up to Kaasan’s floor so we don’t need to use the stairs. Kind of like how everyone uses shunpo instead of walking.”

“Cool,” Ichika said. “So, anyone can use it? Even people without any reiryoku?”

“That’s right,” Rukia said. The elevator stopped and the doors opened, revealing a light, thickly carpeted hallway that smelled faintly of freshly baked bread.

Ichigo let Rukia lead the way, but when they arrived at Orihime’s door he gently nudged her, and they stood side-by-side in front of the door. “I’ll go first, okay?”

I don’t need to be protected from her, Rukia reminded him bluntly.

I know. Humor me.

Ichigo had barely knocked before the door swung open to reveal Ishida Uryuu in casual slacks and a striped, pale blue collared shirt.

“Kurosaki,” Ishida greeted. “Kuchiki-san. Come in.”

They took their shoes off in the genkan and waited while Ichika and Kazui did the same. Urahara had provided Kazui with a change of clothes: dark jeans and a charcoal Henley, as well as a heavy coat suitable for the mid-December cold. He’d dressed Ichika’s gigai in a pretty dark green dress and high, warm boots beneath her black winter coat.

Ichigo and Rukia didn’t match their children, but Urahara had picked out similar clothes, and they all stripped off their coats and hung them on hooks beside the two other coats already there. The apartment smelled fresh and clean, faintly scented with citrus and a lingering chemical hint of cleaner.

“Ah, Ishida. Didn’t know you’d be here today.” When Uryuu’s cheeks flushed pink, Ichigo blinked at him. “Oh,” he said. “Are you and Inoue…?”

“Come inside,” the other man said instead of answering directly, and Ichigo urged Kazui ahead of him as they all walked further into the apartment. He glanced at Ichika and then at Rukia, who returned his look with a subtle nod; they both knew Orihime might have a reaction to Ichika’s presence now that she was so clearly her father’s daughter, bright-haired as Ichigo and with eyes almost identical to her mother’s.

When the door shut behind him Uryuu followed them into the living room. “You’re all looking well.”

“Thank you, Ishida-san,” Rukia said politely.

“Hey, Ichigo.” Tatsuki spoke up from her seat on the sofa, and rose to greet them. She stopped, staring at Ichika. “Woah.” At a look from Ichigo she cleared her throat. “Kazui-kun, I swear you’ve gotten taller in only a month! And Ichika-chan, it’s good to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Arisawa-san,” Ichika said politely as Kazui hurried over to give his honorary aunt a hug.

“Where’s Orihime?” Ichigo asked as he took off his shoes. “Didn’t expect Tatsuki to be here today.”

“At the store,” Ishida replied, as Kazui sat down next to Tatsuki and Ichika followed. “She should be back in a few minutes. Tatsuki and I are both here a lot.”

There was an odd note in Ishida’s voice that had Ichigo raising an eyebrow. “It’s good she has you both,” he said neutrally.

Rukia turned her back to the children and lowered her voice. “How is she? Do you think she’ll be upset about Ichika being here?”

Ishida shrugged expressively. “I told her Ichika was coming along, and she seemed fine. Said herself that it would be nice for her to be able to see Karin.”

“Well, that’s good,” Ichigo said. Ishida gestured, and they followed him, sitting down in armchairs set across from the sofa. The apartment looked a lot better than that last visit, when he’d walked off with Kazui and left Ishida and Tatsuki to deal with the fallout.

He'd agreed with Rukia that they’d keep physical contact to a minimum while in Orihime’s apartment, and though she wore her necklace, Rukia hoped its relatively modest appearance wouldn’t draw too much attention. She wore her long hair in a simple, loose braid, the tail falling down the front of her dress to partially obscure the jewelry.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Ishida asked, still standing in the space between the open kitchen and living room.

“Just water,” Rukia requested. Ichigo echoed her, while Kazui asked for juice and nudged Ichika until she did the same.

“How is your tutoring going?” Ishida settled himself on Ichika’s other side after offering plastic tumblers full of pale pink juice to the two children.

“It’s really great. Nagata-sensei is teaching us a lot. Kaasan is helping me with my calligraphy, and Tousan is helping me understand some of the reading he assigns,” Kazui said brightly.

Rukia’s hand rose involuntarily to her chest, and she darted a wide-eyed look at Ichigo, whose eyes had gone glassy. “Kazui,” she whispered.

“It’s okay if he calls you that, isn’t it, Kaasan?” Ichika piped up before she could say anything else. “Oji-sama says we can choose our family.”

“Oh, Kazui,” Rukia set her water glass on the end table between her chair and Ichigo’s. She knelt in front of the boy, pretty, plum wool dress puddling on the floor around her legs. “I’d love it very much if you called me that. But I don’t want to upset Orihime,” she said gently.

Kazui bit his lip. “Okay,” he agreed softly. “I don’t want to make Kaasan sad.”

“I know,” Rukia murmured, and dropped a kiss on his forehead. Keys rattled in the front door; she jumped to her feet, finding her chair again while Orihime was still removing her shoes in the genkan.

“Oh, you’re already here,” Orihime said from the entrance to the living room, tote bags over her arms. Her hair had grown out since the last time Rukia and Ichigo had seen her months ago; it was just below her shoulders and looked freshly washed and styled.

“Let me help with those, Hime,” Tatsuki offered quickly, and rose from her spot next to Kazui. “Everyone just got here a few minutes ago.”

I can’t believe he called me that, Rukia murmured through the bond, her heart still pounding in her chest. And just as we’re about to leave him here for two weeks…

Ichigo, bound by their agreement not to be affectionate with one another in front of his ex-wife, sent a curl of love and reassurance through the bond. We’ll get through it, he assured her softly. But neither needed to speak to say what they were wondering: had they done the right thing, keeping Kazui away from Orihime so long that he addressed Rukia as his mother?

Were they doing the right thing now?

Ishida’s eyes darted between them suspiciously, but he returned his attention to the children. “What else are you learning from your tutor?” he asked calmly.

“Nagata sensei is teaching us all about the history of Soul Society and the Rukongai,” Ichika explained over the sounds of cabinet doors opening and closing as Tatsuki and Orihime put away the groceries. “But Oyaji is having him teach us about Japanese history too, because Kazui will need it.”

“It’s helpful for you too,” Ichigo said quickly. “If you ever get sent on a mission to Karakura or somewhere else in the gensei, you might need it. That’s why Nagata’s teaching you both about technology, too, and how to use that laptop Urahara gave you.”

“Wonder what he’s teaching them about the Quincies,” Uryuu muttered under his breath.

Ichigo shot him a look, but Orihime and Tatsuki had finished with the groceries. “Now where’s my Kazui-tan?” Orihime asked cheerfully as she walked into the living room. Her expression crumpled when she caught sight of Ichika next to her son.

Kazui hurried to his mother’s side and smiled when she reached down for a hug – but he glanced back at Rukia just before he held his arms out to return it. Rukia plastered a smile on her lips and urged him along with the subtlest hand movement she could manage.

“It’s so good to see you!” Orihime exclaimed, holding her son tightly. “I’m so glad you’re home, Kazui! I have a delicious dinner planned, with shumai and tonkatsu and mochi for dessert!”

“Sounds great, Kaasan,” Kazui murmured.

Ichigo clocked the way he squirmed away as soon as he could, and guilt sharpened in his chest until Rukia reached for his hand reflexively and squeezed. They let go almost instantly, hands back in their own laps.

But Orihime had already caught them, and her expression fell and recovered in the space of a few heartbeats. “Oh! You all have something to drink already, good,” Orihime said sweetly, breathlessly. “Ichika-chan, you’ve gotten so… tall! Yes, you’re almost as tall as Kuchiki-san now, aren’t you? And so pretty and ladylike in your dress! Urahara-san must have had help picking it out, he’s never been that good at choosing clothing.”

Uryuu’s lips quirked up as she rambled on. “Orihime,” he said gently, “maybe you can sit down?”

“O-oh! Yes, of course,” she stammered, and followed Kazui back to the sofa. She took the seat on his other side, glancing sidelong at Ichika. “Really, you’ve gotten so… big!”

“I know it’s my hair that’s really different, Inoue-san.” Ichika’s lips quirked.

Rukia blanched. “Ichika!” she said sharply.

“Well it is,” Ichika insisted, hands clutching at the fabric of her dress. “I had to get used to it, too.”

“I like your hair,” Kazui said softly. He nudged up against her, and Ichika huffed out a breath and leaned against him.

“I know, Kaz.” Ichika reached over and ruffled his hair affectionately, snickering when he gave her an exaggerated pout, pushed her hand away, and tried to neaten it with both of his.

Sitting so close together like that, they really did look just like siblings. Kazui’s hair was slightly deeper in hue than Ichika’s, and his eyes were much lighter, but he could easily have been his son with Rukia. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking. “How… have you been, Inoue?” Ichigo asked. “Uryuu said you’re interested in going back to school?”

Orihime’s fingers twined and twisted together on her lap. “I’m – I’m doing well!” she said brightly, but Ichigo caught the way her expression fell when he called her Inoue instead of Orihime. “I’ve been working full-time at the bakery and studying for Karakura’s entrance exam. They have a program for older students like me.”

“Orihime’s taking her entrance exam next month,” Tatsuki added. “And she’s going to do great! Uryuu’s tutoring her twice a week.”

“Do you ever hear from Chad at all?” Ichigo asked. He suppressed a grimace. With everything going on in Soul Society and then things with Kazui, he hadn’t seen his friend since he’d shown up at Urahara’s place to say goodbye and let him know that he’d quit boxing to go back to school.

“Chad’s almost done with his first year of school.” Tatsuki leaned back against the sofa cushions. “Karakura let him count most of his classes from years ago, but he has a bunch of credits to make up, so it’s going to be another semester before he can start his graduate program. And…” She grinned. “He’s dating someone!”

Ichigo blinked. “Really? He was never interested in anyone at school, and he never seemed to date anyone afterwards, either.” Chad had always stood a little apart from everyone else, even on the boxing circuit. The tabloids and wrestling blogs hadn’t always been kind to him, sometimes denigrating his foreign appearance and outsized body, but they’d never linked him to anyone romantically.

“He met this grad student in the cohort ahead of his,” Tatsuki explained. “She’s a couple years younger than us, and really nice. And he actually holds full conversations with her!” Kazui giggled at the stunned expression on Ichigo’s face. “She volunteers for the animal shelter downtown and she’s already roped him into joining her.”

“That’s lovely,” Rukia murmured. “And what about you, Tatsuki? How have you been?”

“Things have been good,” she said with a shrug. “The dojo’s doing well – I’ve had to hire a couple extra staff to keep up with demand, especially now that I’m teaching two women’s self-defense classes. Still single – maybe I’ll find the right person someday, but not a lot of men can handle a woman who can throw them across the room.”

Ichigo bit his lip to suppress his smile and exchanged a look with Rukia. “How’s Keigo?”

“Oh, you’ll never believe it. Keigo opened a restaurant – a ramen shop! And he’s actually a pretty good chef.” Tatsuki grinned. “No head for business, though. Mizuiro had to step in and force Keigo to make him a partner so he didn’t bankrupt himself giving away free ramen.”

“I still think he should add my idea to the menu,” Orihime said mournfully. “I think ramen with ramune broth would be a great combination.”

“What’s ramune?” Ichika whispered to Kazui when the other adults in the room tried to hide their dismay at the suggested combination.

“It’s a type of soda,” Kazui whispered back. “It’s fizzy and there’s a lot of flavors but the original tastes like lychee.”

“…Lychee broth with ramen?” Ichika swallowed heavily.

“Kaasan likes to think up really unique food combinations.”

“I’ll say,” Ichika muttered.

“Kazui-tan, why don’t you show Ichika your room and some of your toys?” Orihime said suddenly.

And Orihime was his mother, but it was Rukia and Ichigo he looked to for confirmation.

“Go on,” Ichigo encouraged. “I bet Ichika has never seen anything like your train set.” He took a long sip of his water and smiled as Kazui bounced off the sofa and dragged Ichika with him.

“The train set’s kinda for littler kids but it’s really cool, the engine actually smokes if you put a little water in it,” Kazui explained in a rush as Ichika gamely followed him. The adults in the room were silent as Ichika shut the door with a glance back at her parents.

“Kazui seems to be doing very well,” Uryuu said when the silence had stretched beyond comfort. “He and Ichika-chan are getting along?”

“It was a little rough in the beginning, but they’re good now.” Ichigo grinned. “Even during their tutoring sessions even though Ichika’s so much more advanced; she likes to help Kazui with his kanji, and he’s reading way above what his grade level would be in Japan.”

Rukia smiled up at him. “They play football together sometimes, and we take them into the Rukongai when we can. Kazui loves street food – he threw a tantrum once because we had to tell him that dango and mochi are not a meal.”

“I thought Ichika was going to join him when we told her taiyaki isn’t a meal either,” Ichigo groaned. “It’s a good thing Ueda and Nagata are both hard-asses about that stuff, because we’re not.”

A bubble of laughter escaped. “You’re not, and they’ve both got you wrapped around their fingers,” Rukia teased.

