Theme and Variations (2/4): Andante [Bleach]

[sophiap]

Series Title: Theme and Variations
Co-author: aishuu
Series: Bleach
Characters: Nanao
Word Count: c. 9,500
Warnings: Spoilers through chapter 343, but likely to go AU after that point
Notes: Again, thanks to sache for beta-reading this monster. An index post for the series can be found here, or you can go straight to Part One: Allegro (Matsumoto Rangiku), Part Three: Largo (Kira Izuru), or Part Four: Scherzo (Hisagi Shuuhei)

Summary: Four vice captains try to make sense of the wreckage left in the wake of Aizen's departure from Soul Society as they remove the dead bodies from Central 46.


I had no idea what to expect.

No, that was not entirely true. One thing I have come to expect from my captain over the decades is that he will always manage to fox my expectations one way or another. This morning proved to be no exception.

Just last night we--all of the uninjured vice captains, to be specific--had received the order to report to Central 46 around mid-morning today. It was only early this morning that Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou and I were informed that the two of us were expected there somewhat earlier. The order had all the earmarks of a hasty decision made by someone who realized they'd forgotten something and were trying to cover their forgetfulness.

As soon as the hell butterfly departed, I gathered my things and informed my captain why I would be unable to help him with his paperwork as planned.

"We're to help the onmitsukidou with some of the finer aspects of forensic analysis. I believe the assumption is that they're better at looking for possible threats than they are at analyzing evidence of things that have already happened. Although," I explained, reaching up and adjusting my glasses slightly--Kyouraku-taichou was oddly silent, and I found myself prattling on to cover my resulting anxiety, "I am not entirely sure what we're expected to find, not after the bodies have been sitting for two days at the very least. Any trace of kidou on the bodies will have degraded completely beyond recognition, and the bodies themselves... well, they've no doubt reached a significant state of decomposition by now. If we had been able to go in earlier--"

Kyouraku-taichou winced, no doubt at the rising asperity in my voice. I know full well that I have a bad habit of rambling on when annoyed, and the way this cleanup was being handled angered me the more I thought of it. To make matters worse, I was also growing angry at myself for being angry in the first place. With so many injured, it made absolute sense to see to their needs before dealing with the dead. But it was hard not to think of the wasted opportunity to find out more about what the traitors might have done and what they might be planning even now.

"All I am saying is that the place is going to be a horrible mess, and I have no idea if we'll be able to get anything useful from the corpses, especially--"

"Nanao-chan, please."

I took a deep breath and made yet another effort to compose myself. It wasn't often that Kyouraku-taichou simply cut me short, especially if I was trying to do so myself. "My apologies, taichou. I didn't mean to--"

"It's quite all right, Nanao-chan." Instead of being laden with the expected solicitousness and reassurance--something I more than occasionally found to be patronizing--his words were borderline curt. He barely even looked up at me when he spoke, and he turned back to whatever he was reading almost immediately. "I'll look at a copy of your written report when you're done."

I nodded, then took my leave. There was no florid sympathy (not that I would have wanted any) for having to take on such an unpleasant task. Its absence was unsettling. It also struck me as strange that Kyouraku-taichou would want a written report, as he typically preferred me simply to tell him everything in my 'dulcet, soothing tones.' [Hee!] Honestly, if it weren't for the fact that I have seen him read and write poetry, I would swear the man was functionally illiterate, given how often I am called upon to read him his paperwork.

Yes, I had to admit that this uncharacteristic sobriety of his--not the kind that came from abstinence, no, it went much deeper than that--was disturbing. I told myself not to worry about it, but I could not force my mind to let it go. Even after all that had happened with Aizen and also with Yamamoto-soutaichou, Kyouraku-taichou had seemed his normal affable self until last night, until the hell butterflies had come with their orders to...

Oh. Yes. You are truly an idiot, Ise Nanao.

I stopped in the middle of the road and cleared my throat and adjusted my glasses once again. My captain's distant, almost testy attitude made perfect sense, now.

Kyouraku-taichou had known many of the members of the Central 46, had served alongside some of them when they were captains, and had no doubt had some of them as teachers at the Academy. This very morning, I would be helping to identify, analyze, catalog, and dispose of the bodies of his friends and contemporaries, and I had just complained about this to him as if I had been talking about cleaning up slabs of rotten meat. I bit my lips together and wished I could take back what I had said. I was fairly sure my face was bright red with shame, but no one I passed on the way to the center of Seireitei looked at me strangely in any way.

It could have been worse, I told myself. It could have been much worse. A few years ago, I had overheard a brief bit of conversation between my captain and his best friend. I had not intended to eavesdrop, but the unusually serious tone of their discussion caught my attention long enough for a few sentences to imprint themselves upon my memory. Ukitake-taichou's illness had been particularly bad that year, as I recall, and there had just happened to be a recent vacancy in the Central 46. From what little I heard, it sounded as if he were seriously considering it--and as if my own captain were very much in favor of the idea. If his health had not had a dramatic turn for the better just a few days later, Ukitake-taichou might well have accepted the position.

Yes, things could have been very much worse indeed. If anyone had asked me why I wrapped my arms tightly around myself just then, I would have told them it was due to a sudden chill.

By the time I reached the gates to Central 46, my thoughts were of an appropriately somber cast for the work ahead. Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou was already there, waiting patiently for me even though I was a good quarter of an hour early. She bowed slightly in greeting, but her expression didn't change in the slightest.

