Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Bleached ❯ Dreaming ( Chapter 2 )

[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]

Disclaimer: Bleach and everything in it is the property of Kubo Tite.

Notes: After a bit of thought, I've decided to keep the Japanese phrases for zanpakuto release. While some still sound decent translated (Ukitake's, for instance) some don't. Plus there's the dispute of how exactly they should be translated, which is something I could argue about for hours.

---

Bleached

Chapter 2

Dreaming

---

"Honestly," she said as she helped him clean up, her lips quirking upwards in a small smile. Ichigo loved that smile, loved the way the light danced in her eyes as she looked at him. "I thought that a scion of the noble house of Shiba would at least have enough sense not to burn a fish or two." She wiped the grate clean with a rag, giving him a mock glare as she did so.

He drew himself up, doing his best impression of Kuchiki Byakuya. "It is not a woman's place to reprimand her husband for his utter and complete lack of cooking skills," he said icily, trying to pull off the condescending stare that the Kuchiki heir did so well. "She should instead smile gently, wordlessly clean up after him, and then later be rewarded for her competence with a session of mind-blowing lovemaking." He grinned as his words had the desired effect and Miyako dissolved into helpless giggles. Moving forward, he deftly took the now-clean grill from her hands and set it on the tabletop. She let out a half-indignant squeal as he scooped her up into his arms and started carrying her upstairs.

Ichigo frowned as a hell butterfly fluttered up to him, its onyx wings coming to a stop as it alighted on his nose. In his arms, Miyako laughed as he crossed his eyes to stare at it, then took pity on him and removed one of her hands from around his neck to provide the butterfly with a perch.

A voice started to come from the insect, its words hanging in the air long after the sound should have faded. "Vice Captain Shiba Kaien," it said, "your aid is requested in the purification of three Adjuchas-class Menos. Captain Ukitake Juushirou, Captain Aizen Sosuke and Vice Captain Ichimaru Gin will accompany you."

Miyako snarled like an angry tiger, removing herself from her seat in Ichigo's arms and glaring at the butterfly. "What about me?"

"Negative," the butterfly replied, its voice modulated and emotionless. "Captain Aizen Sosuke has deemed the presence of third seat or lower shinigami a liability in this mission. Vice Captain Shiba Kaien, you are to report to the 5th Division barracks within thirty minutes." Its message relayed, it took off and flew out through the open window.

Ichigo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Damn it," he said, reaching for Nejibana. "Why me, of all people?" He gave Miyako a helpless shrug, noting with no little dismay that she was pointedly refusing to meet his gaze. Apparently she'd decided that the old painting of the Senzaikyu was more interesting.

"Come on, Miyako," he started, aware that there was a pleading quality to his voice and doing nothing to hide it. His wife was forgiving and gentle to a fault... most of the time. She turned into a vengeful hellion when anything interrupted what she saw as "together" time with her husband, no matter what the reason. Inwardly, Ichigo blanched as the mental image of an angry Miyako yelling down General Yamamoto flashed through his head. The scary part was that it was liable to actually happen.

He walked up and enveloped her in a rough hug, unmindful of her stiff posture. "You know I don't like this any more than you do," he said, burying his face in her hair. "It's just three Adjuchas. You know our captain will probably take care of them before I can even release Nejibana."

"It's not natural," Miyako replied angrily, refusing to acknowledge his arms around her. "You know that Adjuchas don't form packs like that."

"What I know is that Captain Aizen and Captain Ukitake could probably take on fifty Adjuchas between them and you don't have to worry in the least," Ichigo said mildly, silently willing his wife to forgive him. "I'm sorry, Miyako. I'll be back before you know it, I promise."

He held his breath for a moment, then let it out in an inaudible sigh of relief as his wife melted into his arms, letting the stress drain from her body.

"I just don't want you to leave," she admitted, turning to face him. Ichigo's breath caught in his throat and he felt his blood turn to ice.

"I don't want you to leave," the hollow wearing Miyako's body repeated, its grin stretching her lips unnaturally wide, her skin taking on the color and texture of old, dry paper. He felt her arms - no, tentacles - spear into his back, binding him in place. Its taint started to spread over his soul like oil over water, staining it irreversibly. It spoke in a dead voice, empty of any emotion save a raw malice and sheer hunger that he couldn't even begin to fathom.

"I want us to be together forever."

---

Ichigo was woken up by the abrupt application of blunt physical trauma to his abdominal region.

