Bleach 1. Letters

**Imperfect**

**Warning! Read Me!**

**Contains major spoilers! Since I have started to write this story before the Turn Back the Pendulum Arc, this may count as an AU to that.**

This story is going to contain **shonen ai,** **yaoi **(you know, the m/m thing!) and **Mayuri.** If you have a problem with any of these please stop reading this fic unless you are a mazochist of course. Flames against either yaoi or Mayuri or both—or any kind of combination of these are going to be ignored and the flamers will be immortalized in the form of a voodoo doll with pins where it hurts them the most!

Just joking!

Or... am I:)

Thank you!

**What is different****:** In this story Mayuri was still free when Urahara became a captain, and the two of them did not meet in the Maggots Nest! Even though Urahara founded the Research and Development Institute right after his promotion, he did not offer the position of second in command for Mayuri – simply because they didn't know each other back then.

Mayuri still has most of his original set of limbs and other bodyparts, including ears and hair too (no hat, mask or any other accesories either).

Timeline: set about 100-130 years before the main storyline of Bleach.

Huge thanks to my dear betas!

* * *

**Prologue**

It was spring, the last week of the school year and as such, the corridors of the academy were full of little groups of seniors who were chatting enthusiastically. Most of them gathered around the long lists hanging on the walls, looking for their names.

This comfortable buzzing was suddenly disturbed by the heavy sound of someone's hurried steps and the loud bang of an opening door. Shibazaki Gonsuke, the academy's current student advisor, took one last sip of his tea then started to read another paper.

There was no need for him to look up to know who broke into his office; he was expecting this meeting. He'd known this would happen ever since the results of the student applications came from the 13 protection squads. Yet he still didn't feel ready for this clash, even though he'd had a week to prepare himself.

The sound of steps came closer and closer and with a dull thump someone slammed a paper on his table.

"What is this about?! I demand an explanation!"

Gonsuke stared tiredly at the paper and sighed, no matter how much he wished he couldn't run away anymore.

"Good morning, Kurotsuchi-san!" he muttered and without even looking up, pushed the paper aside.

"Don't 'good morning' me but answer! What's the meaning of this?!"

Gonsuke put his brush down, arranged his features into an expressionless mask and looked up (the first time since the student entered the room) right into a pair of yellow eyes glowing with anger.

He knew exactly what the student was trying to ask, but he didn't feel like making it easier for him. He'd been working for eighty years at the academy and had met many students, but never such a bad-tempered and arrogant one as Kurotsuchi Mayuri, not even among the children of the Great Noble Families. During the six years Mayuri spent at the academy his name had practically become a legend among the teachers and office workers with his regular rows and questionable dealings with the other students.

This was his last year though, and Gonsuke knew it was only the matter of days before Mayuri stepped out of his and the school's life forever, and received his well-deserved punishment from the real world. So he wanted to enjoy this last chance to be as minimally helpful as only one can get with long years of bureaucratic experience.

"This is the squad list, Kurotsuchi-san. And I would appreciate if you put it back on the wall. Others may need it too."

"I_know_ what this is." Mayuri growled with rage. "But what is this number supposed to mean?" He pointed at the paper.

Gonsuke followed his movement with a tired look, although he was sure he knew where it lead: to Mayuri's name.

"The number of your new squad, and your rank there."

"But this is not where I applied for!"

"I know, but this is where you were admitted to."

"But this cannot be! This must be a mistake! I must have had enough points to be admitted! I demand that you check it again!"

"There is no mistake in this. Although you achieved maximal points, as always," he added with a touch of sourness in his voice, "the 12th squad rejected your application, so it was sent on to the other squads."

"But why?"

With a sigh Gonsuke leaned on his elbow and looked at the young man in front of him. The 12th squad wasn't among the strongest squads but it was the most strictly supervised one; the place where the most dangerous experiments were carried out.

Over the years when an accident happened at the 12th squad it was always at the expense of the whole Soul Society. After the incident with the Bounts the office of 46 made a serious decision to avert further calamities, and from that day onward only students with unquestionable morality and sense of responsibility could be accepted into the 12th squad, which had to be proven with a personally signed recommendation from a teacher.

How could he explain that the reason for the rejection was simply that there wasn't one shinigami in the whole academy who would vouch for Mayuri's sanity, much less for his unquestionable morality or sense of responsibility? At the end he chose the only solution he could think of, he shrugged and with an emotionless face he said:

"I can't even imagine, Kurotsuchi-san," and quickly, before the other had a chance to react, he added: "The decision is final. From now on, you are a member of the 4th squad. Congratulations!"

"But I..."

"Please put this paper back as you leave."

"But..."

"Goodbye, Kurotsuchi-san!"

The boy shot a long, hateful glance at him, picked up the paper and stormed out the door.

* * *

**Chapter 1**

**Letters**

It was a day just like any other when Yoruichi decided to visit Urahara. The weather was so nice and it'd have been such a shame to sit over papers (or so she thought) but that man was nowhere to be found. He wasn't in his lab or any of his favorite spots. When she found him at last he was alone, lying on his back on one of the tall rooftops of the lonely buildings with a lollipop in his mouth and arms under his head. His gray eyes were scanning the clouds so unaware of the existence of the rest of the world as only he could be.

"Yo! Kisuke!" she greeted him as she appeared next to him. "What are you doing here?"

"Yoruichi-san?" Urahara looked up with a tired smile. "Nothing. Just watching the clouds and thinking."

"So… the experiment has failed again." This wasn't a question but a statement; one she knew was true. Urahara only nodded.

Yoruichi wondered whether she should tell him how sorry she was, but perhaps there wouldn't be any point of it. This wasn't the first time, and surely not the last either; they both knew it. So she just sat down next to him, looking up at the sky and let the companionable silence to envelop them.

It was one of the strangest things, she mused, how the usually spirited Urahara could gaze at the sky for hours without moving the slightest whenever he was troubled. Yoruichi knew of course that there was a sky above them (she was even aware that it was pretty), but in her opinion staring at it solved nothing and so was pointless and boring.

But for Urahara it seemed to smooth his troubled mind, and when he spoke again he sounded pondering:

"Have you ever noticed even if rain falls in Soul Society, how it never falls here, among the walls of the Seireitei? Isn't it weird?"

"Yeah" she grinned. "Although it is even more weird to hear you complain about it. After all, isn't it the 12th squad that keeps it this way?"

"On the order of Yamamoto-sama. This is supposed to be the place of perfect weather, or so he thinks." Urahara said with a shrug. "It never changes. Every day, it's always the same, never a storm, and never a drop of rain. It feels so... alien."

"Well, perhaps" she agreed with a small nod and laid down next to him with a long, cat-like stretch, an intimate gesture which she allowed herself only in his presence.

"But most people like it, and I can't say I mind it either. It's better than getting wet and walking up to the neck in the mud every day. I guess this must be why Yamamoto orders it to be like this."

"Always without a change... " whispered the man and Yoruichi had to smile.

"Now aren't you unusually philosophic today?"

Urahara just remained silent and closed his eyes. When he answered at last, it came unexpectedly with a tired sigh.

"It died right after the activation, you know." he said slowly. "There are 254 shinigami under my command and there wasn't one, who could find an error in the design of that compact soul. Yet it failed." He stopped for a moment as a sudden wind blew his hair into his face.

"That was how I realized. They are all clever and hardworking men, selected after hundreds of tests. Yet useless, all of them." He gestured wearily, "We chose them considering what everyone would expect from a subordinate, but with this we also prevented any kind of development. The same pattern of thinking, being sorted out by those tests. They are just like this weather."

"Hmm…" she sounded amused. "You sure are strict with your subordinates."

"Quality over quantity, dear Yoruichi," he smiled seductively.

"Yeah, I guess this explains a lot." She said with a wide grin. Urahara laughed with her, but his voice lacked any real joy. When he spoke again he sounded distant.

"Always sunshine, ne? So boring. Some rain would certainly be... refreshing."

**-oOo-**

How Yamada Momotaro had ever become an officer of the 4th squad was a mystery to everyone, especially to himself. He never had big dreams, never wanted to become a hero, and the greatest ambition of his life he ever dared to allow himself was dreaming about seeing the living world once. Not as a protector of course, just as a tourist.

He liked his life simple, without as much action as was possible. It wasn't because he was lazy, but whenever he tried to make an effort to solve a problem on his own, somehow said problem always became worse and he got in trouble; making everyone to be angry with him. So after a few years at the academy he gave up on trying. It was much easier to simply do what he was told to do, nothing more and nothing less. This way no one yelled at him, he could remain faceless and nameless and it even saved him time for reading and daydreaming.

It worked perfectly well 'til the day when Momotaro had to face the frightful fact that what he considered to be a good tactic was something that others saw as a sign of obedience and trustworthiness. One day an officer walked up to him, pushed a letter into his hands and patted his shoulder with a wide, friendly smile on his face.

"Congratulations, Yamada! In recognition of your efforts and hard work, from now on you are one of the 20th seated officers, leader of the 24th supply and cleaning team. Don't bring shame on your rank!"

With this position new assignments came, and his nightmare had started.

This ordeal's newest development was the report writing for the monthly-published newspaper, the 'Court of Pure Souls'. The magazine usually left a few pages empty for every division to fill it with articles on whatever topic they choose. In the 4th squad writing them was the job of the lower ranked officers, and this month it was Momotaro's turn.

All his friends told him that since the whole Seireitei was reading the magazine this was a great chance for him to stand out and draw attention to himself and his opinions. This thought somehow didn't make Momotaro feel any better.

Today was the last day before the deadline. He had to hand in his report at noon, yet now, at eleven o' clock, he still didn't have the faintest notion of what to write about. In the past two hours all he did was to scribe the word "Healing Magic" on the top of the paper. It sounded like an interesting topic, one worthy to appear in the newspaper; all he needed now was some idea how to continue it.

He took his brush in his hand and stared at the paper.

Nothing...

He put the brush down, than picked it up again, and glared at the paper a bit more.

Still nothing...

He wanted to scream. He grabbed the brush and threw it at the wall with all his strength, but almost immediately regretted it. After all it wasn't the brush's fault that he was in this situation. He knelt down to find it, but couldn't see it anywhere. While he was climbing under the desk the sounds of throat clearing caught his attention.

"You may stand up now. I know you are hiding under the table."

Momotaro jumped as high as a flea in his surprise, and bumped his head on the tabletop with a loud thump. For a short moment he wondered if he was wrong; the person who spoke couldn't be the one he thought he was, but after a moment of hesitation he had to admit he couldn't imagine anyone else with such a creepy voice.

"Kurotsuchi-san? I'm not hiding, I'm just," he mumbled as he crawled out from under the furniture and scrambled to his feet. "I mean... I...I..."

It was a mistake, and he immediately knew it. It was a mistake to look at Mayuri's face while talking to him. Before he looked, he couldn't see those cold and penetrating eyes staring down at him, he didn't feel the chill in his spine, and he didn't get a barely surpass-able desire to run away and hide under some rock. Before then he didn't feel like a piece of meat in the counter at the butcher's, being eyed by an elderly housewife who is wondering whether she should make a stew or a pie out of him. And before then he could also remember what he wanted to say.

Talking about shops, sometimes Momotaro wondered how someone could live with eyes like that. They must be very useful in combat, but how does someone go to the grocery store and ask for a liter of milk, some eggs and luncheon meat and not be arrested for mental harassment?

Well, Mayuri probably never went to the grocery, decided Momotaro and shook his head, trying to forget about the rather disturbing image. He should get back to the situation at hand, he reminded himself. So where was he? Oh yes! Under the table… Or rather, explaining what he was doing there.

Mayuri impatiently raised a dark eyebrow. "Yes?"

Momotaro, for lack of any faster explanation, only lifted the brush in his hand with a hopeful smile, but the grimace on the other man's face immediately ensured him that all hope was futile.

He sighed heavily. He couldn't understand how could he end up in such a situation. He was an officer after all, and Mayuri was only his subordinate, a less than unimportant rookie. He shouldn't be under such a mental pressure only from talking to him.

"What... what can I do for you, Kurotsuchi-san?" he asked.

Mayuri throw a scroll on the desk.

"Now that I have finished the work for today, here is a list of a few documents I need from the library. I have marked their finding place after the titles."

What was this supposed to mean? Momotaro didn't get it. He could only stare at him in disbelief.

"On the paper." the other man said with dry scorn and pushed the paper a bit closer to him.

Momotaro gave up. He still wasn't sure why Mayuri thought it was important to show him his library list, but it was clear he was expected to read it. As he proceeded from one finely calligraphied line to the other, a terrible suspicion started to take shape in his soul.

"But Kurotsuchi-san!" he breathed.

"What?"

"These documents are... they are all in the restricted area!"

"Yes."

"But only officers are allowed to borrow books and documents from the restricted area!"

Mayuri looked him up and down with a mocking disdain in his eyes.

"You are not really a sharp one, are you?" He sighed under his breath. "Why do you think I'm telling you this? You are my commanding officer. I'm not allowed to take them, so you will."

For a brief second the idea popped up in Momotaro's head that he should probably ask exactly why he should do this (not to mention, what Mayuri needed those documents for) but the look on the others face silenced him. There was no point in arguing, all he could squeeze out of himself was but one question:

"Now?"

"Of course!" snapped the blue haired rookie impatiently. "I have other things to do, too."

Momotaro swallowed nervously. "I... I'm sorry, but I can't."

Mayuri shot an angry, disbelieving glare at him as if he didn't hear him right.

"What?"

Momotaro slowly raised the brush again, with an even more hopeful smile. Mayuri's glare slowly grew from disbelieving to murderous.

"Yes, I saw it the first time, too."

"I... I mean..." Momotaro took a deep breath and explained. He told him everything about the newspaper, the article, and the deadline. Surprisingly, as he spoke, Mayuri listened him silently with narrowed eyes. Then he took the paper from the desk, read the words on the top of it, and pushed it under Yamada's nose.

"Is that all you have written?" he asked in an unfathomable voice and Momotaro could only nod.

Mayuri sighed deeply and sat down to the desk.

"Go to the library!" he commanded. "I will write this." And with that, he grabbed a brush from the table and opened the little, varnished box of the ink stone.

Momotaro didn't dare to believe his ears. Someone willing to save him sounded simply too good to be true, and imagining Mayuri as such a savior was just over the definition of unbelievable. Something was amiss here; it had to be. He had just opened his mouth to voice his doubts when the other man's hand stopped above the paper.

"Just to inform you," he said without even looking at him, "It is half past eleven. So make haste or you will have to gather your non-existent ideas by yourself. Or do you want to tell me you feel like you could finish this in time?"

"Well... no. But..."

"Of course not," smirked Mayuri cynically, "Now go, and let me work. Shoo-shoo!"

And with that he stood up, pushed Momotaro out the office door, and slammed it behind him. The boy just stood there for a long moment, still clutching the library list in his hands.

**-oOo-**

The librarian (an old woman with one of those half-moon shaped glasses that had seemingly no other purpose than adding a very piercing effect to the wearer's glances), when finished reading the list Momotaro handed her, shot him a long, disbelieving stare.

"Is that _all_?"

Momotaro felt the chill creeping up in his spine. He had a very bad feeling about this. Librarians never looked at him this way when he tried to take out books, but of course the titles of those books usually started with words like 'adventure', 'rubies' or sometimes, when he felt really wild, 'dragons'. They definitely never contained words like 'verocosa' or 'anammox' or 'chromoblastomycosis'. Really, he had never even known before that such words existed.

And then the librarian asked the question he feared from the start.

"Yamada-san, what do you need these books for?"

He felt the sweat running down on his back. He needed a lie fast, and a good one too...

"I... I should widen my knowledge and wanted to read something new! Something exciting I've never seen before!"

The woman looked at him for a long moment as if he'd grown another head, but eventually said nothing, only shrugged and left for the other room leaving Momotaro alone.

He wanted to scream! This was the worst lie he ever heard. Something exciting? What kind of sick pervert would find a book with the title_chromoblastowhatever_ exciting? Well, perhaps Mayuri would, he realized, but he wasn't sure if this counted as an extenuating circumstance for him. He would bet anything that the librarian never believed him for a moment, but she hadn't pressed him any further, and when she appeared again she held a huge pack of dusty scrolls and tomes in her arms. Momotaro had to sign a few papers, and he was free to go. Then he ran out of the building as fast as he dared under the book pile.

When he entered the office again, Mayuri was still sitting in his chair. He was leaning back comfortably, resting his chin on the little tent formed by his fingers, and staring motionlessly at the wall with unfocused eyes, and there was no paper to be seen on the desk or anywhere around him.

Momotaro started to get worried. He wondered if he should ask, but it seemed too straightforward. After all Mayuri had helped him out, and being impolite to him now wouldn't be too nice. So he just put down the scrolls on the table and waited, hoping the other man would catch his meaning.

Mayuri's eyes lit up. "It was time for you to arrive! What took you so long?"

"I'm sorry. The library was crowded and the librarian lady was busy."

Mayuri answered only with a smug snort, and opened up one of the scrolls. Momotaro just stood there and waited to see his half of their agreement, but Mayuri clearly didn't let his presence bother him.

"Kurotsuchi-san?"

"What?"

"The article? May I get it now?"

"I have handed it in," he said plainly without looking up.

"Wha... Why?"

He pointed at the clock on the wall. Its hands stood on quarter to one.

"I was right on time. The man from the editing office just arrived to take the reports and articles. I told them you sent it."

"But I wanted to read it!"

"You will be able to read it when the new magazine is published. Just like everyone else," he said smugly and grabbed the scrolls from the desk. "Now, if you don't mind I don't have time to chat with you. I must read these," he said and stormed out the door, just as he came.

**-oOo-**

When Urahara went to work that morning the offices were already empty. This was nothing surprising, of course; at eleven o' clock, most shinigami were ear deep in their jobs in the labs or in one of the computer rooms; no matter what a certain captain believed about flexible working hours.

Urahara didn't mind it though. He didn't want to meet with anyone right now. In the past few days even if he went to the office he usually did nothing other than stare at the walls. After the failure of his last experiment he couldn't find the motivation to continue the work.

Yet he was in a good mood today. Humming a soft little tune that he made up on the way, he waltzed down among the tables to his office door in his loudly clapping sandals with a mug of cocoa in his hands. It wasn't even as much of a tune as a bunch of sounds put after each other without any kind of planning or order, but he enjoyed them nonetheless.

He had almost reached the door when something caught his attention. A magazine was lying on one of the desks, with the picture of a young, jovially grinning shinigami in the colors of the academy on the cover.

For a moment Kisuke halted and glanced around in the room. It wouldn't be nice to take someone's magazine without permission. Yet reading at your workplace is also not too nice.

He considered this for a moment, then picked up the newspaper and casually started flipping through the pages, reading everything that seemed at least moderately interesting. When he reached the squad articles, he abruptly stopped. Should anyone have been in the office at moment to see the whole situation, they could have noted many oddities in Captain Urahara's behavior.

First were his eyebrows. They climbed unbelievably high on his forehead, while his eyes started to grow slightly similar in size to a dessert plate. As he proceeded lower and lower on the page, his everyday smile (which he wore strictly on weekdays, as opposed to the special one for holidays) was gone, replaced by a surprised grimace.

A good observer could have also noticed how the look in his eyes turned uncharacteristically cold as he shut the magazine and threw it into the paper bin with a sharp move.

However, the office was empty, so nobody could have seen anything. No one was there to see him walking up and down in his office for the rest of the day with that spaced-out look on his face that always foretold the birth of a new invention.

Nobody was there when he locked himself up in the laboratory after the sun had already set and the streets of Seireitei fell silent. And so at 7 o' clock the next morning, when people went to work, nobody understood why Urahara was already there even though it was still so early, and why he peeked into every paper bin he could find, and why he was so disappointed over the fact that all of them had been emptied over the night...

* * *

a.n.: No, Momotaro and Hanataro are not the same person!


	2. Those who seek

**Chapter 2**

**Those who seek**

Soft knocking broke the silence, and the wooden slide door opened slowly. Momotaro peeked in the room shyly and when nobody answered, he entered with noiseless steps; eyes carefully kept staring at the floor. This was a captain's office after all. Rudeness here would be unforgivable.

"20th seat Yamada?" asked a woman's voice, gentle but firm.

"Yes."

"Captain Unohana is waiting for you in the garden. Please follow me."

This was the first time Momotaro dared to look up. It was late afternoon, and already dark in the small room; the faint yellow light of the sun filtered through the garden doors only enough to emphasize the shadows but never to break them. The faint smell of hundreds of incense cones burnt over the years radiated from the wooden furniture, mixed with the lavender fragrance of the perfume that belonged to the woman in front of him. It was an unusual mixture, a warm yet clean smell; one that always followed the healers of the squad. It was strangely calming, always bringing hope to Momotaro's heart.

Unohana was sitting on the polished wood porch, watching the sunset. Momotaro had never met her before. Of course he'd seen her from afar in the corridors and on the streets, but that was so different from being this close to her.

She was a beautiful woman. Her features were kind and in such a perfect harmony, as if they were composed by a painter of the old times. As she sat there, her rich, black hair framing her pale face and pouring down around her neck, she reminded Momotaro of a tennyou painted on an old scroll. She didn't move even when the woman who led Momotaro stepped next to her.

The boy didn't know what to do. He stood in front of the women and bowed deeply, waiting for the command that would mark that he was recognised and was allowed to sit down. But the command didn't come, and he slowly realized he was now standing between the Captain and the sunset she was watching.

He swallowed deeply. This wasn't good. He didn't know why Unohana ordered him here, but he had a feeling it was a serious matter and angering her wouldn't be wise. He slowly tried to crawl out of her sight to the side, all the while doing his best to look like he didn't move at all. At last Unohana took mercy on him, and looked down at I with her finely slit, dark blue eyes.

"20th seat Yamada. You may sit down," she said.

He did as was commanded and fell to his knees immediately, on the hard stones of the garden.

"You called me, Captain?"

"Yes," she nodded, "I want to talk to you about your recent behaviour."

Momotaro turned pale. He had hoped so much this was not the reason of this meeting.

A month had passed since the article was published, and ever since then Momotaro lived his life in fear. Fear of this moment. He'd had a bad feeling about it ever since Mayuri handed in the paper and wouldn't allow Momotaro to read it. Still, at that time he had hoped it would work out. However, all his hopes had been crushed when he had read the magazine. The title was the same as what he'd given it, 'Healing Magic', but the content had nothing to do with it.

It was about re-growing body parts.

This wasn't a new topic, just like every crippled person's wish to become healthy again was as old as humanity itself. There were even experiments in the past, but soon it became clear that the core of the idea, the controlling of the cell reproduction, was practically impossible and instead of arms and legs, they could only create formless monsters out of their patients. Many people died in these experiments, until at last the experiments had been outlawed for their inhumanity, and the topic was marked as ethically questionable and was never brought up again.

While it was not illegal, it was strongly discouraged. For members of the 4th squad, the healing division, it was an unmarked taboo – and a long essay about it had just been published under the name of Yamada Momotaro in the most popular magazine of Seireitei, read by everyone from captains to shopkeepers. Now Captain Unohana wanted to speak with him about it.

He wanted to die.

"You look stressed. Calm down, please," said Unohana with a faint smile.

Easy to say, he thought, and bit his lips. Seeing this the captain continued:

"I have no intention of punishing you, but there is something we must talk about. Isane!"

The tall woman who had led Momotaro into the garden stepped forward upon hearing her name and handed him something. As he took a closer look, he was surprised to see it was another magazine, not the one his article was published in, but the latest issue of the Court of Pure Souls.

"This was delivered yesterday. You have probably read it yourself too."

"Not… yet," he muttered.

"Then you also don't know that someone wrote an answer to your report."

Momotaro shook his head.

"20th seat Yamada? I want you to reply to it."

She said it sweetly, yet Momotaro felt as if his blood were freezing. Anger and determination shone in her eyes together with the promise of unspeakable horrors in the case of failure. In contrast to her delicate features, Captain Unohana could be a dangerous woman.

Momotaro slowly opened the magazine. He didn't need to seek for to long to find what he was looking for, the paper opened right there, as if its owner had read it hundreds of times. Unohana watched him silently as he ran through the lines, knitting his eyebrows at the longer words. It reminded him of Mayuri's writing a lot, there were too many foreign words in both, and while he could hardly understand most of the text, one thing became clear even for him: whoever wrote it did not have a very high opinion about the mental abilities of the 4th division, and didn't try to hide it.

He didn't know what to say. He wondered how he could get out of this trouble. If he said no, Unohana would make him regret ever being born, but if he said yes, he would have to write! He knew he could never write an acceptable response to this without Mayuri. And with Mayuri... Well, thinking it over, being killed by Unohana didn't sound so bad after all.

Momotaro's thoughts raced feverishly. He could only see one small chance to escape. Captain Unohana must see that nothing good could come from talking more about this taboo...

He took a deep breath:

"But Captain, with all due respect... wouldn't that..."

Unohana raised her hand to silence him.

"I know this topic is a sensitive one," she said with a smile, "but you have my permission to write it."

"Yes, Captain." He muttered and bowed his head, rolled up the magazine and followed the woman Unohana had called Isane out.

**-oOo-**

Only when the door closed behind him, and he was alone in the corridor again did Momotaro allow himself a heavy sigh. It seemed there was no running away now. He had to find Mayuri.

He only wished he didn't have that nagging feeling that such a meeting was destined to appear in the newspapers the next morning. Probably with titles like "the mutilated corpse of a 4th division officer was found in the sewers!" or something like that. Though it would be somewhat understandable, he thought. After all, their last encounter was not exactly a friendly one.

In Momotaro's opinion, it was your typical "in the wrong place at the wrong time" situation - one that had begun right after Momotaro read that ominous issue of a certain magazine, and accidentally ended with Mayuri being assigned to sewer cleaning (preferably for the rest of his life).

It could have happened to anyone, really!

But of course it had to happen to him. On days like this he really wished that someone else would live his life and he could just disappear into thin air.

Now _that_ was something, he realized bitterly, that Mayuri would probably be more than willing to help him with.

**-oOo-**

Kurotsuchi Mayuri was sitting in the sewers of the Seireitei, leaning against the wall. It was silent down here. Nothing but the deep howling of the wind could be heard as it snuck in and out of the tunnels, suppressing the rattling of the little cleaning robots' cogs. There were five of them. He built them from household trash after the first few days when he realised that the tunnels had no end and he could find better use for his time than scrubbing things of highly suspicious origin off of the floor.

That "better use of time" at the moment meant staring at the slow flow of the sewer's dark, murky water and listening to the slight squeaking sounds the water carried. Rats must be living in the lower tunnels, Mayuri thought, although he couldn't imagine how that was possible. He knew that animals had spirits just as humans did, and they could even turn into hollows, but the idea that a spirit of a rat could go to the Soul Society sounded strange. Surely a rat had not much to grieve for in the living world, but their presence here showed a surprising ability of survival. He should catch one one day, and find out how they did it. But speaking of rodents... An overly familiar reiatsu was nearing, he noticed.

"Oh?" he said looking up. "The great Yamada-dono came to look at his hard working subordinate?" His words dripped with sarcasm. "What do you want? Despite all appearances, I'm busy."

It was interesting to see how the boy started to shiver under his gaze. It felt strangely reassuring, almost fascinating, as Momotaro's will weakened with every moment - the corners of his mouth twitched, fear started to glow in his eyes until he surrendered, turning his gaze uncomfortably to the dirty cob stones of the wall.

Mayuri almost laughed out loud. Here stood the man whom he had to call boss. The one whom he should follow in battles, whose decisions he should trust with his life. And someone who, like a child just scolded for a prank, couldn't even stand his gaze. It was ironic indeed.

