Genesis - 2
Well, it seems as though my stint of no internets has actually been somewhat profitable for me. XD. Here you guys go, have the 2nd chapter of Genesis. Hope you enjoy, chapter 3 is in the works, as is Ch6 of SoS and Ch6 of ADROS.
Title: Genesis
Chapter: 2
Fandom: Bleach
Characters/Pairings: IchigoxRukia mostly, though others are included.
Rating: T-M. Nothing too graphic really, but it's a darker story at times, with some more mature themes in it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. However, if I did, this is how the story would have continued had I been given control of it at about chapter 286, excepting the events from TBTP BC those -- being flashbacks -- would technically have been part of the story already. If that makes sense. XD.
Spoiler Warning: Obviously, anything up to Ch. 286, as well as the Turn Back the Pendulum flashback arc. Anything else, from Ch287 onward does not impact this story because it was initially created before any of THAT was created. TBTP is included simply BC it's back story and that's easily allowable.
Summary: Every story has a beginning, just as it has a middle and an end. Lives are lived, wars are fought, loves are found and lost. This is one such story. This is the story of a beginning, but it is also the story of a journey. The story of how one man and one woman found their way through obstacles and hardships to finally stand on the cusp of their own destinies. It is the story of three worlds, and the friction between them. It is a story of change, of hardship. A story of prejudice, loss, and heartache. But above all... it is a story of life. Life, in all it's colours and shapes.
“Dammit, I said let me the hell go!”
It was odd, in a way, how strangely nostalgic the taste of something like asphalt could be. And not only because a mental diatribe on the various particulars of tar, sand, granite, and the myriad of other things that he assumed made up the black stone-like gunk that was standard fare for city streets was anything of more than passing interest. No, he had not in fact spent hours of fun and enjoyable time as a child licking the pavement, it just stood to reason that after the number of times his face had met with that same rather unyielding surface - generally at the hand of someone else's will - one would eventually become rather well-acquainted with it's many flavours and varieties.
Tensing his neck with a growl, Ichigo shoved against the deceptively fragile-looking hand that was at this moment keeping his face in extremely close proximity to that same black surface. It garnered him little in the way of success, perhaps because the idiot soul in Rukia's gigai seemed to have the same sort of ridiculous overkill strength that Kon possessed.
Only, for this one, it was in her arms.
Snarling out another curse, he flailed one arm helplessly as the rabbit-minded bitch - God, he was never going to look at Alice in Wonderland the same fucking way again - giggled in that high-pitched laughing tone of hers and proceeded to test the reflexes in his other arm. Or rather, to test the limits of those same reflexes as she bent his shoulder in a way that he - with the amount of medical knowledge he'd gleaned from days spent helping in his father's clinic - was relatively certain that same shoulder was NOT meant to move. Biting back the yelp of pain as something popped unpleasantly, he wedged his other hand against the concrete, doing his best to offset whatever the hell she was doing with his left arm. Maybe if he could knock her off balance, then at least she'd stop treating HIS body like it was made of fucking pipe-cleaners.
Glancing back down the road, he made another effort to free himself, his mind reaching out as if it could somehow slip away from his body and run to the place where he wanted to be. Where he needed to be. The place where Rukia was, only a couple of blocks down and around the corner, just out of his eye shot but close enough that he could sense it, that he - even with the shitty way he normally sensed reiatsu - could feel the angry swirl of her icy reiatsu mingling with the dangerous other that he knew was the Arrancar. The thought of it made his blood run cold, the images swirling together into his mind in what he fervently hoped was a poorly-conceived facsimile of what was really happening.
He'd watched it, hell he'd just stood there - OK, so he'd been on the ground, with the damned Chappy thing trying to see what directions he bent in - when the freak with the zipper-like teeth had struck, the points of his nails, those same nails that had nearly been the undoing of Chad , thank whatever gods existed that he'd gotten there in time -- slamming into the flat of her blade as she drew it in hurried defense, the force of the bastard's strike sending them both skidding back in a cloud of dust as the Arrancar bore forward, pushing Rukia back. It was too close, too dangerous and too frightening for him to just sit there and watch it. He had to get up, he had to help and it didn't matter that Rukia was being so damned stubborn and insisting on taking him on by herself.
He understood what she was trying to prove, what she was trying to get him to deal with. He wasn't stupid, and beyond that it wasn't far beyond the scope of the imagination to see that what she wanted him to see was that she wasn't some helpless little thing who needed to be protected. That she could fight just as well as he could, that she wasn't a damsel in distress. She was his partner, his equal.
I get that, already, what the hell does she have to prove?!
Maybe it wasn't even about her fighting or not fighting, he sure as hell wasn't going to try and get into her head to figure out what made her tick. And not just because he didn't need to, but because that would have been a waste of his time. Hell, inside Rukia's head was probably some pink monstrosity populated entirely by various incarnations of Chappy. It was enough to make him shudder at the thought, if he hadn't been so thoroughly pinned by a rather brutish incarnation of that same rabbit - though this one was at least a little bit nicer to look at, by virtue of the fact that it was in Rukia's gigai - that it was a feat simply to breathe.
As the reiatsu from down the street flared again, it's colour and taste undeniably Rukia's - god Damn the stupid crazy rabbit, it needed to get OFF of him right now -- Ichigo gritted his teeth and reluctantly allowed his thoughts to stray momentarily away from the immediate need to get free, preferably with all of his limbs intact and functional, and back to what it had been thoughtfully turning over since before they had even gone rushing from his bedroom. That thought being the fact that he - despite how much he would have loved to deny it and pretend it was some sort of doppleganger or something - had nearly kissed Rukia the other day. The sheer thought in and of itself was enough to send chills down his spine, not because Rukia was really all that repulsive - she wasn't, not at all - but simply because it made things all the more blatantly clear to him. And those 'things' went right back to the initial problem he'd had before she'd even come up on the roof that evening in the first place.
Damn Rukia, it was still all her fault.
Only... just like before, it really wasn't. And while it would have been easy to blame it on her, it wasn't so easy to escape the fact that it had been HE who had been leaning into HER personal space with the intent to initiate something that he even denied himself that he'd ever thought of. He had, he just persisted in his denial, a denial that seemed to stubbornly stick in his mind in spite of the lingering thoughts that swirled unbidden through his subconsciousness. What if he hadn't stopped? Would he have meant it, whatever a kiss was supposed to mean when it was given to someone who you really... didn't know what they were to you? What would she have done?
Things hadn't really even been awkward at dinner that night, not anymore than they already tended to be whenever she was in the same vicinity as his family and he had to constantly be on guard lest she say or do something that would be a completely dead giveaway that the girl they had lovingly welcomed into their home wasn't necessarily what she'd claimed to be. And in the days that had followed since then, nothing had changed. Their relationship had continued on it's normal pace, the same smiles - faked, on her part - , the same yelling - again, on her part usually -, and the same scowls - those were on his part, though he had to admit she could give him a run for his money at times - as always. As though nothing had changed. And maybe he was just being paranoid, and nothing had changed.
Either way, she hadn't brought it up, hadn't seemed bothered or phased by it, and hadn't even mentioned that evening though she had asked - demanded, really. Rukia didn't ask him for things - that if she was to procure her own 'music-playing machine', that he fill it with the songs they had listened to the other night. But other then that fairly typical Rukia-esque demand that he do something for her that she could have easily done herself, she'd treated him exactly the same as she always did. And in a way... he was glad for that. Glad that there was no awkwardness, no furtive looks and embarrassed glances and especially no extra punches and kicks for what he had idiotically almost done.
It's better that way, at least. Normal...
But the most frustrating thing was that, while he should have been overjoyed - if he were ever to ascribe such a word to himself - that things were the same, that nothing had changed between them, and his actions hadn't done irreparable damage to the bond they shared... there was one nagging thought that he couldn't shake.
He wanted to know if she was still thinking about it.
That in and of itself made no sense, mostly because by all rights he should have heaved a sigh of relief and whistled a tune at the fact that she'd simply gone on with her day and her life as though it never happened. But in spite of that, he couldn't shake the curiosity, the morbid sense of wonder at what she was actually thinking about it. He could bring it up himself, of course, but that wasn't likely to be a good idea. If he brought it up and she had been thinking about it, then what? It wasn't like he was going to talk about it or any crazy shit like that. And if she hadn't been dwelling on the fact that he'd almost taken leave of his senses to press lips against hers, and he brought it up, then she'd know that he had been thinking about it. And that in and of itself would lead to one of two things. Her jumping to a stupid conclusion that would sound like it came straight out of one of those corny melodramatic romance manga she was always reading, OR her jumping to a stupid conclusion and beating him for some imagined perversion that he didn't possess. Either one sounded rather unappealing when compared to his list of options. God, things were so simple before she'd had to go and get herself almost executed.
~*~
She'd seen the look on Sado's face as the tall man ran past, seen the way his eyes were shadowed by something darker that what she was used to seeing. It was something she recognized, something she understood as the pain of being forced to step aside and know that your strength is un-needed, that your endeavor, no matter how true of heart, is being rejected. Those thoughts had only been confirmed by Ichigo's words and - even more so than his words - by the look on his face and the light in his amber eyes. He was tense, much tenser than she'd seen him before a fight, and it didn't take much thought to understand exactly what had happened.
He was afraid, but not the sort of fear that normally plagued someone in his situation. For, as afraid as she could tell that he was, there was a determination intermingling with the fear, a stubborn and angry determination that this time, no matter what happened, he would prevail. It was a dangerous determination, dangerous in it's intensity and single mindedness She'd seen it before, and beyond that she'd seen the resultant tragedy it invariably left behind. Setting her teeth against her lower lip with a slight sigh as one slim hand rummaged in the pocket of her skirt, fingers closing around the small tube with it's rounded top, she'd decided what was necessary, almost without much consideration. Pulling out the tube of Ginkongan, she'd stepped forward and ordered Ichigo back, walking right over his startled complaints. He hadn't understood, as always, and even her explanation had been met with a somewhat blank stare.
Rukia could read the startlement on his face when she swallowed the apple-green ball, closing her eyes and feeling the pulse of the reiatsu as her spiritual form stepped forward out of the gigai with a barely audible pop, the artificial body dropping to a crouch behind her as she took a deep breath, pausing for a moment to relish the feeling of freedom that always came with discarding the false shell that allowed normal humans to see her. He'd stood there in stunned silence for a moment before asking an equally obvious question that she'd nevertheless taken the time to answer. But her answers had been cut short as the white-garbed adversary made his move, darting forward in a movement reminiscent of shunpou, one arm outstretched towards her in a knife hand strike.
Bringing up her blade, she'd braced the flat of the zanpakutou against her upper arm, a fact that she'd been glad of as she felt his momentum and his power strike against the steel with deadly force, driving her back down the street, her feet skidding along the pavement with the motion. She could see his muscles tense beneath the white linen as they flew, and as he stopped, drawing back the hand for another strike, she brought her feet up to push off in a leap that sent her backwards towards the nearby telephone pole. Pivoting in midair, she felt the firm wood beneath the soles of her waraji, tensing with the impact for a split second before using her own momentum to her advantage. Pushing off, she dove in a downward strike, bringing the edge of her blade to bear against his arm.