“Sure, I’m the pushover. Who let them stay up past bedtime the other night because you finally figured out how to get Chappy shows on the laptop?”

They were leaning into each other despite the distance between their chairs; Rukia clutched the padded arm to push herself up off the seat and get closer to Ichigo. It was almost as if a veil had been drawn between them and the rest of the world, so little attention did they give to everyone else. Rukia tossed her braid behind her shoulder absently as she waved her hand dismissively at Ichigo. “Chappy is educational!”

“Che. That rabbit’s about as educational as Zangetsu.” But Ichigo was grinning down at her, still, and there was a light in his eyes, in hers; a warmth that filled the space around them and only them. They both heard Zangetsu’s grumbled protest at the insult, and Rukia smirked up at him while Ichigo mumbled an apology.

Light sparkled off the diamonds in Rukia’s necklace, and Orihime let out a gasp that was more like a sob, choked off and hidden behind her hands. Uryuu cleared his throat loudly.

The bubble around them shattered at the sound and Rukia lifted her head. “Oh! Sorry, I guess we got a little distracted,” she said cheerfully, but her expression fell as she looked at Orihime, whose eyes were spilling over with tears.

“You’re engaged?!” Orihime blurted out.

Ichigo reached for Rukia’s hand reflexively but aborted the movement. “We are,” he acknowledged steadily. His hands clenched into fists, and he relaxed them slowly, smoothing them down against the dark fabric of his trousers. “Have been for a few weeks now.” Beside him he could feel Rukia’s jangled nerves before she calmed herself, sparking and shuddering through the bond and the trickle of reiatsu that leaked from her gigai.

“Congratulations!” Tatsuki spoke up before Orihime could. “Your necklace is beautiful, Rukia. I guess shinigami don’t wear rings, huh?”

Reflexively, Rukia reached up to touch the platinum circle that rested just below the hollow of her throat. “Thank you,” she said graciously.

“Thanks, Tatsuki. And yeah – swords and rings don’t mix. Don’t look up ring avulsion,” Ichigo advised as Uryuu grimaced.

“I’m – I’m happy for you.” Orihime scrubbed the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands and offered a tremulous smile when Ichigo’s attention finally landed on her.

“Orihime,” Rukia murmured, eyes soft and sympathetic. They hadn’t meant for her to find out just yet, and silently she cursed herself for letting Orihime see the necklace – it wasn’t a ring, but Rukia never wore jewelry. It must have seemed terribly showy to Orihime, but she hadn’t been willing to take it off.

“Really! I… want you both to be happy,” she insisted, and laughed as she scrubbed away the tear that spilled from the corner of one eye. “And you’re happiest together, you always have been, so – so I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks, Inoue.” Ichigo’s lips curved, a small but genuine smile lighting up his face.

“Oh, I must look ridiculous, tearing up like this,” she laughed, and grabbed for the tissue that Uryuu held out to her. Orihime dabbed at her eyes, red-rimmed and still watering. “You’ve been so patient with me, all of you, and so good to Kazui.”

“We want Kazui to be happy and healthy,” Rukia said, voice low and soft. “And we’d like that for you as well, Orihime.”

They both noticed the look Orihime gave Uryuu. “I’d like that,” she agreed, and was there a touch of shyness in her voice? “It will be so nice to spend some real time with Kazui! A few days just wasn’t enough, now we’ll have two whole weeks together! And soon he’ll be home for good, I can’t wait! Maybe I can redo his room as a present,” Orihime continued, oblivious to the way the smiles had frozen on her friends’ faces.

It was always meant to be temporary, Rukia whispered through the bond. We want her to be well enough that Kazui can have a normal life.

I know. I know. But Ichigo’s hand found hers and clung, no matter what they’d agreed to before their trip.

The doorbell interrupted before Tatsuki or Uryuu could interject, and Tatsuki hopped up. “I’ll get it,” she offered quickly, and hurried from the living room into the genkan.

Karin’s voice echoed from the genkan as she and Hitsugaya took off their shoes and hung up their coats.

“I should get dinner started.” Orihime stood quickly and hurried into the kitchen, stopping to give Karin and her boyfriend a smile. “I hope you all like bok choy and shiitake mushrooms, there was a sale and I bought enough for ten people!” she said cheerfully.

There was enough bok choy for far more than ten, but the tonkatsu was surprisingly good and Orihime had sadly told her guests that Tatsuki and Uryuu had – to everyone’s relief – convinced her not to add marzipan to the shumai. Ichika and Kazui ate more than their share of mochi for dessert, but no one said a word to stop them.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Tatsuki volunteered when the conversation had died down and Kazui and Ichika were both yawning heavily. “Come on, Kazui. Let’s say goodbye to everyone.”

Kazui squirmed down from his seat and followed his family to the door. He hugged Karin and solemnly shook hands with Hitsugaya. “We’ll wait by the elevator,” Hitsugaya offered.

Then he threw himself at Ichika, who hugged him tightly and ruffled his hair. His hold on Rukia was even tighter. “I’ll miss you, Kaasan,” he whispered into her ear, quiet so only she could hear him, as she knelt so that he could wrap his arms around her neck.

“I’ll miss you too. But we’ll call you while you’re here, and we’ll be back in two weeks to pick you up, alright?” Rukia glanced up at Ichigo. There was a lump in her throat, and she squeezed Kazui tighter as she swallowed it down and blinked away the sting in her eyes; they’d promised each other he didn’t see either of them cry. “Be good for Orihime, and for Ishida-san and Arisawa-san, okay?”

“Uh-huh.” Kazui nodded his agreement and let go, finally, to give Ichigo the same treatment, a tight hug around his neck as Ichigo knelt in the genkan.

“I’ll miss you so much,” Ichigo said quietly. “But like Rukia said, we’ll be back in two weeks, and we’ll spend a couple days here before we go back to Soul Society together, okay?”

“Aa.” Those slender arms – not so slender after months and months of living at the Kuchiki estate – tightened around him before letting go.

“Go get ready for bed,” Ichigo said softly when he stood up. “I need to talk to Tatsuki for a minute.” He shot a look at Rukia, and she held out her hand to Ichika.

“We’ll meet you at the elevator,” she promised when Ichika’s hand slid into hers.

“How’s she doing, really?” Ichigo asked quietly when they were out of hearing distance and Kazui was chattering with Orihime in the other room. “She really upset him when he left last time. Sometimes I think Matsumoto-san and Uryuu want her to be better, but…”

Tatsuki huffed out a breath. “She really is getting better, Ichigo. She’s going to her job regularly, and keeping this place clean. And she and Ishida aren’t together yet but… that’s probably not too far away.” There was something in her tone that made Ichigo look at her sharply.

“Tatsuki, do you…?” he asked in a low whisper, and a sudden throb of foreboding tightened in his chest.

“No!” More quietly: “No, it’s not like that. It’s just that everyone’s finally pairing off with the people who make them happy,” she admitted with a shrug. “Like I said, not a lot of men are willing to go out with a woman who can toss them across a room.”

“Maybe you need to go back into competing,” Ichigo joked. “Go to a few tournaments.”

“At thirty? Yeah, right.” Tatsuki gave him a friendly shove. “Go on, Rukia and Ichika are waiting for you. I’ll keep an eye on Kazui, and Ishida will call you so much you’ll try to take his phone away.”

“Tch. Thanks, Tatsuki.” He gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze before he, too, left the apartment. His footsteps were silent on the thick carpeting as he walked down the hallway to the elevators where the rest of his family waited. Ichika excitedly pressed the down button when she spotted him.

“Everything alright?” Rukia asked.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he murmured, as he leaned down to press a kiss to her temple before they all stepped onto the elevator together. Once outside they walked silently together in the cold night air, beneath a crescent moon and a cloudless sky. “Hey, Karin,” he said when they reached her apartment building, and dug into his coat pocket. His hand closed around an angular wooden badge.

When he pressed his old substitute badge into her hand, Karin blinked up at him. “What’s this?”

“You’re a substitute shinigami now, you need a badge.” Ichigo’s teeth flashed white under the moonlight as he grinned. “Just don’t lose it – that’s the badge Ukitake Taicho gave me when I rescued Rukia. He made me a substitute, and now I’m making you one.”

Rukia’s hand found his and squeezed. “I didn’t realize you still had it,” she said quietly.

“Che.” It was my only connection to you for so long… of course I kept it. “Thought it was time to pass it on, now that I’m a full-time shinigami.”

Karin threw herself on him and Ichigo gave her a gentle squeeze. “I’ll take good care of it,” she promised. “And you’ll all be back for Christmas, right? I’ll have Yuzu’s old room ready for you.”

“Yeah,” Ichigo agreed as he let go of her so she could reach down and hug Rukia. Rukia had grown maybe a centimeter since he’d first met her – Karin had grown almost thirty. “Did Yuzu say whether she was going to be able to get enough time off to visit?”

“Tch. Her agency was only willing to give her two days off,” Karin scoffed. “She and her roommates are the newest nurses at the agency, so they got last pick. Two days isn’t even long enough to get here.”

Ichigo hadn’t really thought about what it would mean not to spend the holiday (even if it was mostly a meal of fried chicken followed by a few presents and hanging out in a food coma) without both of his sisters.

“We’ll come back when Yuzu’s able to visit, too,” Rukia promised.

Ichika reached for Karin uncertainly, and her aunt swept her into a brief but tight hug. “I’ll see you in a few weeks, Ichika. And next time, I want to see that blade of yours. Toshiro says you already have shikai!”

“Aa.” Ichika smiled shyly. “Next time,” she agreed, before she let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

“We’ve let you stay up way past your bedtime,” Ichigo teased softly. “Come on, I’ll give you a piggyback ride back to Urahara’s.” He grunted softly when Ichika scrambled up his back; in Soul Society it would have been effortless to carry her, but his human body was weaker and Ichika’s gigai was heavier. Still, he straightened up and kept Ichika’s legs tucked over his elbows.

Then Karin turned to Hitsugaya, and Rukia tugged on the sleeve of Ichigo’s jacket. “We’ll give you a few minutes!” she said cheerfully. “We’ll wait for you at Urahara’s, Toshiro.”

Rukia ignored his mumbled objection to her informality and urged Ichigo forward. We need to give them a minute.

Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to tell me; I don’t want to see my baby sister getting kissed, he mumbled back.

Rukia gamely suppressed her laughter.

Behind them, Karin stared at the badge in her hand. It didn’t look like much: it was just a pentagon with a carved, stylized skull painted black on one side. “What am I supposed to do with this, anyway?”

“Kurosaki always used it to get out of his body,” Toshiro said. “And Kuchiki Taicho will tell any shinigami coming here to treat you like an ally.”

“You know you don’t need to keep talking about her so formally,” Karin pointed out. “Especially since you’re peers now, right?”

Toshiro huffed out a breath. “Your brother’s familiarity is rubbing off on her,” he complained mildly. “But then… I guess we’ll be in-laws someday, I should get used to it.” That last part was said shyly, and his cheeks flushed despite the cold air that blew around them.

Karin’s cheeks were as bright as his. She pocketed the badge, hands shoving deep into her coat pockets to keep warm. “You should catch up to them, you have to get back to your division,” she said quietly.

“Yeah,” he agreed, and reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You could still come with me, you know. Kurosaki – Ichigo – may have given you that badge but you could be a shinigami full-time.”

Their eyes met, and Karin looked away first. “I’m not ready yet,” she admitted. “Yuzu may be off in Australia healing the sick and all that but she’s not… settled, you know? I need to make sure my sister’s okay.”

“I know. And I’ll wait for however long you want me to, until you’re ready,” Toshiro promised. He cupped her cheek gently and leaned in, and Karin stood on her toes to close the last of the distance between them. Their lips met, warm and soft and just a little chapped from the cold, in a slow, deep kiss.

“I’ll be back in a month,” he promised when they’d parted, breaths coming out in little white puffs. “Assuming the Tenth isn’t a total disaster.”

“You’re so mean to Matsumoto-san,” Karin complained, laughter in her voice. “You know she’s been doing your job for months and helping with Inoue and Kazui, too.”

“You’re right; I’ll be nicer.” His lips covered hers again, and Karin wrapped her arms around him, pulling him tight against her. “Go inside, before I get tempted to carry you back with me,” he whispered, cerulean eyes dark as they met hers.

She left him standing outside under the moonlight while she hurried into her building, and he didn’t turn to leave until the light turned on in her window high overhead.

Chapter Text

“We’ll have the inside of the clinic fully outfitted in two days, Kurosaki-sama,” Ishikawa said as Ichigo followed him through the squat but wide building. Windows high on the walls let the early morning light in and cast a soft, gauzy feel over everything. The floors and walls practically gleamed, and so did every surface; the sharp odor of antiseptic made Ichigo’s nose wrinkle.

“The remaining bedding is arriving tomorrow.” This came from the short, zaftig woman on his right side. The layered black kosode and dark, pressed gray apron she wore gave her the look of an older widow in mourning, as did the severe bun that contained a head of thick mahogany brown hair shot through with streaks of white hair. Yet her light eyes and smooth skin gave her an ageless, almost uncanny air.