"I... I need your help." Momotaro muttered.

"Hmm? What a surprise!" he smiled at the boy mockingly. "Forget it."

"But... I didn't even tell you..."

"I don't care. Now why don't you go away and leave me to my work? Unless you have something else to say?"

Desperation flashed in Momotaro's eyes.

"Someone answered in the magazine!" he explained hurriedly. "And now Captain Unohana wants me to react to it."

"Then react! I'm not interested."

Really! What did this boy think? Mayuri wondered. He'd made an idiot out of Mayuri, and now he was asking for his help?

"Don't you want to read it at least?"

"What for? Do you take me for a fool who is expecting his article to be accepted by this boring and prejudiced society?! Don't mock me, Yamada! I have better things to do than read how they call me an inhuman monster."

Mayuri said the words out with an expressionless face – he really couldn't care less. Most people believed him to be a compassionless monster. Of course, just a few years ago most people believed that the Earth was as flat as a plate, and even now most people believed that the Soul Society was the embodiment of Heaven and the best of every possible plane. Most people were complete idiots, in Mayuri's opinion.

Momotaro looked at him uncertainly.

"They never called you an inhuman monster in it, Kurotsuchi-san!" he said, and seeing Mayuri's suspicious, disbelieving glare, he opened the paper and pushed it under his nose, "I'm serious! Look!"

And Mayuri did. He didn't doubt what Momotaro said was true - maybe the boy was an idiot but he wasn't a liar - yet it sounded too unbelievable to accept it so easily. And he was right.

The first sentence that got his attention was around the middle of the text. It said " ... and the writer, proving the defects of his education, is trying to convince us..." From that point on, the text became blurry to his eyes and only phrases like "naive", "logically weak theory structure", "scientifically inexperienced," and the worst of all, "...as a real 4th division mind..." stood out sharply.

Mayuri swallowed hard. A real 4th division mind? _Now_ the writer did it! No one calls Kurotsuchi Mayuri a _cretin_ and lives!

"Give that to me!" he yelled and dragged the paper out from the boy's hand. "Who dares to... who dares to write things like these about me?!" He glared at the page as if he expected it to answer, but no matter how hard he looked, the slanderer clearly wanted to keep his identity a secret, and only two lonely letters were sitting mysteriously at the corner of the sheet: U.K. "Bastard..." Mayuri muttered under his breath.

There could be thousands of names that could start with these letters. This monogram could belong practically to anyone in Seireitei!

"No sense of logic?" he growled and jumped to his feet. "Hnh! I will show this jackass just who is the naive one here!"

"So you will do it?" Momotaro yelled after him hopefully, but Mayuri was already long gone in the darkness and only the tunnels echoed his words.

**-oOo-**

On the same afternoon the librarians of the Central Library noted a rather agitated looking young man with a bushy blue mane storming into the central reading room, and a few minutes later the rest of the visitors hurriedly leaving the same room, seemingly in an even more agitated manner. From time to time when they peeked through the doors they saw the young man barricaded behind a mountain of books and scrolls, either reading or writing furiously on parchments, until the sky turned dark outside.

This scene was repeated the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that too – the only difference was the size of the book mountains. Finally one day Mayuri wrote the last words and put his brush down with a satisfied smirk. Next day the report of the 4th division arrived to the editorial room of the Court of Pure Souls.

So did the response to it a month later. Suddenly, before they even realized what happened, the editorial office found itself in the middle of the strangest duel of words in the long history of Soul Society.

People were talking about it - not as much about the content as the sharp tongue of "Yamada" and the clever retorts of "U.K.", wondering about their identity. Many whispered that the monogram of the mocking and provocative U.K. actually hid Urahara Kisuke, while others argued with this, saying a captain could not possibly have enough time for this, and even if he had, the charming and restrained Captain of the 12th division wouldn't play such games.

Others seemed to know for a fact that the hot tempered Yamada Momotaro is but a stuttering boy from the "also crawled" category of the 4th division, but even they seemed to find it difficult to believe their own words, and slowly rumours started to spread about schizophrenia, dark pasts and childhood traumas.

Either the rumors were true or not, nobody knew it, but when anyone asked Captain Unohana about the boy, she only smiled and mentioned him among her best men.

Hundreds of letters arrived to the editorial office every day, and wagers were made at the tables of bars where the sake was cheap enough. The talk went on and on, and nobody seemed to know the solution to the mystery.

Then one day everything stopped just as abruptly as it had started.

**-oOo-**

Momotaro was busy in the office. Today he had special work; he had to check the list of the items requested by the shinigami. It was a simple enough work, he only needed to stamp white papers with red ink, then put them into pale blue folders and run with them from one desk to the other just to get another folder there, same like the one before, only yellow and full of raw grey papers that were only waiting for him to stamp them with black ink and rearrange them in those green folders, which he had to exchange for pale blue ones, and he could start the whole round again.

After 10 o'clock he seriously considered taking a look into the surgery room and asking the nurses to check if his bones were still where they should be, because he suspected that someone had stolen them and replaced them with lead bars.

After 11 o'clock he realised that he couldn't even tell the difference between the colours of the folders anymore and very possibly he already mixed them up long ago anyway.

After dinner he realised this was not such a big problem, since even if he closed his eyes he saw little blue and yellow folders, and he didn't even need to look to know where to stamp. Although a week later High Captain Yamamoto wasn't entirely sure why he had gotten 300 litres of scented bathing oil, a little rubber duck that sang some song starting, "_If __you want to have fun with a giraffe just stand on a stool..._" and a leather bull whip instead of the sword polisher he ordered.

After 2 PM Momotaro felt the need for a real break and a visit to the teapot. He poured a cup of tea and then turned around, when suddenly the world went dark and warm and an invisible force knocked him off his feet, spilling the hot cup of tea down on his neck and lap, and soaking his black kimono.

"Oh, no," he muttered, as he tried to clean off the tea from his face with the sleeve of his clothes.

"You should watch where you step! You almost spilled that thing on me," said a cold voice over him.

Momotaro looked up. Mayuri stood in front of him, with pale face and dark rings under his eyes, which showed he had spent the last night awake again, probably studying or working, as he'd often done in the past few months.

"Ku... Kurotsuchi-san! What are you doing here?"

"I must get into the 12th division's databank, and _you_ are going to get me in," he said commandingly.

For a short moment Momotaro thought he heard it wrong.

"Sorry?"

"Don't play deaf," Mayuri growled," I will not repeat myself! I have read every book in the library, and I need more information on the topic."

"You want to _break in_ to the 12th squad?!"

"Breaking in is such a rude thing to do," said Mayuri calmly, in an almost chiding tone. "No. We will only lose our way while cleaning the corridor."

"So you do _want to_ break in! Kurotsuchi-san that's illegal!"

"And?"

"_And?!_ We can be kicked out for it... or jailed, or even executed! And it is also a lowly thing to do! Forget it!"

Mayuri looked at him wonderingly, and then suddenly leaned so close to him that Momotaro could feel the warmth of his breath on his skin.

"It's a brave thing to die for ones beliefs, or so they say." He said slowly in an unfathomable voice, and glared into Momotaro's eyes," Tell me, Yamada. Do you feel exceptionally brave today?"

Momotaro could feel his blood freeze in the veins under his eyes, as if he was looking into the eyes of a serpent - merciless, empty and hypnotic, ready to strike at any moment.

"Not... particularly..." he muttered.

"Then don't argue with me," said Mayuri calmly. This calmness was what scared Momotaro more than any yelling could. This calmness was the proof that Mayuri was not bluffing. "I said we are not breaking in," continued Mayuri. "You will arrange the worktable so that it will be our job to clean there. I will go there in the middle of the day, and won't even try to hide my presence. Nobody cares about a cleaner. No one will suspect a thing," he said with a satisfied grin.

As Momotaro watched him walking up and down in the room explaining his plans of an act that could cost both of them their jobs and maybe even their life with the same simplicity as one would talk about his plans of an evening in a pub with his friends, the memory of old days came to his mind.

When Momotaro started his fourth year at the academy, all the corridors resounded with the same name - the name of a certain freshman. It was clear at first glance that he was a spoiled, rich boy. He wasn't well groomed, but clearly only because he could allow himself not to be, and such arrogance radiated from him that someone who grew up in a dump wouldn't be able to afford. He was short and skinny, with long, bony limbs, nimble fingers and he wore a bored and irritated look in his eyes, as if he long ago decided that humankind was the least interesting race of the world and took a personal offence to the fact that despite this, they still dared to exist around him.

In the first few days, two of the seniors who mistook him for a mama's boy tried to bully him in the toilet. One of them ended up with abscesses where he would rather not show them, and the other, well... it took about a week for the healers of the 4th squad to find an antidote against whatever he breathed in, but still he salivated badly for at least another month.

It soon turned out the newcomer wasn't only dangerous, but ambitious too. He was in the top of his class in everything except maybe fighting, but only because he couldn't compensate for his lack of physical strength with studying or cheating.

Everyone was sure that as soon as he stepped out of the academy, he was immediately going to become an officer in one of the more important squads. Back than Momotaro also hoped that squad will be as far from him as possible. He didn't like that man. He always reminded him of a forest fire - as lethal, uncontrollable and without any common sense - but only now, seeing the malicious light in his eyes, did he realise just how right he was back then. Mayuri cared about nothing and nobody, and the best thing Momotaro could hope was not to become a sacrifice for his ambitions.

"Why are you doing this, Kurotsuchi-san?" he asked as he tried to crawl to his feet.

Mayuri, who was lost in his own thoughts, abruptly stopped.

"Why do I do what?" he asked.

"This is not what Captain Unohana commanded. You have written the requested article and there is no need to continue it. Let's just forget about U.K. and this whole mess!"

For a short moment Momotaro thought he would hit him, but Mayuri only glared at him with such anger that the boy unintentionally took a step backwards. However, Mayuri turned away without raising a hand against him, saying only a sharp, "No," as an answer.

"I don't care about Unohana, but that man, U.K... He is good." He said slowly, walking to the window. Then he turned around and looked into Momotaro's eyes with a cold, determined smile on his lips. "But I'm better. And I will prove that."

* * *

.

Review please!


	3. The Rain

Explanation note:

- Urahara refers to the time at some point as the Hour of the Horse. In the feudal Japan the Chinese horoscope was used as a time reference. This means that a day was cut up to 12 hours, each of them named after an animal from the Chinese horoscope. The day starts with the rat, and ends with the boar, so the Hour of the Horse is between 12PM and 2PM.

- When Urahara and the guard are talking about a strange name, they are talking about Mayuri. Mayuri's name is an unusual one! His surname could be written with two kanjis (with the kanji of black and the kanji of soil), but Tite Kubo used a single kanji, which has a more accurate meaning, but too short for a proper surname. His first name, 'Mayuri' is not a Japanese name and probably that's why it's written with katakanas.

.

* * *

**Chapter3**

**The Rain**

Captain Urahara was looking ahead for a bit of quality time with his favorite magazine. It wasn't the kind of magazine men usually turn to for 'quality time', rather the type that people keep next to the toilet to while away the time, but Urahara never considered himself average.

He put a mug of cocoa and some cakes on the table – carefully arranged, so they would be easily reachable if needed – and opened the paper. In the past few months he always waited for the next issue and the article of the 4th squad it contained with a growing anticipation.

To be more accurate, he always waited for the reply of Yamada.

However, there was something odd about this one today: it looked familiar. The more Urahara read, the more he felt as if he'd seen it before. Not the words or the sentences, but the pattern of the idea behind it. As if he'd thought them before, wrote them before, as if they had troubled him before.

He kept thinking about this for the rest of the day, walking up and down in the laboratories and the corridors with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand this sense of familiarity. At first he had just thought he'd found a similar mind, but in light of the earlier writings it didn't seem believable. The 12th division was full of minds similar to his, and what he had grown to appreciate in Yamada was exactly the difference between their ways of thinking. Somehow Yamada was always able to see things from an angle Urahara would have never thought about. He could never guess what Yamada would write next, and his adversary was always ready to point out the mistakes in Urahara's thinking. Urahara found this really intriguing.

This was probably the reason why this latest writing, which was so ready to agree with his ideas, seemed so unusual and so _suspicious_.

His doubts eventually led him to his old notes on the computers. To his great surprise they turned out to be well founded. Among his files he found an old project, unfinished and long forgotten. Nobody should have opened it for years, yet strangely the file access dates showed a very different picture.

"That cheeky little..." he muttered under his breath. This explained everything!

"Something is wrong, Captain?" asked a voice behind him. The 3rd seated officer Morihashi, a young man with a long pale face, stood behind him.

"See the date?" Urahara asked him as he pointed to the monitor.

The man only nodded.

"Do you remember who worked in the 6th computer room back then, in the Hour of the Horse?"

"Nobody, Captain. It was luncheon break and probably everyone left, except the system operators of the main computer."

"I see." Urahara said to nobody in particular.

They went to the reception together, to check the visitor registry. The registry was High Captain Yamamoto's requirement. Urahara always found it to be a nuisance, however he was really grateful for it now.

**-oOo-**

A few minutes later the commander of the guards was flipping through the pages with a sweating temple and all the nervousness of someone caught neglecting his duty.

"It would help a lot if you told me what I should look for," he said as he scratched his head. "Just the usual ones were here that day. Scientists, assistants, and two new cleaners from the 4th division. Come to think of it...That pair was the strangest thing I have ever seen! And on top of it one of them had a mighty odd name! No law-abiding person has such a name! No, sir!" he said with a puff.

"What could be so strange about a name?" wondered Morihashi.

The guard scratched his head again.

"It's just that the surname was written with one kanji. A _single_ kanji! And the first name was written with katakanas! He didn't even look like a foreigner!"

"Odd, indeed," said Urahara with a disinterested tone, but he peeked over the shoulder of the guard to steal a glance at the name.

"He said the old cleaners got injured, broken a leg or two maybe," the guard continued with a nervous grin. Judging from his expression, he could imagine very well just _wh__o_hadbroken the legs of their predecessors. "He said they were the replacements."

Meanwhile, a lazy, satisfied grin appeared on Urahara's face as he spotted the name of the other cleaner. It was a more common name perhaps, but one which was much more interesting for him. Yamada felt clever? Well, not clever enough!

"Ne, Morihashi-san! Go back to the laboratories. I'm out for a few hours," he said.

"Where are you going?"

Urahara answered with a mystical smile:

"To the 4th division. I think it's time to pay a visit to a friend there!"

**-oOo-**

_'Inhuman'_and_ 'Unethical'_.

These were two words Mayuri decided he never wanted to hear again in his_life_. These were also the same words that were written with huge, red letters on the top of his petition as the explanation why Captain Unohana decided to refuse him. Mayuri had petitioned for permission to use the laboratories of the division to test his newest idea about the regenerating serum.

Over the past few months his little sparring in the magazine with U.K. had grown into more than he'd ever expected from it. That man, with his mocking style, got under his skin and one day after another Mayuri found himself waking up with the thought: _'Today I will show him!'_

It was this thought that kept him working in the dusty libraries; that kept him awake late at nights over his notes as he was scribing one chemical formula after the other, even when the letters were seemingly disappearing into a haze in front of his eyes. He wanted to finish his serum. He wanted to prove he was right.

_'I will wipe that mocking grin off your face!_'

Of course, he didn't know if U.K. was really grinning, but he could imagine it and that was practically the same. Imagination was the only thing that had kept him alive as a child when the days grew dark, the doors were locked and that woman's fits of rage had started. It was a place of almost-reality, a place where he could hide, where colorful things were borne to amuse him.

Later, as the years passed, the word 'almost' started to fade away slowly.

Sometimes he imagined U.K. as a young man, tall and striking, other times as an old one, whose features were hardly visible under the wrinkles. Sometimes he even imagined him as a woman, but he had always quickly driven this thought away. It just couldn't happen. Not to him.

Sometimes when he saw men passing by him, smiling to themselves on the streets, he couldn't stop wondering whether they were U.K., mocking him. Somewhere deep inside he knew they weren't U.K., they couldn't be, after all U.K. didn't know how he looked; but even then it was difficult to stop himself from blasting them to hell with demon magic.

Then one day he realized something. U.K. had become an obsession for him! Mayuri _hated_ obsessions. They just seemed to control the life of people too much for his liking and while he couldn't care about others, he didn't need any in his own life. He wanted to stop it, and there was no better way to do that than besting U.K. with the finished serum! If only Unohana would let him do a few experiments in the laboratories!

However, she didn't. _'Inhuman'_ and _'Unethical'_ – that was her answer. For Mayuri it meant '_conservative'_ and '_closed minded'_.

He gave the paper one last hateful glare, and threw it into a trashcan.

Mayuri never heard of 'Freedom, Equality and Fraternity', but he would probably not approve them even if he had. Yet whenever he was in a bad mood, he could become very egalitarian and got an unsuppressible desire to share his plight with others. He wanted to kick something! Where was Momotaro when he was needed?!

**-oOo-**

Mayuri went to the offices to find Yamada, but to his great surprise his desk was empty.

"You there!" boomed a deep, raspy voice behind him.

Mayuri slowly turned around with a murderous look in his eyes, ready to pierce anyone with it who dared to cross his way today so mannerlessly. And then he looked up.

And up.

And still up a bit...

The man who towered above him could be about twice the height and maybe thrice the weight of him. His voice wasn't the only thing rough about him. His jaw was wide and over his high cheekbones sat a small pair of watery eyes, reminding Mayuri of a pig. His smell didn't help much either. He stank of sake and something that vaguely reminded Mayuri of the squad's canteen.

The canteen of the 4th division had its own, very characteristic smell that couldn't be confused with anything else. It was a mixture of the smell of half cooked cabbages, soy paste and raw fish that had fallen behind the counter about a month ago.

He straightened his back and glared into the man's eyes (or rather up into his nose) as menacingly as he could under the present circumstances.

"Are you talking to me?" he asked, but he felt his voice was considerably less confident than he wanted it to sound.

"Why? Do you see any other bug-eyed, useless trash of a rookie here?"

Mayuri looked him slowly up-and-down, memorizing his features carefully. Once he was important enough, this man would to be the first to die, he decided. Or the second, he corrected himself, the first will be U.K.!

"Who the hell are you, and why are you not at your post?!" snarled the man.

"You are not my boss, are you? So there is no need for you to know my name. I'm here to speak to Yamada."

"Yamada?" he blinked in surprise and measured Mayuri carefully. His mouth curved into a scornful smile. "You are Kurotsuchi, aren't you? Yamada's little friend?" he sneered.

Mayuri could only stare at him. Momotaro and he friends? Now that was a pretty new way to approach their association.

The man gave him a wondering look, small eyes scanning his features as if he just remembered something, then continued:

"I have heard of you. You are the rookie who didn't work in the past three months at all."

"I had a special assignment."

"Special assignment, hmm?" he rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Well, Yamada is not here."

"That much I can see. But where is he? When will he come back?"

"He won't come back. He does not work here any longer."

"Why? Did he desert?"

The man laughed out loud.

"No, Kurotsuchi! He has been promoted." he said, leaning closer and lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Someone at the 12th division learned that he wrote those articles in the 'Court of Pure Souls'. They say a few hours ago Captain Urahara himself came here to give him his new assignment! He got the position of a 6th ranked officer. He will work in the research team led by the Captain himself!"

For a moment Mayuri just stared at him with wide eyes, frozen in his movements, as if his brain just couldn't comprehend the words he heard. His lips slowly opened, but no sound came from them. This was probably the first time in his life when he couldn't answer anything immediately.

"And you have asked if I'm your boss." the man continued amusedly. "Well, I have got big news for you: yes, I'm your new boss!" He turned around, opened the door and yelled out: "Suzuka!"

A few moments later a young man appeared in the doorway. His face was red from running and he was holding a dirty rag and a small bucket of water in his hands.

"Yes?"

"I only need these," said the huge man as he took the tools from the boy. He turned back to the still stunned Mayuri. "Let me introduce you to Bucket-san and Mop-san!" and pushed them into Mayuri's hands. "You better befriend them, because from now on, I don't want to see you without them! Now get out of my sight and get your assignment from the staff, damn you!" he yelled. "Special assignment, my ass!" he muttered as he left the room.

Mayuri just stood there with a pale face and unfocused eyes. Only the corner of his lips twitched from time to time and his eyebrows climbed higher and higher on his forehead. He couldn't tell for how long he stood there like this, still holding the bucket and the mop in his hands, until the words had sunk in. Then he slowly turned around and walked out the office door with a straight back and slow, careful steps to the street, as if he was afraid he would fall apart.

**-oOo-**

He didn't know where his legs carried him. He was hardly aware of the world around him. Faceless shadows passed right next to him, but they sounded as if they were very far away. Dimly lit stairs and dark corridors followed each other as if it wasn't even him who walked them, but they lived their own life and they were running next to him, drawing stripes of yellow light and dark shadow on his face with lamplight.

He heard his footsteps and knew they were his own, but they sounded foreign and distant. He felt as if he was in a nightmare and he just couldn't wake up!

How could an imbecile like Momotaro get into the 12th division and he didn't?! How could anyone believe Momotaro wrote all those articles? How could anyone mix them up?! He asked these questions for the thousandth time, but he couldn't find an answer.

If there was anything Mayuri truly despised in people, incompetence was it. And feeling not only incompetent but so incapable, so... so_imperfect_, was something that hurt more than anything he could ever imagine. This thought, this feeling tore at his soul with a thousand white-hot pain-claws. His chest felt as heavy as if the whole world was weighing on it. He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, he couldn't even think clearly. He felt small and weak, as if this weight could crush him any minute – a feeling so disgusting it burned his heart and filled it with hatred, dark and thick. Hatred towards the world, Momotaro, and the 12th division, but most of all, hatred towards himself.

What a fool, what a despicable, blind fool he was! How could he allow this to happen?! How could he not foresee this?

As he was walking aimlessly, suddenly the walls of the corridor disappeared and he found himself in a room. The windows were open and the ghostly white curtains flipped and danced as the wind swept through between them, lifting the corners of the papers on the table. A strong gray and gold light glowed through the thin rice paper of the windowpanes and beyond them the sky was dark; fat clouds whirled above the red tiled rooftops of Seireitei and hid the sun from prying eyes. A storm was coming.

He tore his eyes away from the sight and looked around in the room. It was one of the many first aid rooms of the division. On the table a long, varnished, wooden box shone in the light; the box of the surgical instruments, he realized. Feverish thoughts raced through his mind, then with a sudden move he stepped to the table and opened the box. He grabbed a scalpel and raised it to eye level to take a better look at it.

He watched it with a mesmerized gaze, admiring the fineness of its blade and for a moment all his problems shrunk into insignificance in the light of a new idea that slowly took form in his mind.

Unohana could forbid him to experiment with his serum on others, but she had no right to prohibit him from experimenting with it on himself. She did not own his life, and even if she had the right to make decisions over it, what were her words worth against a scalpel?

First he needed a tissue sample and it didn't really matter if it belonged to him or to someone else.

He could feel the sharp point of the scalpel on his skin and a familiar shiver run down on his spine. As he felt the flesh giving way to the blade, calmness took over his soul. Somehow this movement, the feeling of the skin giving up its weak resistance and breaking under the press of the scalpel could calm him as nothing else. It was worth the pain. It could make him feel powerful again. He felt as if he regained some control over his own life.

Whenever he cut, he felt as if he was working, he was creating something. He felt he wasn't a complete failure. The world around him, with all its problems disappeared and became hardly more than an insignificant, hazy dream that enveloped him; a stage where he could put on his performance. While he had work to concentrate on, nothing else mattered.

Only a little deeper, he thought, just a little bit more and maybe he could also let out this poisonous pain that weighed on his heart with the blood.

But it was only the blood and nothing else. Always - just blood.

He watched it slowly flowing down on his arm, drawing shiny black lines on the matt texture of his kimono, painting half outlined glimmering serpents, devouring each other in an endless net; round patches glaring blindly into the world, like unseeing eyes; obsidian stalks seeking their paths towards the ground, embracing each other and growing into one.

He watched it until he felt his head lighten and the world was starting to dance around him, as if it was trying to sneak away from his sight. Only then did he stop the bleeding. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he didn't. What would that be like? What would that feel like? It would be an astonishing experiment, he was sure.

Alas, he would die then and this was something he just didn't want. Not yet.

He found some small glass plates in one of the boxes and placed the tissue on one of them and covered it with the other. He would sneak into one of the laboratories later, when the building turns empty and check a few things on this sample.

Now, however, he had other plans. First he needed to rest.

Then he would find out how to kill Momotaro.

**-oOo-**

It was raining when Mayuri left the building. He ran through the streets with fast steps, while the wind was blowing the rain into his face, freezing his skin and blinding his eyes.

He remembered how (when he was a child and still paid attention to small things like this) he had often seen the servant women put their hands on their mouth before they could curse in anger.

"Words have power," they said. "A curse uttered aloud may hit harder than you wanted..."

Mayuri was never one for the superstitions of old housewives, but for once he really hoped they were right as he muttered a curse that just couldn't hit too hard:

"If there is a God, U.K. is soaking somewhere in this rain too!"

He stopped and looked around hopefully. He didn't know what he expected exactly, maybe some sign, a man screaming somewhere or falling out of the sky; anything that would hint that U.K. was suffering just as he did. Just a little sign that would show that luck hadn't completely forsaken him.

Yet God clearly didn't feel like proving his existence for Mayuri today and the only answer he got was a slow, heavy rumbling breaking through the thick, gray cover of the clouds and as if by magic the rain started to fall even harder, drenching his kimono down to his skin.

He shrugged disappointedly. Even the weather seemed to be against him, he thought. His wet clothes were hanging lifelessly from his limbs and little streams of water were running from his hair down on his face. As if the rain wasn't enough, cold wind swept through the street, freezing him to his bones. At least it also cooled his head down. As he huddled there, shooting murderous glares towards the sky from time to time, his earlier anger evaporated slowly, giving place to a tired bitterness.

He was fed up. He was fed up with the sewers, he was fed up with the shinigami, he was fed up with Yamada and generally he was fed up with the whole Seireitei! He couldn't even tell why was he still here anymore. He wasn't even a real shinigami to start with! He was a scientist! He had been born like this, he had a sword and a bit of reiatsu, but he never asked for either of them and by his opinion having them didn't mean he should feel obligated to spend his life chasing hollows and babysitting a few idiot souls who just couldn't get used to the idea that after they had died they had nothing to do in the living world.

He stood in the rain, face turned towards the sky and felt the cold drops running down on his cheeks as if they were icy teardrops; and for a brief moment Mayuri felt as if the sky was feeling for him. As if it was crying for his pain with tears he had lost long ago. It was a strange, twisted, foreign feeling, as if he could remember how it felt – not really crying, but the memory of crying. However as the water ran down his face and gathered under his chin, he felt his heart lighten. The pain of the betrayal was still there (it could never be forgotten), but it wasn't so blindingly hot, so sharp now.

Now he felt he could see clearly again. He wondered how Momotaro felt, with his newfound promotion. Was he enjoying the thought that he made a fool out of Mayuri again? Did he feel very astute now? Or was he hiding under a table in fear of him?

A malevolent smile crept on his face from this last thought.

Fate really hadn't forsaken him, he realized. He could imagine Momotaro, foolish little Momotaro, who couldn't put a sentence together alone to save his life, at the 12th division laboratories. He could imagine him standing beside the potion counter with shaking hands, unable to decide which potions should he mix together and the feeling of sweet satisfaction spread in his soul. He could imagine Momotaro fainting in the organic research laboratory or messing up the computers. He could imagine the surprise of the other scientists as they realize they were cheated. He could imagine their faces all too well!