In other words, his dad kicked him in the gut.

Both his memory of his dream and his breath left him in a soft whoosh of roughly expelled air, his eyes widening at the impact. His stomach angrily informed him that it was in pain, dammit, and it was all his fault. Asleep, he'd had no way of softening or lessening the blow that had jerked him awake.

Apparently none too concerned about his son's agonized writhing, Kurosaki Isshin grabbed hold of Ichigo's head in both hands.

"Ichigo!" he shouted, his voice nearly loud enough to rattle Ichigo's teeth. A part of him dimly noted that it was already near noon outside, and Karen and Yuzu - and the neighbors - would probably have left, leaving his father free to unleash the full power of his admittedly impressive voice. "Wake up! You were having a nightmare!"

Ichigo shook his head, releasing himself from the other man's grip and getting his breathing under control. "I was?" For the moment, his urge to kick his father's ass was quelled by his curiosity.

"You were," Isshin confirmed, his manic smile disappearing for once. "You were screaming for at least a minute straight until I woke you up. I think you were saying something, but I couldn't make out any words."

"I..." Ichigo trailed off, the dream already fading from his mind. Irritation rose in him as he glared at the elder Kurosaki. "I might have remembered if it hadn't been for you kicking me like that."

Completely bereft of anything even remotely resembling remorse, Isshin glared right back. His serious expression vanished like smoke in the wind and he leapt forward, rearing his fist back. "Respect your elders, Ichigo!"

Ichigo dodged easily and slipped behind the other man, planting a kick squarely in the small of his father's back. "Why don't you do something to earn that respect, old man? Don't you have a clinic to run?"

"Nearly murdered by my own ignorant son," Isshin cried, one hand clutching the small of his back. "You wound your poor old dad with your cruel words and crueler feet!"

Ichigo snorted derisively, standing in front of his mirror. "Ham it up some more, will you? Somebody might actually think you were being serious." Ichigo checked briefly to make sure his hair wasn't a complete mess, then opened the door to leave. He stopped before exiting and looked back, grudging gratitude in his voice. "And thanks for waking me up. I needed it." He stepped through and closed the door behind him before Isshin could reply, the sound of his footsteps fading rapidly.

Isshin stayed where he was, the silly expression on his face bleeding away like a mirage. He continued staring at the door long after Ichigo had left, rubbing his stubble thoughtfully. Though Ichigo himself hadn't quite noticed what he'd done - moving unconsciously and fluidly with an experience that belied his years - his father certainly had. He'd known about his son's shinigami activities for quite some time, but he hadn't known that Ichigo had any more than a rudimentary knowledge of the four forms of shinigami combat.

"That was shunpo," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. Ichigo had literally flickered moments before Isshin's fist hit home, leaving an afterimage that registered to Isshin's surprised eyes after he felt Ichigo's heel impact his back. While it was possible for humans to survive the sheer speed of shunpo - the Quincy had proved that decades ago with their hirenkyaku - Isshin had no idea where his son could have received that kind of training.

Well, actually, that wasn't quite true. He did have a good idea.

He left after a moment, walking to the telephone and picking it up. He knew the number by heart, of course, and it wasn't long before his old friend's voice answered on the other side. It was promptly silenced as Isshin roared loudly into the receiver, doing his best impression of a lion. The other man's fake pleasantries had always made his head hurt, after all. Shouting at him had worked for centuries, and there was no reason it wouldn't do so now.

"Now that you've kindly shut the fuck up, Kisuke," Isshin said cheerfully, feeling considerably better, "I'd like to ask you a few questions about just what you've been teaching my son..."

---

Ichigo walked into the park, a prominent scowl creasing his face. He'd left home with only the vague idea of getting some time alone in his head, but once he achieved that goal he found that he had no idea what to do. Sitting down on a nearby bench, he let himself lean back against it until the cloudless blue sky filled his vision. The shinigami thing wasn't turning out to be what he'd expected. Not in the least.

Hello, I'm Kurosaki Ichigo. I'm sixteen years old. I like chocolate and spicy cooking. I think I might be going crazy because just a few days ago I started remembering things that never happened to me, names of people I've never met before, and places I'm fairly sure don't exist. Know what the good part is? When I try and concentrate, try to actually remember on purpose... nothing happens!

He took a deep breath and let the mild warmth of the sun soothe him, taking away his doubts. One step at a time, he reminded himself. First, where do I go now?

