Author: hallowd
Rating: Teen (PG-13) for this part
In This Part: The three return to normal, only to discover normal requires redefinition. (6600 words)
The Roots of Heaven: Index Page: Previous chapters, warnings, pairings etc. can be found here.

* * *

Twenty-Four: Ordinary

The white tower, alone on its high place, punctures the skyline of Seireitei. The view is striking from the cusp of the estate grounds, where the training fields are located.

The tower creeps onto the periphery of Rukia's sight as she moves through the kidou.

Singular and perfect, the pattern pours from her. It smashes into a stone practice target as a bright arc of lightning. She shoots the second bolt to her left—and then the pattern disintegrates, and the last one fizzes out into a burst of sparks.

"Not quite," she gasps out loud.

The last spell manifested. Shirayuki raises her head from among the pale yellow sand. That is progress. She lounges in the shade of a boulder some way behind Rukia. The northern end of the field is covered in rock formations to provide an element of challenge in weapons practice.

Rukia delves into her carrying cloth for a towel and water flask. The day is cool and cloudless, but she has driven herself through sword forms and kidou patterns all morning.

That tower. She buries her face in the towel to wipe off the sweat. Renji tells me it used to be a prison. But there's something more to it.

What do you mean?

I'm not sure. Whenever I see it, it chills me.

Come here. Shirayuki presses her head into Rukia's lap as she seats herself next to the bear. It is a clear day.

I still wish I knew, she says, though Shirayuki is warm and comfortable. It feels like... everyone's trying to wrap me up so nothing can touch me. She comes to think of her brother. Or pretending I don't exist.

Patience, Rukia.

In all things? she mimics her sword-spirit's curt nuances.

Indeed.

Rukia smooths her hand over Shirayuki's ears, the fur there downy in contrast to her thick, sleek coat. The gardens are still dominated by the hues of their winter garb, but the season seems mild here, unlike the harsh cold of the Tiangen peaks.

Someone stands on the edge of the sand field.

Shirayuki, Rukia warns. The bear looks at her, then melts out of sight.

She bows as her brother halts a few steps from her. "That was your sword-spirit," he says without preamble.

"Yes, niisama."

"This is a new development, Rukia. Your zanpakutou has never manifested for you before."

She hesitates, cognisant that he can see her indecision. "She... first showed herself to me in Yellow Springs. We travelled together."

"Showed herself to you?" She can't decipher the nuances in his timbre, but its surface cracks. "It is not a question of choice, but of your control over your sword."

Rukia raises her chin. "She comes when I call her, as a companion to stand beside me. Had I fought alone, I'd never have lived long enough to be found." There is something of Ichigo's audacity in her tone, but she can say this with certainty. Even her brother can't contest the truth of it.

"I see." That seems to conclude the matter.

"Show me the kidou." He tips his head towards the practice targets with their newly acquired scorch marks. "I have not seen you use such a form before."

She steps back and sets her hands together in the first ritual gesture. The incantation flows in a staccato beat from her lips as she wills the world to narrow down to the tightening pattern of energy.

Grace under pressure, my dear. Let us show them. The deep clarity of Shirayuki's voice mellows into something almost like a purr.

Them? Rukia feels sweat bead in the roots of her hair. The filaments of power fold through each other, drawn by the motions of her fingers.

The old man of the cherry tree is watching, Shirayuki hums. I can taste his doubt. I have none.

The first beam of crackling energy strikes the stone post. She fires the second and then the third in the same outlet of breath, expelling the kidou in smooth blows.

I did it, she tells herself dazedly.

After a beat of silence, her brother speaks again. "Who taught you this?"

Well done, comes Shirayuki's whisper. Rukia runs the edge of her sleeve over her sweaty brow.

"I... knew the principle of the double incantation," she begins. "I expanded upon the basic concept. I can go as high as two seventh-tier spells, but that quickly becomes straining. I assume the difficulty grows exponentially with every added spell. I was... testing how I would manage with three."

"It would be an effective tactic against multiple minor opponents. I will come observe your practice a week from now. You will meditate on this technique, and we will discuss it further."

"As you wish, niisama."

"One other thing. Give me your hand."

Obediently, she extends a hand towards him. His fingers are cool and dry as he bends two of her fingers down towards her palm. "There is a slight flaw in your sealing gesture. Do not curl the first joint of the finger. Like this."

