Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Odalisque ❯ Chapter 8 ( Chapter 8 )

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

 

 

 

Odalisque

 

Chapter 8

 

“My God,” that vile woman mocked as he entered the office, “You're actually here.”

 

“You don't ever stop talking,” Ichigo muttered and strode over to his desk. He slammed his things onto the surface and gulped down the coffee in his hand. He fought the urge to crush the half-full paper cup between his fingers. “Do you?”

 

“Not if I have something to say.” She answered back smartly.

 

Ichigo immediately dug into his drawer and pulled out an aspirin. This woman was so fucking annoying, he didn't know how he was going to make it through the day without a horse tranquilizer.

 

For her.

 

She was hovering lightly in her chair. His amber eyes shot over to her little coffee machine near the side of the room and frowned. Good God, she must have had the entire pot. There were only grinds left in the bottom and it was at least a six cup maker. No wonder the woman was so short. She must have been hooked on coffee by the age of three.

 

He moved his gaze up to what he could see of her body. She was dressed basically the same. Black jacket, matching black pencil skirt—he could only assume—her jet black hair was tied into a stiff pony tail, her sensible-yet-stylish shoes peeked out of the bottom of the desk—they were also black—and underneath her jacket was a light blue blouse that had a line of tiny pearl buttons going down the middle.

 

He tossed the aspirin back into the drawer and rolled his eyes. How boring could this person dress?

 

“Okay,” he said stonily, turning to stare into her freakishly-violet sapphire eyes, “Are you going to tell me or not?”

 

Not the best way to phrase that, Ichigo, he thought sourly, if you give her an actual choice she might choose the one you didn't want.

 

“The filing system?” She asked after a moment's thought. He could tell that she was rather hyperactive this morning. God, having her be all jumpy was irritating him. Maybe he could just hide that ridiculous mug of hers and be done with it. He doubted it would stop her from drinking coffee though. She'd probably just pour it directly into her mouth. “You mean you actually remembered?”

 

He scowled bitterly at her, “Of course; despite what you might think, I do have a brain. My brain remembers things. My brain was what got me through law school and got me this job.”

 

“Oh I know you have a brain,” she answered breezily, “I just assumed that it was hidden somewhere behind all of your less amiable attributes.”

 

“Are you ever going to stop making assumptions on my character anytime soon?” He demanded.

 

“Probably not,” she answered just as casually as before. She stood up from her desk and indicated to the coffee pot. “I'm going to make some more, will you be needing any?”

 

He eyed her skeptically and crossed his arms over his chest. “How many cups have you had?”

 

She turned her nose up at him and grabbed the grinds. “I thought it would be best if I fortified myself for this particular morning.”

 

“You still didn't answer my question,” he returned sharply.

 

She waved a hand dismissively and began making another pot. “I don't know how many I've had, I don't count.”

 

“You're going to wear out your stomach lining with all that.” He snickered, “Not to mention coffee stunts your growth. But I guess you don't mind being short.”

 

Her back stiffened and Ichigo grinned swiftly. It was fun to aggravate this woman. He had already pegged her as the type of person who would react in a very predictable manner whenever she was provoked. So far she had proved his theory correct. She was always ready to fight, no matter what the battle.

 

Inwardly, he rolled his eyes. She was going to have a tough time working with him if she remained this combative. Because, well… Ichigo always won.

 

If she wanted to keep on insulting him, offending him, and throwing countless slights at him then he would just reciprocate with digs he knew would burn her. And he knew that she wouldn't be ready for it because she probably hadn't ever met anyone who would battle her on that front.

 

Let me guess, he thought, she's always used to people bending over backwards to do what she tells them to do, she's never without the total command of a room, and, of course, she's going to have ulcers by the age of thirty.

 

She turned back to him and he had to hide a small smile at her anger. That was another thing; she just got riled up so easily. It was really quite fun.

 

“There are two things that I will not tolerate from you.” She said in a quietly dangerous voice. Ichigo's amusement only grew as she took a few steps towards him. That wasn't a very smart move for her considering that she only came up to his collarbone. The whole nose-to-nose and toe-to-toe thing wouldn't really work on him. He would just find it comical.

 

She held up one of her hands and stuck out her pointer finger. Ichigo was reminded of his second grade teacher who would always shake that finger at him whenever he did anything bad.