Mentally, he started to tick off his options.

Going back home was a definite no. He had no desire to get into an hour-long brawl with his father for his perceived lack of filial devotion. Mizuiro was still off vacationing wherever it was he'd went - Guam? Taiwan? - and Keigo was probably working at his summer part-time job. Crashing at Tatsuki or Orihime's was out of the question. He didn't even know where Uryuu lived.

He blinked as a low-flying airplane passed by, the sound of its engines breaking him out of his daze. He'd been missing the most obvious choice.

Chad, after all, was always willing to listen and offer sound, if simple advice. He smiled as he pushed himself off the bench, standing straight and stretching for a moment. He was just about to take a step when something flashed past his ear with a whistle that reminded him of the way bullets sounded in movies. The thing - whatever it was - impacted the ground at his feet with a solid squelch, nearly spraying its contents all over him.

Ichigo yelped and jumped back, nearly tripping over the bench and attracting interested stares from passing pedestrians. He didn't notice, the message written on the ground having captured his attention.

It was written in neat white characters, looking as if they'd been painted there with a calligraphy brush. Judging from the way people were walking over the words without a second glance, they couldn't see them at all. Then he read them and groaned.

Kurosaki-san, the message said, and Ichigo could almost see the wide grin on Urahara's face. I'm sure you're very busy, but if you could spare just a little time to drop by my store, I'd be most obliged. In other words, come now or die. Ichigo sighed and slapped his face with the palm of his hand.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "it's not like I was doing anything important..."

He'd been dreading his eventual return to Urahara's shop, although if asked he wouldn't have been able to answer exactly why. He couldn't remember what had happened there, after he'd discovered Nejibana's name. His brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to recall what had come to pass, silently willing the memories to return. A moment later he staggered, his eyes widening as the world suddenly turned upside down, enveloping him in a sea of nausea.

Okay, he thought unsteadily, putting out a hand to the wall and leaning against it. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

---

He made his way to Urahara's shop and knocked, listening to the sound of approaching footsteps on the other side. To his surprise, Urahara, not Tessai or one of the two kids, greeted him.

"Ah, Kurosaki-san!" the man said, greeting him with a boisterous cheer that was obviously fake. Urahara stepped aside, letting him in. "So nice of you to come. Follow me, please."

Ichigo looked around as he walked through the shop, noting with a small amount of surprise that nobody was to be seen. Tessai, at least, had always been there. "Oi, sandal-hat," he said, grunting a little as he descended the ladder to Urahara's basement. "Now that I'm here, mind telling me why you called me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Urahara replied, turning around with surprising speed and striking Ichigo on the forehead with the butt of his cane. "You're here to complete your training, as it were."

Ichigo blinked, looking back at his comatose body. Nejibana was a comforting weight at his side, almost seeming to welcome him. He paid it little heed for the moment. "I thought you said I'd finished my training."

"Oh, certainly not." Urahara looked vaguely horrified at the prospect. "Surely you can't expect to storm Soul Society with no combat training at all." He looked at Ichigo from under his hat, suddenly serious. "You remember Kuchiki Byakuya, don't you?"

Ichigo nodded slowly, even as the name triggered more loose memories that danced frustratingly just outside the scope of his consciousness. "Yeah, he was the captain who took Rukia away." He frowned as he thought about it again. "Wait... Kuchiki Byakuya? Isn't that Rukia's last name, too?"

"It is," Urahara acknowledged quietly. "He is, after all, her older brother."

"What?" Ichigo gaped at the other man, utterly surprised. "But he said they were going to execute her-"

"Of course," Urahara said with a slight nod, the corners of his lips twitching upwards in a humorless smile. "The Kuchiki are one of Soul Society's greatest noble houses, after all. Appearances must be kept. It wouldn't do to have a known convict live. What would the other houses say?"

Ichigo was stunned. "But... but..." he stuttered, trying and failing to find the words. Anger and disbelief warred for dominance on his features. "He's her brother! That's not right!" he shouted at length, frustration clear in his voice.

Urahara's smile faded, his face twisting into a vague expression of distaste. "It has been many, many centuries since the nobles of Soul Society ever concerned themselves with what was right, Kurosaki-san.

"But I didn't call you to talk about times gone by," he said smoothly, drawing a sword from within his cane. "The fact remains that if you attempt to storm Soul Society as you are now, the odds are very good that the first officer you meet will have you dead before you can blink."