She holds her breath as she nods. It feels all but surreal that he's touching her, even for such a pragmatic reason. She's sure such a moment would be impressed in her memory, even if—

Her brother stands over her, falling into her as his knees give way. The sky past his shoulder is an angry, deep blue. The sticky heat of his blood covers her hands. She tries, tries so hard to hold him up. She is so weak, but he took the blow for her, and she doesn't understand—

Rukia starts back; she controls herself just in time not to snatch her hand away. She pulls her fingers lightly from his grasp and reproduces the gesture as he showed her.

"Thank you for your instruction." She hides her twisted expression by bowing. "I'll do as you ask."

He gives her a nod and, turning on his heel, leaves her. She watches her brother as he recedes into a silhouette against the gardens, until she is alone, still trembling with the aftershock of the memory.

* * *

Renji steps into the patient room with his shoulders squared, feeling the weight of the cloth-wrapped object in his sleeve. He left away all marks of his rank save for Zabimaru.

The window is ajar into the gardens at the heart of the Fourth. The sole occupant sits on the bed, hands in her lap.

"Hey," he says.

She turns as if only now becoming cognisant of him. "Abarai-kun."

"They said you're doin' better. That a fact?"

"I suppose." Hinamori smiles wanly, as if the expression were a mask she only dons for his benefit. "You're back."

"Have been a while now. Mind if I sit?"

"Oh. Of course not." She shifts, but he folds cross-legged onto the floor, setting his sword down on his left side. Other than the bed, the room has few furnishings. Tobiume sits on a rack beside the bed; the only time a shinigami is parted from their sword is under imprisonment. Captain Unohana's medical opinion keeps Hinamori under observation, but Renji has a sense of a deeper constraint holding her here, in this stopped, austere place.

"Tell me," he says. "How're you doin'?" He knows he was absent after the war. Hinamori had her ghosts, he had his to contend with, although he has the unfair, wonderful advantage of having Rukia back again.

He's trying to repair a friendship and affirm a choice. Neither task is easier than the other.

"I'm recovering," she says. "Captain Unohana is hopeful I'll have my full strength back in the next month."

He already knows that, even as he nods. "Sounds good. Whatcha gonna do then? I mean—you must've thought about that, right?"

"Sometimes." Her eyes stray to the window. "The Fifth has no captain."

To his mind, she's the only person with the right to say that like a lament. Aizen had to be brought down; that Ichigo was the one to deliver the blow was incidental. It was a task accomplished with the deaths and sacrifices of many.

Still, loss is blind, grief is deaf, and the heart cares little for reason.

"What about a vice-captain?" he asks, anyway.

"They barred the gates. I wanted to go there, to... to see if I could find a few things. The headquarters were locked, and I couldn't get..." Her hands clutch at her robe. Someone—no one apparently knows for sure—cut into her soul sleep in the second battle in Karakura. Her long convalescence has been mostly due to the reluctant healing of her shinigami power.

"Hinamori," he says low. "Momo. Answer the question, okay?"

"No." She sounds hollow. "There's no one there."

"Know somethin'?" Renji heaves himself up from the floor, and drops to sit on the bed. She seems younger than he remembers, frail and haunted, but he wants to believe it's a facade, and one she can break in time. "There's gonna be."

The astonishment that animates her face is such a relief that he has to lower his eyes. "But... no one told me of this!"

"Hey, now. It's barely even official yet."

"Then how do you know?"

Has she sat here, waiting for something to punch the first crack in the wall of her seclusion? Is he up to the task?

"They offered me the captaincy." His hands wrap themselves into the bedsheet. "And I said yes."

"Oh." The sound drifts out through the oof her mouth. Then her lips cinch together, her shoulders hunching forward.

"Momo." He gropes for the gentleness of her name, unsure if he should have somehow softened the news.

"They would have. It's very reasonable. I can't do much in this condition." Her face is like aged china, a flat surface marred within. The Hinamori that Renji knows, that flared through for a moment, has receded beneath it.

Suddenly clumsy, he gets up, tucks his hand in his sleeve. She looks up at him. "Abarai-kun?"

"We need the Fifth back in action. We're gonna have the first new graduates soon, too. They've gotta get placed somewhere."

