Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Of Violence ❯ Implications ( Chapter 7 )

Of Violence

Chapter Seven: Implications

 

Byakuya glared at the captain sitting across from him, hoping the full-force of his irritation would be enough to drive the man away. “I don't remember us making plans for lunch, Zaraki-taichou.”

 

Snorting, Zaraki ignored his attempts and made himself comfortable anyways. “Che. You know you've missed me, hime.”

 

Even after all these years, he still couldn't get the insufferable man to stop referring to him by that ridiculous nickname. “Hardly.” Byakuya sniffed, shifting behind his desk. “Seeing you at the captain's meeting is more than enough.”

 

The other Shinigami snorted, rolling his eye. “I'm surprised ya even noticed I was there,” he muttered under his breath, as if the one of the tallest men in the Gotei 13 was that hard to miss.

 

The comment was odd enough that it made Byakuya pause. “I'm not sure what you mean,” he stated slowly, his initial urge to throw Zaraki out completely halted. Despite himself, he was curious.

 

Zaraki blinked. “Fuck, ya are oblivious,” he grunted, though he didn't sound too surprised. “Thought maybe it was an act or somethin'.”

 

Genuine confusion flooded the Kuchiki heir. “An act?” he repeated, inclining his head. “What are you blathering on about, Zaraki? I'm too busy to listen to your nonsense. Find Kyouraku if you want to drunkenly babble.”

 

The eleventh-division captain snorted. “He was one of the first ones to notice.”

 

Byakuya was beginning to feel at his wit's end, Zaraki clearly having taken leave of what few senses he held. Nothing the man was saying made sense, nor was he taking any pains to clarify. This, he reminded himself, was a good reason to keep avoiding conversations with Zaraki as he had in the past. Yet, he still desired clarification.

 

“Notice what?” Byakuya demanded, tone becoming even frostier. He was two steps away from forgetting the entire thing and throwing the intruder out.

 

“Man. Didn't think I'd have to be the one to tell ya this. Ruins my image. Are ya sure ya don't wanna talk to Ukitake about it?” Zaraki countered, grinning ferally as he propped his chin on his palm. “I'm sure he could explain it in small words.”

 

It was always amusing to goad the Kuchiki princess. He reacted so predictably, bristling with that stoic face pulling into a bare expression of irritation.

 

The scent of cherry blossoms, once a subtle incense, grew stronger in the room as Byakuya sucked in an aggravated breath. He forcefully reminded himself that he was above attacking Zaraki out of sheer annoyance.

 

“Either explain or leave,” he declared crisply, lips thinning. “I would prefer the latter.”

 

Unfortunately, Zaraki did neither. He simply looked at Byakuya, teasing grin fading until he was left serious and somber. The intent gaze was almost frightening in its gravity and magnitude, briefly taking Byakuya aback.

 

“Have ya ever wondered?” Zaraki asked, drawing away from his mocking position and pulling into his usual half-contained sprawl.

 

The sedate inquiry was far from what Byakuya had expected.

 

“Wondered?” he repeated.

 

“If Ichigo hadn't married Rukia, what woulda happened?” the other man continued, pressing the issue further and explaining little by little. “If they hadn'ta been pushed together.”

 

On the verge of an annoyed rebuke, the casual question gave Byakuya pause. His eyes shifted to the side as the words washed over him, and he mused internally. Had he wondered? Had he ever really thought about it?

 

Certainly not when he knew their feelings for each other. Love had never been a missing factor. Perhaps their friends had not-so-gently encouraged both of the stubborn fools to admit their feelings, but the marriage hadn't been contrived. The emotions were honest, and Byakuya knew that Ichigo had genuinely wanted to marry Rukia. Otherwise, he never would have allowed it.

 

Had he ever considered either of them marrying anyone else? Honestly?

 

Byakuya couldn't say for certain that the thought had never crossed his mind, but he couldn't find good reason for the question to be brought up either. The couple had only ever seemed happy with their lives, totally in love. There was no reason to doubt.

 

Zaraki continued, despite Byakuya's thoughts, “Well, she wasn't the only one he was in love with back then.”

 

Grey eyes lifted in surprise, though his mind continued to churn. “If you are referring to Abarai Orihime, I know for a fact he never felt that way for her,” Byakuya countered, certain that could be the only possible conclusion Zaraki could have drawn.

