Summer Sweetness: Twelve Tortures, prompt 5: The Rack

Jul 08, 2007 23:59

So, uh, this sort of ran away with my brain. I'd blame Mari and Ray, because it really IS their fault, but I always blame them so it'd be sorta like crying wolf. Uh. Er. Yeah.

Bonus points to anyone who gets the title.

Oh yeah, alternate reality (AR) warning. PG-13 warning, too, though Ichigo may have slipped the f-word by me. It's buried in there? Possibly.

And messiness warning. This started out on a straight road, and then CURVE! and BRIDGE! and holy crap, is that a mountain?! and ohshit it's a lion, get in the car WE ARE IN THE CAR! and then it straightened out a little more except for that last little JAG! and whew. WHEW. Suffice to say, it needs editing.


I. Hot rack

Urahara's cases were damn draining--long days and longer nights--and I was looking forward to some good shut-eye in a bed. A bed in a place where I didn't have to worry about getting killed, for preference. In my spare moments, I dreamed of a bed with mattresses four foot high and so deep you needed a ladder to climb out, covered by thousand count sheets and blankets of silk-lined Egyptain cotton and pillows! oh the pillows in my head, soft and sturdy and scented ever so lightly with lavender. The room would be as dark as Turkish coffee and silent as a ninja's footsteps. Alarms clocks would not exist.

I dreamed so hard of such a bed that when I stumbled into the small bedroom of my smaller apartment, I half-expected it to be there.

What I actually had was a futon. An old futon. The bars were bent. The sheets were scratchy, the blanket worn through in spots. The pillow was a pillow only 'cuz it came with a pillow case, being actually made of rock disguised as foam. The room smelt of dust and age and faintly of cat piss--Niku was a vindictive little bitch. The curtains were all right but my neighbors had a tendency to set off car alarms just as I was falling asleep.

But it was my bed. And no one--new--was trying to kill me.

I fell into it and was asleep before the car alarm orchestra began its nightly symphony.

I paid for it the next day with a stiff neck and sore knees. Beds like that, you gotta know how to sleep on 'em, but I had been too tired to care. But any sleep was better than none, and the dreamless, calm sleep I'd had did me a lot of good.

I'd need it for the next day, when I came in to find Kuchiki Rukia sitting in my office.

II. Rack of antlers

Kuchiki Rukia came from money. Not because of her clothes--which were serviceable and clean but not high class--or fancy baubles or anything like that, but because of the way she looked at me. You only learn how to look down your nose like that if you've been high enough up that it's a requirement.

She had pale skin and dark hair and eyes like the last colors of sunset. She was tiny in all directions, but with enough curve to make it hard to mistake her for a boy. I know curves--my assistant is overendowed in all directions--and I liked the way she wore hers: apparently uncaring, betrayed only by the tuck of her skirt and the v neck of her shirt. She wore no jewelry and only a touch of make-up.

I sat down across from her and pretended she didn't exist for a minute so I could check my messages. She did the same, eyes scanning the pictures on the wall and on my desk. I let Inoue do the decorating and upkeep in here; it gives her something more to do.

A single message from Urahara: excellent job, will certainly bring more work, check's in the mail. I sneered at the last one; idiot didn't live five blocks from me. He was just trying to put off payment. I scribbled down a note for Inoue to badger him if it didn't show up by the end of the week, tacked it to my computer screen, and finally decided to pay attention to the woman in front of me.

"How may I help you, Ms--what are you doing?"

She was holding a picture frame in one hand and covering her mouth with the other. Her eyebrows were up. It took her far too long to look at me, and when she did, she asked, "What is this picture?" She had one of those dark female voices, all edges and tartness.

I held out my hand, but she turned the frame around to show me from her end.

I didn't groan. To my credit, I didn't make a noise. Just probably looked even more like I swallowed a lemon.

"Last Christmas," I said, "my assistant Inoue--you met her this morning?"

"Briefly. She brought me in here, offered me coffee, and apologized for being unable to stay and chat, since her fairies needed their breakfast." She said it dryly but not unkindly. I mentally added a sick relative--mother or sister--to her imaginary hoity-toity household.

"You should've asked to see them," I said.

"Next time I will," she said. "But you were saying about this picture..?"

I made one of those faces Inoue likes so much--she hadn't fallen for the bait--and said, "She weaseled her way into spending Christmas with my family. She doesn't have any in the city," because most of it was serving five-seven down in county, "and I thought it was a nice thing to do."