There are times when I wonder about her. She's often very quiet, but some of the things she says and suggests in the Women's Committee meetings... well, I imagine growing up with someone like Kurotsuchi Mayuri as a parent would have a definite impact on one's psyche.

Perhaps she was waiting here because it was better than waiting around at the Twelfth. It was a likely enough explanation.

"Here, take this, Ise-san," she said quietly, holding out an opaque glass jar. She did not look me in the eyes. "It will help."

When I took the jar from her, she flinched back as my hand touched hers and then she re-assumed her typical patient, hands-folded, head down posture. I unscrewed the lid, and the odor of menthol made my eyes water. "Excellent thinking, Nemu-san," I told her. I daubed a little of the ointment around my nostrils; it may have caused my sinuses to feel as if they were being irrigated with acid, but it was better than what I would be smelling otherwise.

Two members of the onmitsukidou came to open the outer gates, bowing us in silently. I offered the ointment back to Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou, but she shook her head.

"I don't need any," she said almost as if she were apologizing. I raised an eyebrow but said nothing as I tucked the jar into my sleeve and followed her through the long series of gates. I wasn't sure which took me more aback: the thought of what kinds of things went on in the Twelfth that would inure her to such things, or the idea that the notoriously withdrawn and detached Kurotsuchi Nemu had thought ahead regarding the needs of others. Then again, I suppose I didn't know her as well as perhaps I should.

I had a feeling that people not being what they were expected to be was going to become the theme of the day.

Even with the ointment, the stench was nearly unbearable. Oh, I was familiar enough with the odor of death. Who among us wasn't? Those of us of a certain age remembered all too well the the wave upon wave of dead some sixty, sixty-five years ago. So many dead from the war in the living world that even the highest seated officers were sent out day after day after day on konso patrol through fire-ravaged cities and mortar-churned battlefields. So many dead under such horrible circumstances that even my own captain could not recall any other time when so many souls had become Hollows with such terrible swiftness.

Yes, this smell was all too familiar, even without the overtones of petroleum and gunpowder, scorched metal and burning rubber. It was familiar, and it had no place being here. I adjusted my glasses and forced myself to look at the tiers of seats and their occupants. Part of me was quick to catalog the signs of advanced decomposition (large blood-colored blisters, imminent skin slip--I would have to warn the others about that, first signs of bloating... roughly a week since death). The rest of me was simply staring in wide-eyed horror.

No, this had no place in the middle of Seireitei. None at all.

I was still gaping when Soi Fong-taichou headed straight for us, jaw and fists clenched as if she were going to upbraid us for being early. I admit to a flutter of anxiety; despite her obvious competence, the woman has never struck me as being entirely rational, and for all I knew she could see being ahead of schedule to be as great an offense as being behind.

Instead, a sharp wave of her hand brought one of her onmitsukidou to her side. He had a bundle of tags in each hand. One bundle was yellow, the other was green. "Use these to mark each of the bodies once you've finished your examination," she said. She looked around at the horror-filled galleries, and I thought I could see her swallow hard. Perhaps some of the men and women in those seats had been known to her at one time. Then again, it was distressing enough seeing the bloated, discolored bodies and trying not to think of how long they had been sitting there, with all of us unknowing, and some of us even cursing them for their unwillingness to offer any lenience towards Kuchiki Rukia. I had not been one of these, but I remember thinking at the time that if only Ukitake-taichou had been there, he might have been able to push for clemency. Now, however...

I pushed unspeakable imaginings aside and instead focused on Soi Fong's scowling face as I took my set of tags. Nemu was quick to take the green tags, and seemed quietly pleased with herself for having acquired them. It was such a quirky and unexpectedly childish thing that I couldn't help smiling slightly. I accepted the yellow tags; color did not matter to me.

"Mark the location where the body was found on the tags," Soi Fong-taichou ordered us. "That may be of some help in identifying the remains more quickly." The scowl actually faded for a moment, leaving a pained expression, and I was forcefully reminded that she was a decade younger than I. "If you happen to recognize someone, write down the name."

Her tone made it clear just how likely she thought that would be.

I took in the rest of the instructions and her terse explanations as she repeated and clarified the same orders I had received that morning. Her team had only checked for booby-traps and for anyone who might be hiding in the building. Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou and I were, as I had surmised, to occupy ourselves with the finer points of gathering evidence and figuring out how Aizen and his followers had managed to kill an entire room full of Soul Society's most illustrious citizens with no one being the wiser for it for days. Unohana-taichou and Isane-fukutaichou would be responsible for any autopsies to be performed--it was up to the two of us to determine on a case-by-case basis if any were necessary. Otherwise, the rest of the vice captains would remove the bodies to the plaza behind the Center. The Fourth Division would then tend to the bodies, as was their wont. Once identified and made as presentable as possible, the bodies could be claimed by their families. Any who could not be identified would be cremated and at least be buried with honor, if not name.

We quickly and silently set to work. If any of this bothered Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou, I could not tell. As for me, I did what I could to stay composed and to prepare myself. The odds were that I would eventually recognize one of the people I was examining, and if that happened I could not let that stop me from doing my job.

First things first, however. I went to the center of the room and lifted my hands as if I were going to offer up a plea for clemency to all those men and women slumped over their desks or half-fallen out of their chairs. "Everyone, please refrain from performing any kidou for the next few minutes, and if anyone has done so since entering this chamber, please let me know immediately," I called out. It was unlikely that anyone there would or did--the onmitsukidou preferred hand-to-hand combat--but I did not wish to make a potentially disastrous assumption.