Ichigo frowned. "You're kidding. That red-headed guy said he was a vice captain, and I could've beaten him."

"That vice captain was under a limiter," Urahara replied, shaking his head. "Restricting the limits of his power by at least five-fold. That's ignoring captain-level shinigami such as Kuchiki Byakuya, who nearly killed you even when using just a fifth of his true power. Face reality, Kurosaki-san."

Before Ichigo could say anything in reply, he felt the air in front of him hum and found himself looking at the point of Urahara's sword, barely an inch in front of his eyes. Ichigo shivered suddenly; where was the abnormally cheerful man who'd been standing before him just minutes ago? This Urahara Kisuke was like a naked blade, his eyes cold and sharp and deadly.

"Okiro, Benihime," Urahara said quietly, and Ichigo barely had time to draw his sword in a cross-guard position before the sharp sound of metal against metal rang in his ears. Instinctively he launched himself backwards, noting with some relief that Urahara hadn't followed up on his inital strike.

"You haven't released your zanpakuto," the older man said, his tone carrying disapproval. For his part, Ichigo was frantically trying to wrap his brain around the fact that Urahara Kisuke was trying to kill him again. "You underestimate me, Kurosaki-san. If I had been one of Soul Society's shinigami, you'd already be dead."

"Suiten sakamake," Ichigo cried in lieu of a reply, spinning Nejibana in a circle with his right hand. "Nejibana!" The sword seemed to sing to him before smoothly lengthening, rippling like water and coalescing into a crystal-pronged trident. Ichigo brought it to bear on his right side, gripping the haft with both hands.

If he'd been in any condition to notice, he would have seen a look of disappointment flicker in Urahara's eyes before the man wordlessly burst forward, his blade held high for an overhead strike. Even as Ichigo lifted Nejibana to block it, he abruptly came to an extremely disconcerting conclusion : he had absolutely no idea how to use a trident.

Nejibana felt right in his hands, but fighting with it was another matter entirely. With his previous sword he'd just swung it based on the samurai movies he'd watched. It'd seemed simple enough: keep the sword between you and whatever was threatening to kill you, and use the sharp bits on anything other than yourself.

The released form of Nejibana was an entirely different beast. Holding it at his side like a traditional Japanese spear felt awkward, but he couldn't figure out a way to really wield it, clumsily using the haft to block Urahara's attacks. A half-hearted stab was neatly sidestepped, and he'd almost lost an arm as he overextended and Benihime left an agonizing line of heat along his shoulder.

Urahara was steadily becoming more and more disappointed. Ichigo was showing no hints of Shiba Kaien's unique fighting style, and certainly no knowledge of shunpo. The same went for the other aspects of hohou, as well as hakuda, zanjutsu or kidou. He wielded Nejibana clumsily, as if it were a simple spear.

Thin cuts slowly started to appear on Ichigo's body, leaking blood and stinging fiercely. He felt incredibly slow, the trident huge and unwieldy compared to Urahara's nimble blade.

He thought somebody was whispering to him, but he couldn't hear it properly.

Desperate, he brought Nejibana up to guard, then spun it in a circle around himself, using the trident's momentum to push his opponent away. Even as he did so, his eyes widened slightly. It had felt almost natural.

The voice became louder, tantalizingly stopping just short of being audible.

A sliver of confidence made itself known to Ichigo, lending new strength to his tired arms. Turning his body to the right, he managed to catch Urahara's zanpakuto between the prongs of his own blade. Before the older man's surprised eyes, he jerked Nejibana to the right, wrenching Urahara's sword from his grasp.

And he could finally hear the words.

"Don't try to control me," Nejibana said softly in his ear. He could see her smile in his mind's eye, mischievous amusement clear on her face. "You can't continue damming a flood. Let yourself flow with me."

And Ichigo did, setting himself adrift in Nejibana's current. His arms rose of their own accord, raising the crystal trident high, just above the level of his head. His grip widened, and he could feel power surging inside him, a rising tide of energy.

Urahara Kisuke allowed himself a small smile as he retrieved his sword, never taking his eyes off of his opponent. Perhaps, just perhaps...

Then Ichigo was on him, a roaring wave that crashed against Benihime's wall and forced him to raise his defense for the first time. A flick of Ichigo's wrist sent the trident snaking past Urahara's blade, the needle-sharp points aimed at his throat. He slipped behind Ichigo using shunpo, only to find Nejibana had already spun around in a tight arc using Ichigo's own body as an axis, forcing him to block the blow with one hand against the back of Benihime's blade for support.