Ichigo nodded solemnly. His waraji were silent on the stone floor as they moved through the open space. “The Fourth Division promised that the first batch of supplies will be delivered tomorrow, Miyajima-san.”

“Isane-chan is generous to offer so much of her division’s surplus,” Miyajima Kimiko said in a pleasant alto tone. They kept moving, Ishikawa pointing out the recently installed cabinetry for storage along the way, and entered a second, smaller room.

“This is the dining room?” It was less than a quarter of the size of the clinic, but then – most people in the Rukongai didn’t need to eat; the dining room would likely be used by Miyajima and the Fourth Division volunteers more than anyone else.

“And the kitchen is through the door on the left,” Ishikawa added with a nod.

“We are awaiting a delivery of perishables, but the dry goods are stored and ready to be prepared. I have hired on a cook, and he will start work in two days,” Miyajima added.

A shout echoed from outside, followed by a muffled crash, and Ichigo jerked his head towards the noise. Visible through the open back door, two of Ishikawa’s men argued over a third, sprawled on the ground by a fallen pile of fencing. They helped their coworker back to his feet and gave him a cursory examination before getting to work clearing up the mess.

Ichigo shrugged and glanced back towards Ishikawa. “And the – Miyajima-san, are you alright?” he asked sharply.

Miyajima stood stock still, neatly pressed apron clutched tight in both hands and her shoulders trembling minutely. Her eyes were open but blank, staring at something only she could see.

“Miyajima-san?” Ichigo asked again.

Ishikawa waved a hand to silence him. “Miyajima-san, you’re safe here,” he said carefully, keeping his voice low and gentle despite the reiatsu that filled the air, sharp-edged and heavy. “You’re in the clinic in Inuzuri, and everything is well. Kurosaki Fukutaicho is here to ensure that.”

Ichigo bit down lightly on the inside of his cheek. Isane had introduced him to Miyajima a few months ago, when he was looking for someone to run the clinic. She’d been a member of the Fourth but had resigned after the war and moved into one of the Rukongai districts closest to the Seireitei. And - his brain caught up. She must have been traumatized by the war. Had she been in Karakura, she probably would have been diagnosed with PTSD. Ichigo didn’t know, not really, what the other shinigami had gone through during the war; he’d been focused on training to get stronger and then on killing Yhwach – but the other Sternritter had destroyed much of the Seireitei and no little amount of the Rukongai as well.

Ishikawa was still gently reminding Miyajima that she was safe and encouraging her to breathe slowly.

By degrees, her hands loosened on her apron and the shaking stopped. “Forgive me, Kurosaki Fukutaicho,” she said unevenly as she dabbed with a cloth at the beads of sweat that had formed on her brow.

“There’s nothing to forgive." Ichigo followed Ishikawa's lead, keeping his voice low and calm. This wasn’t his problem to solve, but Ichigo made a mental note to talk to Kotetsu Isane.

…Then again, no one at the Fourth had questioned the fact that Rukia was bedridden, when she’d had Ichika. Maybe Miyajima had left the Gotei 13 because they hadn’t helped her.

“Do you need to sit down, Miyajima-san? I’ll get you some water,” Ishikawa offered, and though he was frowning there was a softness to his eyes, poorly concealed worry in the set of his brows.

Looks like you when you worry about the Queen, Zangetsu observed.

Ichigo coughed into his hand and silently wished Ishikawa luck.

Miyajima waved her hand in dismissal, though there was a shakiness to the gesture that both Ishikawa and Ichigo clocked. “Thank you, Ishikawa-san. Please continue the walkthrough of the clinic,” she said steadily. “You were going to tell Kurosaki Fukutaicho about the well, I believe.”

Only those with reiryoku needed to eat, but everyone in the Rukongai needed water – and in dusty, dry Inuzuri that had always been available only at a premium.

Ishikawa’s frowned deepened. “The well is fully operational and the water is pure. But you should know that several of the rival gangs in the surrounding districts have taken an interest in the clinic because we have a good water source,” he said in his low, rumbling voice. “We have volunteers patrolling the perimeter, but it might not be enough.”

He’d been worried about that since they first broke ground; but Ichigo had planned for it, too. “We’ll be supplementing with regular patrols from the Thirteenth and the Tenth,” Ichigo promised. “Discreet ones. And our sixth seat will come around once every week to give lessons to the volunteer patrol.”

Miyajima glanced up at him. “The gangs may take that as a challenge,” she warned. “The people of Inuzuri are not nearly so afraid of shinigami as you would like them to be.” She dabbed at her temples again.

Afraid. He scowled and glanced away, looking out the window at the tidy plot of land behind the clinic, where construction workers were finalizing the assembly of a simple playground. Wooden swings hung from pale ropes and a polished slide rose high off the ground. “I don’t want them to fear us,” he said finally. “I want to make the Rukongai a better place. So, if you have a suggestion for taming these gangs, I’m all ears, Miyajima-san.”

She hummed under her breath. “Involve them,” she said simply.

Ichigo blinked. “Involve the… gangs.”

“People protect what they are invested in, Kurosaki Fukutaicho. We will show them that the clinic is available to them as well, that the water is for everyone, and that it is to their benefit if the clinic is considered sacred ground.” Miyajima smoothed her apron with her hands. “Is your sixth seat any good? Are they diplomatic?”

“Ogino?” Ichigo blinked. “One of our best. I wouldn’t involve her if she wasn’t.”

“Good. She and I will make a plan and keep you involved, Fukutaicho.”

“Just Ichigo’s fine,” he muttered. He glanced out the window again; the sun had gotten higher in the sky. He needed to get back to the Seireitei. “Do you need anything else from me this morning? I have to get back – Rukia and I have a meeting and I can’t be late.”

“No, that was everything,” Ishikawa said. “We will send a messenger if necessary.” He was still looking at Miyajima - who wasn't paying him any attention at all.

“Great, thanks.” He spared them both a nod in goodbye and hurried from the nearly finished building. He really couldn’t be late; the appointment with Central Forty-Six had finally arrived, and he doubted they would look kindly on him if he was tardy.

A heavy thunk, the sound of a hand hitting wood, caught his attention, and Ichigo turned. A group of twelve men surrounded him – he hadn’t even noticed their arrival. Barefoot to a man, they wore the dusty, dirty yukata that Ichigo saw on most of the men and women in the higher districts of the Rukongai. “Yo,” he said calmly. “Something I can do for you?”

Ichigo, where the hell are you?

He cursed silently. At the clinic. I’m on my way back – I’ll meet you there. Just hit a little snag. Rukia was going to kill him if he showed up windblown and dirty; he’d planned on bathing before the meeting.

“’m told you’ve got water,” the man Ichigo had already clocked as their leader said. He smacked the wooden club into his hand. “And we want it.”

Ichigo crossed his arms over his chest and sighed.

Across the Seireitei, Rukia hastily shuffled a heavy pile of papers into neatness and slipped them into a folder. She’d taken extra care with her appearance earlier, working the crystal hair jewels from Ichigo into her hair and making sure her haori was free of even the smallest wrinkle. She wore her best shihakusho; her tekko were pristine, and so were her new tabi socks. In her folder were copies of her budget appeal, of the Shiba clan’s papers, of their petition to adjust the law and permit her to retain her name and clan status after marriage. Yoruichi and Byakuya’s briefs in support were there as well.

She’d rehearsed her appeal speech twice since waking. Rukia was ready.

The only thing she was missing? Her fool of a fiancé. “He promised he’d be there,” she muttered to herself. “Ichigo keeps his promises. You’ll be fine.”

“Taicho?” Sentaro rapped lightly on the open door. “Shouldn’t you be heading over to the council hall about now?”

“Yes. If Ichigo returns, toss him back out the door and tell him to get his ass over there before he’s late,” Rukia snarled.

“Ah.” Sentarō scratched the back of his head lightly. “Will do, Taicho. Me an’ Eguchi have got things until your meeting’s over. Good luck.”

Her expression softened, and Rukia took a slow, deliberate breath. “Thank you, Sentarō. I know you’ll keep things under control.” As soon as he got out of the way she strode from her office, folder in hand, and used shunpo to get from the grounds of the Thirteenth to the rebuilt council rooms of Central Forty-Six.

They were close to Sōkyoku Hill and to the site of the monstrosity that had been destroyed, rebuilt, and destroyed again with Ichigo’s blade. Though the Senzaikyuu still rose in the distance, nothing remained of the halberd and its stand save for deep gouges in the steep hill where the stone pillars had once sat.

Rukia wondered silently if Central Forty-Six would try to rebuild the structure a third time, or if Ichigo’s permanent presence in Soul Society would be enough to dissuade them.

She arrived at the tall, arched double doors of the hall and shook herself; she could not afford to woolgather. Rukia took a deep breath and nodded to one of the guards, half again as tall as she was and twice as wide. “I am Kuchiki Taicho, and I am here for an appointment with Central Forty-Six,” she announced steadily.

The guard stared down at her, expression unreadable. “Kuchiki Taicho,” he greeted. “The council is waiting for you.” He nodded to his colleague and together they pulled open the dark, solid wood doors so that she could enter.

Despite Aizen’s destruction of the previous Central Forty-Six, little had changed once the group was reassembled. It still consisted of forty so-called wise men (of course they were all men) and six judges; they still lived in a cloistered compound apart from the rest of Soul Society. And they still ruled Soul Society and the Seireitei with near-impunity and almost no oversight. Only the full complement of great houses working together could overturn an order – and there hadn’t been five houses in fifty years.

Not since Kaien…

Rukia took a deep breath and walked through the doors with her chin held high. She was a Captain and a member of the Kuchiki clan, and a so-called war hero besides. She would not flinch or appear before Central Forty-Six as a shrinking flower. The doors slammed shut behind her and she walked calmly through the well-lit hallway and down two sets of stairs to the underground council room. The Fourth Division had spared no effort when it came to rebuilding: elegant iron sconces cast light on polished marble walls, and the floor beneath her was polished gray stone decorated with a repeating inlay of the council’s crest in stark black. Ahead of her lay a second set of doors; these swung open at her approach, and she stepped into the circular auditorium that served as the council’s meeting place.

A clock on the wall showed her that she’d arrived fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.

Byakuya nodded to her from his place in the gallery; Yoruichi and Kūkaku sat to either side of him, the former in Shihouin clan robes and the latter in a kimono printed with the Shiba clan pattern. Folder in hand, she crossed the length of the room to meet them. In graduated rows around the room, forty-six people – mostly men, mostly old – sat hidden behind white panels inscribed solely with increasing numbers. The buzz of their conversation filled the room.

“Where is Ichigo?” Byakuya demanded when she reached them.

“He had an early morning inspection at the clinic,” Rukia murmured. “Good morning, Shihouin-sama, Shiba-sama,” she said formally.

“Kuchiki Taicho,” Kūkaku responded gravely. But she winked when no one else was looking.

Her brother’s lips firmed in a grimace. “He had better not be late.” Like her, he had taken extra care that morning; his kenseikan were polished until they gleamed, and his haori gleamed with gold embroidery at the collar.

Rukia nodded firmly. “He won’t be.” I hope.

Shinji was on the other side of the gallery, and he offered her a nod and a smirk with a hint of teeth when she looked his way. Other people – people she didn’t recognize – had assembled in the gallery as well, in various states of formal dress and shinigami uniform.

The clock ticked forward; there were ten minutes left until the session began.

Where the hell are you, Ichigo?

Ichigo cast an unimpressed look at the gang surrounding him. “Sorry,” he said, “I’m kind of in a hurry. I don’t have time to fight you.”

The gang leader smacked his wooden club against his open palm again. “I don’t need to fight with you, shinigami. I just want that water.” His dark eyes raked over Ichigo’s body. “A Fukutaicho? You don’t look like much.”

“Che.” Ichigo’s hand fell to Zangetsu, thumb pressing against the plain sword guard to loosen his zanpakutō in its sheath.

We can kill them all, King, easy. Wouldn’t even be a challenge.

But Miyajima had told him it would be better to get the gangs on their side, or at least establish a détente. And Ichigo didn’t want to kill anyone, not unless he absolutely had to. “What’s your name?” he asked.

“Iwao,” he said diffidently.

“My future wife’s from Inuzuri,” Ichigo said. “She lives in the Seireitei now, leads my division in the Gotei Thirteen. But she never forgot this place. I built this clinic because of her.” An eyebrow raised, but none of the men attacked, and Ichigo pressed on. “The water’s free to everyone,” he said. “So’s the clinic. You can come here and get medical attention if you need it, and food if you need to eat. There’s enough water for everyone to have as much as they need, whenever they need it.”

“Tch. You think I’m gullible, shinigami,” Iwao sneered. “The water might be free right now, but you’ll ration it soon enough.”

“It’s Kurosaki Ichigo,” he corrected. Mutters spread throughout the crowd surrounding him. In the corner of his eye, he could see Miyajima, arms crossed over her chest as she stood in the open clinic doorway. Ishikawa towered behind her. “And no – it’s free as long as there’s water to draw. We’re going to build more wells; this is just the first one.”

