Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Odalisque ❯ Chapter 40 ( Chapter 40 )

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

 

 

 

 

Odalisque

 

Chapter 40

 

Ichigo pulled the chair out and moved as far away from it as he could without actually letting go of it.

 

“Here you go Inoue,” he said gingerly, allowing the young woman to sit in the seat proffered to her.

 

“Why thank you Mr. Kurosaki,” she giggled, seating herself happily in her chair.

 

Ichigo clenched his jaw and he fought to keep a straight face as he walked to the other side of the table and took a seat in his own chair. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He really couldn't. Not in his wildest dreams did he ever imagine that he'd ever be on an actual date with Orihime Inoue.

 

Just don't think about it as a date, he told himself forcefully, swallowing back down the revulsion in his throat. Just think of it as some kind of an investigation. That's all this is…

 

For Rukia.

 

“I'm so glad we're finally doing this, Mr. Kurosaki,” Inoue giggled, using exaggerated movements to smooth out the napkin on her lap. “I mean, it's been so long in coming, don't you think?”

 

Ichigo shrugged one shoulder and sat down in his seat, pushing himself into the table just a bit. A waiter came up and asked them what they'd like to drink. Ichigo glanced at Inoue and found that she was pointedly staring at him; her gray eyes were intense and watchful. He swallowed his repulsion at the scrutiny and cleared his throat, “Ah… water.”

 

“For me too!” Inoue chirped instantly, turning to the waiter and giving him a beatific smile, he promptly stared drooling. Ichigo wanted to snort and offer to switch places with the man.

 

I mean at least he can willingly leave.

 

Inoue giggled softly and then turned back to Ichigo. “Did anyone ever tell you that when the light bounces off of your hair it looks like a basket of oranges?”

 

Has anyone ever told you that it's considered rude to make people vomit at the dinner table?

 

“No,” he said, chuckling forcibly and swallowing hard, “I don't think anyone ever has.”

 

“Well it does. Either that or a bunch of basketballs propped up against the sun. Or maybe orange jello cubes!” She giggled and put her hand to her mouth, “Everything about your hair is just so perfectly orange!” Her eyes became dreamy and she sighed, “Just like mine…”

 

“They're different shades,” he pointed out stiffly, “Yours is closer to brown whereas mine is closer to blond.”

 

“Either way,” she said, brushing off his comment as if it were some type of fly resting momentarily on her skin, “They're both still orange. Makes you think we were kind of meant to be together. Right, Mr. Kurosaki?”

 

“Yeah…” Ichigo muttered, having his water set in front of him by the waiter. He listlessly picked up his menu and began looking at the choices. He had never been to this place before and for that he was glad. He hadn't wanted to bring Inoue to a place that he had wanted to take Rukia to.

 

“Oooh,” Inoue squealed, causing several restaurant patrons to look up at her and stare in blatant dislike. Ichigo tried not to be one of them. “Doesn't the shellfish look good? Or maybe the chicken… or maybe both of them together! With peanut butter! I bet that would taste fantastic. Don't you think so?”

 

“Ah… without the peanut butter,” Ichigo muttered, wishing that this night were over with… now. Hell, he'd prefer sitting in his bedroom, completely miserable and pining over Rukia rather than sitting in this rather nice restaurant with Orihime Inoue.

 

“Okay then,” she sighed, putting down her menu and leaning her elbow on the table, she put her head in her hand and stared dreamily over at Ichigo. He tried not to squirm. “When you're over at my house I'll make you some of my specialties… lima beans and chicken noodle soup, chocolate spaghetti and pork rinds, escargot and red bean paste and caramel apples… all of my favorites just for you. I've never shared my recipes with anyone before so I'm sure you'll appreciate it.”

 

“Sure I will,” Ichigo muttered, taking up his water and gulping it down. The waiter reappeared and asked for their orders. “A salad,” Ichigo muttered, “With chicken.”

 

“Me too,” Inoue said softly as she handed the menu back to their server. She looked whimsically at Ichigo and then gave him a soft wink. “You and I think alike, you know?”

 

“Yeah,” he chuckled, obviously uncomfortable but trying to hide it, “I guess we do.”

 

Okay… just throw yourself into it, he told himself as he gripped his water glass tighter and tighter, things are already as bad as they can be. Just… get this over with.

 

“Like,” he began, trying to clear his throat of any obstructions before he spoke, “Like how we both had an idea to get rid of Kuchiki.”

 

Inoue cocked her head to the side and frowned, “Which Kuchiki?”

 

Ichigo almost choked on air.

 

“Excuse me?” He gasped, bringing some more water up to his mouth just so he could flush out any intrusions. “D-Do you know something about Byakuya Kuchiki… as in, who shot him?”

 

Inoue blinked at him twice before lifting her head back and laughing lightly. Ichigo just sat there; his face was as pale as a ghost and his hands were trembling slightly.

 

Does Inoue know more than I originally thought?