 

His companion shook his head. “Hell, I knew that much for myself.” One hand lifted to tug at the band connected to his eyepatch, as if he were suddenly uncomfortable. “You're missin' the entire damn point, hime.”

 

Byakuya shifted in his seat, momentarily ignoring his irritation with the nickname. “Well, who else was there?” he insisted, wondering why he was asking Zaraki Kenpachi this sort of question about Ichigo's love life.

 

It was none of their business. Yet, the curiosity niggled at him. It was the sort of thing that shouldn't matter to him but still somehow wormed its way into his thought process. It was all Zaraki's fault.

Annoyed with himself, Byakuya added, “I can't honestly think of Ichigo showing an interest in anyone else, not when it was so clear that he is devoted to Rukia and their children.”

 

“He's shown plenty of interest, ya blind idiot,” Zaraki scoffed impatiently, his leaking reiatsu getting a bit ruffled around the edges.

 

Byakuya remained unperturbed in the face of it, already used to Zaraki's sometimes overwhelming presence. “I've seen no indication--”

 

“Dammit, it's you!” the other captain finally exploded, pinning Byakuya down with a stare as he abandoned all attempts at beating around the bush. It was time he just started slashing shit down. “And you're in love with him.”

 

Stunned into silence, the Kuchiki heir could only sit and stare blankly. His mouth opened to form words, but they refused to push past his lips.

 

What in… hell? It was improbable. It was impossible. Zaraki was out of his goddamned mind to even think such a thing.

 

Byakuya was floored, his carefully crafted masquerade crumbling around him as the words bounced around his skull. They shoved against each other in a disordered mess, grating and rumbling like Zaraki's voice. He knew he needed to say something to refute this utter madness. He should say something. But it all tangled up on his tongue, coming so quickly that he couldn't make sense of it.

 

What? How? Why?

 

The man must be crazy, had taken complete leave of what little senses he had left. Maybe he had gotten drunk and hit his head too hard. Killed what few brain cells he possessed.

 

The proclamation repeated itself. What in hell?

 

And his heart beat a faster rhythm as he swallowed thickly, fingers of one hand curling against his desk. It was completely impossible.

 

Zaraki studied him, taking some glee in watching the uptight man's mask collapse. “It's always been that way,” he pressed, knowing that there was no way to stop the ball from rolling now. “Even when he was fightin' his way through Seireitei, his thoughts were to get strong enough to face you.”

 

“He was fighting to protect Rukia,” Byakuya insisted thinly, growing increasingly irritated by Zaraki's continued presence. Honestly, the man had no right to barge in, only to say such nonsense. “I hardly think that's indicative of his so-called affections for me.”

 

The look he was giving in return was complete disbelief as Zaraki stared. “Do ya need me ta spell it out for ya?”

 

Byakuya sniffed. “Will it get you out of my office sooner?” he responded, reiatsu pulsing in response to his suddenly scattered thoughts.

 

His unwanted visitor huffed. “Ain't no use in hidin' it, Kuchiki. Everyone knows. It's the worst kept secret in all of Seireitei. A lot like Urahara and that bastard Aizen.”

 

Tired of hearing Zaraki's babble, Byakuya turned his head, focusing instead on the wall scroll to his left. “You have five seconds.”

 

Zaraki made no inclination to move, totally unperturbed by Byakuya's increased frostiness and disdain. “Ya ain't even noticed that you're the one that's married to him and not your sister. The only ones who can't see it are you two.”

 

“Impossible.” Byakuya sniffed.

 

“Then, who decided that the kids would have tutors?” Zaraki threw out, wondering if all of his evidence would break down that damn noble pride. “Who pays for them?”

 

Despite being surprised that Zaraki would know that information, Byakuya already had an answer. “It was a mutual decision.”

 

“Between you and Ichigo,” the other man shot back smugly. “And ya have lunch with him all the time, enough that people expect it.”

 

The Kuchiki heir glowered, returning his gaze to his companion. “He's my brother-in-law and a fellow captain, not to mention our divisions are neighboring. It is only logical.”

 

“And Renji was your lieutenant, but how often do ya go visitin' the seventh?” Zaraki shifted position, drawing in his legs to cross them as he watched Byakuya squirm. “Ya plan things for his kids together, like that brat's birthday party last year. And wifey didn't have to lift a finger. Hell, ya spend more time with Ichigo than she does.”