"Yes," Hinamori says. "Of course."

"So, I brought you this." Renji sets the wrapped vice-captain's badge on the bed. "You still want it, it's yours."

Then he turns and leaves her to contemplate his offer. Whatever happens, he's not taking that badge back if she throws it at him.

* * *

The year is about to change in the living world. Soul Society follows the same calendar, but the names of the months are so old no one among the living would recognise them.

It's snowing in great, gusty flurries, Karakura in the fast grip of midwinter. Rukia watches the darkness outside the shop window. Despite the snow outside, they're having ice cream, at Orihime's gentle insistence that, Rukia is finding out, is less a human quality and more a law of nature.

"You're too modest, Rukia-san." Orihime looks at her over the small, round table. Her ankles are wrapped around the chair's legs. Rukia sits poised, with her knees tucked together.

At this, she sucks her spoon clean and returns Orihime's gaze with some wonderment. "Pardon?"

"There are thirty-one flavours for a reason!" Orihime pushes her own cup across the table, heaped high with a rather more colourful section of ice cream varieties than Rukia's plain vanilla. "At least try the strawberry cheesecake. It's to die for—not literally, never fear. Please don't say 'pardon', it sounds so formal—unless it makes you feel better. I mean, that's why we're here."

Rukia dips her spoon in the red-swirled ball of ice cream and lets it melt on her tongue. It is delightful, but it would be awkward to say that when Orihime already treated her to one bowl. She has no living world money, and can't bring herself to mooch off anyone but Ichigo.

Ichigo has enough on his plate at the moment, and she's supposed to be enjoying herself. Orihime does make it easier than she thought. The other girl sidles from her chair, startling Rukia out of her reverie. "Ah, Orihime..."

"Could I have another cup of that, please? For my shy friend! Thank you very much."

Rukia blushes the colour of the strawberry spun into the ice cream as Orihime plunks the bowl down in front of her, easy as you please. "You shouldn't have."

"Pish-posh. People must be spoiled when they're sick. Not that you actually are, just a little lost. It happens to me all the time."

Just a little lost. Smiling briefly, she spoons up the ice cream, certain that it isn't the sweet treat that raises a bit in her throat.

"When was the film again?" she asks eventually, diverting Orihime's chatter.

"We still have plenty of time." Orihime taps her wristwatch. "I hope you like Godzilla. I haven't met too many girls who do, but you are extraordinary, Rukia-san. You do like horror stories, so that should help. Do you think we should see something different, after all?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure I'll enjoy it." Rukia pats her hand. Bewildered by the living world and Orihime's effortless kindness she may be, but she is sincere in this. There might be only one thing that would make her visit to Karakura even better.

They gather their things and step out into the snowfall, which has gentled into a dreamy dazzle of big, soft flakes under the streetlights. Rukia pushes herself into a question. "Orihime? If there's still time, you don't think we could ask Ichigo to join us? It is... Saturday, isn't it?"

"Kurosaki-kun?" Orihime's eyes deepen and brighten all at once. Her face seems to debate which expression to don before a cheerful smile smooths away the hesitation. "Well, the clinic isn't far."

"It's only—I haven't seen him in a while. All that school he missed." Rukia truncates the sentence, feeling guilt jab a needle into her ribs.

"It's all right." A warm gleam lingers in Orihime's demeanour. "Let's go!"

The Kurosaki Clinic is closed, but Orihime walks right up to the door and rings the bell. Rukia has just straightened her borrowed hat when a broad, black-bearded man flings the door wide with a noise that can only be described as a bellow of glee. "Oh, joyful day! My third daughter returns, and with the lovely Orihime-chan, no less! Delinquent son, you aren't worthy of such beauteous company, but here they are on our doorstep!"

"Good evening, Kurosaki-sensei." Unfazed, Orihime bows and enters. "How are you? And Karin-chan and Yuzu-chan?"

Clasping her hands before her, Rukia bows to the man who, she gauges, must be Ichigo's infamous father. She was supposed to come to his house; the plan got caught in the tangle of his hopelessly late schoolwork, and she let the matter lie. "Kurosaki-san, I'm glad to—"

She's swept up into a rib-crushing hug, spun up and around and deposited back onto her feet, all in less time than it takes to draw a breath. Kurosaki Isshin beams down at her not unlike a clement avalanche. "I've told you to call me Daddy, Rukia-chan! But you are forgiven."