 

“Oh Mr. Kurosaki!” She chuckled, her voice high and squeaky, “That imagination you have…” she waved her hand in front of her face in amusement and shook her head, “Of course I don't know anything about that! Silly!”

 

Mixtures of disappointment and slight relief entered into his body. As creepy and demented as he thought Inoue was he did not believe that she'd ever be able to order someone killed.

 

Well, it's not that, he thought after a moment, it's just that she doesn't have that kind of power.

 

“You and your imagination Mr. Kurosaki,” she laughed again. She leaned forward and propped both of her elbows on the table. She gently linked her fingers and allowed her head to slide on top of them. Her ample breasts were both also propped on top of said table. Ichigo had to fight the look of disgust that slithered onto his face.

 

Breasts like that must be such a hindrance, he thought disgustedly, doesn't she have back problems?

 

“We have that in common, you know,” she giggled, “An imagination I mean. Yours is just as lovely as mine…” she sighed theatrically and resumed her reverent staring.

 

“Yeah… such a lovely trait,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck with his hand. He just wanted to get his answers and get this over with. “But I meant the female Kuchiki. You know my… my former business partner.”

 

My lover, my friend, and the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with.

 

“Oh!” Orihime clapped her hands together and jiggled up and down in her seat. She looked like a young child at a birthday party whose cake had just been set down in front of her. “That Kuchiki. Of course I'll tell you, Mr. Kurosaki. I mean, after all I did get you away from her and all.” She gave him a very pleased look, “I bet you're glad she's gone. After seducing you like that and all,” she tsked unhappily and shook her head, her hair falling every which way around the table.

 

“Yeah… yeah,” Ichigo muttered, shoving his hands under the table so his fingers could practically strangle their counterparts. He wasn't even going to bother to point out that it had been he who really seduced her. Briefly, his mind flashed back to the moment she had showed up at his house and demanded that he renege his statement of her being worthless.

 

Damn… how blind was I? He thought balefully. It's only when I lose her that I realize she's worth everything to me.

 

Their plates were set in front of them and he tiredly began to eat. He didn't have much of an appetite. Hell, he had barely had one at all since Rukia had left him. Still, he forced the food down in throat. He didn't want anything to seem out of place.

 

“It's really a funny story, Mr. Kurosaki,” she giggled and bit a piece of chicken in what he thought must have been a somewhat sultry way. She paused and slowly drew her fork from her mouth. A frown was etched onto her eyebrows and she was staring at him with an unhappy look in her eyes.

 

Ichigo blinked once, not even halfway concerned, “What?”

 

Inoue put her fork down and set her hands in her lap. On her face, her frown became even more pronounced but her lips drew themselves into a pout. “Really now, I think that if we're going to be together I should call you by your first name.” Her lip was pulled out even further and she batted her eyelashes prettily.

 

Ichigo felt like vomiting.

 

Projectile style.

 

After a moment of dumbfounded staring he sighed and realized that he was going to have to go all the way for this little act he was putting up. He couldn't just half-ass it. He needed to do his very best if he was going to get all of this information out of her.

 

He sighed once and—after taking a very, very, very, deep breath—brought his hand out. He reached across the table and put his hand on top of Inoue's.

 

He heard her breath catch in her throat. Quickly, he tugged her hand up and threaded his fingers through hers. This time, her gasp rang out across the entire restaurant and a few patrons even turned around to look at them.

 

“Orihime,” he whispered, making his voice as husky and as sultry as he could. He paused and made a light chuckling sound in his throat, “I never noticed how much I like saying your name.” He made a light humming sound in his throat. “Orihime… it's just lovely.”

 

He looked up at her and saw that her face was a raging pink, her gray eyes were hungry with want, and her chest heaved with her breathless excitement. “Oh… Ichigo… that's so… that's so…” she leaned across the table and gazed at him with unblinking and ravenous eyes. “Do you want to get the check now? My apartment isn't far.”

 

Once again Ichigo had to stem the urge to vomit. Instead he let out a low chuckle and shook his head, running his fingers lightly over the skin on Orihime's hand. He immediately saw goose-bumps rise on her flesh. “Slow down Ino—Orihime,” he amended gently, “We have all the time in the world for that.”

 

I once told that to Rukia too…

 

He flashed her a dazzling smile and winked an eye at her, “We don't want to rush into this, do we?”

 

“I do.” She told him, her voice taking on a sinister note of indomitable possession.

 

“Well,” he murmured, turning her hand over and running his fingers over her pulse—something that he had learned from his days of philandering, apparently, it drove women a bit wild—and brining her wrist up to his face so he could blow on it. “I want to take things slowly… get to know you first. After all...” he looked up at her through his lashes and gave her a cocky smirk, “You did rescue me from that… what did you call her?”

 

“Whore?” She asked in a voice so breathless it was almost nonexistent.

 

“Exactly,” Ichigo muttered, feeling his blood boil at the very thought of Rukia being called a whore. “And… how did you do that? Tell me Princess.”