 

Her voice was cutting as she continued. “Don't ever make any comments on my gender—”

 

“You're a girl.” He interrupted with a wicked grin.

 

“Woman,” she spat, “I am a woman you Neanderthal, not a girl.” She squared her shoulders and began again. “The second thing is my height. While I acknowledge that I am shorter than the average person I will not sustain any insults against it.” She narrowed her eyes. “Got it?”

 

Ichigo's grin became feral, “Whatever you say midget.”

 

She spun on her heel and stomped over to her own desk. “I loathe you.” She mentioned conversationally.

 

“I know you do,” he sighed, “But we weren't hired to like each other, now were we?”

 

She turned to him and glared. Ichigo found that glaring like that only stunted her best feature. Her eyes were narrowed and hard whenever she glared like that. He liked it better when her face was relaxed and not so hostile; her eyes weren't so fantastically demonic that way.

 

“That might be the first reasonable thing you've said since I've known you.” She said bitterly.

 

“Glad you agree,” he said and moved to the back of his desk. “So, why don't you make that pot of coffee and we'll get started.”

 

Rukia turned on him and snapped, “Don't assume that I'll make the coffee! I'm not a slave!”

 

If Ichigo would have permitted his jaw to drop it would be on the floor. “But you just said you'd make some!”

 

“Yes but did I say I'd make it for you too?”

 

“You hinted at it, yes.”

 

“Kurosaki, think about it,” she said, “If someone were to pass by this door and hear you ordering me to make coffee what message do you think that would send?”

 

Oh.

 

“That you were making coffee,” Ichigo answered nastily, even though he knew what she was hinting at.

 

“You know what I mean.” She sat behind her own desk and fiddled with her laptop computer. “I intend to make my mark here, no matter what. People won't see me and immediately assume that I'm your lackey. They'll know that I'm here as a proficient and important employee and that I mean business.” She cocked an eyebrow at him and glowered. “Are we clear?”

 

“Why do you say things like that?” Ichigo demanded, immediately mocking her. His temper was rising just listening to her prattle on about all this crap about being his lackey and whatnot. This tiny woman was stuffed with so much pride that he was surprised she hadn't split open at the seams. It wasn't the good kind of pride either. It was the kind of pride that made everyone think you were an ass. “You always have to ask if you're clear, if everyone has heard you, if we understand,” he continued nastily and shook his head. “Everyone hears you. You're man-voice carries on until it's imprinted into every brain within earshot.”

 

He looked up and saw her face was red with rage. But he wasn't finished. “So why don't you just assume that I'm intelligent enough to understand what you're saying. And don't bother to finish each sentence with another `are we clear' because I swear if you do I'll order you to make coffee every morning.”

 

The ticking clock was the only thing that could be heard in the deafening silence between them. Ichigo's hot eyes were pinned on her icy ones. The combination resulted in a glaring match that could have rivaled the one they had on Tuesday. Rukia broke the eye contact first. She shook her head slowly and typed her password into the computer. Ichigo glowered in triumph and loaded his own programs.

 

“You're going to be sorry one day, Kurosaki,” she said softly. There was no hint of immediate threat in her tone. It was just… quiet and there. Her liquid eyes turned to him and she shook her head slowly. “I'm sure of it.”

 

Ichigo snorted softly and rolled his eyes. “Yeah… I'll remember that.”

 

What he didn't know was that she would turn out to be right.

 

*~*~*

 

“I'm so nervous.”

 

Rukia, since this was the fourth time that Momo had blurted out this particular phrase, gritted her teeth together and pressed her fingertips to her temples.

 

“You'll be fine,” she said tersely. “Just… you just need to relax.”

 

“But Rukia,” Momo cried, she pushed her tuna sandwich around her plate and bit her bottom lip. She seemed like she was ready to burst into tears. “What if he doesn't ask me? What if I've just been thinking he's going to ask me but in reality he's not?” She gasped loudly and horridly and Rukia searched in her bag for another aspirin. “What if he gives me a friendship ring?”

 

She dove across the table and trapped Rukia's wrist in a death grip. She yelped but her frantic friend didn't seem to care. “Rukia,” she wailed. “What if he doesn't ask?”