 

The truth of those words did nothing to unsettle Byakuya. “Rukia is very busy right now. I was helping out as a brother should,” he said through gritted teeth, wanting to demand Zaraki to start making some goddamned sense.

 

Zaraki gave him a look that could only be described as both skeptical and vaguely amused, but only because of the sheer patheticness of Byakuya's rebuttal. “Tell me, Kuchiki. How does it feel livin' in such denial? Don't ya ever get tired of it?”

 

Stiffening, the Kuchiki heir drew up straight, having had enough of this conversation. “There is nothing to deny. Ichigo and I are friends, brothers-in-law. Nothing more. We've never been anything more.”

 

He found himself becoming frantic, of all the strange emotions to attack him. His voice actually rose without his consent. This was something he had never dealt with before, and Byakuya fought with himself to stave off the unnecessary feelings.

 

Zaraki, however, sensed he was winning. The denials were stacking up as quickly as he could give the evidence. Byakuya was tottering, clearly at too much of a loss to put up a good defense.

 

“But you wanted it to be,” he put in earnestly. “Since before he was married. Shit, before ya even took down Aizen together.”

 

His eyes fell back to his desk, and it bothered Byakuya that he couldn't keep looking at Zaraki. But it felt as if the other captain were accusing him. Knowledge kept glinting in that dark eye, Zaraki's words like teasing, though his lips were devoid of his usual smirk.

 

“Hell,” the other man blithely continued, “the only reason I've stayed awake in meetings is cause I've been watchin' you two stare moony-eyed at each other like a pair of lovesick fools. Even if ya don't know yer doin' it.”

 

Byakuya shook his head, desperately trying to keep his grip on some sort of normalcy. “You're imagining things. If this is your idea of a joke--”

 

“We all know,” Zaraki casually interrupted, as if he hadn't been speaking at all. “We can all see it. Everyone but you two. And I think Rukia's known from the start. I never could understand why she married him.”

 

It was then that Zaraki chose to stand, having finished what he came to say. He looked down at the stunned man sitting at his desk, even as Byakuya returned his stare.

 

“He loves her,” the Kuchiki heir said firmly, that one statement all he needed to refute everything that Zaraki had so callously thrown at him.

 

Zaraki didn't even blink. “But he loves you more,” he countered, turning on his heels and leaving without another word.

 

Byakuya could only stare at his departing form, absolutely speechless.

 

*****

 

It was late, the sun already setting and casting a deep orange and scarlet hue over the sky. Most had gone home some time ago, leaving very few still in the divisions, except for those on night duty. He, however, lingered long after everyone in the sixth had departed, including his new vice-captain, Rikichi. Zaraki's words echoed in his mind, over and over, ringing in his ears and sounding too final to be false.

 

It was not some joke, not even Zaraki would go that far. The man honestly believed that Byakuya felt something for Ichigo and vice versa. The Kuchiki heir was even more certain that Zaraki had been struck one too many times in battle. Perhaps that injury from the war had been deeper than they all thought.

 

After debating internally on Zaraki's accusations for the rest of the day, Byakuya eventually left. His feet carried him, seemingly without his knowledge to Ichigo's home. He had every intention of telling the man about Zaraki's nonsense, about the absurd thing the man had said. Honestly, there was no possibility it could be true. Perhaps Ichigo would know what had sent Zaraki off the deep end. And that was what found him standing outside a deathly quiet house, worry starting to creep into his belly.

 

Byakuya had far too many manners to enter someone's home without their permission or an invitation. But repeated attempts at knocking had proved fruitless. He knew Ichigo was there, could feel the other captain's reiatsu. It was unsteady and riddled with depression, but it was there. And it was worrisome that he wouldn't answer the door.

 

It was understood that Byakuya had a standing invitation into the Kurosaki house at any time, but considering the current situation, he didn't think it would be best to walk in without acknowledgment. Yet, the fact that there was no answer and Ichigo's was the only reiatsu he could feel had him tossing aside his manners.

 

He pushed open the door, the stillness of the house slapping him full in the face. Carefully removing his waraji, Byakuya stepped further inside, ears straining for some sign of life. Most of the lights were off, only a scant few on here and there.

 

“Ichigo?”

 

No one answered his query.

