After Five Lifetimes
4. Robbed
Two days later the end of the school day neared like most others for Orihime. She sat at her desk, doodling on the bottom edge of her math paper, listening to Tatsuki recount her victories from the tournament over the weekend to a few other classmates, this time including Ichigo. She’d already heard the story, but listened anyway as the dark-haired girl told him, smiling at the suppressed excitement in Tatsuki’s voice.
“That puts your dojo in the top four of the prefecture,” another boy said from the row over at Tatsuki’s desk. “The top six teams will be going to Tokyo next month.”
Orihime nodded in agreement as the conversation carried on, darkening the perimeter of the jagged lines she’d drawn on the paper. She heard Ichigo’s deep voice, inquiring for more details of Tatsuki’s team’s accomplishments. He’d missed the original account of the tournament, having been absent Monday from classes. He’d made few excuses, mentioning only that there’d been a few Hollows on the rise on the other side of town that had kept him and Rukia busy all morning.
Rukia.
Orihime leaned over the paper, her hair falling over it despite the hair pins, intent on the black pen design as the other students milled around Tatsuki and her story. Someone bumped her desk, and Orihime quickly lifted her pen so as not to malign her doodle.
“Sorry,” a girl’s voice said.
Orihime nodded, not looking at her. Four minutes until the end of the school bell would ring, and she was anxious to go home. Letting go had proved harder than she thought, but she was getting better at it, she hoped.
She tucked her legs under her chair and hovered over the paper to ink in the design as someone’s shadow fell over her.
“What’re you making, Orihime?” Tatsuki asked, her competition topic exhausted. She leaned closer to see the page.
Orihime focused on the black jagged lines she’d precisely reproduced, her pulse quickening as she recognized them. A slow smile crossed her face and she looked to Tatsuki. “Lightning bolts.”
The shorter-haired girl nodded.
Orihime swiftly added pelting raindrops beneath the black marks and a stick figure of a man getting struck by the lightning.
“Are you dropping out of the Handcrafts Club?” Tatsuki asked, broaching a subject she knew her friend had been skirting lately. Her tone lowered as she crouched by Orihime’s desk. “I know you haven’t been going as much.”
Orihime gave her a wider smile, shaking her head. “No. I’m not dropping out.”
The bell rang and the classroom erupted into students making for the door, the teacher calling for an orderly departure.
“I’ve got practice,” Tatsuki said, standing and grabbing her book bag.
Orihime looked up at her, nodding, thoughts turning inward. “Good luck. Congratulations, again.”
“I’ll call you later,” Tatsuki said, moving down the row of desks. “Remember, the blue button plays the calls, the red one erases them.”
Orihime nodded at the instructions to her phone’s answering machine. She’d erased more of Tatsuki’s messages than she cared to admit. She waved as the other girl left the room with a few other students.
She looked down at the stick figure. She knew what she’d drawn, the angle of the tattoos on his neck as she’d seen them as he’d leaned over her that afternoon for those brief seconds. Her fingers tensed on the pen, recalling the fleeting moment Renji had kissed her cheek, surprised at the gentle touch, unlike what she thought his lips would be like on her skin, how he smelled good. Indescribably good.
A kiss of sympathy.
But it was still a kiss, she told herself, as she had several times over the last few days. He didn’t have to. Maybe he even regretted it now. Maybe he didn’t remember the slight touch. She did.
She wished she’d used a pencil. Now the black image was permanently part of her math notes, and she couldn’t pretend it was lightning bolts. She suppressed more of a smile. She didn’t really want to erase it anyway. Maybe she could just recopy the notes onto another piece of paper before she had to hand them in.
“Are you staying for Handcrafts?”
This time it was Ichigo’s voice, and she looked up, closing her notebook. “Oh, uh, no. Not today, Kurosaki-kun.”
She stood and gathered her books and stuffed into her book bag, watching him step back to give her room.
He was about to say more when they both felt the influx of spiritual pressure, and looked to the wide set of windows lining the classroom exterior wall to see Rukia standing in the sunny schoolyard.