It was interesting, if one put aside the small fact of the risk of death, to see an Arrancar up close. They in and of themselves weren't something new, the textbooks she'd studied while in academy had spoken of those of the broken mask, of their origins and of their scarcity in the world of Hueco Mundo. Shinigami lived and died for years without ever seeing or hearing of one. This one looked far more like a human than any other she had seen or heard of in any of the drawings or firsthand accounts of Arrancar in the history of Soul Society. Those creatures had been unstable, incomplete, their forms far more closely resembling their Hollow backgrounds. But now, with the aid of Aizen Sousuke and the Hougyouku, they were different. This Arrancar looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal man. Well, normal if one didn't take into account the eerie zipper-like way his teeth interlocked, or the large oblong mask fragment of white bone that sat atop his wheaten hair like some sort of unusual helmet, one side of it wrapped in pale green cloth. It was... eerie, in a way, how human he appeared, enough to send chills down her spine.
“I'm Arrancar Sixteen. Di-Roy.”
She nodded faintly at his introduction, before opening her mouth to do the same, blade still braced against his arm.
“Thirteenth division's-”
Her return of his introduction was cut off by his hand as he held it up in a dismissive gesture before zippered teeth grinned derisively at her.
“Don't bother. If I had to hear the names of everyone I kill, it would take way too long.”
As he introduced himself and then summarily dismissed her, it was a simple matter to in turn dismiss him, the familiar release phrase floating off her lips as she stepped back and held her zanpakutou in front of her, spinning the blade in it's graceful arc as the air chilled and the pristine white slid along the length of it, spraying off of the end of the pommel to form the silken ribbon that floated on the night air. Taking advantage of his surprise, she pressed foot to pavement in a quick shunpou, slipping behind him with barely a whisper, the white blade curving into a long sweep as a faint dusting of frost followed it's path through the air like shimmering curtains of glitter and the glowing blue-white circle inscribed itself onto the ground, the firmament cracking as it's temperature dropped with the ice creeping across it's surface.
His response was as predictable as she could have expected, as his black and white shoes pressed against the ice before muscles tensed and he was airborne, hovering over her with the same derisive laugh, his eyes focused on hers as zippered enamel cracked in a mockery of a smile.
“Tough luck, shinigami. My true battlefield is the sky! A sword that can freeze the ground can't hit an airborne target!”
Violet eyes met his with a look of calm contemplation, the corner of her mouth twitching upward almost smugly as the Arrancar - Di-Roy, he'd said his name was - crowed with laughter, helmeted head thrown back in triumph, the pale green wrappings of his mask fluttering in the evening air. Stepping back, she straightened up and raised her head to look at him, finely-honed senses registering the slight shift, the transference of power and the faint tingling in the back of her mind as Sode no Shirayuki's power gathered, changing before her. The ring of ice coating the ground began to glow with a faint white light that brightened with each passing second.
“What a pity, then.”
Her adversary had hardly the time to contemplate the words that dropped from Rukia's lips, or the faintly smug smile that curved those same lips as the glow intensified before abruptly shooting up into a pillar of soft light, striking the heavens as the ice itself shot up, turning light to crystalline glass and encasing his form within the smooth column of frost.
“Sode no Shirayuki doesn't merely freeze the ground.”
Rukia continued speaking, even as she watched the pillar of ice crack, felt his reiatsu fade as his body crumbled in the wake of her attack. It was only polite, after all, to finish the sentence that she had started, even if his ears were no longer capable of registering the sounds and processing them into usable speech.
“Everything within this circle, from ground to heavens... is within Sode no Shirayuki's frozen domain.”
She stepped aside as the ice crumbled with a thunderous crack, chunks of the pillar sliding against each other as they toppled, those same large pieces of frosted cold breaking up into icy dust as they fell and the circle dissipated. With a flourish of her zanpakutou, she tossed aside the last of the frosted droplets before turning and heading back towards Ichigo. He was still there, it was a simple matter for her ears - now that the battle was over and there was nothing more pressing to concern herself with - to pick up on his angry shouts, as well as Chappy's lilting tone as the ginkon kept the substitute pinned to the ground, apparently by whatever means she deemed necessary. It was hard not to snicker slightly as she caught Chappy's assertion that his 'arm will go bweak' if he didn't stop squirming. Ichigo was entirely too tense, it was the entire reason why she'd insisted that he fall back and leave this one to her. People who entered battle that tense.... died.
Stepping around the rubble that had resulted when Di-Roy drove her backwards, she stopped and frowned down at the two where they were sprawled in a heap, Chappy sitting on his back and bending his arm in what she couldn't imagine was a very comfortable position, especially given the look on his face as he flailed against the gigai, not to mention his loud yells of pain. Taking a moment to relish his discomfort - it was about time he had to sit on his ass and let someone else take care of things for a change - she smoothed the slight grin from her face and rested her free hand on her hip, Sode no Shirayuki's white length gripped in her other hand as the ribbon curled around her.
“What are you fools doing?”
If she had expected Ichigo to congratulate her - hell, to even acknowledge her strength - she was wrong. But that would have been IF she'd expected it. Which she hadn't. As such, his stunned look as he raised his head to look at her, as though surprised and shocked that not only had she come walking back the way she had, but that she was completely unharmed wasn't much of a surprise. Nor was the question that poured from his mouth as brown eyes blinked at her - as much as he could look at her with Chappy sitting on his back and holding his arm behind him - as he inquired as to what became of the Arrancar.
“Of course I beat him. Would I have come back if I hadn't?”
Rukia could feel the vein throb slightly in her forehead at his idiotic statement. Did he really think that lowly of her abilities that he was surprised that she could hold her own? Gritting her teeth against the rapidly increasing desire to plant the sole of her waraji in the center of her face and twist her ankle to grind his head further into the ground - Chappy had done a fairly decent job, she could tell - she instead turned away with a haughty look and a dismissive glare. Of course she had beaten him, the Arrancar had been ridiculously simple to overcome and his power fairly negligible, a thought that continued to stick in her mind. Based on what Hitsugaya-taichou and the others had stated, the power levels of the Arrancar should have been significantly more than that. And while she couldn't deny that she was glad for the ease with which she'd been able to win, things didn't add up.
Turning to the side, she raised her arm, gently resting the white blade of Sode no Shirayuki against her shoulder, taking a deep breath and allowing her mind to wander as Chappy explained something to him. Though she wasn't really paying attention to what the ginkon was saying, she caught enough snatches of phrase to put the pieces together. Helpfully - at least, she assumed that was the rabbit-minded soul's purpose - Chappy was detailing her zanpakutou to her substitute, as well as filling the orange-head in on facts that Rukia herself, despite what she was certain many believed, was aware of. It didn't bother her anymore, the fact that her brother had seen to it that she never be considered for an officer's ranking. The fact, when it had come to light years before, had mystified her and made little sense. For a Kuchiki, a ranking officer's position would have been only natural, something that would have brought honour to the clan and honour to her name as well. She had spent years blaming her own insufficiencies for the lack of promotion, and when she had found out, entirely by accident, that it was her adoptive brother's doing, she had simply assumed that he felt her skills too paltry, too insignificant. That she would only serve to bring embarrassment to a family that wished to avoid such things.
Her near-execution had changed that, as it had changed so many things in her life, the relationship between she and Kuchiki Byakuya to say the least. Now, knowing what she knew of her own past, as well as the past that had transpired between her brother and his wife, the woman who had been her true sister, she understood his actions. Understood that while her stoic and cold elder sibling could not truly demonstrate the care he held for her, the feelings were evident in other ways. Understood that having her removed from consideration for higher-ranking positions was simply his way of protecting her. Of ensuring that his promise to Hisana remained intact as he guarded the little sister she had abandoned years ago.
Those days in Soul Society had changed much more than the relationship between her brother and her. They had changed her, and above that, they had changed Ichigo. Closing her eyes, she reluctantly allowed her mind to go back to the expression she'd seen on his face when she'd first arrived, as well as the look in Sado's eyes as the dark-skinned man had run past. Setting her teeth against her lower lip, she sucked in a breath of contemplation. Ichigo didn't understand, didn't know how to step outside his own viewpoint and consider things from the sidelines, and it wasn't really all that surprising. He'd never been on the sidelines, he'd always been thrust into the center of everything, having to be the one to pull the weight, the one to carry the hardest of the burdens. It was one of the things that the shinigami felt she could never truly make up to him, no matter what she did or how hard she tried. His single-minded determination and obstinance were what made him strong, especially when combined with the regard and care he had for his comrades.
But right now... those things were weakening him. Weakening him while they intermingled and twisted themselves into his fear and his anger and guilt at himself over his past inability to protect those same people he held so precious. He'd failed, in his mind. Failed himself, but more importantly, failed them. And his resolve to not do so again had manifested itself in a cruelly exclusive need to do this alone. To push them aside and restrict them to the safe confines of the sidelines where he knew they'd be safe, where he could accept that they would stay safe and uninvolved. Only... that wasn't the answer to this. In doing so, he was forgetting a crucial fact.
They could fight too.
He was forgetting that they could fight too, that they had fought as well, fought just as hard as he had when their ragtag group had stormed Soul Society, her rescue the only thing in their minds as that goal pushed aside fear and hesitation and that they'd all played a part in the battles that had transpired. And while no one would have argued that perhaps his part was larger, that in the end it had come down to his strength, his willpower... neither could he have done so without their support. And that was what Kurosaki Ichigo couldn't see right now, blinded as he was by his own guilt and insecurity.
Sighing to herself as his yells of protest, directed at the gigai trying to bend him into an approximation of one of those snack foods - pretzels, she thought they were called. He'd treated her to one once - grew ever louder, she paused to whisper the mental command as the reiatsu shifted again and Sode no Shirayuki resealed itself into the familiar katana. Sliding the blade back into it's sheath, she turned to the two of them with a slight glare.
“Are you two quite done yet? I think that's enough, so you can stop now and-”
~*~
Any further chastisement from Rukia was brushed aside with the sudden and angry press of reiatsu that thickened the air with a heady and oppressive sensation. Wrenching himself away from the gigai and it's twisted sense of humour, Ichigo surged to his feet, eyes widening at the thickness and strength of the spiritual pressure that seemed to come out of nowhere. Despite it's similarity to the one they'd just faced, it was on an entirely different level, the sheer weight of it beyond anything they'd experienced before as it bore down on them. Trying to control the sudden surge of fear that always came with facing such a strong killing intent - it wasn't like he was actually afraid of it, it was just.... the way it worked - Ichigo swallowed past the lump in his throat as he felt his muscles tense in anticipation of whatever was to come, looking around for the source of the power signature.
“The hell? Di Roy got killed, huh?”
The drawling voice from above drew his attention and his head whipped around in a blur of orange to focus brown eyes on the speaker, his white-garbed form hovering high above them in the air, hands lazily stuck into the pockets of his hakama as he regarded them with the same sort of amusement as that of a predator watching his prey realize that they've been caught. The Arrancar looked human, save for the hole in the center of his abdomen and the half-jaw of a mask that remained attached to his right cheek. Sky-blue hair flowed back in an unruly manner from his forehead, spiking up in a manner that was almost similar to Ichigo's own hair, that same blue mirrored in the markings - they almost resembled Ikkaku's - on either side of dark blue eyes. But what was chilling, more so than his human appearance, was the sheer killing intent that the man radiated, the malevolent reiatsu seeping from him in oppressive waves that the substitute shinigami didn't have any trouble recognizing.
Laughing, the bone mandible moving with his jaw in an eerie mimicry of the Hollow he'd once been, the Arrancar threw back his head with a triumphant bark of laughter before fixing the two shinigami with a wide grin as he introduced himself.
“Guess I'll just have to kill you both, then. I'm Arrancar 6. Grimmjow.”