"Is Kurosaki-kun home? We were passing by, and Rukia-san..." Orihime is either oblivious to or patently ignoring every incongruity in this welcome. "Kurosaki-sensei, you don't have to pretend to me that he was deathly ill all autumn. I am in the loop. I've always wanted to be able to say that!"

"My foolish son was diagnosed with a unique medical condition!" Rukia takes a step back as Isshin turns to the other girl. "Sapporoan saltating syphilis! A strain of the disease that causes the patient to leap vigorously—"

"Your hairy left hand I had anything like that." With determined strides, Ichigo leaps down the stairs and bowls his father over. Rukia comes face to face with him for the first time in a month as he scowls around the hall, one foot planted in the small of Isshin's back. "Hi, Rukia. Inoue. Wha—whatcha doing here?"

If he ever was flustered, his recovery is remarkable. Orihime shifts minutely towards Rukia, as if expecting her to pick up the explanation, although her smile never wavers.

"We're going to see a film," she says in her loftiest tone. "Do you want to come along?" This is silly. As lovely as Orihime is, Rukia can't yet reach the level of ease with her that Ichigo brings simply by entering the room. She wishes they were alone.

"A movie, huh?" He sidesteps as his father hauls himself up off the floor. "Ah, I do have some stuff to do—"

"Masaki, our foolish son is getting asked out by not one girl, but two! This is the happiest day of Daddy's life!"

"Never mind," Ichigo hisses. "Tactical retreat, exit stage left, chop chop! I'll get my jacket and meetcha out front." One hand on her shoulder, he spins her around towards the front door.

"Come on." She grabs Orihime's hand. If anyone has a mental scheme for handling this situation, Ichigo is her best bet.

Once they're outside, Orihime wilts against the glass door and gives Rukia a half laughing, half rueful look. "I'm... sorry, Rukia-san. Kurosaki-sensei is... quite a character. I should've remembered."

"I have to see this again, too." She smiles, more genuinely than she has all afternoon. "It's not your fault I'm so easily surprised. I want to know everything."

Orihime folds her fingers through Rukia's again. They speak no more until Ichigo slinks out through the door, more or less clad for the subfreezing weather, his colour a little high.

"Okay, coast is clear. Move out before they pursue. What are we gonna see?"

"Forward march!" With a laugh, Orihime saunters onward, throwing her booted feet high with each step. Rukia is caught scampering after her, smothering startled giggles into her glove.

"Ah—Orihime, wait! Godzilla," she replies to Ichigo and, on an impulse, slides her free hand through his arm. He gives her a glance, but she feels him adjust to her nearness.

"Godzilla," he says. "Sounds great."

They walk down the road, settling into a comfortable pace for all three of them. Orihime and Ichigo begin a conversation over her head, about school and grades and study circles; Rukia stays between them all the way to the theatre, letting the sound of their voices float over her.

* * *

After the New Year, Orihime insists on arranging a welcome back party. Caught, as is becoming common, by the girl's world-embracing goodwill, Rukia can only nod and accept when the plans are laid out to her. "You won't do a thing, of course! I'll take care of everything, and Tatsuki-chan and Ishida-kun promised to help, too."

Orihime's home—a new one, Rukia understands—seems small for all the people who have come. She sits ramrod straight in the corner of the merrily red sofa, and smiles at everyone who approaches. A respectable array of foodstuffs, from familiar norimaki and odango to half a dozen sorts of snacks she's never seen before is spread out on the kitchen table. Since they came in, Ichigo's been hailed by friends left and right; she can hear him snapping at someone in the kitchen. Orihime's voice lilts up in response, defusing whatever tiff was forming.

"Kuchiki-san looks as radiant as always!" Her drink sloshes in the glass as she whips towards the voice. A grinning young man is leaning over the armrest at her. She knows his name, Ichigo pointed him out to her earlier...

"Ah!" She pulls herself even straighter. "Good evening, Asano-kun." He is one of those who know of Ichigo's double life, but she withdraws into politeness.

"Keigo's fine," Ichigo said. "Just put everything he says through a double-strength bullshit filter and you'll be pretty close to the truth. Especially when he talks to girls at parties."