 

“Momo,” she yelped, nearly exasperated in all of her patience, “He is going to propose to you, he will not give you just a friendship ring, you will accept, and you will live happily ever after!” She yanked her wrist away from Momo, who continued to clutch at any part of Rukia's body that was within her reach. It was as though Rukia was the anchor keeping Momo from the verge of hysteria. She drew in a couple deep breaths and prayed fervently that Toshiro was indeed going to propose. If it was anything other than a proposal then Momo would probably keel over—dead—at the table.

 

At least she'll look good, Rukia thought awkwardly, if she ends up wearing the outfit we decided on anyway.

 

“Listen,” Rukia murmured, hoping to soothe Momo's nerves so she would stop clawing at her arm. The poor girl looked like she was about to have a nervous breakdown. “I did a little research on the Silken Rose and according to one website, sixty seven percent of women who go there end up being proposed to by their significant other.”

 

Momo's lip stopped trembling and her eyes blinked up at Rukia hopefully. She smiled sympathetically and murmured, “And the other thirty three percent are couples celebrating anniversaries or elderly people coming to reminisce about when they were younger.”

 

Momo sniffled hopefully, tears glistened around the edges of her eyes and she wiped them away, amazingly without disrupting her mascara. “Really?” She whispered.

 

No I made it up.

 

“Of course,” she soothed. “I got it from a very reputable site. Don't worry, okay?”

 

Momo sniffled again and nodded woozily. Rukia smiled at her overly-excitable friend and wondered if she was going to have to drug her before the dinner. Knowing Toshiro, he would probably do something very romantic, like stuff the ring into her cheesecake or put it in her champagne glass. But then again, knowing Momo… she'd be so nervous throughout the entire meal that she wouldn't be able to eat a bite or make proper conversation. Or maybe it would be just the opposite, maybe Momo would be so nervous that she'd scarf down everything in site and accidentally swallow the ring, choke on it, and die?

 

Don't even go there Rukia, she told herself bitterly, it's utterly ridiculous.

 

But then another thought flashed through her mind. What if Momo was so panicked that she didn't think she could go to the dinner alone? I wonder if I'll be begged to come along. Rukia thought in horror. Momo, if she was truly and desperately afraid, would indeed bring up the idea.

 

I just need to keep her calm then, Rukia reasoned.

 

“Okay,” Momo said, interrupting Rukia's thoughts. She looked over at her friend and noticed that the stressed young woman was starting to do yoga breathing exercises. “Just… I just need to think about something else.” She turned her gray eyes onto Rukia and pouted. “I wish you didn't have to work here.”

 

“I know,” Rukia muttered, completely agreeing with that statement.

 

“With you not there I actually have to buy my own coffee,” Momo complained, “And I can't talk to you whenever I feel like it and all of the people who call asking for you get really mad when I tell them you don't work at this building anymore.” She bit into her tuna and winced, “I don't like getting yelled at.”

 

“I'm sorry Momo,” Rukia said, even though she didn't really feel any sort of remorse, “I'll have a new number soon, I promise.”

 

“Good,” Momo sighed and sipped her water, “How's Ichigo Kurosaki doing?”

 

“Or as I like to refer to him,” Rukia snarled, her mood instantly souring even more. “Lucifer.”

 

“Yikes.”

 

“He's horrid,” she spat, recalling this morning's incident. “Calls me short, orders me to make him coffee, and even mocks me for saying `are we clear' or `understand' at the end of every sentence.”

 

Momo's brow crinkled and she shrugged her shoulders, “Huh, you do tend to do that, don't you?”

 

“Don't even start with me Momo,” Rukia threatened, “Or I'll bring up you-know-what.”

 

“Fine,” she said, “Well, have you two done any work? Even though you won't tell me what it is you're working on.” She glared at Rukia and leaned forward. Rukia could only assume that she was trying to look a bit more threatening. She rolled her eyes inwardly and knew that Momo couldn't look threatening even if she had a sword in her hands.

 

“Sorry Momo,” she confessed, “I've been sworn to secrecy, even Kurosaki can't tell anyone.”

 

“Fine,” she relented. “But I'll find out eventually, right?”

 

“Trust me,” Rukia muttered, “It'll be painfully obvious when I'm finished with the job.”

 

“Alright, but tell me, haven't you guys gotten any work done?”