~*~
The seconds ticked by like an eternity as the blood thundered in Rukia's ears, the overwhelming force of this arrancar's reiatsu crushing down on them like a wall of invisible force. It was impossible to look away, inconceivable to glance over at Ichigo - though she somehow managed it - to see the same strain in his eyes that she was certain was mirrored in her own, the strain of simply standing and breathing normally amidst power such as this. A single bead of sweat rolled down the back of her neck as she fought back the instinctive fear that came when facing something such as he, quelling the unbidden trembling in her limbs as his malevolent blue gaze studied them with a detached sort of amusement. Rukia could feel her eyes widen as the Arrancar - Grimmjow, that was what he'd said his name was - lowered himself to the sidewalk, the pulse of reiatsu as his booted feet touched the ground enough to send a shock wave rippling outward with force to ruffle Ichigo's hair and make her own black locks shift as if in a silent breeze. Gulping back the rising lump in her throat, she mentally calculated the sheer difference in power between the Arrancar she had just defeated and this monstrosity that was now stepping carefully towards them, his footsteps light and measured as a stalking cat.
“Which one?”
It took a moment to comprehend his words, to force her mind past it's struggling coping with the sheer force of his reiatsu for the measured sounds and vocal tones to sort themselves out within her mind into some sort of sensible response. Blinking in a complete lack of comprehension, she couldn't tear her eyes away from his approaching figure as his own blue orbs flitted from herself to Ichigo, measuring and considering. He was sizing them up - probably trying to determine who the greater threat was, the rational portion of her mind helpfully supplied - as he approached, but there was no hint of fear or trepidation in his movements. Only the barely-leashed movements of a predator on the hunt. As he repeated his question, those same blue eyes widened in undisguised glee and anticipation, and the look within them chilled her to the bone.
“I'm asking, which one of you is the strongest?”
Almost unbidden, she understood, she knew what the results of this would be. Jerking herself out of the near-stupor his reiatsu had induced, Rukia half-spun, calling out to Ichigo, bidding him to run, to get as far from this place as he could. This was an enemy that neither of them were prepared for, but if one of them had to die... well, she was damned determined it wouldn't be him. Sacrifice wasn't necessarily something she tended to do well, but that didn't mean she was prepared to see the young man that she'd dragged into this world - this oft-nightmarish world of death and fighting - die because of her inability to fight off the monster stalking them at this moment.
“Damn it! Ichigo, run away!”
He wouldn't understand, of course. Wouldn't realize the sheer difference in power between the two of them, the gap that figuratively spanned worlds. Not Ichigo. No, he would do what he always did, rush in and get himself hurt, only this time it wouldn't end there. Wouldn't end with him limping away - as if he ever did so voluntarily - to lick his bleeding wounds and return for another round once those had healed. This time... he would die. He would die, and that would be the end of everything for him, the end of his life, his future... his dreams. He wouldn't understand. But she did.
Catching the fleeting motion out of the corner of her eye, indigo-hued eyes shifted back towards the Arrancar in time to see the sharp thrust of his arm as it came towards her. Those same eyes widened as she glanced down, almost in slow-motion, to see his hand buried in her abdomen, the crimson of her own blood beginning to seep out of the wound, darkening the material of her shihakushou. The pain hit a moment later, as her nerves began to register the wound, to realize the implications of a hard and unyielding object being punched through you in one fell swoop. She tasted the sharp, coppery tang in the back of her mouth - her own blood, some still-functioning part of her rationale supplied - as the crushing pain ripped through her chest, torn lungs and diaphragm struggling to still function as her vision blurred, the entire world slipping into a surreal half-world, motions slow and deliberate as she watched his triumphant face twist into a smug grin.
“Heh... I figured it wasn't you.”
She tried to turn her head, to cast fading gaze at her companion, to call his name and tell him to run, to flee and get away from this menace, from this thing that they'd encountered, this thing that he couldn't hope to defeat, that would surely be the end of him, but all that emerged from between bloodied lips was a faint cough as her vocal cords failed her and bright crimson bubbled at the corners of her lips before trickling down her chin in a thin line of vermilion. The pain intensified as Grimmjow pulled his arm back, raising it - and her, by virtue - to swing it aside, his fist wrenching itself from her innards with a sickening sucking sound as he sent her body crashing to the pavement a few feet away.
Her name was the last thing she heard before her hearing faded entirely, Ichigo's horrified face fading too as her vision shadowed itself with blackness, his name still on her lips, though it was only in her mind that the word ever made itself known.
Ichi.....go....
It all happened so fast, too fast, the Arrancar was there and Rukia was yelling and then suddenly, she was suspended, held up by the blue-haired man's fist that was buried in the center of her bloodied torso, that same crimson oozing out of the corner of her mouth as she coughed weakly and attempted to draw breath. Ichigo's senses heightened, and he could hear everything, see everything and before he even really knew what was happening, he was running, his feet pressing against the pavement in shunpou as he screamed her name and charged, one hand ripping Zangetsu free of it's wrappings and bringing it to bear against the one who'd attacked her.
The cool pavement against her skin was a faint memory, a shadowy feeling that almost seemed otherworldly in it's fragile countenance. As though the feeling itself were merely a facade, a thin veneer spreading over the reality that her world had become, and somehow she was the feeling, looking on from afar as someone else's skin pressed against the cold stone, as someone else's blood pumped a steady deep crimson flow onto the sidewalk. Her body was heavy, so very heavy that moving it - beyond the fact that she didn't think she could - just seemed like too much trouble to worry about, too much to think on. But in turn, that left her mind strangely free to wander as it would. Ironic, that this would be what dying should feel like, this strange expansion of self and self-awareness. It was... pleasant, almost. Well, as pleasant as the fact of death could ever really be, when one considered what the experience itself meant.
She could hear Ichigo, hear him faintly, as though listening through a tunnel, the faint echoing chords of voice rebounding and buffeting off of the strange walls of the velvety blackness that had shrouded her vision. It was unmistakably Ichigo, she'd memorized his voice in the time they'd spent together, as she'd memorized so many other things. His hair... his eyes... his smile, rare though it was. The orange-haired boy had become a part of her, a part so intrinsic and important that no longer could she truly consider her life as only 'hers' and had been long-since forced to concede that at least a large portion of it belonged to him. Only... he would never know that. Never know how deeply he'd touched her, how much of an impact his simple - and significant, though it never should have been so - life had granted to her long years of duty and obedience. He had changed her, changed her in ways that she'd not thought possible.
It was like the siphoning of colour into an existence of black and white. Rigid, defined, held in place by rules and restrictions and duty. That was the world that she'd lived in, the world that she'd served and belonged to. But then, her world had collided with his, and he'd shown her another world. A world full of colour and life and feelings.... and love. Love that she'd been startled to realize she carried, horrified to realize she couldn't abandon, and determined that she would keep to herself until the day that the two of them went their separate ways.
It..... would have..... been too.... hard......Ichigo.....
And yet, in spite of the easy rationale that her waning subconscious provided, the question still remained. The question of that sunset evening so few nights ago, that precious moment where, for just an instant, she'd been able to let go. Able to let go, and simply allow all that was her to wash away with the dreams and the wistful yearnings and reach out to grasp a moment like a dream, a momentary glimpse of what life could have been like, what she was certain it would have been like, had they been born together. Had their paths met in a different time, a different age, when they could have simply been a man and a woman, when they could have perhaps one day made a life together, a life together that was simply that. A life. Not the strange partnership of opposites they shared now, not two worlds colliding amidst a shower of sparks and blood and hardship.
She knew he thought about it. That that evening, when he'd nearly lost himself, when she'd felt him almost lean in, almost close that fragile distance between them and make known what she'd known for what seemed like an eternity, but only recently realize was shared by the orange-haired teen, still swirled about within his mind, still taunted him with it's fleeting nature and it's myriad of what-ifs. What if he really had kissed her? What if he'd followed it up with vows of love - not that vows of love seemed Ichigo's style at all - and a promise to follow her to eternity? What if she'd allowed herself to let go, allowed herself that one moment of bliss, knowing that in turn she would be forced to shatter his dreams with her refusal?
What if.... they'd given it a chance?
It was a silly notion, silly because the shinigami within her, the part of her that understood the way things were and understood the way things had to be knew that it was impossible. Impossible, forbidden, unprecedented. It mattered little which word she chose, they all came down to the same conclusion. That no matter the dreams, they were simply that. Dreams. Fantasies that could do little but remain as such, gauzy wisps of hope floating on the wind that were never meant to be. But while the shinigami in her understood that, recognized it, even agreed with it... the woman in her couldn't let it go. Couldn't reconcile the necessity with the want.
Would it have really been so wrong..... so bad.... for just one moment....?
~*~
Chappy was watching over Rukia, that much he knew, and for the moment he was thankful for it, at least as much as he could be thankful for anything right now. Pushing himself up with Tensa Zangetsu, Ichigo stood shakily, teeth gritted as he pushed back the taunting voice echoing through his mind, that devilish laughter that reverberated through his soul. He could feel it, feel the black beginning to creep across his vision as surely as he could feel every punch and kick that Grimmjow had landed on his body. The Arrancar was strong, monstrously so, and perhaps the only good that had come of that was that a frantic protection of his own self - and thereby those he was protecting - easily took first and foremost position in his mind, relentlessly pushing aside his own self-doubt and guilt with the sheer ferocity of his need to survive, but beyond that, to win and in doing so, keep safe those close to him.
So far, he'd been doing a pretty shitty job of that, being tossed around like a damned rag doll by the white-clad demon with the laughing blue eyes while the damned gigai protected Rukia and he didn't even know what was going on with the rest of his friends. Hell, if the Arrancar they were facing were anything like this one.... No, he didn't have time to think about that, it was time to actually think, to consider his options and try to find a way to win this and win it fast, before the Hollow rose up and dragged him down with it's icy fingertips and he drowned in the blackness of his own soul again.
I can do it... I can fire off about 2 or 3 more of those before he takes over.. I just have to defeat him with those....
Pulling a hand from it's position over his eye - as though, by covering the encroaching blackness, he could somehow hold back the devil, keep it from reaching out and gaining ground - he steadied himself, glaring up at the white-clad form of the Arrancar Ridiculous concept, of course, the Hollow was in his soul, not his eye, but reflex actions hardly tended to carry rationale within them, after all, and then again he wasn't exactly trying to advertise that he was having some sort of difficulty. That was all he needed, to show more weakness in front of this foe, this foe who was proving to be more dangerous than any he'd ever encountered before, Aizen aside. Even in his fights with Kenpachi, or Byakuya, there hadn't been such an immeasurable difference in their strength, such a gap between them. This fight... was different.
Tensing for another strike, feeling the reiatsu gather and intensify, he pulled up short as a dark figure appeared in a blur of movement, one hand resting lightly yet firmly on Grimmjow's shoulder. The Arrancar seemed just as surprised at the appearance of the visored man with the dark hair, ebony skin in stark contrast to the white uniform he wore. It took a moment - and the angry way Grimmjow spat the man's name - for recognition to sink in as the memory of where he'd last seen that man made itself known to him. Tousen. One of the captains who had deserted Soul Society along with Aizen. He'd last seen Tousen there, looking up from the ground where he lay as the three traitors were encased in the yellow glow of the Negacion field as the gathered Menos rescued those they considered their own. Even now, he couldn't help but wonder if they'd been acting on their own, or simply taking orders from their higher-ranked Arrancar brethren.