"She got along well with them."

"Too well," I sighed. "Over dinner she mentioned that if my nose was colored like my hair, I'd be a natural Rudolph."

Her lips twitched, almost like a smile. "Does she say things like that often?"

"All the time. Only my family decided that I didn't need a nose that color, my hair was just fine, and they could prove it. And, so..." I gestured at the picture. There I was, sandwiched between Karin and Yuzu and Inoue, wearing a clown nose and a giant pair of unevenly cut sticks. "My Dad laughed himself sick taking it."

She turned the picture around and looked at it again, then set it lightly on my desk. "You know, the rumors I've heard about you said you were a bastard," she said. "But a bastard doesn't let his assistant keep a picture like that on his desk."

"I don't," I said, voice flat. "It's her picture. She likes to hide it in here. Says I make the best faces when I find it."

She seemed to think for a moment. "It was a good face, when I showed it to you," she said.

I scowled. "You want my help or not?"

She reached up and straightened the frame. "I do," she said. "I just needed to know you were trustworthy first."

"And you got that from a picture?" I asked, incredulous.

"I got that from your story," she said. "You kept the right amount secret."

"Like what?" I said.

"Like how you had to drive yourself home still wearing those antlers," she said. "And how you had to cut them off your head, but carefully, so you could send them back to your family."

I tried for a good unimpressed look, got maybe three-quarters there. "You're not a client, are you."

She reached into her jacket and pulled out a billfold, passed it over. I flipped it open and read the card. "There's no agency listed," I said.

She sniffed in a way that told me what she thought about agencies with names. "We don't work that way."

I flipped the billfold shut and tossed it back at her. She caught it easily. "What do the 'Feds'," I made the airquotes big and obnoxious, "want with me?" I asked.

"It's not what they want," she said. "It's what I do."

I was a good boy and bit my tongue at that.

"This is my new assignment," she said. "My new...territory. And when I asked who I should see if I wanted to know things, your name kept coming up. Your name and an Urahara Kisuke. I came to you first."

I shivered slightly. "Good thing. Urahara would've eaten you alive."

"They say," she continued, as if not hearing me, "that you're a jerk and a cold bastard and you'll do just about anything for money, but that you're honest about it. They say you like to help people. They say you could be making a lot more money if you worked for Urahara or the cops full time, but you don't."

I could feel my face hardening; the woman had done her research, and I didn't care for it. I didn't like being pried into. "They'll say just about anything, you pay 'em right," I grunted.

She gave a little nod. "I know. Which is why I'm coming with you today, Mr. Kurosaki."

"Coming with me where?"

"To wherever you go," she said. "Consider me your partner for a day."

I gave her a solid look. "You don't look like a Fed," I said, "but if anyone finds out I brought one with me--or even sniffs Fed, no matter what you actually are--I'll end up in pieces all over the city."

"Which is why they won't," she said.

"I don't like this," I said.

"They won't, Mr. Kurosaki," she said, and lifted her chin. "Trust me."

I gave her another once-over, a closer one this time, and thought, well, there's more than one way to come from money.

She put out her hand. I shook it.

III. Pool rack

We went to Urahara's place. She'd wanted to meet him, and I kinda wanted to see them meet each other.

Plus there was a good chance Renji and Tatsuki would be there. They'd probably make me play just to talk to them, but it'd be nice to see friendly faces after the last week. Or friendly-ish; people I knew, it all depended on mood, day of the week, and conjunction of the planets. Don't as me why; I'm nice to kids and dogs, wear clean clothing more than once a week, even pay my taxes. Just my luck, ya know?

Urahara called his place a Store, and maybe it'd started out that way, but it was more than that now. The main building, the original one, housed the not-really-general store, where you could get just about anything, more if you knew how to ask. A building back of that was living quarters for him and his staff: his two ageless brats, his "butler," and occasionally, guests that he always claimed were family, but were about as related as his kids were to him. A slightly newer building housed the sit-down: a counter, some booths, and some damn good pizza; if you went in the back, there was a bar and pool tables, which is where I generally hung out. Close to that was his newest building, a huge complex that was something of a fighter's alley, with its boxing ring and karate floors and little rooms with paper for floors. Lots of people trained there; Dad had started me there when I'd told him what I was gonna do with my life. I'd kept up with it, three times a week and sometimes a fourth if the case money was there. Inoue sometimes went with me and sometimes didn't, though lately she and Tatsuki had become chummy and she spent more nights there than not. It didn't bother me; Tatsuki was a good girl and a good trainer, and Orihime was probably safer with her than with me.