 

Rukia pursed her lips together and nodded, “We have, but not a lot. It's going to take a while.” Her nose wrinkled and she picked at her own lunch. “He said that he won't come in before eight thirty, he won't stay late, and he won't work weekends.”

 

“Shocker.”

 

“I thought he was being an ignoramus,” Rukia prattled on, choosing to ignore Momo's sarcastic remark. “I mean, if neither of us wants to be in each other's presence very long why wouldn't we just work as hard as we can to finish this job quickly?”

 

“Because, Sweetie,” Momo brought her hands out and placed them overtop of Rukia's. Her fingers patted Rukia's skin softly and she smiled sympathetically. “Different people… well, they have different lives, and not all of them like to work as much as you do.”

 

Rukia glumly drew her hands away, “You get points for saying that delicately Momo,” she muttered, “He didn't.”

 

“I'm sure he didn't mean to be so crass.”

 

“Now you're just being too nice.”

 

“I know, but you need it.”

 

Rukia frowned at her food and sighed. “I'm a big girl Momo, people don't have to be nice to me, they just need to respect me.”

 

“Did you ever think that maybe that's it?” Momo said softly, her eyes glued onto her limp tuna sandwich. “Maybe you spend so much time demanding people's respect that you kind of bypass being nice.”

 

Rukia didn't snap back at her friend. She just sat back in her plastic seat, crossed her arms over her chest, and stared blankly up at the light fixtures. Momo had closed her mouth and was back to toying with her sandwich. Rukia didn't blame her; she made sure that her posture kept her from saying anything else.

 

Momo was right though. As much as she hated to admit it, she was right about most everything when it came to judgments about Rukia's character or personality. All of her comments were insightful and sharp as tacks. It made Rukia wonder if Momo would have been more suited for a PhD in psychology instead of a Masters in business.

 

She had been Momo's friend long enough for her to know all the tricks Rukia used. Fighting without being provoked was a popular one, verbally abusing those who would misuse their power was another, and keeping everyone at arms length was also employed constantly. Momo once told Rukia that these were all defense mechanisms she used to keep herself safe.

 

“You've never really been close to anyone other than me.”

 

“That's not true…”

 

“Well, except him, but he doesn't count.”

 

“Momo…”

 

“Rukia, you can't be afraid that people are going to hurt you. Not everyone is like him. People don't hurt other people for the fun of it—well, okay, psychos do—but most of the time it's just by mistake.”

 

“I don't like being hurt.”

 

“No one does… but if you don't put yourself out there to accept the hurt then you're never going to really be able to experience the good stuff either. It's like losing your virginity, it hurts a lot at first but you have to stick it out in order to get the whole experience.”

 

Rukia could remember every instant about that conversation. It had been initiated because she had seen a man she had gone out with a few times on the metro with another woman. She told Momo about it and when Rukia didn't become incensed or teary-eyed, Momo demanded to know why. Rukia had simply shrugged and said, “I didn't like him all that much in the first place.”

 

Momo accused her of not `letting anyone in' and she had been right. Rukia didn't let people in for the simple reason that she didn't want them there. She hated having to worry about others or having others rely on her. Taking care of herself was her top priority. She didn't want others to know everything about her. She didn't want them to expect things from her. She just wanted to be left alone. She wanted to be Rukia Kuchiki, no one more and no one less.

 

She guessed that that was why she was not too keen in the dating world. She just couldn't get past those lawyerly pleasantries. She couldn't go deeper than that… and she had a feeling that she didn't even want to. If she never moved past the weather then she never had to get to know them, to start caring, and to open up about herself. She was safer this way. No one could dispute that.

 

Rukia lowered her gaze back to Momo and smiled softly. Her friend was looking at her warily, as if wondering whether or not she should speak.

 

“Don't worry about it Momo,” she said calmly. “Maybe I'll try to work on that whole respect and being nice thing… at least with him.”

 

Momo's eyes brightened immediately. Rukia rarely took advice from anyone and seeing as how she was actually listening to something that Momo had said made the moment even more special.

 

“Alright,” she chirped happily. They both stood and grabbed the trash from their lunch. “I'll just go back, don't forget to email me that new extension.”

 

“I won't,” Rukia answered, still mulling over what Momo had told her.

 

They said their goodbyes and went in their separate directions. Rukia to the elevators and Momo to the doors.