"D'you mind if I sit here?" Asano tumbles into the seat beside her. "Mizuiro brought the new Bad Shield game, we thought we 'd try it."

"No, please do." She peers at the plastic case in his hand. "What sort of game is that?"

The Kurosaki household has one of these console gadgets. When it's on, the result is either intense staring or loud arguments. Nonetheless, she smiles and nods as Asano launches into an explanation, and accepts the controller as he sets it in her hands. Nothing good will come of shrinking from these people, especially Ichigo's friends.

"Kuchiki-san is doing wonderfully!" She grits her teeth and tries to keep straight which button is an attack and which one an evasive manoeuvre. Her glowering, brightly dressed character gives a very unconvincing death rattle, dropping onto the floor of the improbable-looking arena. Rukia looks up at her guide.

"Ah, I'm not quite sure I am, Asano-kun."

"That's the training mode, it can be kind of crazy until you—see here—" He reaches for a hold of the controller. "Your natural athletic potential will prevail!"

"What d'you think you're doing, Keigo?" Appearing behind them, Ichigo jerks the boy away by the neck of his shirt. Her eyes must have gone wide, because his voice softens. "Look, Rukia, sorry. Inoue means well, but I guess she thinks you've got a few more close friends than..."

The solicitous aura suits him ill. "It's fine, you fool. You can stop hovering."

"I'm not hovering." He slides into the seat Asano vacated, shoving his friend away as if for good measure.

She snaps the controller lightly against his temple, returning his scowl with an equal one of her own. So she was a tad flustered. That hardly excuses his mother-henning, and it nettles her even more as she realises she's relieved by his presence. "You were gone a long time, too," she says. "Shouldn't you be spending time with your friends?"

"I see 'em every day at school." His shrug is probably supposed to prove his point. "Speaking of seeing people—where's Renji? Thought he was gonna join us." His eyes veer to the side, a sign of nerves, although she can't pinpoint the cause.

"He will. I got a message. There was a situation at the Sixth—something about a squad not reporting in." Renji is, after all, the one with actual responsibilities to his division.

"Oh, okay."

"In any case, this is incomprehensible." She indicates the television and console with a flick of her hand. "How do you derive amusement from something so—convoluted?"

"You just don't have practice. Let me." His arm slides behind her shoulders as he cups his hands around hers on the controller. "You aim with this, and shoot with this, and duck with that. Same controls as the last game. Start there."

The bright avatar on the screen responds rather more jerkily to her tries than to Ichigo's effortless guidance. She purses her mouth in concentration. A certain command prompts a certain action. It seems this, too, can be mastered with repetition.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"You'll be good now?" He pushes himself onto his feet.

"Yes, Ichigo." For a heartbeat, she misses the arch of his body behind her, feeling exposed as his hand leaves her shoulder. It is her party. She's supposed to have a good time, not hide behind Ichigo.

Plastering a smile on her face, she looks about. "Asano-kun? Are you still—could I try again?"

* * *

Ichigo cracks open the back door to Inoue's building. The air washes over him damp and sleety, yet refreshing after the flat. People were staring. Only too late, he realised he'd bent over Rukia to show her the controls, deep in her personal space.

It was once told in the school hallways that Kurosaki and Kuchiki had a thing going on. He's willing to bet a body part—a nonessential one—that any time now, those rumours are going to crawl from their grave to haunt him all over the school yard and the arcade and the karate club. And some other places, too.

"Kuchiki smacked Kurosaki over the head at her homecoming party! What's the deal with them?"

"He was all over her, an' everybody saw! Though what else can you expect from a punk like Kurosaki?"

"She calls him by first name! What does an exotic beauty like Kuchiki Rukia see in Kurosaki—"

"Ichigo!" The voice, acerbic and familiar, penetrates the stew of hair-raising hearsay his brain is concocting. "You deaf?"

"Ah, hey." He shifts to make room for Tatsuki in the doorway. The rain is turning into snow as the evening cold hardens. It won't linger; the flakes are swallowed by the wet grey of the asphalt as soon as they alight. "I was thinking."

"Those were some pretty deep thoughts. I called you at least three times."

"Would've kicked me next, eh?"

"You bet."

"Thanks. For not doing that."He scuffs his shoe against the threshold. She leans back against the glass of the doorway.

