Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Odalisque ❯ Chapter 42 ( Chapter 42 )

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

 

 

 

 

Odalisque

 

Chapter 42

 

“Are you fucking crazy?”

 

Ichigo looked blandly at Renji and raised one orange eyebrow. “Does it really look like I'm crazy?”

 

Tatsuki raised her own eyebrow, “Do you really want us to answer that question Kurosaki?”

 

“Fine,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, “Don't answer it, but this is what needs to be done, right?”

 

“You are fucking insane,” Renji growled, leaning against Ichigo's plush couch and shaking his head. “Truly, mind-numbingly, insane.”

 

Ichigo was sitting on the accompanying chair in his living room. He slowly leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees. Renji was lounging close by and Tatsuki was drawing random patterns onto his couch using her finger.

 

It had been decided—more like commanded—that the three of them would meet here after Ichigo had delivered a terse-yet-frantic message to Tatsuki, demanding an emergency conference. Ichigo wrinkled his nose at the thought of Renji Abarai actually being in his house—considering their rather combative history—but quickly shoved the thought away. This was the only place they could meet without the fear of people getting wind of what they were doing. After all, since this case against Aizen didn't have anything but circumstantial evidence behind it Renji was working with him off the clock to help him slip a noose around the bastard's neck. Tatsuki was doing the same, if only to get the scoop on what was going on.

 

What a crack team you've assembled, Kurosaki, he cringed inwardly, a lawyer, a cop, and a reporter. I wonder if one day people will make jokes about this kind of arrangement.

 

He brushed the thought aside and turned to the matter at hand. Oh right, his sanity, which he honestly could say he felt ebbing away at the moment.

 

“I'm going to do it.” He told them.

 

Tatsuki scoffed and took a swig of the beer she had purloined from Ichigo's refrigerator. “Ichigo… you just can't waltz into Sosuke Aizen's office and demand that he give you what you need to put him in jail.” She shook her head and put the beer back down on the coffee table. “Hell, you don't even know if he has papers that could put him away. The bastard seems way too meticulous for that.”

 

“Of course he doesn't have papers,” Ichigo muttered, staring at a spot on the carpet and thinking. “But men like him like trophies. They're collectors. He'll definitely want to keep parts of what he's won right in front of him.” His eyes darkened and he snarled inwardly. “So he can look at it and remember just how ruthless and clever he is. So he can remember each person's life he screwed with.”

 

His black gaze stared sightlessly onto the carpet. Tatsuki sighed and glanced over at Renji. The tattooed men rolled his eyes and cleared his throat. Ichigo's head shot up and he frowned, as if his mind had just been several thousand miles away. “Huh?”

 

“He already has it,” Renji pointed out. Ichigo just scowled, “He has all of Gotei and Suigetsu under his little finger. Don't you think that'd be enough of a trophy?”

 

Ichigo shook his head. “For him? No. Not in a million years.”

 

“It's not…” Renji trailed off, shaking his head and rolling his eyes theatrically, “What more could the bastard want?”

 

Ichigo shot him a look of pure derision. “Gee, I don't know, maybe the real tape of Momo getting raped? The photos that Inoue described? The kill order for Byakuya Kuchiki? Anything like that come to mind?”

 

Renji glowered at him, “Fine… say he does have that stuff. Why do you think it'll be in his office? This dude is rich enough that he'd probably have sixty houses all over the world. Why would he put all of his stuff where it could be found? Not to mention the security around it. The man probably has forty billion safes and probably a Swiss bank account!”

 

Ichigo was about to retort when Tatsuki cut him off. “Ever heard of hidden in plain sight? Right under your nose?” Tatsuki asked him, turning to look at him from her spot on the opposite site of the couch. Her flirtatious eyes raked over his body and Renji turned slightly red in response but returned her stare nonetheless.

 

Ichigo could have gagged but he settled for clearing his throat loudly. Tatsuki and Renji didn't even bother looking up. “He'll want those momentums close by. He's a collector…. He would want all of that shit constantly around him so he can keep reminding himself of how great he is.”

 

“Kurosaki has a point,” Tatsuki told Renji, her eyes still locked with his. She cocked her head to the side and smirked, “Oh, and by the way, you're—” she stuck her finger out and pressed it to Renji's chest, “Taking me home.”

 

Ichigo threw up a bit in his mouth and Renji choked softly.

 

Tatsuki merely smiled at the two of them and held up her barely-emptied beer. “I can't drink and drive.”

 

“Didn't you take a taxi here?” Ichigo demanded dryly.

 

She shot him a glare and then turned to Renji. His face was as red as his hair but he sure as hell wasn't protesting.

 

Ichigo felt his heart wrenching inside of his chest. They're acting like Rukia and I used to act.

 

Cue the misery.

 

“I just need to get into the building when no one is there,” he said, cutting into Renji and Tatsuki's eye-sex. “That should be easy enough. I'll just stay late.” He pressed a hand to his forehead and groaned at the presence of his near-constant headache. “But Aizen probably locks his office so I'll need to find a way to get inside. Maybe I'll jack the keys from the maintenance men or something…”

 

“And then what?” Tatsuki demanded, finally dragging her eyes away from the detective sitting next to her. Hey… hadn't there been more room between them earlier? “You'll find his secret safe hidden behind one of the many diploma's on the wall, ingeniously figure out the combination, and poof! You'll have your information?” She shook her head and frowned. “You know how much I hate cliché's but still… things aren't always as they seem sounds rather appropriate here, Kurosaki.”

 

“I know that,” he snarled, “Which is why I'm trying to figure out how to do this. But you know, it'd be nice if I could have some help from Thing One and Thing Two. And by help I do not mean derisive comments or random eye-fucks.” He glared at the two of them and they glared back. The silence was terse for a few moments before he sighed and began rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Do either of you have any suggestions?”

 

Renji looked down at his shoes and Tatsuki apparently seemed to find his collection of car magazines suddenly fascinating.

 

Ichigo felt like screaming.

