Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Murder My Heart ❯ Uncomfortable Revelations ( Chapter 15 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any Bleach affiliates… still.

 

(A/N: Good morrow fine people! I have another installment in the Murder My Heart book… novel… thing. Damn, this thing is over 250 pages on Microsoft Word. But I'm happy, it's the most I've written in ages. Smiley! Okay, some things, this story is going on a lot longer than I had originally planned so Hitsugaya won't be appearing for a bit—just wait a little longer, he'll be there, I promise! And I want to say, thank all of you for my reviews, this is so monumental and I love all of you. Also, a shout out to IchigoBLEACHcake, who is actually making FANART!!! on my fic. I'm so happy I'm nearly hyperventilating. YAY!!! So check it out!!! Love you all!

 

PLEASE ENJOY AND REVIEW!!! (only two more until one hundred!!!)

 

Chapter 15

 

Ichigo yawned widely as he entered the precinct, pushing open the door with his back—as per usual since he was always carrying to cups of steaming coffee in his hands. Today was no exception, straight black for Rukia, straight black for him. He sighed and ended up yawning again. She was so easy to please.

 

“Kurosaki!”

 

Ichigo winced at the sound of his captain's voice drumming into his head. Damn… he didn't know that sleep depravation could do so much damage to his brain, his head was fucking pounding.

 

“What?” He growled loudly to his captain, not even bothering to look around at him as he walked over to his conjoined desk and set the coffee down, completely ready to greet his partner with a steaming cup of coffee and his usual scowling grin.

 

He set the coffee down and screwed his face into his classic grimace before looking up and realizing that she wasn't there.

 

She wasn't there.

 

“Oi! Kenpachi!” Ichigo immediately called, turning back and scowling for real this time.

 

“Oh, so now you listen to me?” His boss snickered, suddenly appearing at the irate detective's side and shoving him in the shoulder.

 

“Yeah,” Ichigo answered angrily, his mood souring with the absence of his partner. “Now I listen to you.” He pointed blatantly to Rukia's vacant seat. “Where's Kuchiki?”

 

Kenpachi smirked and raised one eyebrow, “Miss her already?”

 

“None of your business,” Ichigo growled.

 

“I know you two didn't leave together,” Kenpachi chuckled, “You went with Tatsuki.”

 

Ichigo glared at him murderously, “And you would know that… how?”

 

“I have eyes, Kurosaki,” Kenpachi snorted darkly, “I saw her come in, talk to you, etcetera so and so… pity she didn't come and talk to me. That kid had spunk.”

 

“Yeah, so sad for you.” Ichigo answered smartly, he pointed his finger onto the ratty desk. “Where's Kuchiki?”

 

Kenpachi's grin widened only a bit more, “Going by last names are we? Is that what you call her in bed Ichigo?”

 

His face grew deep red and his ears felt like they would burst into flames. He leaned forward a bit and breathed in so deeply until his lungs felt like they might split. “That is none of your fucking goddamn business.”

 

Kenpachi threw his head back and roared with laughter. Ichigo felt like punching him directly in the gut then ripping his head off, fucking bells and all.

 

“Don't worry Kurosaki,” he managed to wheeze out after so much laughing. “I could truly care less what you two do in the bedroom, just so long as you do your job here.”

 

Ichigo's face, if possible, flamed so heatedly that he was almost positive he could have boiled water on his skin. “Mind your own—”

 

“Fucking goddamn business,” Kenpachi finished on a sigh, “I know, I know… but I'm just so goddamn observant.” He smirked and shook his head egotistically, “It's a curse I tell you.”

 

“Just tell me where she is.” Ichigo snarled, his temper frayed almost to an end.

 

“Home.” His captain said nonchalantly, waving his hand almost frivolously.

 

Ichigo's frown deepened to the point of impossibility. “What?”

 

Kenpachi shrugged, “She called and asked for the day off.”

 

Ichigo blinked, his frown evaporating momentarily… then returning full force. “Rukia doesn't take days off.” He said flatly.

 

It was true. Rukia didn't take days off. In the year—almost—that he had been working with her he had never taken a single day off willingly. Those three days with him didn't count; they had been forced upon her. But Rukia was just Rukia… she didn't take days off. She just didn't.

 

“That's what I said,” Kenpachi grunted, “But the third time she asked I finally gave it to her.”

 

“Any reason?” Ichigo asked, confounded by why Rukia was home right now.

 

“She said she wasn't feeling well.” Said Kenpachi, as he looked at the pile of unfinished papers on Ichigo's desk.

 

“Are you kidding?” The detective snorted, “Two months into working with her she had the flu for five days and still came into work. There's no way she'd call in if she felt like crap.”

 

“Maybe it had something to do with her seeing you and Tatsuki greeting so affectionately.”