Ichigo's ears couldn't pick up on the short and abrupt conversation that passed between the two, though it was impossible to miss the anger that spread across the arrancar's face or the infuriated way he slammed the blade of his sword back into it's scabbard with a curse before turning to follow Tousen back into the strange gaping hole that had appeared in the sky like a rent in the fabric of reality itself. Stepping forward, he called after Grimmjow angrily.
“Wait! Where the hell are you going?!”
Taking a moment, the Arrancar paused, shoving hand back into his pockets in an almost bored gesture before turning to glance over his shoulder with a disgusted, dismissive expression as he stared down at the shinigami.
“Shut your ass up. We're going back to Hueco Mundo.”
Eyes widening with something comprised both of surprise and rage, Ichigo growled up at them. Going back? The hell did that mean, they were just planning to show up, attack, and then leave whenever the hell it suited them? Clenching one hand around the hilt of Tensa Zangetsu, he could feel the anger well up, the Hollow greedily feeding on his rage, laughing in his mind as it taunted him with his own weakness, his own impotence at needing to use it's power because his own was so minuscule by comparison. He had to be kidding, Grimmjow did. They weren't done yet, the fight wasn't over, a fact that he snarled back at the blue-haired man dismissing him so easily, only to be met with a scoff and a glare as Grimmjow ignored him and continued talking.
“Gimme a break. My leaving is the only thing that could have saved you, shinigami.”
Pulling back in startled incomprehension, Ichigo narrowed his eyes at the other man as Grimmjow half-turned to face him again, an irritated look on his face as he continued.
“I can tell just by looking at you that that move you just pulled damages your body. You've got 2, maybe 3 more shots in you. And even if you could manage to fire those off without limits... you'd never have a chance against my released form.”
The last words were spoken with a triumphant grin as he watched Ichigo's angry expression turn to one of shocked horror. Laughing, the Arrancar hooked one thumb through the belt of his hakama.
“Don't go forgettin' my name, Shinigami. Just pray you never hear it again! Grimmjow Jaggerjack. The next time you hear this name, it'll be your last, Shinigami.”
With another bark of derisive laughter, he turned on his heel and vanished through the rip in the sky, the edges closing seamlessly without a sound. Ichigo stood in the center of the cracked crater that had once been the street, amber eyes trained on the sky where they had vanished for another moment or two before his body made it's protests known, his legs buckling as he landed hard on his knees on the blasted pavement, Tensa Zangetsu dropping from his hand to clatter against the broken stone as he fell forward onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath, weighted down by his own failure.
I.... I lost.....
He remained there for a moment, eyes trained on the ground, on his cracked and bloodied fingers where they pressed against the hard unyielding surface of the stone, small droplets of blood from the cuts on his face occasionally falling to leave fat circles of crimson on his skin only to slide down and join the ones already marking the pavement. He'd lost... in spite of how hard he'd trained, in spite of all that he'd accomplished in Soul Society... he'd lost. And had the Arrancar not retreated, there was little doubt that he'd not only have lost, but he'd have died. Gritting his teeth and pushing himself up to his feet, he vaguely registered Renji's approach as the crimson-haired shinigami stopped at the edge of the crater, his expression hard and serious as he studied Ichigo, stating the obvious - that the Arrancar had retreated - before pressing lips together and asking the one question that, right now, Ichigo most wanted to avoid.
“Did you win?”
He hated Renji at that moment, not because of anything the other shinigami had done, but simply because Renji's innocent question only brought to the forefront the self-loathing that was creeping into his mind right now. Shifting on his feet, staggering for a moment before he re-firmed his stance, Ichigo leaned his head back, training darkened eyes on the sky overhead for a long few seconds before shaking his head slightly.
“I lost.”
The words bit at him, soured on his tongue like milk left out in the summer, but bitter as they were to swallow, they were true, and swallowing them was a necessity. He had lost, in spite of Renji's attempt to change his mind, to snap some sense into him and remind him that the fact that he was alive meant that he hadn't lost, that he'd won, and perhaps in another circumstance he might have understood it, recognized what the redhead was trying to do, and might even have appreciated it ultimately. But right now... all he could do was cut the tattooed man off with a snarled reply.
“Don't lie to me. Would you say that if you were me?”
He sensed that his words had struck home, that they'd found their mark and lodged deep within the other shinigami as Renji's expression changed to a more serious one, graver and more thoughtful as the elder man contemplated Ichigo's words, unable to deny their truth. Renji would have considered it a loss, just as he himself considered it one. Living or dying... it only mattered when your opponent didn't up and leave because he considered you not worth killing. Gritting his teeth, Ichigo felt his fists clench as he continued, his words bitter and harsh in the stillness of the aftermath.
“I couldn't protect anyone. And I couldn't defeat those who wounded us. I lost.”
Staring upwards, he felt his mouth form the word, his tongue slide over the syllables making up the arrancar's name. He'd remember that name. He'd remember it every day, every second he lived. Remember it, follow it, train for it. Because he'd make the other man's last words true. The next time he heard that name... it would be the last time. He'd make sure of it.
It'll be the last time... because you won't walk away from it....
“..Grimmjow....”
~*~
Screwing the white cap off of the bottle, one long-fingered hand curled itself around the white cylinder, resting against the hilt of the sword at his hip as his other hand raised the clear plastic bottle to his pursed lips, olive green eyes closing as the cool liquid washed down his throat before he crouched down, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the toes of his wingtip shoes were resting on thin air. Or that he was upside-down in that same thin air.
“Yare, yare.... that was one big pain in the ass....”
Heaving a sigh, the man lowered the bottle, setting it down against the air itself in as eerie a fashion as his own body rested against the heavens, settling his elbows lightly against his knees in a contemplative manner. This was going to prove more difficult than he'd anticipated, not that that fact really surprised him, given the history he had with all parties involved. Well, at least with those from Soul Society. The boy.... well, he was an anomaly, a rather helpful anomaly, but an anomaly nonetheless. They could use him, that much was certain, and Shinji was nearly as certain that the orange-haired young man would make it a difficult matter for the rest of them, as obstinate as the youth seemed to be. Oh well, that was of little concern. Whether Kurosaki Ichigo wanted it or not, he would one day join them. It was the only choice left to the boy, when it came down to it, unless he wanted to turn into a Hollow.
It was the shinigami who had appeared that were the real concern. He'd been watching the fights, all of them - seeing little Ururu get involved had been upsetting. She was a sweet kid, he'd have to pay a visit to Kisuke to see how she was faring later - and while none of the shinigami involved had been any that he recognized from his years spent in Soul Society, it wouldn't do to become sloppy. Sloppy would only get all of them killed, and that was precisely what he didn't want to see happen.
This shit's just gettin' more complicated.
Adjusting the hat on his blond head, Hirako Shinji stood up, reaching for the cap to his water bottle where it had managed to wander off somehow -- why on earth couldn't things just stay where he set them? -- and screwing the white cap back onto the bottle before dropping one hand lightly to the hilt of his zanpakutou. It had been a long time since either of them had seen a real fight, and while he knew perfectly well that a fight wasn't what either of them needed right now, he could still sense her eagerness all but vibrating the blade. Sighing he glanced down at the fuchsia-wrapped hilt.
"Che.... quit bein' so damn impatient. You'll get one soon enough."
Tossing the bottle aside, he paid it no heed as the plastic vessel tumbled end over end through the air, released from his control to land with a thunk in one of the refuse bins on the street below, he shoved hands into his pockets and headed off along the sky. They'd need to make a decision soon, and the others would be pissed if he made it without talking to them first.
~*~
Bathed in the soft yellow glow of Inoue's power, he watched with worried eyes as the faint glow suffused the small black-garbed form in golden-orange light, the edges of the horrible wound she'd acquired at Grimmjow's hand beginning to close. His own wounds stung, but that faint pain was easily shoved aside while he watched the walnut-haired girl heal Rukia's wound instead. She'd tried to heal him, or at least to get him to let someone else -- Rangiku, Toushirou, anyone -- see to the deep rents and contusions left by the blue-haired arrancar's beating, but he'd shoved them off and planted himself beside his small companion, amber-hued eyes locked relentlessly on the slow, halting rise and fall of her chest, as though somehow if he kept his gaze fixed, he could ensure that movement's continuance.
He couldn't move, could barely breathe as he watched that slow, even motion, fearful at each slight falter that it would cease, that Inoue's power would fail and the faint breathing sustaining the black-haired shinigami would end and that would be it. She'd be dead, and gone and it would be his fault, his fault, because that's what it was, even if no one else blamed him and even if they spent the rest of their lives trying to convince him otherwise. It was his fault, as Inoue's injury and Sado's arm had been his fault. Because he was weak. Because he'd failed them.
Swallowing past the dryness in his mouth and the lump in his throat, he fought back the fear, fought back the dread that he hadn't felt in longer than he could remember. It was like before, like it had been so many years ago, when he'd sat there as a little boy and watched his mother take her final breaths on that blood-soaked shore, the pouring rain washing the crimson splatters from the brilliant yellow of his raincoat as he'd stared in stunned horror at her body, his childish mind not understanding, only knowing that she'd been running because of him and that now she was dead. Dead because of him, as Rukia nearly was. Biting his lower lip, he raised his hand slightly, almost automatically reaching to take her small, cold fingers into his before he crushed the gesture, curling his fingers into an angry and trembling fist. No. He couldn't be weak anymore.
Slowly pulling back his shaking fist, he never noticed the look that Orihime cast at him, the concern in her gray eyes momentarily shadowed by something else as she saw the almost-movement of his hand, studied the look on his face for a long few seconds before turning her attention back to Rukia, tilting her head and letting long hair fall to shield her face from view, or the way her hands trembled momentarily before she regained her resolve and set her lips in a hard line, concentration returning to the task at hand.
Author's Notes: Wow.... I never realized until I spent WEEKS doing this chapter, just how hard it is to re-write something that's already been written. The bulk of this chapter is basically a rehash of canon itself, with my own interpretations of thoughts, feelings, motivations, etc. thrown in to deepen the story and tie pieces together. Now, I have never stated that I am that good at action sequences. Frankly, I always feel that I'm either too rough -- IE, everyone loses limbs/eyes/etc left and right -- or that I'm too fast, interspersing too much thought and not enough action into it. This was difficult simply because I have v. little in the way of wiggle-room when it comes to the fight scenes. We KNOW what happens in this fight, it's been written a long time ago, and it's been animated as well, so there's not as much to shift around to suit me, and that's something I'm not v. good with. I DO feel I did a satisfactory job in capturing the atmosphere of both fights while still putting enough of myself in there to tie in with the previous chapter and set the emotional/mental mood of the thing. For anyone who's not following, Ru's thoughts about Ichigo were occurring while his fight was going on, in her subconscious. And yes, unlike our berry, who hasn't totally realized where his feelings lie, Ru knows exactly how she feels about him and because she knows, she's made a decision to keep it to herself. And now, at what she assumes is the end, her only real regret is that she can't help wondering if it wouldn't have been worth it to take the chance. I know that in canon, as far as we know, Shinji isn't anywhere near here, but personally I don't think it makes much sense for them NOT to be keeping tabs on things, and while the rest of the Vaizard would be interested as well, having multiple people there would have just drawn attention they don't need. Anyone who doesn't know why Shinji knows Ururu needs to go read or watch the TBTP flashback gaiden arc. XD. And yes, Orihime notices the way he's watching Ru, and she's got an idea of what it means, even though he himself really doesn't. Either way, hope you're enjoying Genesis, and that this chapter lives up to any expectations you may have after reading the first one. ^__^
-Taso
Title: Genesis
Chapter: 2
Fandom: Bleach
Characters/Pairings: IchigoxRukia mostly, though others are included.