"I'll save that for practice. You are coming on Tuesday, right?" He's not quite sure what made him return, after having quit years earlier, but the karate club has given him and Tatsuki back some common ground. Until the ragged return from Hueco Mundo, he hadn't even known she'd been able to see spirits for months. It hasn't been an easy way back.

"Can't see any reason not to." Tatsuki is nowhere near as spiritually strong as Chad or Inoue, but on the tatami, she's a match for him.

"Not gonna sneak off with Kuchiki?"

"Can I just point out it's nothing like that?"

"No?" She lowers her voice, but her tone delivers a plain message of not taking any crap, thank you very much. "I know you still got one foot in Soul Society. Maybe that's never gonna change. I'm done blaming you for that, so that's fine. But in case you didn't notice, the way you guys clung to each other back there, someone's gonna start talking."

"Why d'you think I had to sneak out?"

"Couldn't blame you. Keigo hitting on Kuchiki was pretty atrocious to watch."

"Hmph." Despite himself, the sound becomes part a laugh. "Rukia's immune to flirting, you know. And that's weird, 'cause she's so damn naive a lot of the—oh, crap. Don't tell me what that sounded like."

"I won't. I know you. You're already beating yourself up about it."

"It's not like it's anybody else's business, though."

She doesn't answer immediately, as if letting her reply gather momentum. She has no coat on, so he strips off his jacket and dangles it out to her.

"Dumbass." She wraps the jacket over her bare shoulders.

"I'm not standing in the snow without sleeves."

"Stuff it." She tugs up the zipper. "You're thick as... I dunno, a cement block, and that's the reason I'm trying to have a serious talk with you. In the snow. Don't ask why I bother. You wanna go sit in the corridor?"

"Beats freezing our toes off."

"I wanna get this said before they miss us, so move it." She jostles him in through the door, but keeps possession of his jacket as they seat themselves on the stairs, avoiding the streaks of slushy footprints.

He takes a lot more from Tatsuki than his average for people—more or less fourteen years of friendship builds your tolerance. However, during this conversation, he's expected her to illustrate her point with a few friendly wallops to any reachable parts of his body. It sort of worries him that she hasn't. He's used to her being one of the guys. She's sliding away towards something feminine and unreadable.

"So?" He arches an eyebrow at her. "What's so important you gotta sneak after me?"

"You and Kuchiki. Give this one thing to me straight. What's the deal with you two?"

"More water for the rumour mill, huh?"

She yanks him towards her by the scruff of his neck. Her face scrunches up, her teeth rasping over her lip.

"Okay." He blows out a breath. "That was pretty stupid of me."

Her fingers unclench to let him sit upright again. "I'm not asking 'cause I'm curious. Are you gonna answer me?"

If it came from almost anyone else, he'd block the question with cocky silence or a snappy rejoinder. "She's back. That's good."

"And that tells me... what?"

"You figure that out! That's all I know. I don't... well, how'd you feel when we brought Inoue back?"

Tatsuki glances at her folded hands. "I can relate to that. So you're just happy Kuchiki's home safe and sound."

"Mm-hm."

"I'm really trying to cut back on the interrogative impulses here, Ichigo."

"You sound like you already got this figured out. So why ask me?"

" 'Cause I can, and 'cause you're an idiot who wouldn't know what do with a girl if she fell gift-wrapped in your lap." She grabs his arm before he can rise. "I'm serious."

"I am so gonna kick your ass."

"You can try. Later." She releases him slowly, once his muscles have unknotted under her fingers. "Listen up. Chase Kuchiki to the ends of the earth for all I care. That's what you keep on doing, anyway. Might as well give you my blessing."

He lets his head bow, the heat fading from his expression. "Sheesh, thanks." He doesn't sound as sardonic as he meant to.

"I'd go nuts trying to live like you. Considering your Dad, I guess there's a sorta logic there, though."

"You're basing a rational conclusion on my Pop?"

"Come on." She purses her mouth, one side of it quirking up. "More importantly; you're a dumbass, but you're not a jerk. So there's one other thing we need to set straight."

He sighs, considers the option of running away to Soul Society and joining the Eleventh, where there'd be less incomprehensible girls around, and comes to his senses. "Fine. Spill."