 

Steeling himself, Byakuya headed down the hall, glancing into each room as he passed. He found nothing in the front room or the kitchen, both as silent and dark as a crypt. Just as he was preparing to pass the dining room, his feet skittered across an object on the floor. It tumbled and rolled away as he cursed under his breath, willing his eyes to adjust to the dim faster. He followed the sound of the item and found it nestled against the wall a few steps away, tucked next to another just like it.

 

A sake jug. An empty sake jug.

 

It was rather easy to tell in that moment that things were far from well in the Kurosaki home.

 

Sighing, Byakuya lifted his gaze and traced the hallway stretched out in front of him, finding several more of the jugs littering the floor. They were an awkward, stilted trail leading towards the back of the house. Almost like bread crumbs for him to follow.

 

More careful of his footing this time, he continued in his search, passing various rooms until he was faced with the sliding door to the back garden. There was nowhere else to look. Steeling himself, he quietly slid the door open and stepped out onto the porch.

 

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust yet again, and he just barely missed tripping on another two jugs, sheer reflexes saving him from a fall. Frowning, Byakuya closed the door behind him and swept his gaze around.

 

He found Ichigo almost immediately.

 

The younger captain was lying on his back, legs hanging over the edge of the porch, and body loosely wrapped in a dark blue yukata that Byakuya remembered buying for him one birthday. One arm was slung over his face, the other stretched out to his side, curled fingers barely brushing the neck of a sake bottle. More empty jugs were set up around him like clay and porcelain soldiers, making Byakuya wonder if there was anything left in the Kurosaki household that even vaguely resembled alcohol.

 

In that moment, Ichigo eerily resembled Kyouraku Shunsui, and the comparison disturbed Byakuya more than he would ever admit.

 

He stepped further onto the porch, standing next to Ichigo's prone form. He assumed that his brother-in-law was asleep since he could still feel his reiatsu, thrumming high with depression and despair but still strong and alive.

 

Byakuya moved to kneel, one hand reaching out to check.

 

“I'm not dead.”

 

The sudden statement stopped him in his tracks. “I did not think that you were,” he replied evenly, relief spreading through him that Ichigo was at least conscious enough to talk. “However, given your current environment, I thought that perhaps you required assistance.”

 

Ichigo's arm slid away from covering his face to balance on his forehead, pushing orange strands upwards. “Don't worry, Byakushi,” he slurred, looking up at him with bleary, obviously inebriated vision. “Everything's just fiiiine.”

 

The Kuchiki heir was far from convinced. He straightened, looking down at the younger man.

 

“What have you eaten today?” he demanded, using his captain's tone.

 

Ichigo pursed his lips. “I had some sake for breakfast. And then, some sake for lunch.” He paused, brow furrowing as he thought particularly hard. “And I was plannin' on havin' some sake for dinner. Ya know, the good stuff that Shunsui gave me for Tanabata.”

 

“Are you turning into Kyouraku Shunsui now?” Byakuya asked, sarcasm successfully masking his concern. “What next? A hat and pink haori?”

 

The watery glare Ichigo shot at him was far from terrifying, almost comical in his attempts to scrunch his face into indignation. “I've better taste than that, Byakushi. Mine would be green,” he added mordantly. “And I'd steal Urahara's hat. Then, I'd match.” His outstretched hand motioned drunkenly before flopping back to the porch.

 

Byakuya rolled his eyes. “Even Renji dresses better than that.”

 

A snort-laugh slipped from Ichigo's lips, a rather drunken sound. “Have a seat, Byakushi. Have a drink.” He turned his head, frowning at the bottle nearest to his hand. “But not this one. S'empty.”

 

“I think they are all empty,” Byakuya retorted, looking around pointedly. He didn't dare count. He didn't want to know just how much Ichigo had consumed. Honestly, part of him was actually surprised to find the man conscious.

 

Ichigo merely blinked at him and after some effort abruptly sat up. He wavered, mind likely spinning, before rising unsteadily to his feet. Ichigo swayed. Byakuya reached out to secure him, but his aid was unnecessary. The other captain remained on his feet, somehow finding his balance.

 

“There's more in the kitchen,” Ichigo mumbled, absentmindedly fixing his yukata where it had slipped and revealed one bronzed shoulder.

 

The color really was good for him, a perfect contrast to his skin tone, Byakuya grudgingly admitted to himself. And he watched as Ichigo turned, climbing back onto the porch from where he had risen on the grass, and stumbled in a somewhat graceful fashion towards the sliding door.