 

She stepped inside and pressed the appropriate button. The doors were almost closed when she heard a shout and her hand shot out to grab them before they could shut.

 

She immediately wished she hadn't.

 

“Thank you,” Orihime Inoue said, slightly out of breath as she stepped inside.

 

“No problem,” Rukia answered stiffly. Her hand released the metallic doors and she stood to the side, listening intently to the standard music resonating in the elevator. The doors began to slide shut once again.

 

“Hold the elevator!”

 

Rukia's thumb came out and jammed the button to close the door.

 

“Mr. Kurosaki!” Inoue cried, her mood seemingly lifted instantaneously. She pressed her palm against the metal and held the doors back for him. Rukia sullenly turned and stared pointedly up at the ceiling.

 

“Inoue,” he said in greeting, he turned towards Rukia and his scowl deepened just a bit. “Kuchiki.”

 

“Kurosaki,” she grunted.

 

Rukia vaguely recognized the song playing as the doors finally closed and the elevator began to move. Her eyes found the weight capacity certificate and she began reading it.

 

An orange head in her peripheral vision shifted.

 

“Are you having a good day, Mr. Kurosaki?”

 

“Oh… yeah, it's been fine.”

 

Rukia's ears perked up; if she didn't know any better, she'd say that he sounded a bit wary. She enjoyed it.

 

“Are you and Ms. Kuchiki working well together?”

 

“Ah, yeah, I guess so.”

 

Rukia felt his eyes search the elevator and land on her. A small smile formed in the pit of her stomach but she didn't let it show on her face. If he wanted her to talk in order to fill the silence, or perhaps, to distract Inoue, she wasn't going to do it. Even though she hated people talking about her like she wasn't in the room she wasn't going to let it get to her. It was about time she took Momo's advice to heart… or, maybe some of her advice.

 

“I've heard that Mr. Aizen is coming back early from his trip to the capital.” Inoue informed them. “I wonder if he'll stop by our offices.”

 

“I don't know.” Was Ichigo's strained answer.

 

The floors passed by exceedingly slow. Rukia had already memorized the weight capacity certificate and was now counting the dots on the ceiling.

 

“How's your family?”

 

Rukia glanced down at him. This would be interesting.

 

“They're good, my sisters are in college… and my father is still crazy.”

 

“I remember meeting them at the company picnic,” Inoue chuckled at the memory, “Your father was such a hoot.” Another reminiscence shot across her mind and she let out a high, girly, laugh.

 

Rukia flinched.

 

The doors to the elevator opened and Kurosaki was the first one out of them. Inoue followed close behind and Rukia was the last to leave. She ambled slowly in the hall and nodded to a few people as she passed. She watched the twin heads of orange practically sprint down the corridor. She snickered inwardly as she read Kurosaki's body language. He most certainly did not want to be around Inoue, even if it was only for a few moments. She would even go as far as to say that if he had known Inoue was in the elevator he would have waited for the next one. Rukia being in there was just a small bonus.

 

She trolled happily into her office. She didn't know why, but she was in a much better mood than the one she had been in this morning. Maybe it was just seeing Kurosaki squirm in the presence of Orihime Inoue, maybe it was talking with Momo, or maybe it was just because the lunch she had today hadn't been half-bad, but she felt okay.

 

Maybe she'd go for a victory run around the park tonight.

 

*~*~*

 

Ichigo looked up as Rukia Kuchiki walked back into the room.

 

“Have a nice lunch?” He demanded venomously.

 

She tilted her head to the side and pressed a finger to her chin. She tapped it a few times, which he found utterly infuriating, and sighed, “You know, I actually did. I opted for a fiesta salad today instead of Caesar, which is what I usually get, and it was very good. Thanks for asking.”

 

“You're a bitch, you know that?” He hissed.

 

“I've been told.” She sighed nonchalantly.

 

Ichigo's eyes widened and his jaw went a bit slack. What the hell was going on?

 

This morning she had been all spit and hellfire. She had looked like she was going to claw his eyes out at any moment just because he might have looked at her the wrong way. Well, at least, that's what she had looked like after he had commented on her height. Now, after only a few hours of stony, working, silence and one lunch hour she was airy and calm. She hadn't even put up a fight when he called her a bitch.

 

What is up with this woman? He thought angrily, fighting the urge to scratch the top of his head. She was… confusing.