Before we went inside, I caught the sleeve of her coat. "Look, if anyone asks, we're in the same profession."

She gave me a cool, twilight look, pulled her arm free, and said, "How do you know we aren't?" Then she pushed the door open and went inside.

I caught the door and moved in after her. "Mostly 'cause I don't carry that kind of ID," I muttered to myself. "And my clothes aren't that nice. Oh, and I'm not a stuck-up little..."

"Mr. Kurosaki."

I retreated from my litany of complaints and held up a hand. "Hey, Tessai," I said.

Urahara's butler, who had to be older than dirt but looked maybe into his mid-forties, gave me a short, respectful nod and said, "The Master has just risen. If you would wait in the other room?"

I nodded and started to move into the other room when Kuchiki said, "I'm Kuchiki Rukia. I'm here to see Urahara."

I turned back to tell her that now was not the time to bother him and hadn't she done her research?, and caught an expression on Tessai's face. An actual, honest to goodness expression. I've been looking for one of those for years.

"Kuchiki," he murmured. "This is certainly unexpected."

My jaw may have hit my shoes.

"A courier would have been too risky," she said, and pulled a roll of paper out of her jacket. It was small and tied with black ribbon, a little metal thing hanging off the end. Like some sort of scroll. "I was sent instead."

"I will tell the Master," he said. They exchanged short bows--and there was another thing I'd never seen Tessai do, not to anyone except Urahara and maybe Yoruichi--and he nearly scampered away.

This was not making it easy to pull my jaw off my shoes. When I finally got to the point where I could make human words, I said, "You two know each other? You know Urahara?"

She turned to look at me as if I had just popped into existence. "It is a family acquaintance," she said. Then, "You should probably wait in the other room."

I bristled--one of those things you can feel yourself do, even if you don't want to. Her lip curled. "You brought me here to meet him," she said. "There is no reason you need to stick around and watch me."

I moved closer to her and hissed, "It's Urahara. Tessai took a break from roasting his morning baby to come see who the hell we are. He's gonna go back and make sure it doesn't burn. The last time that baby burned, a dozen people died. And," I pressed on, barely taking a breath, "after he's told him who you are, he's gonna go prepare the morning puppy. For deep frying. You understand me?"

She blinked slowly. "No. I do not think a single word of that was understandable." Another slow blink. "Except for, possibly, the names."

My turn to give her a weird look. She knew Urahara and she'd done research on the both of us and she didn't speak street? What the hell? "It means," I said, "that you need someone to watch your back, because Urahara is scary, very fuckin' scary, and smart. He will sell you for three times what you cost and you will grin and thank him for it. Do you understand that?"

The chin lift. The imperious glance.

I didn't even wait for her to say anything. I knew what advice being ignored looed like.

"Your funeral," I said, and turned to go to the other room.

Renji and Tatsuki were in. Must have been a slow day, 'cause they were playing each other instead of hustling. Good thing, because I don't think I could've sat through one of their games. I needed to hit something, and smacking balls with a stick made a beautiful crunching sound.

"Hey Ichi--" Renji said as I stormed past and picked up a pool cue. I rolled it between my hands--not their trick cue--and looked at him.

"I thought you just got off a case," Tatsuki said. She was bent over, lining up a shot, the corner of her tongue caught at the edge of her mouth. "What're you doing around here?" She shot, and the cue nudged the eight perfectly into the side pocket. "You got next round, Renji," she said.

"Luck," he said.

She gave him a terrifying sweet smile. "You better hope that luck has nothing to do with it, sweetheart. And I'll have a--."

"Gimlet, like always," he said. "Ichigo? You look like you could use a drink."

"Or three," Tatsuki said.

"I'll have a gimlet, too," I said. "And a game, if you're up to it."

"You'll have to play him, he's the big loser," she said. "But you can set 'em up."

I grimaced. She smirked. "Set 'em up, Ichigo," she said. "The rack ain't gonna bite." She knelt by the side.

"Sure, you can say that," I grumbled. "You didn't get 'Blue Eyes' Nakago's lecture on how to break someone's fingers with one." I pulled out the rack and and dropped it on the table, started gathering balls. "With--"

"--demonstration," she echoed, standing. "You say that every time, you know."

"One of these days I'll demonstrate, too," I grumbled, tossing balls into the triangle until it was full. I knew what kind of setup Renji favored, and arranged 'em without looking. "Maybe that's why he did it, 'cause no one believed..."