Way of Binding Fifty-Nine, Eye of the Stooping Hawk, did not require much power but it did require concentration, time, and a very good memory. It was one of the few spells where I used each hand seal exactly as taught rather than merely feeling the shape of the kidou in my mind. Forty-five seconds of straight chanting, and the result was rather anticlimactic. A web of pale light spread throughout the room and draped itself over every surface like fine, glowing gauze. It stayed there for a moment, then faded away. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed not to see any patches glowing bright blue to indicate where kidou had been used. Relieved, because it simplified our investigation. Disappointed, because I had been hoping to learn more about how Aizen's zanpakutou worked.

I wondered if we would ever find out just how badly we had all been duped. I wasn't sure if I would feel better or worse if I did find out.

Once the web dissipated, Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou headed to the rearmost gallery and began to scan each body with what I assume was some sort of repurposed medical instrument. It was readily apparent that while she was making good time, she was also doing a thorough job. It made me feel a little less like I was avoiding the inevitable when I elected to survey the room as a whole before joining in on the examination of individual bodies.

I stood in the center of the room and turned around slowly, trying to see everyone and everything as a group, not as individuals. The onmitsukidou had faded back to guard the entrances and were easy enough to ignore.

I tried to look for a pattern. I tried to ignore that I was looking at what had been the fulcrum of our government. I tried not to think about what this would mean in the years, decades, and even centuries to come.

Ignorance was impossible, and so was lack of thought; my only success was in finding a pattern--or patterns.

I tried not to wish that my captain was here with me.

The first pattern I noticed was a chilling one. It was obvious that no one had tried to leave his or her seat. Yes, there were several people who were not in their seats, but the few footprints that the supposedly stealthy onmitsukidou had not clumsily trampled into oblivion told me that these people had not been attempting to flee. I tagged each in turn as I examined them, my stomach clenching more and more as in each case I noted the complete lack of defensive wounds.

These people had not been trapped behind large desks. They had had every opportunity to flee their attackers, but the gash on the side of one aide and the way she had fallen suggested she was simply sliced open as she walked by. The papers she was carrying had not scattered far, and many of them were stuck to the ground, having fallen onto a rivulet of blood from a body several feet away. Behind her, a series of dainty, bloody footprints led back to where another of her fellows had been cut down. I checked, nodding when I saw that the soles of her slippers were covered with flakes of dark, dry blood.

No, ignorance was possible; they had not known what had happened to them or what had been going on around them. I put that thought out of mind for the moment; it lent itself to unsettling fancy, and what I needed here was fact.

Fortunately, the other thing that leapt out at me was entirely factual--visible and measurable. Once I could get past the horror of the bodies, it was easy to see the odd pattern of gashes in the wood along much of the eastern quadrant of the room. I believed I knew what had happened, but I needed to be certain.

"Nemu-san, please make note of the kinds of wounds the subjects received, and also of any other damage." It was so much easier to think of them as subjects, at least for now. Otherwise, we would never be able to get through this.

Nemu nodded and then her expression became vague as she calmly ran down a list of everything she had already seen that morning: "Tags one through eight, eleven through fourteen, seventeen: single strike, straight jab with exit wound, consistent width of sixteen centimeters. Tags nine, ten, thirteen, eighteen through twenty-one: stabbing with exit wounds with a consistent width of twenty centimeters, multiple strikes, with ten, thirteen, nineteen and twenty also having gashes along outer extremities and torso running in same direction, averaging one point five degrees off parallel. Tags twenty-two, twenty-six, thirty, thirty-seven, single gash, a lateral strike descending from subject's right pectoral down across the torso, average of seventeen centimeters at deepest point. Tags twenty-three through--"

"Ah, yes," I stammered. "Just... any further detail you can gather, correlated with location in the chamber--in writing, if you don't mind," I said, cutting her off much as my captain had cut me off earlier that morning.

If Nemu was offended by the interruption, she gave no sign of it. There was no reaction other than a meek, obedient nod. I watched her go back to her work, and allowed myself to indulge in what I knew was a most uncharitable thought: At least I'm not that bad.

No, I wasn't that bad (was I?), but I began to wonder when I stopped spending time simply being with my friends, or when I allowed my captain's flirting to stand in place of a truly intimate relationship, or when I began to allow my activities with the Shinigami Women's Association to become what passed for a social life.

I have wondered about these things before, and I wondered--as I always did--if any lasting change would come about this time.

That could all be dealt with later; right now, I had work to do. I continued my analysis and I continued to tag the bodies that Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou had not yet reached, the ones on the floor and the ones in the first tier. It didn't take long for the patterns of the wounds to sort themselves into the clear groups she had begun to lay out for me. Single penetrating wounds. Multiple penetrating wounds. Slashing wounds by someone who clearly preferred an upwards, backhand strike. Slashing wounds by someone who favored a lateral, forehand strike.

I also found that the bodies she had noted as having the multiple penetrating wounds were all clustered just above the gashes in the wood I had noticed earlier. Even though I could envision what had happened all too clearly, I still needed to double-check myself. I needed to know, not just guess. After all of the lies, I needed to make sure that what went into my report was the truth and could not be disputed by anyone, no matter how reluctant to believe the evidence already presented to us.

I stooped down, finding the slash mark closest to the center of the room. I touched it gently, releasing just enough reiatsu to feel the shape of it with my spiritual senses. I then pulled out a stick of charcoal and sketched a rough circle and a few symbols around the mark: Way of Binding, Thirty-Four, Arrow's Flight--quite handy for figuring out who had struck which blows in melee practice if there was some disagreement about the referee's acuity. It was familiar enough that I didn't even need to vocalize the chant.