 

Ichigo's eyes widened fractionally and his head jerked instantly towards his boss, who was currently ignoring him and examining a folder lying on the desk.

 

“Wait… what did you say?”

 

Kenpachi didn't look up but Ichigo could see the self-satisfied smirk that passed across his face as Ichigo's reaction unfurled before him.

 

He flipped a page in the folder, “Oh, you know… the hug and the kiss on the cheek. Nothing special really… but she saw it; not to mention she got so green in the face I thought about taking her picture and sending it to canned vegetable distributors.” He looked up at Ichigo and smirked, “You know, good marketing techniques.”

 

Ichigo's jaw dropped slightly, “W-what?”

 

“Are you kidding me?” Kenpachi leaned against Ichigo's desk and grinned, “When you spoke to her, you know, and told her it was nothing, you couldn't feel that green-eyed monster just oozing out of her? Damn boy, you're really thick.”

 

Ichigo couldn't speak, he couldn't even think straight. Kenpachi snickered above him and Ichigo snarled at him, “You're enjoying this.”

 

“Every minute.” Kenpachi smirked, “And just before you ask, no, you can't get off work early. You weren't smart enough to actually check on Kuchiki or even call in. So I get to watch you squirm in torment until five o'clock.”

 

Ichigo slammed his palm onto the desk and stood up quickly, his breathing hard and uneven. “Don't you dare toy with me Kenpachi.”

 

Kenpachi glowered at Ichigo before putting a hand on his shoulder and forcing him back down. “And don't you dare threaten me, Kurosaki. I'm still your superior officer whether you like it or not.” Ichigo's knees buckled underneath the power of his captain's meaty hand. He was forced back into the seat of his chair, a murderous glare on his face the entire time.

 

Kenpachi snarled at him, although not so much as a threat, but more as an angry type of amusement. “There's still a phone, Kurosaki, and you have email, don't think of it as the end of the world.”

 

“You're a bastard.” Ichigo snapped.

 

“And proud of it.” Kenpachi responded, turning around and leaving without another word.

 

Ichigo immediately sat down and picked up the phone, dialing the number he knew by heart.

 

“You have reached the cell phone of Rukia Kuchiki. Leave a message if you have something pertinent to say.”

 

Ichigo could feel his teeth grinding in his mouth.

 

“Rukia… call me.”

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

 

Rukia stood in front of Captain Aizen's house and gulped, slight shots of fear running through her belly at the very thought of what she was about to do.

 

He lived in a rather expensive looking brownstone building; it was definitely pricier than anything she had ever come across before. She had never thought her former captain could have ever afforded something like this on what the department paid him.

 

Maybe he has some money stashed somewhere else. She thought hopelessly, her gut beginning to tell her things that she had never wanted to think before.

 

She could do this. It was just like when she had gone into his office and asked for a transfer. She just needed to egg herself on and that was it.

 

This was just like her transfer to the three one, she told herself, only to have the same voice answer bitterly in her head.

 

Her transfer had been legal. This wasn't.

 

Rukia swallowed softly and made a quick scan of the street, it was pretty deserted for this time of day, but then again, Aizen did live on a rather inconspicuous road and it wasn't exactly the most handsome brownstone around. Sure it was a brownstone, but it could definitely use some extra paint around the windowsills and maybe a couple new doorknobs.

 

Rukia felt her heart patter inside of her chest. Maybe those rusty locks would come in handy. But she wasn't going to take any chances, not with this.

 

Quickly, she walked out of the light of the street and dove into the darkness of a small alley separating the brownstone from its neighboring building. The stench was rancid but she kept going, feeling the putrid air resonate through her body and cling to her hair. She was going to need a shower after this.

 

She glanced up, her eyes examining the nearest fire escape and then the nearest window. Rukia pursed her lips and lowered her eyes into a frown, the window was lower than the escape but still too high to reach—or even jump—to.

 

She dug into her pocket and pulled out a pair of latex gloves she used whenever she dealt with evidence of a crime scene. It was great for not leaving any fingerprints. Slightly annoyed, Rukia glanced around for anything that would help her propel herself to that little window.

 

Then she spotted it, a trashcan, overflowing with garbage, scrawny cats, and evidently some rats. Rukia wiggled her nose at the grotesque apparatus but grasped the handles of the metallic thing nonetheless; the mammals inhabiting it scampered away as she grunted and heaved the thing towards the base of the window. With another tug she yanked it before the window and groaned about the very prospect of getting on top of it.

 

Rukia made sure the lid was secure before she pulled over another crate and used that to ease herself onto the top of the grimy, silver, trashcan. It wobbled a bit but she gave more credit to the animals inside the damn thing rather than the fact that she was standing on it.

 

The window was within her reach, with another glance towards the street Rukia placed her arms on the ledge and lifted herself onto it, half-hoping that the rotted wood didn't break.