"Is he whining about the rack again?" Renji asked.

"Of course," Tatsuki said as she settled into her seat.

He waved my drink at me and set it on the table, then picked up his own cue. "You know," he said,"you're lucky he didn't break your balls with that thing instead."

"Funny," I said. "Just what I wanted to think about." I stuck my fingers in the rack and rolled it to tighten the setup. Renji sighted on the cue ball, but I didn't pull back; he took forever to make his opening shot, and he always bitched if his setup wasn't tight enough.

"Hey, I'm just sayin'," he said, eyes looking between the setup and the cue ball. He moved the ball a little, lined up the shot again. "You should count your...Kuchiki?"

"Kuchiki? He didn't eat her?" I said, looking behind me.

Renji's cue slipped, and the cue ball hit the rack. With my fingers in it.

I swore and blew on my fingers and shook them out and stuck them in my armpits. Not that he noticed.

Not that any of them noticed. Tatsuki's eyes were wide, Renji's eyes were wider, and Kuchiki --well, she looked softer, somehow, in the shadows. Not much of an expression, but just an overall softening, like darkness smoothed her edges.

"Rukia," Renji said now. The edges of Tatsuki's eyes crinkled, and her head lowered.

"Abarai Renji," she said, voice cool. "I am not here for you."

"But...Rukia...what..."

Renji and I have been friends for, oh, coupla years. Been through a lot of scrapes, taken bullets out of each other. I'd never heard him sound like that. I didn't want to hear him sound like that. There was longing in his voice. And fear.

Out of the corner of my eye, Tatsuki turned in her seat, raised her drink, and swallowed half of it.

Kuchiki looked at me. "He wants to see you."

I nodded, hands still tucked in my armpits. She lingered for a moment, her eyes looking past me, then turned sharply and walked out of the room.

I leaned off the pool table and followed. I, too, didn't look back.

IV. Rack

I walked into Urahara's office, opened my mouth to ask what he wanted and got a faceful of boobs.

"Ichigo!"

"Gah, Matsumoto!" I tried to push her away. She clung like an octopus. "Get off!"

"Do as the boy says," said another voice, and I cringed, 'cause the moment Matsumoto disentangled herself, another set of boobs attacked me.

"Friends of yours?" Kuchiki said from my side.

"Gaaah," I managed to get out.

"Ah, I see Yoruichi has greeted you!"

At that, she let me go, and I took several deep breaths before straightening my jacket. "Like she usually does," I said, making sure to wipe the lipstick off my cheek.

"Awww, Ichigo," she said, pinching my cheek. "Still afraid of a good pair of tits, I see!"

I glared at her. She grinned brightly, showing her sharp, white teeth, and shook the bit of cheek in her fingers. I quelled the urge to brush her off--those teeth are really sharp--then looked at Urahara. "You wanted me?"

He waved his fan at the chair in front of his desk, and I sat. Kuchiki sat in the one beside me. Yoruichi and Matsumoto, I assumed, settled on either side of the door again. At least, that's where they usually are stationed, the perfect spot for sneak tit attacks.

"Tea? Water?" Urahara asked.

"No thanks, sir," I said

He giggled. "Oh, Honorable Kurosaki, no need for sirs between us!"

He did this every time. Did he think I was an idiot? If I didn't "sir" him he'd roast me for lunch.

"If it's all the same, sir," I said, as I usually did, "I'll keep it. Looks better."

He snapped his fan open and tittered behind it, then let it fall into his palm. "As you wish, Honorable Kurosaki. But one day!"

One day. Riiight. I'd dye my hair before then.

He snapped the fan shut. "I have another job for you."

I sat up. "I thought I'd be on break for a few days...sir," I said.

"Oh, it's nothing...intensive," he said, making lazy motions with his fan.

I refrained from snorting. Barely.

"I just need you to act as an escort to Honorable Kuchiki here. She is going to accompany Matsumoto and Yoruichi to a certain place, where a certain exchange is going to be made."

"What sort of exchange?" I asked, suspicious. It sounded like courier work, and Urahara had a stable of guys who did his courier work.

"Oh, just a trifle, just a trifle, Honorable Kurosaki. It was why Honorable Kuchiki was sent."

I glared at Kuchiki . New territory, huh? Nameless agency? What bullshit!