By the time Orihime and Ichigo met the petite shinigami the other students had vacated the yard and begun their walks home. Rukia looked to each of them, her violet eyes troubled.
“Two Division Thirteen members are seriously injured. One dead, for certain,” she said, eyes going to Orihime. “The other is nearly dead. They’re at Urahara’s shop.”
“Let’s go,” Ichigo said, taking Orihime’s book bag from her and slinging it over his own shoulder so she could move faster.
The hurried down the street, taking the corner swiftly as Rukia easily kept pace beside them, detailing the encounter.
“You should have told me,” Ichigo bit at her, his long strides outdistancing Orihime’s attempt to keep up with him and the female shinigami.
“Hey, you were in class, and by the time we found out about it the damage was done,” Rukia said. “It should have been under control; there was no problems reported until the Hollow had been killed, and then something else happened.”
Orihime tried to speed up, the afternoon wearing warm on them as they rounded the last set of streets to Urahara’s shop. “They weren’t injured by the Hollow?”
Rukia glanced back at her, her expression grim. “We don’t think so. They were new to the Division, and this was they’re third mission without a seated officer.”
They arrived at the shop and were escorted quickly in by Tessai, and then down the hall to a back room where Renji and Urahara stood outside a closed door.
“Ah, so good to see you, Orihime,” Urahara said, nodding to her. “Thanks for bringing her, Rukia.”
“What’s this all about?” Ichigo asked, looking from Urahara to Renji and back again. He set her book bag against the wall. “They weren’t injured by a Hollow?”
“We don’t think so,” Renji said, also in his shinigami robes. “There was no sign of it when we got there.”
“Just an emergency call for back-up, and then nothing but the wounded,” Rukia said, her voice tightening as she looked to the door.
Orihime looked to Renji, who was watching her, and then to Urahara as he put a hand to the door latch. “What can I do to help?”
Urahara nodded. “Just what I was hoping you’d say.” He opened the door, stepping aside as she passed by Ichigo. “He’s bad off, and the other younger is dead, but maybe you can help.”
She nodded and stepped into the room.
Urahara closed the door behind her, even as Ichigo took a step towards it. Ichigo looked at him sharply, his hand going to the latch.
“She doesn’t need us all in there breathing down her back, Ichigo,” the shopkeeper said as the front shop door tinkled. “Let her be.”
“He’s right,” Rukia said, sighing and leaning against the opposite wall. “He’s bad off, and she needs to concentrate.”
Ichigo frowned at Urahara before looking to Renji. “You didn’t see anything?”
Renji shook his head, shooting a look at Urahara. “When we got there we found two from Division Thirteen, very young, just out of the academy. Both dead --”
“Not quite,” Urahara corrected.
“He’s right,” Rukia said. “Only one was dead, the other died once we got here.”
Ichigo’s scowl increased, but it was Renji that turned to Urahara. “Then why are you having her heal a corpse?”
Ichigo turned the latch and opened the door before Urahara could stop him, exposing a brief glimpse into the dimly lit room where Orihime knelt before a form lying on a matt on the floor, its shinigami robes white, a gaping wound in its chest.
Urahara pulled the door shut and placed one hand on Ichigo’s uniform shirt, pushing him away.
Ichigo had turned a strange shade of pale that snapped into an instant darker color. “Sapped of their spiritual powers? You didn’t say anything about that.” He looked to Rukia and then Renji. “No one did. What’s going on?”
Rukia tugged on his arm. “Come on. I’ll tell you what we know.”
Ichigo reluctantly left with her down the hall to a storage room further on. Renji watched them go, and then looked to Urahara still lodged at the door.
“You know she can’t help, Urahara.”
The shopkeeper shook his head, eyes hidden beneath the hat brim. “I don’t know that, and neither do you.”
Renji stepped toward him and the door, but Urahara propped his cane on the opposite doorframe.
“Let’s just see what she can do, Abarai.”