 

Once she was completely—or as much as she could be anyway—situated on the window ledge, Rukia wondered about her second problem: how to open the damn thing.

 

Normally, in different circumstances, she would have used a crowbar to shimmy the window up, or break a glass pane if she was in an angry mood. After that she would have had to cut the screen and then proceed in as quietly as possible. But this time was different, she couldn't do anything wrong. She couldn't leave anything out of place and she couldn't let anything be disturbed.

 

She moved her fingers down and tested the wood frame of the window.

 

It wiggled.

 

Incredulously, Rukia placed both sets of fingers on the top of the window and shifted the thing up. To her surprise, it kept going; her eyes widened as it opened before her and gave her the perfect view of a bathroom.

 

Without a screen.

 

Rukia's eyes flashed at her extreme luck. With a dark chuckle, she curved her body over to check and see that her shoes didn't have any type of street gunk on them and proceeded to slide into the tiny bathroom.

 

Her feet touched the ground with infinite softness; hardly a sound came out of her as she removed her hands from the ledge and swept her eyes across the entirety of the room. Nothing unusual about it. A toilet, a small shower with a rather bland, beige curtain—on the first floor? Rukia thought with a frown—a sink, and a rack of sports magazines.

 

Rukia shrugged and swallowed once again, trying to shake off the nervous feelings inside of her. Hell, it wasn't everyday you broke your former bosses fourth amendment right to privacy. But she needed to be sure; she needed to know for certain and she couldn't mess up.

 

The hallway around her was abandoned and the entire house was quiet as Rukia made her way through all the rooms. Her steps were careful and delicate. She diligently checked behind her every three paces, just to make sure she wasn't leaving any type of trail that he could follow.

 

His house was completely normal on many standards. It was a premier bachelor pad in Rukia's opinion, any man would adore living here, she snorted and rolled her eyes, at least, she knew Ichigo or Renji would. There was a flat screen television in high definition. Random sports paraphernalia was scattered around the room. And the kitchen was stocked with beer and chips and hotdogs but still possessed a respectable amount of vegetables.

Rukia made her way through each room, noticing every detail about every possible crevice in the place. But this wasn't what she was interested in. She needed to find his study.

 

Next was a set of creaking steps. Rukia saw they were made of oak and nodded in appreciation of the fact, the brownstone might have been old but it definitely wasn't shabby. She crept up them cautiously, trying not to make even a slight amount of noise.

 

The next floor closed on her quickly and she immediately inspected the hallway. There were three rooms. One of them looked like another bathroom—if the white, marble, tile, and crumpled towel were any indication. The other was his bedroom; Rukia could see the king-sized bed with burgundy sheets wedged into one corner of the room. The third door was the only one closed in the entire second floor.

 

She was there in a heartbeat. Mouth dry, she jiggled the knob and found it open, gently pushing it until it acquiesced and revealed the contents to her.

 

His office. She could feel her palms sweating in the latex as she took a few tentative steps forward. He owned a sleek, mahogany desk that rested in the very center of the room while his top-of-the-line computer stood erect upon it. The room was dim but Rukia didn't even bother to turn on the lights. It wouldn't have made a difference anyway, his carpet was a dark red, his walls were deep brown, and even his windows were shuttered. No… light wouldn't have done anything in this room.

 

She came forward until she was standing directly in front of his desk. She almost ran her fingers over the small surface but snatched her hand away before she could even do that. She didn't want to disturb even a single speck of dust.

 

The computer wasn't on but Rukia knew she would need to fix that if she wanted to get anything done.

 

She pushed the button and waited while the thing warmed up.

 

Rukia's nerves were frayed to the point where she would have jumped out a window should anyone—or anything—scare her right now. Her hands were tense and her heart was beating with the force of a thundering herd of wild mustangs. She couldn't remember the last time she had been this on edge.

 

The screen shined with a blue light and Rukia blinked down at it immediately.

 

She gasped. “No…”

 

Her eyes bugged softly as she read the glowing words on the screen: `Please enter your password.'

 

Rukia could have screamed in frustration. Her heart was certainly beating harder than before. Damn, she was going to pass out if she didn't calm down soon.

 

Steeling herself to not lose consciousness, Rukia began.

 

Aizen. She pressed enter. `Sorry, did you forget your password?'

 

She bit her lip and forced herself not to start making it bleed.

 

Sosuke. Enter again. `Sorry, did you forget your password?'

 

Asosuke. Again. `Sorry, did you forget your password?'

 

“Fuck!” She growled. What else would he put as his fucking password? The man didn't have any pets or any family; wouldn't it just make sense to use his own name?

 

Rukia snarled viciously and looked down at the drawers to the desk. Her anger began to recede slightly as she realized he might have written down some of his passwords. She carefully wrapped her fingers around the tips of a drawer knob and she tugged softly. Nothing. She pulled on the second one. Nothing. Third. Nothing. She went towards the other side. One, two three, all of them were completely empty.