"Don't look at her like that, Honorable Kurosaki," he said, head tilted carelessly back, as if he were studying the whiteness of his fan. His eyes cut to me with a shrewd look. "Honorable Kuchiki did not know either."

I looked at her again. She sat still and straight, but there was color on her cheeks. I didn't know if it was because she felt stupid, or because he'd just exposed her stupidity to me.

I looked back at Urahara. "Double fee," I said. "For the rush. And partial payment for the last job, too."

"Done," he said, snapping the fan shut and turning back to the desk.

I kept my mouth from dropping, but just barely. I usual have to haggle with him to get the fee in my contract. This was certainly weird.

"You are to meet Matsumoto and Yoruichi outside of Kelly's at eight o'clock," he said as he wrote something on a piece of paper in front of him. He picked up a wax plug and held it up to the nearby lamp; when it started to melt, he stamped the bottom of the paper, then stamped that with a little metal piece. It looked a little like the metal piece that'd been hanging from Kuchiki 's scroll. "They will take you to the exchange spot." He blew on the wax stamp, then rolled the paper into a scroll and tied it with a piece of purple and green ribbon. He pushed it across the desk. "Take this to Tessai. He will take care of your fee."

I reached for it, but Kuchiki snagged it first. She tucked it in her sleeve before I could say anything.

I made a face at her, then looked at Urahara. "Is that all, sir?"

He tapped his fan against his chin, as if it helped him to think. Then, he grinned, snapped it open, and answered me from behind its ribs. "Oh yes, Honorable Kurosaki. Dress nice."

V. Tie rack

Tessai paid us. Tessai paid us a lot. Tessai paid us more than I think I've ever been able to get out of Urahara at a time.

Scratch that. He once sold me to Yoruichi for a night. It'd paid for the coupla days I'd had to spend in bed after that.

And then we just...killed time. Went back to the office so I could stick the money in the safe, but Inoue was back at her desk, so I sent her off to the bank with it. I headed for my office to catch up on my e-mail, check the scores, and make sure my will was up to date.

Hey. Urahara never would have paid me like that if he thought he wasn't going to get it back.

Kuchiki sat in my office chair, a closed look on her face. I'd asked her, on the way back, if she was all right. She had not said anything, which was a pretty good indicator of "no." She didn't even really say anything when I gave her part of Urahara's chunk of change. Pressed her lips together until they were nearly flat, but otherwise, didn't say a damn thing.

I kinda liked that.

Inoue got back shortly after I finished up everything, so I took 'em both to lunch.

Now, if there's anyone who can get someone to open up, it's my assistant. She's just got that kind of nature, the sunny, bubbly, rainbows-and-kittens kind. She's older than me, but you'd never know from her smile. A lot of guys in buisnesses like mine have assistants with a ton of brains, or assistants whose only skill is keeping their body pretty, or assistants who are dark and sarcastic and rude to customers. (Don't ask me what that last one does--give versimilitude or some shit? I've never understood it.) Me, I got the pretty assistant with a ton of brains who is like a ray of sunshine to be around. And she didn't even blame me for what I'd done for her family.

The universe don't smile on me often. I think most of it got used up on sending me Inoue. 'Course, she's not entirely right in the head, and she has a crush on me that occasionally makes her more crazy than usual, but no one's perfect.

And she went right to work on Kuchiki .

And, as usual, it worked like a charm. One word answers became three words. Three word answers turned into full sentences. Full sentences became questions. I sat back and shoveled pasta in my mouth and enjoyed the show, up until Kuchiki asked how Inoue started working for me.

"Oh, Mr. Kurosaki sent my family to jail!" she said brightly.

I choked on my pasta. Kuchiki whacked me on the back. It probably didn't need to be as hard as it was.

"Did he now?' Kuchiki asked. She was picking up some of Inoue's sparkle, but in a way that set my teeth on edge. "How'd that happen?"

I coughed loudly, which was enough to pause Inoue so I could say, "You don't need to tell that story."

"But I'd love to hear it!" Kuchiki said.

"Come on, Mr. Kurosaki, it's not so bad!" Inoue said.

So she told it.

The whole damn thing.

By which time, lunch was done, and it was getting close to three. Five hours. My stomach was already starting to churn. Should've skipped dessert, but it kept Inoue at the table and not, say, telling that story while walking back to the office. A guy's got a rep to maintain, ya know?

"Wow. He did all that?" Kuchiki said.

"He did! And I've been working for him ever since!" she pronounced.