“What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch. Just water, and healing, and food,” Ichigo insisted. “For everyone. If your men get hurt, the clinic volunteers will heal them. If they need water, they can have it. If they need to eat, they probably have power, and we’ll have someone here who can train them to use it.”

Iwao spit on the ground. “There’s always a catch, Kurosaki.”

Ichigo shrugged expressively. “Guess you need me to give you one.”

The clock ticked forwards; the session was going to start in less than two minutes and Ichigo still wasn’t there. Her prodding through the bond had gone unanswered.

One minute.

Rukia set her folder down on the table reserved for petitioners.

Forty-five seconds.

The doors opened with a low groan and as Rukia turned Ichigo strode in, hair windblown and finger-combed. His shihakusho at least looked, if not pristine, neat enough, and his badge was tied properly on his left bicep.

I’m going to kill you, she hissed through the bond when he reached her and stood next to her at the petitioners’ table, towering over her.

Had a confrontation with a gang outside the clinic, Ichigo explained quickly. They thought they could commandeer the well. Miyajima and I struck a deal with them, but it took time since I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

A sound at the doors signaled that they’d been bolted shut; anyone late for this meeting wouldn’t be able to join them. Rukia slipped her hand into his beneath the table and squeezed lightly; Byakuya glared at him from his place in the gallery and Ichigo grimaced in response. Looks like your brother’s pissed at me.

Kuchikis are never late, Rukia reminded him.

I still had a whole minute!

You had less than thirty seconds!

“This session will come to order,” a man’s voice called in a baritone.

Shuffling papers and coughs echoed through the high-ceilinged room as the members of the council finished side conversations and settled in their seats. The gallery quieted as well.

“Is there any old business?” a voice called from the front of the room.

“There is the matter of the rebuilding of the Sōkyoku,” another called down from his seat behind the kanji for “twelve”.

Rukia was careful not to look beside her as she gripped Ichigo’s hand tighter. Don’t, she warned.

His hand squeezed hers gently. I won’t. Not today, anyway.

“I motion to carry the discussion forward until our next session.” That motion came from the man behind the number 25. None of their faces were visible, though between the panels Rukia could see the shape of a white sleeve, the faintest shadow of a man in profile.

“I second the motion.”

A vote was swiftly held and passed.

“Is there new business?”

“First on the agenda for this session is the reinstatement of the Shiba clan as a Great House in the eyes of Soul Society.” Murmurs filled the room at that.

“Is a representative of the Shiba clan present in the gallery?”

Kūkaku rose from her seat, the empty right sleeve of her kimono elegantly pinned shut in an angular pattern at her shoulder. “I, Shiba Kūkaku, represent the clan,” she said. “Joining me is the head of the Kurosaki branch, Kurosaki Fukutaicho of the Thirteenth Division.” Ichigo stood as well, arms crossing over his chest – and displaying prominently the polished badge tied to his bicep.

More murmurs filled the room, not just from the gallery but from behind the numbered panels as well. “Does any noble clan support the Shiba clan’s petition?”

On cue, Byakuya rose and Yoruichi followed. “The Kuchiki clan supports the Shiba clan’s right to reinstatement,” he said firmly.

“The Shihouin clan supports reinstatement,” Yoruichi added.

The room was silent for a long moment, then: “I support the reinstatement of the Shiba clan,” echoed in the underground hall. Rukia looked up; cast in shadow at the back of the gallery sat a whipcord-thin man – Rukia thought it was a man, at least based on the tenor of his voice. She couldn’t make out his face in the darkness. She caught Byakuya’s eye but though his pale eyes widened, he offered no other reaction.

“The Tsunyashiro clan recognizes the right of reinstatement,” another voice called from a few rows behind Byakuya.

There was more murmuring. “Are there any objections from the judges?” the voice behind the white panel labeled ichi asked. When no one spoke, the same voice said reluctantly, “There being no objections, and with the endorsement of the four Great Houses, the Shiba clan is reinstated as a Great and Noble House.”

Kūkaku bowed briefly in thanks, catching Byakuya and Yoruichi’s eyes.

Part one of Hirako Shinji’s plan had already been accomplished, and Rukia saw him hide a grin behind the sleeve of his haori.

“Is there additional business before the council?” came the question as Ichigo sat back down beside Rukia.

“Kuchiki Taicho of the Thirteenth Division has filed an appeal of the capital budget allocated for her division.” She rose from her seat when prompted and bowed briefly.

“Thank you for agreeing to hear my appeal, honored council members,” Rukia began, voice calm and strong. “As you know, I have served as Taicho of the Thirteenth Division for the past twenty months, succeeding the late Ukitake Taicho after a period of ten years in acting status. Due to the absence of a duly appointed, permanent division leader, the division has subsisted on sixty-five percent of the standard general personnel and equipment budget, owing to its smaller size.”

Ichigo stiffened next to her; she supposed he hadn’t realized it was quite that bad. He’d had access to the budget files for the past year, but he wouldn’t have known that they’d been operating under such severe austerity measures.

“We are aware of your division’s budget, Kuchiki Taicho,” a voice said wryly. “Make your appeal.”

She stepped away from the table and passed a sheaf of papers from her folder to a uniformed messenger. “Please distribute those,” Rukia commanded. Under the chamber lighting, the crystals in her hair gleamed and sparkled. “Honored council members, it is the sworn duty of the Gotei Thirteen to protect the living from the violent dead, and the Thirteenth Division is charged with protecting Karakura, the Jūreichi. Yet we are also charged with protecting the whole of the greater Tokyo area within the world of the living.

“This year I requested a budget increase to bring us to eighty-five percent of the standard budget, owing to more successful recruitment. The Thirteenth Division must pay, house, and feed its soldiers, honored council members, and most of those soldiers have not received the increased wages their comrades in other divisions have – in ten years. My men are loyal, and they deserve loyalty in return.” Rukia took a slow breath. Through the bond, Ichigo sent a slow wave of confidence and belief. In her. In her ability to argue for what she needed.

“In addition, due to the lack of a division leader until less than two years ago, we could not request a capital budget. The division’s rebuilding has come largely from the standard budget. Before you are detailed plans for absolutely critical repair work that still must take place within the grounds of my division.

“I am asking for an immediate reversal of the recent budget cut imposed upon the Thirteenth, and a thirty percent increase beyond that, to adequately compensate and maintain the division’s troops and make immediate repairs to the appallingly damaged and outdated buildings on the grounds of the Thirteenth.”

A scoff. “You manage the smallest division in the Seireitei,” number thirty-four sneered. “Sixty-five percent of the standard is perfectly appropriate.”

“Recruitment from the Shino Academy is triple the rate of previous years,” Rukia corrected tonelessly. She needed to channel her brother, not her fiancé, she reminded herself. “And rising. Should recruitment continue at even half the current, accelerated rate, my division will be the largest in the Gotei Thirteen within less than three years. Kurosaki Fukutaicho has turned candidates away, something that would have been unthinkable prior to my appointment, when I received at least one transfer request each week on average, and recruitment was at an all-time low.”

Rukia didn’t have to look to know that her brother’s expression was filled with pride. The Thirteenth was not yet all that it could be, but she’d pushed it onto the right path.

“You are asking for an extraordinary budget, Taicho.” That came from the voice behind panel twenty-five.

“I am,” she agreed. “Because this is an extraordinary need. You can see in your packets the outline of expenditures that must be made to ensure the health and safety of my men.”

“The reconstruction of the Ugendo. That isn’t a necessary expenditure,” twelve objected.

“The Ugendo is unused space right now,” Rukia conceded. “It has become an ad-hoc shrine to Ukitake Taicho. However, the building was destabilized during the war and is now a safety hazard.”

“A ten percent raise across the division is exorbitant,” Sixteen said, “especially for Kurosaki Fukutaicho, who has been in place for barely a year.”

Rukia swallowed down a curse when the scrape of Ichigo’s chair signaled that he’d stood up. “Honored council,” he said, far calmer than she expected, “Kuchiki Taicho and I have already decided to forego a raise this year.”

“One supposes that with the wealth and backing of the Kuchiki clan, a salary increase is not necessary,” Fifteen muttered from behind his panel.

More murmuring. Rukia fought the urge to clutch at her haori as Ichigo sat back down in his chair.

“Are there additional questions for Kuchiki Taicho?”

Behind the white panels papers shuffled and low voices muttered back and forth. Rukia, too far away to hear what they were saying, waited patiently.

“Then I will need a motion to approve Kuchiki Taicho’s budget request.”

“I will make a motion,” the man behind twenty-five said.

“I second.” More papers shuffled, followed by the soft swishing motions of brushes being inked and kanji being written.

“Before you render your vote,” the thin man in the shadows called, “I wish to make it known that I approve of Kuchiki Taicho’s budget proposal.”

Rukia blinked, nonplussed. His first vote of support had been expected; the clan had filed its support ahead of the meeting. But –

Who the hell is this guy? Ichigo asked. I mean, I know he represents the fifth house, and it’s great that he liked the idea of the orphanage, but – why’s he backing a budget appeal?

I have no idea, Rukia admitted. I’ve never met him; I don’t think nii-sama has met him, either. Yoruichi seems to know who he is, but he’s something of a recluse.

The errand boy who had distributed Rukia’s written appeal gathered slips of paper from between each panel and brought them to the man behind the first panel. Papers ruffled and rustled; the room was otherwise silent save for the occasional cough or cleared throat.

“By a vote of thirty to ten, with six abstentions, your budget has been approved, Kuchiki Taicho.”

Something unclenched low in her belly. She’d be able to build back her division, make the improvements they’d desperately needed since the end of the war and become once more a division that Ukitake Taicho would have been proud of. Out loud, she said only: “Thank you, honored council members,” and bowed.

“Next on the agenda is the proposed demolition of a portion of the 20^th southern district of the Rukongai.”

Rukia returned to her place beside Ichigo. She listened diffidently to the debate, but Ichigo watched with rapt attention as the group of cloistered men argued over whether to compensate the residents of a ten-by-ten block of streets they wished to destroy. He glanced over at Shinji, who leaned back in his chair, stone-faced.

They don’t get out much, do they? he asked.

Never. They live cloistered lives for as long as they hold membership, and most die in their seat. It’s unusual that someone is retiring, and even more unusual that Shinji’s had so much notice.

Hn. Ichigo caught the representative from the Tsunyashiro clan staring at him; they quickly looked away when they realized they’d been spotted.

“Very well. The council has spoken: the area will be demolished and each displaced resident shall receive 3,000 kan in return,” the first council member announced.

Wait, that’s barely anything, Ichigo sputtered. That’s less than we spent on dinner out last week. 3,000 kan for the destruction of their homes?

It’s lucky they’re offering compensation at all, Rukia murmured. In Inuzuri they’d have gotten nothing. She felt him tamp down his temper and his reiatsu.

The council debated and quickly resolved another matter – this one was about the appointment of a new tax collector for the first nine districts of each sector of the Rukongai – before returning to the third proposal Ichigo and Rukia had come to present.

“The last matter presented before the council this morning is the matter of the clan inheritance and marriage laws,” the first council member intoned. “Kuchiki Rukia of the Kuchiki clan and Kurosaki Ichigo of the Shiba clan have petitioned for a change to the law to allow members of the noble clans to retain their family name and membership in their birth clan, as well as their clan by marriage.”

“Preposterous!” one of the other council members shouted and was met with angry mutters of agreement. “The inheritance laws have been in place for hundreds of years. What need is there to change them?”

The angry voices rose, buzzing much like a kicked wasps’ nest. “This is a blatant power-grab!”

“An insult to the traditions of Soul Society!”

Beneath the table Ichigo’s hands itched for Zangetsu, sealed and peace-knotted at his hip. Just give the word, King, his zanpakutō urged. Hirako’s right, they’re a bunch of fools.

Rukia’s hand wrapped around his wrist in warning. Keep your reiatsu under control.

Ichigo took a slow breath and let her touch soothe him. This was all part of the plan; let them debate, let them work themselves into an angry mob and then simmer down.

Let the fifth house endorse the law change. Hopefully. The clan had supported both of their other petitions, had given generously to the orphanage. The clan seemed to want change.

But as the debate continued, as the councilors argued back and forth about the merits of allowing Rukia to keep her own clan name, the shadowed figure of the fifth house did not speak.

And finally, as votes were collected and counted, the first council member announced, “By a vote of twenty-eight to eight, with ten abstentions…”

Ichigo held his breath and beside him, Rukia did the same.

“Your petition has been denied. The marriage and clan inheritance laws will remain unchanged.”

Rukia’s hand clenched around his wrist, so tight her nails bit into his skin.

They’d failed.

He’d promised to find a way to let Rukia keep her name, and he’d failed.

Now what?

Chapter Text

“It’s not over.”

Rukia looked up from the tokkuri she’d just finished emptying into his cup. “They denied our petition, Ichigo. Central Forty-Six is the highest body of authority in Soul Society; without the support of the other great houses there isn’t anyone for us to appeal to,” she said, pleased that she didn’t slur her words. She set the empty container down with a click and nudged the fusuma open.