Ichigo himself was in a near dream-state, immersed in the soothing sound of flowing water. The world narrowed down until all that existed was himself and his opponent, locked in a dance of clashing blades. He felt a smile crease his face as Nejibana finally scored a glancing hit on Urahara's shoulder, drawing blood. Raising the trident high above his head, he plunged it downwards with both hands, driving the blade towards his opponent's head.

Urahara let himself fall backwards, tucking himself into a ball and rolling to the side. Nejibana flashed through the space where he'd been just moments ago, the crystal point sinking easily into the earth. Urahara grinned, drawing Benihime to the side for a right-handed sideways slash. Keen though Nejibana's blade might be, it had driven itself too deep to draw out quickly.

He hadn't counted on Ichigo's right hand to start glowing. The teenager reacted without thinking, raising his hand and facing the palm towards Urahara.

"Hadou thirty three," he cried, feeling his reiatsu gather in front of his arm. "Soka-"

Ichigo wasn't quite sure what happened next. One moment he was lost in the rhythm of battle, letting Nejibana guide him through the fight. He wasn't completely aware of what exactly he was doing; the pounding beat of his blood in his temples kept him from thinking clearly. He was acting on pure instinct.

Then Urahara literally disappeared before his eyes at a speed far too fast for him to react and he could feel Benihime's cold, perfect edge held at his throat.

"I must apologize, Kurosaki-san," Urahara said, smiling in spite of the sweat that rolled heavily down his face. He withdrew Benihime and leaned against a nearby boulder, getting his breathing in control. "I seem to have underestimated you. From what you've shown me, you're certainly a match for any vice captain."

"...Yeah," Ichigo replied, still slightly disoriented. Wielding Nejibana had been exhilarating and dizzying at the same time, like a glass of ice-cold water in the desert. He sat down hard, sheathing Nejibana as it reverted to its katana form. He couldn't quite remember what he'd done in the past few minutes, just a blurred recollection of ringing blades. "Just vice captain level? What about the captains?" he asked, the memory of Kuchiki Byakuya's blinding speed rising unbidden in his mind.

For a moment Urahara didn't reply, merely giving Ichigo a pointed look. "You didn't win, did you?"

Ichigo nodded without really understanding the true meaning of Urahara's words, prefering to lie prone on the ground. He was still in that battle-induced funk when he noticed what looked like a half-built gate standing to the side of where they'd fought. His curiosity piqued, he asked, "What's that?"

"That?" Urahara followed Ichigo's gaze before replying. "That's the doorway that will lead you to Soul Society."

"When?"

"It's not done yet," Urahara admitted. "It'll take week and a half at least before it's ready."

A black cat padded past Ichigo, giving him a brief nod in passing before stopping in front of Urahara. "Are you sure we have that much time, Kisuke?" Yoruichi asked, looking up at him.

Ichigo blinked, getting to his feet. "What do you mean, cat?" He hissed in pain as a set of sharp claws raked a path across his left leg.

"That's Yoruichi-san to you, kid," the cat said casually, retracting her claws. "Unlike Kisuke here, I have sources in Soul Society, and I've just received a report that your friend's execution date has been advanced by ten days."

Frowning, Ichigo said, "Then how much time does that give us?"

Yoruichi shrugged - as much as it was possible for a cat to shrug. "About seventeen days, possibly less."

"What?" Ichigo yelled, feeling as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water over his head.

"Seventeen days," Yoruichi repeated. "That gives you just less than a week once Kisuke's finished his little door."

Ichigo turned to face the older man, who merely shrugged helplessly. "It's a very complicated process," Urahara said, spreading his hands apart. "I can't rush it any more than I already have."

"Isn't there any other way?" Ichigo asked, his tone becoming desperate. A half-remembered image skimmed past his consciousness, of a woman with black hair done up in a bun, her eyes closed in a sleep that would never end. Too late, a voice inside him said. A silent scream of denial echoed through his mind as he pushed the memory away.

Not again.

Suddenly, he felt a feather-light touch on his shoulder, and didn't need to turn to know who was there. "There is another way," Nejibana said from beside him. "You already know it." Her lips twisted in a wry smirk. "That is, of course, assuming you're smart enough to remember."

His will roared to life, grasping the power inside him in a way he couldn't consciously comprehend.