Rating: T-M. Nothing too graphic really, but it's a darker story at times, with some more mature themes in it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach. However, if I did, this is how the story would have continued had I been given control of it at about chapter 286, excepting the events from TBTP BC those -- being flashbacks -- would technically have been part of the story already. If that makes sense. XD.
Spoiler Warning: Obviously, anything up to Ch. 286, as well as the Turn Back the Pendulum flashback arc. Anything else, from Ch287 onward does not impact this story because it was initially created before any of THAT was created. TBTP is included simply BC it's back story and that's easily allowable.
Summary: Every story has a beginning, just as it has a middle and an end. Lives are lived, wars are fought, loves are found and lost. This is one such story. This is the story of a beginning, but it is also the story of a journey. The story of how one man and one woman found their way through obstacles and hardships to finally stand on the cusp of their own destinies. It is the story of three worlds, and the friction between them. It is a story of change, of hardship. A story of prejudice, loss, and heartache. But above all... it is a story of life. Life, in all it's colours and shapes.
“Dammit, I said let me the hell go!”
It was odd, in a way, how strangely nostalgic the taste of something like asphalt could be. And not only because a mental diatribe on the various particulars of tar, sand, granite, and the myriad of other things that he assumed made up the black stone-like gunk that was standard fare for city streets was anything of more than passing interest. No, he had not in fact spent hours of fun and enjoyable time as a child licking the pavement, it just stood to reason that after the number of times his face had met with that same rather unyielding surface - generally at the hand of someone else's will - one would eventually become rather well-acquainted with it's many flavours and varieties.
Tensing his neck with a growl, Ichigo shoved against the deceptively fragile-looking hand that was at this moment keeping his face in extremely close proximity to that same black surface. It garnered him little in the way of success, perhaps because the idiot soul in Rukia's gigai seemed to have the same sort of ridiculous overkill strength that Kon possessed.
Only, for this one, it was in her arms.
Snarling out another curse, he flailed one arm helplessly as the rabbit-minded bitch - God, he was never going to look at Alice in Wonderland the same fucking way again - giggled in that high-pitched laughing tone of hers and proceeded to test the reflexes in his other arm. Or rather, to test the limits of those same reflexes as she bent his shoulder in a way that he - with the amount of medical knowledge he'd gleaned from days spent helping in his father's clinic - was relatively certain that same shoulder was NOT meant to move. Biting back the yelp of pain as something popped unpleasantly, he wedged his other hand against the concrete, doing his best to offset whatever the hell she was doing with his left arm. Maybe if he could knock her off balance, then at least she'd stop treating HIS body like it was made of fucking pipe-cleaners.
Glancing back down the road, he made another effort to free himself, his mind reaching out as if it could somehow slip away from his body and run to the place where he wanted to be. Where he needed to be. The place where Rukia was, only a couple of blocks down and around the corner, just out of his eye shot but close enough that he could sense it, that he - even with the shitty way he normally sensed reiatsu - could feel the angry swirl of her icy reiatsu mingling with the dangerous other that he knew was the Arrancar. The thought of it made his blood run cold, the images swirling together into his mind in what he fervently hoped was a poorly-conceived facsimile of what was really happening.
He'd watched it, hell he'd just stood there - OK, so he'd been on the ground, with the damned Chappy thing trying to see what directions he bent in - when the freak with the zipper-like teeth had struck, the points of his nails, those same nails that had nearly been the undoing of Chad , thank whatever gods existed that he'd gotten there in time -- slamming into the flat of her blade as she drew it in hurried defense, the force of the bastard's strike sending them both skidding back in a cloud of dust as the Arrancar bore forward, pushing Rukia back. It was too close, too dangerous and too frightening for him to just sit there and watch it. He had to get up, he had to help and it didn't matter that Rukia was being so damned stubborn and insisting on taking him on by herself.
He understood what she was trying to prove, what she was trying to get him to deal with. He wasn't stupid, and beyond that it wasn't far beyond the scope of the imagination to see that what she wanted him to see was that she wasn't some helpless little thing who needed to be protected. That she could fight just as well as he could, that she wasn't a damsel in distress. She was his partner, his equal.
I get that, already, what the hell does she have to prove?!
Maybe it wasn't even about her fighting or not fighting, he sure as hell wasn't going to try and get into her head to figure out what made her tick. And not just because he didn't need to, but because that would have been a waste of his time. Hell, inside Rukia's head was probably some pink monstrosity populated entirely by various incarnations of Chappy. It was enough to make him shudder at the thought, if he hadn't been so thoroughly pinned by a rather brutish incarnation of that same rabbit - though this one was at least a little bit nicer to look at, by virtue of the fact that it was in Rukia's gigai - that it was a feat simply to breathe.
As the reiatsu from down the street flared again, it's colour and taste undeniably Rukia's - god Damn the stupid crazy rabbit, it needed to get OFF of him right now -- Ichigo gritted his teeth and reluctantly allowed his thoughts to stray momentarily away from the immediate need to get free, preferably with all of his limbs intact and functional, and back to what it had been thoughtfully turning over since before they had even gone rushing from his bedroom. That thought being the fact that he - despite how much he would have loved to deny it and pretend it was some sort of doppleganger or something - had nearly kissed Rukia the other day. The sheer thought in and of itself was enough to send chills down his spine, not because Rukia was really all that repulsive - she wasn't, not at all - but simply because it made things all the more blatantly clear to him. And those 'things' went right back to the initial problem he'd had before she'd even come up on the roof that evening in the first place.
Damn Rukia, it was still all her fault.
Only... just like before, it really wasn't. And while it would have been easy to blame it on her, it wasn't so easy to escape the fact that it had been HE who had been leaning into HER personal space with the intent to initiate something that he even denied himself that he'd ever thought of. He had, he just persisted in his denial, a denial that seemed to stubbornly stick in his mind in spite of the lingering thoughts that swirled unbidden through his subconsciousness. What if he hadn't stopped? Would he have meant it, whatever a kiss was supposed to mean when it was given to someone who you really... didn't know what they were to you? What would she have done?
Things hadn't really even been awkward at dinner that night, not anymore than they already tended to be whenever she was in the same vicinity as his family and he had to constantly be on guard lest she say or do something that would be a completely dead giveaway that the girl they had lovingly welcomed into their home wasn't necessarily what she'd claimed to be. And in the days that had followed since then, nothing had changed. Their relationship had continued on it's normal pace, the same smiles - faked, on her part - , the same yelling - again, on her part usually -, and the same scowls - those were on his part, though he had to admit she could give him a run for his money at times - as always. As though nothing had changed. And maybe he was just being paranoid, and nothing had changed.
Either way, she hadn't brought it up, hadn't seemed bothered or phased by it, and hadn't even mentioned that evening though she had asked - demanded, really. Rukia didn't ask him for things - that if she was to procure her own 'music-playing machine', that he fill it with the songs they had listened to the other night. But other then that fairly typical Rukia-esque demand that he do something for her that she could have easily done herself, she'd treated him exactly the same as she always did. And in a way... he was glad for that. Glad that there was no awkwardness, no furtive looks and embarrassed glances and especially no extra punches and kicks for what he had idiotically almost done.
It's better that way, at least. Normal...
But the most frustrating thing was that, while he should have been overjoyed - if he were ever to ascribe such a word to himself - that things were the same, that nothing had changed between them, and his actions hadn't done irreparable damage to the bond they shared... there was one nagging thought that he couldn't shake.
He wanted to know if she was still thinking about it.
That in and of itself made no sense, mostly because by all rights he should have heaved a sigh of relief and whistled a tune at the fact that she'd simply gone on with her day and her life as though it never happened. But in spite of that, he couldn't shake the curiosity, the morbid sense of wonder at what she was actually thinking about it. He could bring it up himself, of course, but that wasn't likely to be a good idea. If he brought it up and she had been thinking about it, then what? It wasn't like he was going to talk about it or any crazy shit like that. And if she hadn't been dwelling on the fact that he'd almost taken leave of his senses to press lips against hers, and he brought it up, then she'd know that he had been thinking about it. And that in and of itself would lead to one of two things. Her jumping to a stupid conclusion that would sound like it came straight out of one of those corny melodramatic romance manga she was always reading, OR her jumping to a stupid conclusion and beating him for some imagined perversion that he didn't possess. Either one sounded rather unappealing when compared to his list of options. God, things were so simple before she'd had to go and get herself almost executed.
~*~
She'd seen the look on Sado's face as the tall man ran past, seen the way his eyes were shadowed by something darker that what she was used to seeing. It was something she recognized, something she understood as the pain of being forced to step aside and know that your strength is un-needed, that your endeavor, no matter how true of heart, is being rejected. Those thoughts had only been confirmed by Ichigo's words and - even more so than his words - by the look on his face and the light in his amber eyes. He was tense, much tenser than she'd seen him before a fight, and it didn't take much thought to understand exactly what had happened.
He was afraid, but not the sort of fear that normally plagued someone in his situation. For, as afraid as she could tell that he was, there was a determination intermingling with the fear, a stubborn and angry determination that this time, no matter what happened, he would prevail. It was a dangerous determination, dangerous in it's intensity and single mindedness She'd seen it before, and beyond that she'd seen the resultant tragedy it invariably left behind. Setting her teeth against her lower lip with a slight sigh as one slim hand rummaged in the pocket of her skirt, fingers closing around the small tube with it's rounded top, she'd decided what was necessary, almost without much consideration. Pulling out the tube of Ginkongan, she'd stepped forward and ordered Ichigo back, walking right over his startled complaints. He hadn't understood, as always, and even her explanation had been met with a somewhat blank stare.
Rukia could read the startlement on his face when she swallowed the apple-green ball, closing her eyes and feeling the pulse of the reiatsu as her spiritual form stepped forward out of the gigai with a barely audible pop, the artificial body dropping to a crouch behind her as she took a deep breath, pausing for a moment to relish the feeling of freedom that always came with discarding the false shell that allowed normal humans to see her. He'd stood there in stunned silence for a moment before asking an equally obvious question that she'd nevertheless taken the time to answer. But her answers had been cut short as the white-garbed adversary made his move, darting forward in a movement reminiscent of shunpou, one arm outstretched towards her in a knife hand strike.
Bringing up her blade, she'd braced the flat of the zanpakutou against her upper arm, a fact that she'd been glad of as she felt his momentum and his power strike against the steel with deadly force, driving her back down the street, her feet skidding along the pavement with the motion. She could see his muscles tense beneath the white linen as they flew, and as he stopped, drawing back the hand for another strike, she brought her feet up to push off in a leap that sent her backwards towards the nearby telephone pole. Pivoting in midair, she felt the firm wood beneath the soles of her waraji, tensing with the impact for a split second before using her own momentum to her advantage. Pushing off, she dove in a downward strike, bringing the edge of her blade to bear against his arm.