“Are you behind these deaths?” Renji couldn’t believe his own next question. “Did you do this so you can run some psychotic experiment --”
“Rob a shinigami of his spiritual powers, lieutenant?” There was no humor in Urahara’s tone. “Shame on you. That’s a corporal offense in any society.”
Renji glared at him for a moment, unable to see past the shopkeeper’s slight smirk that had dropped back into place. He closed a hand around the cane and pushed it aside, opening the door, surprised when Urahara made no move to stop him.
“Don’t disturb anything, Renji,” he said lightly.
Renji took a few steps into the semi-lit room. Orihime was still sitting on her knees beside the white-robed form, her hands at her skirt hem, head hanging as her cheeks shown faintly with tears. She looked to the door as it remained open and then turned away, wiping her face hurriedly with the back of her hand.
Urahara pushed past Renji and stood beside Orihime, looking down at the large red wound on the young shinigami’s chest. “Ah, you’ve done your best, Orihime. Let it go now.”
She sniffed, eyes resting on the dead member of Division Thirteen. “I think he might have been dead already, Urahara-san. He didn’t respond at all.”
He nodded, glancing to Renji still at the door. “Don’t let Kurosaki in.”
It only made Renji want to let the substitute in all the more. “Why not?”
Urahara didn’t answer, but bent to take Orihime’s elbow and raise her to her feet. “You’re done. You tried. Sometimes it’s too much.”
She nodded, smoothing her skirt and wiping her face. “I’m sorry.”
Renji watched her turn her back to both him and Urahara to compose herself, her low sniffles the only sound in the room. He looked back to the hall as Rukia and Ichigo appeared there.
“Wait outside, Ichigo,” Urahara said, putting a hand to Orihime’s shoulder as he ushered her out.
Renji let them pass, his eyes going back to the two dead shinigami, their white robes seeming eerily bright in the muted light of the room. The rest of the room was bare, save for a glass container the size of a small flower vase holding what appeared to be oil decanter reeds. But he smelled nothing, save the faint scent of something floral when Orihime had passed him. He joined them in the hall.
Rukia was the first to speak as Renji closed the door behind them, her eyes remaining on the door. “I’ll contact Captain Ukitake. They were only probationaries. It should have been a simple mission.” She looked Renji. “Help me take them back?”
He nodded and had begun to speak as Urahara cut in.
“I’d like permission to examine the bodies, Rukia,” he said, anticipating the reaction from her and the men. Before anyone could speak, he added: “Nothing invasive. Just a routine examination that wouldn’t interfere with anything Captain Unohana would do.”
“No,” Ichigo said immediately, but Rukia put a hand on his arm.
“I’ll ask, Urahara,” she said, “but I can’t guarantee anything. I’m not a seated officer. My request won’t carry the weight a lieutenant’s would.”
Renji saw Orihime lean against the hall wall, a drained look on her face, hair hanging limply despite the hair pins to either side of her face.
“Do what you can, Rukia,” Urahara said, the cane tapping lightly at his feet as he looked to Ichigo. “Take Miss Orihime home, Ichigo. We certainly appreciate her efforts this afternoon.”
Ichigo frowned, but nodded. He turned to Orihime, who looked up to him without her usual bright smile. “It couldn’t be helped, Orihime.”
She nodded.
After Orihime and Ichigo left, Urahara turned to Rukia and repeated his request of permission for the examination. She agreed, and left immediately for Soul Society, leaving the shopkeeper with Renji.
Urahara tipped his hat back a few inches, estimating the regard on the shinigami’s face. “I’m a man of my word, Abarai.”
Renji kept his stare levelly. “When you choose to be, Urahara.”
The shopkeeper sighed and went back into the room. “I’ve no ill intentions to the girl or any shinigami.”
Renji followed him and paused at the dead man, the deep wound in his chest still gaping. “Why didn’t you want Kurosaki in here?” He moved his scabbard to one side and knelt at the corpse, frowning at the fist-sized hole in him. It was a young member of Division Thirteen, young even by shinigami standards, his face nearly as white as his robe. “Not for sentimental reasons.”