 

“I'll be right back, Byakushi,” he called over his shoulder, fingers fumbling before managing to successfully slide the door open.

 

In his state, there was no way Byakuya was going to let the drunken man wander around by himself. He gingerly stepped over several empty sake jugs and followed after Ichigo, the other captain slowly and unsteadily making his way down the hallway. One hand occasionally slapped against the wall for support.

 

“Damn reiatsu burns away the effects,” Ichigo mumbled, foot kicking out a jug as he gestured towards the empty bottle. “I needed to drink more just to… just… just to feel it. Not that I really wanted to feel anything.”

 

Byakuya felt his insides clench at the utterly broken note in Ichigo's voice. It simply didn't fit him.

 

“Ichigo, I don't believe this is the solution--”

 

“She's gone,” the younger man blurted out before he could finish, effectively cutting him off.

 

The Kuchiki heir blinked, taken aback by the sudden exclamation. “What?”

 

“Rukia. She left last night. Took her clothes with her.” Ichigo paused by the doorway to Syaoran's room, peering into the depths as if he wasn't certain where he was supposed to be going or why.

 

He had already done that at the bathroom and Kaien's room as well. It hadn't taken Byakuya long to realize that they were simply meandering, as if Ichigo were lost.

 

He was struck with a sudden understanding, and in that moment, his sympathy for Ukitake Jyuushiro increased tenfold. This was what it felt like to follow a drunken friend around, making sure they did not kill themselves by inadvertently falling down stairs or drowning in their own vomit. He never expected to find himself in such a situation, and he mentally apologized for every unkind rebuke he had ever said to Ukitake about Kyouraku.

 

“I don't blame her though,” Ichigo continued, his voice echoing forlornly in the house as he hesitated in front of the kitchen and peered in. “I don't blame her for anything. S'my fault, too.”

 

Confusion furrowed his brow as he stopped just inside the doorway, one hand on the frame. Brown eyes swept around the kitchen unsteadily, and Byakuya could make out a few more sake jugs on the center island within.

 

“Perhaps you should,” the older man suggested quietly.

 

Ichigo's back was to him, drawn tight with tension as his fingers tightened on the doorframe. “You don't understand,” he countered.

 

“Then explain it to me.”

 

“Doesn't matter. She's still gone.” He shook his head, letting out a drunken, morose laugh that was anything but amused. “I'll bet she had a shittier day than I did.”

 

His words faltered as he looked unsteadily into the kitchen once last time before turning back towards the hallway. His eyes stared forlornly into the dim lighting of the corridor, shuffling unsteadily into the middle.

 

“I just want it all to go away,” he whispered, the thumb of his left hand rubbing against the metal of his wedding ring. “The stares and the whispers and the looks. I'm fuckin' sick of it all.”

 

Byakuya could only watch as Ichigo drew deeper into his despair, heightened by the alcohol coursing through his system. He wished he had the words to say, but his usual eloquence failed him.

 

Ichigo shifted, sagging against the wall opposite the kitchen door, his eyes filled with misery. “I wouldn't ever hurt her,” he muttered sluggishly, as if repeating some internal conversation. “And now, everyone knows. Everyone's lookin' at me. `That's the captain who lets his wife beat on him.' They pity me, and I hate it.” His voice cracked, and he sucked in a shuddery breath. “I hate it.”

 

“It's not pity for everyone,” Byakuya interjected, hands hanging loosely at his sides.

 

Watery brown eyes lifted up to him, chapped lips cracking into the faintest hint of a smile. “Yeah, I like ya, too, Byakushi.”

 

Zaraki whispered in the back of his head when that smile warmed something inside of him. `But he loves you more,' the crazed man insisted, his voice cackling evilly.

 

Byakuya very calmly and firmly told him to shut up.

 

“You're about the only one who's normal,” Ichigo added, half-heartedly plucking at his yukata where it was gaping slightly. His obi was loosening from his movements, making his efforts nearly useless. “Even my Hollow and Zangetsu're off. Shirosaki's disgusted, and ossan just keeps givin' me sad eyes.”

 

“They are a part of you,” Byakuya interjected quietly. “Their pain reflects yours.”

 

Ichigo nodded, his head knocking briefly against the wall behind him. “I'll bet it's rainin' pretty hard. Shirosaki must be pissed. Heh, pale bastard.” There was still a note of fondness in his tone, Ichigo and his Hollow having long since reconciled.