 

“I really don't know what to tell you Ichigo,” Tatsuki said, shaking her head. “What you're planning to do… honestly, I don't really see how you have much of a chance.”

 

“Yeah,” Renji muttered, “As much as I want to solve the cases I have that might be connected to this one I… I just… unless.” He shook his head and pursed his lips, “We'd need a warrant to search the place—and we can't get one so stop looking so hopeful—and without it or the help of the KPD I don't know how you're gonna find what you need.”

 

Ichigo narrowed his eyes and gripped his hands together so tightly he probably strained a joint. His mind was whirling with thoughts of what he needed to do. His teeth clenched together and he slowly drew in a deep breath.

 

Get into Aizen's office.

 

Find incriminating evidence.

 

Get out of Aizen's office.

 

In his head it sounded much simpler than it actually was. He groaned and pressed one of his mangled hands onto his hairline and tugged at the orange locks. “Shit,” he grumbled, his heart thudding dully in his chest. He looked up at Renji and Tatsuki and tried to think of something that would encourage them to spout out more ideas… but it was hopeless. Tatsuki was currently rubbing part of her leg against part of Renji's. It was obvious that their brains weren't focused on the case anymore.

 

Ichigo wrinkled his nose and stood from his chair. He turned to the other two in his house and bluntly told them to “go screw each other somewhere else.” In less than two minutes, Ichigo Kurosaki was left alone in his house.

 

Again.

 

He sighed as he trudged towards his bedroom, turning off the lights as he went. The comforter squished under his lanky body as he threw himself on top of it, not even bothering to get undressed.

 

After a few moments, the pattern of his breathing became regulated and deliberate. He closed the lids of his eyes and pressed a hand against them. Slowly, he closed off all of his senses to the outside world and tried to focus on only one. With great care and apprehension, Ichigo opened himself and allowed the air of his bedroom to seep into his lungs. He had to wait for a moment to detect it but…

 

There.

 

Ichigo—for the first time in a very long time—allowed his lips to curve into a ghost of a memory of a smile. He breathed in deeply and tried to hold onto that one scent that always seemed to dwell inside of his bedroom.

 

It was her shampoo, a mix of vanilla and something else he couldn't name, but loved nonetheless. It was her perfume, hell if he knew the brand but it made her smell like she had just run outside in the snow. It was her skin, rubbed each day with small amounts of cocoa and shea butter. It was her lips, and the chapstick she wore when it was cold.

 

It was everything about her that lingered in his room.

 

Or, at least, everything but her actual self.

 

Ichigo closed his eyes and tried to picture Rukia Kuchiki lying next to him—naked, preferably—and drowsy from sex and sleep. Her hair would be mussed and her pale skin would be glowing in the darkness of the room. Her arms and legs would be entangled with his. She would hum and moan softly in her sleep, no doubt thinking about the last few hours they had spent together. His fingers would be running down her back and across each bump of her spine. Her head would be tucked under his chin and he would be holding her so tightly that… that…

 

That he'd never let her go again.

 

Ichigo lifted his hand from his face and allowed the rest of his senses to return. One by one, he began to feel the emptiness of his bed. He saw the untangled sheets and the perfectly placed pillows. He heard the stillness of his room. He tasted the bitterness of solitude on his tongue.

 

But he could still smell her.

 

Inhaling once more, as if to bolster himself, he opened his eyes and spoke to his darkened room, “I guess it's all up to me then.”

 

*~*~*

 

Staying late at work, Ichigo found out, was harder than he had anticipated.

 

Angrily, he sat in his car and munched on the bag of peanuts he had found stashed in the glove compartment, they must have been weeks old but he didn't care. He wasn't going to go back to his apartment and have another cardboard dinner while he could be doing something to help Rukia.

 

That was the catch though. Right now he wasn't doing anything to help her, not now anyway. No… right now he was just sitting in his car.

 

His fucking car.

 

Why? Oh… he swallowed angrily and popped a few more peanuts into his mouth, barely noting the fact that they tasted like, well… cardboard.

 

Orihime Inoue was the reason he wasn't at work right now, doing something to help Rukia.

 

“Damn woman,” he snarled, swallowing a few nuts whole and nearly choking on them.

 

How could statements like “I never loved you” and “get away from me” and “I never wanted to be with you” and “I'm in love with Rukia Kuchiki” and “I will get a restraining order you psycho” be reconstructed into “No, don't worry, I'll love you eventually, if you just try hard enough I'll be yours forever.”

 

How?

 

Ichigo had no idea. But that was the apparent thinking of the secretary for his floor. Everyday he walked into the office there was something on his desk, a note, a basket of food—inedible food at that, who had ever heard of a gelatin-cheerio breakfast muffin?—or little presents like stress balls or back massagers.

 

Ichigo made sure to document all of these things and send the list to Renji, just to see if these types of obsessive behaviors warranted something more than a restraining order—which he was currently getting. He had to lock his door all throughout the day because she kept on trying to get inside and… and… proposition him.

 

Ichigo shuddered as he remembered one day in particular.

 

The door opened softly and Orihime Inoue came through, bouncing lightly on the tips of her toes, allowing her breasts to surge up and down like water balloons. Ichigo looked away in disgust and vaguely decided that if she wanted, Inoue could probably power an entire city with those damn things.

 

“Hello Mr. Kurosaki,” she cheeped brightly.

 

“Get out please,” Ichigo ground out, he couldn't believe that he'd actually said the word `please.'

 

“Oh Mr. Kurosaki, don't be like that,” she giggled, flipping her hand to and from her mouth as she shut the door behind her.

 

“I do believe I told you to get out,” Ichigo told her, holding his pen stiffly in his hand and wishing he would use the sleeper hold on her.

 

“I was thinking,” Inoue giggled, coming forward and bringing her hands to the top of her chest.

 

“Shocker,” Ichigo snarled.

 

She chuckled and began to unbutton the top button on her blouse, “You're so funny Mr. Kurosaki!” Another two buttons disappeared as she smiled, her beige, see-through, bra began to peek through her enormous cleavage and Ichigo fought the urge to gag. “Well, you know how you and Ms. Kuchiki—” she spat out the name like poison and Ichigo felt a pang of pain in his heart, “—had sex on this desk?” She finished unbuttoning her shirt and Ichigo's eyes narrowed to the point of slits.