Urahara had crossed the room and now stooped near the wall at the glass with the reeds protruding from the top opening. “No.” He pulled a black plastic bag from his robe pocket, and carefully opened it over the top of the glass and reeds, covering it and twisting the bag around the neck of the glass. “I don’t want his reiatsu contaminating anything I’ve gathered.”
Renji stood and pivoted to look at him, taking a quick step as Urahara got to his feet and held the bag-covered glass behind him.
“So this is an experiment!”
“No, don’t alarm yourself, lieutenant,” Urahara said hastily, his smile askew. “I’m merely taking advantage of the situation to collect a sample of her healing powers. Nothing more.”
Renji frowned at him, eyes narrowing on the man under the hat. “Without her consent. That’s beyond --”
“Your concern, number one,” Urahara finished, his voice holding less amusement. “Number two, she’s said herself on many occasions she’d do anything she could to help. She’s always offered to help. That’s what she’s doing.” He took a step back and held up a hand as Renji advanced. “He was alive when we called her. She tried. I didn’t ask her to exhaust herself, Abarai. I wouldn’t do that.”
Renji looked to the arm behind Urahara’s back. “Is that all? You didn’t take anything else?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you won’t mind telling her what you’ve done, will you?” He saw the flicker of discomposure hint the man’s expression. “Will you?”
Urahara smiled, shrugging a little as he moved past him. “Since you insist...”
“What about the rest of us? What about Rukia and me?” Renji asked, following the shopkeeper out of the room, who now cradled the bag and bottle before him as he moved down the hall.
“Oh, I have Rukia-chan’s reiatsu already mapped from previous times.” Urahara turned and held up a finger. “With her consent, so you can put away that threatening look, Renji.” He turned back down the hall. “And your reiatsu, too. Enough of it for a decent analysis from the gigai you’ve been using, so I can rule out yours and Rukia’s.”
“But not Kurosaki. Seems to me you should have buckets on him.”
Urahara stopped at the end of the hall before the curtains that divided the back of the shop from the main public room beyond. He looked to Renji, shrugging. “Ichigo hasn’t been mapped since the War. He’s changed.” Wistfulness lent his tone. “I’ll get to him in time. With his consent, lieutenant.”
Renji still didn’t like it. “You should have told her.”
Urahara shrugged, grinning more than he should have. “It only would have distracted her from the matter at hand. This was better than any test I could have arranged.” His grin fell as a darker look crossed Renji’s face. “She’s admitted she can’t remember everything from her time in Aizen’s keep. She may be capable of more than even she knows.”
Renji’s first response was replaced by another thought. “How do you know that?” He put a hand to his sword’s hilt, seeing Urahara’s eyes drop to the movement. “You don’t have access to those records.”
“Ah, no, not exactly, but I do have a certain understanding with like minds in the Soul Society hierarchy,” he said, his light tone belying the impact of his words. “War makes for strange bedfellows, Renji.”
Renji turned back down the hall leading to the shop’s rear entrance, unsure how angry or not he was with the shopkeeper, snagging Orihime’s forgotten book bag from the hall as he went.
“That’s from Shakespeare, if you’re wondering, Abarai!” he called.
“Shut up!”
Renji had every intention of depositing the bag in Orihime’s window as he hovered outside, but the more he thought about it he realized an action like that was liable to make her scream in fright before she realized it was him, and then it would have been plain rude.
He found himself standing in the hall outside her apartment door in the early evening hour, looking at the door, accosted by some pop music tune from her neighbor’s apartment as he debated knocking, debating the chances of Kurosaki still being there, debating what to tell her about Urahara’s test, if anything.
He knew what he wasn’t going to tell her, like about the hole made in each of the shinigami -- she knew about those injuries -- but she wouldn’t know that a portion of vertebrae had been jerked clean out through the cavity, or that the incoming distress call that sent him and Rukia to the scene had mentioned another miniscule spiritual presence aside from the Hollow, one that neither of the victims could recognize. They were some of the worst injuries he’d seen since the end of the War.