 

Inoue's eyes were practically bugging out of her head. He stole a quick glance over her body and realized that she must have been extremely turned on. Her nipples were poking through the thin—and very revealing—fabric of her clothing and her hips were constantly being ground into the chair beneath her. Ichigo shuddered in revulsion at the knowledge that he had done this to her… purposefully.

 

“It was quite simple really,” she gasped, her fingers twitching in his grasp so her skin could brush up against his. Ichigo received chills of horror each time it happened. Still, he didn't have time to focus on that. He needed to listen to everything that Inoue was telling him. It could be the key to getting Rukia back.

 

“One day I was coming home from work,” she whispered dramatically, “And I found a package under my door. When I opened it I found a picture of you and that whore in the elevator together.”

 

Memories flooded into Ichigo's mind. That hot dress, her perfect mouth, that amazing night… and the way she had left him with one of the worst cases of blue balls he had ever had in his life. Ah… classic Rukia.

 

“The other paper that was with the picture said, if I wanted you,” she took this opportunity to bat her eyelashes prettily at Ichigo, “I would leave my answer for them on my door. So I told them yes.”

 

“How did you contact them?” Ichigo asked, his voice ripe with fascination as he leaned across the table and continued to play with her fingers, her shaking increased slightly but he didn't care. He needed to act like he was hanging onto each word that she was saying. “Did they leave a number?”

 

“Oh no,” Inoue shook her head and bits of hair went flying into her food, “No… no, I just wrote the word `yes' on a piece of paper and taped it outside my door.” She nodded happily and grinned like a fool, “It was gone by the morning.”

 

“Fascinating,” Ichigo ground out, “This is like some kind of spy movie… and you're the super agent.” He winked at her and continued. “Did you have to dress up in skin tight leather?”

 

“No,” her chest was heaving at the effort it was taking her to remain conscious, “But I can if you want me too. I don't have any problems with bonds either.”

 

“Slow,” he reiterated carefully, “We're taking it slowly, remember?”

 

She frowned in aggravation and ground her hips against her chair once more. Ichigo swallowed his disgust and cleared his throat, “So what happened next?”

 

Inoue leaned forward across the table and drew in a deep breath, it seemed like she was trying to sniff him or something. “Well… after that I got a note saying that I had to contact this person—”

 

“Who?” Ichigo demanded. Inoue blinked at him and tilted her head to the side. Ichigo, remembering that he was supposed to be doing this so she wouldn't suspect anything, cleared his throat and muttered an apology. “Sorry Princess, got a little too into the story… so…”

 

Inoue shook her head—sending more hair into her salad—and giggled happily, “That's okay! His name was Ulquiorra Schiffer and he was a…” she leaned across the table and tried to move down a bit but was hindered by the immensity of her own breasts. Ichigo leaned forward as well, trying desperately to catch every word that he could, “Private detective.”

 

Ice immediately crackled through Ichigo's veins and froze everything inside of him. He swallowed hard and felt his stomach start to churn with horror.

 

“And?” He asked hoarsely, barely realizing that his face was only inches away from Inoue's. He didn't care anymore. He just wanted to know who he was going to have to kill once this was all over.

 

“Well,” Inoue continued, whispered animatedly and doing little hand motions with her fingers—the ones that weren't trapped by Ichigo's, that is, “He must have installed cameras or something in your office because he got a few shots of you and the whore mid-coitus on your desks, as well as in your car, and—of course—that one in the elevator.”

 

“A—and Rukia saw these?” He asked hoarsely, his eyes beginning to widen.

 

Inoue nodded vigorously, too caught up in her own story to realize that Ichigo had referred to the whore by her first name. “Oh yes… but you see, that's just the cake. Everyone knows that the icing is really the best part of any dessert.” She shot him a suggestive look and grinned, “That's also something I don't mind. Feel free to eat any type of food off of my body Ichigo!”

 

Some restaurant patrons promptly began choking.

 

“What… was the icing?” He rasped, his hand clenching hers even harder. He wasn't even bothering to draw tiny patterns on the skin anymore.

 

“Do you remember when you took me home that one day?” She giggled and then blushed as the memory flashed through her head. “Well, Mr. Schiffer was the one who told me to do it really. He got photos of us kissing—”

 

Ichigo didn't bother to tell her that it was actually she who kissed him and that he had no actual part in any of it.

 

“—And then when I yanked you inside, I bet the photo looked like you were coming into my apartment to… you know.” Inoue broke off and giggled happily, “But we'll get to that later tonight. Anyway, she saw all of the photos on Monday. Also, when she came into the office I told her that all of them had been posted on the internet—a lie, of course, because no one but me is going to be seeing you naked anytime in the near future.” She winked at him and let out another, looser, laugh. “Wasn't it wonderful Ichigo? I mean, the planning that it took! I think it was absolutely brilliant!”

 

Ichigo looked up at the woman who was, without a doubt, partially responsible for the reason his entire world was now crashing down on top of him. He took a moment and desperately tried to find a reason why he should restrain himself from launching over the table and snapping her neck in two.