"Trust in me," Nejibana murmured in his ear, putting one hand over his.

Never again.

Urahara and Yoruichi watched in faint astonishment as a hell butterfly materialized in midair, signaling the opening of a gateway. One foot already past the threshold, Ichigo looked back and gave them a small nod, a grim smile on his features.

"Thanks for all the help," he simply said, and then he was gone. A moment later the doorway disappeared, leaving behind no trace that it had ever existed.

Silence reigned for a few moments before Urahara sighed, leaning against his cane. "Well," he said lightly, unable to mask the worry in his voice, "that was certainly the most reckless and suicidal thing I've ever seen. Not to mention that it should have been impossible." He gave a start as nobody replied, looking around. He groaned and massaged the bridge of his nose as he realized there were no black cats in the vicinity. He hadn't even seen her move.

"She's not called Shunshin for nothing," he muttered to himself, turning to inspect the gateway he was making. "But..." Still, he couldn't stop a slight smile from spreading across his face. "Hopefully she'll keep him alive somehow until I manage to get this thing completed."

---

Ukitake Juushirou was many things. He was a powerful man, which was why he was a captain. He was a sick man, which was why his paperwork had a way of mysteriously finding its way to his subordinates. He was also a level-headed man, which was why he was unperturbed when his third seats burst into his office without so much as a by-your-leave, both of them babbling mindlessly.

"Captain Ukitake, there's something-

"Captain Ukitake, the butterfly-"

"-left all on its own-"

"-can't believe it-"

"-stop babbling and let me speak, damn it-"

For all his virtues, Ukitake Juushirou was, however, only human, and he couldn't help but sigh at the two monkeys in front of him who were masquerading as shinigami. He held up a hand and was greeted with an immediate silence.

"Kiyone," he said calmly, "explain what's gotten the both of you so disturbed, please."

"A hell butterfly, sir," the blonde said, obviously shocked and more than a little frightened. "It left for the material world just moments ago."

Ukitake raised an eyebrow. "And?"

Hell butterflies were routinely summoned to open gateways for shinigami returning from the material world, with one assigned to each seated officer and fifty divided between the unseated shinigami of each division. In and of itself, it wasn't surprising, but Ukitake knew that something must be amiss to shock his third seats so badly. What Kiyone said next turned his world upside down.

"It was Kaien's, sir."

Before the captain could reply - before he could even begin to think about what that might mean - a doorway opened in the middle of his office, spitting out a shinigami with an unruly shock of orange hair before winking out of existence. Ichigo took stock of the situation warily, one hand on Nejibana's hilt. He was outnumbered, and the confines of Ukitake's office restricted his field of movement. Inwardly, he was roundly cursing himself for jumping into a situation like this headfirst, while his blade seemed almost amused.

There was an extremely awkward silence as Ukitake sized up the 'intruder', noting that the youth showed no signs of fear despite being outnumbered three to one. Kiyone and Sentaro had apparently been shocked into silence, simply staring at Ichigo with wide eyes.

"Uhh..." Ichigo started, feeling like a fool. "I don't want to fight or anything, so if you just tell me where Kuchiki Rukia is, I'll be on my way before you know it."

There was a solid thud as Sentaro fainted, overcome by the surrealism of the situation. Kiyone continued to gape, her mouth silently opening and closing.

"I'm afraid she's a criminal due to be executed," Ukitake said, resisting the urge to pinch himself and make sure it wasn't all some sort of hilariously bad dream. He'd never imagined he'd be holding a polite conversation in his offics with a shinigami he'd never met before, one who was asking after a known criminal and who had appeared using the hell butterfly assigned to his dead vice captain.

Ichigo nodded, not removing his hand from his side. "Yeah, I know. I'm going to break her out." He drew Nejibana from her scabbard, holding it loosely in one hand. "Do we have to fight?"

"Fight?" Ukitake asked, genuinely surprised. He was a fearsome warrior, but unlike some shinigami he knew - namely, most of the 11th Division - he didn't jump at the opportunity to draw swords, preferring words instead. A part of him silently marvelled over how much the strawberry blond resembled his late vice captain, from the way he stood to the set of his jaw when he clenched his teeth when he'd made up his mind to fight. "Can't we talk this over?"

Before Ichigo could reply, a chocolate-colored blur coalesced behind him, grabbed a fistful of his shihakusho, and vanished, taking him with it.