A server in a pink yukata embroidered with the Kuchiki crest stepped through the doorway into their private dining room and bowed, then replaced their empty tokkuri with a fresh one wordlessly before sliding the door shut behind her once more. On the table between them were the remains of a dinner only half-eaten; Ichigo had pressed her into eating something, but they both had more of an appetite for drink than a meal.

Ichigo filled her cup again and she did the same for him, an exchange as easy as breathing. “So, we convince the other houses to back us,” he said after another sip of his drink. “Or wait for Shinji. Ten of them didn’t even vote, we only need to get nine of the bastards to change their minds.”

She sighed. “I don’t understand why the Tsunayashiro backed the Shiba’s petition for reinstatement but denied the marriage law request. They stand to benefit from it too; all the noble houses do.”

“Hn.” He poured her more sake. They’d returned to their division after the disastrous vote and tried to get some work done, but after a few hours of staring at paperwork Ichigo had coaxed her out of her office and into one of the three restaurants within the Seireitei owned by the Kuchiki. They hadn’t asked for special treatment, but the proprietress had taken one look at them and ushered them into a cozy private dining room on a raised platform, hidden behind a pair of fusuma.

The thick walls around them diminished the sounds of other diners and granted them some measure of privacy as well. No one could see that two of the highest-ranking officers in the Gotei Thirteen were pink-cheeked and tipsy.

“At least we got the budget,” Ichigo said finally. “That counts for something. We can redo the Ugendo and you can raise salaries across the division.”

He was right; that was something. Rukia took another sip. “I don’t understand why the clans backed it,” she murmured. “Especially the fifth house.”

Ichigo made a low inquiring noise in his throat. “Why does everyone call it that?” he asked. “They have a name, don’t they?”

“They do,” Rukia agreed. She looked up from her cup of sake. Ichigo’s cheeks were flushed and his shihakusho was rumpled. Hers probably was, too. “But I don’t know what it is, and it’s considered bad luck to say the name out loud.”

“Huh? How could it be bad luck?” Ichigo scratched his temple with one finger. “Is this like how it’s bad luck to say Macbeth in a theater?”

“I don’t know what that is,” Rukia said flatly. “But I suppose it might be. Nii-sama has never said their name in my hearing, nor have Yoruichi or Kūkaku.”

“It’s another one of Shakespeare’s plays,” Ichigo muttered. “It’s bad luck because – never mind. We’ll just have to go talk to the Tsunayashiro and that guy from the fifth house and make them see why they should back us.”

It wasn’t that simple, but Rukia didn’t correct him. He’d find out soon enough, and she was in no mood to start an argument. “What kept you at the clinic this morning? How was the walkthrough?” she asked, changing the subject. She picked at the dish of pickled ginger with her chopsticks and then ate a dumpling; it was cold, and the outer skin had gotten tough.

Ichigo leaned back against the zaisu carefully; he’d learned, after more than one incident, that they were easy to topple over if he put too much of his weight on one. “The walkthrough was good. They’re almost ready to open the clinic. One of the gangs tried to attack me when I left, though.”

She sat up straight. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “That’s why I was almost late this morning. They want the water in the well on the property. Took a while, but I think I convinced them they didn’t want to go up against me or start a turf war.”

“And how did you do that?”

“Miyajima-san said I should involve the gangs in protecting the clinic,” Ichigo explained. “They want water just like anyone else, and medical care, and food too, if they need it.”

Involve the gangs. It wasn’t a bad idea. Rukia’s memories from her long-ago childhood were of disorganized but strong rabble who could be counted upon to cause chaos. But. He’d asked Miyajima, the former officer from no further into the Rukongai than the third district, instead of her. “Miyajima seems to have good ideas,” she mumbled, and poured yet more sake.

“Rukia.” Ichigo nudged her foot with his beneath the low table.

“I’m from the Rukongai, Ichigo. Why didn’t you ask me about the gangs? Or to go to the walkthrough with you? I don’t need to live in your pockets, but Inuzuri was…” What to call it? Not home. She had fond memories of Renji and their friends, but most of their time in the Rukongai had been spent desperately fighting to survive. “I know Inuzuri,” Rukia settled on.

“You were busy,” Ichigo argued. “You were practicing your appeal.”

“But you didn’t even ask.”

He sighed and had the grace to look embarrassed. “I didn’t want to add to your stress.” He held up a hand when Rukia tried to interrupt. “The clinic was supposed to be a gift to you. That’s why I didn’t ask. That and you’re so busy running the division.” There was an apologetic feeling in the bond between them though, for leaving her out.

“Idiot,” she said on a sigh, but lightly. “I care about the clinic, and I want to know what’s going on with it.”

“I’ll keep you in the loop from now on,” Ichigo promised. Then he smirked down at her. “Ishikawa is in love with Miyajima,” he confided conspiratorially.

Rukia blinked and leaned forward. “He is? How can you tell?”

“She had a panic attack this morning,” Ichigo said quietly, and filled her in about Miyajima’s episode and Ishikawa’s reaction.

“Really. And you’re sure he has feelings for her?”

He snorted. “He looks at her the way I look at you,” Ichigo said, and reached for her hand.

Sap. But she laughed softly. “Let’s get back to the barracks, before they bring us more sake and we both have a hangover in the morning,” she urged.

“Che. Probably too late for that.” Ichigo levered himself up and offered her his hand.

He was right about the hangover, and they were both grateful for the existence of healing kido the next morning, when they had to scramble out of bed early for a meeting with the other captains and lieutenants. They bathed together to save time – keeping their hands to themselves – and hurried into their uniforms before rushing into shunpo and sliding into place just before Kyōraku called the meeting to order. Rukia ignored Lisa’s smirk and the way Renji very carefully didn’t look at them.

Ichigo didn’t. They think we were late because we were having a quickie, he grumbled through the bond.

We took a perfectly chaste bath together, Rukia sent back primly. Ichigo had washed her back and she’d done the same for him, but they’d barely even kissed each other good morning after a little judiciously applied kido had chased away their sake headaches and the crick in Ichigo’s neck from sleeping on it wrong.

Too chaste.

At the front of the room, Kyōraku was talking about joint training exercises and pairing up the divisions. “We’ll have to split one of the divisions as we have an odd number,” he said with a glance towards Nanao.

Ichigo! she shot back, scandalized. He was two steps behind her and she couldn’t see his expression, but she could feel his amusement. This is not an appropriate topic of conversation for an official meeting.

“The Eleventh is the largest, currently; they’ll pair with the Thirteenth and the Fifth,” Kyōraku announced.

Tch. It’s not like this meeting is important. This stuff about pairing up with the other divisions could have been a memo.

Kyōraku announced the other pairings, and predictably, Isane objected to the Fourth being paired with the Twelfth vociferously. Rukia’s former subordinate Kiyone joined in, arguing with Akon – Kurotsuchi’s second-in-command following Nemu’s death in the war – that her people couldn’t be expected to work with a division best known for experimenting on unwitting soldiers.

That’s besides the point!

Oh come on, Ichigo coaxed. You’d rather have stayed in bed than listened to this mess.

And that was true; she adored Kiyone but listening to her argue with Akon was almost as bad as listening to her fight with Sentarō. But she was hardly about to admit it to him. He’d only get a big head if she agreed that he was right. Rukia shifted her weight, subtly working an itch in the arch of her foot against her waraji. It’s part of our responsibilities.

If we didn’t have an early meeting, I could have taken my time with the kido, he mused innocently. I had to do a rush job.

She suppressed a snort. Your kido was fine.

“Mission reports are averaging a ten-day delay from most divisions,” Kyōraku reported. “The longest delays in reporting are from the Tenth and Seventh divisions.”

I know it worked for your headache, but I learned a new technique, Ichigo insisted. Your muscles get so tight, I can massage them and use kido to loosen them up.

That sounded nice, actually. She wouldn’t mind a massage after the stress of yesterday’s meeting and the headache she could feel starting up again as Rangiku’s voice rose in a loud objection to Hitsugaya’s grumbling about how often she dragged her feet.

“The Thirteenth Division was previously only slightly ahead of the Tenth and Seventh, but in the last six months has cut its paperwork delays down to two days,” Kyōraku droned. “Putting them behind only the First and Sixth divisions in efficiency.”

They were only behind Nii-sama’s division! Rukia straightened up. They needed to become even more efficient; she couldn’t disappoint Nii-sama. Diagonally across from her, Byakuya’s expression was stony but he gave her a slight nod.

If he says one word about being disappointed when you’ve been working your ass off I’ll beat him up again, Ichigo grumbled.

Ichigo!

Che. You have. That’s why your muscles are all tight. I’ll give you that massage later.

Silently she forgave him for threatening to beat up her brother. That would be nice, she agreed.

Ichigo wasn’t done.

I’ll take your uniform off and lay you down on our bed, face down, he told her as Kyōraku droned on – something about uniform orders. I’ll use a little oil and warm it first so it’s not cold when it hits your skin. He told her all about the massage he’d give her: working out every knot in her back, taking care of her legs and arms too because your arms are so strong from swinging Sode no Shirayuki, they deserve it.

And then as Rukia fought to control the sudden flush of heat in her cheeks he added, I’ll turn you over, next, and massage your thighs, and then I’ll slide them over my shoulders and use my tongue to-

Ichigo!

You’ll love it, he murmured through the bond, coaxing, tempting.

Kenpachi eyed her with a too-knowing smirk. “Stop trying to freeze me to the ground, princess,” he complained, and yanked his foot away from the patch of ice that had suddenly formed on the conference room floor. He left half his waraji behind.

The look Byakuya gave her was awkward and pained, and Rukia fought the urge to hide her face as Kyōraku asked mildly, “Is everything alright, Kuchiki Taicho, Kenpachi Taicho?”

Behind her, Ichigo maintained a deliberate air of innocence.

Don’t think you’ll be doing anything more than holding my hand for the next week, she threatened, and said aloud, “Yes, Kyōraku Soutaicho. I felt momentarily overwarm.”

Tch. You’ll forgive me, Ichigo predicted. When I crawl under your desk tonight, when you’ve spent too much time doing paperwork and you’re tired.

Zangetsu was a terrible influence. Sode no Shirayuki’s laugh echoed in her soul and Rukia sighed.

Later that night, though, she had no choice but to admit that he was right: she forgave him entirely when he dragged her hakama down her legs and made her see stars.

Christmas Eve arrived all too quickly. Kurosaki and Kuchiki were due back in Karakura with their daughter in less than an hour, and they’d be leaving with Kazui again on the twenty-seventh. Uryuu blew out a breath and looked over at Kazui, who was reading a book on the sofa. That tutor they’d hired over in Soul Society had turned him into a reader; he had another five books waiting for him with the pile of presents in the corner, and Uryuu was planning on sending more back with Kurosaki for New Year’s.

“Are Tousan and H- Rukia-san going to be here soon?” Kazui asked from the sofa. He’d almost tripped up and called Rukia Haha in front of Orihime twice. His son didn’t know that he’d heard him call Rukia Kaasan. He grimaced; he doubted Orihime would react well if she heard him.

“They should be here with Ichika-chan in a little while,” Uryuu said, and glanced up from the pile of fabric in his lap. He was sewing a new dress for Orihime, light blue with white flower accents. He hid it under some mending he was also working on whenever Orihime looked over at them, making the switch seamlessly. “I just sensed Kurosaki’s reiatsu, so they’re probably at Urahara’s. Are you looking forward to seeing them?”

“Uh-huh,” Kazui agreed. “I missed everyone. Even Ueda-san and Nagata-sensei. Even though he’s going to be mad that I missed so much school.” He spoke over the quiet strains of Christmas music that were piping through the apartment, thanks to a stereo in the corner. Something about what an English-speaking woman wanted for Christmas.

They’d decided not to re-enroll Kazui in Karakura Elementary School. Though one of Urahara’s memory modifiers could have made it easier for him to attend, Nagata was teaching Kazui above his normal grade level. He’d be bored at best, and might slip up and talk about Soul Society’s history instead of Japan’s, at worst. It would have been better to have him socializing with more kids his age – but he’d been able to do that on the playground downstairs.

Uryuu adjusted the spectacles on the bridge of his nose. “You’re smart,” he pointed out, and covered up the dress again when Orihime looked their way. “You’ll make up the missed work when you get back.”

Kazui hummed noncommittally.

In the kitchen, Orihime was busy ladling soup from a huge Dutch oven into smaller containers. She’d spent hours making it, even though it was Christmas Eve; she’d claimed they could have it for a late supper Christmas night, or the day after. It smelled edible enough. Uryuu hoped she hadn’t put anything… particularly odd in it.

Kurosaki’s reiatsu dimmed, probably due to his body-turned-gigai. They’d be at the apartment building in a few minutes, unless they stopped at Karin’s apartment first to drop off their things. He suppressed a sigh and stared down at the unfinished dress on his lap.