 

You don't want to go to jail, Kurosaki, his brain seethed, you'll never get Rukia back if you go to jail.

 

“Is that all?” He asked in a quiet voice, his hand retracting to its own side of the table. He looked quietly down at his uneaten food and tried to reign in his temper. “Was that you're entire… part?”

 

“Yes,” she murmured dreamily, reaching her hand out and stroking her fingers along the length of Ichigo's own hand. “But oh… Ichigo… they told me that once this was finished you'd be mine and I'd be yours. Isn't it wonderful that now we're going to be together?”

 

Ichigo didn't say anything. He only looked up at the woman who had caused Rukia so much pain and him so much strife. His gaze seemed to pierce right through her as she babbled on and on about things that would never come to pass.

 

“I bet our children will have hair like ours. We'll get a dog too! Oh! It'll be one of those cutesy dogs that you can put in your purse but, of course, you won't have to do that, I'll do it instead. I can also be your personal secretary now that she's gone and you're the head of the legal department! You and I, working together all of the time and then coming home to be together! Although, I bet your apartment is bigger than mine. I have some very tasteful furniture though and I think you'd like—”

 

“Inoue.” Ichigo said. His voice was low but sharp and at the sound of it, Inoue's head snapped upwards. Her gray eyes blinked into his and she cocked her head to the side.

 

“Yes Ichi?”

 

Ichigo closed his eyes and jerked his hand back, out of Inoue's grasp and out of her reach entirely. Obviously confused, she momentarily attempted to grapple for it but Ichigo shoved it far enough away that she couldn't get to it. He put his hand on the side of the table, just flexing and releasing until he was relatively sure that he wasn't going to slug her anymore. It was against his moral policy to hurt women but…

 

Aren't rules were meant to be broken?

 

He lifted his eyes to hers and ground out the first four words he could think of:

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

She blinked once and in less than a second her face melted back into the frowning, pouting, thing it had been a few minutes ago.

 

“There's no need to be so crass honey, all you need to do is ask me to be quiet, I don't like that kind of language. Since we're together you'd better stop talking like—”

 

“When did you ever get the idea that I was going to be with you?” Ichigo demanded, his voice harsh and his body tense. Oh… he had so many more things he wanted to say to her, horrible things, nasty things, disgusting things… but he knew he couldn't.

 

Not in public anyway.

 

Her frown/pout became more intense, “Well… you did. And the note said too that if I—”

 

“I don't give a flying fuck about what some whack-job wrote on a note.” He glared at her with eyes that could have resembled a damn volcanic eruption. “I do not love you, Orihime Inoue. I have never loved you. The only reason I made out with you at that Christmas party a year ago was simply because you force-fed me twenty too many beers.” He drew in a breath and fought back a snarl.

 

Inoue's eyes were large and horrified but she stayed silent while he was speaking. A trait for which Ichigo was grateful. He didn't think he could deal with her sputtering right now.

 

“I am in love,” he said slowly, enunciating each syllable so that she wouldn't get confused, “With Rukia Kuchiki. Not you. I want to be with her. Not you. Do you understand?”

 

“B—But…” she gasped, her mouth was opening and closing like a fish while her eyes remained wide.

 

“To me, you're just the conniving, selfish, bitch who helped to hurt her.” He growled, pushing himself away from the table and standing up. “That makes you lower than scum in my eyes.”

 

While Inoue's stunned and horrified eyes watched, Ichigo wrestled his jacket from the back of his chair and slid it over his arms. He turned towards the exit and walked away from her, not even bothering to look back. He heard her call after him but he ignored every whining plea that came from her mouth.

 

He pushed open the door—not even caring that Inoue was practically screaming at this point—and quickly walked outside to his Benz. He got in, started the engine, and slammed his foot onto the gas pedal. He gunned it, watching dirty slush fly out from behind his wheels and cars swerve off the road to avoid him.

 

Ichigo drove as if he was trying out for a racing team. He quickly sped around blocks, through intersections, and across yellow traffic lights in order to get to the place where he needed to be.

 

Soon, he spotted a lonely black van sitting on the side of the road. Quickly, he pulled in behind it, killed the engine, and jerked open the door. He didn't even bother to put lock his car as he rushed towards the heavy back doors and banged his fist against them.

 

Tatsuki Arisawa's welcoming head immediately poked through.

 

“Come on in,” she said gruffly, tugging on her collar, “It's freezing out there.”

 

Ichigo obliged instantly and made his way into the cramped back area of the technologically advanced van.

 

“Yo,” Renji said to him as he entered and shut the door behind him.

 

“Hey,” Ichigo returned, glancing at the detective beside him. Abarai was currently fiddling with some buttons on his computer. On the screen there were a bunch of squiggling lines that resembled some sort of audio file. Ichigo swallowed dryly and instantly knew that what he was looking at was his entire conversation with Orihime Inoue.

 

“Nice speech at the end,” Tatsuki told him, handing him a cup of coffee.