It was interesting, if one put aside the small fact of the risk of death, to see an Arrancar up close. They in and of themselves weren't something new, the textbooks she'd studied while in academy had spoken of those of the broken mask, of their origins and of their scarcity in the world of Hueco Mundo. Shinigami lived and died for years without ever seeing or hearing of one. This one looked far more like a human than any other she had seen or heard of in any of the drawings or firsthand accounts of Arrancar in the history of Soul Society. Those creatures had been unstable, incomplete, their forms far more closely resembling their Hollow backgrounds. But now, with the aid of Aizen Sousuke and the Hougyouku, they were different. This Arrancar looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal man. Well, normal if one didn't take into account the eerie zipper-like way his teeth interlocked, or the large oblong mask fragment of white bone that sat atop his wheaten hair like some sort of unusual helmet, one side of it wrapped in pale green cloth. It was... eerie, in a way, how human he appeared, enough to send chills down her spine.
“I'm Arrancar Sixteen. Di-Roy.”
She nodded faintly at his introduction, before opening her mouth to do the same, blade still braced against his arm.
“Thirteenth division's-”
Her return of his introduction was cut off by his hand as he held it up in a dismissive gesture before zippered teeth grinned derisively at her.
“Don't bother. If I had to hear the names of everyone I kill, it would take way too long.”
As he introduced himself and then summarily dismissed her, it was a simple matter to in turn dismiss him, the familiar release phrase floating off her lips as she stepped back and held her zanpakutou in front of her, spinning the blade in it's graceful arc as the air chilled and the pristine white slid along the length of it, spraying off of the end of the pommel to form the silken ribbon that floated on the night air. Taking advantage of his surprise, she pressed foot to pavement in a quick shunpou, slipping behind him with barely a whisper, the white blade curving into a long sweep as a faint dusting of frost followed it's path through the air like shimmering curtains of glitter and the glowing blue-white circle inscribed itself onto the ground, the firmament cracking as it's temperature dropped with the ice creeping across it's surface.
His response was as predictable as she could have expected, as his black and white shoes pressed against the ice before muscles tensed and he was airborne, hovering over her with the same derisive laugh, his eyes focused on hers as zippered enamel cracked in a mockery of a smile.
“Tough luck, shinigami. My true battlefield is the sky! A sword that can freeze the ground can't hit an airborne target!”
Violet eyes met his with a look of calm contemplation, the corner of her mouth twitching upward almost smugly as the Arrancar - Di-Roy, he'd said his name was - crowed with laughter, helmeted head thrown back in triumph, the pale green wrappings of his mask fluttering in the evening air. Stepping back, she straightened up and raised her head to look at him, finely-honed senses registering the slight shift, the transference of power and the faint tingling in the back of her mind as Sode no Shirayuki's power gathered, changing before her. The ring of ice coating the ground began to glow with a faint white light that brightened with each passing second.
“What a pity, then.”
Her adversary had hardly the time to contemplate the words that dropped from Rukia's lips, or the faintly smug smile that curved those same lips as the glow intensified before abruptly shooting up into a pillar of soft light, striking the heavens as the ice itself shot up, turning light to crystalline glass and encasing his form within the smooth column of frost.
“Sode no Shirayuki doesn't merely freeze the ground.”
Rukia continued speaking, even as she watched the pillar of ice crack, felt his reiatsu fade as his body crumbled in the wake of her attack. It was only polite, after all, to finish the sentence that she had started, even if his ears were no longer capable of registering the sounds and processing them into usable speech.
“Everything within this circle, from ground to heavens... is within Sode no Shirayuki's frozen domain.”
She stepped aside as the ice crumbled with a thunderous crack, chunks of the pillar sliding against each other as they toppled, those same large pieces of frosted cold breaking up into icy dust as they fell and the circle dissipated. With a flourish of her zanpakutou, she tossed aside the last of the frosted droplets before turning and heading back towards Ichigo. He was still there, it was a simple matter for her ears - now that the battle was over and there was nothing more pressing to concern herself with - to pick up on his angry shouts, as well as Chappy's lilting tone as the ginkon kept the substitute pinned to the ground, apparently by whatever means she deemed necessary. It was hard not to snicker slightly as she caught Chappy's assertion that his 'arm will go bweak' if he didn't stop squirming. Ichigo was entirely too tense, it was the entire reason why she'd insisted that he fall back and leave this one to her. People who entered battle that tense.... died.
Stepping around the rubble that had resulted when Di-Roy drove her backwards, she stopped and frowned down at the two where they were sprawled in a heap, Chappy sitting on his back and bending his arm in what she couldn't imagine was a very comfortable position, especially given the look on his face as he flailed against the gigai, not to mention his loud yells of pain. Taking a moment to relish his discomfort - it was about time he had to sit on his ass and let someone else take care of things for a change - she smoothed the slight grin from her face and rested her free hand on her hip, Sode no Shirayuki's white length gripped in her other hand as the ribbon curled around her.
“What are you fools doing?”
If she had expected Ichigo to congratulate her - hell, to even acknowledge her strength - she was wrong. But that would have been IF she'd expected it. Which she hadn't. As such, his stunned look as he raised his head to look at her, as though surprised and shocked that not only had she come walking back the way she had, but that she was completely unharmed wasn't much of a surprise. Nor was the question that poured from his mouth as brown eyes blinked at her - as much as he could look at her with Chappy sitting on his back and holding his arm behind him - as he inquired as to what became of the Arrancar.
“Of course I beat him. Would I have come back if I hadn't?”
Rukia could feel the vein throb slightly in her forehead at his idiotic statement. Did he really think that lowly of her abilities that he was surprised that she could hold her own? Gritting her teeth against the rapidly increasing desire to plant the sole of her waraji in the center of her face and twist her ankle to grind his head further into the ground - Chappy had done a fairly decent job, she could tell - she instead turned away with a haughty look and a dismissive glare. Of course she had beaten him, the Arrancar had been ridiculously simple to overcome and his power fairly negligible, a thought that continued to stick in her mind. Based on what Hitsugaya-taichou and the others had stated, the power levels of the Arrancar should have been significantly more than that. And while she couldn't deny that she was glad for the ease with which she'd been able to win, things didn't add up.
Turning to the side, she raised her arm, gently resting the white blade of Sode no Shirayuki against her shoulder, taking a deep breath and allowing her mind to wander as Chappy explained something to him. Though she wasn't really paying attention to what the ginkon was saying, she caught enough snatches of phrase to put the pieces together. Helpfully - at least, she assumed that was the rabbit-minded soul's purpose - Chappy was detailing her zanpakutou to her substitute, as well as filling the orange-head in on facts that Rukia herself, despite what she was certain many believed, was aware of. It didn't bother her anymore, the fact that her brother had seen to it that she never be considered for an officer's ranking. The fact, when it had come to light years before, had mystified her and made little sense. For a Kuchiki, a ranking officer's position would have been only natural, something that would have brought honour to the clan and honour to her name as well. She had spent years blaming her own insufficiencies for the lack of promotion, and when she had found out, entirely by accident, that it was her adoptive brother's doing, she had simply assumed that he felt her skills too paltry, too insignificant. That she would only serve to bring embarrassment to a family that wished to avoid such things.
Her near-execution had changed that, as it had changed so many things in her life, the relationship between she and Kuchiki Byakuya to say the least. Now, knowing what she knew of her own past, as well as the past that had transpired between her brother and his wife, the woman who had been her true sister, she understood his actions. Understood that while her stoic and cold elder sibling could not truly demonstrate the care he held for her, the feelings were evident in other ways. Understood that having her removed from consideration for higher-ranking positions was simply his way of protecting her. Of ensuring that his promise to Hisana remained intact as he guarded the little sister she had abandoned years ago.
Those days in Soul Society had changed much more than the relationship between her brother and her. They had changed her, and above that, they had changed Ichigo. Closing her eyes, she reluctantly allowed her mind to go back to the expression she'd seen on his face when she'd first arrived, as well as the look in Sado's eyes as the dark-skinned man had run past. Setting her teeth against her lower lip, she sucked in a breath of contemplation. Ichigo didn't understand, didn't know how to step outside his own viewpoint and consider things from the sidelines, and it wasn't really all that surprising. He'd never been on the sidelines, he'd always been thrust into the center of everything, having to be the one to pull the weight, the one to carry the hardest of the burdens. It was one of the things that the shinigami felt she could never truly make up to him, no matter what she did or how hard she tried. His single-minded determination and obstinance were what made him strong, especially when combined with the regard and care he had for his comrades.
But right now... those things were weakening him. Weakening him while they intermingled and twisted themselves into his fear and his anger and guilt at himself over his past inability to protect those same people he held so precious. He'd failed, in his mind. Failed himself, but more importantly, failed them. And his resolve to not do so again had manifested itself in a cruelly exclusive need to do this alone. To push them aside and restrict them to the safe confines of the sidelines where he knew they'd be safe, where he could accept that they would stay safe and uninvolved. Only... that wasn't the answer to this. In doing so, he was forgetting a crucial fact.
They could fight too.
He was forgetting that they could fight too, that they had fought as well, fought just as hard as he had when their ragtag group had stormed Soul Society, her rescue the only thing in their minds as that goal pushed aside fear and hesitation and that they'd all played a part in the battles that had transpired. And while no one would have argued that perhaps his part was larger, that in the end it had come down to his strength, his willpower... neither could he have done so without their support. And that was what Kurosaki Ichigo couldn't see right now, blinded as he was by his own guilt and insecurity.
Sighing to herself as his yells of protest, directed at the gigai trying to bend him into an approximation of one of those snack foods - pretzels, she thought they were called. He'd treated her to one once - grew ever louder, she paused to whisper the mental command as the reiatsu shifted again and Sode no Shirayuki resealed itself into the familiar katana. Sliding the blade back into it's sheath, she turned to the two of them with a slight glare.
“Are you two quite done yet? I think that's enough, so you can stop now and-”
~*~
Any further chastisement from Rukia was brushed aside with the sudden and angry press of reiatsu that thickened the air with a heady and oppressive sensation. Wrenching himself away from the gigai and it's twisted sense of humour, Ichigo surged to his feet, eyes widening at the thickness and strength of the spiritual pressure that seemed to come out of nowhere. Despite it's similarity to the one they'd just faced, it was on an entirely different level, the sheer weight of it beyond anything they'd experienced before as it bore down on them. Trying to control the sudden surge of fear that always came with facing such a strong killing intent - it wasn't like he was actually afraid of it, it was just.... the way it worked - Ichigo swallowed past the lump in his throat as he felt his muscles tense in anticipation of whatever was to come, looking around for the source of the power signature.
“The hell? Di Roy got killed, huh?”
The drawling voice from above drew his attention and his head whipped around in a blur of orange to focus brown eyes on the speaker, his white-garbed form hovering high above them in the air, hands lazily stuck into the pockets of his hakama as he regarded them with the same sort of amusement as that of a predator watching his prey realize that they've been caught. The Arrancar looked human, save for the hole in the center of his abdomen and the half-jaw of a mask that remained attached to his right cheek. Sky-blue hair flowed back in an unruly manner from his forehead, spiking up in a manner that was almost similar to Ichigo's own hair, that same blue mirrored in the markings - they almost resembled Ikkaku's - on either side of dark blue eyes. But what was chilling, more so than his human appearance, was the sheer killing intent that the man radiated, the malevolent reiatsu seeping from him in oppressive waves that the substitute shinigami didn't have any trouble recognizing.
Laughing, the bone mandible moving with his jaw in an eerie mimicry of the Hollow he'd once been, the Arrancar threw back his head with a triumphant bark of laughter before fixing the two shinigami with a wide grin as he introduced himself.
“Guess I'll just have to kill you both, then. I'm Arrancar 6. Grimmjow.”