When I was finished, a constellation of glowing slash marks covered that quadrant of the room. They were all the same shade of yellow, and they all glowed with the same intensity. Yes, enough time had passed that the results would be nebulous, but it was clear that all of these slashes had all been made by the same weapon--and all at more or less the same time.

Impossible for a single sword, even factoring shunpo into the equation. But the spell might count a hundred blades as one single blade, if they were all part of the same shikai.

I had only seen Suzumushi's second release once, but that was enough. I could easily envision a hundred double-pointed blades slicing through the air and embedding themselves before being recalled. "Oh, I've got you now," I muttered. There could be no doubting, no disputing what had happened here.

I didn't realize I'd spoken aloud until someone else spoke in reply.

"Got who?" The deep, quiet voice was familiar, and quite unexpected.

I would like to think that I didn't yelp in surprise, but I fear that I may have.

"Hisagi-fukutaichou! You're here awfully early." Yes, it was inane, but he hadstartled me, after all.

He looked around the room, but not at me. At first glance he was perfectly, unnaturally composed, much like Kurotsuchi. But I knew Hisagi better than that; not well, but enough to expect more of a reaction. Righteous outrage, perhaps. Or simmering anger. Either of those would fit with what I'd seen from him over the years. It wasn't until I looked more closely and saw the hard look in his eyes and the way he kept his arms wrapped tightly around himself that I recognized that composure for the façade it was. When he spoke, his voice lacked inflection. "Not that early. Just a couple of hours. Hour and a half, maybe."

More time had passed than I had imagined, then. Of all the people to show up, and show up early at that. Why did it have to be him? And why now?

The effects of my recent kidou were fading quickly, but not quickly enough. Hisagi was looking at them, unblinking and unmoving. He looked ill, and I wished I knew what to say to him. The thirty-fourth Way of Binding was a familiar enough spell; he had to know it, and he had to know what it meant.

It was one thing to have it proven that Ichimaru-taichou was corrupt. There were few who admired the man and many who feared or despised him. Aizen--well, that was a different story altogether, but his actions and words after his miraculous 'resurrection' had damned him past any redemption. Already, some were talking about him as if the man who vanished into the skies had in fact murdered our beloved Aizen-taichou. But Tousen? What had anyone actually seen him do, other than deliver Abarai-fukutaichou and Kuchiki-taichou's sister to Aizen? Yes, it had looked bad, but he had spilled no blood. He had not raised his hand against anyone. Or so we had thought.

Until then, I had not known just how much I had wanted to believe in the growing speculation that Tousen was playing a dangerous game and was somehow working against Aizen. And if I had wanted to believe it...

"I'm sorry," I said. It was inadequate, but what else could I say?

"I'll be okay." He was still staring at the fading yellow lights. "I just thought I'd come here and, I don't know... do something? It's not as if I have anything else going on at the moment." The strain in his voice was evident, but then it was gone again, and he looked at me, curious and awkward. It was not the sort of situation that lent itself to small talk, but silence seemed just as inappropriate. "So... I guess I'm not the only one who's early. You and Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou got here before I did." He sounded almost accusing as he looked around at the green and yellow tags scattered throughout the room. "What are you two doing?"

I knew I should be sympathetic, but it had been a trying morning, and something about his simply being here made me want to go on the defensive. I explained about the message we had received this morning, and I remembered Kyouraku-taichou and I tried not to be terse.

By the time I had finished explaining (and complaining about the onmitsukidou after looking around to make sure that Soi Fong-taichou was sufficiently elsewhere) Hisagi's face was so tight and drawn it was as if he'd aged fifty years as he stood there watching the yellow lights fade into nothing.

"Have you found anything?" he asked after a moment. He sounded both exhausted and wound up, and he seemed reluctant too look me in the eye. "Anything besides, well, that." Hisagi inclined his head towards the area I'd been studying.

I pushed my glasses back up and looked around. Nemu had tagged a good number of the bodies, and her green tags outnumbered my yellow by a noticeable percentage. "Other than what you saw, nothing conclusive. Well, some evidence that they were hypnotized. I just wish I knew more about the traitors' usual fighting styles when not using their shikai or bankai."

There wasn't any real need to know other than curiosity, but for me that was ever need enough. Did Aizen kill the majority of the people here, or did he leave that to his followers?

"Tousen-taichou, he... um..." Hisagi mimed an abrupt, downward slash. It did not suggest anything I had seen so far. "If it was just an ordinary Hollow and no challenge. I mean, our styles all vary depending on what we're facing, and how it fights back," he pointed out. His awkwardness was painful to watch. I had no idea what he was trying to convey. "Right?"

"These people didn't fight back, Hisagi-fukutaichou. They never had the chance," I snapped. "Tell me--where is the justice in that?"

His face went a horrible shade of gray. I had never been so grateful in my life that my captain was nowhere in the vicinity.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. He didn't look at me. "That was thoughtless."

"Yes. It was." He sounded more exhausted than angry. I expected him to stalk off, but after a few seconds of frosty silence he turned and looked down at me with a crooked smile. "Still, I guess it's better than having people just shut up and stare at the ceiling the minute you walk into the room."

"I didn't mean to be cruel. It's simply that my captain encourages me to say what I think." I turned away from the people Tousen had cut down and tried to think about the best place to start tracing some of the other cuts. "He makes allowances for me, but it can be a bad habit. In some circumstances."