 

It took a moment for Byakuya to understand the weather reference, until he remembered its connection with Ichigo's inner world. He imagined it probably was raining with Ichigo in this state.

 

“I actually let Shirosaki out for a second when I was talkin' to Kaku earlier,” Ichigo continued, standing up straight or at least trying to. “Damn bastard doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut.”

 

Kaku? Ah, Madarame.

 

“Thought Hime was gonna cry on me. And then, there was ice and aliens, but I'm not sure how that all fits together.” Ichigo frowned, looking genuinely confused as his tone turned dark and somber. “Really not sure at all.”

 

With Orihime in the equation, confusion was only to be expected.

 

Ichigo chose that moment to step forward, but the movement was the most unsteady he had made so far. He wobbled towards Byakuya, and the older captain automatically moved to catch him, unwilling to watch his friend fall face down. He grasped Ichigo by the arms, but that hadn't been the other man's real intention.

 

A forehead landed against Byakuya's right collarbone as Ichigo slumped, the tips of orange spikes brushing under the Kuchiki heir's chin. Byakuya stiffened but didn't let go of his hold on Ichigo's arms, just in case he wasn't stable enough to stand on his own.

 

Ichigo was utterly quiet, a loud and miserable sigh whispering broken across his lips. “What am I going to do, Byakushi?”

 

Byakuya didn't have answer, though he wished heartily that he did. Comforting was more Jyuushiro's forte or Orihime's. He had only half-formed words and silence to offer. He was no good at situations like this. Yet, he couldn't believe for a single second that Ichigo would want either of the other two to see him like this.

 

Closing his eyes at his own uselessness, Byakuya could only suggest, “Let's get you to bed.”

 

“Don't want to,” Ichigo muttered, sounding just like his son in his petulance. “S'empty.”

 

But Byakuya was already leading him down the hallway, Ichigo nearly boneless next to him. He slumped against the Kuchiki heir's side as if needing Byakuya to simply stand, almost dead weight.

 

He tried to ignore the tug inside of him at Ichigo's admission. While he couldn't quite understand that pain, he did at least sympathize with feeling loss. Even if he couldn't find the right words of consolation. They had never worked with him anyway. He doubted they would work for Ichigo.

 

Byakuya wasn't entirely sure how he managed to get Ichigo into his bed and beneath the covers, but somehow, he was successful. He even wrangled his brother-in-law onto his side, just in case.

 

Ichigo barely stirred, floating in and out of consciousness as he succumbed to the pull of the sake. However, he twitched as the blanket was pulled up and the pillow shifted beneath his head.

 

“Byakuya…”

 

But before he could finish whatever he had meant to say, the words trailed off into an evened breathing sigh.

 

Grey eyes watched him a minute more, just in case Ichigo bolted awake in sudden surprise. Byakuya exhaled when he realized Ichigo was officially down for the night and rose to his feet, looking around him.

 

He had a lot of work to do before the morning.

 

*****

 

“Uhnnnnn.”

 

The groan pierced the empty silence of the bedroom, soft and barely emerging from a parched, dry mouth.

 

Ichigo came into consciousness very, very slowly, every one of his senses taking their damn time in returning one by one. He was numb all over, limbs refusing to respond to his commands, not that he dared try moving. His mouth was sandpaper, tongue limp against his cheek, and his eyes were glued shut.

 

He stirred against the covers, awake in a world of darkness as the dull throbbing of his head quickly became a loud roar with increasing consciousness. It was like ten-thousand Grimmjows were knocking down buildings in his head, pounding so loudly he could practically hear his every thought screeching around.

 

He had never felt so poorly in his entire life, the sudden desire to die coursing through him. Not even when he was stabbed, slashed, bleeding and near death had he been in this much agony. The last of which was looking rather appealing at the moment.

 

He couldn't remember anything, his name the only knowledge he was certain he possessed. Everything on him ached. Even his hair and the tips of his fingernails. His stomach churned very unpleasantly, whatever sloshed around inside contemplating making a violent escape from his mouth.

 

What in hell had he done to himself? Did anyone get the name of the Espada that had stomped up and down on his head?

 

On the very, very edge of his conscious, Ichigo dimly registered a faint rapping sound. Like someone knocking. Possibly on his front door.