His mouth drops open as she fixes him with a steely look and says, "Orihime."

* * *

Tatsuki leaves him sitting on the stairs and climbs back to the flat, feet soft and shuffling. He's had a completely inadequate span of time to wallow in his newfound misery when a blare sounds from his pocket.

"Hoolloows—Hoolloows—Hoolloows—" his shinigami badge wails.

"Oh, crap." He bounds up the stairs three at a time. He can't leave his body lying in the stairway. That means going back to the flat, which opens too many new venues of anxiety for him to contemplate right now. Swearing, he leans on the doorbell.

Inoue whisks the door open. "I'm coming, I'm coming! Um, Kurosaki-kun?"

He speeds right past her to conceal the fetching beet shade that flushes his cheeks at the sight of her. "She's had it bad for you for years, and you don't have a clue." Damn Tatsuki. "Later, Inoue!"

Rounding the corner into the living room, he skids into a halt. There are still some people here blissfully ignorant of the soul-gobbling monsters in their midst. Yeah. "Oi, Rukia!"

"What?" She keeps her eyes on the screen. "I was just about to—ha!"

"Hollows," he whispers, brandishing the howling badge in front of her. Tatsuki pokes her head in through the kitchen doorway, but most of the others lounging around the room only glance up from their own conversations. Of course, they can't hear the doomsday noise of the badge.

"More'n one?" In a lazy motion, Renji looks up over the back of the sofa and throws Ichigo entirely off gear.

"Uh, yeah. Hey." He gestures lamely. "When'd you get here?"

"Said I'd come soon as I could."

"What, through the window?"

Laughter ripples up from Renji's throat. "Maybe. Where've you been?"

"Hollows?" Robbing Ichigo of a chance to answer, Rukia grabs the badge from him. On the TV, her abandoned sharpshooter is decimated by his training opponent. "This thing shows no numbers. Renji, have you seen my phone?"

Renji holds out her communicator from the coffee table. Ichigo presses the heels of his palms to his temples; he doesn't even know whether he's grateful for her intercession or irritated that he even came back with the Hollow alert. "Are we all gonna go? Let's make it a party game! Hey, Ishida, you want to—"

"Ishida-kun already left," Inoue says in an undertone from behind him. "Should I come, just in case?"

Rukia has peeled back from her false body, more than a little out of place in shinigami black among the warm colours of the room. Ichigo bites back a grimace, wishing she'd at least have ducked into Inoue's bedroom to exit her body. She leans over Renji to see the display of her phone. "There are eight. All big ones. Very close. Keep playing that," she instructs her gigai.

"Thanks, Orihime. We'll try not to get banged up too much." Renji throws Inoue a grin before turning towards Ichigo. "You, me, Rukia; that should do it. C'mon."

With only a nod, he follows. Despite everything—Tatsuki's wake-up call, his uncertainty with Rukia, Renji's abrupt presence stirring the situation further—this is still simple and clean: they respond to the threat together.

* * *

Eight sizable Hollows prowl the block just behind Inoue's building.

It goes so effortlessly he could weep. Okay, not weep, but the smoothness of the combat is a fucking relief after all the social stress heaped on him tonight. Even though one, if not two, of its major sources are there wiping the street with Hollows right alongside him.

Rukia pins two with well-aimed icicles through their scaly backs, and he flashes by to shatter their masks before leaping at the largest one. Renji occupies the smallest four of the creatures until they converge on him in a second of slipped focus. Zabimaru coils out to tear through them, but the pain washing hot and stark through Renji's reiatsu sends out an unmistakable alarm.

"Rukia!" Ichigo knows he'll need to dive close into the snarl of thrashing Hollow limbs and Zabimaru's lashing sinews that's formed atop a building. A Getsuga from this range will result in friendly fire, and Renji is already hurt.

"Leave this to me!" Her sword shears through another gape-jawed mask, leaving only the four Hollows surrounding Renji.

He rushes into shunpo, cracking Zangetsu down hard on the side of the nearest one. They're tough-hided and agile, somewhat resembling chalky, overgrown salamanders. The creature whips around in place, its snout mottled with blood, and rears to rake at him. He hears Renji swear, but has no time for a look around as he springs upward a step and soars on the momentum to despatch the Hollow with a blow that cleaves its head in two. It tumbles down the side of the building, disintegrating as it goes.