One of the people in the center of the room had a clear example of the upwards, backhand strike (or was it a left-handed forehand strike? I would have to make some inquiries.)

"So, what are you thinking now, Ise-fukutaichou?"

"That I have work to do." Yes, this wound would make a good place to start. Unfortunately, it meant putting my hand almost in the wound. "If you wouldn't mind--"

"Why?"

I stopped, my hand inches from the body. He had missed his cue to leave me to my work. "Why what?"

"Why do this?" He swooped one hand around to indicate the chaos surrounding us. His voice was loud enough that Nemu stood up and stared down at us, cocking her head slightly. "It's not going to bring them back! It's not going to tell you anything we don't already know--that they're dead and that Aizen-taichou and the others killed them!"

I remained frozen, hand just above the wound and stared at him as he ranted.

"Why can't we just bury them with honor and be done with it? What good is all this cataloging and... oh, hell with it," he muttered, stalking off. He pulled his zanpakutou clear of his sash and held it up by its scabbard, waving it lazily over his head. "I'm going to put her away so I can work. That's what I came here for, right?"

As he walked away, I stared down at the body, wondering who he was, and if I had ever met him. Hisagi-fukutaichou had a point. We knew who had done this. How much of this investigation was me turning this into a puzzle because puzzles were easier to deal with than tragedies?

No, I told myself. No. I was doing this because it was necessary, because these people deserved to have the truth regarding their deaths known beyond any shadow of any doubt.

"Besides, Yamamoto-soutaichou ordered it," I whispered. The truth to be known, and the bodies to be removed by us vice-captains. We would serve as a final honor guard, and while we would know the truth, we would also relay that truth to our divisions in a way that would preserve dignity rather than provoke disgust.

I reverently sketched a circle on the man's robes and once again invoked Arrow's Flight. As I had thought, this wound had been inflicted by a different weapon. The flashes of light were a pale violet this time. I counted six. Four of them were by bodies Nemu had tagged.

Hisagi-fukutaichou headed my way again. He'd not only found somewhere to secure his zanpakutou, he'd managed to regain his composure. In fact, he seemed almost curious about the violet marks I had called forth.

"With that few marks, I'm guessing Aizen-taichou. I kind of get the feeling he doesn't like to get his own hands all that dirty. Probably sets Ichimaru to do most of his dirty work," he said as casually as if he were recounting the foibles of his junior officers.

We all have our ways of coping, I told myself. I was just about to set back to my work when Hisagi stopped and bent down to--

"Wait! Don't touch that!" But of course he had. He stood up, something cradled in his hand, and blinked at me.

"It's just a kogatana," he said, still blinking at me. He held up the object so I could see exactly what it was--a small, utilitarian blade that some of shinigami keep in a pocket attached to their scabbards.

"And now it has your reiatsu imprinted all over it," I snapped. If any more people decided to be helpful and show up early they had better stay well clear of where I was working.

"It's mine. It fell out of my scabbard," he said, calmly as if talking to an irrational harridan with no sense of perspective. He secured the blade in his belt. "The fittings are worn."

"I'm sorry. It's been, well it hasn't been a very good morning...." I muttered. But still, there was the principle of the thing. "But if you find anything else, even if it seems unimportant--"

"I know, I know. Don't touch. So, um... what should I do now? I mean, other than not screwing up your investigation?" He rubbed the back of his head and laughed nervously as if inviting me to join in on a joke I found in no way amusing.

I passed along Soi Fong-taichou's instructions and explained the tag system without elaboration. He nodded understanding, then looked around the room as if hoping to find something and failing.

"Just... start anywhere?" he asked.

"Anywhere you see a green or yellow tag."

"Right." He wandered off, pausing from time to time until whatever logic or reason he was using led him to start with a tall man who was seated near the entrance. I chose to believe it was because the man was safely far away from where I was working.

"Idiots. I am surrounded by well-meaning idiots," I muttered. It was something I had said so often that it was almost a mantra, and comforting in its own way.

I worked in blessed silence for a while, the only sounds in the room the faint hum of Nemu's device, and the occasional snatch of conversation between the onmitsukidou. At one point, Hisagi and Soi Fong-taichou were discussing something, but I didn't bother to listen in.

Oomaeda was the next to show up, and thankfully Soi Fong-taichou headed him off before he could come over and try to lord it over me. He was in no way senior to me, but he acted as if his family rank actually had some bearing on his rank within the Gotei 13. For some reason, he also insisted on believing that women found him attractive. In any event, Soi Fong ordered Nemu and I to shift our pattern of examining the room. Three of the six judges who presided over Central 46 had already been tagged, one by me, two by Nemu, and Soi Fong wanted the remaining ones tagged and taken out to the Fourth Division before we attended to any more of the lesser ranked members.

To my surprise, Soi Fong joined Hisagi and Oomaeda in carrying out the corpses. Nemu and I watched in silence, then looked at each other for a moment before returning to the remaining three judges. Even in death, their robes made them stand out relative to the others.

I made myself slow down and show all the respect due to them, but I couldn't stop myself from remembering that there were forty others still left to see to, plus their aides and retainers. It was going to be a very long day.

The work went slowly, but, as often happens when I am engrossed in a job that mandates careful attention to detail, time passed without my noticing. Even the smell seemed to fade to the background as the minutia of my work overtook me. Wounds and decaying flesh became academic curiosities. Bodies became numbers on yellow tags.