 

He contemplated ignoring the visitor but had the feeling they would be very persistent. He groaned under his breath and slowly tried to move, limbs creaking as he forced them into obeying his commands. His eyes still wouldn't open, so he was crawling blind. But that had never stopped him before.

 

Ichigo inched out from beneath the covers, towards the direction that might have been the door. He heard the knocking again as he moved, inch by slow fucking inch, inwardly vowing that he was never going to do something so stupid as drinking his weight in sake again.

 

It barely felt like he was moving. Ichigo thought he might have fallen asleep again and jerked, the appearance of what sounded like thunder crashing down his hallway. Of course, it was only footsteps, but to his ears and pounding head, it sounded like a herd of rampaging Academy students.

 

He twitched, realizing that he was still partially in the bed. Clarity only vaguely dawned in his brain.

 

The knocker had apparently taken it upon himself to enter the house. The floor vibrated as his visitor drew closer, standing right next to his prone form. He heard a faint sigh and then a voice came down from above him, as if it were descending from heaven. It was the King of Soul Society or possibly even Kami-sama.

 

Ichigo was too far gone to consider reality.

“Ichigo-san?”

 

Somehow, he thought he might recognize Kami-sama. The voice was so familiar, tantalizingly so. Like he had known Kami-sama in a past life.

 

Kami-sama questioned him again.

 

“Ichigo-san?”

 

He had every intention of saying something clever like “I'm not dead” or “Yes, Kami-sama? How may I serve you?”

 

But all that came out was a very pathetic, “Uhnnnnnnn.”

 

Kami-sama sighed again. “I have my work cut out for me.”

 

The next Ichigo knew, the king must have been casting magic over him because the pain was very slowly receding, leaving him incredibly tired. He felt heat and pressure and blessed relief coursing through him. It was as if he were surrounded by a divine radiance.

 

His senses gradually returned one by one. He could smell again. He could taste again, though he really wished he couldn't. The dry, papery feeling to his leaden tongue was not something that should have a flavor. His legs were there, contrary to initial belief, and the headache was slowly easing. It was still throbbing, but it was less Grimmjow smashing and more hammer pounding.

 

It took several long seconds for Ichigo to realize that he was being healed thanks to kidoh, which always felt different than Orihime's powers. Therefore, the king was not Orihime.

 

He was pleased by his intelligent deduction.

 

The last of his senses made a comeback as Ichigo peeled his eyes open, immediately wincing at the brightness of the light pouring into his vision. All he could see once he ignored that was black. Lots of black. Not really much of an improvement.

 

Ichigo turned his head, neck creaking with the effort and blearily tried to catch a glimpse of the king's identity. Black. Black. White obi. Black. Black. Neck. Face. Very bleary face. Dark hair, not that it revealed much. Blue eyes.

 

Recognition gradually dawned as a somewhat hesitant smile became present.

 

“Hana…tarou?” Ichigo croaked, his voice raspy and strained.

 

Hanatarou dipped his head at him, his hands still hovering over Ichigo's body. “Ohayou, Ichigo-san.”

 

Refraining from answering now that the mystery had been solved, Ichigo closed his eyes. He just let the healing kidoh wash over him, restoring him to some semblance of normalcy.

 

Twenty minutes later found Ichigo sitting at his dining room table, cupping the warm tea Hanatarou had brewed for him. His body was still achy, but he was at least coherent. His headache had mostly calmed, though if he moved too quickly it would spike up into his brain. He was a bit shaky, especially his limbs, and his belly rolled at the thought of consuming anything. But the tea he could manage.

 

“How did you know to come here?” Ichigo asked, voice still cracking as he sipped at the tea.

 

Across the table from him, Hanatarou simply responded, “Kuchiki-taichou sent me.”

 

Ichigo blinked. “Byakuya?”

 

He shifted position slowly, pointedly looking around him. A fact wriggled at the back of his brain, informing him that something was missing. It took him several long seconds to realize that all the bottles were gone. Every last one of the sake jugs that he had personally emptied had vanished. And if he remembered correctly, he hadn't seen any in his journey from bedroom to bathroom to dining room.

 

The night before was coming back to him in snippets the longer he remained coherent and recovering. He could remember Byakuya coming and bits and pieces of the man's visit. Calling him Byakushi. Joking about Renji. Telling him about Rukia. But there wasn't a complete story. Parts of it were missing. For instance, he couldn't recall how he had gotten into his bed, though he assumed Byakuya must have helped him.