 

He didn't answer her as she shrugged her blouse off and tossed it—in what he assumed was an appealingly sexual way—onto the floor. “Well,” she continued, pausing at the opposite side of the desk and putting her hands flat on the top. She brought her arms together and pressed her enormous breasts together with her biceps. Her large nipples poked through the lace fabric of her undergarment and grinned. “I think that if we did it here you'd be able to forget all about her.”

 

She curved her back so that more of her chest popped out. They were only about a foot away from Ichigo's face and he felt like vomiting. He didn't say a word and Inoue must have taken that as silent consent because she giggled, stood upright, and began to walk around to the other side of the desk.

 

It was then that Ichigo spoke.

 

“You take one more step,” he said in a very low and very dangerous voice. He wasn't looking up but he knew that Inoue froze, he could probably guess that a smile was still on her face, “And I will call the police and immediately charge you with sexual harassment and since this is conveniently a work environment if you do not leave my office right now you will be fired immediately.”

 

There was silence for maybe all of three minutes before Inoue laughed.

 

“If you want to play the Illicit Office Relationship in a place other than your desk, Mr. Kurosaki, that's fine with me too!” She shrugged and began walking outside, gathering her blouse along the way. “Don't worry, I'll be right outside if you want to go into a janitor's closet, or maybe an elevator—you like those, right?—or maybe on my desk! That would be fun, don't you think?”

 

Ichigo didn't say a word and simply stared down at the papers on his desk. They weren't actually work papers. They were the papers that he and Rukia had done for the merger. He was looking over them to see if there had ever been any indications about a hostile takeover. He needed to know if there were clues. He needed to know if he could have prevented this. He knew that it wouldn't help him in the long run… the past was in the past and he couldn't change it… but if there was even the slightest shred of evidence, the tiniest piece that could help to convict Aizen… he'd find it.

 

Ichigo didn't even look up as Inoue went on babbling nonsensically out of his office door. Oh how he hated her babbling… at least when Rukia spoke she actually had something of importance to say.

 

But he couldn't pay attention to her now…

 

He had work to do.

 

Ichigo clenched his teeth and tried not to throw up at the recollection.

 

It was now almost eight o'clock at night and he was still here, waiting for the best moment to go inside. He glowered angrily as he thought of the task in front of him. Damn rat bastard Aizen… he was going to find whatever it was he needed to put him away. Even if it took him all night, even if it meant he kept needing to come back… he'd come back every single fucking night until he had every speck of evidence he could get his hands on.

 

The radio played some song he vaguely recognized and he swallowed the rest of his peanuts in one gulp. He paused and looked at the steady numbers on the clock. Everyone had probably left the office by now. He only knew one person who would willingly stay in an office building and do work until well into the night… but she definitely wasn't inside.

 

He brought life to his engine and pushed the gearshift out of park. Quickly, he drove towards the giant building looming in the dark night. Suigetsu was like a black mountain seated ominously against the sky.

 

He quickly found a parking space that was far enough away from Suigetsu that his car wouldn't be conspicuous. He got out and allowed his eyes to scan the small courtyard in front of him. As if it was a tape stuck on repeat, he could almost see everything that had happened between him and Rukia on that fateful Monday a few weeks ago.

 

He swallowed hard and tried to look away.

 

“Okay…” he muttered to himself, “Let's get this over with.”

 

His feet carried him across the horrid courtyard as quickly as to be expected and he tried to keep his mind closed as he went. He didn't want to remember what had happened here.

 

The revolving doors creaked as it Ichigo pushed through them. He fought back a small shudder and a scowl at the sound. He couldn't even remember the damn door creaking during the day.

 

He stepped into the empty lobby and instantly spied the late-night secretary that was positioned at the oval desk. The middle-aged woman looked up at him, gave him a rather come-hither smirk, and propped her hand on her chin, gazing at him happily. Ichigo ignored her and made his way to the elevators.

 

Noticing that the woman's eyes followed him, he cleared his throat and spoke clearly, “If he wanted the project done by tomorrow morning he should have told me before I left today… asshole.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed that the woman nodded twice, shrugged, and went back to playing a solitaire game on her computer.

 

Rukia plays free cell, his brain automatically connected. He clenched his jaw as he pressed the button to the elevator and waited for it to come down. Finally, he stepped inside and listened to the horrid music play.

 

He pressed a hand to his forehead and fought back a groan.

 

Whipped and miserable, how much worse can you get? He demanded of himself.

 

His eyes stayed on the glowing numbers as the elevator climbed and climbed and climbed. Finally—after what seemed like ages—he departed at Aizen's floor.

 

Ichigo kept his head down and his body to the side as he walked through the halls. He knew that there were no cameras anywhere in this building—other than the ones in the lobby and in the general meeting areas, but those were just for safety—still, he wouldn't put it past Aizen to install his own cameras.

 

His footsteps were light and quick as he moved in towards Aizen's office. Smirking softly to himself, he dug out the keys he had jacked from the maintenance men earlier today and set about finding the correct one. The small key was brilliantly silver, and had an intricate marking on the top like none other than Ichigo had ever seen. He should have guessed though. Aizen was one for opulence, no matter what the occasion.

 

Even when he's screwing hundreds of people over he has to do it with some sort of sick flair.

 

Slowly, he slid the key into the lock. Company policy dictated that no one was allowed to lock your office doors but, since Aizen technically owned the entire company, he probably had new rules put up. Ichigo twisted the knob and pushed the door forward. It fell through his hands like it was covered in oil but he didn't care. His entire body felt strange now. It was like he was stepping inside of a void. There was nothing here that could create any sort of joy for him. There was no happiness, no light, no nothing… Ichigo shuddered at the thought and quietly closed the door behind him. It slid without a sound and he swallowed hard.

 

Ichigo didn't even bother to flip on the light as he went inside. If there were cameras inside of here he wanted Aizen to have a hard time seeing him.