 

Rukia growled and viciously kicked it shut with her foot. It clacked shut completely and she growled again.

 

Clack.

 

She raised her head and looked down at the drawer she had just closed. Her eyes narrowed into a large frown and she pulled it out once again, making sure that her foot didn't leave any marks on the mahogany in the process. She peered into the base of the drawer and quirked an eyebrow up before opening the drawer above it and looking at the bottom.

 

They were different colors.

 

She immediately grasped a small pen on the top of the desk and unscrewed the top. Using the ink filter she wiggled the base of the drawer and pushed up the false bottom. Her smirk of satisfaction, however, was cut short by another, almost imperceptible, gasp.

 

Little bags filled with small amounts of white powder were decorating the bottom of the drawer. Rukia's hands were beginning to shake as she picked up one and examined it.

 

Cocaine. Just as she had thought.

 

With a practiced but shaking hand she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a small evidence bag and a tiny knife. She removed a little packet from the drawer and untwisted the tiny tie around the top of it. Using her knife she removed a miniscule piece of the white powder and slowly dropped it into the bag by her side.

 

Rukia barely breathed as she replaced the tie around the top, careful to replicate the exact number of twists and the folded pattern. She dropped the bag back into the drawer and then positioned it to look exactly as she had found it.

 

Rukia knew her lungs could not take much more of this. Her nerves were frayed to a point where she believed she was going to pass out at the next noise she heard—whether it was loud or not.

 

Shakily, she pulled herself to her feet, careful not to even touch the desk. Sweat was beginning to form on her forehead as she straightened her clothing and slipped the tiny amount of cocaine into her back pocket. She brushed the moisture from her hairline and looked up, completely ready to leave when her eyes chanced upon something that made her heart stop in its tracks.

 

“Oh… my… God…” she breathed, willing her lungs to start working again and her heart to start throbbing again.

 

There, on the wall directly above the door leading out of the room, clearly visible any person sitting directly at the desk, and ornamentally displayed on a small rack, was an ancient sword.

 

Rukia's legs jerked forward slightly and her eyes widened even further. She moved until she was standing directly underneath it.

 

The blade was clearly very old. Rust sprinkled the edges and even a bit of the hilt. The majesty of the blade, however, was not lost on something as trivial as rust stains. The gentle curve of the metal, the deadly point, the shimmering hilt, and the distorted color of the entire object was enough to take one's breath away.

 

Literally.

 

Rukia felt her hands shaking even harder as she drew a chair over and placed it underneath the blade. She pulled herself up far enough so her head was level with the blade of the sword. She drew out the small knife again and tried to keep it steady as she scraped off a few rust shavings from an unnoticeable section. She caught them in another bag and slowly put it back in her other back pocket.

 

Somewhere beneath her, the front door clacked open, and the rustling sound of soft footsteps permeated the room.

 

Rukia's breath caught in her throat and her heart began to pound faster than it ever had in her life. Oh Jesus-fucking-Christ! She panicked, pressing her ear against the wood of the door and listening to the quiet footsteps of someone one floor below her. The person was singing softly in a language Rukia didn't recognize, perhaps it was Russian or something like that, not that she was hearing very well anyway, it seemed as if all of the blood in her body rushed up to her ears and distorted any traces of sound left available.

 

I need to get out of here. She thought desperately, the singular phrase kept resonating through her head as she quickly shut the door before her and began to drag the chair back to its spot in front of the desk. She grunted and panted as she lifted the heavy thing to make sure that no marks were left on the carpet. Once it was back in place Rukia whirled around, frantically searching for an exit.

 

The singing voice was getting louder and Rukia could hear the person coming up the stairs. Her mouth ran dry as cotton as she lunged towards the window and shoved aside the curtain. She lifted the window open—why the hell didn't this house have any screens on it? Not that she was complaining, but still—and furiously wiggled out of the window, feeling a slight rip on the side of her jacket. Rukia didn't have time to think before she grappled for the fire escape. She swirled around and shut the top of the window. The loud noise frightened her slightly but she didn't have the time to worry about that. Next thing she knew she was scaling down the fire escape, her arms and legs tangling in the metal bars; her mouth was dry and her heart was thumping irrationally.

 

She reached the alleyway quickly and fell to the ground, feeling her legs smarting beneath her and her knees buckling. The pain was doubled with her horribly shaking legs.

 

Once she was on the ground she bolted, she ran out of the alley without looking at either side to see if anyone noticed her. She kept running. She needed to keep running so she couldn't be found. She had to get out of there before whoever that was peered out the window and saw her rapidly retreating form or her flyaway raven hair. She bolted to the car and once she was inside the driver's side she pressed her hands to the wheel and drew in a ragged breath.