The past two weeks with Kazui had been – great. Really great. He was finally getting a real chance to know his son as his son, and not as his friend’s kid. And his kid was bright, and kind, and even funny. Uryuu glanced over at him again. He wasn’t just a good reader, he knew more kanji than most kids his age, and he was picking up new Quincy techniques almost as quickly as Uryuu could teach him.

The kitchen faucet served as white noise, filling the living room as Orihime washed up. She’d probably felt their arrival, too, though she didn’t say anything.

Tatsuki swept into the apartment using the spare key Orihime had given her, and toed her shoes off before pulling off her coat and setting a tote bag on the kitchen table. “Were Ichigo and Kuchiki-san here? Did I miss them already?” she asked. “Smells good, Orihime! Did you use that chicken soup recipe my mom gave you?”

Orihime wiped the countertop dry with a clean dish towel and beamed up at Tatsuki. “I did! I made a big batch of it. I made a few adjustments, though,” she said thoughtfully. Uryuu finished stitching a flower on the hem of the dress and made a face. Of course she had.

“You didn’t put lychees in it or something, did you?” Tatsuki asked sternly. She unpacked the tote, pulling out a box of sesame crackers and some other snacks, then a bottle of homemade umeshu. “From Mom,” she explained. “She made liters and liters of the stuff, and made me promise I’d give you each a bottle.”

“That’s so nice of her,” Orihime chirped. “We can serve it tomorrow, for Christmas Day. And no, I didn’t add lychee to the soup. I added my special curry powder. But only to half of it! It’s too spicy for Kazui.”

Of course she had. Uryuu shook his head fondly. He’d probably have to fake a stomach ailment to get out of eating Orihime’s special version.

 Tatsuki was less circumspect. “Curry powder! Curry doesn’t belong in chicken soup,” she grumbled. “You need to follow the recipe, Orihime! What am I supposed to tell my mother when she asks whether the soup turned out right?’

Orihime giggled and waved a hand at her. “I’m sure it will be fine, Tatsuki-chan! My curry blend is really good!”

They were prevented from arguing further by the fortuitous timing of the doorbell, which rang just as Tatsuki opened her mouth to reply. Kazui hopped off the sofa and hurried to answer it, but Tatsuki beat him to it. Uryuu put his mending and Orihime’s new dress away while Rukia and Ichigo were still unwrapping themselves and Ichika from their winter coats and scarves.

Kazui threw himself at them both with such enthusiasm that Rukia nearly toppled over, and might have if not for Ichigo’s hand at the small of her back to steady her. “I missed you!” he cried, and beamed when Ichigo crouched to hug him tight while Rukia pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

“We missed you too,” she said brightly, while Ichigo whispered something Uryuu couldn’t hear. When they finally let him go, he hugged Ichika next, and she huffed and ruffled his hair.

“Nagata-sensei has a bunch of makeup work for you,” she threatened teasingly. “You missed a three-part lecture on the Kofun era.”

He made a face. “I know. But Ishida-san says I’m smart and can catch up,” he protested.

“Che. He’s right,” Ichigo said as he straightened up. “Tatsuki! Good to see you.”

“Glad I didn’t have to wait months this time,” his oldest friend said, and punched him in the arm. “How’s Matsumoto-san?”

“It’s nice to see you, Kuchiki-san,” Uryuu said formally.

Rukia smiled up at him. “It’s good to see you too.” More hesitantly, she smiled at Orihime in greeting. “You’re looking well, Inoue-san.”

Orihime smiled too, but her eyes were closed. “You are too, Kuchiki-san! And Ichika-chan, I think you’ve gotten even taller.”

“Why don’t you cut up the apples I brought for Ichika-chan and Kazui-kun?” Tatsuki suggested to Orihime before things could get more awkward.

“Will you do a favor for me, Ishida-san?” Rukia asked quietly when Kazui and Ichika were settled in with some cut-up apples and grapes for a snack. Ichigo was occupied with putting their presents under the tree Orihime had bought for the occasion, and Orihime and Tatsuki were in the kitchen chatting.

“Kuchiki-san?” He raised an eyebrow as she held a folded pile of white fabric out to him.

“I know you’ve never liked shinigami,” Rukia said. “And I know what it means to ask you to do this. But you are the only person I would trust with it.”

Uryuu blinked down at her and took the fabric. He shook it out, staring at the black kanji for 13 and the stylized snowdrop beneath it. “This is your haori,” he said carefully. “Is it ripped?”

“Ukitake Taicho had it made for Fukutaicho Shiba,” she explained. “He was meant to succeed Ukitake-san, before he… died. After Ukitake died in the war Kyōraku Soutaicho gave it to me.”

He looked over the garment. It had almost comically voluminous sleeves and had to be long enough to reach her ankles; someone had obviously hemmed it before giving it to her, unless this Shiba fellow had been unusually short for a man. “What would you have me do to it, Kuchiki-san?”

Rukia took a deep breath, and across the room Ichigo looked up suddenly, eyes focusing on her. Not for the first time Uryuu had the impression they were talking, without saying a word out loud. They’d always been that way, ever since she’d first arrived in Karakura, but these days it was less like an understanding and more like a full conversation was taking place beyond his reach. When she looked back at him, she was calmer. Settled. “I want a haori that suits me, Ishida-san, not one that suited Shiba Kaien. But I don’t want to simply replace it with a new one.”

Uryuu rubbed his fingers over the heavy white cloth. He could understand that: she was her own person, but the haori had belonged to someone important to her. “Please put it on, then, Kuchiki-san, and I’ll see what I can do,” he said, and offered the haori back to her. “There’s a full-length mirror in the bathroom.”

The bathroom was a little cramped, but Rukia was small. They both fit easily, along with Uryuu’s sewing kit.

Shinigami uniforms tended towards loose and flowy, in Uryuu’s limited experience, and over the cute black sweater dress Rukia wore the haori looked even more ridiculous.

It was a challenge, but one for which Uryuu was prepared. In a heartbeat he had his pin cushion strapped to the back of his hand. “Arms up,” he ordered, and when Rukia obeyed, he knelt, moving with almost inhuman speed to pin first one side seam and then the other. She lowered her arms and he took the hem up, too.

That process completed, Uryuu straightened up and stared at the voluminous sleeves for a long time. Kuchiki was tiny; she could have fit most of her body through the opening of each sleeve. He played with the fabric, pinning the sleeves this way and that, and finally shook his head. “How do you feel about removing the sleeves altogether, Kuchiki-san?” he asked. “I’ll build up the collar and add some piping for embellishment.” There was the necklace she wore now as well, he could play off of that somehow if he could find the right buttons…

Rukia stared at herself in the mirror, at the white robe that skimmed her body and ended just below her knees instead of nearly to her ankles. He’d left one sleeve pinned in a more modest bell, and the other rucked up and pinned back entirely. She took a deep breath. “Yes,” she agreed finally, and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. “You can cut the sleeves off.”

That would leave him plenty of fabric to construct piping for her collar and the armscyes. “It will take me a few days,” he admitted. “It’s Christmas Eve, and Ori—Inoue-san and I will be going out for dinner.”

She slipped the haori off and offered it to him, careful not to prick herself on the many pins he’d used. “Really?” she said, and beamed up at him as they left the bathroom together.

“Aa.” His cheeks heated. “Tatsuki agreed to watch Kazui; I’m sure she’ll watch Ichika as well, if you and Kurosaki planned to do the same.”

“Oh, but—”

An arm draped over her shoulders, and Rukia relaxed back into her fiancée with a level of trust Uryuu had never seen her display with anyone else. “I already asked her,” Ichigo filled in, and squeezed her shoulder lightly. “She’ll take them out to see a movie and to a family restaurant, and have them back here late tomorrow morning. And there’s two shinigami on duty who will deal with the hollows so we don’t have to.”

Uryuu raised an eyebrow. “Tatsuki volunteered to take the kids all night?”

A shrug. “Yeah, she said she likes spending time with Kaz, and wanted to get to know Ichika better,” Ichigo said. But he and Rukia exchanged another of those looks, the kind that spoke volumes without a word.

“Here, let me take that,” Uryuu said finally, and grasped the haori Rukia had removed. “I’ll see you both tomorrow morning?” he asked.

Ichigo nodded. “We’ll be by just before noon, with the chicken dinner. Karin put in the order.”

“Chicken dinner?” Rukia asked curiously.

“It’s kind of a tradition,” Ichigo said with a little grin. “We always got a fried chicken dinner for Christmas. Lots of families do.”

“How curious,” she murmured as Ichigo ushered her back into the living room. “Are we having chicken tonight, too?”

Uryuu followed behind them, setting the pinned fabric down on the back of the sofa. Tatsuki was already helping Kazui bundle up and Ichika was pulling on her coat, her bright orange hair tied up in a bun.

“Nah, we’re going someplace special,” Ichigo said in a low murmur. “It’s in Tokyo, so it’ll take us a while to get there, but I’ve always wanted to take you. It’s in this building called the Skytree…”

Before he knew it, Tatsuki was off to a movie with the children, Ichigo and Rukia had swept off in a flurry of goodbyes and promises to bring extra biscuits tomorrow, and he was alone with Orihime.

“I’ll be ready in just a few minutes,” Orihime promised, already pulling off her apron. “Are we going someplace fancy? You haven’t said.”

He smiled down at her. Orihime’s bright auburn hair fell past her shoulders in a sleek waterfall, her blue flower pins keeping a few shorter strands out of her face. The pale pink hue of her loose blouse brought out the undertones of her skin. Even in such a plain outfit, and with no shoes, she looked lovely. “It’s a little fancy,” he admitted. “Maybe a cocktail dress?”

“I have just the one!” She hurried into her bedroom to change, and Uryuu sat back down. He could get at least another two flowers embroidered on her new dress while she changed. Maybe three, if she wanted to put on makeup.

In the end, he was able to finish four more of the pretty white daisies before Orihime emerged in a navy blue cocktail dress that wrapped snugly around her generous curves from shoulder to knee before fluttering out in a little ruffle of fabric. She wore her ever-present blue flower pins, matching them with a pair of tiffany blue enamel earrings. She’d slicked her mouth with lipstick and carried a pair of pumps in one hand and a purse in the other.

“How do I look?” Orihime asked as Uryuu stared at her.

He hadn’t seen her dressed up in years, maybe not since Kazui’s okuizome. He rose from his chair, and his cheeks warmed as she drifted closer. “You look wonderful, Orihime,” he said quietly.

She blushed, too, and let him help her into her coat and hold the door on their way out.

The drive to the restaurant was a quiet one, with just the strains of a local pop radio station playing in the background. He offered her a furtive glance as he pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot. They’d never been out together as adults, and from the way Orihime had accepted his invitation, he wasn’t even sure whether she considered this a date or just dinner between friends.

Hell, Uryuu wasn’t sure what he considered it, either. They shared a kid but they’d never been on a date, after all, and for the first seven years of Kazui’s life he hadn’t even known that Kazui was his son.

“Is everything okay, Uryuu?” she asked gently.

“Ah – sorry, Orihime,” he said, chagrined, and turned the engine off. “I was just thinking.” He got out and hurried around to the passenger side to help her out of the car, then in through the double doors of their destination.

Orihime looked around the restaurant with wide eyes. He’d picked out one of Karakura’s best, and tonight it was decked out for Christmas with glittering fairy lights and silver ornaments frosted with snow. The polished oak floor gleamed beneath their feet as they walked to the hostess’ stand, and around them the murmurs of conversations at two dozen tables rose.

“Good evening,” the young woman behind the stand greeted. “Do you have a reservation with us this evening, kyaku-sama?”

“Yes, under Ishida Uryuu,” he said politely.

“Ah! Yes, for two this evening. May I take your coats?”

Uryuu helped Orihime out of her coat before removing his own, and handed them to the hostess, receiving a bright green claim tag in return that he pocketed. They followed the hostess through the restaurant to a cozy booth near the back, settling on upholstered black cushions on either side of the dark wood table. Other diners around them chatted with one another and ate off stark white porcelain dishes.

“This really looks very fancy,” Orihime confided when they were left alone with a pair of menus.

He offered her a soft smile. “It’s Christmas Eve, I thought you might like something nicer than a family restaurant. I’ve been here a couple of times; everything is delicious.” Then he paused. Should he warn her not to bring out the little bottle of Worcestershire sauce or the packet of bonito flakes she kept in her purse? Maybe he’d better not, unless she tried to use them. She might get offended.

“Really? With some of your colleagues?” she asked as she opened the menu and looked through it.

“With some of the hospital’s creditors,” and investors he clarified. “They wanted to get to know Ryuuken’s son.” Uryuu rolled his eyes. With Ryuuken declared dead seven years after the war and Uryuu just starting his residency, the creditors had come to him, genteel in their black suits and with a façade of deference to his loss, wanting the money they were owed. The investors wanted to him to reopen the hospital.

Uryuu, twenty-five and having had access to his father’s estate for all of a month, had been faced with doing his best to fend them off.

“What are you thinking of having?” Orihime asked in her soft, sweet voice, pulling him from his thoughts.

“I think I’ll have the special Christmas menu,” he mused. “But if you want something else the seared bream is very good, as is the ribeye steak.”