~*~
The seconds ticked by like an eternity as the blood thundered in Rukia's ears, the overwhelming force of this arrancar's reiatsu crushing down on them like a wall of invisible force. It was impossible to look away, inconceivable to glance over at Ichigo - though she somehow managed it - to see the same strain in his eyes that she was certain was mirrored in her own, the strain of simply standing and breathing normally amidst power such as this. A single bead of sweat rolled down the back of her neck as she fought back the instinctive fear that came when facing something such as he, quelling the unbidden trembling in her limbs as his malevolent blue gaze studied them with a detached sort of amusement. Rukia could feel her eyes widen as the Arrancar - Grimmjow, that was what he'd said his name was - lowered himself to the sidewalk, the pulse of reiatsu as his booted feet touched the ground enough to send a shock wave rippling outward with force to ruffle Ichigo's hair and make her own black locks shift as if in a silent breeze. Gulping back the rising lump in her throat, she mentally calculated the sheer difference in power between the Arrancar she had just defeated and this monstrosity that was now stepping carefully towards them, his footsteps light and measured as a stalking cat.
“Which one?”
It took a moment to comprehend his words, to force her mind past it's struggling coping with the sheer force of his reiatsu for the measured sounds and vocal tones to sort themselves out within her mind into some sort of sensible response. Blinking in a complete lack of comprehension, she couldn't tear her eyes away from his approaching figure as his own blue orbs flitted from herself to Ichigo, measuring and considering. He was sizing them up - probably trying to determine who the greater threat was, the rational portion of her mind helpfully supplied - as he approached, but there was no hint of fear or trepidation in his movements. Only the barely-leashed movements of a predator on the hunt. As he repeated his question, those same blue eyes widened in undisguised glee and anticipation, and the look within them chilled her to the bone.
“I'm asking, which one of you is the strongest?”
Almost unbidden, she understood, she knew what the results of this would be. Jerking herself out of the near-stupor his reiatsu had induced, Rukia half-spun, calling out to Ichigo, bidding him to run, to get as far from this place as he could. This was an enemy that neither of them were prepared for, but if one of them had to die... well, she was damned determined it wouldn't be him. Sacrifice wasn't necessarily something she tended to do well, but that didn't mean she was prepared to see the young man that she'd dragged into this world - this oft-nightmarish world of death and fighting - die because of her inability to fight off the monster stalking them at this moment.
“Damn it! Ichigo, run away!”
He wouldn't understand, of course. Wouldn't realize the sheer difference in power between the two of them, the gap that figuratively spanned worlds. Not Ichigo. No, he would do what he always did, rush in and get himself hurt, only this time it wouldn't end there. Wouldn't end with him limping away - as if he ever did so voluntarily - to lick his bleeding wounds and return for another round once those had healed. This time... he would die. He would die, and that would be the end of everything for him, the end of his life, his future... his dreams. He wouldn't understand. But she did.
Catching the fleeting motion out of the corner of her eye, indigo-hued eyes shifted back towards the Arrancar in time to see the sharp thrust of his arm as it came towards her. Those same eyes widened as she glanced down, almost in slow-motion, to see his hand buried in her abdomen, the crimson of her own blood beginning to seep out of the wound, darkening the material of her shihakushou. The pain hit a moment later, as her nerves began to register the wound, to realize the implications of a hard and unyielding object being punched through you in one fell swoop. She tasted the sharp, coppery tang in the back of her mouth - her own blood, some still-functioning part of her rationale supplied - as the crushing pain ripped through her chest, torn lungs and diaphragm struggling to still function as her vision blurred, the entire world slipping into a surreal half-world, motions slow and deliberate as she watched his triumphant face twist into a smug grin.
“Heh... I figured it wasn't you.”
She tried to turn her head, to cast fading gaze at her companion, to call his name and tell him to run, to flee and get away from this menace, from this thing that they'd encountered, this thing that he couldn't hope to defeat, that would surely be the end of him, but all that emerged from between bloodied lips was a faint cough as her vocal cords failed her and bright crimson bubbled at the corners of her lips before trickling down her chin in a thin line of vermilion. The pain intensified as Grimmjow pulled his arm back, raising it - and her, by virtue - to swing it aside, his fist wrenching itself from her innards with a sickening sucking sound as he sent her body crashing to the pavement a few feet away.
Her name was the last thing she heard before her hearing faded entirely, Ichigo's horrified face fading too as her vision shadowed itself with blackness, his name still on her lips, though it was only in her mind that the word ever made itself known.
Ichi.....go....
It all happened so fast, too fast, the Arrancar was there and Rukia was yelling and then suddenly, she was suspended, held up by the blue-haired man's fist that was buried in the center of her bloodied torso, that same crimson oozing out of the corner of her mouth as she coughed weakly and attempted to draw breath. Ichigo's senses heightened, and he could hear everything, see everything and before he even really knew what was happening, he was running, his feet pressing against the pavement in shunpou as he screamed her name and charged, one hand ripping Zangetsu free of it's wrappings and bringing it to bear against the one who'd attacked her.
The cool pavement against her skin was a faint memory, a shadowy feeling that almost seemed otherworldly in it's fragile countenance. As though the feeling itself were merely a facade, a thin veneer spreading over the reality that her world had become, and somehow she was the feeling, looking on from afar as someone else's skin pressed against the cold stone, as someone else's blood pumped a steady deep crimson flow onto the sidewalk. Her body was heavy, so very heavy that moving it - beyond the fact that she didn't think she could - just seemed like too much trouble to worry about, too much to think on. But in turn, that left her mind strangely free to wander as it would. Ironic, that this would be what dying should feel like, this strange expansion of self and self-awareness. It was... pleasant, almost. Well, as pleasant as the fact of death could ever really be, when one considered what the experience itself meant.
She could hear Ichigo, hear him faintly, as though listening through a tunnel, the faint echoing chords of voice rebounding and buffeting off of the strange walls of the velvety blackness that had shrouded her vision. It was unmistakably Ichigo, she'd memorized his voice in the time they'd spent together, as she'd memorized so many other things. His hair... his eyes... his smile, rare though it was. The orange-haired boy had become a part of her, a part so intrinsic and important that no longer could she truly consider her life as only 'hers' and had been long-since forced to concede that at least a large portion of it belonged to him. Only... he would never know that. Never know how deeply he'd touched her, how much of an impact his simple - and significant, though it never should have been so - life had granted to her long years of duty and obedience. He had changed her, changed her in ways that she'd not thought possible.
It was like the siphoning of colour into an existence of black and white. Rigid, defined, held in place by rules and restrictions and duty. That was the world that she'd lived in, the world that she'd served and belonged to. But then, her world had collided with his, and he'd shown her another world. A world full of colour and life and feelings.... and love. Love that she'd been startled to realize she carried, horrified to realize she couldn't abandon, and determined that she would keep to herself until the day that the two of them went their separate ways.
It..... would have..... been too.... hard......Ichigo.....
And yet, in spite of the easy rationale that her waning subconscious provided, the question still remained. The question of that sunset evening so few nights ago, that precious moment where, for just an instant, she'd been able to let go. Able to let go, and simply allow all that was her to wash away with the dreams and the wistful yearnings and reach out to grasp a moment like a dream, a momentary glimpse of what life could have been like, what she was certain it would have been like, had they been born together. Had their paths met in a different time, a different age, when they could have simply been a man and a woman, when they could have perhaps one day made a life together, a life together that was simply that. A life. Not the strange partnership of opposites they shared now, not two worlds colliding amidst a shower of sparks and blood and hardship.
She knew he thought about it. That that evening, when he'd nearly lost himself, when she'd felt him almost lean in, almost close that fragile distance between them and make known what she'd known for what seemed like an eternity, but only recently realize was shared by the orange-haired teen, still swirled about within his mind, still taunted him with it's fleeting nature and it's myriad of what-ifs. What if he really had kissed her? What if he'd followed it up with vows of love - not that vows of love seemed Ichigo's style at all - and a promise to follow her to eternity? What if she'd allowed herself to let go, allowed herself that one moment of bliss, knowing that in turn she would be forced to shatter his dreams with her refusal?
What if.... they'd given it a chance?
It was a silly notion, silly because the shinigami within her, the part of her that understood the way things were and understood the way things had to be knew that it was impossible. Impossible, forbidden, unprecedented. It mattered little which word she chose, they all came down to the same conclusion. That no matter the dreams, they were simply that. Dreams. Fantasies that could do little but remain as such, gauzy wisps of hope floating on the wind that were never meant to be. But while the shinigami in her understood that, recognized it, even agreed with it... the woman in her couldn't let it go. Couldn't reconcile the necessity with the want.
Would it have really been so wrong..... so bad.... for just one moment....?
~*~
Chappy was watching over Rukia, that much he knew, and for the moment he was thankful for it, at least as much as he could be thankful for anything right now. Pushing himself up with Tensa Zangetsu, Ichigo stood shakily, teeth gritted as he pushed back the taunting voice echoing through his mind, that devilish laughter that reverberated through his soul. He could feel it, feel the black beginning to creep across his vision as surely as he could feel every punch and kick that Grimmjow had landed on his body. The Arrancar was strong, monstrously so, and perhaps the only good that had come of that was that a frantic protection of his own self - and thereby those he was protecting - easily took first and foremost position in his mind, relentlessly pushing aside his own self-doubt and guilt with the sheer ferocity of his need to survive, but beyond that, to win and in doing so, keep safe those close to him.
So far, he'd been doing a pretty shitty job of that, being tossed around like a damned rag doll by the white-clad demon with the laughing blue eyes while the damned gigai protected Rukia and he didn't even know what was going on with the rest of his friends. Hell, if the Arrancar they were facing were anything like this one.... No, he didn't have time to think about that, it was time to actually think, to consider his options and try to find a way to win this and win it fast, before the Hollow rose up and dragged him down with it's icy fingertips and he drowned in the blackness of his own soul again.
I can do it... I can fire off about 2 or 3 more of those before he takes over.. I just have to defeat him with those....
Pulling a hand from it's position over his eye - as though, by covering the encroaching blackness, he could somehow hold back the devil, keep it from reaching out and gaining ground - he steadied himself, glaring up at the white-clad form of the Arrancar Ridiculous concept, of course, the Hollow was in his soul, not his eye, but reflex actions hardly tended to carry rationale within them, after all, and then again he wasn't exactly trying to advertise that he was having some sort of difficulty. That was all he needed, to show more weakness in front of this foe, this foe who was proving to be more dangerous than any he'd ever encountered before, Aizen aside. Even in his fights with Kenpachi, or Byakuya, there hadn't been such an immeasurable difference in their strength, such a gap between them. This fight... was different.
Tensing for another strike, feeling the reiatsu gather and intensify, he pulled up short as a dark figure appeared in a blur of movement, one hand resting lightly yet firmly on Grimmjow's shoulder. The Arrancar seemed just as surprised at the appearance of the visored man with the dark hair, ebony skin in stark contrast to the white uniform he wore. It took a moment - and the angry way Grimmjow spat the man's name - for recognition to sink in as the memory of where he'd last seen that man made itself known to him. Tousen. One of the captains who had deserted Soul Society along with Aizen. He'd last seen Tousen there, looking up from the ground where he lay as the three traitors were encased in the yellow glow of the Negacion field as the gathered Menos rescued those they considered their own. Even now, he couldn't help but wonder if they'd been acting on their own, or simply taking orders from their higher-ranked Arrancar brethren.