 

Her breathing was exceedingly harsh—a mix of nerves and fear and panic. She needed to wait. She needed to go. She needed to calm down. Her breathing began to even as she started the car and pulled out of her spot slowly and methodically, she needed to be careful not to arouse anymore unwanted suspicion than she already had… even though she was desperate to get away.

 

When the speedometer hit forty she began to unwind her body from its neurotic tension it had been suffering under for the last—she checked her watch—twenty minutes. Damn, she had only been in there for twenty fucking minutes and already she felt like thirty years of her life had melted off of her.

 

Rukia shifted slightly in her seat and felt the two bags pressing against her jeans. She could feel the tiny indentations they made on her flesh and wished they were gone, out of her possession, far away from her.

 

Only she couldn't let them go. There was too much at stake. But she could wait until the results came in. Only then would she make an informed decision.

 

She continued to drive, feeling the tension in her body continually rise and fall with every jump and bump of the car. Only after a few minutes of semi-peaceful driving did she hear something vibrate in the cup-holder of her car. Frowning, she looked down at her cell phone.

 

Must have forgotten it. She thought, picking it up with a softly trembling hand and glancing at the cover.

 

3 missed calls. Rukia scowled at the front and flipped it open. Kurosaki was written across the entirety of the list.

 

Her frown darkened into a glower and she listened to a few of the messages. “Rukia… call me.” And that was it.

 

Her already evil face glowered even more and she flipped the phone closed. He probably wanted to call to explain what had happened the other day. But she didn't need an explanation. She wasn't angry or upset with him or anything. He didn't need to explain anything to her.

 

It began to vibrate again, Ichigo's last name showed on the screen.

 

Rukia swallowed grimly and threw the phone back into the back of the car.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

 

Ichigo slammed the phone back down and snarled at the freakishly annoying appliance. And that wasn't the only appliance that deserved his malicious attention. The clock on the wall was also absorbing each evil glower sent from his eyes. It was only eleven in the afternoon and already he felt like shooting everyone in sight just so he could go home early.

 

If there's no one to work for then I don't have to do any work. He thought evilly, feeling his firearm at his hip.

 

His arm itched to grab the phone once again and call her. Damn, he didn't know why he was feeling like this. His stomach was churning with irritation and his head was pounding with thought. He was wondering over and over what he would say to her once she actually picked up the fucking phone. It would be a mix of curses, angry statements, and… he couldn't actually believe he was saying this… apologies.

 

Fuck. He didn't want to apologize but damn, there was this twisting, roiling, and burning sensation in his stomach that was making him want to go to her, slam her against a wall, and demand that she listen to him, demand that she realize what actually happened, and demand that she forgive him.

 

It wasn't exactly the pristine apology she might have been expecting but he didn't care. This was what he wanted—and needed—to do, and she needed to listen. She just had to.

 

He looked at the phone once more and resisted picking it up to call her. Shaking his head, he breathed in deeply and knew that he'd see her tonight.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

 

Rukia creaked open the doors to the three one and swallowed. Fuck, this felt just like breaking into Aizen's house, only worse. She knew that if she even made one speck of her presence known to Ichigo he would pounce on her. After all, if the four calls to her cell phone were any indication, he was either very angry or very annoyed.

 

She thought it was a mix of both.

 

Needless to say, Rukia practically mimicked what she had seen of Tom Cruise in a Mission Impossible movie. She couldn't remember which one Ichigo had forced her to watch with him—not that she had been paying much attention anyway, she had been to busy focusing on how close his treacherous hand kept getting to her panties.

 

Well, whether or not she had seen most of the scenes involving the main character—what had his name been?—sneak around high security buildings, she still moved stealthily and with as little noise as possible.

 

She rounded the corner and peered out into the main room of the precinct. Her eyes scanned the heads in the sea of computers, phones, and cable wires only to spot him, sitting at his desk, furiously tapping away at his computer. His back was slightly hunched and his eyes were staring intensely at something written on the screen. She continued watching him for a few minutes before his shoulders tensed and his hand shot out to the phone sitting beside him. Her eyes blinked slowly as she watched him dial the numbers she knew were to her cell phone, and surely enough it began to vibrate in her pocket only a second later.

 

She didn't answer it.

 

Moment later Ichigo cursed loudly—Rukia could hear it from halfway across the precinct—and slammed the phone back into its cradle.

 

Swallowing half-heartedly she sidled further into the precinct and carefully made her way to the examiner's office. As she was descending the steps to the very inside of the medical examiner's office she felt the cool air shift onto her skin and lower the temperature of her heated epidermis. Christ, she hadn't even realized she was sweating until right now.

 

She creaked open the door to the examiner's office and peered inside. There was no one there.

 

Rukia almost sighed with the amount of relief she felt. She didn't want to talk to anyone right now; she just needed to be alone.