I knew full well that later, possibly in the middle of the night tonight, the reality would overtake me. For now, though, I took the abstraction for what it was--a gift that allowed me to do my job--and tried not to wonder if my captain had said anything about visiting the Thirteenth tonight.

I don't know how much time passed before a surreally cheerful voice snapped me back into time and stench.

"Hello, Nanao-chan! You look tired--have you been here long?"

I looked up, not at all surprised to see Matsumoto Rangiku. She'd been here before, I recalled. She and Hitsugaya-taichou had been the first to discover this horror.

"Matsumoto-san. I've been here a while." I wasn't sure how long, but did my best to calculate based on the progress that had been made. "Kurotsuchi-fukutaichou and I were brought in early to help the onmitsukidou gather evidence. So, perhaps three hours?" It didn't really matter. We would be here until the work was done, and there was plenty of it left. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with my sleeve. The fabric carried a strong odor of decay, and I realized I would likely have to burn everything I'd worn today. I would have to ask Kotetsu Isane if she knew how to get such odors out of hair. "And it feels much longer than that--this is not exactly relaxing work."

"You can say that again. I don't see why they can't leave it to the lower seats," Rangiku said as I turned back to
my work.

"Captains and vice-captains only for this. They went over that in the meeting." I would not insult Matsumoto by reminding her it was a matter of honor for the elders to be attended by the highest-ranking officers. Thought turned to speech somewhere along the way. I'd forgotten how easy it was to talk to Rangiku. "Although, I will say I wouldn't mind bringing some other trusted officers in here--but they're not even letting Ukitake-taichou's thirds in here."

I wonder if Kiyone had any idea of how close she had come to losing the man she so fawningly worshipped.

"Probably best that way. Can't tell who you can trust anymore, especially after Gin--I mean, the traitors left." Even though I was not looking at Rangiku, I knew her well enough to know that her too-easy smile had faded with the rising seriousness in her voice.

"No... no, you can't." I wasn't going to point out to her how very few people had trusted Ichimaru in the first place. Even after we had seen what Aizen had done, it took him explaining his plan to us before it truly sank in. As if we were idiots, I thought sourly. Poor, blind idiots...

A thought formed in the back of my mind, a shadow that cast a chill over me as fact connected to fact in cold, logical order. "In fact, now that you mention it... no, never mind."

I wasn't sure I should voice these thoughts here. These dangerous, paralyzing thoughts. I looked up at Rangiku, then looked back down at the bloodstain again and let thought connect to thought.

Rangiku leaned forward, and made an interested sound. True interest, not just polite interest.

I took a deep breath and took a risk. It was easier than I thought, but then again, Rangiku had always been easy to talk to (and I really should talk to her more often).

I sat back on my heels, hands folded over my thighs as I looked around at the fruits of Aizen's labors. "I find it interesting how many people took Aizen's 'confession' and explanations at face value." I looked up at Rangiku, trusting she would tell me if my logic was flawed, or if I was so shaken that I was haring off after shadows. "Wouldn't it have made more sense to keep us in the dark as to how he managed to fool us all? Why show his hand like that? Why give away what he'd been keeping secret about his zanpakutou all these decades?"

I spoke slowly, carefully, and quietly, consciously stepping on my tendency to raise my voice as I worked my way through a train of thought that would rather be expressed shrilly.

Too many people around, I thought. Too many people I might not be able to trust (and really, given how Tousen had deceived us all, could I really even trust Rangiku...). No. That was no doubt exactly how Aizen wanted us to think.

Besides, nothing I was saying would be dangerous if it made its way back to the traitors.

"Because he's a raging egomaniac?"

Rangiku's answer nearly surprised a laugh out of me, and I had to think, as she went on about Aizen's pride, of some more benign expressions of outrageous pride. Some of which were almost--almost--endearing.

I had to admit, she had a point. A rather good one at that. "After all," I also admitted, "my captain isn't exactly known
for his... restraint when it comes to matters of the ego."

Or matters of poetry. Or romance. Or liquor. Or sleep.

"Well he has you to make up for it, right?" When Rangiku crouched beside me and gave my shoulder a quick squeeze, it broke some of the tension I'd been carrying since this morning.

"Sometimes I think I'd have an easier time reversing the tide." That part was jovial, and not a little infected with my captain's tendency towards poetic imagery. Joviality could only last so long under these circumstances, however, and my thoughts were soon back to spinning out thread after thread of logic. "But honestly, I do think there are times when my captain's antics are just that--antics. They keep people from figuring out what he's really thinking. Isn't it possible that might be the case here? We were pointed towards one possible explanation so that we'd ignore other possibilities?"

Again, I had to keep my excitement from pushing my voice louder and louder, until at last, I shook my head, seeing no way to come to any kind of sane conclusion.

"You can't go around suspecting everyone, though, Nanao-chan. That's exactly what Aizen wants us to do."

Exactly what I had concluded myself just a moment ago. But then, what other choice did we have?

"I trust that this is a work-related conversation?"

Both our heads snapped up at the sudden interruption.

"What else would it be, Soi Fong-taichou?" Rangiku's tone was light, just a hair's breadth from insolent.

"Matsumoto, I'm not unaware of your tardiness." Soi Fong's cool demeanor was holding, but seemed about ready to crack. Or possibly curdle. Someone more sure of her own ability to command would not talk to a vice captain as if she were a raw recruit.

I was not impressed.

"It would be best if you don't let her interfere with your work, Ise."