 

 

“You could have said something in that elevator.” He grumbled and plopped back into his chair.

 

“Could have,” she sighed, “But didn't. Hindsight is twenty twenty isn't it? Besides, it was amusing to watch you squirm.”

 

He glared at her and shook his head. He would have to buy her a mood ring or something just so he could separate those swings of her.

 

“Please don't tell me that you've got something going with Inoue,” she said after a moment.

 

“None of your business.” He snapped.

 

His answer was far too quick and her wickedly spreading grin told him just that. “Oh, I see. It's not like I didn't expect it. I mean, with your history…”

Ichigo's eyes narrowed and his temper rose, “My history? What exactly do you mean by that?”

 

“What do you think I mean by it?” She asked coyly.

 

He glared and she shrugged.

 

“I mean, come on, you couldn't have expected me not to hear things,” she rolled her eyes and continued, “I'm just surprised I didn't figure it out sooner.”

 

Ichigo's jaw clenched.

 

“Although I'm not sure why you'd actually want to sleep with someone you see everyday. Especially her, she seems…” Rukia looked towards the door and tilted her head to the side. “Persistent.”

 

“Persistent isn't even half of it.” Ichigo muttered but then returned to glaring at her, “But you're wrong about sleeping with her. I didn't.”

 

“Really?” Rukia asked. She was sitting at her desk, her elbows propped on the metallic edged top. She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on top of them. “Then what did you do?”

 

“It's a long story,” he replied shortly, even though he wasn't even sure why he was telling her this. He hadn't told anyone other than Uryu and that hadn't even been a good idea.

 

Still… she was just sitting there with her intense liquid eyes trained on him, listening attentively. He kind of liked it. The only other person who would ever listen with that type of vigilance was probably his sister, Yuzu, and maybe his father… when he wasn't acting like he belonged in an insane asylum. Plus, if her tone was any indication, it sounded like she could also commiserate over his current predicament. She didn't seem like she was a very big of a fan of Ms. Inoue either.

 

“Christmas Party,” he blurted out darkly, half surprised by his own tiny confession. “I had one too many jell-o shots and we ended up making out.” He leaned back in his chair and pressed a hand to his frowning eyes. “She's been kind of… persistent, as you put it, ever since then.”

 

She chuckled lightly and Ichigo tore his hand away from his eyes. His amber gaze blazed over at her and she held up her hands in mocking defense. Ichigo immediately regretted ever telling her that. She would never let him live it down.

 

How could he forget? This was the evil woman who hated his guts. She was mean and she was vile and she had even told him once that if the building were on fire she would rather save her Chappy the Rabbit mug instead of him!

 

Ichigo could have slapped himself. He couldn't believe he had even opened up to this witch. Even though, frankly, this wasn't the worst of his endeavors he could have told her about. When he thought of them… no, it definitely wasn't the worst.

 

“No wonder.” Was all she said.

 

Ichigo was immediately on the defense, ready for a fight; if he were a dog he would have been back on his haunches, hackles raised, and growling at her like he was going to attack her throat.

 

She frowned lightly and shrugged, “When I was in here the first time she acted like I was encroaching upon her territory.”

 

Ichigo's frown was lifted from his face and his mind was sent reeling.

 

He had expected some sort of attack on his character, a joke about his way of life, or even a remark about his hair—he just didn't know with this woman—but that was all he got? A little remark that wasn't threatening at all? A statement proclaiming that she actually agreed with him.

 

Wait a sec, he thought slowly, was I looking for a fight?

 

No, he couldn't have been looking for a fight with this woman. It just wasn't his way; he didn't look for fights, they just seemed to come to him. It had been that way all throughout his time in high school, college, and the `real world.' During high school he had to fight to keep his reputation. He also had to fight because people singled him out for his strangely colored hair. In college he had to fight for the top spots in his class, and now… well, now he had to fight to be the best.

 

Which basically meant that there wasn't much fighting to do because, well… he was the best.

 

Even if Rukia Kuchiki didn't know it yet.

 

“Oh,” he said, his voice surprising soft. “Yeah, I guess I can see her doing that.”