 

She dug the two baggies out of her pants pockets quickly and after a moment realized that she had even forgotten to take off her latex gloves. Chuckling nervously at her own obliviousness she pulled them off, reveling in the snapping sound of the rubber as they detached themselves from her skin, she threw them away into a nearby trash bin and began searching for a pad and pencil.

 

Orihime, she scribbled, once she had found an adequate scrap of paper and a function pen, please compare these samples with the samples of cocaine taken from Nanao Ise's crime scene as well as the rust found in Byakuya Kuchiki's body from where he was stabbed. Please try and keep this under the radar, these weren't exactly obtained properly. Thank you, Rukia K.

 

Rukia drew in a shuddering breath as she took the samples and placed them—along with the note—inside the drawer where Orihime kept her lunch. Rukia knew she would see it and she most definitely knew that she would examine these scraps; it was nothing if not a favor to her so she knew that Orihime would comply.

 

Rukia drew in a deep breath and pressed a shaking hand to her forehead.

 

It was done. It was over. There was nothing more to do for now.

 

She just had to wait.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

 

Ichigo glanced up at the clock and then glanced to his captain's door. It was exactly four fifty five and Ichigo was already packed up. His foot was jiggling slightly up and down while he closed his eyes and waited patiently for the damn clock to catch up with where his mind was.

 

Christ… who knew how mad she was right now… why the hell was she even home today… and… and…

 

Fuck.

 

Four fifty eight.

 

Ichigo heard a growl coming from the corner of the precinct and he glanced up. Kenpachi was practically snarling at him, sending the whole weight of his malicious glare over in Ichigo's direction without precedence or warning.

 

Ichigo scowled at him, “Do you want something?” He demanded sharply.

 

Kenpachi's eyes narrowed even more and his head twitched towards the door. “Just get out of here before you make me want to kill you.”

 

Ichigo was gone in less than a minute.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

 

Rukia peeled back the flimsy plastic cover of a frozen dinner and popped open the door of the microwave. She sighed and read how long to cook the damn thing before punching the numbers into the keypad and listening to the sound of the humming appliance.

 

Sighing again, she rolled her head to the back of her neck and raised her hand to rub it. She needed to unwind… she was still too tense from the day. She opened her eyes and glanced at the clock before wrinkling her nose and frowning, it was really too early to be having dinner—only a quarter after five—but she was tired, she was hungry, she was irritated, and she wanted to go to bed soon.

 

The minutes finished up on the microwave at the same time a hard pounding sound permeated through the house.

 

She groaned and lolled her head to the side once more, fitfully throwing her body in the direction of the door; who the hell was it this time, she wondered angrily, tossing the locks off and placing her hand on the knob, and why couldn't she just be alone for a few hours? Hell, even a few minutes would do!

 

She swung the door open, completely prepared to give whoever it was a furious scowl and a nasty verbal assault, but when she braced the door with her hand and turned to glare at the person intruding her mouth snapped shut and her eyes narrowed even more.

 

Ichigo returned the glare but did not take a step further into her apartment.

 

Rukia's eyes never left his face as she released the door and crossed her arms over her chest; she raised one eyebrow and said, “Did you want something?”

 

There was no pause between her question and his response. “Actually,” he said, his voice low and hard, “I did have a question, perhaps you could answer it?”

 

“And that question would be?” She prompted, completely ready to slam the door in his face should she not like what he was about to say.

 

“Did you suddenly, in the space of twenty four hours, develop a sudden dislike of all personal electronics?” He demanded softly, “Like, I don't know, say… your cell phone?”

 

Rukia's eyes were slits of anger, “Perhaps I should have asked you the same thing last night.” She spat as she turned on her heel and clomped into her kitchen. She heard Ichigo follow her inside and shut the door behind him.

 

Not that she cared if he was here right now; she told herself furiously, she was well within her rights to be angry at him. He had said he was going to call and he didn't, that meant that he lied to her, there was nothing more to it than that. Her boiling blood was not due to the presence of Tatsuki Arisawa in the car with him. Definitely not. She came into the kitchen and scowled over her shoulder. It would be beneficial to him if he just left before things got out of her control.

 

Like now.

 

“I wasn't the one who didn't answer the phone throughout the day or even bother to return the messages.” He snarled shortly.

 

Rukia's back was still turned to him and she was viciously stabbing the microwave with her pointer finger. Indecipherable numbers appeared on the screen but she pressed the start button anyway.

 

“Didn't realize you had become a stalker in such a short time,” Rukia snickered, her voice coming out nastier than she would have wanted.

 

“What the hell is your problem?” Ichigo demanded, taking a step forward and grabbing her arm. He twisted her around and she instantly pushed him away. His feet skidded against the tiles of the kitchen as he fell backwards, his back slamming against the counter in the process.