 

“I didn't say anything but the truth,” Ichigo muttered, not even bothering to ask where the coffee had come from in a crap hole like this.

 

“Sure, sure,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “But I'm glad you started acting when you did. I could tell that she was getting suspicious of you.”

 

“Yeah,” Abarai grunted, “You could have turned on the charm a bit earlier though. You'd have saved yourself some pain.”

 

Ichigo raised his eyebrow at that. Renji just looked over at him and shrugged, “Hell, I was just listening to her and I got fed up with her. You actually had to sit there and see her.”

 

“Thanks for the empathy,” Ichigo muttered, his voice slightly lacking the sarcasm it usually had. “Do you have enough?”

 

Abarai raised his head, “Hm? Enough for what?”

 

Ichigo felt his stomach clench. “Enough to… to… I don't know, do something. Can't you like… put her away for stalking?”

 

“She'd just get a fine,” Tatsuki told him gently, as if trying to comfort him.

 

“But you're more than welcome to put a restraining order on her,” Abarai told him, “I'd put it through for you myself. That is one creepy chick.” He shuddered and muttered, “Imagining your future kids… that's psychotic.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Ichigo seethed.

 

Yet at that exact instance an image of a little girl with shining black hair, honey-amber eyes, and a toothy grin flashed into his head. That image was closely followed by another one: a little boy with flaming orange hair and deep, liquid sapphire eyes chasing the girl.

 

Ichigo shook his head but realized, after a moment, that the images hadn't rattled him as much as he would have thought they would have.

 

He looked up and turned to Abarai, “So… what can we do with her?”

 

“Well…” it was Tatsuki who answered after a moment, “We can find this Ulquiorra Schiffer dude and get him to give her up. After that maybe…” she turned to Renji, looking for a possible solution.

 

He looked up at them and he shook his head, “I really don't know what to tell you, guys. I'm not sure we have enough to do either of them serious damage.”

 

“Bullshit,” Tatsuki spat, her eyes suddenly flaming.

 

Ichigo only gaped at the police detective. “Are you kidding me?” He pointed to the doors of the van, as if indicating to the crazy woman somewhere outside of them. “This woman hires some guy to take pictures of me and Rukia while we're intimate—”

 

“By the way,” Tatsuki interrupted, putting her anger aside for a moment to give him a thumbs-up sign, “Kudos on the desk sex. I've never had it personally but I heard it's pretty hot and—”

 

“Tatsuki!” Ichigo snarled, “That's not the point.” The young journalist, however, hardly looked affronted, she simply shrugged and turned to look at Renji, a coy smile on her face. Ichigo also turned to the detective. “She hires a guy to take pictures of us while we're intimate and there's nothing you can do about it? Isn't there some consent law or—”

 

“Shut up,” Renji demanded suddenly.

 

The entire van went silent.

 

Abarai slowly turned his head towards Ichigo and frowned, his tattoos practically pulsating on his face and body. He glanced up at Tatsuki and muttered, “Did you say… desk sex?”

 

“Yep,” she grinned and leaned forward, her face only inches from his, “Wanna try it sometime?”

 

Ichigo tried not to gag.

 

“No…” Renji muttered. Tatsuki's eyes widened and she let out a surprised little snort.

 

“It's not that…” he blinked once and quickly jerked his head up. “Not that I don't want to—That'd be… ah, just wait a sec!” He practically shouted, his face taking the opportunity to turn nearly as red as his hair. Ichigo and Tatsuki just watched in amusement. “I just… I… I… shit…” He groaned and slapped a hand to his forehead. “What I mean is…” he clenched his teeth together and looked back towards his computer. He quickly pulled up a search engine and typed in the names of the two companies currently under investigation.

 

“Suigetsu and Gotei are employed by the Kuchiki Corporation, right?” Renji demanded.

 

“Right,” Tatsuki and Ichigo chimed in at the same time.

 

“But it's only Suigetsu now,” Ichigo added in bitterly.

 

“So… since the Kuchiki Corporation owns a large military—and government—contract, it's technically working for the government, right?” Renji continued, barely paying any heed to Ichigo.

 

“Right,” they said again in unison, this time a bit more slowly.

 

“If Suigetsu and Gotei are being employed by the Kuchiki Corporation that means that they're technically working for the government.”

 

Click.

 

“It's illegal for private investigators to take pictures of said government employees doing their jobs, especially when the jobs involve the possible loss or gain of billions of dollar in revenue. Not to mention national secrets.” Ichigo murmured, slightly awed that Renji Abarai—the freak with the tattoos—was able to piece this together before him.

 

“Exactly,” Renji nodded, turning to the two civilians in the room.

 

Tatsuki pressed a hand to her mouth and furrowed her eyebrows, “If she was the one who paid him to do it that makes her as liable as this Schiffer guy.”

 

“Which means that she could be held legally responsible for espionage on private, government, affairs,” Ichigo murmured, his mind whirling so fast that it was making him dizzy.

 

“Hot damn,” Renji breathed. He looked over at Ichigo and shook his head, “You really did step into a land mine, Kurosaki.”