His smile grew wider and wider until he wasn't smiling anymore but laughing with his full heart towards the rainy sky. It wasn't a joyful laughter; rather the tired and frustrated laughter of a man who just realized life just didn't worth to cry over it.

He didn't know for how long he had been standing there like this, laughing out all his tension, until his side hurt. Then he just crouched there, holding his head in his hands, shoulders shaking from suppressed chuckling as he tried to catch his breath slowly. Finally he sighed deeply. Now as the warmth brought by the laughter was gone, he felt the cold spreading in his limbs again. He had enough of this rain. He needed to find a place where he could warm up and think about what to do next.

As he straightened himself and looked up for a moment, he froze from the surprise. He did not expect anyone to be near, yet a blond man was standing at the other side of the street with an umbrella in one hand and a paper cone filled with minced ice sweetened with some red syrup in the other.

At first glance, there was nothing remarkable about him, just a man, tall and pale, clothed in a simple black kimono, like every other shinigami. Yet there was something in his stance that distinguished him from the average. He looked relaxed and careless yet there was a dangerous air around him that alarmed Mayuri's senses. He narrowed his eyes and focused on the man, examining every small movement of his features closely.

The man returned his gaze with dark eyes shining from the mixture of amusement and surprise.

Why? Mayuri wondered. Was he mocking him or was he just a fool who stared at everyone who came along? Did he actually see him or was he just gazing out of his head? Was he even thinking about him? His blood stirred from the thought, although even he wasn't sure why.

Then suddenly the man did something unexpected: he smiled at Mayuri.

And before Mayuri could think, he found himself smiling back. There was something confusing in this man, in his teasing, lazy smile that intrigued Mayuri, yet at the same time irritated him to the point where he wanted to step up to him and do something, he didn't know what, but something that would make him stop smiling.

As if he could read Mayuri's mind the man's smile widened into a cheeky grin.

What a fool – Mayuri thought amusedly and then he turned away from the man and walked down the street. Smiling back may have been a bit unexpected from him, but now he could care less! He was pleased! Momotaro was about to get his punishment for taking his rightful place and Mayuri didn't even need to raise a finger for it. Life was a cynical business indeed, but he loved it!

However, if Mayuri had known he had just smiled at U.K., the same person who took Momotaro into the 12th division, he probably wouldn't have appreciated the cynism of life so much. He probably would have had a stroke instead.

* * *

.

Liked it? Please review!

**P.S:**

Yes, the shonen-ai IS Urahara-Mayuri. I have other plans for Momotaro and pairing him up with either Mayuri or Urahara would be like sending a blind mouse into a hungry giant snake's liar with a _'please love me'_ card in his paws - simply too cruel and morbid! Ack! O.o


	4. The Hunter and the Tanuki

**Chapter 4**

**The Hunter and the Tanuki**

In spite of Mayuri's best hopes, Momotaro somehow managed to survive his first day at the 12th division. The secret was, as he later realized, in blending into the background and looking busy. He dreaded the possibility that someone would try to talk to him, even just to engage in a 'friendly conversation between scientists' with him. He was unlucky enough to accidentally overhear one such talk before, right after his arrival. It was about the functions of some of the organs of the hollows and Momotaro heard more disgusting and unsettling details than he ever wanted, before mercifully fainting at last. After someone poured a bucket of cold water over his head and he successfully regained consciousness (and assured the strange, huge, dark skinned man in sunglasses, called 'Tessai' or some such, that yes, he felt completely alright and no, he did NOT need emergency resuscitation), he resolved himself to never participate in it again.

Since then, he had tiptoed around the corridors, slipping from one shadow to another and if he saw anyone coming too close to him, he stopped at the nearest object (anything was suitable, a blackboard, a vial of colorful potion, a plant pot, the wall...) and glared at it with a hard and serious look, exactly as he saw Mayuri doing whenever he was deep in his thoughts. In order to be more convincing, sometimes Momotaro hummed very gloomily and from time to time tapped on his chin. He felt that this must look very scientist-like, because everyone who saw him gave him a long, puzzled look, and walked away. Really fast.

Now it was afternoon and Momotaro was starting to calm down a bit. It was almost the end of the working hours and he still seemed to be alive; what's more, he had successfully avoided Urahara all day! It wasn't that he disliked Urahara, it was just that the captain seemed to be a bit too excited about his presence and Momotaro long ago learned that someone who was that excited usually had '_expectations_'.

Ever since he arrived Urahara had wanted to '_talk_' to him about his inventions and this was a talk Momotaro wasn't looking forward to. He knew he should have told the Captain the truth about the articles, but he couldn't even imagine how. He couldn't just stand in front of him and tell him: "Captain Urahara, you seem to misunderstand the whole situation! I'm not your 'Yamada'! I mean, I am Yamada, just not the Yamada you think! Because he is not even Yamada!" That was impossible!

All he'd ever wanted was a calm life, where nobody knew about his existence and now he was sure he had ended up as number one on Kurotsuchi Mayuri's personal death list instead.

To Momotaro this whole situation seemed a bit unfair. He had only asked for a little help for those articles and had never even dreamed about getting into the 12th division! He liked the 4th well enough, it was like having a family and he got nausea from the smell of formaldehyde, which the laboratories of the 12th reeked of. He was here now only because he was too surprised to say _no_ when Captain Urahara had cornered him with his offer. You don't say no to a captain when he offers you a job! Momotaro wasn't keen on the etiquette, but he had the feeling that would probably count as impolite or something.

Things became even worse when one of the assistant boys at the 12th division asked him what he wanted tell the editorial office of the Court of Pure Souls; who wanted to know when Momotaro would have the time to give them an interview? When Momotaro asked why they would want to have an interview with him, the boy looked at him in surprise.

"Yamada-san, didn't you know? You are a star!" he said. "Yesterday you were just a cleaning boy at the 4th division and today you are one of the most important officers in an elite squad and one of the favored ones of Captain Urahara himself. Of course the Court of the Pure Souls wants an interview with you! This is like a fairy tale about talent and luck! Everyone envies you!"

That moment Momotaro realized he was dead (although in fact he was indeed dead, since he was in the Soul Society, but now this was unimportant). Oh, he could still breathe and walk, but this was only temporary. He would soon found with the freshest issue of the Pure Souls stuffed down his throat, floating in the sewers, if Mayuri had seen that interview. Or maybe pinned to the wall, high up, with his own sword in his chest, glaring into the nothingness with glassy eyes, if Urahara ever realizes that he made a fool out of him.

Somewhere in the offices on one of the tables a small, Chinese clock (home made by one of the lab assistants) marked with loud 'baa'-ing that the sun was entering into the Hour of the Sheep.

Only a few more hours, thought Momotaro, and he could go home and forget about this nightmare for at least... well until the next morning. That is, if he survived the night and Mayuri didn't kill him first.

He sighed heavily. He was standing in the hall now and somewhere outside, on the other side of the front door, confident steps were nearing. Momotaro looked around desperately for any object he could hide behind or stare at but the place was heartlessly empty, excepting a tansu, an old, battered cabinet, and a potted plant that was shriveling next to the wall. The steps came closer and closer and Momotaro quickly crouched behind the pot first, as if he was examining it, but as his sight fell on the cabinet a new idea came to his mind.

**-oOo-**

Urahara entered the hall and closed the door behind him. He spun the handle of his umbrella between his fingers and a thousand icy raindrops whirled through the room, sprinkling the walls with a cool spray of water. He had had a good day. He had not only put an end to his game with Yamada and had him in his team, but also it seemed like _somebody_ had mis-programmed the weather controlling machine (purely by _accident,_ of course) and now the rain was falling as heavily as if it wanted to make up for all the lost years!

It was a pretty good storm, he thought. It had everything in abundance: wind, rain, lightning and even some thundering too! This was its great chance to be recognized by the people of the Soul Society and it wanted to use it to the fullest extent.

And it did, indeed. Seireitei now looked more like a swarming anthill than a military organization!

When Urahara had walked the streets with his umbrella in his hand, he could hear the people swearing loudly as they ran past him, looking for a dry spot to hide from the rain. He didn't wear his captain's haori because he had wanted to have a stroll without being recognized, but soon he started to question the wisdom of this idea. While Urahara had never put too much emphasis on the opinion of others, when the hundredth shinigami ran by him loudly cursing his (and every other 12th division member's) mother, he had started to feel a bit unappreciated.

It seemed as if people wanted the same old, stale routines in their lives, not understanding the fun of variety. Sunshine was alright, but it was just one among weather's many delights. There was the fresh wind, the heavy smell of the earth after the rain, the cool mist in the air...

He closed his umbrella and stepped up to the old cabinet to put it away. His thoughts turned to the young man in a dirty, ragged kimono – the only one who didn't run, who could smile even in the rain. Well, not exactly smiled, but laughed, and it wasn't even a nice kind of laughter either, but still it was a refreshing change. Urahara's lips curled upwards as he remembered the excitement he felt back then. Such an unusual young man he was! Someone who would be intriguing to get to know, he thought as he opened the cabinet door.

He suddenly stopped and blinked.

The cabinet blinked back, nervously.

"Yamada-san! _What_ are you doing there?"

"Erm..." said Momotaro. "Erm..." he repeated. "I'm checking it out!"

"My cabinet?"

Momotaro grinned sheepishly.

"I... I guess so."

Urahara lowered his head with a sigh.

While in general he wasn't against the idea of finding people in his cabinet, somehow Yamada Momotaro wasn't among those he wanted to find there! Not to mention the Yamada who wrote those articles was supposed to be a bold and headstrong man, not someone who hid in the furniture. It was difficult to believe this was the same person. Urahara felt a bit disappointed and a certain suspicion was starting to form in his mind. He quickly decided to test it. So he shrugged and sat down crossed-legged in front of the cabinet.

"Yamada-san, I need your help" he said quietly. "I want to make a petition to the Shinigami Research Institute. There is a chemical substance I want to ban from the grounds of Seireitei and I need every supporting vote. Yours too."

Momotaro grinned desperately and nodded. To squeeze any further into the far corner of the cabinet he would have needed triangular backbones. Chemical substance? Right! Sure! If it made Urahara happy, then he would vote! He would vote about _anything_, really!

Seeing his expression, Urahara gave him a small, satisfied smile. If Momotaro hadn't been so scared he would have probably risked the thought that the captain was not so much smiling at him as smiling about him – however, at the moment he was just too busy with trembling to recognize this.

"I'm sure you want to know more about this substance, right, Yamada-san?" asked Urahara, thoughtfully. "After all, I can't expect you to vote in my favor about an unknown topic."

Another quick nod.

"It's called dihydrogen monoxide," continued Urahara on a serious tone. "It belongs to the family of hydro acids. It's an odorless, colorless and highly dangerous chemical. If breathed in, even in small amount it can cause heavy breathing, coughing, or even suffocation. In large quantities it can mess up the ion bases of any organism really badly. That can cause a slow and pretty messy death. And even though it is evidently the cause of many deaths in each year, it is more and more commonly used in Seireitei. Terrible, isn't it?"

"Uh... yes," agreed Momotaro.

He didn't have the faintest clue about what this dihydrothingie was, but if Urahara said it was dangerous, he was ready to believe it. In Momotaro's mind the world was a simple enough place, built on a few simple enough natural laws, like '_do what you are told_' and '_the boss is always right_'. Should Urahara say that a secret society of rabid werebunnies were running Seireitei, Momotaro would have been ready to accept that too, although he probably would have his silent doubts.

He licked his dry lips and because he felt something more was expected from him he added hastily: "Terrible! It must be banned, indeed!"

Urahara watched him with a pondering look on his face. His eyes narrowed for a moment and he opened his mouth, probably to say something, but a wondering voice suddenly interrupted him:

"What are you talking about?"

Urahara froze as if he had been dropped into a tub of icy water and someone had put two frogs under his arms. He spun around, only to face a slightly annoyed Morihashi. He had completely forgotten about the man! They should have meet as soon as Urahara returned from the walk, but since he didn't arrive, the officer must have started to look for him. Morihashi could ruin everything, he realized.

The officer was leaning casually against the wall with a notepad in his hands. He must have been there for some time now and probably heard the whole conversation, because when he saw Urahara turning towards him, he raised an eyebrow:

"Banning dihydrogen monoxide?" he repeated Urahara's words with a dumbfound look in his eyes."But that's just –"

He didn't finish the sentence, however, because the captain quickly interrupted him.

"Now-now, Morihashi-san! You look impatient! Were you looking for me?"

The officer rolled his eyes, but he understood the allusion and dropped the issue.

"Yes sir. I only wanted to report that we found the problem in the weather-controlling system that caused the rain," he said and stared at Urahara pointedly. "It looks like _someone_ mis-programmed it. Someone who used the _main code_ to enter the room!"

"Oh, really?" said Urahara, amusedly. "Computer security really is lacking these days!"

"Indeed, sir. However I saw you were busy, so I thought it could wait."

"What?! Division business can never wait!" said Urahara so cheerfully, that for a moment Momotaro couldn't decide if he was serious or not.

Morihashi must have had similar troubles, for momentarily he was glaring at Urahara with the surprise of a man who bought a small goldfish only to find it had grown into a prehistoric reptile in the goldfish bowl overnight.

"You... think so?" he muttered, hesitantly. "Are you all right, Captain?"

Urahara quickly nodded, grabbed Morihashi's arm and pulled him towards the corridor.

"Of course! Never been better! Now come, we must talk it all over _in the office_. Such serious talks belong _in_ _the office_ after all, right? I'm sorry Yamada-san," he said, apologetically "but it seems we must finish this conversation later. I hope you can forgive me, but duty calls!"

Momotaro felt he could forgive him. Somehow he could.

**-oOo-**

Urahara pushed Morihashi through the office door and before he would shut it behind them he peeked around the great office room, to ensure nobody could overhear them.

The officer watched him warily for a while.

"You know that dihydrogen monoxide is H2O," he said. "It's just simple water."

"Of course," nodded Urahara, seriously. "You and I know this, but strangely enough our new colleague seems to lack even this basic knowledge of chemistry. He must have forgotten much since he wrote those articles... Did you make him drink a bit too much sake at his welcome party or something?"

Morihashi just stared at him blankly.

"Oh, never mind..." said Urahara.

"Do you think he plagiarized them?" asked Morihashi after some hesitation.

"That's not impossible, but I have my doubts. There is original research in those writings. Apart from the stuff stolen from our computers, of course." he added, with a bit of theatrical indignation.

"Whoever wrote them was someone with raw talent and a burning desire to be noticed by the world. But why would such a person not write under his own name?"

"Perhaps he wasn't in the position to do so. The Court of Pure Souls doesn't print articles from just anybody. It is not unheard of that someone in position would put his name on a subordinate's work," said Morihashi bitterly, but seeing Urahara's expression he quickly added, "Of course, I wouldn't imply anything about you, sir."

"Of course," sulked Urahara. "Let's take a look at his former subordinates, then."

And so they did. They had been browsing the personal files of the 4th division rookies on the computer for almost an hour already when Morihashi ran out of patience and asked:

"Just what are you looking for?"

"I don't know, but probably..." said the captain with a shrug, when suddenly his eyes lit up and he pointed at the monitor. "Something like this!"

Morihashi followed his movement.

"A name with a single kanji and katakanas? Just like the one the guard spoke about!"

The file was surprisingly short. Besides the common information, it only stated in few words that the rookie it belonged to didn't show any affinity towards healing magic or any kind of magic at all, and over the time he spent at the division, no development could be noted on the matter. He didn't seem any different from the other rookies at all, except for the photograph on the corner of the page – a picture of a young man with features that could almost be called exotic (eyes a bit rounder and a skin a bit darker than was common), and the awkward expression of someone who would just like to look good in the picture, but hadn't got any idea how. Urahara immediately recognized him.

"Hm? Just look who we have here!" he muttered with a surprised smile.

"Do you know him?"

"No," he shook his head "we just ran into each other today on the street. What do you think, Morihashi-san? How many people could be in the 4th division with such a name?"

"Not many sir, but there could be more than one. I hate to say this, but this doesn't prove anything."

"Maybe it doesn't, but..." he said with a mischievous smile as he fished a key out of one of the drawers. A key with a huge number 5 written on it."Please, Morihashi-san, send Yamada-san in! I would like to give him something. We will send an invitation to our friend."

"And if he doesn't accept it?"

"I am sure he will."

**-oOo-**

It was already dark when Momotaro headed towards home. As most shinigami, he too lived in the Seireitei. He had a small apartment in the outskirts, near the walls, in the block of the 4th division's flats. He knew since he didn't belong to that division any longer that he should move soon, but this thought saddened him – after all, this was the first place he could call home. Actually it wasn't a very good apartment to begin with, but it came with the position of an officer. It was on the second floor of an old house and whenever the wind blew, the whole building wavered like a tipsy old man on his way home, cracking and groaning in a raspy voice unfathomable tales of people long gone. The draught would sneak through between the plank and paper walls and made tiny, cold whirlwinds around the ankles, freezing the legs of the inhabitants. It had only two small rooms (one of them hardly bigger than a futon) and a kitchen, but in spite of all its problems, this little flat was better than anything Momotaro ever had before. It was home for him, and although it was small it was a great leap forward compared to the barracks of the 4th division, which always smelled like someone's sweaty socks and where the nights were loud either from snoring or from people arguing and accusing each other of snoring.

In the narrow, dimly lit alleys, the dark cobble stones, still wet from the earlier rain, dully reflected the yellow lights of the dirty street lanterns, and in the small puddles between them half drawn pictures of the surrounding buildings quivered. The streets were silent, only the barking of the dogs of Rukongai echoed in the distance as they gossiped about the events of the day. From a few houses pale yellow light and sounds of talking filtered through the paper of the windows as Momotaro passed by them, yet the streets were empty; no soul could be seen.

As he was walking, his heart started to beat faster and faster, his mouth turned dry and his breath burned his lips. The empty streets made him nervous. A shiver ran up his spine, bristling the little hairs on the back of his neck against his coat. He wanted to get home as fast as possible. It wasn't that he was afraid of the darkness, he was just afraid of the things which he could imagine _into_ the darkness, now that Mayuri was probably out for his blood. The worst part of having a good imagination was that he could conceive countless ways to die on the streets, each one gorier than the next.

As he turned a corner, he heard the sound of wood breaking behind him and he felt his blood freeze in his veins. He turned around slowly towards the sound, his heart beating in his throat, but he could see nothing. Only a few crows, maybe a dozen or more, argued on a rooftop over some junk, flapping their ebony wings and scraping their talons on the glazed tiles. Suddenly they stopped their movements as they noticed Momotaro, their small, shiny, brown eyes full of suspicion, sizing him up for a moment, then in the next instant they were gone, only the black feathers swirling slowly on the back of the night wind towards the ground and the loud caws echoing among the walls showed that they were ever there.

"I should relax," muttered Momotaro as he licked his dry lips and allowed himself a little sigh of relief.

"Hmm? Why so tense?" a smirking mouth whispered into his ear in a chilling voice, so close he could feel the warmth of its breath. "Fearing something?"

The world froze for a moment and Momotaro with it. Suddenly he became as painfully aware of the cold draught whirling around his fingers, the emptiness of the street, the darkness of the night sky and the presence behind him as if he had awakened from a dream. His chest tightened and his heart skipped. He wanted to move, but his limbs felt heavy and stiff.

_I am going to die_, he thought.

He slowly turned his head, opened his mouth to say something, anything to save his life, but his mind was empty, only a single phrase repeated itself over and over again in it. He raised a trembling hand to brush his hair from his eyes as he backed up a few steps.

"Mayu..." he begun, but before he could even finish the word, a fast hit shoved him against the wall behind him. Momotaro didn't even see it coming, just fell victim of it like a lifeless doll and this scared him even more. He was paralyzed and the air had been squeezed out from his lungs from the hit – despite his slim form, Mayuri was surprisingly strong. Momotaro looked up at the other shinigami. He was standing in front of him with his sword in his hand.

"You are pathetic," stated Mayuri with disdain, as he casually raised the sword to Momotaro's nose, then across his face and poked it into the wall next to his ear. "I could have killed you at the moment you appeared," he carried on in a bored, apathetic tone, "then cut up your corpse and fed it to the rats in the sewers. That was how I planned it. You would have been dead before you could realize what had hit you." Suddenly he stopped as if he was thinking for a moment, and then he tilted his head to the side and smiled at Momotaro with a merciless, cruel smile. "However, how could I have seen that wonderful expression on your face then? That would have been such a waste!"

Yet Mayuri's expression quickly turned into a contemptuous frown again. "The great Yamada-dono!" he rolled his eyes mockingly. "Newly appointed 6th officer of the 12th division! Surely he just reaps the well earned rewards of his talents and hard work!" He paused for a moment, pulled the sword out of the wall with a determined movement and shook the plaster off from it. When he opened his mouth again, he continued in a grave tone: "That is my place."

Momotaro saw the moonlight reflecting from the edge of the blade. It looked sharp. Too sharp.

"Mayuri..."

"Silence! I'm not interested in your excuses. Either you will shut up or I will cut out your tongue."

With every word Momotaro tried to shrink smaller and smaller, until he was nothing more than a small, quivering heap of kimono with a pair of frightened eyes.

Seeing that Mayuri sighed disgustedly. "You aren't even worth killing!" he muttered and turned away, now talking to himself. "Shit! Right when Unohana denies my petition, here comes this wonderful opportunity! I could have gotten into the 12th division, into the best equipped laboratories of the world!" For a moment it seemed he had completely forgotten about Momotaro and he was walking up and down in front of him, talking with wide gestures, his sword still in his hands. Then he suddenly stopped and looked Momotaro in the eyes. "Just imagine what I could have done with equipment like that! I could have finished my serum. I could have thoroughly destroyed U.K.!"

"But..., but you can still do that!" whimpered Momotaro.

A hateful light flashed in Mayuri's eyes and he grabbed Momotaro's throat, squeezing hard. "Are you mocking me?" he hissed between his teeth.

"No!" he squeaked, gasping for breath. "I can get you in!"

"What? What are you talking about?"

"I've got a key! And free access with the guards too! I can get you in when no one is there!"

Still holding Momotaro against the wall, Mayuri considered this for a while.

"But if you make a fool out of me again..."

"No, I would never...! I don't want to die yet."

This whole thing seemed like madness, but Momotaro didn't have any better ideas. For now, this had to do.

**-oOo-**

They got into the building without any problem. The guards at the gate saluted to Momotaro and gave a perplexed look to Mayuri, but nobody tried to stop them. Scientists hurrying to work in the middle of the night were not an unusual sight. Ever since Urahara became captain, the gates were always open to anyone who wanted to work.

This is a creative workplace, he said. We only care about your achievements, not about how or when you do it!

The office of forty-six considered this thought very modern, and not only supported it, but held it as an example of initiative leadership for the other captains. Everyone else, however, especially those who knew Urahara, believed this was just a way to legitimize the fact that he never got up before noon.

Momotaro led Mayuri through the dark corridors to a heavy, metal door, with _Organic__Research Lab no. 5_ written on it in huge black letters.

"I have a key, as does every officer," said Momotaro as he unlocked and opened the door and they entered the room. "I got an assignment to..." he started to explain as he turned on the lights, but he couldn't finish the sentence, because Mayuri's voice suddenly interrupted him.

"Is this the lab you work in?" Strangely his voice was weaker than normal.

For a moment Momotaro wondered if this was some kind of a trick question. It sounded like one.

"Yes, I..." He suddenly stopped. This was indeed a trick question, he realized! Mayuri was jealous! "I mean no! Absolutely not! I just got this key and..."

And he faltered. His brain just registered what he was seeing although it was hard to believe.

The other shinigami was flushing red, Momotaro noticed. Kurotsuchi Mayuri was damn well blushing! And not only that, but his hands were shaking, his eyes wide and shining and such a soft little smile played on his lips, as on a teenage boy's who just fell in love!

"Incredible." Mayuri muttered as he touched one instrument after the other, running shaking fingertips over their polished surfaces. "So beautiful, so wonderful! Just imagine, Yamada! With a laboratory like this there is nothing I couldn't do! There would be nothing I couldn't learn!" He stopped, thinking for a moment as a thought nested in his mind, slowly filling his eyes with mad fire, painting a wide, feral grin on his face. When he opened his mouth again, his voice was calm and icy cold: "I could challenge the gods themselves!"

Momotaro watched him and got a terrifying feeling, as if he could catch a glimpse or shadow of a dark future. It was a sinister picture indeed, one filled with screams and terror.

Mayuri slowly walked around the lab, touching everything as if he wanted to make sure they were real, they wouldn't disappear like a dream. Sometimes he commented on them, explaining their usage, their abilities, probably to Momotaro, or probably just to himself. He felt himself in his element, this was clear to Momotaro, although he couldn't explain how. Somehow he felt as if Mayuri started to exist here, surrounded with these tools. As if he became more solid, more real now than ever before.

Or he just became more scary here than ever before, thought Momotaro.

There was a computer in the corner of the room. Mayuri turned it on.

"The instruments are connected into a network, so they would send every measurement automatically into the databank. That means I can't use them without activating the network," he explained seeing Momotaro's confused look. "It's the same as it was in the academy labs."

Momotaro shrugged. He used to sleep over those lessons. Not knowing what to do with himself he looked around. There was a shiny, steel operating table in the middle of the room which attracted his attention, but as he tried to climb up and dangle his legs from the edge he slipped and fell onto it backwards with a loud '_bang_'.

"It must be very difficult to be that stupid," he heard Mayuri muttering under his breath, without even looking up from the computer. He was working hard on something; judging from the little gray window that asked for a password, he was probably hacking the system. "But at least in light of your lack of intelligence it's a kind of relief to know you will probably never find a willing enough female to reproduce with, Yamada. Although I doubt it could make the population of Seireitei any more irritating."

"It's strange to hear you saying this!" smiled Momotaro happily, forgetting his embarrassment, because he was delighted by the chance to speak about this topic. "I haven't told this to anyone yet, but soon I will get married!"

"You?"

"Yes!"

Mayuri considered this answer for a few moments before cautiously asking:

"To a human?"

"Wha..." Momotaro's eyes widened in surprise, but he forgot it in the next moment. "Of course! She is incredible you know! She has the most beautiful black hair in Seireitei."

"Every second woman has black hair in Seireitei." stated Mayuri dryly, but the other shinigami didn't even hear him.

"She is so sweet, you should see her!" Momotaro continued. "Her name is Mitsuko and she works as a maid in the Kuchiki household."

"Ah, a servant. I see."

"Well... She is not a shinigami, that's true, but you would never tell this from the look of her, she is so smart. She went to work there because we are saving money now. Once we get married, we want to buy a silk dyer farm. She worked as a silk dyer in the living world, you know. I will leave Seireitei too, and help her out. Being a shinigami is good thing, because we can help the souls and protect the world, but it's a bit dangerous. I would like to see my child grow up," said Momotaro, contemplatively. "Mitsuko is pregnant! She just told me yesterday. I am going to be a father!"

"Yes. And what do you expect from me? Applause?"

"Now..."

"You made a kid, and that's something any animal could do."

"Wha... Listen..."

"You acted out of sexual instincts, just as nature and evolution programmed you, so the fact that your girlfriend is pregnant is hardly to your merit. You were just a puppet in the toolkit of race preservation."

"Hey! Don't make it sound as if I had no say in it! It wasn't just nature, you know!"

"_Say?_ I sincerely doubt that the brain function that got the main part in that act you mentioned had any kind of relationship with any type of function requiring intelligence. Like speaking for example. Now, if you had created that brat with your _two hands_, I would have understood why you are so proud of yourself."