 

Still, even with the moon shining in from the large window and the glow from the large fish tank casting bits of light about, the room was still treacherously dark. Thankfully though, it was clean enough to make the passage easy. He pulled his body inside and gently ran a hand through his hair.

 

I can do this.

 

Silver moonlight slid through the large expanses of clear windows and a few stars that were shining through the clouds cast light on the things around him. A large oak desk was directly in front of that window, arranged so that the sitter would have his back facing the outside world. Ichigo could only imagine how imposing that would look to anyone coming into this office during the day: to be nervously called for reasons good or bad, to see your boss sitting in the shadows while the full force of the sun blazed behind his back, looking like a devilish god in the brightness.

 

Ichigo jerked his eyes away from the desk and scanned the rest of the room. The diplomas on the wall were numerous to the extent that there was barely any room left on one of them. Another wall held bookshelves containing more books that Ichigo could have ever thought would fit on the wooden planks.

 

Finally, on the furthest wall sat a fish tank of enormous proportions. Fish of a multitude of colors fitted about the water, careless and happy in their cool home.

 

A few months ago, Ichigo would have considered them very beautiful. Now they were just a distraction.

 

“Okay,” he muttered, “Let's see where he's hiding his shit.”

As he looked around the room, trying to find the best place to start his search, his previous conversation with Renji and Tatsuki floated into his mind and he scowled hard.

 

“And then what? You'll find his secret safe hidden behind one of the many diploma's on the wall, ingeniously figure out the combination, and poof! You'll have your information? You know how much I hate cliché's but still… things aren't always as they seem, sounds rather appropriate here, Kurosaki.”

 

Ichigo stared dumbly at what was in front of him and, for the first time that night, a feeling other than abject hatred flew into the pit of his stomach. Right now, Ichigo Kurosaki felt stupid, he felt hopeless, and he felt… he felt… hell, he didn't know what he felt anymore.

 

Was Tatsuki right? Aizen wasn't the type of person to just keep things behind diplomas or behind vents. He was too smart for that.

 

But… it wasn't like he had any other choice.

 

Ichigo Kurosaki drew in a deep breath, shucked off his coat, rolled up his sleeves, and walked over to the diploma wall.

 

One by one they came down. One by one he found nothing. One by one he had to inspect them. One by one he had to put them back so that no evidence from his search was left to casual eyes.

 

Forty nine. That's how many diplomas were on the wall Ichigo just dissected. Forty freaking nine. Why the bastard didn't just accept another award or become an honorary professor at another school to make it an even fifty Ichigo didn't know. After all, Aizen liked things to be squared, solid, and exact. Forty nine wasn't any of those things.

 

However, his issue with Aizen and his numbering systems was not the problem here. Ichigo snarled inwardly and resisted the urge to take every single fucking frame that was on that wall, rip them down, break the glass under his feet, and burn them all to smithereens. Nothing.

 

Absolutely fucking nothing.

 

He quickly brought his wrist up and looked at his watch. A little less than an hour and a half had passed by and still nothing.

 

“The night is young,” Ichigo ground out quickly, desperately needing some sort of bolster in order to keep his depression at bay.

 

The next place he looked was the one that was also way too obvious. The wheels of Aizen's chair scraped noiselessly against the carpet of the room as Ichigo dragged it towards the nearest ventilation system. The back of the chair thudded against the wall and he quickly hefted his knee so that he was able to place his foot in the very center of the seat. He extracted a screw driver from his pocket—and allowed himself to smirk at the fact that he had come prepared—and began to undo the screws on the small vent. It came off quicker than he had expected and his heart jumped at the thought.

 

Yet his eyes once again became narrowed when he was met with only dust.

 

“Fuck,” he snarled, fighting off the urge to sneeze.

 

He placed the vent back and carefully put the screws back in their proper places. His hands were shaking so badly that he had difficulty putting them back in the first place. The muscles in his wrists bugled slightly as he twisted the screwdriver forward and forward.

 

He knew it was stupid to get so angry. After all, this had to have been a one in a million shot. Like he'd actually find something.

 

Aizen was just too smart.

 

Ichigo stepped down from the chair and shoved it back with his foot. It careened towards the desk and smashed into the wood paneling. Furiously, Ichigo ran a hand though his hair and let out a frustrated sigh. He quickly strode over to where he had tossed the desk and began jerking open the drawers.

 

Papers, staplers, hole punchers, post-it notes, computer accessories, extra manila folders, hard candy, pens, pencils, and white-out. Nothing sinister, nothing incriminating, nothing that would give him any fucking clue to confirm his suspicions.

 

“Shit.” He hissed.

 

Ichigo slammed the drawer back into its place and took a few steps away from it. He needed to breathe. He needed to calm down. He needed to keep his head.

 

“Things aren't as easy as they seem Kurosaki.”

 

His eyes drifted over to the fish tank and he watched as little fish gracefully swam past each other. Orange fish, red fish, black fish, and blue fish swirled in a tornado of colors around the clear—if slightly foggy—water.

 

His heart started to beat a little less quickly and his breathing became less intense. Fish were therapeutic, he remembered, maybe that was why Aizen had them here. Did the bastard need to look at the fish to cool himself off after getting such a high from destroying people's lives?

 

Probably.

 

Ichigo breathed in softly and tried to keep a steady head. It was only a little after ten. No one was in the building—and if they were Ichigo would make sure to knock them out so they wouldn't remember anything—and he had just enough time to thoroughly sweep this place before the morning.

 

With that thought placed firmly in his head, Ichigo strode slowly over to the bookcase. He drew in a deep breath and then shook his head at the enormity of what he was about to do. Slowly, he crept back to Aizen's office chair and pulled it over to the case. He placed it and precariously stepped onto it once again. His feet pushed down the plush cushion as his arms extended over his head.

 

He peeled one book away from the rest of them and began to flip through it. There were no compartments and no cut-outs in which someone could hide a small DVD or a computer chip or anything similar.