 

He wondered if Byakuya ended up staying all night.

 

“Hai, Ichigo-san,” Hanatarou said, answering the question he had nearly forgotten he'd asked. “He woke me up this morning.”

 

“It's morning?”

 

The healer inclined his head, eyes flickering towards the window. “Just before dawn.”

 

Dawn? Damn, it was early. Ichigo couldn't believe that Byakuya had woken Hanatarou that early. He hadn't realized he was that bad off.

 

Ichigo rubbed at the back of his head, embarrassment trickling through him in increasing waves. “Thanks, Hanatarou,” he murmured, shifting awkwardly.

 

He was a captain of the Gotei 13. Such behavior should have been beneath him, Shunsui notwithstanding. He couldn't yet decide if he was glad only Byakuya and Hanatarou had seen him in that state or mortified that Byakuya had been one of the aforementioned. Either way, his cheeks threatened to burn crimson, already a fascinating shade of red.

 

“I don't suggest you go into the office today,” Hanatarou put in quietly, hands folded in his lap as he watched Ichigo.

 

The captain couldn't agree more. “Yeah. I'm sure I wouldn't make it through the day.”

 

Just the thought of having to sit in his office, reading paperwork, made his head begin to ache more. It was literally impossible to completely heal a hangover, even with kidoh. Orihime's ability was perhaps the only thing capable of relieving all the symptoms. Well, other than those weird concoctions Urahara had stashed away, but he wasn't even going to think about that.

 

Light blue eyes regarded him thoughtfully. “And perhaps a few more days wouldn't hurt,” the healer tentatively suggested.

 

Ichigo tipped his head to the side. “A few more days?”

 

“A vacation would be best,” Hanatarou confirmed, all traces of meekness gone. “Away from Soul Society.”

 

“Away?” Ichigo repeated in surprise.

 

“Yuzu has been asking to see you,” Hanatarou reminded him gently. “Perhaps you should go to her.”

 

Sighing, Ichigo resisted the habitual urge to rub his forehead. “What is that? Doctor's orders?”

 

The healer smiled faintly, but his eyes clearly told his determination that Ichigo obey. “Yes, it is. I've already sent the Hell Butterfly to Yamamoto-soutaichou with my personal recommendation.”

 

His brows rose in surprise. “No choice in the matter then,” Ichigo replied, though relief spread through him, relaxing the tenseness in his muscles. He hadn't realized until that moment how much he dreaded stepping back into the madness.

 

Hanatarou nodded, rising to his feet. “Enjoy your vacation, Ichigo-san,” he wished the captain and left the dining room, letting himself out of the Kurosaki home.

 

Ichigo remained at the table for a while longer, finishing off his tea and letting the events of the past couple of days wash over him. Had it really only been forty-eight hours since his life had exploded around him? It felt like it had been weeks, at least to his exhausted body. So much could happen in only two days time.

 

His wife had left him. Rukia had walked out the door, bag in hand, under the pretense that they just needed some time apart. As if they weren't already strained at the edges and filled with distance. He hadn't kissed her, truly kissed her, in so long he wondered if he was forgetting what she tasted like. And yet, she had said they needed space. Time to think.

 

On the verge of becoming an uncomfortable mix of depressed and angry again, Ichigo drained the last of his tea and rose to his feet. His eyes flicked to the clock behind him, registering the time. Both Nami and Sanji would be arriving soon. He needed to get cleaned up and go pick up his children, not to mention address Kaien's strange behavior.

 

He couldn't afford to completely break down.

 

Setting his used dishware in the sink, Ichigo turned to do just that. However, before he even made it to the bedroom, he did one last search through the house, making sure all the bottles and jugs had been gathered. He didn't need his children or the servants finding them, even if Sanji would see the nearly emptied sake rack when he arrived.

 

He passed by the guest room and paused, glancing in. The futon looked untouched, still packed away and not even wrinkled. As if no one had slept on it.

 

Perhaps Byakuya hadn't stayed, after all.

 

*****

 

a/n: Translator's Notes

 

--Tanabata: A Japanese star festival. People generally celebrate this day by writing wishes, sometimes in the form of poetry, on tanzaku, small pieces of paper, and hanging them on bamboo, sometimes with other decorations. Orihime gets her name from this festival. I do not believe that people give gifts but this is Shunsui we're talking about. Would he really need a reason?