Ichigo's ears couldn't pick up on the short and abrupt conversation that passed between the two, though it was impossible to miss the anger that spread across the arrancar's face or the infuriated way he slammed the blade of his sword back into it's scabbard with a curse before turning to follow Tousen back into the strange gaping hole that had appeared in the sky like a rent in the fabric of reality itself. Stepping forward, he called after Grimmjow angrily.
“Wait! Where the hell are you going?!”
Taking a moment, the Arrancar paused, shoving hand back into his pockets in an almost bored gesture before turning to glance over his shoulder with a disgusted, dismissive expression as he stared down at the shinigami.
“Shut your ass up. We're going back to Hueco Mundo.”
Eyes widening with something comprised both of surprise and rage, Ichigo growled up at them. Going back? The hell did that mean, they were just planning to show up, attack, and then leave whenever the hell it suited them? Clenching one hand around the hilt of Tensa Zangetsu, he could feel the anger well up, the Hollow greedily feeding on his rage, laughing in his mind as it taunted him with his own weakness, his own impotence at needing to use it's power because his own was so minuscule by comparison. He had to be kidding, Grimmjow did. They weren't done yet, the fight wasn't over, a fact that he snarled back at the blue-haired man dismissing him so easily, only to be met with a scoff and a glare as Grimmjow ignored him and continued talking.
“Gimme a break. My leaving is the only thing that could have saved you, shinigami.”
Pulling back in startled incomprehension, Ichigo narrowed his eyes at the other man as Grimmjow half-turned to face him again, an irritated look on his face as he continued.
“I can tell just by looking at you that that move you just pulled damages your body. You've got 2, maybe 3 more shots in you. And even if you could manage to fire those off without limits... you'd never have a chance against my released form.”
The last words were spoken with a triumphant grin as he watched Ichigo's angry expression turn to one of shocked horror. Laughing, the Arrancar hooked one thumb through the belt of his hakama.
“Don't go forgettin' my name, Shinigami. Just pray you never hear it again! Grimmjow Jaggerjack. The next time you hear this name, it'll be your last, Shinigami.”
With another bark of derisive laughter, he turned on his heel and vanished through the rip in the sky, the edges closing seamlessly without a sound. Ichigo stood in the center of the cracked crater that had once been the street, amber eyes trained on the sky where they had vanished for another moment or two before his body made it's protests known, his legs buckling as he landed hard on his knees on the blasted pavement, Tensa Zangetsu dropping from his hand to clatter against the broken stone as he fell forward onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath, weighted down by his own failure.
I.... I lost.....
He remained there for a moment, eyes trained on the ground, on his cracked and bloodied fingers where they pressed against the hard unyielding surface of the stone, small droplets of blood from the cuts on his face occasionally falling to leave fat circles of crimson on his skin only to slide down and join the ones already marking the pavement. He'd lost... in spite of how hard he'd trained, in spite of all that he'd accomplished in Soul Society... he'd lost. And had the Arrancar not retreated, there was little doubt that he'd not only have lost, but he'd have died. Gritting his teeth and pushing himself up to his feet, he vaguely registered Renji's approach as the crimson-haired shinigami stopped at the edge of the crater, his expression hard and serious as he studied Ichigo, stating the obvious - that the Arrancar had retreated - before pressing lips together and asking the one question that, right now, Ichigo most wanted to avoid.
“Did you win?”
He hated Renji at that moment, not because of anything the other shinigami had done, but simply because Renji's innocent question only brought to the forefront the self-loathing that was creeping into his mind right now. Shifting on his feet, staggering for a moment before he re-firmed his stance, Ichigo leaned his head back, training darkened eyes on the sky overhead for a long few seconds before shaking his head slightly.
“I lost.”
The words bit at him, soured on his tongue like milk left out in the summer, but bitter as they were to swallow, they were true, and swallowing them was a necessity. He had lost, in spite of Renji's attempt to change his mind, to snap some sense into him and remind him that the fact that he was alive meant that he hadn't lost, that he'd won, and perhaps in another circumstance he might have understood it, recognized what the redhead was trying to do, and might even have appreciated it ultimately. But right now... all he could do was cut the tattooed man off with a snarled reply.
“Don't lie to me. Would you say that if you were me?”
He sensed that his words had struck home, that they'd found their mark and lodged deep within the other shinigami as Renji's expression changed to a more serious one, graver and more thoughtful as the elder man contemplated Ichigo's words, unable to deny their truth. Renji would have considered it a loss, just as he himself considered it one. Living or dying... it only mattered when your opponent didn't up and leave because he considered you not worth killing. Gritting his teeth, Ichigo felt his fists clench as he continued, his words bitter and harsh in the stillness of the aftermath.
“I couldn't protect anyone. And I couldn't defeat those who wounded us. I lost.”
Staring upwards, he felt his mouth form the word, his tongue slide over the syllables making up the arrancar's name. He'd remember that name. He'd remember it every day, every second he lived. Remember it, follow it, train for it. Because he'd make the other man's last words true. The next time he heard that name... it would be the last time. He'd make sure of it.
It'll be the last time... because you won't walk away from it....
“..Grimmjow....”
~*~
Screwing the white cap off of the bottle, one long-fingered hand curled itself around the white cylinder, resting against the hilt of the sword at his hip as his other hand raised the clear plastic bottle to his pursed lips, olive green eyes closing as the cool liquid washed down his throat before he crouched down, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the toes of his wingtip shoes were resting on thin air. Or that he was upside-down in that same thin air.
“Yare, yare.... that was one big pain in the ass....”
Heaving a sigh, the man lowered the bottle, setting it down against the air itself in as eerie a fashion as his own body rested against the heavens, settling his elbows lightly against his knees in a contemplative manner. This was going to prove more difficult than he'd anticipated, not that that fact really surprised him, given the history he had with all parties involved. Well, at least with those from Soul Society. The boy.... well, he was an anomaly, a rather helpful anomaly, but an anomaly nonetheless. They could use him, that much was certain, and Shinji was nearly as certain that the orange-haired young man would make it a difficult matter for the rest of them, as obstinate as the youth seemed to be. Oh well, that was of little concern. Whether Kurosaki Ichigo wanted it or not, he would one day join them. It was the only choice left to the boy, when it came down to it, unless he wanted to turn into a Hollow.
It was the shinigami who had appeared that were the real concern. He'd been watching the fights, all of them - seeing little Ururu get involved had been upsetting. She was a sweet kid, he'd have to pay a visit to Kisuke to see how she was faring later - and while none of the shinigami involved had been any that he recognized from his years spent in Soul Society, it wouldn't do to become sloppy. Sloppy would only get all of them killed, and that was precisely what he didn't want to see happen.
This shit's just gettin' more complicated.
Adjusting the hat on his blond head, Hirako Shinji stood up, reaching for the cap to his water bottle where it had managed to wander off somehow -- why on earth couldn't things just stay where he set them? -- and screwing the white cap back onto the bottle before dropping one hand lightly to the hilt of his zanpakutou. It had been a long time since either of them had seen a real fight, and while he knew perfectly well that a fight wasn't what either of them needed right now, he could still sense her eagerness all but vibrating the blade. Sighing he glanced down at the fuchsia-wrapped hilt.
"Che.... quit bein' so damn impatient. You'll get one soon enough."
Tossing the bottle aside, he paid it no heed as the plastic vessel tumbled end over end through the air, released from his control to land with a thunk in one of the refuse bins on the street below, he shoved hands into his pockets and headed off along the sky. They'd need to make a decision soon, and the others would be pissed if he made it without talking to them first.
~*~
Bathed in the soft yellow glow of Inoue's power, he watched with worried eyes as the faint glow suffused the small black-garbed form in golden-orange light, the edges of the horrible wound she'd acquired at Grimmjow's hand beginning to close. His own wounds stung, but that faint pain was easily shoved aside while he watched the walnut-haired girl heal Rukia's wound instead. She'd tried to heal him, or at least to get him to let someone else -- Rangiku, Toushirou, anyone -- see to the deep rents and contusions left by the blue-haired arrancar's beating, but he'd shoved them off and planted himself beside his small companion, amber-hued eyes locked relentlessly on the slow, halting rise and fall of her chest, as though somehow if he kept his gaze fixed, he could ensure that movement's continuance.
He couldn't move, could barely breathe as he watched that slow, even motion, fearful at each slight falter that it would cease, that Inoue's power would fail and the faint breathing sustaining the black-haired shinigami would end and that would be it. She'd be dead, and gone and it would be his fault, his fault, because that's what it was, even if no one else blamed him and even if they spent the rest of their lives trying to convince him otherwise. It was his fault, as Inoue's injury and Sado's arm had been his fault. Because he was weak. Because he'd failed them.
Swallowing past the dryness in his mouth and the lump in his throat, he fought back the fear, fought back the dread that he hadn't felt in longer than he could remember. It was like before, like it had been so many years ago, when he'd sat there as a little boy and watched his mother take her final breaths on that blood-soaked shore, the pouring rain washing the crimson splatters from the brilliant yellow of his raincoat as he'd stared in stunned horror at her body, his childish mind not understanding, only knowing that she'd been running because of him and that now she was dead. Dead because of him, as Rukia nearly was. Biting his lower lip, he raised his hand slightly, almost automatically reaching to take her small, cold fingers into his before he crushed the gesture, curling his fingers into an angry and trembling fist. No. He couldn't be weak anymore.
Slowly pulling back his shaking fist, he never noticed the look that Orihime cast at him, the concern in her gray eyes momentarily shadowed by something else as she saw the almost-movement of his hand, studied the look on his face for a long few seconds before turning her attention back to Rukia, tilting her head and letting long hair fall to shield her face from view, or the way her hands trembled momentarily before she regained her resolve and set her lips in a hard line, concentration returning to the task at hand.
Author's Notes: Wow.... I never realized until I spent WEEKS doing this chapter, just how hard it is to re-write something that's already been written. The bulk of this chapter is basically a rehash of canon itself, with my own interpretations of thoughts, feelings, motivations, etc. thrown in to deepen the story and tie pieces together. Now, I have never stated that I am that good at action sequences. Frankly, I always feel that I'm either too rough -- IE, everyone loses limbs/eyes/etc left and right -- or that I'm too fast, interspersing too much thought and not enough action into it. This was difficult simply because I have v. little in the way of wiggle-room when it comes to the fight scenes. We KNOW what happens in this fight, it's been written a long time ago, and it's been animated as well, so there's not as much to shift around to suit me, and that's something I'm not v. good with. I DO feel I did a satisfactory job in capturing the atmosphere of both fights while still putting enough of myself in there to tie in with the previous chapter and set the emotional/mental mood of the thing. For anyone who's not following, Ru's thoughts about Ichigo were occurring while his fight was going on, in her subconscious. And yes, unlike our berry, who hasn't totally realized where his feelings lie, Ru knows exactly how she feels about him and because she knows, she's made a decision to keep it to herself. And now, at what she assumes is the end, her only real regret is that she can't help wondering if it wouldn't have been worth it to take the chance. I know that in canon, as far as we know, Shinji isn't anywhere near here, but personally I don't think it makes much sense for them NOT to be keeping tabs on things, and while the rest of the Vaizard would be interested as well, having multiple people there would have just drawn attention they don't need. Anyone who doesn't know why Shinji knows Ururu needs to go read or watch the TBTP flashback gaiden arc. XD. And yes, Orihime notices the way he's watching Ru, and she's got an idea of what it means, even though he himself really doesn't. Either way, hope you're enjoying Genesis, and that this chapter lives up to any expectations you may have after reading the first one. ^__^
-Taso