 

Ichigo shook his head and flipped the cover closed, looking disparagingly at the hundreds of other books on the shelf.

 

He put the first one back and closed his eyes momentarily.

 

“One at a time.”

 

Three hundred and twenty seven books later, Ichigo had not found a single thing.

 

He tossed the book into the shelf and slid down into the office chair on which he was sitting. The office was dark, totally and completely, the slim light that the moon had given him when it first appeared was now nothing more than a memory. The stars were blanketed in a thick film of clouds and any street lights that were on were too low to be seen from this height.

 

Ichigo slumped in the chair and caught a faint whiff of Aizen's atrocious scent billowing through the fabric. He cringed and immediately stood up, shoving the chair back into its place.

 

The final book slid into its rightful spot as he straightened them all, line by line. His eyes felt gritty as he walked the chair the rest of the way to the desk and sat down again despite the horrid and acrid smell.

 

It was nearly two in the morning and he still had no found anything of use to him. He groaned and placed his elbows on the desk in front of him, arranging his head between his hands. He fought not to close his gritty eyes and thought of any of the places he might have overlooked.

 

Walls were a check, vents were a check, the bookshelf was a check, and the desk was also a check. The fish tank he had swept with the little net just to make sure that there was nothing waterproof hidden in the water.

 

“Shit… fuck… damn it…”

 

How was he supposed to get Rukia back—and bring down Sosuke Aizen, he begrudgingly admitted—if he wasn't even able to find any information?

 

“Things aren't as easy as they seem Kurosaki.”

 

He snarled as Tatsuki's voice was sent pounding back into his mind. He closed his eyes for a second and sighed when he realized that she and Abarai were probably screwing each other tonight—probably at this very moment, seeing as how they had been eying each other with a hunger akin to that of starving wolves. Ichigo could only assume that the two of them were… were…

 

Doing what he should be doing with Rukia.

 

He peeled his eyelids away from the actual balls and belatedly wished that he had downed another cup of coffee later this afternoon. He was starting to get tired. His bones and joints creaked as he rose to his feet and absentmindedly brought his hand out to clasp the little ball-and-chain on the desk lamp. He tugged it downward and allowed the small lamp to turn on.

 

For the next two hours, Ichigo did nothing but comb over every space of the office that he could find. He lifted up parts of the rugs that looked loose, he moved pieces of furniture, he dug inside of the fish tank once more, and he moved his hands diligently over all braces on the windowed wall.

 

Nothing.

 

It was nearly four thirty in the morning when Ichigo realize that the crushing sensation that was currently stamping on his heart was the enormous weight of hopelessness.

 

His body felt drained of all energy as he walked towards the door that would lead him out of Aizen's office.

 

“He was too smart for me,” Ichigo muttered, passing a hand over his face, feeling the stubble of his way-past-five o'clock shadow searing his palm.

 

He stopped at the threshold of the door and turned to examine what he had left behind. Everything inside looked exactly as it had before he had examined the entire office.

 

Examined… yeah, more like tore apart. Only you were able to put this one back together again.

 

It was then that he noticed that the light on top of Aizen's desk was still bright. Sighing, Ichigo walked back into the office and reached down to tug on the ball-and-chain. The light clicked off and Ichigo let his hand slide down the rest of the interconnected metal. His fingers were just about to lift from the small, oblong, ending ball when the small piece snapped off in his fingers.

 

“Fan-fucking-tastic,” Ichigo muttered, moving around the desk and slamming his body back onto Aizen's seat, intent on getting his fumbling fingers to work and actually reattaching the damn thing. If Aizen was really as meticulous as he looked to be—and Ichigo knew that he was—then he'd sure as hell notice an object as small as this missing from his office.

 

Grunting, Ichigo's slow fingers worked with the little bobby and the metallic latch. His digits slipped and tripped as he tried to reattach the small accoutrement.

 

Until he noticed that there was a small line circling the oblong ball; one that ran width-wise completely around it… one that really had no reason to actually be there.

 

Slowly, Ichigo pulled the little ball into his hands and let it lie gently in his palm. It was gold and matched the hue of the lamp chain perfectly. The top was rounded and full and so was the bottom. It looked normal except for that line.

 

It almost looked like it… opened.

 

Slowly, Ichigo put one set of pinched thumb and forefinger on one side and the other on the adjacent side. He tugged once yet nothing happened. Frowning, Ichigo applied more pressure, tightening his hold and tugging once again. Once again, nothing moved. Narrowing his tired eyes and fighting the exhausted throbbing in his head, Ichigo clenched his jaw and looked up to the top of the little device—all the while attempting to shove away the rather loud voice in the back of his head that was yelling at him and calling him a raving lunatic.

 

Frowning, he touched his pointer finger to the top of the ball, where a little link was popped out to help it connect to the rest of the lamp chain. It wiggled under his touch and he pressed down a bit more firmly. With one finger pressing onto the little knob and the other parts of his hands gripping at the sides, Ichigo tugged.

 

The two edges began to slide apart.

 

Ichigo's eyes widened at what now rested in the palm of his hand.

 

“Tatsuki was right,” he breathed… but with a slight modification.

 

“Things aren't always as they seem, Kurosaki.”

 

*~*~*

 

Ichigo slammed his foot onto the pedal of his Benz and dashed through a red light, not really caring about all of the traffic laws he was breaking right now. His fist was wrapped protectively around the small object in his hand while the other was on the steering wheel. He gunned the engine again and finally found the street he was looking for. The tail of his car did a wild spin but he paid no mind. He quickly screeched his vehicle to a halt—half on the sidewalk and half off—and threw the door open, lunging outside.

 

His fingers were on his cell phone, dialing as quickly as he could.

 

His adrenaline was pumping so fast he thought his heart was going to burst. He ran up to the door in front of him and began banging his pointer finger against the Arisawa buzzer as quickly as he possibly could.

 

His phone took note of four rings before the person on the other end picked up.

 

“Ichigo?” Tatsuki sounded breathless and groggy all at the same time, Ichigo could only guess what she'd been doing all night.