Movement flurries above him. Rukia's voice rises into an incantation, her power fanning out into a net, and he sees what's happening even as it is already over. Renji has stumbled, a ragged sleeve trailing his limp arm as he falls, but a silvery web of kidou snatches him to safety before he can hit the street below. He's yelling at her; she shoots back something biting and familiar. A swift sweep of the roof declares the struggle all but over. Two white shapes are crumbling into dust, so Ichigo hurries over to the last one, its body almost severed in two, and finishes the fight in a clean stroke across its mask.

It's done once more.

"He got them!" he shouts at the others, even as he leaps down to the street.

Seated on the ground, Renji sheathes Zabimaru less than gracefully, his left arm hanging slack and bloodied. "Hey, m'not that rusty yet! Better close that jaw before it falls off, wiseass."

"I—" He lets his lungs empty with a dragging sigh. "You wish, jerkface. How many bones did you break this time?"

"Just the one in the arm." Renji grins insufferably through the gathering sheen of sweat on his face.

"And the bruised ribs," Rukia says, whisking Shirayuki clean before returning her to her scabbard. "We should report this. Was it just me, or was the alert late?"

"I'd say so." Renji glances at her. "Everyone's understaffed, but Karakura's still a high-risk area. Remind me to mention that tomorrow." He tugs at his ripped sleeve, and Ichigo sees only now how his kimono sticks to his left side as well, the fabric heavy with blood.

"We better get you inside." He crouches down on Renji's good side. "Inoue's gonna want a look at that."

"Might not be a bad idea."

"I'll go and get her," Rukia says. "Orihime, that is. We don't want all of them to see, and you shouldn't move more than you have to." She takes off at a dash around the building.

"The bastards were fast," Renji grumbles. His breathing sounds unobstructed, so while he is in pain, the ribs haven't stabbed deep inward. He'll be all right. They just need to wait a while.

"It was—" Ichigo nearly leans forward, touches his brow to Renji's, or grasps his wrist in that quick, strong grip that communicates support and reliance, back and forth, freely given. He offers a rueful grin instead. "A bit off your game tonight, huh? Being home dulled your edge so fast?"

"It was good seeing you, for the three minutes before that Hollow ripped you a new one"? That's what you wanted to say, you wuss.

"Shut your trap, Ichigo." Renji makes to shove at him. "I got more of 'em than you."

"We back to the head count game, then?" He turns away to seal his sword; while he's honed the simple task, it doesn't seem to come as instinctively as to everyone else. He still needs to focus for a heartbeat to make Zangetsu shrink into the slim katana shape. "Thought that was old hat."

"I didn't start it." There's no way to verify Renji's claim. Ichigo doesn't even want to argue. This whole night seems backwards; what was supposed to be a reunion with friends has so far worked only to widen the gaps between, his ease with Rukia compromised, and even his camaraderie with Renji somehow absent, as if the several weeks passed without contact were enough to wipe it away.

He is clumsy with both of his friends, as if now that the deathly danger has passed there were nothing to bind them anymore.

That isn't it, he understands as soon as the thought dawns on him. There are bonds, but he's afraid to see where they run. Renji is eyeing him sidelong; he stands up with a deep exhalation to avoid his gaze.

It was good seeing you. I wish you weren't going so soon.

"Shit," he mumbles, the word thankfully drowned by the stomp of running feet.

"Kurosaki-kun! Renji-kun!" Then Inoue is there, calm and concerned, Rukia on her heels, and he can just step aside to let her work.

He needs to speak to someone sane.

* * *

<< Part Twenty-Three: Remnant
>> Part Twenty-Five: Self-Inflicted

Music Time (Once More With Feeling):

Part 20: Jack Wall/Jade Empire OST: Empire at War (the bridge) | click
Part 20: Bear McCreary/Battlestar Galactica OST: Worthy of Survival (retribution) | click
Part 21: Carpark North: Fireworks (Rukia's dilemma) | click
Part 22: Jack Wall & Sam Hulick/Mass Effect OST: M4 Part 2 (Faunts) (waiting for Ichigo) | click
Part 23: SINCH: Identity Theft (negotiation) | click
Part 24: Heather Nova: Spirit in You (return to normal) | click