"Amazing," Kuchiki murmured. She looked at me over her coffee cup, and there was a damn curve to her mouth again. "What a...good...guy."

Normally I would have rolled my eyes at her, but there was something in the way she said good that stopped me. I narrowed my eyes at her. That curve to her lip became almost a small smile.

Then she looked at Inoue and said, "Do you know of a store around here where I could get a decent dress? I didn't expect to need one, but something came up."

Inoue nodded. "Sure, I know a place. How decent is decent?"

She looked at me. I grimaced. "Suit jacket and tie," I said. I hated ties. What sort of industry makes an accessory that can be used to choke you a fashionable item?

She nodded. Inoue gave me a look. "You're going, too?" she said, a little warble in her voice.

"It's a job, Inoue," I said. "Another of Urahara's."

"Oh. Right!"

"Which reminds me." I tapped the side of my coffee cup, kept my eyes on the thin layer of black within. "Can you stay over at Tatsuki's tonight?"

She made a little noise. She knew what that meant. "Yes! I mean, I think it'll be okay, unless she has plans with Renji again but, but, I'll call her! I'll call her and I'm sure..." Her voice trembled a bit, then she shook her head. "I mean, I'm sure it'll be all right."

"Good," I said, then stood. "Enjoy your shopping, ladies. I've got a few errands to run."

Kuchiki nodded. Inoue gave me a warbly eyed look. I leaned over and squeezed her shoulder. "Just in case," I said.

She sniffed softly, but repeated, "Just in case."

I was wearing a rut in the office carpet when a voice outside said, "You have some place to change, Mr. Kurosaki?"

I stuck my head out the office door. Kuchiki was standing there with a garment bag. Alone.

"Inoue go to Tatsuki's?" I asked.

"Yeah," she said. "I made sure."

That stopped me for a second, and I found myself saying, "Thanks."

She nodded.

I cleared my throat and motioned with my head to the right. "There's a little closet-thing that way. Don't step on Inoue's fairies."

"All right," she said, and I moved back into my office.

Good. That was the final piece.

I kept a spare suit in my office. It was cleaner than keeping it at home. The suit jacket was over the chair--I didn't want to put it on just yet--and all I needed to do was put on the tie. And I didn't want to do that just yet, either. Plus I could never get the damn things to tie right.

So I paced. And pondered. And paced some more.

When Kuchiki knocked on the door, I nearly jumped out of my skin. I took a second to breathe, then said, "Come in."

She did, on bare feet, her coat over her arm and a pair of shoes dangling from her fingers. She turned, and the dress caught the light.

I sucked in a breath. I blew it back out. "Where did Inoue take you?" I asked.

"Why, thinking about getting on yourself?" she asked. She held out her arms and did a quick turn, enough to make the skirt flare, show off the slits.

I blew out another breath. "I don't think I could find one that looked that good on me," I said. "Do you have any money left?"

That little curve to her mouth. "Enough," she said, dropping her shoes. "Are you going to put on a tie?"

I made a face. She made a little hmph noise. "Can't tie it, huh?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "I can," I said. "I just don't see a point to putting on one of those torture devices before I need to."

"We've got an hour," she said, stepping into her shoes. She knelt to fasten the straps, and at the flash of thigh I became very interested in my windows. They had blinds. Cream colored blinds. Did blinds come in any sort of colors other than cream? Like black. Or a nice dark green...

"Mr. Kurosaki?"

I glanced back at her to see she was standing again, feet wriggling a little in her shoes. "You know, Mr. Kurosaki's my Dad," I said. "You can just call me Ichigo."

"All right. Ichigo. How long does it take to Kelly's?" she asked.

"Fifteen minutes? Maybe a little less. I'm not gonna leave my car in that parking lot, so there'll be a little walking."

"Then we should leave soon," she said. She finished getting comfortable in her shoes--closed toe, I noted, then immediately forgot that I'd noted that--and said, "Where are your ties?"

Which is how I ended up, a coupla of minutes later, with Kuchiki on my desk, putting a tie around my neck. It was black. She said black went best with my suit.

There were slits in her dress. It had a neckline that hinted and hinted well. The shifting color of her dress sometimes matched her hair and sometimes matched her eyes.

I was running out of places to look.

I was running out of air to breath.

And it seemed to be taking her an inordinately long time to tie my stupid tie.

When she finished, she played with the length of it, straightening it here, there. "There," she murmured. "That'll do."

I looked down, realized that I could see more chest than tie, and looked back up. My ears burned. "Don't see why it has to be like that," I said. "Given what we're walking into."