 

“Tatsuki,” Ichigo heaved, his chest expanding and contracting wildly. “Let me in. Let me in right now.”

 

“Kurosaki,” Tatsuki muttered and then paused for a moment, “Is… is that you ringing my—? Oh fuck… you're so gonna get it you fucking—”

 

Tatsuki cut herself off with a gasp even though Ichigo was keeping silent. He knew that she knew what was going on.

 

“Renji,” Tatsuki barked into the room, a grumble came from behind her and Ichigo cringed, “Get up, Ichigo's outside.”

 

He heard a very faint “what the hell does he want?” and pressed his finger onto the buzzer even harder, although it didn't increase the sound at all.

 

“Get up you big lug,” Tatsuki muttered before she heaved herself from the bed—Ichigo could hear the springs squeak—and rustled around for her clothes. “He's found something.”

 

Only a second later there was another squeak of the bed and another rustle for clothing.

 

“Gimme a sec,” Tatsuki said into the phone, all traces of grogginess leaving her voice. “Just let me buzz you in.”

 

Ichigo heard her bound across the floors of her apartment and fling herself at the little call box. The door clicked open and Ichigo rushed himself inside, pounding up the steps until he got to Tatsuki's apartment on the fifth floor. She was at the door waiting for him, cell phone still in hand, wearing boxer shorts—that were not hers—and a shirt that read KPD on it. Renji was behind her with his hair hanging low on his shoulders and a pair of jeans hanging even lower on his hips.

 

“What is it?” He demanded as soon as Ichigo was inside.

 

Instead of answering them, Ichigo turned to the two people in front of him, his friend and his one-time rival—the reporter and the detective—and held out his hand.

 

Tatsuki could not restrain her gasp and Renji's eyes widened until they were almost as large as tennis balls.

 

“It's a flash drive,” Renji murmured in awe, his hand reaching out but his fingers not actually touching it. The gold device glittered in Ichigo's palm like an unrestrained beacon of hope.

 

“Where did you find this?” Tatsuki demanded after a moment's silence.

 

Ichigo smirked and curled his fist around the small device.

 

“Right under my nose.”

 

*~*~*

 

“Does this come or go?” Momo asked Rukia as she held up a small vase that curved into the shape of an obese swan.

 

“Go,” Rukia told her and Momo, shrugging, chucked it into the trash bin they had set up. The glass shattered and split the air with a small shriek but neither of them paid any mind.

 

“You have way too many books,” Momo told her as Rukia shoved one after another into a box. “I mean… have you actually read all of these?”

 

“Of course,” Rukia muttered, her voice slightly more alive than it had been a few weeks ago. “When I was growing up I had to read all of the classics before I was twelve, everything from Homer to Salinger… after I hit puberty the books just got bigger and bigger.”

 

“Damn,” Momo murmured, “I think I was still reading Seuss when I was twelve.”

 

“Byakuya didn't allow those childish books in the house,” Rukia told her as she thoughtlessly tossed out a pair of cherub salt and pepper shakers.

 

“Sucks.” Momo grunted.

 

“Yeah.”

 

The two resumed packing in silence.

 

Rukia's apartment was almost barren compared to the way it had been only a scant few days ago. A few days ago tasteful paintings had covered the walls. A few days ago her furniture had not been covered up with plastic sheets. A few days ago she still had dishes in the sink and in the cabinets. A few days ago she had had books on the shelves and a television in the living room and movies on shelves.

 

Not anymore.

 

For the past seventy two hours, she and Momo had done almost nothing but pack and sleep and eat. Their bodies moved like ghosts around Rukia's apartment—silent and sluggish. The two friends had packed up clothing, accessories, furniture, and everything else aside from the items that were far too big to move or the ones that they needed for the next few days.

 

“When are they coming to pick up the stuff?” Momo asked her for the third time today.

 

“Thursday,” Rukia said quietly, taping up the boxes and labeling them with a black sharpie. “It'll be delivered to our new apartment by Sunday.”

 

“And we leave?”

 

Rukia paused and ripped the tape off the end with more force than was probably necessary. “Friday.” She whispered lightly. “We leave Friday.”

 

Momo stopped in her motions and stood up. Rukia lifted her head and watched as her friend glided over to one of the windows in her apartment. The bright, early morning sun was just shining through, casting long and dark shadow onto the ground behind her. She softly folded her arms under her breasts and placed the flats of her palms against her sides. She stared out into the morning and let out a long, slow, sigh.

 

“Two days…” she murmured, not even blinking as she spoke. “Two days and we'll be gone from his place. Gone from the memories, gone from the people… gone from everything.”

 

Rukia studied her friend after a moment and tried to frown. She tried to but found that her face didn't have it in itself to make actual expressions anymore. “Are you… regretting it now?”

 

Momo shook her head stiffly and closed her eyes. “No… no… I don't think I am.”

 

Rukia knew that voice. She blinked up at Momo and watched her silently. “But…”

 

Her friend sighed and she shook her head. “I just… I wonder what would happen… what would happen if we saw them again.”

 

Rukia's heart took a moment to drop deeper into her stomach.

 

What would happen if I saw him again? Rukia thought quietly, keeping it in the back part of her mind. What would happen?

 

She had already seen him once since he had crushed and shattered her heart… and she had run away.

 

But… if she had stayed?

 

Would he have explained what happened? Would he have told her that she was being ridiculous? Would he have smacked her upside the head and called her stupid and then kissed her senseless?

 

She pressed two fingers to her mouth and closed her eyes. She could barely remember what his kisses felt like. Hell, she could barely remember what they tasted like. Her raw eyes became enflamed and she shook away the thought. She was so sick of crying.

 

“Do you think,” she began quietly, “That you could face him again?”

 

“Shiro?” Momo whispered. She paused and looked back out the window. “I… I don't know.” She shifted her eyes back to her friend and sighed, tilting her head to the side. “I think that if I could have… told him and made him understand that I didn't do what he thinks I did… I think that if he would listen to me… then I might've wanted to see him.”