 

“Yeah,” Tatsuki nodded.

 

“I know,” Ichigo said, his jaw clenching tightly, “But if this is what it takes to get Rukia back… then so be it.”

 

Beside him, Tatsuki bobbed her head up and down. “Well… we took one freak down,” she looked over at Ichigo and smirked. “Now we just have two to go.”

 

“The people who fabricated the merger,” Ichigo supplied.

 

“And the people who shot Byakuya Kuchiki,” Renji finished.

 

The three people inside of the van sent quick glances in each other's directions.

 

“We can do it,” Ichigo said softly, looking from one comrade to the other. “I know we can.”

 

Tatsuki only smirked evilly, “After all… all's fair in love and war.”

 

*~*~*

 

Rukia sat up on her bed, staring aimlessly over at the other wall, the television in the sitting room droning on listlessly. She really couldn't stand it, the television that is. But anything was better than complete silence. It was in the silence that she thought of Ichigo. At least while the television was on she was able to occupy her brain with thoughts of slim-fit pants, rhinestone studded jewelry, and gold necklaces.

 

She turned her head to the side and looked at the calendar. She blinked once and turned away instantly.

 

Her birthday was coming up.

 

Leaning her head against the wall, she closed her dull eyes and allowed a throaty sigh to escape her throat. In only a few days she'd be turning twenty seven years old.

 

“Twenty seven,” she whispered, tasting the words on her tongue as she said them. Oddly enough, they tasted bitter, like she was being forced to swallow medicine that she didn't want to take.

 

Slowly, she pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her body.

 

She had planned on spending her birthday with him. She had thought that maybe, together, they'd take off work and go somewhere… maybe to the community ice skating rink or to a nice restaurant. She'd hoped that maybe he would get her a gift… just something small. It'd be the perfect way to start of their new relationship. Then, after their dinner, or their walk around town, or they'd skate some more or do whatever else she had wanted to do…

 

“We would have come back here,” Rukia whispered, pinning her chin to her knees, “And we'd make love over and over again.”

 

If he hadn't betrayed me.

 

If he hadn't used me.

 

If he had actually loved me.

 

Rukia felt the tears brimming up in her eyes again. She turned her head away and tried hard to disappear into the darkness of her unlit room. Quickly, she brought her hand up and brushed away a stream of tears now flowing down her cheek. Her heart throbbed in her chest and she clutched herself tighter. She just wanted to disappear. She wanted to fade away and never return.

 

It'll happen soon enough, her mind told her soothingly.

 

She swallowed and thought back to the conversation she had had with Beverly Robinson only a few hours ago.

 

“Mrs. Kuchiki, so happy I could reach you!” Beverly's chipper voice rang through the phone.

 

“Ms. Kuchiki,” Rukia immediately corrected, her voice slightly deflated and not carrying the note of venom it should have contained.

 

“Oops,” Beverly giggled, “Sorry about that Ms. Kuchiki.” She didn't even give Rukia a moment to breathe before she launched into a speech about how difficult finding apartments in New York City was, how she had to toil relentlessly for hours on end—her words, not Rukia's—searching for just the perfect home for two lovely single women—once again, her words—and how, after many failures, she had finally located seven apartments that she thought would be to Rukia's liking.

 

“Fine,” Rukia muttered, sighing and leaning her thin body against the couch. “That'll be just fine.”

 

“If you'd like,” Beverly said, clearly anticipating that Rukia would indeed like it, “I could send you on virtual tours of each complex.”

 

“That will be fine,” Rukia murmured, giving the young woman her email address and telling her to send it right over.

 

“I know you'll just love these apartments Mrs. Kuchiki, I—”

 

“Ms.,” Rukia cut in immediately.

 

Beverly's voice faltered for a moment but only a second later she was back to her originally, peppy voice. “Oops, sorry again Ms. Kuchiki. It's just that I've been so busy these last few days that I really haven't—”

 

“That's fine,” Rukia said, interrupting her before she could go on to, what Rukia suspected was, an unending list of all the things she had had to do that day. So if truth be told, Rukia just didn't give a shit. “Send me the virtual tours. You'll have our decision by the end of the week.”

 

“Excellent!” Beverly giggled, “And, Ms. Kuchiki, since I try to get to know my clients on a personal level, I'd like to know… why the reason for this move?”

 

Rukia paused before she answered. She didn't know why, but at the moment, Beverly sounded more like some sort of reporter, trying to get the scoop on a delicious and frivolous break-up.

 

But this wasn't just some frivolous break up… this was Rukia's life.

 

She cleared her throat and allowed the uncomfortable pause to go on for several more minutes. During that time, Beverly didn't even bother retracting her personal and intrusive question.

 

“Beverly,” Rukia murmured quietly, an edge in her voice unlike any she had allowed her real estate agent to hear before.

 

“Yes?” Beverly twittered, obviously hungry for any gossip Rukia had to dish out.