"You figured that out too, huh." She stroked the fabric of the tie through her fingers. It didn't seem like she was fixing it anymore.

I gave her a look. "I'm not an idiot," I said.

She made a soft, disbelieving noise, then tugged at my tie one last time. "There," she said.

Then she took my face in both her hands, pulled my head a little closer. She smelled like temple incense. "Ichigo."

Her palms were warm on my cheeks. Sweaty, too. Nerves. "Yeah?" I said.

"Your assistant needs you alive," she said. "My boss does not need me that way."

"HEY--"

"No, listen," she said. "You have a family. You have an assistant. You have a cat. You have reasons to live. So promise me, no matter what happens, what you see...that you won't do anything stupid."

I stared at her, then said, "I won't."

"Ichigo--"

I couldn't shake her hands, so I tucked one finger under her chin and lifted it, made her look at me. "I don't give a shit about your boss," I said. "I know he pulled something on you today, and I know you think it's the end of the world, but it's not. It's not. So don't give me this crap about you not needing to be alive. And don't give me crap about what I can and cannot do!" I pinched her chin slightly, enough to make her eyes focus on me. "I only take orders from my clients, and you, Kuchiki Rukia, did not hire me.."

Her eyes widened, and slowly, her hands slid off my face.

"Urahara did," I said, stepping away from her. "He said 'escort.' And as far as I know, Kuchiki, that means I keep you alive." I turned away, moved to get my suit jacket. "So I'm gonna. All right?"

She didn't say anything. She didn't say anything for a couple of minutes. Then, softly and without an edge, "Rukia. You can call me Rukia."

"Damn straight," I said, picking up my jacket. I shrugged into it, then turned to her. "You ready?"

She slid off the desk. She took her own coat off the chair, slid into it. She turned to face me, and nodded. She looked like she was walking to her own execution, but she nodded.

"It's not gonna be that bad," I muttered to myself as I held the door for her. "Really, what could go wrong?"

VI. Rack lift

I should know better than to ask stupid rhetorical questions.

'Cause, as it turns out, everything can go wrong.

And I do mean, everything.

My place was out. So was Rukia's hotel. So we picked a nice older number--one of those hotels that used to be "the pride of the city"--and walked through the lobby together as if we owned the place.

Clerk didn't even look up from her book.

Which was good, 'cause some of the blood was hard to miss.

The elevator was a rack lift--you know, one of those older ones with a gate that you close and it goes about the speed of molasses. The gate was pretty solid, and I jammed it shut as hard as I could.

Then I turned to Rukia and said, "Show me."

She opened her coat. She reached behind her and unzipped the top bit her dress, slid the sleeves down to her elbows. She pulled the neckline down and looked up at me.

I moved to her and ran my thumb over the center of her chest. Nothing. Absolutely clean. Not a mark.

"He put his hand through your chest," I said. "I saw it!"

"I know," she said. "I felt it."

"How the hell...Rukia, what the fuck is going on?"

She raised her head. "You don't need to know," she said.

"Hell with that, of course I need to!"

She put her hand over mine, which was still touching her chest. She pulled it away. She raised it to her lips, and sucked a finger into her mouth.

My eyes bulged.

She took the rest of my finger into her mouth, then pulled it back out. She pressed her mouth against my palm. She licked the broad base of my hand. She tickled the space between my fingers with her tongue. She curled her fingers around my wrist and stroked the inner veins with a thumb.

After a moment, I said, in a voice that trembled, "This won't stop me asking questions."

"I know," she said, then lowered my hand. She grabbed my tie and pulled me down close to her, her breath warm on my ear. "But you should ask them in a place where no one is listening."

Then she licked my ear, and bit the lobe softly.

"Oh," I said. "Okay then."

And I let myself be tortured.

What? Like I was gonna go stand on the other side of the elevator. Riiight.

Figures the woman was damn good at it. By the time we got off that elevator, I was stumbling for more than one reason.

We wandered the halls for what felt like forever, searching for--something. She said she'd know which room to take. I hoped she found it soon, 'cause she kept rubbing the inside of my arm with her thumb, kept touching me at corners. Kept me on edge enough that I was tempted to ignore my questions.

But I wouldn't. I knew what I'd seen. I wouldn't.

I wouldn't.

...sometimes it's damn hard to be a good guy.

She finally found a room. I reached for my kit, but she touched the door, and it opened beneath her hand. She quickly pulled me inside, and while she did something to the door lock, I looked around to see what we'd found.