 

Rukia simply nodded and closed her eyes, willing her mind to forget what her heart wanted so desperately to remember—in particular Ichigo's kiss.

 

But she couldn't. The lingering desire was still there. As fresh as new rain. She sighed and came to stand next to Momo, her head lolling down onto her friend's shoulder.

 

I wish I could kiss him again.

 

*~*~*

 

“Where did you find this?” Tatsuki demanded breathlessly as her eyes scanned the contents of the files. They seemed to widen with each little icon her gaze passed over. Behind her, Renji was doing the exact same. Ichigo, who had already looked over all of the files—and had even opened a few—was pacing the room, his feet falling into a rhythm that mirrored his frantically spinning mind. As he passed he watched the scrolling list show the seemingly endless expanse of files and… and videos.

 

“It was attached to a lamp,” he whispered turning away and swiveling back into his oval-esque pacing, “As a kind of trick thing…” He made a very strange hand gesture in an attempt to explain it but failed miserably since his audience's attention was fixed on the screen in front of them.

 

“Oh my God…” Renji choked, his eyes bugging out of his head to an extent Ichigo had never seen before. “I c-can't believe it… you actually… you actually…”

 

“Found it?” Ichigo croaked, shaking his head, “I know…”

 

“There's even… there's even video of… of… Christ.” Tatsuki gasped. Her fingers clicked away and opened a video file. The item needed only a sparse three seconds to load but in those seconds Ichigo crossed the room and parked himself in front of the screen. He had seen what this file had been labeled but had not had the guts to watch it himself.

 

Together, the three people behind the computer watched in horror as the film played out.

 

A chuckling, smirking man. The glinting of shining glasses. The adjustment of a camera. Wavering vision. A dark room. An unconscious woman in a beautiful dress. The harsh tearing of ripping cloth.

 

Tatsuki pressed her hand to her mouth and turned her head away, even though her eyes remained on the gruesome screen. Ichigo's hands tightened on the back of her chair and Renji cleared his throat violently. All three of them seemed to shrink at the expectation of what was coming.

 

The rough presses of hard handling. A clinking of a belt. A swish of fabric. A hiss of happiness. Grunts of pleasure. Unconscious moans of pain and discomfort.

 

“I can't watch this,” Tatsuki gasped, shoving her hand onto the top half of her computer and pushed the screen down. The video and the sound stopped and she thrust the entire computer away from her.

 

“That's so sick…” Renji gasped out, pushing his own gaze to the ground and shuddering as if he had just gotten the chills.

 

Ichigo swallowed hard and fought to push the images that the video had provided him with as far back into his head as he could. But now that he had seen it… now that he had confirmed all the suspicions… he knew that that video would be in his mind for the rest of his life.

 

Tatsuki's eyes flickered up towards Ichigo and Renji. Her hand slithered up the back of the seat and Ichigo watched as Renji's calloused fingers intertwined with hers. The moment was so tender and beautiful it made Ichigo resume his stubbornly determined pacing. Meanwhile, Renji tightened his grip and gently stroked his thumb over the line of Tatsuki's knuckles. Both were completely oblivious to Ichigo's sudden—but rather obvious—discomfort.

 

“We have him now,” Ichigo whispered, disgust coating his throat. “We have him.”

 

Renji nodded and pulled out his cell phone from his pocket—using the hand that was not holding Tatsuki's, Ichigo noted. Ichigo's throat was dry as he continued to practically jog back and forth across the room. His ears sharpened almost on instinct as he listened for the ringing of Renji's phone to begin.

 

After nearly eight rings someone on the other line picked up. Whoever it was seemed both irritated and amused by the fact that Renji Abarai was calling the precinct at nearly five in the morning. There was an unintelligible muttering over the other line as Renji demanded to speak to someone named Komamura. Ichigo shot a glance at Tatsuki and she whispered, “The Captain of Renji's precinct.”

 

Ichigo nodded and both he and Tatsuki listened intently as the line was patched through to another number. Finally, after another twenty rings—it feels more like forty—someone on the other line picked up, demanded who the hell would call at the ungodly hour, and added in that a meteorite had better be headed for the station or else whoever this is “will not live to see the light of another day.”

 

“It's not a meteorite sir,” Renji stated in a rough voice, the man on the other line started growling but Renji cut him off before he could say another word, “I have something sir. And it's something that you really need to see.”

 

*~*~*

 

Renji's precinct captain was a very scruffy looking man by the name of Sajin Komamura. Ichigo could only assume that he was extra scruffy at this particular hour because he had been called into the precinct at an “ungodly” time this morning, he probably hadn't had time to trim the edges of his extensive beard yet. Either way, naturally scruffy or not, he was sitting in his office chair, examining the small flash drive held between his thick fingers and grimacing at the same time. His mouth—which was almost completely lost inside of a thick, orange, beard—was pulled into a deep frown. He grunted loudly enough for Ichigo—who was standing outside of the door, obviously eavesdropping—to hear clearly.

 

Ichigo heard the man clear his throat and rumble, “Where did you get this?”

 

“Outside source,” Renji's voice stated, his tone rough with lack of sleep.

 

Ichigo's hands brushed over the bottom of his face and felt that he also had a substantial amount of angry stubble residing on his chin. Hell, he had been up all night along with Tatsuki and Renji.

 

He closed his eyes softly and thought of Tatsuki, sitting outside in his Benz, waiting while her hands flew over her much abused laptop keyboard. She was killing time—could it really even be called that?—by writing her Ledger story, simply waiting for Renji to bring word on whether or not a criminal investigation would be held against Sosuke Aizen.

 

Ichigo's fingers tensed on the frame of the door he was clutching; his ears were practically bleeding at the intensity at which he was eavesdropping… ah… harmlessly listening in.

 

“What kind of friend?” Komamura demanded, skepticism lacing his tone. Ichigo leaned his head even further towards the door and heard him shift in his chair.

 

“A reliable friend,” Renji said strongly.

 

Ichigo had to raise his eyebrow at that. He had never really considered Renji a friend… rival yes, ally yes, but friend? That might be stretching it a bit.