 

Rukia's eyes hardened. “If you'd like to get to know your clients better I suggest you start by learning their proper titles and stop digging around into their personal business.”

 

Over the phone, Beverly stuttered in something akin to disbelief but Rukia paid her no mind. “Send me the virtual tours as soon as possible.”

 

“Yes ma—miss.” The woman on the other end of the phone said before Rukia hung it back up. She placed it back in the cradle and stared unseeingly at the name blinking uselessly on the screen.

 

How many times had Ichigo called her in the past few days? How many? It must have been hundreds of times. Not that she picked up. Hell, she actually only connected the phone to the damned wall whenever she needed to make an important call. So basically… whenever she and Momo needed to call House of Wong or whenever she needed to get in touch with Beverly.

 

Rukia turned away from the message of Missed Call: Kurosaki Ichigo that was blinking on the phone and reached down to unplug it.

 

As she wrapped her hands around the cord the familiar ringing of the phone interrupted her. She didn't even have to look at the screen to know who it was. She pulled the jack out anyway and instantly stopped the petulant ring.

 

Somewhere, on the other end of the line, Ichigo Kurosaki felt his heart race at the fact that the phone was actually sounding off. Only to have it crushed when it stopped after only the second ring.

 

Rukia pulled herself out of her flashback and allowed herself to shift into an even tighter ball than before.

 

She hurt… oh she hurt. Everything about her hurt. Her head, her hands, her legs, her stomach… and her heart.

 

Her heart hurt the most.

 

*~*~*

 

“Ulquiorra Schiffer,” Renji growled, his large body swinging around the room, its purpose to intimidate the man now sitting in the interview chair.

 

Intimidation, however seemed to be the last thing that this man would ever submit to. From the very first minute Renji had known him, he had been as stoic and as cold as… as… well, the only other person he'd ever seen get like that was Rukia, and that was only after her sister had died.

 

Still, this dude was something else. His face was pale white, whiter even that Rukia's skin. His hair was a dark, dark black, yet if the light hit it just right, Renji could swear that he saw some forest green streaks inside of it. The streaks seemed to be the exact color of his lifeless and expressionless eyes.

 

Fuck! His eyes are fucking creepy!

 

Ulquiorra Schiffer sat in his chair with his hands neatly folded in his lap. His blank eyes were staring at a spot on the wall only he seemed to be able to see. His mouth was set in a straight line. His posture was rigid. Everything about him seemed poised…

 

And dangerous.

 

Who the fuck is this guy?

 

*~*~*

 

The exact same sentiment was running through Ichigo's head as he examined Renji and that Schiffer bastard through the one-way glass at the Karakura Police Station.

 

The man didn't even have a single emotion appearing on his face. He just looked so… blank. It was disgusting. His eyes stared out at nothing, his body sat like he had a metal rod stuck in his spine, and his mouth was set in a line that wasn't quite a grimace but wasn't anything even resembling an upward twitch.

 

Ichigo could only think that maybe… in another time—if he weren't so god damned pissed at the fact that this bastard was partially responsible for ruining his and Rukia's life—he might have been intimidated by this man. But no… not right now.

 

He wanted answers.

 

“So, Mr. Schiffer,” Renji muttered, “You have a reputation for getting what your clients want, no matter what the cost.”

 

His eyes didn't even waver as he spoke, “I do what I must to make fulfill the client's wishes.”

 

Ichigo felt a shiver run through his spine at the way he spoke. The voice was just so dead… but not dead in the way that rendered him harmless. His voice made him sound like he had no type of conscience, no sense of right and wrong, and no compassion whatsoever. Plus, his pale face, deep eyes, and straight mouth only served to make him more intimidating.

 

Renji had leaned his entire body onto the desk and was glaring full on at Ulquiorra. “Does that include killing people?”

 

“I have never killed anyone.” Ulquiorra said in a voice as bland as ever. It almost sounded like he was bored.

 

“Haven't you?” Renji demanded. He quickly tossed a picture of Byakuya Kuchiki onto the metal table. “Who set you up for his murder then?”

 

“Are you deaf?” Ulquiorra said in that same voice. “I have never killed anyone and to my knowledge, Byakuya Kuchiki is not dead.”

 

“No,” Renji said, changing his tone dramatically until it sounded as though he was having a polite conversation with the stoic man, “No… he wasn't, but he was damned close to dying. And seeing as how you facilitated in stalking and spying on his younger sister, I just think that you know more than you're letting on.”

 

“I was paid to perform a service,” he replied, “That is all.”

 

“And what service would that be?” Renji demanded.

 

“You already know the answer to that.”

 

Renji glared at him. “Refresh my memory.”

 

“I was paid,” Ulquiorra stated quietly, his voice simply oozing hidden power, “To take incriminating photos of Rukia Kuchiki and Ichigo Kurosaki.”

 

“You say that so convincingly,” Renji told him, suspicion now gracing his eyes, “Makes me wonder why…”

 

“I am a private detective,” Ulquiorra said evenly, “I do everything I can to try and accommodate the police. However I have to consider the fact that my client's confidence is secondary to my existence as an investigator.”