"Hands?" Momotaro turned red like a lobster from the picture that slowly emerged from some well-hidden, dark corner of his imagination. "I-I-I d-don't re-really think tha-that would work," he stuttered in his embarrassment. "Does-doesn't it need some bo-body fluids too?"

Mayuri's hands stopped in the air in the middle of their movement, as he slowly turned and stared at Momotaro in confusion, but as the realization slowly sank in his mind he just sighed tiredly and turned back to his work on the computer, muttering only one word under is breath:

"Cretin."

Momotaro stared at the middle of his back, still blushing madly, but with a hurt expression on his face. He didn't mind too much that Mayuri called him a cretin – really, people called him many things in his life already and Mayuri spat insults so easily that Momotaro could hardly notice them anymore – but he was about to became a father! The most joyful moment of his life was nearing (or at least everyone told him so) and the other man belittled it so easily! This didn't feel right!

"There is just one thing I can't understand now," he said sharply. "If it is so animalistic and simple and whatever you called it, then how come I never see any women around_ you_?"

"Did it never occur in your bean sized brain that there are people on this plane who have higher goals in this life than chasing women?"

"Chasing indeed! Seeing how fast they would run in the opposite direction after they saw you! It must be difficult to find a girlfriend when you creep the hell out of everyone!"

"I am NOT creepy! Such a rude thing to say!"

"You called me cretin. Isn't that rude too?"

"No, because that was just a statement of a fact."

"Creepy too!"

"Tell me, Yamada! Don't you want to go outside and take a look at the kitchen of the offices? Probably you could find a banana there and then you could try to peel it with your legs and push it up into your nose like a good monkey. I'm just asking because if you don't shut up, you won't see the birth of your son and that's a statement of a fact too!"

This seemingly worked. Momotaro sat silently for a while on the operating table.

"Daughter" said Momotaro a bit later, lost in his thoughts. "I think it will be a girl. Or at least I hope so..."

"Oh, dear Gods! What did I do to deserve this conversation?" muttered Mayuri, bitterly.

"I would love to have a daughter! I would call her maybe Yuriko."

"Whoops! I know! I forgot to kill you on the street."

"I would like to give her a name that is simple but sweet," explained Momotaro, wishfully. "Hanako maybe. My little flower..."

"Really? And if is a boy, he would be Hanataro, I wonder?"

Momotaro, oblivious to the sarcasm in Mayuri's voice, flashed a gleaming smile at him.

"Yes!" he said cheerfully. "That's a cute name too!"

"Of course. And about a hundred years from now the whole Seireitei would laugh at a shinigami called 'flower boy' and you find this _cute_. Momotaro, you are a tragedy, and one I wouldn't buy a ticket to if it were being played in the theaters, because I would be afraid I would laugh too loudly."

"You will understand once you become a father yourself. Who knows? Maybe you will have a beautiful daughter too, then you will understand what it means to be a proud parent and you will protect her even from the wind!"

**-oOo-**

While the two shinigami argued in the lab, they didn't even suspect that through a little camera two pairs of eyes were watching them.

"We have got proof now, sir. Do you want us to arrest them?" asked Morihashi, but Urahara didn't answer. He was just leaning on his elbow, watching the monitor with a pondering look on his face.

"Captain?" tried Morihashi again.

On the monitor Mayuri's partially blurred figure was explaining something about the nerve cells enthusiastically with wide gestures to Momotaro. Urahara was listening to them with a frown.

"He is wrong," said the captain, suddenly. "This is not how the nerve cells work."

Morihashi started to loose his patience. Those two in the lab were breaking the rules and the captain, instead of acting as his position would require it, was staring at the monitor as mesmerized as a child who got a magnifying glass and found an ant hill and was just about to find out what he should do with them.

"Of course he is wrong," he said with hardly hidden irritation in his voice. "After all, he is just a cleaner. All he knows is what he learned at the academy, as every other shinigami. You can't expect him to have the same knowledge as a member of our division. His field of specialization is the dirt on the floor, not cell-biology."

"Yet he could handle a debate with me," pointed out Urahara in a tone that precluded any further arguments.

Morihashi took a sharp breath. He really started to dislike the way this conversation was turning out.

"Don't look down on someone only because he has a different background than you," said Urahara. "His knowledge is lacking, he is hotheaded and he still believes he can do anything, but all he needs is a bit of a polishing, a lesson or two and one day he may become an extraordinary scientist."

"So you won't get them arrested?" It sounded more like an accusation than a question.

"No. We will let them go today," answered the captain, firmly. "I want that man in my division."

Morihashi didn't answer, but from the annoyed expression on his face it was clear that he considered this unacceptable. And even though Urahara took the issue casually, he knew the officer was probably right.

While it was Momotaro, the situation was simple; Urahara could take him over from the 4th division without any further problems. However, things were different when it came to Mayuri, because Momotaro, unlike Mayuri, had never applied to the 12th division before and didn't have the words _'unsuited due to personality issues'_ written with huge red letters on his file. A decision like this was considered permanent and Urahara knew he needed to have a good argument to bring the topic up for reconsideration.

He watched the monitor as the young man's long fingers danced over the keyboard, and his lips curved into a little, self-satisfied smile. In the next moment at the corner of the captain's monitor a little red sign popped up, indicating that someone had successfully hacked into the computer system.

Urahara sighed.

A _very_ good argument, indeed.

**-oOo-**

The next afternoon Mayuri returned to work. While he wrote the articles for him, Momotaro arranged the worktable in a way so that he was free from any other job. But now that Momotaro was gone, there were no more excuses. He had to clean if he wanted to remain in the 13 protection squads. However, at least he was reassigned from the sewers to one of the residential districts.

It was one of the more wealthy parts of the town, little parks were hiding in the shadows of the houses and in the center of it the surface of a huge lake reflected the sunshine. There was a bridge over the water, or rather just a polished wooden ramp – like the one the nobles walked upon in the streets – with a railing and a roof, and Mayuri spent his afternoon leaning against its fence, warming in the late summer sun and scribing into a little notepad with a coal stick, while his little robots cleaned the place.

The water brought sounds from the lakeshore. Children, two young girls and a little boy, were playing in the small, nearby park. They looked about four or five years old in human years, but since time passed in the Soul Society in a different manner than in the living world, it was practically impossible to tell their ages. The girls had the same, black hair, thick lips and wore identical, simple kimonos, and Mayuri guessed they were probably siblings from a nearby mansion. They were bouncing a ball to each other, chanting cheerfully a little rhythmical rhyme and laughing in their high-pitched voices whenever one of them mistook a line.

_'An'ta gata doko sa?' _

_'Higo sa.' _

_'Higo doko sa?' _

_'Kumamoto sa.' _

Mayuri listened to them, sleepily leaning against the warm wood of the bridge fence. He, too, knew this rhyme well. When he was young, in the summer cottage of his father, through the wall he often heard the village children singing it. It was one of those little poems children would chant seemingly endlessly. Whenever they stopped, they started it again, faster and faster every time.

_'Kumamoto doko sa?_

_'Semba sa.' _

He closed his eyes and put the notepad down. The sun shone warmly, and the soft whispering of the wind, the sounds of the game (the chanting, the laughing, the dull thuds of the ball on the ground) all seemed to blend with the soft splashes of the lake, turning into a single lulling hum. He'd spent almost the whole night in the labs and now he was so tired and sleep was so alluring! Somewhere in a hidden corner of his mind he still heard the words, but he hardly noticed them anymore as he was dozing off.

_'Semba-yama niwa'_

_'Tanuki gaotte sa'_

He awoke a few minutes later to a loud knock repeating over and over again. One of his robots was making the noise. It had run against the railing, its little wheels reeling and clacking madly as it tried to push away from what got into its way. After a few moments it finally gave up, stopped and slowly backed away from the column. Mayuri watched with the satisfied smirk of a creator as it turned around to continue on its way in another direction.

And then a hand picked it up and put it down so it ran at full speed and loudly knocked against the column again. Mayuri's eyes widened in astonishment; a blond shinigami was crouching over his machine playing with it like a kid, with an amused look on his face!

The little robot turned away again but it couldn't get free from the shinigami. He picked it up, and this time he dropped it with its top down. The wheels span like the little legs of a huge bug, desperately struggling to catch anything it could use to turn upright.

Mayuri's jaw dropped in shock. What did this guy think? Nobody had the right to terrorize his inventions but he!

Finally, the robot managed to turn upright somehow and quickly jolted away, continuing its work. The stranger watched it with an amused smile.

_'Sore o ryoshi ga' _

He turned around to leave when he noticed Mayuri.

"Oh, I didn't want to bother you," he said with a smile, but suddenly stopped. With a few huge steps he appeared before the sitting man and leaned forward until their eyes leveled, with a movement so fast Mayuri involuntarily jerked backwards in surprise.

"Excuse me, but haven't we met before?"

Mayuri looked at him, his heart beating fast. The man was indeed vaguely familiar, but he couldn't remember from where. Then suddenly the realization hit him: of course the man looked so familiar! This was the same irritating, stupid blond guy who was grinning at him like mad in the rain just the day before!

"I don't think so," he answered, gravely.

"Strange. I could have sworn we have," said the blond man in theatrical surprise and straightened up again. "Clever little gadget, " he said motioning towards the robot. "It was built from such simple things, yet you managed to set it so it would evade obstacles and even turn back onto it's wheels when it has been turned over. I am impressed!"

Mayuri nodded and picked up his notes again with a tired sigh to return to his work. The other man was clearly trying to start a conversation, but he was not interested. The praise was welcome, but this man was clearly an idiot and his statement was pointless too. Mayuri knew his robots were cleverly made. He built them.

"I have never seen things like this before," continued the stranger. "Very practical."

Another nod.

_'Teppo de utte sa,' _

"I am a scientist too, but I never really tried my hands at mechanical things. I am more interested in the esoteric side of science." The man clearly didn't let the fact that this conversation was pretty one sided bother him. He continued to chatter on, while he caught another robot and casually tried to pick off one of its wheels. "Oh, and there are the organic researches, too! Now those are interesting! I even wrote articles about them."

Mayuri started to get annoyed. No matter how openly he ignored him, the other shinigami just didn't seem to catch his point and didn't want to leave. At the moment he looked like he was waiting for some kind of reaction (those who boasted usually did), but Mayuri really wasn't in that mood today. Or any other day, for that matter. People boasting in such a way were self-centered bastards in his opinion, and while he had generally nothing against being one, when it came to other self-centered bastards, his thoughts towards them mainly involved a few gallons of lamp oil and a lit match.

He couldn't suppress a small wistful smile thinking about this image.

_'Nite sa, yaite sa,'_

The blond shinigami, seeing this dreamy expression, took it as an encouragement and carried on with his explanation:

"Maybe you have read them too! They became really famous, you see. The whole Seireitei talked about them." The shinigami gave him another short, sharp, expectant look, but as he realized that Mayuri saw it he quickly continued as if nothing had happened: "It was published in the Court of Pure Souls, it was about re-growing body parts!"

_'Kutte sa.' _

The coal stick suddenly broke with a loud crack, leaving a sharp, black smear on the paper.

Mayuri looked up, very, very slowly. He couldn't believe his ears. Was this some kind of a joke? But why would anyone try to make fun of him with that? This didn't seem to make any sense at all, but Mayuri wanted to make sure. He grabbed his sword with his left hand (a movement kept carefully nonchalant) threw a fast glance around and when he was sure nobody could see them, stood up.

"How strange," he said, keeping his tone as innocent as he could. "I thought Yamada Momotaro of the 4th division wrote them. Would this mean you are him then?"

"No! Gods save me, no!" said the man with a theatrical laughter. When he stopped he thought a bit about it and suddenly broke into the most puzzling smile the other shinigami had ever seen: it started out as a strangely polite smirk, yet the way the corner of his mouth curved a bit higher and higher it turned into such a shrewd, all knowing grin, it sent shivers down on Mayuri's spine. "But I am sure you already knew this. I only wrote answers to his work as U.K."

_'Sore o kino ha de_

_'Choito kakusu.' _

* * *

...

Explanation:

Tanuki is the japanese raccoon dog. It is often translated to raccoon, but that's not the same, and raccoon dog sounds strange for me, so I left it as tanuki.

Here is the raw, line-to-line translation of the nursery rhyme the children chant in the last scene. It is an existing ball-bouncing rhyme and not my work. To tell the truth I am not sure if it already existed back at the end of the XIX century, I only guess it did. If I am mistaken, then I am sorry!

_An'ta gata doko sa? - **Where is your home?**_

_Higo sa. -** It's Higo. **_

_Higo doko sa? - **What place in Higo?**_

_Kumamoto sa. - **It's Kumamoto**_

_Kumamoto doko sa? -** What place in Kumamoto?**_

_Semba sa. - **It's Semba.**_

_Semba-yama niwa - **In the hills of Semba**_

_Tanuki gaotte sa -** There lives a tanuki,**_

_Sore o ryoshi ga -** Which a hunter shoots**_

_Teppo de utte sa -** With a gun,**_

_Nite sa, yaite sa -** Cooks, grills,**_

_Kutte sa. -** And eats.**_

_Sore o kino ha de -** And then he hides the remains**_

_Choito kakusu. - **With the leaves of a tree.**_


	5. Moving In

**Thank you for all the great reviews!**

**Author's note:** I had to change my plans for the plot so the story would at least partially fit into the Turn back the Pendulum arc. Still, it has became a complete AU, and this chapter is now a kind of an 'explanation chapter'.

**Warning**: This chapter contains **major** **spoilers** to the manga and some **OOC**-**ness!**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

**Moving In  
**

"_I only wrote answers to his work as U.K."_

The words died off, overwhelmed by the following heavy, attentive silence (the kind with drum rolls in it). The tension in the air was almost tangible as Mayuri looked up and rose to his feet. In the corner of his mind Urahara could feel the other man's killing intent as it coiled and stirred like an awakening snake. It had been growing stronger and stronger since the moment their eyes met, but now it was roaming freely, slowly stifling the air, until...

...Nothing happened.

The killing intent suddenly weakened 'till it was almost completely gone. Urahara gave Mayuri a confused, searching glance. He expected something more, some kind of a reaction, protest or even anger, but the other shinigami just stood in front of him in hesitant silence with an expectant look in his narrowed, yellow eyes. His whole posture was suggesting that he was waiting for something, but for what Urahara could only guess.

He suppressed a disappointed sigh. If only he could provoke a confession or at least a betraying little word out of Mayuri, then they could end this game quickly! He could introduce himself and assure the other shinigami that he didn't intend to punish him. He had planned it all. Of course, it would be easier to simply tell Mayuri he knew all about him and Momotaro, but that would sound too much like blackmail and people tend to react not too well to that.

He turned around and leaned down to put the cleaning robot on the ground. He looked away only for a split second, but as he immediately realized, that was a mistake.

**-oOo-**

As a noble, people had always treated Mayuri with fear and respect. Servants were already bowing before him when he was still so small that he couldn't even reach up to the table, and from day to day his tutors sang praises of his genius. Later, when he got into the Academy, nothing had changed. He breezed through the courses without even trying much, always getting the highest possible grades. He never expected anything less than a prestigious position in the best division. He knew he deserved it.

And then he got into the 4th.

As a rookie.

Cleaning the sewers.

He got stuck in a place where his abilities couldn't shine, couldn't grow, forced to do a mundane job which he felt was far beneath him; and all this only because of a trumped up false reason, a subjective judgment over his personality, based on the nonexistent idea of morality. It was unjust and painfully humiliating.

Yet, he fought his impotent rage, hid it away deep inside himself, behind sneering sarcasm and smoldering dissatisfaction and kept studying night after night, patiently working and waiting for a chance to show the world what a mistake they had made. And when his opportunity came at last in the form of Momotaro's little article, suddenly U.K. appeared and questioned with an outrageous ease the one thing Mayuri based his every hope and belief on: that when it comes to science, he is an unmatched genius.

All his anger, hatred and self-doubts that had been boiling and coalescing in his heart for all this time, gathering slowly like a storm cloud...

"_I only wrote answers to his work as U.K."_

...Upon hearing these words, they broke out all at once, turning on this convenient target: the man in front of him. Everything he hated, everything he feared and everything he wanted to break free from his whole life molded into a single form; and on him Mayuri unleashed all his rage the moment the man turned away and gave a chance.

Mayuri's anger flared into raw fury. His skin tingled and the spirit of his sword vibrated under his fingers with the unmistakable excited response to the battle lust rising in him. In a face-to-face sword fight, he never would have stood a chance against any proper shinigami – he never had the strength and stamina to learn real swordplay, but with a weapon like Jizo he didn't need it. A second cut was seldom necessary.

He bolted forward with his hand on the hilt of his zanpakuto with the intent to cleave the man in front of him in half in the same single, fluid motion with which he drew his blade.

Then suddenly everything froze.

... The next thing he knew, he was lying on his back and watching the sky through a layer of slightly murky water, while a little fish was chipping on his ear with mild curiosity.

He remembered a hand clasping on his wrist in a firm grip before the blade could cut into the flesh of his opponent and cold, grey eyes burning into his. His stomach clenched as the realization hit him: the man stopped his attack with a single hand without the slightest effort and then he had thrown him into the lake so fast Mayuri could hardly follow his movements! The difference between their levels was almost incomprehensible. He didn't end up in the lake out of luck; the man could have killed him if he had chosen too.

Yet, to Mayuri's greatest surprise, he simply didn't.

**-oOo-**

Urahara decided it was time to leave when he saw Mayuri standing up in the water with smoldering eyes behind a curtain of dripping wet, blue hair like an avenging (although momentary confused) water-spirit. At least he definitely had the temper of one, thought the blond shinigami.

After the first shock passed, all he felt now was amused surprise. This was certainly not what he expected from this meeting, although he had to admit it was more like the Yamada who wrote those articles than his new officer under the same name.

Yet this meeting made one thing clear: with Mayuri, he needed a _plan_.

**-oOo-**

Momotaro just finished the usual weekly cleaning when someone knocked on the front door. Actually it was more like loud banging than knocking. When he rushed to open it, he found a dripping wet Mayuri standing on his doorstep.

"What happened to you?!" asked Momotaro, shocked.

"I went swimming," answered his visitor stiffly.

"Fully clothed?"

Mayuri shot him a long, murderous glare.

"Precisely," he said at last, in a voice that could have frozen a volcano. "Get me a towel!"

A few moments later, while Momotaro was trying to make tea in the kitchen, Mayuri was sitting alone in the tiny living room, wrapped up in a single, huge bath towel; his clothes drying on the washing line outside.

He couldn't go back to the barracks in the middle of the day as wet as he was, because that would provoke too many stupid questions Mayuri just didn't feel like answering. He wanted to dry first, and he thought that Momotaro could provide help in this, but when the other shinigami handed him the towel he almost reconsidered.

"I got it from Mitsuko-san!" explained Momotaro proudly."She has such a wonderful taste!"

Mayuri eyed the cloth with disgust: it was fluffy and there were flowers on it. _Pink_ flowers.

After a few moments when Momotaro was still not present, he stood up and walked around the room, to pass the time. He noticed a book lying on the table nearby. He picked it up and was flipping through it when a picture fell out from between the pages.

At first sight it looked like a simple drawing, something a child might do, provided said child was very keen on high fantasy novels. There was a huge, black dragon on it – or at least a huge, black blot that must have been a dragon, because the artist, who hadn't left anything to chance, drew a thick arrow pointing to its head (or at least what Mayuri suspected to be its head) and wrote next to it with katakanas:

DO-RA-GO-N!

And after that, between brackets:

BIG!!

A few broken swords and stick figures dressed as shinigami were lying around it, arranged aesthetically, while the blot (Doragon! Big!!) was trying to stomp out the guts of another shinigami with blazing blue hair, yellow eyes and huge fangs. The face of this victim also took on a strange, green color and he must have been suffering from some kind of horrible sickness, because normally nobody's tongue hangs out of their mouth that far. That guy could probably even lick his own eyebrows with it. Happy little letters were announcing to the world that this shinigami was Mayuri.

Mayuri just glared at the picture with a blank face. The sound of clattering cups made him jerk up his head.

Momotaro was standing in front of him with a tray in his hands and staring at the paper with wide eyes. His hands were shaking visibly and fat sweat-drops were running down his forehead. Thousands of thoughts screamed through his head. He had to say something before the other could react.

"I... I can explain..." Momotaro stammered in a trembling voice.

Mayuri gave him a tormented look and dropped the drawing back to the table.

"Don't! I am not interested."

Momotaro could feel the blood rise to his face.

"Can I help you with anything else?" he asked at last in the hope he could distract Mayuri from the drawing and silently prayed to any god of any religion who would be willing to listen to him. "I mean... aside from the towel."

With a sudden idea, Mayuri nodded, "Yes," and an evil little smirk lifted one corner of his mouth.

Seeing this Momotaro immediately regretted his question.

"The barracks don't provide me the peace I need for working effectively so I have decided to move in with you," Mayuri stated matter-of-factly.

Momotaro's jaw dropped in surprise. He was sure he'd heard something wrong. He had to!

"What?"

"Of course," explained Mayuri dryly, "If _I_ were an officer of the 12th division, I would have my own flat and I would not need to bother with you, but sadly life is not that simple, now is it Yamada?"

"Are you serious? That's not possible!" cried out the small shinigami in desperation.

Mayuri frowned.

"You don't want me to live with you?" he asked sharply, accusingly.

Momotaro shuddered. He didn't like this expression on the other's face. This was the same I-will-nail-you-to-the-wall-and-I-can-even-see-what's-in-your-kidneys-not-to-mention-your-thoughts-so-don't-you-dare-to-lie-to-me kind of look that always made his bones feel like they turned into pudding jelly and made him wish he could hide under the earth where nobody could see him. He just couldn't lie to someone with that expression!

"It's not about that..."

"Just be honest and tell me the truth!" said Mayuri with a hurt look. "I can stand criticism."

Sure! And the moon is made of cheese, thought Momotaro with a forced smile.

Desperation flashed in his eyes. This was the moment, he knew, he should tell Mayuri what he thought and send him away. He was an officer! He should be able to do this much, even if Mayuri was looking at him like this...

"No! I mean... I would be glad to..." Momotaro just couldn't believe what he was about to say: "... to share my house with you."

Oh yes, and there is a place in hell where liars burn, he thought. However, as the consequences of the previous sentence started to sink in, he began to feel that living in hell with a demon compared quite favorably to living with Mayuri. There must be a way to back out from this situation! He needed an excuse, no, a _good_ excuse, fast! One that would both work _and_ keep him alive.

"But you wouldn't feel comfortable here. This flat is so small!" he blurted out at last. "There wouldn't even be enough space for your stuff and all..."

Silence fell on the room. A fly was buzzing somewhere. People were talking on the street.

Mayuri was looking at him with surprise.

"You don't need to worry," he said. "I have never expected much either from you or any of your belongings."

Momotaro's jaw dropped, again. He was sure he was just insulted, but Mayuri was looking at him with all the genuine, simple innocence of a man who just stated the most trivial and unchangeable fact of the world, known by everyone. He probably even meant his words to be comforting, realized Momotaro, dumbfounded. After all, Mayuri could be very straight forward when he wanted to insult someone, making it difficult to miss. In a certain manner he was wearing his heart on his sleeve (it was just not the kind of heart people usually want to see there). But now...

He was even smiling!

"And the space will be sufficient too," Mayuri continued, looking around. "I don't have many things."

Momotaro gave it up.

"Great," he muttered bitterly. "Wonderful. Move in whenever you want. No trouble at all!" He turned on his heels, walked out into the kitchen, sat down, closed his eyes and dropped his head onto the counter. He just couldn't believe this was happening to him! He should have only said no; and if he weren't Momotaro he could still do that. He could stand up, go into the living room, say NO, and everything would be all right.

He mused on this thought for a while. It sounded so easy, so simple.

But in the end, he knew he wouldn't do it. If he were some hero from a fantasy book or a big, black dragon, he could say it. He would probably be nasty and selfish, but then he needn't suffer the guy any longer. However, somewhere deep in his heart, he knew that probably even a miracle wouldn't help him and even as a big, black dragon, he would just be Yamada Momotaro in the end – only probably a bit more scaly.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. However, since he didn't want to bother anyone, he settled on banging his head into the counter. Repeatedly.

**-oOo-**

Mayuri was up early the next day. The sun had hardly passed through the hour of the Rabbit before he was walking the streets of Seireitei with books under his arms. The first night at Momotaro's little flat was even worse than he had expected; the place was too foreign and every little noise startled him out of his sleep, leaving him sore and tired in the morning. Still, he felt he made the right choice by leaving the barracks. Momotaro's abode, while it wasn't as comfortable as the Kurotsuchi households were, could indeed provide the peace Mayuri needed for his researches.

The thought of work brought U.K. into his mind again and Mayuri felt anger and shame rising in him. Now that he had some time to think over the events of their last meeting he could only curse himself for his own stupidity. He'd committed an unforgivable mistake, in the heat of the emotions he had acted without thinking! He had attacked another shinigami at plain daylight and he could only thank his good fortune that nobody was nearby to witness it and incriminate him – except of course U.K. himself but without a witness his word was only one shinigami's against another, with no overpowering value. Still, had Mayuri succeeded in killing him, there would have been an investigation and Mayuri would have gotten into huge trouble if he was suspected – and not only in the Seireitei.

By the laws, as a noble Mayuri could kill any peasant if he wanted to, for no more reason than feeling offended by the way he looked at him and nobody would have had the right to question his acts, but the death of a fellow shinigami was something entirely different. His heritage didn't matter among the walls of Seireitei, where every shinigami was seen as equal, even if they came from the lowliest, dirtiest part of Rukongai.

His clan, Kurotsuchi, was neither huge nor important, just one of the many average noble families; other clans didn't note their name or deeds, but they had been present in the Soul Society for many generations now.

Mayuri had two brothers, both of them older and born to a woman from a family respectable enough to be remembered even by his father. They got their place in the political life of the nobility, and Mayuri, as the least important son, had been sent to Seireitei to become a shinigami. In the well-oiled machine of a feudal noble family everyone had their role with the explicit purpose of strengthening the position of the clan. Dreams had no place here. Mayuri was the youngest son and family tradition sent the third son either into a church or the army.

As his father put it, the life of a shinigami offered the most chance for a young man to make his fame and fortune. As Mayuri saw it, it also offered uncountable chances to die a very honorable and ridiculously pointless death, but he rather didn't mention this. He was fairly sure his father wouldn't care anyway; not until his death served the family interests.

He could still remember their farewell as sharply as if it was only yesterday.

They were sitting in his father's private reception room. It was by far the most elegant part of the house, but its beauty was hidden in its small details – in the fine tatami that covered the floor, the teak-wood shelves and alcoves that shone with a warm glow in the afternoon sun, thanks to the gold dust the lacquer was enriched with and the lavish gilded murals on the walls. In spite of all its ornaments, however, it projected an air of well-calculated emptiness, making sure its guests never really felt at ease.

How typical of his father, Mayuri thought. The old man cared about appearance above everything else. Even then, as he was puffing on his exquisite, varnished pipe, he looked more like a dictator than a parent – not that Mayuri would care about either.

Among the many thoughts and feelings he attached in his mind to the idea of 'father', love hadn't had a place. When he was young, he only knew he had a father because the servants told him that he was the person who hired the new tutors when the nerves of the old ones gave up, and who wrote the scolding letters to Mayuri when, as a child, he had got himself into hot water. When they met, once or twice in a year, they hardly exchanged words. They had nothing to say to each other.