I made a note to share certain observations with my own captain later on. "We were simply reviewing the implications of recent events," I pointed out, resisting the temptation to pitch my voice as if I were talking to a dimwitted child. Regardless of what I thought of her (fear and contempt were not a pleasant combination), I needed to inform her of what little I knew. "The evidence is clear that Tousen-taichou's shikai was involved in the slaughter. What I cannot tell is what--or who--caused the other injuries."

"Keep looking, then, Ise. Matsumoto, you should join Iba and Hisagi in removing bodies." A curt nod was all the farewell we received. I tried to tell myself that she was under as much strain as we were, but that did nothing to change the fact that the woman was fundamentally unlikable.

"Guess I'd better obey," Rangiku said with all the enthusiasm she used to greet her homework back at the Academy. "You know, I'd bet she'd be a hell of a lot easier to deal with if she just got laid regularly."

I swallowed a laugh and the temptation to agree out loud. Neither would have been appropriate, but oh, the temptation was there. I returned to my work and made a mental note not to let to much more time pass before seeking out Rangiku's company again.

I only hoped that I would remember. And that I would act upon the remembrance.

It took me longer than I should have to return to work. My spirits--briefly lightened--dropped again and I stared at the next body for what felt like an hour before I could bring myself to look at yet another wound (this one had glowed blue).

What else was there to find out? I tried not to ask myself that as I identified yet another of Gin's probable victims. We knew who the killers were. The only question that had truly bothered me--the extent of Tousen's involvement--had already been answered. But still, I owed those who were left the same thoroughness that I had given the ones I had first examined (just as I owed my captain that apology--and possibly a bottle of sake).

The abstraction that had made the first few hours go quickly did not return. I was ready to leave. I wanted to talk about so many things (and preferably far, far from here). I wanted to figure out what it was that wasn't adding up.

I wanted the other vice-captains to realize that no, I was not there to answer their pointless questions that had already been answered in the briefing they attended that morning. Honestly, how was I expected to get anything done if I had to stop work every five minutes?

Something wasn't adding up, I thought as I continued to study a bloody waraji tread. The red marks trailed off into dust, and then were obscured by other footprints. By the time Hitsugaya-taichou had arrived, the blood spills would have been dry or mostly dry, so this was likely left by one of the murderers. I could not trace it to one of the victims. I was so close to reconstructing the actions of the three traitors (Tousen and Gin were easy enough to pinpoint, based on Arrow's Flight, which meant that Aizen must have gone over... there, but that made no sense--it was nowhere near the judges' seats...) but every time I thought I had it, someone else had yet another stupid question and I lost my train of thought.

Whoever it was left swiftly enough. My thoughts, however did not re-organize themselves so quickly. What I did know was that I had missed something--not evidence, but the explanation for it. I had identified all three attackers, and where they had been in the room. Something, though... something wasn't making sense. There was an assumption I was making, but I couldn't pin down what it might be. I was better at logic than this, I reminded myself. I should be able to identify a simple fallacy without this much effort.

I almost had it, but again, a shadow fell over my work. "Remind me not to get on your bad side," the shadow said.

I gave that remark exactly the response it deserved. Hisagi Shuuhei (damn his eyes) took a quick step back, scuffing out one of the trailing footprints.

"Um..."

I sighed and put my glasses back on. "Hisagi-fukutaichou, I am at the absolute end of my patience. This had better not be a question you should already know the answer to."

"Sorry, sorry... I guess I'm making a habit of startling you." He laughed nervously, and I decided then and there that if this was some misguided attempt at flirting with me, I would kill him on the spot.

"What. Is. It?" Even it he wasn't flirting, I still might kill him if he had made me permanently lose what I had almost found.

He licked his lips nervously and looked around. Rangiku and someone else--ah, yes, Kira--were struggling with a particularly large corpse. Nemu had tagged the last person in the rear gallery and headed up and into one of the corridors leading to the back offices. "It's Kira."

I blinked a few times. It's Kira? What was Kira? What was that supposed to mean? "He's helping Matsumoto-fukutaichou with one of the dead."

Hisagi had the gall to seem to be losing patience with me. "I know. But he was over here earlier talking to you, and--"

"He was? I don't... Ah, yes." I couldn't remember clearly, but I had the distinct impression that one of the people who had interrupted me was a blond. "Is there a problem?"

"It's just..." He was looking off over my shoulder, clearly perturbed by something. I turned, but I didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Well, nothing out of the ordinary that hadn't already been accounted for. 'Ordinary' was not a label I would apply to this day. I turned back, and he shook his head as if trying to clear water from his ears.

"I'm worried about him," he said at last, but he still seemed distracted, as if only partially focused on the task at hand--I often saw a similar look on my captain's face when I was reviewing daily tasks with him. "About what people think about him, or... or the rest of us who served under..." He shrugged, sloppily leaving the thought incomplete. "Well, you know."

"As far as I know, which isn't much," I admitted this last with more bitterness than was perhaps seemly, "no fault has been found with Kira-fukutaichou's behavior."

At least, I hadn't heard anything from my captain, not even the sort of casual allusions and hints he slipped into conversation when there was something he thought I should know but couldn't tell me outright.

When my captain did this, however, it was always with good reason. This, however, was simply frustrating.

"If there's something I should know, Hisagi-fukutaichou, please tell me sooner rather than later. As you can see, I still have quite a lot of work to do."

He took a quick step back, holding up his hands. "He just hasn't seemed like himself of late, is all. And I've known the guy for years. He's been twitchy as hell."