 

“How reasonable,” Renji and Ichigo muttered at the same time. However, Ulquiorra could only hear what the detective in the room was saying.

 

One of Ulquiorra's eyebrows rose, “It is.”

 

“We have Orihime Inoue on tape, describing in vivid detail how she paid you to stalk a couple of lovebirds.” Renji informed him, sitting in the free chair in the room and placing his hands behind his head.

 

Ulquiorra didn't react but behind the mirror, Ichigo's stomach turned at the memory of his supposed date with Inoue. “I do not understand.” His stoic voice reached all the way through the one-sided glass and Ichigo grimaced. “You brought me here to question me about things that you already know. What is your reasoning behind this?”

 

“We know that Inoue didn't do this by herself,” Renji snarled, “She's not smart enough for that nor is she wealthy enough,” he cocked his head to the side and smirked, “I checked how much your charge your clients.” He shook his head and whistled, “That's a whole lot of pretty pennies.”

 

“I do charge a very large amount,” he agreed, “However, I always get my results.”

 

“You do,” Renji snapped, “And one woman's life is ruined because of it.”

 

Mine too, Ichigo reminded himself miserably. Unless I get Rukia back. This man was the catalyst that broke us apart.

 

His scowl came onto his face, full force. If I don't get her back this bastard's going to find himself at the end of some river, a knife in his gut.

 

“I know not what happens as a result of my private investigative skills. I do, however, know that whether or not I had anything to do with this, you will no doubt find a way to make me the scapegoat.”

 

“Gee, how perceptive,” Ichigo snarled from the other side of the window.

 

“Then why don't you just give it up.” Renji told him. “Tell us who you real employer was.”

 

There was silence as Ulquiorra Schiffer moved for the first time that night. He slowly shook his head and leaned back into his chair, a slow smirk coming over his face. “What a conundrum,” he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest and sighed, “If I do not give up my true employer, you will go through all of my records, files, and papers, divulging all of the personal information I have garnered on my clients—some of them have very high profiles, mind you—and I will be destroyed.”

 

“Keep going and you might get a gold star,” Renji told him in a voice that was low and hard.

 

“I concur,” Ichigo muttered across the glass.

 

“My higher profile clients would not doubt end me if they knew I had broken their confidence over someone as insignificant as Orihime Inoue. However,” Ulquiorra continued, “If I do give you the names—”

 

“There's more than one?” Ichigo demanded, his question going unheard.

 

“—Then you and I might be able to keep this little breach of contract to ourselves and I can continue my life and business without any further interruption from the Karakura Police Department.” Ulquiorra raised an eyebrow, “Is that correct?”

 

“Exactly,” Renji told him, his voice forceful. “So… will you cooperate?”

 

The pause in their conversation lasted for well over two whole minutes. Surprisingly enough Renji was the one who was able to hold his peace. It was Ichigo who was squirming in the small booth behind the one-way mirror. Finally, Ulquiorra blinked once at Renji and lifted his right eyebrow.

 

“I can give you a credit card number.”

 

Ichigo grinned and stared hard at the pale, cold, steady man in the room. “That's a start.”

 

*~*~*

 

“Beverly,” Rukia said clearly into the phone.

 

“Yes Ms. Kuchiki?” Her voice was frosty, clearly she was still blistering over the comment that Rukia had made about her not knowing her client's very well.

 

Honestly, some people just can't take a little bit of professional criticism.

 

Rukia snorted lightly and then blinked once. She raised her head as well as an eyebrow. Holy shit, did I just make a joke?

 

She shook her head and heaved a heavy sigh. Her numb mind and her raw eyes brought her back to the present with harsh effectiveness. “Beverly, the third apartment that was listed.”

 

“Yes, the one in Manhattan… two bedrooms, one bathroom, living room, dining room, and kitchen.” There was a spark inside of her voice at the end of her sentence. Rukia knew that, like any well-trained wolf, Beverly Robinson could smell an oncoming sale. “Would you like to know more about it?”

 

Rukia rolled her eyes and honestly wished she could force Beverly to start smoking or something, maybe then she'd have a less squeaky voice. “No… I don't want to learn anymore about the apartment.”

 

Beverly waited in breathless anticipation.

 

Rukia sighed, “I'd like to buy it.”

 

 

 

 

(A/N: Please don't kill me! I forgot, the IchiRuki interaction isn't until the next chapter! Sorry everyone!

 

Oh, and I hope that everyone who absolutely despises Inoue felt a little better with this chapter. I wanted to do more violent things to her but I guess I just can't bring myself to make Ichigo hit women. Sigh.

 

And finally, no you guys do not have a chapter left. I only have about a chapter or three to write. You guys still have about five more to go. Maybe six depending on how the epilogue goes.

 

Also, once again I apologize for any grammar mistakes. I've been very tired these past few days and not as vigilant as I should be with my editing.

 

PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!!!)