However, Mayuri felt this was exactly how it should be. Many people told him he resembled his father a lot (in small things mostly), but the more he learned about the man, the more he felt he couldn't care about him – they might have been relatives, but this didn't change the fact that they were really just strangers to each other.

"Mayuri," boomed a raspy voice.

Mayuri's mouth twitched.

_There_. That tone again, the one that made him feel like a servant. He knew the old man did it on purpose; of course, he would never miss the opportunity to remind his son of his place. He was an old kind of samurai and while he might have not expected love from his children, he did command respect.

"Were you paying attention?" the old man demanded sternly, his pale, yellow eyes shining coldly from his wrinkled and spotted face.

"Of course," Mayuri replied flatly.

Sliding doors stood open on the side of the room, through them one could see past the veranda to a small pond in the garden, surrounded by twisted pine trees and colorful, evergreen shrubs. Across the water lay a stone slab and an old servant was standing on it, feeding the carps from a small bucket.

"Good" sneered his father. "Then repeat what I said!"

Mayuri took a sharp breath and bit back a protesting comment.

"I shall never forget that I am representing the honor of our family in Seireitei and I shall serve my masters as best as I can." He almost spat the words – oh, how he despised them and the empty idea of honor and duty! They were like patina on iron, you only needed to scratch it a bit to see how different the truth that lies under it is. However his father had a reason to make him learn these rules. "The clan shares my success and my failure. I shall protect the name of the family and..."

A gray eyebrow arched sharply.

"And?"

"And mistakes shall be... redeemed and justice shall be brought by blood."

By his blood. This was the only way to protect the clan from the dishonor he might bring if he ever did something unforgivable, as had happened to many other clans before. In the system of feudal Japan and the Soul Society the individual rights never mattered, the family was the smallest noted entity, and should a member of it fall, the whole clan would pay for it.

"Don't forget that!" Said the old man, a bit more relaxed. It looked like the answer satisfied him and when he spoke again, his voice became softer. "Mayuri, you _will_ serve your lords and you _will_ act honorably, because I will not allow you to stain the name of Kurotsuchi. Should you fail, I will not hesitate to do what I have to."

Whether this was a promise or a threat, Mayuri still couldn't decide, but it didn't really matter – the point was the same. He would have to be more careful in the future if he wanted to get back to U.K. Should he be caught breaking the laws of Seireitei, he could lose more than his status as a shinigami.

He could lose his head.

And now this chance had more actuality than ever before.

He sighed heavily, but quickly chased away the grim thoughts as he caught the sight of the wooden gate of the Central Library. Should anything happen, his main concern still should be finishing his serum, he reminded himself. At the moment it was his only hope to break out from this cursed state. He couldn't publish his discoveries in the Court of Pure Souls anymore, but if he made a working potion he was sure people would start to listen to him. Even if nobody else did, at least the captain of the 12th would, he hoped, and then U.K. can go to the hell alongside everyone else.

Mayuri was so dazed by the many thoughts going through his mind as he walked the street that he didn't even notice a young girl running around the corner until a bony little shoulder slammed into his stomach. For a moment Mayuri thought he could easily count every star in the universe because all of them were dancing in front of his eyes – his books fell on the paving stones and he crouched over them in pain, trying to catch his breath.

"Huh?" he heard from the girl's direction - or at least he suspected it was from the girl's direction. It was difficult to tell from floor level. "Mister? Sooooooooooorrrrryyyyyyyyyyyyy!"

It was a small miracle she hadn't run out of air while she said that, because it seemed to go on for minutes! Then she fluttered her eyelashes prettily, bowed and ran away just as fast as she came without any attempt to help; but, of course, not before she accidentally kicked one of the books under a nearby bush.

Mayuri silently cursed every young girl with hard shoulders as he crawled back to his feet and started to pick up his books. He couldn't stop wondering whose idea it was that young girls squeaking in voices like a mouse high on helium, while fluttering their eyelashes and manhandling, well… _men,_ were actually _cute_?!

He was trying to pick up the book from under the bush when he heard voices from the other side.

"... But please don't mention we met today to anyone!" said the first voice, a chillingly familiar male one. "I told everyone that I would stay in the labs today and I didn't want to be bothered. If they learned that I left in secret, they wouldn't stop nagging me with their questions and this experiment is a rather delicate matter. I would rather keep it secret for a bit longer."

Secret experiments? Now Mayuri was interested! He tried to carefully peek out from among the leaves in the hope he could catch the sight of the speakers, but a rickshaw (with a man in an old straw hat sitting in it) stood on the other side of the bush. It looked like the mysterious stranger in the hat was one of the speakers, because through the spokes of the cart Mayuri could only see one pair of legs.

"Sure, don't worry!" said another voice, a pleasant, deep one. "Just don't forget to reciprocate!" and with that the rickshaw left, screeching lightly.

What Mayuri saw next was something he couldn't decide if he liked or not: U.K. was standing in front of him, waving his hand playfully after the rickshaw. The familiar voice belonged to him.

Mayuri groaned inwardly – if there was anybody he didn't want to meet now, it was that man! He shot a quick glance around in the hopes he could sneak away without being noticed.

The area of the Library was one of the few that were open to non-shinigami too, and it was quite

crowded so early in the morning. The air was heavy with the smell of oil and smoke and alongside the wide street, open storefronts displayed their wares: fruits, fish and other foods together with the essential accessories of everyday life. Merchants stood behind the counters, haggling loudly with customers, shinigami were hurrying to work, servants of the rich made their daily shopping rounds and housewives with children tagging after them were chatting cheerfully while they were viewing the goods.

Quite a few people were going about their business in big groups and Mayuri was just about to join the next one passing by when something peculiar caught his attention: on the other side of the street a black cat was sauntering casually under the bushes. It stopped for a moment at a nearby fish counter eyeing a nice, fat slice of salmon, then continued on its way.

This wasn't supposed to be strange because cats do this all the time, but Mayuri realized something was off about this one. Normal cats are rarely followed by ninjas, particularly not by rather conspicuous ones. In general, ninjas are masters of not being seen, but these two were failing miserably. Trailing animals surely wasn't part of the elite training of the second squad, mused Mayuri, especially not cats jumping over walls.

After they passed the street returned to normal and since U.K. was nowhere to be seen, Mayuri stood up and decided to leave. And that was the moment when he felt it.

Warm breath slid over on the nape of his neck, touching his earlobe and Mayuri froze as he heard an excited voice whispering conspiratorially in his ear:

"Who are we spying on?"

Mayuri almost jumped – he needed all his willpower to keep still and not betray his surprise. He knew the voice belonged to U.K. even without looking at him. This was just his luck. He turned slowly and stared the other straight in the eye. He couldn't even imagine how the man was able to sneak upon him without him noticing, but now the other shinigami was almost standing on his feet. This would have revolted him before, but now his attention was drawn to the nice smell of warm skin. There was the soft, clean smell of bathing soap and the raspy aroma of expensive tobacco, underlined with a much sharper, metallic scent of chemicals that lingered in every laboratory and a warm, spicy fragrance he just couldn't place.

"Would you stop doing this?" demanded Mayuri. He tried to keep his voice polite, but he knew the forced restraint was clearly distinct in it.

Yet, even if the other shinigami noticed, it didn't show; with his sparkling gray eyes, blond hair and wide smile he looked like the embodiment of absolute innocence as he asked:

"Doing what?"

Mayuri frowned.

"Standing this close to me!" he hissed through his teeth.

"Oh. I thought you were in the mood," said U.K. teasingly, but he backed away a bit. "Spying, I mean!" he added hastily with a disarming grin.

Mayuri was taken aback. He suspected the other wanted something with this strange play, but he couldn't even imagine what. Everyone he met considered him weird, maybe even frightening and definitely someone who was better to be avoided, yet this man almost looked like he was taking interest in him. This wasn't _normal_!

"By the way, your formula will not work," continued U.K. casually as he fished a scroll out of the arm of his kimono, pushing it into Mayuri's hand: "I think you might find this interesting..." he added. "But we can talk about this next time. Let's say... Sunday? You will know the time and place," and before Mayuri could have reacted in even the slightest way, he was gone with swift steps between the passers-by.

Mayuri just stood there dumbfounded and confused for a long time, glaring at the paper in his hands, while thousands of thoughts were screaming through his head. He couldn't help but feel he just missed something very important.

He tilted up his head as he heard a little noise. The same black cat he had seen before was now sitting in front of him on the wall. It almost looked as if it was laughing at him.

"What is it, fleabag?" scowled Mayuri.

Not too surprisingly the cat didn't answer, only blinked scornfully a few times before - with a quick jump - it was gone among the rooftops.

**-oOo-**

It was already late afternoon by the time Momotaro was walking home from work with two heavy paper bags in his arms. He was dead tired, but he had to do the shopping because Mayuri stated on the very first day that this was the least he expected as compensation for the situation they were in. Not that Momotaro hadn't expected this; he was sure Mayuri would never let good blackmail material go to waste. He suspected, when they are both old grandfathers, toothless, with bent backs and long, flowing beards, Mayuri would still be trying to blackmail him into giving up his set of false teeth or toilet paper or whatever else old men value to him, saying:

"_If I were the officer of the 12th..._"

Momotaro couldn't help but feel the whole situation was kind of childish (to say the least), but there was no helping it. For someone as intelligent as Mayuri thought himself to be, he could be incredibly stupid sometimes; he only had to ask and Momotaro would have done almost anything for him.

The reason for this was that the world contained only four kinds of things for Momotaro: the things he ate, the things he tried to run away from, the things he tried to befriend and stones. Mayuri didn't look tasty, he was definitely not rock-like and Momotaro found it difficult to run away from him now, as they lived under the same roof. This left only one option open in Momotaro's mind: they ought to become friends!

After having spent so much time together in the past few days, in spite of all the vexing, he couldn't help but feel slightly attached to Mayuri. It was probably the same kind of suicidal affection a cat lover would feel towards an especially repulsive stray cat; one of those typical toms with a missing eye, ripped off ears and a sly, smashed face, which appears each morning in your garden, digs out your flowers and pees on your wall and when he has finished, he begs for milk, but bites your hand if you try to pet him. Of course you would like to kick him hard a few times and you feel annoyed with selfishness when, he leaves you without a second thought as soon as he is full, but when he reappears the next morning you will feed him again because, well, you have kind of gotten used to having him around. And there is also something endearing in the way he always returns for his milk.

Momotaro turned a corner into a narrow street with identical little houses and small estates hidden behind ramshackle walls, crammed together on both sides. His own flat was visible from here and Momotaro allowed himself a sigh of relief when he saw it was still standing. He had left it with a bad feeling that morning when he learned that he would arrive home later than Mayuri, and the other man would spend hours alone in it. He didn't know what he expected to find coming home, but he felt a crater in place of the building wouldn't surprise him. Or more likely: a crater in place of his neighbor's building.

A cat was napping lazily on the wall opposite the stairs; its black fur was shining in the afternoon light and its whiskers were fluttered sleepily with each breath it drew. When it noticed that someone was nearing, it lazily opened one yellow eye and shot a cold, _you-are-not-interesting, let-me-sleep_ glance (the one cats are so good at) towards Momotaro.

The shinigami watched it in amazement. He had always been fond of cats! He knew most of those that lived around, but he had never seen this particular one. It looked well fed and healthy, unlike most stray cats, and Momotaro couldn't resist the thousand year old mystical urge that awakes at times like this in most humans: to reach out and pet the cat with with a sheepish smile plastered on his face and chirping "Kitty!".

But his fingertips had hardly brushed the animal's fur, when its eyes snapped wide open and it hastily backed away just enough to make Momotaro unable to reach it. The shinigami stumbled against the wall and almost dropped the bags from his hands, but he didn't let himself be discouraged by that. He stood on tiptoe and to keep his balance he pressed against the bricks of the wall. He almost touched the cat again, before it leisurely got up and walked a few steps away. Then it lay down on its belly and stretched its limbs with a wide yawn full of white teeth and pink tongue.

"Come here, kitty! I won't hurt you!" Momotaro, guided by a sudden idea, quickly put the paper bags down and reached under the plank stairs of his house. He knew there must be a plate there somewhere that he occasionally used to feed the cats living in the neighborhood. He found it exactly where he put it; it was old, a bit dusty from being kept there, but cats had never complained about it. He fished out a bottle of milk from one of the bags and poured some in the plate and offered it to the cat.

"Come now! I give you yummy milk!" said Momotaro, beaming happily. "Who's the good kitty? Coostie-cute kitty-cat?"

The cat froze and its eyes widened until it looked like they were about to pop out. Then, after a moment of silence it raised one of its small, black paws in front of itself, clenched like a fist and then it slowly stretched its middle finger.

Momotaro's jaw dropped.

"Now-now," he said with a half hearted laugh, "for a moment it looked like you did that on purpose! But that's impossible..."

Momotaro's eyes widened. The cat stared back impudently.

A claw snapped out and for a moment it looked like the paw rose even higher

"Oh," Momotaro muttered, dumbfounded. "Err..."

He quickly picked up the bags and rushed into the house so fast he almost stumbled over his own legs.

**-oOo-**

When the cat saw Momotaro disappearing behind the door of his house, she jumped off the wall and rushed down the street. She had spent her whole day following a shinigami, watching from the shadows. Now she felt she had seen enough and she was less than happy about it. She had to find her friend and warn him before it was too late, before he made a terrible mistake and ruined both of their names for good! When she reached the border of the district, she pulled herself onto the low eaves of a villa. Rooftops spread around her like a barren, red and gray landscape of tiled peaks.

The core of Seireitei, the old town district, was built around the slopes of Senzaikyuu based on the ancient Chinese model of city design that was much liked in the past for its sophisticated elegance and impression of spaciousness. Wide roads led to the Shrine of Penitence, but behind the walls of the old district Seireitei grew in the natural way of cities, turning into a confusing, convoluted maze where sometimes even its residents lost their way. The rooftops offered the quickest way of traveling for anyone who wanted to make sure they would arrive wherever they intended to.

Jumping from house to house and over narrow lanes, she quickly reached the buildings of the 12th division compound. Nobody paid any attention to her as she passed by the guards; clearly, they didn't expect a cat to rob the place. She quickly located the window she was looking for and slipped through it with soundless movements.

The room she found herself in was dark in spite of the large, open windows. Only a tall, standing oil lamp gave light; painting long, sharp shadows on the walls. Two men were sitting at their office tables, doing the paperwork in resigned silence. They noticed the cat immediately.

"Well, if it isn't Yoruichi-san!" greeted Urahara cheerfully, jumping up from his seat. He looked as happy as if they hadn't met for ages, but Yoruichi guessed he was just glad for the diversion from the boring job.

Apparently the other man, Morihashi must have had the same doubts, because his eyebrows knotted into a stern frown for a moment, as he put down his brush.

"Greetings, Captain Shihouin!" He managed a polite, albeit curt nod, and then stood up. "I shall get you a tea and... some milk," he said glancing hesitantly towards the cat and left the room. Yoruichi wasn't thirsty and Morihashi had probably guessed this much and was just using this as an excuse to leave before his presence became bothersome. Only after the door closed behind him did Urahara allow himself a relieved sigh.

"Gods, you have saved me! That guy is a slave driver!"

"Why are you working with him again? Where is Hiyori?"

Urahara scratched his head, avoiding Yoruichi's gaze.

"I let her go home earlier today. This kind of job is not her strength," he muttered contritely.

Yoruichi's eyes narrowed disapprovingly. So far it looked like no job was Hiyori's strength unless it could be done by breaking someone's jaw, she thought.

Ever since Urahara became a captain, he had only problems with his second in command. Urahara, who never liked to give up on anyone, tried his best to befriend Hiyori (probably because she was his first vice-captain, or perhaps because he saw the troubled child in her), while others tolerated her because she was close to Captain Hirako and antagonizing a captain's favorite has never been a wise thing to do. Still the leaving of her ex-captain took a heavy toll on Hiyori and she seemed to be unable to understand that by doing her job she was not doing a personal favor for anyone but fulfilling her sworn duty towards the Gotei 13 as a shinigami. Now the only things she seemed to excel in were disobedience, screaming and complaining, leaving most of her part of desk work (which didn't require a loud mouth as much as patience) to her captain and the 3rd seat Morihashi to do.

Urahara averted his gaze for an instant. He knew well what Yoruichi was thinking but he'd rather avoid another futile argument over the topic, so in a swift change of subject, he asked:

"What can I thank for this wonderful visit?"

"I saw you in the Library today," Yoruichi said with sudden grimness in her voice. "I think there is something we should talk about."

"You were there in the Library?" repeated Urahara, his eyebrows rising in surprise. "But I didn't see you!"

"I noticed that," said Yoruichi with a nod and she felt an all knowing, teasing grin forming on her lips despite herself. "You were too busy with ogling a certain rookie to see _anything_ else. You know, the one with the nice ass."

"I can assure you I can't even imagine what you are talking about," protested Urahara, his smile not even wavering.

"I bet you can't," muttered the cat sarcastically.

A sudden wind swept through the room, coming from the opened windows, carrying the sour scent of fallen leaves. The fire in the lamp flashed and flickered for a moment as if it was about to go out, breaking the shadows apart. The world changed for a heartbeat: familiar shapes turned into formless shadows of long fanged monsters, lurking in the corners, chasing each other behind the pale paper of the window. Then Urahara suddenly rose, stepped up to the lamp and shielded the fire from the wind with his hands. Darkness befell the place, blinding the eyes, but when he took his hands away, the flame was motionless again and the vision was gone.

"I followed him around today," said Yoruichi.

"Maa! I am sure there must be a law against this!"

"Well, I was curious. I have hardly seen you in the past month and it was only natural for me to want to know the reason!" protested the cat. "To tell the truth, I was kind of disappointed when I saw him. Why him of all people? But I guess it's just logical. I knew he is the kind of person whom you would find interesting."

Urahara shot a surprised glance at her; Yoruichi's voice was heavy with an unusual bitterness he had never noticed in her before. He said, carefully:

"You talk like you know him."

"I do. We..." she hesitated for a moment before finishing awkwardly, "have met before," but the look in her yellow eyes defied any further inquiring.

Urahara frowned, as if about to object, but he remained silent. If Yoruichi didn't want to talk about it, he would respect her wish, although he found it rather strange. Yoruichi and he had nothing to hide from each other, and the way she acted now filled him with concern. Why would she want to keep secrets from him?

"You should stay away from him," she continued quietly. "He will only get you into trouble."

"Trouble has never bothered you before. Why the sudden change now?" said Urahara with a smirk but his voice sounded unconvincing even to himself.

He feared that this would become another one of those '_you should/you shouldn't'_ arguments that had been occurring so frequently between them since his promotion to the post of a captain. Yoruichi seemed to have taken it into her head that she would turn him into a proper captain – it was she after all who had recommended him to the High Captain, so in a way she would share Urahara's failure too, if it happened. However, while he understood Yoruichi's worry, Urahara couldn't help but wish she had a bit more faith in his ability to make his own decisions. Her constant attention had slowly created a distance between them and Urahara felt their friendship continually weakening in the past year, losing its old intimacy. It troubled him, but he could do nothing about it. He hoped he could lighten her up with humor, but it only made Yoruichi even more irritated.

"That is not the same! Do not try to avoid the topic!" she snapped at him impatiently. Pausing for a moment to regain her composure, she drew a sharp breath and continued in a low, concerned tone, "You have no idea what kind of person that one is. His mother..."

"I _do_ know about _that,_" interrupted Urahara. "I have heard the rumors, but I don't think that we are supposed to be bothered by them. You know how it is, you could execute half of Seireitei based on rumors and send the other half into the Maggots Nest."

Pacing up and down along his table, Urahara's eyes lit up and his voice became agitated.

"Do you know what the problem with the whole Soul Society is? That we are so afraid of danger! We over-secure everything. Why do we believe that what is different must also be wrong at the same time? We can't even stand changes in the weather! We close up people with different thoughts because they _could be_ dangerous? If there are dangers, we should note them, we should keep our eyes on them. We should find a way to control them and we should concentrate on their positive sides. Instead of that, what do we do now?" he sighed. "Hiding from danger and pretending that anything different does not exist, we will never achieve anything, except maybe we will conserve our existence until the end of time without the smallest step forward."

"Just look at the Living World! Living world people use electricity even in the smallest house and drinking water comes from the taps. Technology is available for everyone, while most people in Rukongai are still living in poverty like in the dark Middle Ages because the Office of 46 says that what was good for them for a millennium must be good for them now too. Shinigami still fight the hollows like they have been doing for many hundred years and nobody even tried to make it more effective. If only there could be a way to strengthen a soul... We could become more effective. We could make this world into a better place. However, for this I need people with abilities like his."

"But is there nobody else?" Yoruichi tried to sound reasonable, but exasperation underlay her tone. "For the sake of your division and your work, you should find someone less questionable!" she said, but Urahara only shook his head firmly.

"To get a different solution one always needs a different approach," he said. Then, because he didn't want to anger her, he added with a placating smile, "Can't we forget about that Yoruichi-san? All those things happened very long ago. Everyone deserves another chance."

The cat shrugged.

"Some may not be as open minded about this as you are."

"Probably," agreed Urahara,"but does it really matter? He passed the background check and got into the Gotei 13 so he is considered acceptable."

The cat shot a long, wondering glance towards him.

"Not... exactly," she said haltingly. It was she now who avoided the other's gaze. "When he applied to the Gotei 13 after the Academy, we indeed made the general background check on him as we do on everyone. It came back with a Red Flag."

Slightly disturbed, but not really surprised, a frown crossed Urahara's handsome features.

"Why is he free then? He should have been transported to the Maggots Nest immediately."

"Yes, that is the standard procedure, but apparently a certain amount of money slipped into the right pocket suddenly seemed to make everyone forget about this. Clan Kurotsuchi seems to be desperate to rise in rank and they don't spare money or trouble for it."

"You know about it yet you haven't reported it?"

"I had a reason not to," she said strictly, but Urahara didn't give up.

"What reason?" he asked seriously. He couldn't help but feel alarmed. Yoruichi was easygoing, but she took her job seriously, she would have never allowed such corruptions to go unpunished and Urahara couldn't stop wondering what could have caused it. Just what kind of relationship could be between her and Mayuri?

"That's not important now!" She said with a grave expression. "The importance is that that fool does not even try to lay low. The way he acts now, he draws too much attention and sooner or later someone will learn about the past and possibly about the bribe too. Then nothing will save him from the Maggots Nest." As she talked, her voice softened until it was almost pleading. "You are a captain; you can't afford to get dragged into such trouble!"

Urahara hesitated for a moment, studying her in the flickering lamplight, before answering.

"Thank you for your concern, Yoruichi-san, but... there is no need to worry."

Yoruichi's strained expression indicated that she wasn't convinced, but she saw no point in arguing any longer. If Urahara decided something, there was no stopping him, she knew this well, and she learned it again and again.

"You know what? I think you two deserve each other, you will make a fine pair," she said with a sigh, and even though she tried to smile, her voice was heavy with bitterness; unfamiliar to Urahara. "Both of you should be in the Maggots Nest, because you are just as crazy as he is."

"But Yoruichi-san!" said Urahara with a little laugh. "If I wasn't, how would my plan work?"

Outside, in front of the door, Morihashi's hand hovered over the handle for a moment.

"Maggots Nest, eh? And just what is that?" he muttered under his breath. He quickly arranged his features into a polite, disinterested mask, knocked on the door then entered. "Here is the tea," he said placing the cups in front of the captains. As he returned to his table to continue the paperwork, a little smile formed on his lips.

Yoruichi stayed for a bit longer after Morihashi entered with the refreshments. They talked about little nothings, about friends and rumors, and laughed as if nothing had happened. When she left at last, Urahara saw her out. The yard was dark and seemed to be empty as they passed through it in silence, but from behind the walls came the footsteps and muted bustle of shinigami and servants leaving the compound and hurrying home. Yellow spots, like giant fireflies, lit up and danced in the distance, one after the other – lanterns carried by patrolling troops glowing in the dim twilight – and the cool autumn wind carried the warm smell of charcoal smoke of braziers lit all over the city.

Yoruichi broke the silence again as she asked:

"So you will meet on Sunday?"

"Yes," nodded Urahara.

"Do you think he will come?" she wondered.

"He will definitely come. His curiosity won't let him not!"

They reached the compound gate. Pigeons cooed and fluttered somewhere above them under the eaves, arguing over the good sleeping places; and huge, black crows were soaring in the sky towards Rukongai. The world was preparing for the night.

"Well... I suppose I should wish you good luck," said the cat. "You will need it."

And before Urahara could answer anything, she was gone, her black fur melting into the darkness of the evening.

Urahara stood there for a long time, watching the lights even after she was gone. He was thinking about how Yoruichi had avoided answering his questions and how he couldn't even understand the answers. He wondered if this had meant that in spite of the smiles, the distance between them had grown larger than he had suspected before, and his heart sank. Was there trust between them no more?

He looked up at the night sky, where the first stars had started to awaken and their soft light was pulsing hesitantly as if they weren't sure it was their time already.

Urahara sighed heavily. He was worried about Yoruichi.


	6. The Portrait of a Man

**Warning: ** Please note that no animals were harmed during the making of this fic! We like mice! We really do! :)

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**The Portrait of a Man**

In the middle of the night Mayuri was awakened by the numb silence that had filled the room. After the years he had spent in the barracks, he found it difficult to get used to the quiet of Momotaro's house. Without the constant little noises of the dark (the snoring and the cracking of the wood of the veranda outside as the patrols passed by) he felt strangely lost. Even at home the nights were rarely this silent. The corridors were always full of the sounds of hurried steps, the soft rustling of kimonos and the subdued whispers of the servants. Especially on those nights...

He couldn't remember exactly the point when he got so used to the sounds of shouting, screaming and breaking furniture that it didn't bother him any longer, but he could recall that as a child there was a time he was so afraid of them he hid beside the cabinet and pulled the quilts over his head to silence them. On those nights, an old, wrinkled samurai with just a few strands of grey hair on his blotched head was always sitting in front of his door; whether to keep everyone outside or to make sure he remained inside, he never knew. Yet, even if his presence should have been reassuring, it wasn't, because it never ever occurred to Mayuri that he could be hurt physically. What he feared was rather the sheer irrationality of the situation and the unreasonable anger behind it - this was what hurt him, the sounds themselves.

But those years had passed (even if none too quickly), _that woman_ was dead and he could be free of her demons at last. Now, however, Mayuri had to find out that he couldn't sleep in silence. Life had quite an ironical kind of humor, he decided with a sigh.

He slowly wriggled out of the bed, kicking off the quilts to the corner and lit the old, fat oil lamp on the desk. There were still many hours left till sunrise and he needed to find some way to preoccupy himself before this silence got completely on his nerves, so he quickly dressed, made some tea and settled down at the desk with his notebook to recheck his calculations.

Yet, after hours melted into other hours, the shadows had softened in the room and hid under the tables and in the corners from the approaching dawn, Mayuri was still staring at the very same page. He couldn't concentrate - he was tired and his mind was roaming wildly in a hazy world between the lands of dream and reality. All he managed was scribing a few half sentences on the top of the page, before his hand started to live its own life. First, he just drew a line to the edge of the paper; he wasn't thinking about it, it just came, sneaked upon him and led his hand. Then came another and another, and before he knew what he was doing, he was looking into a face and he was dumbfounded when he realized whose.

He angrily crossed out the picture and threw the notebook into the corner.

"How pathetic," he muttered irately as he stood up, grabbed his cloak and stormed out into the morning, slamming the door behind himself.