A server stopped to welcome them and take their order, asking about their allergies and drink preferences.

“Would you like the wine flight to accompany our holiday menu?” the server asked.

“Just a glass of sauvignon blanc, please,” Orihime said sweetly.

“I’ll have green tea,” Uryuu added. “I’m driving this evening.”

“Yes, kyaku-sama.”

“It’s hard to believe Kazui is going back in just a couple of days,” Orihime said softly when their server had left them with a promise to bring their drinks. “He should be able to stay with me for good now, shouldn’t he?”

He reached for the squat water glass and took a long sip to delay his answer. Orihime was much better, now, than she had been months ago. “Let me talk with Kurosaki,” Uryuu said quietly. “We’ll have to enroll him in school here, and it will be harder for Kazui if we do that so late in the year. It might be easier if we wait for the new school year in April.”

Orihime unfurled her napkin and placed it neatly on her lap, smoothing it over the heavy synthetic fabric of her dress. “I guess so,” she agreed reluctantly. “But that’s still months from now.”

“Only three.” He mimicked her actions. “And the delay will give you time to get everything ready. Kazui needs new clothes, you know, and we’ll need to buy his schoolbooks and ask Nagata-sensei to get him up to speed on what he should have been learning this past year.” They’d need help from Urahara too, falsifying records or using a memory modifier on the administration to avoid any questions.

“We?” Orihime asked softly.

Right. Kazui might be his son, but he didn’t have the right to make any of these decisions. His cheeks felt overwarm, and he took another sip of water before clearing his throat. “I just meant that I would be happy to help with whatever you need, Orihime.”

That smile he liked so much curved over her lips, and Orihime ducked her head, the locks of bright auburn hair hiding her face. “Thank you, Uryuu,” she said softly.

“Hn. Of course.”

Their server returned with her glass of wine and the pot of tea he’d requested, piping hot in painted blue ceramic. They spoke of inconsequential things as Uryuu filled the matching ceramic cup and let the tea cool slightly, as their first course arrived on spotless, triangular white plates.

But their conversation eventually turned towards Kazui again; towards how much Orihime wanted him to stay past Christmas, and when Ichigo and Rukia would finally agree to let him stay in Karakura instead of keeping him in that place, as she called it to avoid drawing attention from the other diners.

Privately, Uryuu wondered how difficult a transition it would be for them all: for Kazui, used to a private tutor he shared only with Ichika; for Orihime, who hadn’t had to care for a child in a year; and for Ichigo and Rukia, who’d bonded so closely with Kazui. “I promise to speak with Kurosaki and Kuchiki-san about it,” he said again.

“I want to thank you,” Orihime said just after dessert arrived: an Italian tiramisu, its elegantly piped mascarpone cream dusted with cocoa powder.

“Hm?”

“You’ve been wonderful with Kazui the past two weeks. This whole time, really. He’s taken to you, and he trusts you. And I could never teach him what you have, about – his heritage, and how to protect himself.”

“He’s my son,” Uryuu said, a hint of incredulity in his voice.

Around them, the conversations of other diners rose and fell, and chopsticks clicked on plates, forming a patina of background noise for their conversation. Orihime’s hair gleamed in the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead.

“O-oh, well, of course,” Orihime sputtered. “Yes, he is your son.”

His son. Some days Uryuu still barely believed what had come about because of a single night so many years ago. For so long he’d regretted it, blamed himself. How could he have slept with Orihime when she was dating Ichigo? Kurosaki was his cousin. His friend.

“It’s hard to believe he’s gotten so big,” she mused, ignorant to the pattern of his thoughts. “We’ve missed so much since he started living in Sou—so far away.”

“Yeah,” he agreed quietly.

One single night. She’d come to his door in tears. She was dating Kurosaki, but he was still standoffish and gruff, unwilling to even hold her hand, let alone kiss her. Uryuu had wondered why he bothered, if his cousin wasn’t going to show any interest.

Orihime had sobbed into his shirt and he’d invited her inside for tea, doctored with a little shochu from Ryūken’s liquor cabinet – it wasn’t like his still-MIA father needed it – to help her calm down. They’d talked, or more accurately she’d talked and he’d listened, a sympathetic ear for the romantic troubles of the woman he’d been in love with since he was fifteen.

Then she’d kissed him, and one thing had led to another, and…

And then she’d gone back to Ichigo.

“Don’t you agree, Uryuu?”

He shook himself. The past was just that. “I’m sorry, Orihime,” he apologized. “What were you saying?”

She forgave him with a bright smile. “I was wondering if the addition of chili powder would make this tiramisu taste even better.”

Uryuu suppressed a fond sigh. “It would certainly be unique,” he agreed.

Later, he drove her home.

“Would you like to come up for tea?” Orihime asked as he pulled up outside the door of her apartment building.

She was so pretty in the glow of the streetlamp outside the car window, hair gleaming and her lips soft, still stained with a trace of lipstick.

Uryuu’s hands tightened on the steering wheel. “I’d better not. I have an early shift at the hospital tomorrow,” he said. “I switched with a colleague so I could join you all for Christmas lunch.”

Orihime gripped the door handle. “Oh,” she said softly, sweetly. “Of course. If you’re sure.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised.

He drove away as soon as she stepped inside the front door.

Chapter Text

Tatsuki showed up at the apartment at eleven-thirty the next morning, Ichika and Kazui in tow. Ichigo, Rukia, Karin, and Toshiro weren’t far behind her, arriving just at noon and laden with their lunch.

“We’ll open presents after lunch,” Orihime said as Uryuu set the table and Rukia set out container after striped red and white cardboard container, exposing piping hot fried chicken, perfectly creamy mashed potatoes, twice as many biscuits as Orihime had guests, corn salad, and coleslaw.

“This is such an odd tradition,” Rukia whispered to Ichigo as he cleared away the emptied bags and other trash. “Isn’t fried chicken considered fast food?”

He smirked down at her and shrugged. “Yeah, but lots of people have fast food for Christmas in Japan. Some people have pizza.”

It was a stark contrast from their meal last night: an elegant, multicourse dinner served hundreds of meters above Tokyo, at a table for two perfectly positioned to look out over the glittering city.

The doorbell rang, and Tatsuki hurried to answer it, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder. “Sado!” she exclaimed as she opened the door.

His body nearly filled the doorframe and he towered over Tatsuki, muscular arms seeming to barely fit into the sleeves of his winter coat. “It’s good to see you, Tatsuki-san,” he said politely as she stepped back so he could enter the apartment. He took his shoes and coat off in the genkan and followed her towards the table.

A year and more after getting out of the business he was still built more like the wrestler he’d been and less like the school counselor he wanted to become. The money from his old profession had paid for custom tailored charcoal trousers and the collared black shirt he wore; he’d long ago stopped wearing his hair over his eyes, choosing instead to sweep it back from his face and let his natural waves flow down to the nape of his neck.

“Chad!” Ichigo exclaimed, and smiled so brightly Rukia wanted to bask in its warmth. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Hn. Ishida invited me,” he said, arm reaching out to give Ichigo a fist bump. “Fujimora couldn’t make it.”

“Oh – we’ll have to meet her another time,” Orihime said from her place by the sink, where she was filling a pitcher with water. Nearby, Karin rummaged in a drawer for a bottle opener and, finding it, started opening one of the bottles of Albariño she and Hitsugaya had brought as their contribution to the meal.

Hitsugaya pulled wine glasses, squat and stemless, down from a high shelf and set them on the table one by one. He’d dressed for the occasion as well, in lighter trousers and a dark shirt unbuttoned enough to show a hint of his pectoral muscles.

“Yasutora-san!” Kazui yelled and ran headlong towards him. The former wrestler knelt and wrapped his arms around Kazui, ruffling his hair with a gentle hand.

“You’ve gotten very tall, Kazui-kun. I’ve missed you,” Chad rumbled before letting him go. Ichika lingered nearby awkwardly, and his lips quirked up when he saw her. “You must be Ichika-chan.”

Ichigo ushered his daughter closer. “Ichika, this is Yasutora Sado. He’s a close friend,” he introduced.

Crouched down as he was, Chad was at eye level with her. Ichika offered a little bow. “It’s nice to meet you, Yasutora-san,” she said politely.

“Likewise,” he rumbled, and straightened up to put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“Everyone sit down,” Orihime called brightly, and brought the pitcher over to the table. “Oh, Tatsuki, can you grab the sparkling apple juice from the refrigerator? I bought it for Kazui and Ichika so they can have something special like us.” She beamed down at them as they scrambled to find seats at the long table. It hadn’t been built to seat ten; a tablecloth covered the join between the wood and the collapsible table meant for the other half of their party.

Tatsuki brought the open bottle of juice to the table and poured some for each of the children while Karin poured wine for everyone else. She set the bottle down on the table and sat down at the end of the table next to Toshiro. Uryuu joined them, a pile of napkins in hand and serving utensils for the potatoes in the other, and Orihime followed with a giant bowl of salad.

“To add some greenery,” she said cheerfully. “The coleslaw is always saturated with dressing!”

Rukia glanced into the salad bowl skeptically, but it seemed normal enough: chopped up greens mixed with carrots, radishes, tomatoes, and some shredded red cabbage tossed with a dressing that had a sharp cider vinegar scent.

“It’s too bad Tousan isn’t here,” Ichika said quietly as she sat next to Rukia. “He really loves fried chicken.”

For a moment, Rukia wondered at what a terrible wife she’d been, that she had no idea Renji would have particularly enjoyed the meal on the table. “Well,” she said briskly, “you’ll just have to enjoy it for him, won’t you?”

Across the table, and with Kazui seated between him and Chad, Ichigo lightly nudged her foot under the table. She didn’t even need the bond to know that he didn’t want her to feel guilty.

Around the table the buckets of chicken traveled, passed along and gradually emptied onto festive red plates. They were followed by the potatoes and coleslaw, the biscuits, and the salad. When their plates were piled high, they all bowed their heads for a moment to murmur itadakimasu before starting to eat.

No wonder Renji liked it. Fried chicken was delicious. The crisp coating crunched in her mouth; the chicken beneath it was deliciously moist and almost hot enough to burn her tongue. The mashed potatoes were good too, and the biscuits even better, pillowy, soft, and scented with the butter Rukia scraped over each half at Ichigo’s suggestion.

Her brother had the best chefs in Soul Society in his employ: chefs who could make sushi rolls look like stained glass windows and elevate Ichiju Sansai to an art form. And yet this meal was strangely satisfying, in its own way.

“How’s school going?” Ichigo asked Chad after they’d all taken those first few bites and dulled the edge of their hunger.

“It’s good. I’ll finish most of my courses this spring and get placed in a school to shadow an older counselor while I complete a capstone project in the fall,” Chad said. It was probably the longest sentence Rukia had ever heard out of Chad. She smiled at the way his eyes lit up as he spoke. “After that I’ll look for a permanent placement. I have lots of choices if I don’t mind going to a school outside of Karakura.”

Ichigo smiled at his old friend. “That’s great!”

“Tell us about your girlfriend,” Orihime chimed in. “Tatsuki said you were dating someone. Is that Fujimori?”

Chad’s cheeks turned pink beneath the deep tan of his skin tone. “Fujimori Haruka. We met in school,” he confirmed. At Orihime’s insistence he pulled up a photo on his phone and the adults passed it around the table.

“She’s pretty!” Orihime exclaimed approvingly.

Fujimori Haruka was a pretty, tanned young woman with thick black hair done up in an elaborate braid. Her smile in the photo, a shot of her and Chad together in a sunny park, practically sparkled. Chad towered over her – but then, with Chad’s height and muscular build, he towered over practically everyone. Rukia angled the phone so Ichigo could see, too. She looked kind. Chad deserved someone kind.

Karin whistled when she got her hands on Chad’s phone. “She’s hot, Chad!” she exclaimed, and laughed when Toshiro’s eyes rose into his hairline. “What? She is! Actually, I think I’ve met her. She was two years ahead of me at Karakura High and on the girls’ basketball team.”

“Tatsuki said you volunteer at the animal shelter together?” Ichigo asked as Karin passed the phone back to Chad.

“Mn.” Chad pocketed his phone and took a sip of water. “It’s relaxing. …and smelly.”

Ichika and Kazui giggled. “Do you get to walk the dogs?” Kazui asked.

“Mhm,” he agreed. “And I help families find the right dog to adopt. Fujimori handles the small animals like rabbits and hamsters.”

Ichika and Rukia both perked up. “Rabbits?” Ichika asked eagerly. “Tousan, can we get a rabbit?”

“We are not getting a rabbit,” Ichigo protested. Mostly because he had no idea whether a rabbit could even make it through a senkaimon unscathed.

“Ne, Ichi-nii, you’re so mean,” Karin teased. “Toshiro would get me a rabbit if I wanted one.”

“Karin!” he growled, and for a moment it was just like being around the Kurosaki table again, with the two of them bickering while Rukia shook her head with fond exasperation, only their friends were laughing at them too.

After lunch they all pitched in to clean up, disposing of stripped-clean chicken bones and empty bottles while Orihime packaged the leftovers and Toshiro and Karin washed and dried dishes. Chad carried away the extra table, and Uryuu kept the children entertained.