 

“My problem?” Rukia hissed, “I don't have a problem, Ichigo, other than the fact that you are standing in my kitchen right now.”

 

“Listen,” he said just as angrily, “I came here to apologize for what you saw last night, okay?”

 

“`What I saw last night?'” She repeated, tasting the disgusting words on her tongue as they rippled out poisonously. “I didn't see anything last night, Ichigo, at least, nothing that would make me upset.”

 

“Kenpachi told me that you saw Tatsuki kiss my cheek,” he said clearly.

 

“Like I care about that.” Rukia shot back.

 

“I think you do.”

 

“I don't care what you think, Ichigo,” she said, her voice simply oozing with hostility. She flipped her body around, her cheeks were flushed with anger she didn't know she had possessed, the pit of her stomach was fuming with something she told herself wasn't jealousy, and the lids of her eyes were narrowed to the point of needle-like sharpness. She knew Ichigo could see all of this, she knew that he was watching her and gauging her actions, she knew all of this… but she didn't fucking care.

 

She took a step forward, “In fact, Ichigo, I don't give a shit who kisses your cheek. I don't care who else fucks you in bed. And I most certainly do not care about some half-assed idea of an apology you were prepared to give me.”

 

He took a step forward, “Everything about you says differently.”

 

“Well then you had better stop paying attention to that and start paying attention to what I'm saying now.” She growled.

 

Ichigo's nose wrinkled in disgust and he narrowed his gaze to form one of the angriest scowls Rukia had ever seen him wear.

 

“Well what do you know,” he said in a gravelly voice, “The only cold Kuchiki we have isn't the one stuck in the fucking ground.”

 

Within the next second Rukia hand was stinging and the right side of Ichigo's face was burning. His head remained immobile for a moment, an angry red spot forming on his cheek as Rukia curled her hand into a fist and clenched it at her side.

 

Slowly, his face began to turn towards her. She watched him as she noticed his tense body language. His muscles were bunched, his body was tight, and his jaw was clenched so tightly she thought it would break.

 

Her face was hot and red and her breasts were heaving up and down in the hurried motions of breathing. Her eyes were pinned on Ichigo as he turned his face to look at her; anger and furious passion splattered his features, his eyes were practically gleaming with it.

 

Then Rukia's hands were moving up again, this time to tightly grip the hair on the back of his head, her eyes never left his face as she pulled him forcefully down and slammed his lips against her open mouth.

 

Ichigo's lips opened immediately and Rukia invaded without a second thought, only this time there was no gentleness about it, there were no tender butterfly kisses, there were no shy licks, there were no innocent probes; this was complete and utter dominance of a kiss, meant for one purpose and one purpose alone: to satisfy and quench the burning and the pain inside of Rukia Kuchiki.

 

She didn't want him to be gentle, she didn't want him to love her with tenderness and slowly building passion, she didn't want him to hold her in his arms and whisper sweet nothings into her ear while she dozed into a peaceful sleep. She did not want the fear and the danger that came within the safety of his arms. She did not want to feel the stirring in her heart and the throbbing in her chest whenever she saw him sleeping beside her. She did not want him to be her missing piece. She did not want to need him.

 

What she wanted was pain and pleasure combined in such a dizzying rush that nothing of this nature could ever be thought of again. She wanted him to slam inside of her so she would cry out in the futility of it all. She wanted him to take her. She wanted him to take her selfishly and without thought to her own needs and wants. She wanted him to forgo her own considerations and demand her body like a stranger, drunk from a night of loud music and alcohol. She wanted him to be like any other man. She wanted him to be a nameless face without defining characteristics or anything that would set him apart from the others.

 

But most of all… most of all… She wanted to stop falling in love with him.

 

Ichigo's hands were at her waist, roughly grappling her and pulling her up to sit on the counter. Rukia's mouth never left his and the moment her ass connected with the stone of the countertop she bit down hard on his lip, breaking the skin and causing him to bleed between their conjoined mouths.

 

If Ichigo even registered the bite he showed no signs; his body was attacking hers, his mouth was pressed so hard to hers that her head slammed back against the cabinets, holding there for as long as he was kissing her. One of his hands was wrapped roughly around her bottom with the other forced her legs apart so they rested on either side of his hips. Rukia snarled into the kiss as she drew up both of her legs and slammed them against the backs of his thighs and compressed her own tightly around his hips, simultaneously grinding herself against him.

 

Ichigo's hand grappled for her breast and he squeezed it just how she wanted it. His strong fingers gripped her hard enough that she knew there would be a bruise, even through the layers of clothing she was currently wearing.

 

Then her hands were clawing at his chest, scratching him through the flimsy cotton of his shirt and then finally finding the ends. She viciously pulled it upwards and broke their scintillating kiss long enough for her to yank it over his head and throw it away.