When he returned many hours later, the sun was already high up in the sky and Momotaro was sitting with sleepy eyes in his night yukata at the kitchen counter nursing what seemed to be a cup of tea. He looked up in surprise when he noticed the other shinigami.

"Where have you been so early in the morning?" he asked, but Mayuri, instead of answering, just tossed a small vial to him. Momotaro fumbled it out of the air and inspected it. "What is this?"

"My serum," answered Mayuri tersely as he dropped down his overcoat then walked up to the kitchen table and put a small, brown box on it. After that, he fished out an injection needle from the pocket of his sleeve and put it down next to the box.

Hearing Mayuri's words, Momotaro's eyes widened.

"You have finished it? That's great!"

Mayuri humphed noncommitally and snatched the vial out of Momotaro's hands.

"In the past few days I have checked and rechecked all my formulas and couldn't find any error in them, no matter what U.K. says, so the only thing left now is testing it."

Momotaro watched while Mayuri filled the injection needle from the vial and put that on the table too.

"And what do you want to test that thing on? Rats?" he asked idly.

"This is not a simple drug. Normally only embryonic cells are able to develop into each kind of cell in the human body. Each other type of cell has a strict genetically controlled reproduction program, and is able only to copy itself. My serum changes this program, and while it is very likely to work on rats, I engineered it to human genetics," answered Mayuri grimly. "While the spirit system of the animals is similar to that of the humans', there is still a chance the results of animal tests would be partly or entirely invalid."

Momotaro stared at him blankly. No wonder, he thought, Mayuri was acting strange from time to time. Thinking about things like this 24/7 would do things to anyone's head.

"Don't worry," said Momotaro with something he hoped was an encouraging smile. "I'm sure you'll find someone willing. Who wouldn't want to get their lost arms or legs healed back? I am sure Captain Unohana would help if we asked her!"

Mayuri only snorted at the mention of his captain's name, suggesting he wasn't so sure, but instead of saying anything, he turned around and measured Momotaro with a thoughtful look.

"Tell me!" he said suddenly. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fine!" answered Momotaro with a small surprised smile. Mayuri never inquired about his wellbeing, but it felt good to know he cared. "I am still a bit sleepy, but well. Thanks for asking!"

However, his smile immediately froze on his face as he noticed the other shinigami's expression. It was intensely inquiring; maybe a bit too intensely – it looked much like something one would expect to see on creatures with fangs and claws hiding in the high grass.

"Are you sure?" A thin, dark eyebrow arched.

"Well..." Momotaro took a step backwards. He started to have a very bad feeling about this. "I think so. Why?"

Mayuri, instead of answering, started to slowly walk towards Momotaro, his eyes never leaving the other's. Momotaro shivered. Somewhere deep in his soul a little voice suggested that this was the time when he was supposed to turn on his heels and run out of the door as fast as he could. Mayuri was smiling!

"You are completely healthy." This wasn't a question. It was a statement. "You don't have any kind of viral or bacterial infection, do you? Any hereditary heart problems?"

Momotaro wasn't sure. He definitely felt like his heart would jump out of his chest and run away screaming any minute now. He also suspected this must be hereditary. He couldn't imagine there was a member of the human race who would feel different when Mayuri smiled at him like this. Gods, he thought, he could even count his teeth! They were very nice, white teeth, though, he added in his mind. It was kind of a pity Mayuri didn't want to give up his notions about science and start to sell whatever he used on them. Momotaro was sure he could get so much money for that thing, he could drown in it.

"No. Why?"

"Good," said Mayuri gladly. "Now tell me, are you missing any part of your body?"

Momotaro looked at him with an empty glare. Then comprehension dawned.

"Oh," he muttered. "Oh! Oh, no! Forget it! You won't give that thing to me!"

Mayuri's smile fainted a bit, but it didn't disappear.

"Come on now!" he pressed in a tone that could have been almost pleasant under other circumstances. "Do not complicate things! It won't hurt much," he considered this thought for a moment then quickly added with a charming smile. "I can give you painkillers if you want!"

"I don't want! I don't need! I have all my limbs!" yelled Momotaro desperately.

"Fingers?"

"Those too! Everything!"

"Oh," said Mayuri disappointedly. "Pity. But we can remedy this problem easily."

Momotaro paled as he saw Mayuri grabbing the hilt of his sword with an eager grin.

"He-hey! What are you doing?!" Momotaro croaked as he backed hurriedly away until he got the table between them.

"I intend to heal you afterwards," assured him Mayuri. "What's more, I won't even ask money for it if I succeed! That's a really generous offer from me!"

"You mean healing for free my arm or leg that _you_ cut off?"

"Precisely. Oh, don't worry! I will make as clean a cut as I can." He loosened his zanpakuto in its scabbard and - to Momotaro's horror - he started to draw it. "I promise!"

"Are you crazy?!" screamed Momotaro nearly hysterically. "You must be joking!"

As the words died away, it felt like the whole world stopped in a shock of heavy silence. Momotaro looked up in despair. Mayuri stood in front of him motionlessly, his hand frozen in the air with the half-drawn sword in it, and he surveyed Momotaro with a deadpan glare.

"Actually..." he said slowly after a small pause of dramatic effect while his face grew a wide, mischievous grin."I am."

He sheathed his sword with a steady move and with a low chuckle he turned back to the table, leaving a very confused Momotaro behind.

It took a few moments for Momotaro to calm down enough to find his voice again.

"How could you..." he muttered in bewilderment.

Mayuri only smirked at him pleasantly.

"Oh my! Loosen up a bit! Even I can joke sometimes!" Then after a bit of consideration he added, "You couldn't seriously believe I would have you die on me while I live here! That would be very foolish. Everyone would immediately accuse me."

Momotaro shrugged. This knowledge didn't exactly put his mind at peace, but he had to admit this was still better than what the rest of Seireitei could say about themselves.

Still, Mayuri joking and smiling was a rare sight indeed.

"You seem to be in a good mood," Momotaro said at last, tentatively.

"Do I? That is possible," admitted Mayuri. He almost sounded amicable. "Today I will prove that I am right and U.K. is merely a bungling dunce, so I believe I definitely have a reason to be in a good mood."

Momotaro nodded. _Bungling dunce, eh?_

Mayuri had called U.K. many things before, but if anything, he had always admitted that the other shinigami was good at what he did; however, in the past week he had became suspiciously silent whenever the topic emerged. Something must have happened between the two of them at the Library, Momotaro was sure, and he would have given a lot to know what.

Mayuri picked up the brown box from the table, opened it and shook a little gray mouse out of it into his palm and with a wide, elegant move he pushed the mouse into Momotaro's hand.

"Let me introduce to you our experiment material for today."

The mouse looked around, a bit stunned from the sudden light. Its small pink nose quivered about in the air, sniffing. Momotaro inspected it.

"Didn't you say that..."

"I know what I said," interposed Mayuri sternly. "We will manage with a mouse this time. While it is certainly not as good as a living human would be, its disappearance will draw less attention." He produced a roll of thick, white thread from one of the drawers and tied a piece of it tightly around one tiny leg. Then he turned around and after a brief moment of thinking picked up the hugest knife he could find on the counter.

Momotaro eyed it with suspicion.

"What do you want with that?"

Mayuri froze and his eyebrows arched in surprise as he glanced from Momotaro to the knife and back again.

"Is that a trick question?" he inquired and snatched the mouse from the other shinigami's hand, pressed it to the kitchen table, and with a single, confident move chopped its leg off.

Momotaro just stared at the growing pool of blood with eyes wide from shock after the knife had struck down with a single, dull thud; then the world turned mercifully dark when he fainted.

He awoke to someone shaking him. When he opened his eyes, Mayuri was standing above him with a bloody knife in his hand.

"Get up! Get a grip of yourself! You will miss the best part!"

Momotaro felt he wouldn't mind missing the "best part" at all, but a morbid little voice in his head didn't let him black out again; so after a bit of trying he gave up and looked helplessly at the table.

Mayuri picked up the filled needle and injected its content into the mouse. The little rodent that had been squealing desperately up until then, suddenly became silent with a confused glare on its furry face. A tremble ran over it, up to its missing leg, its body writhed and suddenly, with a sound of bone cracking so quietly it was hardly noticeable, its wound closed and a little bump formed in its place. The bump grew and twisted until it became a leg with an uncharacteristically loud _popping_ sound.

The mouse's eyes widened perplexedly as it raised its leg and carefully shook it as if to check it was real indeed.

Momotaro blinked in fascination, all his previous suffering forgotten at once.

"Incredible... " he whispered as he leaned over the table to examine the animal. "It works! You were right!"

Mayuri straightened up again, his face glowing with self-satisfaction.

"Of course I was. I don't see how could this be a question. What you saw here today is the victory of prope..."

_Pop!_

Mayuri's expression froze.

_Pop! Pop!_

He turned slowly around.

_Pop-pop-pop!_

"How odd," he said at last, evenly.

_Pop! Pop-pop-pop-pop! Pop! _

Odd probably wasn't the way Momotaro would have described the picture in front of them; he felt maybe an unarticulated, blood-curdling, marrow-freezing scream would grasp the idea better, but that's a bit difficult to insert into a proper sentence. Or rather, Momotaro hoped this was the situation, because he felt the thought that Mayuri just didn't want to scream seeing what _he_ did was more than what he could handle right now. The thing on the table looked like something that would probably be the result of cross-breeding a centipede with a mouse and one of those little, wobbly rubber balls with countless tiny suction-cups around them. It already had about a dozen legs and it was growing new ones in every other second with a loud volley of _pops_. It sounded exactly like popcorn when its getting ready.

The mouse glanced quizzically from one leg to another (and another and another...) and rolled its eyes. Then it rolled its head too, as if it found the skin around its neck too tight, and with a pop much _much_ louder than the ones before, it grew another head.

And then it blew up.

Momotaro didn't even budge.

He just stood there, still leaning over the table with mouse parts dripping all over him. He didn't dare to rise or to turn around, he didn't even dare to blink for a moment because he was sure that as soon as he moved he would realize what he saw was real, and he would faint again immediately.

He heard the sharp sound of indrawn breath; and as he slowly - very slowly - turned around, he saw Mayuri crawling out from behind the kitchen counter where he managed to hide just in time.

"This was... educational," Mayuri stated in a colorless voice as he was dusting his hakama.

Still in daze, Momotaro felt his head nodding in agreement and heard someone else, using his voice, asking from very far away:

"So, does this prove now that U.K. is a bungling dunce?"

Mayuri froze and shot an icy stare at Momotaro for a long moment but instead of answering he only rolled his eyes and straightened proudly.

"This place is a mess," he scowled in disgust. "Clean it up!" and with that, he stormed out through the door.

**-oOo-**

Meanwhile, somewhere else in Seireitei, in a dark and lonely office, Morihashi stamped a seal on a paper, then picked it up to clear the remaining drops of seal paste from it with a soft cloth. When he finished, gently, with an almost religious like care, he placed it back into its box. It wasn't an ordinary stamp. It was an inkan, an official seal carved from a single piece of pale green jade. There were only two kanjis on it, in a square frame, which gave out a name in the red paint on the paper: Urahara.

The shinigami closed the box, opened a drawer of the desk he sat at, took it out completely and placed it on the floor. Then he reached into the empty space in the table that it left until he felt his fingers touching a small dent in the wood. He hooked his finger in it and pulled it.

With a soft click a panel opened at the side of the furniture, with a tiny secret drawer behind it.

Morihashi carefully placed the box in it, closed the panel and started to arrange everything back to their place in the office.

It would be wrong to say that Morihashi smiled. That was an action he felt wouldn't go well with his position, but the corners of his mouth had certainly twitched upwards in a way that almost looked like a smile. He neatly folded the paper and discreetly hid it in his kimono. Another permit was ready for use, but in the case of this one, Urahara probably wouldn't be too happy to know what authorization he supposedly had just signed...

In spite of his appearance, Morihashi Junnosuke was not a young man. He was the 3rd seat of the 12th division not only under Urahara, but also under the previous captain, Hikifune, and probably even under the captain before her. In truth nobody in Soul Society could remember a time when Morihashi was _not_ the 3rd seat of the 12th division. He had _always_ been lurking around, in the offices or in the dark corridors with his notebooks, pale, gaunt face and polite, calm voice and absolutely nobody could recall a day he had ever spent away from work. He lived in the division compound and in peoples' minds he was part of it just like the walls – nobody seemed to notice him when he was there, but nobody could imagine what would happen to the place if he was gone either.

Captains appeared and disappeared over the years, but Morihashi had always remained. Not because he was popular (he wasn't the least bit creative or even powerful), but he had an ability that made him needed by everyone: he was one of the natural bureaucrats with a brain so strictly systematized clockwork could get jealous of it, the kind who knew everything that could be known about the laws and rules. He was probably the only one in Soul Society who always knew the answer to the ancient questions of humanity like: "_Which document do I need to fill out now to get my money?_" or "_Where the Hell_ _was this written in the contract? I have never seen anything like that in it!_" and, of course "_Where is my coffee?_"

He felt that it was really _his_ division - captains only lead it - and useless trash had no place in it. He couldn't do anything against Hiyori, but he would try his best to prevent another mistake, even if he had to risk his captain's trust. Urahara had to understand him, after all he only wanted the best for _their_ squad - and for that now he just had to stomp on a few 'cockroaches'.

**-oOo-**

Momotaro sat back on his heels and wiped his forehead with the hem of his kimono. He was tired. He had spent the whole morning cleaning up the mess Mayuri caused with the mouse. He washed the floor at least ten times and he couldn't even count how many times he had scrubbed the dining table until he was sure there was no more blood on it, though he could still smell the distinctive metallic scent.

This was something that happened more often nowadays than he would have liked – in fact he couldn't remember doing anything else but cleaning since his new roommate had moved in and it wasn't only because of the homemade experiments.

What Mayuri said before was true, he didn't have many things – or at least not many kinds, but his belongings could be divided roughly into three groups: books, notes and what Momotaro (for lack of better words) liked to call "suspicious things". Sometimes they were organic, usually brown and _always _gruesome. Mayuri said that they had their uses, but Momotaro couldn't imagine what. They didn't seem to be good for anything, but giving the room a peculiar air that made everyone who stayed there for more than five minutes feel the need to run into the nearest bathhouse and scrub their skins. Even from the inside.

Momotaro tried to counter this and bring some homey feeling back to the place. He smuggled small objects into the room and onto the shelves, like an ikebana arrangement (a gift from a nurse of the 4th), tatami with colorful lining, dry flowers and an old warrior doll he had got on Boy's Day many years ago, but it was all futile. Most things disappeared by the next morning, only to turn up in the trash outside. The lone exception was the doll, although its head was sitting between its shoulders at a rather strange angle, and when he tried to set it straight, it fell off. In the end Momotaro felt the only way he could fight back was by cleaning, which actually made no difference at all, but it made him feel better.

Momotaro felt it was curious, how he couldn't imagine Mayuri cleaning up his own mess, but he suspected that this could be the key to another mystery that had been bothering him for a while: why would someone like Mayuri, who made such a play of his independence, insist on moving into his apartment so much? In a manner, Momotaro's home did offer more freedom than the barracks, yet in a funny way it also allowed less. In the barracks nobody cared about what the others did, while here, in this little house, Momotaro and Mayuri became part of each other's life to a point where it almost made any kind of privacy impossible. It just didn't seem to make sense.

But in the past few days, Momotaro slowly started to realize that no matter how much Mayuri hated people, he seemed to always need someone around. Not to share his day with him, but to be able to hit him, kick him or to be rude to him, and to assure him and the rest of the world how little that person is needed by him – after all, there is not much point in being independent if there is nobody you could be independent from. Mayuri had to drag someone along to demonstrate to everyone, probably even to himself, how little he needs anyone, because otherwise he would have to face the fact that nobody really cares.

Momotaro felt that from a certain point of view Mayuri's life must have been a lonely one. After all, no matter how self-centered and self-reliant you are, it must be somewhat depressing to know that the only reason people would ever go to your funeral is to make sure you won't get out of your coffin.

With a sigh Momotaro shooed this thought away and glanced around the room for one last time to check if anything needed any more scrubbing when something caught his eyes: a dark shadow was looming in the corner. He couldn't make out its contours well, but he didn't feel like taking chances with Mayuri's _trinkets _around, so he quickly picked up the biggest knife he could find on the counter behind him. If that shadow tried to move, he would make fishcake out of it! - he thought.

The shade didn't move and when Momotaro got closer he realized with relief that it was only a battered notebook stuck between one of the old tansu and the wall. He recognized immediately that it belonged to Mayuri, but his curiosity got the better of him. This was one of the little books Mayuri always carried on himself and though Momotaro felt guilty about it, he couldn't help but wonder what kind of little secrets its pages held. Mayuri was always so protective of his notes it couldn't be that he only wrote his calculations in it reasoned Momotaro, so he fished it out and flipped through the pages.

To his disappointment, he found nothing but boring stipulations on hundreds of pages, all written in Mayuri's erratic and square handwriting. Here and there little drawings broke the monotony of the text, but nothing interesting - at least Momotaro thought so until he reached the last used page. At what he found there, he felt the blood draining from his face.

It was only a sketch, nothing more then a few bold, black lines but nevertheless they made out a face so perfectly, it couldn't be mistaken. It was not the details, but the picture as a whole, even half finished as it was, captured the person's very being so flawlessly, Momotaro could feel the hair stand on his neck. Dark eyes gazed into his own from out of that loosely drawn shape with the same probing intelligence and intensity as in real life. It was an almost exact portrait of Urahara.

Still, this picture wasn't one ever meant for prying eyes - or at least the huge, thick X it was crossed out with suggested this. And suddenly a dreadful question occurred to Momotaro: Why exactly did Mayuri have a picture of Captain Urahara in his notebook? - and his brain almost immediately came up with the worst possible answer...

He bit his lip as he thought it over again and again and he felt his knees starting to shake.

This was bad. Very, very bad! He had to make sure! He had to make sure that... that he was only... only imagining things! Urahara Kisuke and U.K. couldn't possibly be the same man, could they?

He quickly jumped to his feet, still holding the notebook tightly in his hands and tried to think over what he should do. First he had to talk to Mayuri and then... and then...

And then he heard the window behind him breaking with a loud crash. Momotaro froze for a second before turning around, slowly.

Right across from the window, on the freshly cleaned wall of his freshly cleaned room, was a huge, ghastly message written with something that looked very much like blood, dripping like the dying message of a suffering wraith:

"_If you want to know the answer to your questions, come tonight in the hour of the dog, to the Taboku Kaiseki in the second district of Rukongai. Come alone! U.K._"

For a long moment Momotaro could only stare at the text in incomprehension, his mind battling between two sides: the rational part of him wondered what was the suitable reaction in a situation like this (screaming just seemed too feminine, while ignoring it and continuing with what he was doing before felt impossible), while his less rational part was just fed up with everything and simply wanted to turn his brain off.

"Oh bugger!" he groaned bitterly.

This wasn't fair!

.


	7. The Taboku Kaiseki

**Chapter 7**

**The Taboku Kaiseki**

.**  
**

The _Taboku Kaiseki _was a restaurant in one of the more densely populated parts of the second district. It was popular among the locals and maybe because of this, shinigami were a rare sight there. Which was exactly how Urahara preferred it.

He took a seat, ordered some sake from the old, wrinkled waitress, lit his pipe and looked around.

Nicotine stained lampions hung cheerlessly from the ceiling and shone their dim, yellow light through the room. It was a busy evening - the place was crowded and the air was heavy with smoke, the smell of freshly made food and the bustle of conversations. At the tables, people were chatting heartily while laughter, drunken singing and the snapping sound of shamisen music echoed down from the upstairs guest chambers.

Urahara nestled comfortably into his chair and waited. He blew a puff of smoke and watched it disappearing into the gloomy gray mist that settled under the ceiling while he thought over his plans for the evening. When Mayuri arrives, they would drink some sake, discuss the solution to the problem with his serum, then he could reveal himself at last and offer a position on his research team to the other shinigami. He snickered quietly as he imagined the surprised face the other would make when he hears this revelation. Oh, he could hardly wait to see it! Everything shaped up perfectly! He exhaled the last mouthful of tobacco smoke and after some hesitating, he lit up his pipe again and leaned back on the chair lazily.

"Come to think of it, shouldn't Mayuri be here already?" he pondered.

Suddenly he felt light tapping on his arm. As he turned, he saw the waitress grinning a half-hearted, toothless smile at him. She bowed and asked:

"Excuse me, master, but would you like something to eat too?"

Urahara politely assured her he wouldn't, because he was waiting for someone.

The woman bowed again, and shot nervous little glances around before she left. As Urahara followed her motion he couldn't help but notice that even though people were so squashed together in the corner they were practically standing on each other's feet, the tables around him were all strangely empty.

About half an hour later the waitress returned, and inquired if he had changed his mind, but the bow was a bit less deep this time and the smile a bit less warm. Hearing the unfavorable answer, she reluctantly waddled away among the tables. By now Urahara's high spirit had evaporated and he was glancing more and more impatiently towards the entrance. It was already dark outside, but Mayuri was still nowhere to be seen.

When, about half an hour later, the waitress returned she wasn't smiling at all, and Urahara got the impression that a huge shadow of a man standing in the kitchen doorway with a cleaver in hand was watching him intently, as if he was thinking about the best way to make some shinigami-sashimi.

Urahara bit the inside of his face. Where the _hell_ was Mayuri? He should have been here _hours_ ago! Could it be he won't come at all?

He glanced at the little old woman, who was tapping with her feet. The whole situation started to became so uncomfortable, he decided it was time to leave. So he stood up and was just about to excuse himself when suddenly he heard the sound of someone clearing his throat behind him.

"Leaving already?" asked a voice wryly, and as Urahara turned around, he saw Mayuri standing there, armed with an all telling, disapproving frown. "I thought we were to drink something. Or was I wrong and you simply wanted to show me how you get yourself thrown out from a restaurant?"

Urahara took a deep, relieved breath. He felt that he had not been this happy to see anyone for a long time.

"Kurotsuchi-san! I'm glad to see you!"

"That is good," nodded Mayuri. "Then at least one of us is happy to see the other again."

"Don't be like that! No one forced you to come, yet you did," Urahara chided him with a cheerful, disarming smile, which almost instantly died a horrible death on Mayuri's icy glare.

"True," Mayuri admitted quietly after a moment of thought.

The two shinigami sat down at the table and watched as the waitress scuffled away for another menu while the rest of the customers settled back to their chairs with disappointed grumbles. Beating up a shinigami seemed like fun, but getting on the wrong side of _two_ of them suddenly sounded too much like trouble.

"Already making new friends, I see," Mayuri stated sardonically as he glanced around the room.

Urahara scratched his head, chortling in vague embarrassment.

"I alway seem to draw the wrong kind of attention, don't I? I think it must be this black kimono..."

Mayuri just snorted contemptuously, as if to assure the other that the kimono had nothing to do with it, but instead of answering, he leaned back on his chair with his arms crossed and shot a pointed, measuring look at Urahara. It was suggesting that he would do well to get to the point, because although Mayuri might have come, he didn't feel like spending his time with idle chatting.

Urahara, however, wasn't easily unnerved.

"Come on, don't be like that! Why don't we just loosen up a bit?" he suggested placatingly. "I invited you here for dinner, so let's have something to eat. I will pay today, order whatever you want!"

Hearing this, Mayuri's eyes became unfocused, as though he was doing a lot of quick thinking, then abruptly his face grew a sly, evil smile.

"Oh? Generous, aren't you?" he said sweetly and when the waitress arrived back with the menus, he enthusiastically snatched one and began flipping through the pages. He finished shortly, saying only one sentence to the waitress: "I want one of everything."

The waitress' eyes widened.

"The... _whole menu_, master?"

"Of course. My friend here will pay for _everything_," Mayuri assured her nonchalantly, smiling sweetly towards Urahara, who could only gawk like a fish out of water.

"And, of course, we want sake," Mayuri continued. "Three bottles of your most exclusive one."

At last the waitress turned to Urahara and asked:

"And for you, master?"

Urahara, still in shock, could only squeeze out a weak: "Just a cup of water, please!"

When the waitress left, silence slammed down between them - an awkward, heavy silence. Mayuri was sitting so motionlessly that Urahara felt it would be easy to completely forget that he was there at all; he practically faded into the background. All the while, he was inspecting Urahara from behind half closed eyelids. It was rather uncanny.

Urahara thought: he is waiting me to react. This is his revenge for throwing him into the lake; he couldn't hurt me physically, so he must have decided to eat me out of my wealth instead. He has done something I should be angry for, and he did it on purpose, just to see how I would lose my temper and give a reason for him to strike back again, until one of us is scared away or bends to the other's will. I offered him peace, and now he is testing me and his boundaries with me.

But loudly he only said:

"It's all right," and smiled at the other shinigami. _It's all right, because I won't back off_.

A flash of annoyance crossed Mayuri's face for a moment, but it was almost gone immediately.

Soon the sake arrived, and they drank in silence for a while; or rather, Urahara did. Even though it was Mayuri who ordered the liqueur, he didn't touch it, he just sat there and watched Urahara with his distrustful, amber eyes.

At last Urahara grew tired of the situation, picked up the bottle and filled a cup for Mayuri.

"If I have to pay a month's worth of salary for it, won't you at least try it?" he asked tentatively.

Mayuri hesitated for a moment, shooting a suspicious glance at Urahara, but he drank it up with a swift move. The liquid hardly touched his lips, his eyes widened and he couldn't bite back a soft sigh of surprise.

The sake had a very smooth, sweet taste that tempted the drinker oh-so-subtly to drink another cup. It warmed his throat for a moment and became like liquid embers in his stomach. It flared up his blood and Mayuri bit his lip as he felt his cheeks redden from the warmth of the alcohol.

He cleared his throat in embarrassment, as he noticed Urahara's glance on him.

"So, what do you want?" he asked quickly, just to say something.

"Sorry?" blinked Urahara.

"Do you take me for a fool?" Mayuri snapped. He started to lose his patience and could only wonder if it had anything to do with his head feeling so light on his shoulders all of a sudden. "You are following me around, leaving messages to me, inviting me to this..." with a wide move he gestured around with a sneer of contempt on his lips "... this _place_ and you are even willing to pay for my lunch. Obviously you want something from me."

"Interesting," said Urahara with an amused, but innocent smile. "And here I thought, it was _you_ who followed _me_ around. Like at the library, for example."

"Do not flatter yourself," growled Mayuri. "Why would I bother with following you? At the library I was merely looking for my misplaced book."

"Under the bushes?"

"Exactly," Mayuri replied calmly with a defiant glare, but he could feel his skin flush with shame. This sounded just too much like a blatant lie, he knew, but surprisingly Urahara didn't question it. He only smiled absently and nodded:

"I see."

"Well," Mayuri scowled, "some of my habits might seem strange to you, but trust me, the same goes for you. For example, where I come from knowing someone's name but not introducing yourself is considered _extremely_ rude."

_Ah, that's right! – _Urahara reminded himself. Here was the grand moment that he had waited for so much. He stood up and bowed with a laugh.

"Let me make up for my mistake: Urahara Kisuke, Captain of the 12th Division at your service!" He watched this sink in, preparing for some grand reaction, like a surprised gasp or maybe even an expression of shock, but it didn't come.

Mayuri, however, was simply inspecting him, his head tilted birdlike from one side to the other, looking as unimpressed as ever.

"No, you aren't," he proclaimed at last confidently, with a touch of annoyance in his voice. "Do you take me for a fool? You are not Urahara."

Urahara's jaw dropped.

"Come now, you know that I..."

"No you aren't. This is deducible through basic logic."

"Really?" asked Urahara genuinely surprised.