He knew several reasons why the novice shinigami wouldn’t recognize Arrancar presence; none had ever encountered it. It didn’t mean it was, or was not, Arrancar. It certainly didn’t mean it was a once-dead Espada. There was no need to mention any of that to Orihime.
As he stood in the hall, wondering whether or not to knock and have her neighbors think she was talking to herself in the hall, which may likely be a common sight, or to just leave the bag by her door, it opened and she looked out at the few inches the lock chain allowed. This time she looked almost relieved to see him.
The door closed enough to unfasten the chain, and then she opened it wide, motioning him in silently as she looked to the apartment door across the hall.
Renji stepped in and watched her close the door. Her eyes were a little redder than before, and she was still in her school uniform, the bow untied and hanging loose about her collar.
“Oh, you didn’t have to bring that; I’d have gotten it tomorrow,” she said, taking the bag he held out to her.
“You had a lot on your mind.” He watched her pull the bag close, attempting a smile as she looked up to him. “Don’t feel bad about earlier. He was in bad shape.” He wanted to say already dead, but he stopped himself. See if Urahara is a man of his word, he thought.
“I should’ve practiced more with them,” she said more to herself, turning into the room and stowing the bag by the futon. “I haven’t done much with them since the War.”
“Everyone has let their guard relax. There’s no reason you should stay at peak; go back to your life, Orihime. It was never your war.”
To his surprise, a determined set came to her eyes, sharpening their focus on him. “I made it easier, Renji. That’s bad enough.”
He shook his head. “It would have started anyway.” She sighed and looked to the kitchen area, one hand sliding up her opposite arm as she sighed. “You all right?”
She nodded, looking to him quickly. “Are you hungry?”
“No, I just wanted to drop that off.”
She nodded more slowly, eyes remaining on him as she pushed a hand through her hair, hesitant as to her next words. “He was already dead, wasn’t he?”
He intended to say he didn’t know for sure, but instead he nodded. She closed her eyes and sighed, her voice barely audible when she spoke.
“What did that to them?”
He shrugged, hearing the pop tune in the next apartment change to another equally bouncy song. “We don’t know yet.”
She swallowed forcefully, looking to him. “Is it him? Can it really be Grimmjow?”
“I don’t see how, but I believe what Rukia and Ichigo say.”
“Is none of it over, Renji?” Her voice broke as she said it and she cleared her throat, fingers going back to her arm, tightening. “It can’t all just start over again, can it?”
He closed the few feet of distance between them, one hand going to her shoulder, resting gently beneath the waves of auburn hair laying over it. Her hand stopped on her arm, eyes locked on his.
“Everything Aizen had built is destroyed,” he said carefully. “This is probably some new version of Hollow; nothing more.”
“But what of Grimmjow?”
He shook his head, fingers moving behind her neck. “I don’t see how it can be him.” He watched her hand move to his arm, fingertips edging toward his wrist, pausing on the back of his hand. “Aizen has his illusions, you know.”
She nodded, her head tilting slightly toward his hand. “You’re right.”
The phone rang from the table at the futon, startling them both, her hand dropping. He moved his hand as she glanced at the phone.
“That’s probably Tatsuki,” she said, sighing, looking back to him.
He stood straighter and nodded. “I’ll go. Glad you’re all right, Orihime.”
She smiled wider, a tint of pink at her cheeks. “Thanks.”
He left then, and she closed the door behind him and quickly answered the phone on its fourth ring.
Renji alighted to the top of the four story building and looked out over the town, several thoughts chasing through his mind, not the least of which was the softness of Orihime’s hair or Tatsuki’s ill-timed phone call, finding himself more disappointed in the latter than he thought he should be.
Too much time in a gigai, he tried to excuse to himself. It wasn’t the scent of peachy flowers that hung around her, of her fingers gentle on his hand, or the way they curled across his skin in beckoning touch, or the appeal in her eyes despite the signs of earlier tears.
It wasn’t any of that.