They gathered in the living room to open presents; not too many, but Kazui eagerly unwrapped the books Rukia and Ichigo had gotten for him, and the handsome new coat from Orihime and Uryuu. There were kanzashi and books for Ichika as well.

“Those are lovely, thank you, Orihime,” Rukia said as Ichika showed her mother the pretty combs with cherry blossoms trailing from them.

“Thank you, Inoue-san,” Ichika echoed politely.

For the adults there were chocolates and little trinkets.

Last, but not least, Uryuu pulled a flutter of white fabric from the hall closet, and offered Rukia her haori. “I think you’ll find it suits you better now,” he said.

“Go on,” Ichigo encouraged when she hesitated. Leave your gigai for a minute and show us properly.

“Alright,” Rukia agreed. “Just a minute.” It felt too strange to pop out of the false body in the middle of the living room, and she wanted to see it for herself, first, without the others. She stood and found the bathroom, divested herself of the gigai, and with some trepidation, pulled the haori on.

She looked in the mirror.

For the first time since she’d taken her place as the captain of the Thirteenth Division, she looked entirely like herself. She’d worn the kanzashi from Ichigo in her hair as she usually did these days, and the crystals gleamed elegantly against her dark hair. And as for the haori… well. Uryuu had outdone himself once again. Gone was all the heavy extra fabric that had swallowed her up.

He’d shortened the garment and taken in the side seams so that the white fabric skimmed close over her hips, and cut off the gigantic sleeves entirely. Instead, the sleeves of her shihakusho were left unfettered. No longer did the haori hang flat and collarless at her neck: instead, Uryuu had added a shawl collar with silver embroidery that mimicked the engagement necklace Ichigo had given her. White piping and trim decorated the armscyes and the hem.

Rukia looked in the mirror and smiled.

“Oh, wow, you look really great!” Karin exclaimed as soon as she returned to the living room. “Uryuu-nii did a good job.”

“Most elegant, Kuchiki Taicho,” Toshiro said solemnly.

“You look really pretty, Kaasan,” Ichika added. Even Tatsuki complimented her, and Uryuu looked justifiably smug while Chad added his approval with a thumbs up.

“Well, Ichigo?” Rukia asked. She turned, the white fabric swaying around her.

He looked her over and held out his hand. “It suits you,” he said when she put her hand in his. “Through their bond he added, You look beautiful. And like you’re not carrying a weight anymore. They squeezed gently before letting go.

Sydney, Australia

Yuzu yawned and stretched her arms and legs, fingertips reaching the edges of the bed and toes close to hanging off the edge. She opened her eyes and turned her head to look at the digital alarm clock.

06:15.

She had an hour to eat, shower, and dress for work. Through the thin wall behind her bed, she could hear her roommate, Samantha, hitting her alarm clock to silence it and then rolling out of bed, herself. Their other roommate, the American, would be clocking out just as they got to the hospital, having worked the night shift for the past month.

Yuzu was glad to be done with the night shift, herself. She’d spent her first two months in Australia with all the least desirable shifts, been transferred to Canberra on the night shift for a while to help them cope with a sudden shortage even worse than the one in Sydney, and then back to Sydney and still on the night shift for the last three months. The hospital had given her a couple of days off and she’d used them to at least try and adjust her sleep schedule.

She yawned again and with a little shake got out of bed, feet pressing against the wood floor. The fan in the corner blew a cooling breeze her way as she opened drawers and pulled out clean underwear and scrubs. The top of her wooden dresser was filled with pictures: some of her family, of her and Karin with Ichigo and her father back before he’d disappeared; of Kazui in his school uniform; of Ichigo and Rukia with Ichika and Kazui, taken by Karin on Christmas Day. She’d emailed it over and Yuzu had printed it out and framed it immediately.

Her brother had never looked happier. Yuzu pressed a kiss to her fingertips and brushed them over the picture, heart clenching. She missed him – missed all of them, even Ichika, who she’d barely gotten to know before moving to Australia.

Being in a new country was fun, but she missed home.

The other photos were of the things she’d had time to do since getting to Australia, outside of work: a selfie in front of the Sydney Opera House; a cruise around the harbor; a photo collage of the Blue Mountains. Yuzu rubbed a smudge of dust from the frame around the collage and opened her bedroom door.

Samantha had beaten her to the shower; Yuzu made for the kitchen instead and pulled up the white roman shade to let in the early morning sunlight. On autopilot she poured rinsed rice and water into the small rice cooker on the countertop and set it to cook, got out a few slices of tamagoyaki and miso soup from the batches she’d made before going to bed last night, and set up the coffee pot.

The shower stopped and Yuzu switched with her roommate, hurrying through her shower and into the scrubs she’d set out once she was dry.

They ate together and cleaned up before gathering their belongings – including the lunches Yuzu had packed – and hurrying down to the bus stop not far from the house. Yuzu breathed in the relative cool of the early morning air; later it would be uncomfortably hot.

“I’ll see you at seven?” Yuzu said as she and Samantha hopped off the bus half an hour later in front of the imposing Georgian building, with its arched colonnades and copper cladding.

“Not likely,” Samantha said cheerfully as they stepped through the doors of the staff entrance. “I’ve got a date tonight with that fit blond bloke from Cardiology.”

She giggled. “Oh, I hope you have fun,” Yuzu said. They stopped in the staff room to put their things away: Yuzu hung her tote bag from the hook inside a locker and pinned her ID badge to the pocket of her scrubs; the writing below her photo was in English, something she’d had to get used to. She checked her cell phone out of habit, but saw nothing as she expected. It was even earlier in Karakura than it was in Sydney, and who knew what time it was in Soul Society? She turned her phone off so the battery wouldn’t drain, and locked it, and everything else but her packed lunch, away for the day.

“Why haven’t you dated anyone while you’ve been here, Yuz?” Samantha asked as they stashed their food in the refrigerator. Yuzu didn’t love the nickname, pronounced Yooz in Samantha’s British accent.

Yuzu gave a breezy laugh and led the way from the staff lounge. “Maybe someday,” she said lightly. “I haven’t met the right man yet.”

“Well, Freddie has friends if you’re interested,” Samantha offered. “Anyway, it’s our third date, so – don’t wait up!” she sing-songed as they parted ways, her towards the oncology ward and Yuzu to emergency medicine.

She made a face once Samantha was out of sight. Yuzu needed a man about as much as a fish needed a bicycle. There’d been Jinta, who’d stolen a few kisses from her and left her cold, but that was about it. And anyway, she was only in Sydney for another year, and then she’d be off back to Japan, or maybe somewhere else, if she wanted to travel more. Crystal always made America sound so exciting, and some of the other traveling nurses had been all over the world!

“Nurse Kurosaki! Suspected MI in bay three with Doctor Williams,” the charge nurse called as soon as she stepped through the doors into the emergency room.

Yuzu leapt into action, bounding into the bay on sneaker-clad feet and grabbing for a pair of gloves from the box on the wall.

“Set up a twelve-lead EKG and then draw blood for a CBC, CMP, and troponin,” Doctor Williams ordered as soon as he saw her. “And get an IV started.”

“Yes, Doctor,” she said calmly, and offered the patient on the wheeled bed a comforting smile. She looked young for a suspected heart attack – a few gray hairs threaded through the dirty blonde, chin length bob she sported, but her skin was free of wrinkles.

“Don’t worry, Miss Jones, we’ll take care of you,” Williams said. “I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

“Remove your shirt for me, please,” Yuzu said briskly as she drew the privacy curtain shut and reached for a new package of electrodes. She attached the electrodes and leads to Miss Jones’ limbs first, then to her chest, checking the placement of each one. Finally, she attached the leads and hit record on the machine, which quietly spit out paper with the readings she needed. She stopped the recording after a minute and removed the leads. She’d need to show it to Doctor Williams, but whatever was wrong with her patient, it probably wasn’t her heart.

At her instruction Miss Jones pulled on the hospital gown and held out her arm. Yuzu kept up a soothing patter of small talk as she drew tubes of blood for testing and then ran an IV in the crook of her elbow. “This is just some Toradol, Miss Jones,” she said as she injected liquid from a syringe into the newly placed line. “To help with the discomfort. It might burn a little going in, but the saline will help with that.” She hooked up the saline and grabbed the bag of test tubes. “Try to relax; I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes.”

Hours later, with that patient – and a few more besides – treated, released, or sent up to one of the other wards, the charge nurse sent her off for her lunch break.

She took a different route back to the staff room, one that passed by the doctor’s lounge. She wanted a word with Doctor Mudge about the patient in bay five if she could catch him.

As she neared the lounge, however, Yuzu froze.

Familiar words drifted towards her, a language she hadn’t heard in months except for the infrequent calls with Karin or Ichigo and Rukia. They were said by a familiar voice, one she’d known as well as her own, one she hadn’t heard in more than a decade except in some old family movies.

The wide hallway was empty except for her. On silent feet Yuzu crept towards the lounge with its wide-open door, still listening.

“The ward’s short staffed today,” her father’s voice said. “Could use one or two of your nurses.”

“We’re short too, Kurosaki,” another voice replied, and that, too, was familiar enough to jog a memory free in Yuzu’s head. She couldn’t quite place it - was it someone her father used to consult with?

“Oh come on Ishida, I only have two nurses on staff today in the clinic. You have six!”

Ishida. Yuzu swallowed. Ishida Ryuuken had disappeared around the same time as her father.

Inside the lounge, chairs scraped as the two men stood, the heels of their shoes tapping against the linoleum floors as they walked towards the door. A surge of panic welled up inside her and Yuzu looked around frantically.

There! She grabbed for the handle of the storage room door across the hall and punched in the passcode, then slipped inside, leaving the door open just a crack. Kneeling on the floor, her heart pounding in her chest and roaring in her ears, Yuzu watched through that tiny crack as two men walked out of the doctor’s lounge, white coats swaying around their figures.

Her father’s hair was grayer than when she’d last seen him twelve years ago. He still had that scruffy excuse for a beard, with more salt and pepper in it.

Ishida Ryuuken was a step behind, gray hair slicked back.

They passed by the closet without a glance at the unlocked door, still arguing over staffing shortages. When they were out of her sight, Yuzu collapsed against the floor.

Her father was alive. Her father was alive and in Australia, roaming around a public hospital and Uryuu-nii’s father was with him. Had they been here for the last twelve years, or only part of it? Why hadn’t they ever come back to Karakura? Did they know, or care, what their children had been doing all this time?

And if they did – why had her father abandoned her?

Yuzu took a long, shuddering breath and then another, and another, until her heart slowed and the shaking in her limbs subsided.

She needed to call Ichigo. He’d know what to do, what to say.

She checked her watch; she only had a few minutes left in her lunch break, not enough time to call her brother before she had to get back to the emergency department.

Yuzu got to her feet and brushed off her scrubs, then the tear tracks streaking down her cheeks. She needed to clean herself up and eat lunch, then get through the rest of her shift. Samantha had said not to wait up, and Crystal’s shift started at seven; she’d have the house to herself, and no one to overhear her.

The rest of her shift, and the bus ride home, passed in an utter blur; though the doctors didn’t seem to notice, she couldn’t have said who she treated or why. In a quiet moment she looked up her father’s name and Ishida Ryuuken’s, too, on one of the computer stations – they were both on the hospital’s intranet, clear as day, attendings in the urgent care clinic in the hospital annex and orthopedics, respectively.

Yuzu pulled her cellphone from her tote bag as soon as she walked in the door and tapped the label for Ichigo’s number. Rukia and Karin’s were above and below it, all of them marked VIP.

The phone rang three times before it stopped and a husky, sleep-laden voice asked, “Yuzu?”

She dropped down onto her bed, the day’s events rushing back to her. “Onii-chan,” she gasped out. “Onii-chan, it’s Tousan!”

“…What? What about Oyaji?” In the background she could hear blankets shifting and then Rukia’s voice, low and sleepy, asking what’s wrong?

Unaccountably, Yuzu blushed. Of course Rukia was sharing Ichigo’s bed, or he was sharing hers. They were engaged, after all, and they already had a child together. “Tousan is here.”

“He’s – what?”

“Ichigo, put it on speaker,” floated through the phone, followed by a mild oath out of her brother’s mouth as he fumbled with the phone.

“Go on, Yuzu,” he said carefully, sounding a little further away.

“He’s here. In Sydney. I was on my shift at the hospital and I took my lunch break and I walked by the doctor’s lounge because I took a different way to the staff lounge and I heard two voices speaking Japanese and they were calling each other Kurosaki and Ishida and when I looked it was Tousan and Ishida Ryuuken,” she said in a rush.

Ichigo stared down at the phone in the middle of the bed with Yuzu’s name and picture displayed above a timer for the call and the number pad, his gorge rising. He swallowed it down with difficulty, grasping the hand Rukia offered him like a lifeline. “You’re – you’re sure?” he finally asked, barely able to hear himself past the roaring in his ears.

“I’m positive. He looks just the same except for a little more gray hair. Ishida-san looks the same too.”