"Of course," smirked Mayuri. "Nobody who wants to hide his real name would use its monogram as a pen-name. Not unless said person is either dangerously naive or astonishingly stupid, and I am sure you agree with me that a captain couldn't be either," he said in a slow, patient tone, as if he was talking to a very small child. "Then again, why would Urahara write under an alias? He is a captain, practically untouchable. If he wanted he could even post about his affairs in a public magazine in graphic detail and nobody would say a word," he added with a sneer.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that..." muttered Urahara dryly as he emptied another cup of sake.

Luckily, Mayuri seemed to enjoy his own train of thought too much to notice this comment. He leaned forward and steepled his fingers in front of him.

"The only possible reason why anyone would want to use U.K. as a monogram, is that person wants to make everyone believe that he _is_ Urahara, because he is just too unimportant and low ranked to post about controversial topics under his own name."

Urahara had to admit that even though it was actually wrong, it was a well thought out reasoning - and this was quite disturbing. There was something rather schizotypal about listening to an explanation of why he couldn't be himself.

"Don't you think you put a bit too much faith in logic?" he asked at last. "What if Captain Urahara did it because he wanted everyone to believe what you have just said?"

"That is not possible," stated Mayuri firmly. "Urahara is the captain of the 12th and, I expect, a sophisticated man." Then he smugly added, "Not that _you_ could understand such a thing, of course."

Urahara's mouth twitched.

"Of course. How could I?" he muttered with a sigh.

Such a simple thing the human mind is sometimes, Urahara thought. Captains were idols, and nobody wants to see his idol as a simple man just like himself, because this tends to inspire too many problematic questions, like: "If he is just a human like me, then why is he the captain instead of me?" or "Will he make mistakes just like me then?" - and these kind of questions might become much too uncomfortable when one asks them about a leader who makes decisions about the life of many.

And here Urahara was sitting in front of someone, who couldn't allow himself to believe that he was Urahara, only because he thought a captain is not _supposed_ _to_ sit in a restaurant with him, and Urahara couldn't help but wonder why. Mayuri could see so much more, if only he learned that reality doesn't have to be logical by his measures. But that was why he was here, to teach him!

Urahara's face grew a feral smile. He liked teaching people.

"Have you ever met him? Have you ever seen captain Urahara?" he asked.

Mayuri hesitated only for a moment before he replied, making a quick wave with his hand as if he was trying to shoo a bothersome fly away:

"That is _quite_ irrelevant."

"Is it?" inquired Urahara. "Do you actually know anything about him?"

Mayuri hesitated again:

"Of course. I have read his publications."

"You mean those which were published _under_ his name?" Urahara asked slyly and quickly glanced around. When he was sure no one was listening, he added conspiratorially: "He is fat!"

Mayuri's eyebrows knotted in annoyed confusion.

"What? _How_ does that matter here?"

"This is a secret known only by the members of the 12th," whispered Urahara happily. "He is fat. A fatty!"

"Now, really..."

"That's the truth! He weighs two hundred kilograms! Could you admire someone who weighs two hundred kilograms?"

Mayuri opened his mouth to reply, but felt the words huddle together in his throat, reluctant to emerge into a world which was rapidly going mad. At last he gave up, and instead of answering, he drank another cup of sake. Even though the room was spinning around him, he still felt way too sober for such a conversation yet.

"And his face... it is full of pockmarks and spots and huge red birthmarks," went on Urahara blithely. "He just sits in his dark office like an overgrown orangutan, and he is so lazy, he doesn't ever leave that room." For a moment he stopped, and took a deep a breath before continuing: "He is a tyrant and he doesn't have any teeth either. They all rotted out long, long ago." By now Urahara could hardly stop himself from bursting into laughter. "But don't tell this to anybody! This is a secret!"

Mayuri threw him a vexed look from under his long lashes. He felt he was more amused than he should be and he didn't like it a bit.

"You _are _ridiculous, you know."

"Am I?" Urahara frowned, his face turning suddenly very serious. "It is you who have never seen him, so how could you tell whether I'm lying or not? Trust me, that guy is the laziest lollipop loving pervert Soul Society has ever seen."

There wasn't really any sensible comment Mayuri could make to this, so he put his chin in his palm, leaned on his elbow with a shrug and looked away as if he was examining the place. Another awkward silence settled between them, and Urahara felt uncertainty steal over him; things weren't exactly going as he planned. Again. Wondering what he should say, he inspected Mayuri again.

Urahara wasn't even sure he had ever noticed what Mayuri really looked like. It was difficult to see the man behind all that anger, cynicism and frowning. He was one of those people whose personality shone through so much, it suppressed his physical appearance, clearing his features out from the mind of any observer, leaving behind only the dour impression of somebody utterly unpleasant. And, in the human mind, unpleasant somehow, sooner or later, always becomes equivalent to ugly.

Now however, the warmth of alcohol painted a faint blush on his cheeks and softened the coldness of his eyes. Probably the sake had gone to his head, but he seemed to be relaxed for the first time since Urahara got to know him; and Urahara realized that behind the mask of constant sneering, Mayuri was actually quite handsome.

He had the slender yet muscular build that spoke of many years of hard training. With his thin bones he had a deceptive air of fragility, it reminded Urahara of reed which the wind and storm may bend but never break; it gave him a sense of indestructibleness and an aura of power. With his unusually dark skin, elegant, sharp features, high cheekbones and finely sculpted nose and mouth he was a strikingly attractive man. His golden eyes, that stood in such a sharp contrast with his skin, were shining with keen intelligence, malice and an almost childish naivety and curiosity – an unusual combination and (as Urahara had to notice) an extremely alluring one.

Urahara closed his eyes as he felt a familiar warmness spreading over him.

The sake must have gone to my head too, he thought with a smirk.

The waitress returned with the food and the two shinigami ate in silence. After a while, it was Urahara who spoke again.

"So there is absolutely no way I could convince you that I am Urahara," he stated, drawing the conclusion amusedly.

For an instant, he thought he saw suspicion and uncertainty flash in Mayuri's eyes, but in the next moment it was already gone as he shook his head and said:

"It would be more than pathetic to try, really."

"I see," said Urahara with an apologetic little smile. "Then it seems you don't leave me any choice but to admit that I am not."

If that was what Mayuri wanted to believe, he really couldn't do anything about it. The more he would insist, the less believable his story would sound, so, he decided, he might as well play along. It might prove to be fun.

"But still," he continued as hesitantly as if he had just admitted a lie and was only trying to keep up the appearance, "even though all this 'not knowing' has its charms, we still need to call each other something."

"Yes, and you might want to start with telling your real name," suggested Mayuri dryly between two bites of fish.

Urahara laughed.

"Now-now, that won't do it at all! I'm afraid you wouldn't believe anything I could say. Not to mention, what good would an unfamiliar name be to you? It is not like our names define us, right? 'That which we call a _rose _by any other name would smell as sweet.' "

There was a pause. Then Mayuri said,

"Comparing yourself to a rose is a bit far fetched, don't you think?"

"Well, probably I don't smell that sweet," admitted Urahara, with a grin. "But my point is, that people tend to hold their past grudges just too close. Wouldn't it be better if we could forget them? I called you here today, because I hoped we would spend a good evening together. I hoped we could start everything from the beginning, without swords and lakes and bushes this time."

Mayuri hesitated; he was momentarily thrown. He expected many answers, but this one was certainly not among them. Urahara however, just went on:

"Can't we just pretend that we are two normal people who found out that they have similar interests and decided it would be good to meet, talk about science and drink a cup of sake together? Then we would have introduced ourselves like..." he quickly stood up, straightened his kimono and bowed as if he had just arrived. His face took on a serious look with just a touch of condescension."_'Good evening! I am Urahara Kisuke! It's a pleasure to meet you!' _and to that you would say something like," Urahara set his features into sweet smile (with the suggestion of sparkle in it), quickly went round the table, next to Mayuri and bowed again, chirruping happily,"'_Good evening, Urahara-san! I am Yamada Momotaro and I am so glad to see you!_'" Then he returned to his place. "See?"

Mayuri just glared at him in complete, alcohol steamed bafflement.

"_Why _would we want to do that?" he asked, a last.

"Why _wouldn't _we want to do that?" retorted Urahara sounding just about as baffled.

Mayuri rolled his eyes.

"Oh my. You... really are an unpleasant kind of man, Urahara-san," he said in the resigned tone of someone who would really do anything just to get free from this topic. "But for me I believe my actual name should be sufficient. The name Yamada always brings... incompetence into my mind."

"As you wish," he said with a smile and raised his cup. "Kanpai!"

Of course, at one point Mayuri will surely realize that he was wrong, and probably won't be too happy about it, but Urahara felt he couldn't be blamed for it, after all he tried his best to tell Mayuri the truth.

Mayuri might learn from it, though, decided Urahara. It will be a good lesson for him about the healthy amount of pride and self doubt.

.

-oOo-

.

Meanwhile, somewhere else in Seireitei, in a dark room, Morihashi was standing by a dusty counter, waiting for an answer. Behind the counter a tiny old woman, pale and wizened by age, was studying his pass with a stern gaze. When she finished with it, she looked up at the man in front of her.

"I see," she said at last with a rasp and laced her thin, bony fingers in front of her. "And what does Captain Urahara need those papers for?"

"For security reasons," replied Morihashi smoothly.

The woman studied his face for a moment before she nodded signaling that she understood. She slipped off her chair and leaning on a worn cane she waddled away, towards the ornate door at the end of the room. Morihashi followed her.

She was unusual for a shinigami. Morihashi couldn't even imagine how old she could be; she had reached that ageless age when years didn't matter anymore because even decades ago she had to be simply 'too old' already. Her skin was thin and yellow like an ancient parchment, and most of her face was hidden by a thick pair of glasses that gave Morihashi the strange impression whenever he looked at her that she had nothing but two huge, lifeless eyes between her chin and hair. Her kimono had paled into a dull grey shade over the years - as if the dust that covered everything in the room ate itself permanently into her clothes too.

For a moment Morihashi wondered how many times she could have taken this walk. He was sure he could feel the small dents through his sandal in the stone floor, left by the tip of her cane over the centuries.

When the woman reached the door, she fished a little silver key out from a pouch hanging around her neck.

It was an impressive door. It was so huge it occupied almost the whole wall and its top disappeared far up into the darkness hanging under the ceiling. It was made of shining, black wood, and someone with way too much imagination in Morihashi's opinion had carved millions of demons and dragons into its panels - they were growing from each others' mouths, interwoven in an eternal fight. On their bodies, as if they were a throne, an enormous creature was sprawling, with three fiery eyes and fangs crooked like a hog's, spitting embers from his mouth as he squinted with hatred down on the wheel he was holding in his plump, clawed hands. In the wheel, small pictures showing seemingly everyday scenarios of human life were lined up around a lavishly engraved image of the Spirit Realms.

Morihashi studied the picture with mild distaste; it was made in that superficial style that was so popular in the Living World and, Morihashi decided, was completely out of place in Seireitei. His eyes wandered to the upper right part of the wheel, where the artist placed the Realms of the Asura and carved the thirteen guardian asura kings as exactly the same kind of grotesque monsters as the huge creature behind them and he shook his head with disgust.

The old woman fumbled with the key for a while, but at last she managed to insert it into its lock and the door opened slowly with a thundering creak, revealing the most gigantic library the shinigami had ever seen. Countless bookcases, each as tall as the highest tower of Seireitei, were stretching into the endless distance with row upon row of neatly bound registry books standing on the shelves.

In spite of himself, Morihashi froze for a moment from the sight.

"Amazing, isn't it?" chuckled the old woman. "Everyone who has ever set foot in Soul Society, everyone who was ever born here or died here... We have registered everyone in these books. We write down every birth and every death here! This is the greatest registry on souls after the Great Spiritual Library's archives," she said proudly and smiled a toothless grin up at Morihashi, "Do not fall behind! You may never find your way back." And with that she strolled away among the shelves, and before Morihashi could react, she was already gone in the dull darkness.

When he caught up with her, she was already far from the door.

"How do you plan on finding a single book here?" asked Morihashi in a disinterested tone, more for the sake of politeness than out of curiosity, but the woman didn't answer; only chuckled mysteriously in her raspy, coughing voice.

Morihashi found her lack of answer ill-mannered. The endless shelves were oppressive and he thought that some smalltalk would ease that. He was just about to open his mouth to say something again, when he suddenly froze. For a moment he believed he heard a strange noise coming from behind him; a high pitched, soft little crackling, as if many tiny cogs were turning on each other. He spun around, with his hand on the hilt of his sword, and from the corner of his eyes he could still see the shadows move and light break on something yellow, but in the next moment it was already gone.

They walked in an uncomfortable silence for a while, but Morihashi couldn't help but feel that they were being followed. Sometimes he thought he could hear that rattling coming from behind him, other times he could have sworn he saw something scurry away among the books.

At last, after about a good half an hour of walking, the woman stopped by a bookcase.

"This is the one," she said, glancing around as if she was looking for something.

Morihashi inspected the bookcase. It looked suspiciously like every other one in the room. There wasn't anything, not even a number, that could have set them apart, so he asked sceptically:

"Are you sure?"

The woman snorted.

"Are you questioning me, boy? I was a librarian even before your grandfather was born! I would never forget a book I wrote!" she reprimanded him angrily.

Morihashi couldn't care less if he was hurting the old woman's pride, but he needed her help now and he couldn't allow himself the luxury of turning her against himself. He apologetically bowed his head and said in the charming voice of a well practiced sycophant:

"I had no intention to suggest anything like that. Please excuse me, madam! I was only astonished by your exceptionally sharp memory. This place is so huge, yet you found what you were looking for so easily!"

This must have been the right answer, because upon hearing it a haughty smile spread on the woman's thin lips.

"Astonished, are you? Not everyone could do that, right?" she said smugly.

"You do remember the place of every book here then?"

The woman frowned.

"Don't be foolish! No one can remember _that_ much! Even I can recall only the more recent ones: the ones written in the past three or four centuries," she said, but then her face darkened again as she glanced up at the books above them. "And it isn't as if remembering that one would be much of a feat, really. I have never seen another clan that would take such a sharp turn and so suddenly, only because of the change of their leader. Ever since that man lead them, clan Kurotsuchi give me more work than any three of the other clans together. Especially in the 'death' section. One can't easily forget about them."

Morihashi's eyes narrowed, but he tried to sound as nonchalant as he could, when he asked:

"How could they give you so much trouble?" He hoped that if he sounded like a sympathetic enough listener the woman might say more. She had, after all, spent all her days in this secluded place alone; she probably would be glad to have someone to chat with, reasoned Morihashi - and it was quickly proved that he wasn't wrong.

The woman's eyes lit up as she lowered her voice and leaned closer.

"Ambition! Now, I wouldn't want to gossip," she said in the tone of someone who is just dying for some gossip, "but everyone knows the first thing he did when he became the leader was to sell his own sister. He gave her away to a man thrice her age. They say she cried and begged when she learned about it - she even said that she would kill herself if they forced her, but she couldn't make her brother change his mind."

"And this is just as it should be. A girl should obey her brother and she should be glad if she can be of any use to her family through a lucky marriage," said Morihashi.

"It wasn't about marriage, that man already had a wife," said the woman grimly. "Poor girl got into our books a year later. Apparently she kept her word."

"I wonder which family that could be..." said Morihashi curiously.

"One of the more important ones," chuckled the woman. "One that is trying so carefully to hide their skeletons in the closet. Not that they fool anyone, mind you! The truth is clear to everyone who knows where to look."

"What do you mean?" frowned Morihashi.

A sardonic little smile spread on the the woman's thin lips as she lowered her eyes and said:

"Ah... Well, yellow is such an unusual color for eyes, don't you agree?"

Morhashi wanted to say something to this, to demand a more clear answer, but the woman wasn't paying any attention to him anymore. She leaned forward on her staff, glancing around the room again with an annoyed sigh.

"Now, where are those little bastards?" she muttered, changing the topic suddenly. "They are never here when you need them!" She raised her cane and whacked the shelf next to them. "Come out! Come out before I sell you all for tin-cans!" she rasped angrily.

For a moment nothing happened. Then, slowly, soft clicking sounds filled the darkness, high pitched and rhythmical, as if countless tiny metal claws were slipping on the floor and Morihashi realized this was the same sound he had heard before. It filled the room now as the shadows started to move among the shelves and under the bookcases, and it became louder and louder until it seemed to Morihashi as if the whole library was shaking around them.

Then it stopped.

It was some time before Morihashi realized that he and the old woman were standing in the middle of a circle of what seemed to be an army of giant spiders. There were thousands of them. They were standing silently and motionlessly in the darkness of the room.

At last, two of them crawled forward obediently and climbed up the shelves until they got to the eye-level of the librarian. As Morihashi noticed their shining brass skin, he suddenly understood why they sounded so strange: they weren't real animals, they were clockwork spiders.

The woman examined the two that stepped forward. She seemed satisfied.

"The seventh book from the left on the thirty first shelf!" she commanded and then, turning around, she waved with her staff towards the others. "The other little buggers may go!"

And they were all gone as fast as they came.

Morihashi watched in astonishment as the two the woman had talked to climbed up onto the shelf swiftly, only to appear again a moment later with a book between their brass legs. The librarian took it away from them.

"You would think with all this '_technology_' going on in Seireitei, they could give me something useful," she grumbled, pushing 'technology' as if it was an especially rude word. "But no! I must get spiders! Spiders! Bah! Here is the book," she said shoving it into the man's hands.

Morihashi opened it. The first of some fifty pages of thin, white rice paper bore only a single, huge kanji: Kurotsuchi.

"Yes," he said. "This is indeed the one I was looking for."

"Good," replied the woman. "You may take it, but tell Captain Urahara I want it back this week!"

"Don't worry," said Morihashi with a dark smile, as he traced the kanji with his fingers. "I will definitely tell him..."

.

-oOo-

.

"So my point is..." said Mayuri, trying to focus on Urahara. This proved a bit difficult as he was practically hanging from the other man's shoulder as they were stumbling down the dark streets. The fact that both of them, but especially Mayuri, was rather drunk didn't help the situation at all. "You see, the point I am trying to make is..."

He stumbled over something in the dark, almost knocking down the other shinigami before he regained his balance again. A little dark shadow fled from between their legs with indignant squeaking.

"Rats!" said Mayuri suddenly, brightening up. "That is my point! Very... very-very small rats."

"Mice then?" offered Urahara, helpfully.

Mayuri shrugged.

"Sure. Whatever. But the point is," he continued, pulling himself together, "they don't count. What does a rat know about sence...siense..." his eyebrows furrowed for a moment, "Science!" he blurted out at last, "Thass it! Science! So what does a rat know about science anyway? Legs are good. I mean, _I_ have legs. You too. So what if it had a few more than normal? We can always cut off the unneeded ones, can't we? We can put them in the fridge; instant spare legs, if you like. You can sew back one anytime you need it... Very practical, if you ask me," he said firmly, idly watching the world spin by. "That test was a success."

Urahara pondered this. In his mind the mental picture of your average man formed, living his average life, with a fridge in his kitchen full of salmon, vegetables and legs. Something was off with this picture, he knew, but looking at it from the bottom of the bottle he found it a bit difficult to grasp what.

"Exactly how many legs are we talking about here?" he asked.

"Ugh... Some?" ventured Mayuri. It started to occur to him that maybe, but just maybe, he said more than he should have. "A few. I wasn't really counting, you know."

Urahara regarded him thoughtfully.

"Ah... I see! You did test your... your tincture...elixir... something. Right?"

There was a pause.

"No," said Mayuri, looking slightly guilty.

"Strange. I could have sworn you just told me."

"No, did not. You are hearing things," he said firmly. "And thassa sserum, thank you very much. It's totally different from a... a mere tincture! Sells in smaller bottles!" he said scornfully, and he let go of the other man's clothes he had been hanging from until now, and edged away from Urahara to the nearest wall. "I don't feel too good," he muttered and he sat down on the ground.

Urahara, too, decided not to press the argument, and looked around the street instead. He reckoned it had been quite some time since they left the tavern and they should have reached the gates of Seireitei already, but this place didn't look familiar to him. He couldn't see much in the darkness, but he could make out the simple fences made from dry, cut bamboo which lined the road, and the bushy, thatched roofs of small, but well kept houses behind them.

They weren't in the second district anymore, that much Urahara was sure about, because the thing with reed was, while it was cheap and used for roofing to keep the place warm in winters and cool in summers, it was the building material of the poor. It was something the more upper-class citizens of Rukongai, who lived in or anywhere near to the second district, would never touch. This, however, also meant that he had absolutely no idea where they were, realized Urahara with some dismay. Not that they were lost, of course, but they were somewhat geographically challenged for the moment...

Or for the rest of the night, he added in his mind as he inspected their surroundings again. He couldn't even see the Tower of Penance from here in this darkness. That would at least give him a clue in which direction they should go.

His thoughts were interrupted by a deep, raspy voice:

"Look boys, what do we 'ave 'ere! Real goddamn shinigami on our very own bloody street. Now that's what I call luck!"

Urahara turned around and, to his surprise, he found himself looking up, right into a pair of nostrils. It was a rather disconcerting sight. It could make it difficult to take the person you were looking at seriously.

The man they belonged to was tall, more than two heads taller than Urahara himself. Sun-bleached rags hung from his broad shoulders, but a katana, which looked suspiciously like a zanpakuto, was fastended to his belt. From the way his eyes bulged, it was also clear to Urahara that Mr. Nostrils had issues; and where you got a man like this, you got others too. They usually went in packs, because there were always many who thought it was healthier to be with them than being in their way. It wasn't any different now, and a small, ragtag gang was loitering behind him.

Urahara felt the roof of his mouth going dry as he heard Mayuri's stern voice snapping up from behind him, thick with annoyance, saying:

"Can't you see that we are talking? Stop bothering us!"

This command didn't really meet with the effect he expected. The men burst out in a roaring laugh, much like a pack of wolves would laugh at a pair of sheep that not only trotted away from the herd right into their den, but announced with mild baa-ing that they came to claim the place as their own.

"Or else?" asked the big man in the front, amused.

Mayuri looked surprised.

"You will die. In an interesting fashion. Now get lost."

This earned him even more laughter.

Urahara glanced back at him over his shoulder. Mayuri didn't do anything, he didn't move, he didn't put a hand meaningfully on the hilt of his sword; indeed, even his face looked like an impassive mask. And there was no reiatsu either, noted Urahara with surprise, only this clean and pointed killing intent, which must have been much more difficult to sense, or else all these people around them wouldn't be nearly this cheerful.

"Too bad, _master_, but can't do that," said the large man with a smug grin, spreading his huge, hairy hands. "Y'know, this is our part o' the city, and we wi' the boys din like no stinkin' shinigami messin' 'round 'ere."

He drew his sword. It looked old, its blade was chipped and its hilt practically lost in the man's huge palm, but the weak reiatsu that resonated from it was a sure mark of its owner's seriousness.

We could take all of them out, Urahara thought, as he saw more weapons being loosened around them. Probably wouldn't even break a sweat doing so, but then there would be questions from the Office of 46, wouldn't there?

They weren't normally inclined to deal with alley fights, but if it happened in the middle of Rukongai, and involved two shinigami and a small mountain of corpses of citizens, they had to do something in case humans complained. The relationship between humans and shinigami was already strained as it were, and it didn't take much to cause rioting among the poor, which incidentally also caused a horrible amount of extra paperwork for the Office of 46. So, they made sure that if they _had to _question any shinigami involved, it was done in a way that guaranteed they wouldn't have to do it anytime soon again. Or at least not with the same shinigami.

So Urahara tried to put on his most friendly smile and said:

"Careful now, gentlemen," waving his hands in a conciliatory way. "We are only looking for our way to home. We don't want to cause any trouble."

"P'raps your' a bit late wi' that, shinigami!" the man hissed and raised his sword menacingly, and he was just about to strike down when the darkness around them erupted in a sudden, blinding scarlet. Urahara could see a fireball shooting past his face and disappearing among the rooftops on the other side of the street. There was a faint smell of burned hair in the air.

For a moment, there was silence on the street. So much silence, you could hear it. Then Urahara heard a familiar voice behind him saying:

"Oh my! I missed, didn't I?"

Urahara slowly turned towards him in astonishment.

_It was a Red Flame Cannon spell,_ he thought. _A level 31 kido spell, and he, a cleaner boy, used it without the incantation, while being stone drunk. And I just saw a few days ago that he has "No Special Talent In Kido" written in his personal files! _he thought and he felt cold suspicion creeping over his soul. Just how many other things could have been left out from that file and why?

He turned back to the man in front of him, who still stood there, with his sword raised high, as if he had frozen in time. He wavered slightly.

"Whut the... "he tried again. "Wut the... the _fuck_ was that!?"

Excited murmurs ran through the gang.

"Look!" yelled someone, pointing towards a house on the other side of the street. Something was flickering with a sullen, red glow in the middle of the reed where Mayuri's spell hit it, turning slowly into a small red flame. It quickly grew, and in a blink of an eye, the whole roof was on fire, spitting embers, and tiny flames started to appear on other rooftops too.

Someone screamed in the night and Urahara could hear the rattling of opening doors and windows. He suddenly felt sober, way too sober; he could have sworn he felt as if all the warmness and gloom of the alcohol had just drained out from him through his spine and legs.

"Well, I agree, this place needs renovating, but I think you could have broken the news to them a _lot_ more politely," he said grimly to Mayuri.

The gang-leader's mouth opened and he spun towards Mayuri, his sword sweeping through the air, eyes glowing with absolute hatred. Whatever it was that had held back his animalistic rage until now disappeared completely.

"You... little...shit! Now your' gunna fuckin' die!" he growled and lashed out towards the shinigami, only to fall flat on his face on the ground the next moment, with someone's leg pressing down on his neck.

"As I said before, we are not here to cause any trouble," said Urahara calmly, glancing around at the rest of their attackers, "but let me add, we will if you keep on insisting."

The gang-leader's head was crimson from the rage. He tried to move, to push the shinigami off himself, but Urahara stood as immovable as rock.

"Wut are you doin' standin' there? Get them!" the man barked from the ground, but Urahara must have pressed down a bit on him, because he yelped and his words died away in a weak squeaking.

"Must I point out," said Urahara, tiredly, "that I too have a sword and I too am capable of casting spells?"

The men glanced at him, then at their leader on the ground, then at the burning house, and they decided that they really weren't interested in learning what Urahara could do with his sword or spells. They lowered their weapons.

"Great," said Urahara. "Now we will leave, and you will not follow. If you do..." he hesitated for a moment, "Well, let's just say, you don't want to. Be nice and help quench the fire instead!"

The fire, driven by the wind, spread faster than a man could walk, and by this time the flames were racing along the rooftops on the other side of the street. All around them people were hurling possessions from windows or were dragging them through the doors. Some tried to quench the fire with buckets of water, the sound of crying and muffled yelling came from afar, but over all the noise Urahara could hear the sound of the fire bells' urgent alarm. The fire brigade was on its way, he knew, and the people had also started to form a line passing buckets of water from a nearby well. There was no point in staying here, they couldn't help these people.

"Forget it!" yelled a man. His face was black with charcoal. "You will stay here! You started this fire, you will pay for it!"

"Yes! Yes!" agreed another man and the yelling started to draw the attention of others too.

"Everything I had is burning in my house!" said a woman in tears. Her skin was red from the fire."Everything!"

Urahara realized that he and Mayuri somehow had become the center of a quickly contracting circle of angry faces. He took a deep breath.

"Look, I understand that you are angry, but..."

"What do you understand?!" yelled the woman. "You understand nothing!"