 

He growled as her hands raked down his chest. It was hard enough to leave dangerous red marks and even to draw blood. But Rukia didn't care. She didn't want him to be soft so she wasn't going to be either.

 

She continued to kiss him, twice more biting his lips before he snapped and bit her back, his teeth penetrating the soft flesh of her bottom lip and drawing out the sweet blood that would end up staining both of them.

 

Then his hands were off of her hips and her breasts and tugging at the collar of her button-down blouse. She snarled into him as he began to fumble with the circular, plastic beads, in one swift move she disentangled herself from his mouth and glared up into his eyes, a furious gleam was present in each iris and was further accentuated by the slow drip of crimson down her chin and neck.

 

“Rip it,” she growled, licking her bottom lip and swiping up some of her own blood. Ichigo's eyes narrowed and within a second his mouth was back on hers, the back of her head pressing against the cabinets.

 

Somewhere in the distance, she heard the definite ripping sound of her shirt and the clink of buttons as they scattered about the floor. Rukia's hands had tightened around Ichigo's lean sides and were making their way down to his belt buckle when the sleeves of her blouse constricted around her arms and pulled her wrists back behind her.

 

Her mouth left his and her eyes immediately widened as she realized she had also buttoned the cuffs of her shirt. Cursing audibly she wiggled around slightly, attempting to find a way to get her hands out of this damned trapped position behind her.

 

Ichigo, it seemed, had hardly noticed her distress and was too busy ripping the front of her bra off, so the lace cups that covered her bud-like nipples fell to the side, leaving her completely open to his gaze and his mouth.

 

He lunged at her without precedent. His tongue wrapped around one of her nipples and sucked hard, his teeth biting and nipping at the nub until Rukia knew she would not be able to feel her breasts for another week. His hands assisted in the job and kneaded the neglected mound harshly; palming her mulberry nipple and squeezing her so hard it was all Rukia could do not to scream out in sickly twisted pleasure.

 

The moment his mouth switched from one breast to the other Rukia freed her hands, the buttons now another accessory for her countertop. Her fingers immediately gripped his hair and she groaned loudly; the feel of his mouth and the sensations he was eliciting were too much…

 

Snarling slightly, Rukia's fingers tugged at his hair and made his mouth relinquish her abused breast before she placed both hands on his chest and pushed him away. His body hit the edge of the opposite counter and Rukia immediately jumped down from her perch. Throwing him a singular, demanding, and hungry glance, she turned her back on him and proceeded to stride towards her bedroom.

 

He followed her without a word and already had his buckle off and thrown into the hallway before they were close to her mattress and sheets.

 

Rukia didn't bother turning on the lights as she shoved off her torn shirt and ruined bra, in a deft move she unbuttoned her pants and slipped them—along with her panties—down her smooth legs, until they were pooling on the floor.

 

Ichigo didn't waste any time either, his shoes and socks disappeared, crumpled under the heap that was his pants and boxers, now simply lying in a pile on the floor.

 

She didn't look back at him as she sat on the bed and turned herself so her back was to the headboard and her head was near the pillows. She saw him standing only a few feet from her and she narrowed her eyes, taking in his tense body, his bloody lips, his engorged erection, and his heavy breathing.

 

Slowly, as if unwrapping a long-awaited gift, Rukia pulled her knees up to an angle and opened them, revealing her intimate center to the hungrily staring Ichigo.

 

It wasn't a request… it was a demand.

 

He was inside her in a matter of seconds. His first powerful thrust nearly sent her over the edge and into the blinding blackness that was unconsciousness. She shrieked beneath him as he pulled out and slammed back into her with more force than she had ever felt in her life. She lay, gasping and panting as he pummeled into her, destroying her insides and wrecking havoc on her nerves as ever shot of pain, pleasure, and downright insanity were sent flying through her veins.

 

The pressure built inside of her like nothing she had ever felt before. In only a matter of minutes she was clawing at Ichigo's back, her nails drawing more blood, while her mouth desperately sought his. He complied and immediately forced his tongue into her, tasting her in a moment of ecstasy unlike any other either of them had ever experienced.

 

She catapulted over the edge and he followed, slamming into her with every last ounce of energy he had before roaring and collapsing to her side.

 

Rukia lay there panting for what seemed like hours, her entire body was shaking and she knew that it was not just from the experience she and Ichigo had just shared. Everything seemed to be crashing down on her at once and it was all she could do just to keep it within herself.

 

Whether Ichigo noticed her shaking or not, he did not leave her side. Instead, he grasped her arm tightly and pulled her to him so her trembling form was pressed tightly to his. His grip was firm but kind as he molded her to him and tucked her head under his chin.

 

There was no tenderness in his actions, Rukia noted as he clung to her. There was only desperation.

 

It was at that moment that Rukia realized she was in far too deep.