Well hot damn.

I couldn't tell from a distance if the sheets were thousand count, or if the comforter was lined, or if the pillows held lavender scent. But that was the bed of my dreams, right there. Big mattress, fluffy pillows, the works. The curtains had that “inpenetratable to light” quality. The carpet was plush beneath my feet.

Heh. Sometimes, the universe does smile.

I sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her to join me.

(6500 or so)


Because one day, I'll look back on this and go, "How the heck did THAT happen?"

This is how.

I think Berry and Loyce stuck this prompt in their introduction to reassure us that no, we didn't have to use an ACTUAL rack. Or rather, to encourage creativity on the interpretations of the prompts. Which is good, because have you read the description of what a rack actually does? Eeeegh.

But still, when I did the planning session with himawari, I kinda got stuck on this one. Most of the other prompts have a summary of some sort; this one only has a link to Wikipedia Rack. Boobies were suggested in the mod post, but I didn't want to fall back on the boobfear. I wanted to do something a little different. So I spent the first few nights looking at Wiki list. I even wrote a very short possibility that went something like this:

Rukia kicked him in the crouch.

As Ichigo slumped the ground, Mizuiro caught her eye and said very solemnly, "That, Kuchiki-san, is what we call racking."
Only that didn't fly, so much.

I also became fixated on the idea of using a pool ball rack somehow. I love to play pool, but I hate breaking--surely I could figure out a way to incorporate that? But Mari, very nicely, said that wouldn't work either. Then our conversation spiraled into torture on a pool table. Most likely by Renji. And there were gangsters!

Last night, in chat with raynos and Mari, I started spinning out that gangster idea...

Actually, first we proposed a prompt in which Ichigo became an Espada, and Aizen's first assignment for him was to go to the beach with the other Espada. Since the Aizenvan only seats nine, he had to ride on the roof rack. I was quite tempted by it.

But we circled back around to gangsters and pool tables. Only maybe, I could do a private detective. Maybe Ichigo the private detective! And hey, since I couldn't decide on which rack to use, I'd just use a bunch of them. There's quite a variety on that Wiki page. I wrote down a list of what seemed to be the most probable - hot rack (a bed), antlers (Mari had, in our first conversation, suggested Ichigo with antlers, and it stuck), pool rack, tie rack, rack lift, and RACK (Risk Aware Consensual Kink). The last one Mari had brought up again, and I had this idea involving candle wax and Rukia.

So now I had a list. I had a basic idea--Ichigo the private detective. The first person storytelling came from that, and also because I've been rereading Sunshine. I wrote a little over 1700 words last night, showed them to Mari and Pea, and called it a night.

I meant to get up today and do a bunch of writing and replying and mod stuff, but eh, didn't happen. Usually doesn't on Sundays. I started writing around, oh, 7:00 tonight, over pizza, with the first couple paragraphs of section three done. I succumbed to internal pressure and added the Boobies-Rack section while still in Dion's. Come around 8:30, my laptop battery was running low and there were a bunch of loud girls, so I shifted over to the University. Where there is, apparently, an ant infestation in the elevator, and wasn't that just a joy?

Anyhoo, I resumed writing. My Internet connection was very flaky, so I ended up restarting in there. I wrote. I wrote. I wrote some more.

About 8:45, I told Jaina, "My IchiRuki prompt has gone off the rails." It had already done so, but it continued to. Events kept slotting themselves in there, like the two of them going to lunch with Inoue.

At 10:28, I messaged Jai to say that the prompt was STILL growing. Now there were dresses! And ties! And tie tying! And a speech out of nowhere with random use of italics! She got the basics from me, and then she giggled. A lot.

It happens to all writers, they say. It happens to me a lot.

So I wrote furiously until she went to bed, and I wrote through Merry talking to me, and I finally finished up at like, 11:56, and then I had to post it to two journals. Which I scrambled to do, and managed to get everything in under deadline.

I was still at the University. I was afraid to leave! I'd lose precious writing time! So once I'd gotten everything posted, I went home, making a little list of immediate changes in my head on the way. I fed the cat, did some corrections, then wrote this.

So now you know, and more importantly, future!me knows, exactly how this happened.

And we both know that it's really all Mari and Ray's fault.

Which, ya know, is the important thing here. ;)

commentary, fandom: bleach, crack, challenge: summer sweetness, challenge: ichigo torture, series: the rack, ar

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