Who wouldn't have been, these past few days? I was about to say as much, but Hisagi took another step back, nearly treading in a patch of dried blood.

"And not just recently, either," he said, anticipating my remark. He looked back up at the galleries, his tongue darting out across his lips nervously. Rangiku and Kira were going up to attend to the back rooms. Another two hours, perhaps, and the dead could finally be laid to rest and I could go home and try to put all of this out of my mind. I heard a wail from outside. Someone had been recognized, no doubt.

"Look..." He looked everywhere but right at me, and raked a hand through his hair. "I don't know how to say this, but even before Aizen-taichou faked his death, things seemed... off. You know I was the one who had to drag Kira off to the brig after he and Hinamori..."

I nodded. I'd heard about that, probably only minutes after it happened. Gossip tore through my division at the speed of light, it seemed. When my captain had asked me my thoughts on the matter, he had nodded and smiled in a way that--much later, I am ashamed to say--had me wondering just how much he suspected, even back then.

I wondered what taichou's thoughts on Kira-fukutaichou were, or if he would even share them with me, if I asked. Of course, given my behavior this morning, it might be a while before I could do that.

"I'm curious. Did he say anything to you just now? Matsumoto scared him off before I could get anything out of him."

Oh, dear. That could make things problematic if the two of them were assigned to work in the back together. At least they were professional enough not to come to blows.

"Nothing I recall as unusual." Of course, I didn't recall anything Kira had said, but I wasn't about to admit such. "What was it you think he was about to tell you?"

Hisagi paused, eyes cut to the side and mouth open as if to speak. It was as if he wanted to say something but wasn't sure if he should.

"He was in here before, you know." Each word seemed carefully chosen and even more carefully placed, like tiles in a shogi match. "Back then."

I nodded. Some of the details of what happened here on that day were known to me. Not as many as I would like, but still... My captain had told me that Kira's presence here had been explained to his satisfaction, and while I knew I should accept that for what it was, I found myself waiting for Hisagi to continue.

It took him a moment. He continued to stare off over my shoulder, perhaps at something in the past, some moment when he might have noticed something, when he might have done something different that would have saved the people who had been slaughtered in this room.

I tried to picture this place, clean and well swept, painted screens shielding rather than shattered and bloodstained. This morning, when I had come in here, it had been with some idea of what I would find. For Hitsugaya-taichou, for Rangiku, there had been no such warning. As for Kira, he had apparently seen nothing wrong.

"I..." Again, Hisagi seemed to be finding his way. He swallowed, and I could hear it, even over Oomaeda's bluster, Yachiru's laughter, and the wailing from outside. "I wonder if he actually saw anything, or if he was under one of Aizen-taichou's illusions. He was there under Ichimaru-taichou's orders, right?"

That was what I had heard. The opinions I'd heard voiced among the top officers in my division generally held that Kira could not be faulted for following orders. Unvoiced, but clear nonetheless, was a large measure of contempt for the man who had given those orders. It was also interesting to hear those same people praise Hisagi-fukutaichou for attempting to restrain his former captain when the man's treachery became known.

To hear them speak, you would have thought that everyone had known Ichimaru was a traitor long before now.

How much had Kira known? Or suspected? Could it be considered the proper loyalty owed a superior officer to stay quiet in the face of such knowledge? What if such 'knowledge' was nothing but suspicion?

"Ise-fukutaichou?"

"My apologies..." I looked around, looked at the haggard, anxious man standing in front of me. No one had blamed him for being fooled by his captain. In the end, he had proved his loyalty to the Gotei 13. "I was distracted."

I wondered, as I had many times in the past few days, what others thought of me for standing by my captain when he and Ukitake-taichou defied Yamamoto-soutaichou. It made no sense, but I followed him anyway, just as I obeyed when he told me to spare the ryoka--no, Sado-kun, I corrected myself.

I obeyed because I trusted him, no matter how insane or obtuse he might seem at times, or how maddening his refusals to explain could be. I'd heard him referred to as a pervert, a layabout, a drunkard, a womanizer (yes, yes, much of this was true, but still...)

In the end, what right did I have to fault Kira, even in silence, for following his captain? For all that I found myself wanting to strangle or bludgeon him on a daily basis, I would follow mine to the ends of the earth.

How far would Kira have gone? We had all seen how far poor Hinamori had been willing to go for Aizen, and how she had suffered for it.

"Hisagi-fukutaichou?" I wanted to tell him how sorry I was for his loss, and for what he must have suffered. I did not even want to imagine what it would have been like... I cleared my throat to get his attention and looked him square in the eye.

He returned my gaze warily, and shifted his weight back as if preparing to flee. I raised a hand to calm him, to tell him that no, I wasn't about to snap at him or tell him to get to the point, but at that moment everyone froze.

A Hollow's shriek tore through the chamber. It was echoed by a scream from someone--who, I couldn't tell--as the twisted reiatsu crashed over us.

"It's in the back!" Soi Fong-taichou snapped. She was already at the door when we heard Matsumoto cry out and felt the sharp snap of her reiatsu as her shikai released.

I would have run back there, but Hisagi grabbed my arm. "Kira's back there with her," he said, but he didn't sound happy about it.

Oomaeda roared out in indignation, echoing what many of us thought as he demanded how something like that could have gotten in, how could it have been missed. It was a good question.

So was this one: What else had been missed?

I thought back to this morning, to how long it had taken me to understand how I was hurting my captain, and the thought struck me hard enough to nearly knock the breath out of me.

What else had I missed?