 

Then Rukia Kuchiki did something he hadn't seen her do yet. Hell, he had even doubted she could do it. Her face was usually either stoic and cold or violent and feral. He hadn't seen her look happy or kind—except when she drank coffee, but that's a different kind of happy—and he had even half doubted that, given who she was raised by, she could show any type of real emotion.

 

She smiled.

 

She did and it was… nice. Her entire face softened and her eyes shined with glee and something else, something close to mischief. It surprised him.

 

She surprised him.

 

“Well,” she said, “I'm glad we agree on something.”

 

Ichigo, still flabbergasted, shook his head and snorted. He couldn't believe that Orihime Inoue could be the one person who would be able to break down a few barriers in between. He shrugged, he guessed that nothing could bring two people together like a common enemy.

 

*~*~*

 

The lights in the room were eagerly awaiting the switch that would allow them to shine with fluorescence inside of the dimness. Yet no one touched the tiny plastic switches. The room remained completely dark. It was quiet too. Nothing stirred saved the glittering fish in the rectangular aquarium. Those watery ballerinas twirled in their glass cage, blissfully unaware of the darkness pressing up against them.

 

The stars outside the room twinkled softly. Most were obscured by the lights of the city and the others by random clouds. However, the ones that struggled through these obstructions were brilliant. Like diamonds crusted onto a midnight background.

 

The door opened slowly and a few fish peeked out at the man entering the room. In the darkness the only discernable feature was his height. He loomed over everything in the room.

 

He strode forward until his feet were only inches away from a large, oak, desk. His knees brushed the wood but he made no move to step away.

 

“You called?” His voice was deep and trenchant.

 

“I did,” said the second man. He swirled around in his chair. He was completely hidden in black shadows. “I need something done.”

 

“Something,” the first man snorted, “I thought we had gotten past this the first couple of times.”

 

“Fine then,” he replied, “I need someone… dealt with.” He dug into a drawer in his desk and snapped it open. The wood rubbed against itself and the scratchy friction only caused the silence in the room to become more apparent.

 

The man at the desk pulled out a manila folder. He tossed it on the desk and his associate picked it up with hands covered in latex.

 

The man behind the desk noticed and grinned nastily, “I thought we had gotten past that the first couple of times.”

 

The associate didn't stop as he opened the folder and drew out a series of photographs. “It's a business practice,” he murmured casually, his voice low and thick. He studied the picture for a moment and whistled low in his throat. He glanced at the man behind the desk and said, “Are you sure? This could have repercussions.”

 

A twinkle was in his eye as he said, “Those are what I'm looking forward to.”

 

There was a pause between them. “Pretty thing.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Are you sure?”

 

“Have I ever been unsure?”

 

He handed the photos back to the man behind the desk and nodded. “I understand.”

 

Another drawer was slid open. This time the man drew out a lighter. He held the photos in his hand and flicked the lighter in the other. The flame danced wildly for a moment before they latched onto the piece of paper. It slowly climbed, charring the image and dropping its ashy remnants onto the top of the desk. When it was completely obliterated the man brushed the tiny gray flicks into his palm. He clenched his fist and then dumped the ashes into the waste bin by his side.

 

The second man, who had been watching the entire incident, looked back up at his contractor. “What's my timeframe?”

 

“I want it finished by the end of summer.”

 

“That's only a few weeks away.”

 

“I'm sure you can manage.”

 

“How much will I be paid?”

 

“Double what you normally get.”

 

“Wonderful.”

 

The silence dropped onto their shoulders once again. The men stared each other for a few moments before the man sitting behind the desk cleared his throat and said softly, “This conversation never happened.”

 

“What conversation?” The second man said. He flashed a stunning grin before nodding once, turning on his heel, and exiting the room.

 

The man behind the desk watched him leave. The door clicked softly and silence once again proceeded to conquer the entire office. He stayed still and quiet for a full minute before turning around in his chair. It seemed he was staring at the few stars brave enough to peek through the lights and the clouds. He rested his chin on his hands and gazed out the window. He looked peaceful and contemplative.

 

In the corner of the room, the fish swam mindlessly.

 

 

 

 

(A/N: So now things get a bit more interesting… cue evil laughter.

Thank you so much for all of the reviews I have received! It really gives me a boost to writing and updating!

I finally got an internet signal at the Beach and my sis wants to check facebook so I need to skedaddle.

REVIEW, REVIEW, and REVIEW!

Tituba.)