 

“What's on this?” Komamura demanded quietly.

 

“Evidence of Sosuke Aizen raping Momo Hinamori to start,” Renji told his captain on an exhale.

 

“And to finish?”

 

Ichigo sighed with slight relief; at least the man sounded interested now.

 

“I believe that if our computer techs get their hands on this drive they could find anything from payment for an assassination job on Byakuya Kuchiki as well as notes on the hostile takeover on the Gotei Corporation—including the recent incident involving Rukia Kuchiki.” He said clearly, his voice growing in confidence with each word he spoke.

 

There was a slight pause when Komamaru seemingly leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Or, at least, that's what it sounded like. Ichigo couldn't be certain. While he desperately wanted to nudge his head over the side of the frame, just to see the big man's reaction, he knew he needed to wait. He knew better than that. His hair would get him noticed almost instantly.

 

“Where did you say you got this?”

 

“A fri—”

 

“It was a rhetorical question Abarai,” his captain snarled, sounding more like a dog with his hackles raised than anything else.

 

That seemed to throw Renji for a second. “Sir I don't—”

 

“What kind of friend Abarai?” He demanded, his chair squeaking again and his voice getting even heavier. “A cop? A civilian? A lawyer? A fireman? A baker? A clown? Who?”

 

Two outta three ain't bad.

 

“He's not a cop sir,” Renji said softly. Ichigo could tell by his tone that even though he was an extremely tough police officer, he obviously didn't like getting reamed by his boss. “He is technically a lawyer, sir, but—”

 

A string of expletives filtered through the captain's beard and spurted from his mouth.

 

“But,” Renji pressed on, bravely ignoring the outburst, “He's not with the district attorney. I did not, in any way, violate the fourth amendment here. He's a lawyer with the Suigetsu Corporation.”

 

The three-second pause that ensued after Renji spoke seemed as long as three fucking years. Or at least it did to Ichigo, who was maniacally fidgeting outside.

 

“Suigetsu?” Komamaru demanded lightly, “What the hell is someone from Suigetsu Incorporated doing stealing from one of their top executives? Hell, what's someone from Suigetsu Inc. doing trying to get their boss thrown in jail?”

 

Renji's voice was as hard as steel as he replied, “With all due respect, sir, but if your boss was being indicated in a rape as well as a murder wouldn't you want him out of the top spot as well?”

 

Ichigo could just picture the scene inside of the office. Renji, standing at attention with his shoulders back and his head held high; his job, his entire career in the force, and possibly even his future pension was on the line right now. Ichigo clenched his jaw at the thought that Renji was doing all of this for some guy who had stolen his once-upon-a-time dream-girl. He could also practically see his captain, this Komamaru guy, sitting in his desk with his hands clenched under his chin. Ichigo could tell by his tone that the man was not pleased. His bushy beard was probably spilling over his fingers and a frown was most likely carved into his murderous face.

 

“How do I know this is legit?” He demanded in a gruff voice.

 

Thank god, Ichigo thought, he's cracking.

 

“All of the documents on the file are attributed to Sosuke Aizen's personal or work computer,” Renji said confidently, his more-self-assured persona coming back with each word he spoke. “Plus, the video footage on this drive clearly shows him raping Momo Hinamori, who's unconscious at the time.”

 

Ichigo could just imagine Renji's captain's face tightening in disgust.

 

“Not to mention there's documentation of the attempted Kuchiki assassination—and by that I mean pre and post. This guys a digital pack rat; he hasn't thrown anything away throughout this whole ordeal. We have documents that lead us to believe he hired an assassin who was trained in daylight-style executions of big wigs. Further into the flash-drive there are several articles from online newspapers. These detail how other businessmen were assassinated in the exact same way… daylight, common sniper rifle, it's the same M.O. and it fits. This guy obviously did research beforehand.”

 

Komamaru grunted. “You sure you're not just grasping at straws and trying to connect your cases, Abarai?”

 

The added inflection made Ichigo's mouth curl. As if Renji could actually have the brain power, the man power, or the money to ever pull off something as elaborate as this.

 

No… this scheme had to be done by someone as twisted, as brilliant, and as rich as Sosuke Aizen. There was just no way it was anyone else.

 

“Sir, this is for real. It's the real flash drive, the real evidence, and the real perp right in front of us.” Renji's voice was hard and his tone was icy, “If we don't act on this now there's no telling who else might fall in the way of this psycho.”

 

The statement was terse and measured. Ichigo swallowed hard and strained his ears even more. All he could hear was the tapping of a pen against a desk as well as the sound of heavy breathing from both men in the room.

 

Ichigo had to remind himself to breathe.

 

“Fine. Pick him up.”

 

“Yes!” Ichigo hissed, his fists clenching together and his teeth gritted in victory. He quickly whipped out his cell phone and punched a message onto the screen and sent it on its way to Tatsuki.

 

Inside the office, Renji thanked his captain and assured him that he'd call the district attorney to get a warrant as soon as possible.

 

His captain only grunted and said, “You'd better not fuck this one up Abarai.”

 

Seconds later, Renji emerged from the room. He turned to Ichigo, smirked, and said triumphantly, “Let's go get the bastard.”

 

 

 

 

(A/N: So? What did you think? Things are starting to look up, right? Oh, and kindly remember I beta my own work so please forgive any spelling/grammar mistakes.

 

Okay, onto the serious stuff:

 

Dearest of readers/reviewers… the reason for this rather strangely timed update is because… well… I have just finished writing and editing all that is left of Odalisque.

 

There are two more chapters left for you to read. I swear, I feel like I had a cat that just died. I mean, this story has taken me almost an entire year to write. It is exactly eight hundred pages (the way I have it formatted) on Microsoft Word. And on both of the sites where I post I have over two thousand combined number of reviews.

 

So, as a prelude to my very last author's note I will go ahead and say this: Thank you to everyone who had read a sentence, a paragraph, a chapter, or the entire thing. Thank you for taking the time to read this and review for this story and most of all, thank you for sticking with it and me. :)

 

PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REVIEW!!!)