"You will die, shinigami! Do you hear me? You will die!" screamed a man.

This however was too much for Mayuri. He stood up from the ground and to Urahara's horror he drew his sword.

"You humans are always whining. Irritating!" he said and raised his zanpakuto. "Rip, Ashisogi Ji..."

And then he disappeared.

.

-oOo-

.

"We are still not safe," whispered Urahara into Mayuri's ears as he put him down on the cobblestones of a street; the world turned back from colorful flecks and lines whistling past them into buildings and streets again. From here the fire looked very far away, but the dumbfounded yelling of humans could still be heard on the wind. "I took only a few steps in shunpo, and we are not far away enough yet. They could still catch up to us, but I feel dizzy. I can't go further now."

Mayuri, however, was not listening to him. His eyes were ablaze with anger and he was still clutching his sword in his hand.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?!" he burst out. "How dare you stop me?! How dare you humiliate me like this?!"

"Kurotsuchi-san, it wouldn't do much good for us to start a war here, would it?" said Urahara tiredly. "Please, lower your voice or we will be found!"

"So what? Let us be found! I will not be scared by a bunch of peasants!" he said, waving his sword menacingly.

Urahara felt his patience starting to evaporate like snow under the summer sun. He faced Mayuri, and took a step towards him. This gesture could have been threatening to anyone else, but Mayuri didn't back away. He couldn't, even if he wanted to, because there was a wall behind him.

"You are acting irrationally," said Urahara. "I never took you for someone who thinks running headfirst into a wall is courageous. You talk as if you belong in the 11th division."

This, if possible, made Mayuri even more angry.

"Don't you dare to compare me to those barbarians! I am _not_ acting irrationally, I will simply not let myself be threatened by a bunch of lowly fools!" said Mayuri, taking a step aside, trying to break out from between Urahara and the wall, but the other shinigami grabbed his shoulder, and with a forceful move slammed him up against the wall. Mayuri's eyes widened and filled with hatred.

"Listen," said Urahara in a placating voice. "You can't run around killing whoever you like!"

"Why not?"

"Because it draws too much attention! Do you want to be arrested?"

Mayuri of course knew that Urahara was right, but the sake was burning in his blood and he was already too angry to care about reason.

"This is all your fault," he hissed between his teeth.

Urahara couldn't believe his ears.

"What?"

"Yes! You and your insincerity!" went on Mayuri. " I know you have ulterior motives! What are they?"

"Ulterior..." gawked Urahara.

"Yes! You dragged me out here! Why? You tried to get me drunk to learn something from me, didn't you? I don't know what you are after, but whatever it is, you won't get it from me!"

Urahara could only glare at him. The rapid waves of strong emotions he had experienced this evening, the disappointment over his failed plans, the shock of being lost and attacked and the fire left him drained, his soul exhausted. Upon hearing this undeserved accusation something snapped inside him, something he didn't even know was there.

For a moment Urahara felt he could strangle Mayuri. He wanted to grab him, yell at him and shake him until the man came to his senses at last. He felt he wanted to talk to him, he had so much to tell him, so much to explain, and yet, when Urahara opened his mouth, he didn't know what to say. All the words got stuck in his throat, knitted into a tight bundle with all the anxiety, anger, excitement and this marvelous, unexplainable feeling, this wild desire to do something. Anything!

In the back of his mind he knew that the situation had suddenly got away from him, but tonight he had drunk a good measure of sake and now it whispered to him: why not let the situation get away from you every once in a while? Like, this once?

Seeing the expression on his face, Mayuri froze as the reality of his position dawned on him, and Urahara noticed a flicker of something surprisingly similar to fear in his eyes. In th moment he knew what Mayuri thought, what scared him: Mayuri was entirely in his power. He could have done anything to him, and the other shinigami would have been completely helpless against it. Urahara's heartbeat quickened and his mouth went dry as this thought sent a heady rush of arousal through his body.

His hands slid up from Mayuri's shoulder, up to his throat; the warmness of the soft skin was burning against his cold fingers, and he could feel the rapid beating of the Mayuri's pulse under his fingertips. He felt his insides turn to molten heat.

He leaned closer, his hand sneaked higher and twined into the blue hair as he bent down and pressed his lips against the other's. They were warm and dry and their sensual softness only honed his desire even further. Suddenly Urahara became sharply aware of the other's body pressing up against his, firm and pliant, and its heat as it radiated invitingly through even the many layers of clothing separating them. He carefully bit down and earned a small, protesting sound that escaped Mayuri's throat as his lips parted and Urahara deepened the kiss.

When Urahara broke away at last, his heart was thumping, and his body was still burning with desire.

Mayuri could only gawk, staring at Urahara with his mouth hanging open and his wide eyes full of shock.

"I think," whispered Urahara, amused by this sight, "This will be our 'good bye' for today," he said with a smile, pulling away. "Go home, and sleep, Kurotsuchi-san. We will certainly meet again."

And with that, he turned around and was gone in the night, leaving a bewildered Mayuri behind.

.

..

* * *

a.n.: Review please!


	8. Suicide by Poison

**A.n.:** I'm sorry, but for some reason this chapter didn't want to show up for a while. Strange...

* * *

**Chapter 8**

**Suicide by poison**

** .  
**

_The first thing he became aware of was his left side feeling numb and cold. So cold, it was almost painful._

_Through half-open eyelids he saw the sharp, white light of operating lamps above him. It hurt his eyes, and he tried to raise his arm to block them out, but he couldn't. He felt sick and strangely disconnected from his body; the world was rocking and swaying around him. He was laying on an examination table, naked, and his skin stuck uncomfortably to the stainless steel surface._

_A bitter, acidic smell filled the room. He knew he was in a laboratory but he couldn't recall how or why he got there. He wanted to look around, but he couldn't move his head. He could do nothing but stare into the white light above him._

_He suddenly realized he wasn't alone in the room. He could hear someone's rapid footsteps pattering around the table; and whispers, distorted and unintelligible, filled the air as if many people were standing around him. A pang of fear pierced into his consciousness. He tried to cry out, demanding an explanation or at least to ask where he was, but only managed a tired, raspy moan. He saw a dark shape, a human figure, bending over him. Warm fingers touched his chin and turned his head to the side. Now he could see the figure's face. It was Urahara. He was wearing a stained lab-coat and a reassuring smile, but there were dark rings under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept for a long time._

_"Don't be afraid!" he whispered, leaning forward, his thumb tracing over Mayuri's chin. "I will be very gentle with you, I promise." Mayuri felt hot breath on his skin as Urahara placed a tender kiss on his neck. He softly bit down on the thin skin. When he felt the pulse under his lips, he traced a thin line up to Mayuri's earlobe with his tongue. "Your pulse is too quick," he breathed into Mayuri's ear hoarsely, and then he straightened up._

_"You will have to calm down or this will hurt, Kurotsuchi-san..."_

_For a moment he left Mayuri's field of vision, and when he returned he had a syringe in his hands. He grabbed Mayuri's arm and wiped a spot clean with a wet gauze pad._

_"Maa..." said Urahara suddenly with a mischievous grin. "If you behave yourself until we finish, I will give you a lollipop! A strawberry one!"_

_ .  
_

Mayuri awoke with a jolt, sweating, his heart pounding. He quickly sat upright, throwing off the quilts and almost toppled Momotaro, who was kneeling next to his futon, leaning over him.

The little shinigami backed away with a surprised cry.

"So you _are_ awake! You scared me!" he complained.

Mayuri stared at him blankly with his mouth open for almost a full second before comprehension dawned on him. He was awake, at home, and the laboratory with Urahara was nothing more than a bad dream.

He fell back on his futon with a relieved sigh.

"Are you all right?" asked Momotaro.

Mayuri nodded.

"I hate strawberries," he said with a groan. "What are you doing in my bed?"

"I am not in your bed, Kurotsuchi-san!" Momotaro pointed out, slightly indignant by the accusation. "I just wanted to wake you up. You were making strange noises, as if you were in pain. Did you have a nightmare?"

"Well..." Mayuri hesitated. "No, not really," he replied at last.

This was greeted with silence, which made Mayuri look at Momotaro's face. What he saw there shocked him. Momotaro was staring at him with such a disappointed and cold expression that he wouldn't have believed the small shinigami was capable of before this. It almost made Mayuri want to avert his eyes and start examining his fingernails in shame.

"I see. I am glad," said Momotaro slowly and stood up, but before he reached the door, he turned back once more. "Please, get up, Kurotsuchi-san or you will be late for work."

Mayuri stared at the door for a few seconds after Momotaro left. Was something wrong? - he wondered. Was Momotaro actually cooler towards him than usual or was he just imagining things? But he quickly shooed this thought away; he had bigger problems to worry about than Momotaro right then. Maybe Yamada was just troubled by his upcoming wedding, Mayuri decided, and pulled his quilt higher.

He didn't want to get up. He didn't want to leave the house. U.K. might be out there somewhere and at that moment Mayuri felt he would give anything just to avoid that man. Almost a full week had passed since their meeting in the Taboku Kaiseki and since then for Mayuri the world seemed to have gone crazy.

U.K. did something to him. He befuddled his mind and now it acted as if it had its own life; it now bore thoughts that were irrelevant, inconsistent and useless! He dared to confuse Mayuri's senses until Mayuri started to doubt if he could trust them anymore, and this scared and enraged him more than anything before.

His mind was his, and his alone! He _knew_ what he felt, or rather, what he should have felt: he hated U.K. didn't he? He hated U.K. so much, he couldn't even stop thinking about him. Yet, ever since that night on the streets and that accursed kiss, Urahara started to appear in his dreams in a manner that left Mayuri completely dumbfounded.

It wasn't simply the sexual quality of his dreams that troubled him.

At the age of seven all Mayuri knew about this topic was the vague impressions he derived from listening to the chatting of the servants and a sappy romance book he found behind one of the bookshelves. He wasn't completely sure _what_ sex actually was, but from the book he knew that it required two persons of opposite sex and it was the best possible thing that could happen to anyone. Even better than getting all the mochi for yourself at dinner.

Now this was something he found so difficult to imagine that he felt he simply had to get to the bottom of it. One day he walked into the kitchen of the villa and a bit timidly announced to the cooking women that he wanted one of them to have sex with him. After a moment of awkward silence the women broke into laughter and one of them even patted his face with a giggle and made him promise that he would not forget to return and repeat the offer six years later.

Over time Mayuri became tall and lean with the fine, thin boned features of his father and the dark skin and strangely round eyes of his mother, and was commonly considered to have the potential to become quite a handsome man once he grew out of his teenage clumsiness. This was also around the time that he noticed how the younger servant girls always fell silent when they saw him and started to giggle as he passed by them. That was when he decided to take the matter into his hands again.

It was a disappointment. After all that fuss people made about sex, Mayuri expected something grand and fascinating. What he got instead was something awkward and sticky. While the act itself was enjoyable, he found it pretty one dimensional, single layered and (after a few months spent intensively experimenting in the company of a young girl and a pillow book) kind of boring. Sex, in Mayuri's opinion, was not something worth spending too much time on or thinking about.

This was why it surprised him so much when Urahara kissed him - he didn't expect it. What he expected even less was that some part of him would enjoy it so much, that it would start to haunt his dreams too. He felt like a complete idiot.

Yet the point was...

The point was, Mayuri had a feeling he was losing control over the situation and this was beginning to honestly scare him.

.

**-oOo-**

** .  
**

Meanwhile, in Rukongai, Morihashi looked skeptically at the shack he was standing in front of, but he knocked on the old door anyway. A few minutes later the door opened a crack and a middle aged woman appeared behind it.

"Yes?" she said. Her voice was distrustful and Morihashi saw the nervous glint in her eyes as she noticed his black robes and the sword by his side.

"I am looking for Dr. Miura," said Morihashi. He didn't bother to introduce himself or to speak politely. His rank as a shinigami placed him far above her in the society.

The woman's glance fell back to his sword.

"There is no one called Dr. Miura here. I am sorry!" she said quickly and tried to shut the door, but the shinigami's hand stopped her.

"Don't you dare lie to me!" snarled Morihashi to her. "The people in the village told me that this is Dr Miura's house. I need to talk to him."

"Please, master, I am not lying!" the woman said in a voice thick with panic. "My husband died more than fifty years ago!"

This gave Morihashi a pause. He felt a twinge of disappointment upon hearing these words; he wanted to speak to Dr. Miura, no matter what.

When, days earlier, he had arrived back home from the Registry Library, the first thing he did was read through the book he had found there. He wasn't sure what he expected to find, but he couldn't get the conversation he overheard a few days earlier between Captain Urahara and Captain Shihouin out of his head.

What could they have been talking about? If Kurotsuchi's background check really came back with a red flag, if he truly should have gone to the Maggot's Nest, then why hasn't he? And what did Yoruichi try to say when the Captain interrupted her? It was something about Kurotsuchi's mother, but the way Yoruichi said it... it sounded _important_.

The next day Morihashi wanted to look into it, but he realized that he didn't even know the woman's name, and no matter where he looked, in Mayuri's files or even in the electronic library, he couldn't find it anywhere. And it wasn't only her name! It was almost as if someone had deliberately deleted all information on her, as if she had never even existed.

He could only hope that this handwritten registry book remained intact somehow. With the electronic libraries becoming more and more popular, not many people used these old books anymore and there was a good chance the culprit had forgotten about them too.

Page after page, the faces of men and women, both young and old, glanced back at him, and next to each picture stood a name and dates of birth, death, marriage, the names of their children and everything else that could happen in a life and could be arranged in a table. Most of them didn't fill a page.

He stopped for a moment at the image of a young, sad girl. She was the one the old librarian talked about, Lord Kurotsuchi's sister, Morihashi realized, after he read over her file. She died more than a century ago, but judging by the picture she had to have been beautiful, Morihashi thought. She also looked strangely familiar, but he couldn't place her.

It took him a while to find lord Kurotsuchi's wife in the book, and when he did he was so surprised by what he saw, for a moment he thought he must have been mistaken.

Lady Kurotsuchi looked nothing like Morihashi imagined a noble lady: she wasn't fine or elegant, she was utterly plain. She had a jaw so angular it almost looked manly, her lips were thick and her nose was wide and flat. She looked as if nature had played a cruel joke on her and given her features that just didn't fit together. Her only good trait was her hair, which was thick and glossy black.

Morihashi could only gawk at her picture in shock: this woman looked nothing like Mayuri, but as he turned another page, Morihashi suddenly understood everything.

His eyes widened in astonishment as his glance fell on the picture there; it was the image of a gaijin woman, one of the tall, round eyed barbarians of the west. The note next to her name marked her as the concubine of Lord Kurotsuchi and mother of a single son named Mayuri.

She was beautiful in that sensual, vulgar way that Morihashi knew many men found arousing. Her skin was dark, her face was perfectly symmetrical and her lips were wide and full. Her luxuriant blue-black hair fell in thick locks onto her shoulders and impossibly long, dark lashes shaded her big, exotic eyes. Everything about her suggested that her body was created only to please.

Everything, except her eyes, which were empty and passionless. Only a broken soul was reflected in them.

According to the dates, she died very young, noticed Morihashi, and in the 'reason of death' section someone had written "suicide by an unidentifiable poison" in red ink.

It was strange.

Morihashi remembered the case now, almost everyone talked about it back then. As he recalled, it wasn't just a single woman who had died. Almost everyone else in the household, maid servants and guards, were found dead too, at least according to the rumors. Almost everyone, except a few people and the woman's little son.

Even if it _was_ a suicide, why would a woman, who is desperate enough to take her own life, go through all the trouble to find and use a poison so uncommon even doctors could not identify? Why not use simple rat poison, which would be just as effective but much easier to acquire?

The whole situation just sounded extremely suspicious. Morihashi hoped he could get some answers if he talked to Dr Miura, the doctor whose seal he found in the registry book.

And now he learned that Miura had died.

"Maybe you could help me instead," said Morihashi desperately. "Maybe your husband talked to you about his cases? You might remember something!"

He explained to the woman what he had learned about Mayuri's mother, but hardly did he mention the Kurotsuchi name, the woman went pale and quickly shook her head.

"No-no! I don't know anything!"

"Don't lie to me! I know you know something!" snapped Morihashi, and he put his hand on the hilt of his sword meaningfully.

"No-no," stammered the woman and tears filled her eyes. "Please! You don't understand! They will kill me if they learn that I talked," she paused. "They killed my husband too."

"Who?" asked Morihashi.

The woman lowered her head, her mouth became a thin line as she whispered:

"That bastard Kurotsuchi and his lackeys."

Morihashi regarded her with surprise.

"This is a very serious accusation. Are you sure?"

The woman hesitated for a moment, then she opened the door before the shinigami with a deep sigh.

"Alright. Come in."

.

**-oOo-**

** .  
**

After hesitating for many hours, Mayuri managed to convince himself to get up and go to work. It was almost noon by the time he entered the 4th division compound. This wasn't anything out of the ordinary, but it seemed like this was the last straw for his new boss. The man was sitting by his desk and fidgeting with something when Mayuri arrived to take his assignments for the day. It was apparent from far away that he was irritated, his small, watery eyes were darting from one person in the room to another, and his flat, round face was even redder than usual. He looked exactly like a pig in a kimono, in Mayuri's opinion. To his surprise Mr. Pig's face lit up when he noticed him entering.

"Ah! Kurotsuchi! Come here! Come here!" he beckoned. "So nice of you to trouble yourself by visiting us here at last! I hope it wasn't a problem for you to come and ask whether we may have some work for you...you.." he spoke in a nauseatingly friendly voice, but then he took a deep breath and suddenly exploded, "you little bastard son of a skunk-piss worm! Do you know what the time is? What do you think this place is? A sanatorium?"

"Well, actually..." Mayuri began, but the other man wasn't listening.

"Do you want to know your job for today? I will tell you! Your job will be to clean out _this whole god-damned building_! Both the offices and the hospital! Understand?"

Mayuri did. He looked at the man's expression, his nostrils were growing wider and wider while his head was turning a curious shade of purple, and Mayuri knew this wasn't the time for a confrontation. At least the work would take his mind off of U.K., he hoped.

By the end of the afternoon he had almost finished, only the lobby was left when Mr. Hog arrived, armed with a mug of coffee and a malevolent sneer.

"Blast it, Kurotsuchi! My blind grandma would be a more effective cleaner than you, and she is dead! How are you holding that freaking mop?"

Mayuri glanced down at the mop in his hand. It had never occurred to him that it could be held in more than one way.

"What does it matter? The floor is clean, isn't it?" he said at last, turning back to his boss.

"Clean you say?" He said with a sneer, and with a slow, calculated move he poured the coffee onto the freshly cleaned wooden boards. "Is this clean for you?"

Mayuri closed his eyes and counted to three. A torrent of obscene expressions filled his mind, but he thought only a flurry of katana strikes could adequately express his current feelings. In the end, however, he grit his teeth and settled for a sigh.

He examined the damage the coffee had made. There was a huge, brown puddle on the floor and he noticed a few brown specs on the nearby wall too. As his eyes passed over the open door, however, his blood froze. Far away, somewhere under the tall, black barked trees, a blond shinigami was approaching with determined steps. His face was hidden behind a book he was reading, but Mayuri would have recognized him anywhere: it was U.K.

He turned around to leave, but a rough voice stopped him.

"Hoy! Kurotsuchi!" said Mr. Swine. "Where the hell do you think you are going?"

"For clean water," Mayuri said. "This is dirty."

"Dirty my ass! Stop slacking off and get back to cleaning that floor!"

Mayuri looked up at him, wondering idly what would Mr. Pork do if he refused. There was nowhere

to demote a rookie and he felt he could do with a few days of vacation in the jail. At least there he wouldn't need to do pointless work or suffer this fool.

"No," he said calmly and tried to step out of the man's way.

A beefy hand stopped him.

"I will give you a simple choice," said Mr. Bacon calmly, but his beady, black eyes were shining with malicious satisfaction. "You will either start doing your work now or I will make sure to write a report about you to Captain Unohana that will get you fired from the Gotei 13 faster than you could say "_zanpakuto_". Am I clear enough?"

Mayuri stared at him. His mind filled up with all sorts of nasty questions, and the nastiest of all was: Would anyone notice if he accidentally dropped dead? Would anyone know it was me?

But he knew the answer almost immediately: even if no one else, his father would.

He knew that U.K. couldn't be too distant, maybe he had already passed the gates. Yes, he was sure he could hear the clacking of the man's sandals on the cobblestones. He glanced around desperately, his eyes seeking for an escape route. The other door was too far away and his boss stood too close to it anyway, while the windows were too high and... and... there was no escape.

Two girls whom he had heard talking by the door until now suddenly fell silent, and he knew this meant that U.K. had reached the stairs. Mayuri recalled the last time they met, that night on the street, and he felt fat drops of sweat appearing on his forehead. There was no way Urahara wasn't going to notice him. If only something could happen, anything, just to stop the next few minutes from arriving...

Mayuri heard U.K.'s voice as he greeted the girls at the door. His hands clenched into a fist.

Suddenly, U.K. stepped through the door and Mayuri caught himself doing the worst possible thing he could in this situation: he looked up, straight into a pair of grey eyes - Urahara was standing right in front of him, staring at him with the most bored expression Mayuri had ever seen. He was taken aback. He thought maybe he should say something, something sharp and biting, but before he could open his mouth, Urahara turned away, his face impassive, and walked past by Mayuri as if he had never even noticed him. He nodded in greeting towards Mayuri's boss, returned to his book and left the room.

Mayuri just stood there, staring after Urahara in astonishment.

_I was ignored, _he thought, shocked._ U.K. ignored me!_

_ . _

_ . _

_ . _

_

* * *

_

**Author's note:**

Here are some interesting facts on concubinage in feudal Japan that might help you to better understand the situation of Mayuri in this fic:

_"The difference between the position of the wife and that of the concubine is marked. Concubinage being a legitimate institution _(an.: in feudal Japan)_, the son of a handmaiden is no bastard, nor is he in any way a child of shame; and yet as a general rule the son of the bondwoman is not heir with the son of the free, for the son of the wife inherits before the son of the concubine, even where the later be the elder; ... "_ - 119.p. in Tales of Old Japan - by: Algernon Bertram Freeman-Milford; publ.: BiblioBazar; 2007

.

**Please, don't forget to review!  
**


	9. A Sensible Request

**cerealman368**: You asked what was the significance of Mayuri being the child of a concubine. Well, it is, first of all, that he cannot inherit, especially since he also has other brothers who are considered more legitimate. This also means that, should anything happen to him, should he be fired from the Gotei 13, he would be forced to return home as a pauper and serve his brothers as a servant for the rest of his life. Can you imagine Mayuri doing this? :)

* * *

.

..

**Chapter 9**

**A Sensible Request **

**.  
**

It was almost evening when Momotaro was washing the petri dishes in a dark corner of one of the labs of the 12th division. He was replaying the events of the morning in his mind again and again. He asked Mayuri if he had had a nightmare only out of curiosity - he wanted to see whether the other shinigami would tell him the truth, although he highly suspected that he wouldn't.

He didn't need to. Sometimes those who dream make noises and some noises can be pretty self-explanatory (especially if the name U.K. comes up among them), so Momotaro suspected that he had a pretty good idea of what Mayuri dreamt about. He felt that slowly but surely he had started to understand what was happening around him.

When a few days ago he realized that U.K. and Urahara were one and the same, he wanted to tell Mayuri, but that evening Mayuri was working late and in those lonely hours while Momotaro was waiting, a terrible thought occurred to him: if Urahara was indeed U.K. and he not only had met Mayuri but also knew where Mayuri lived, he had to know who Momotaro was. He had to know that it wasn't Momotaro who had written those articles, and it wasn't him whom Urahara originally wanted to hire.

It really explained a lot, thought Momotaro. Like why he was still working at the 12th Division. It had taken Momotaro a long time to find a job he actually could do there. He couldn't understand a thing about what happened in the surgery rooms (and usually fainted when someone tried to explain it in detail), he knew so little about chemicals he could mix even water and hydrochloric acid up, and he seemed to be hopelessly untalented when it came to the paperwork. Yet, he wasn't fired. Morihashi kept trying and trying until after about a month he found the perfect job: as the 7th officer of the division, Momotaro's duty was to fill the coffee mugs and clean up the place after everyone had gone home.

Momotaro hated this. He got almost twice as much money for doing half the work he did at the 4th, but shinigami officers did not have to clean anywhere in Seireitei, and the fact that Momotaro did nothing else was just rubbing in that he did not belong here, and this was evident to everyone. He was lonely.

Originally Momotaro thought that Urahara was just trying to be nice to him, but now he saw even that act in a new light. Urahara probably didn't even try to be nice, he just had a plan - after all he could have fired Momotaro any time he wanted to.

Momotaro was so scared, he didn't dare mention what he realized to Mayuri. He expected that his roommate would learn about it pretty quickly anyway. After all, why else would Urahara want to meet him if not to tell him the truth? The next day Momotaro went to work with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Every time he noticed Morihashi or Hiyori enter the room he hid under the table, pretending to search for something he dropped, because he was thinking they were coming to fire him. This didn't happen, something else however did: from that day on Mayuri started to have these strange kind of nightmares, while Urahara walked around with such a smug smile plastered on his face it gave Momotaro the chills.

He glanced down at the tube in his hand, and his fingers tightened around it.

_Jerk_, he thought as he tossed it to the growing heap of clean glassware.

Urahara was toying with both of them, and Momotaro knew that in this game, despite his upcoming marriage and unborn child, he counted as an expendable casualty. It was his fault, of course; he should have told the truth to Urahara in the first place, when he came to hire Momotaro. It wasn't as if Momotaro _wanted_ to come to work in the 12th division and get almost killed by Mayuri, so this punishment for that little mistake didn't feel too fair to him.

Momotaro picked up another glass tube, put it under the tap and started to wash it with the sharp, mechanical movements of the terminally angry. He felt as betrayed and disillusioned as every overzealous idealist tends to when reality catches up to them. He didn't ask for this situation! He didn't want to be in it, yet seemingly there was no escape from it.

Suddenly someone slapped Momotaro on his shoulder, followed by Urahara's cheerful voice:

"Ah, Yamada-san! What are you doing here this late?"

Momotaro was so surprised he almost jumped out of his skin; he clenched the glass tube so hard, it shattered into pieces and he yelped out in pain. Fat drops of blood were gliding down his hand.

"Sorry!" said Urahara quickly, embarrassed. "I didn't mean to scare you!"

Momotaro glanced up at him, a haori-less Urahara holding a book, and then down at his own bleeding hand.

_I am not going to break down, I will hold together!_ He told himself. _I will stay angry! I am going to stand up, straighten my shoulders and act like a man! An angry man, that is! I am going to look into his eyes and then... And then..._

_And then what?_

He couldn't just hit Urahara! He would probably be put in jail! He had never been in a jail before. Also Urahara probably wouldn't just stand there, politely waiting to be hit - he was a captain, while Momotaro was... just Momotaro.

So, _then_ what?

At last, after some internal struggle, Momotaro gave up and forced a smile on his face.

"Don't worry about it, Captain. I will heal it in a moment," he muttered between his teeth and pushed his hand under the tap to wash away the blood. Urahara watched him as Momotaro cleaned the wound and helped him put a bandage on his hand.

"Is everything all right, Yamada-san?" he asked at last.

"Yes, everything is fine."

"Are you sure? You seem to be a bit... tense."

Momotaro took a deep breath and looked Urahara in the eyes. What he wanted to say was: _No, nothing is all right!_ _Could you please stop messing with my life? Or with Kurotsuchi-san's for that matter! Leave us alone!_

Yet, what he actually said was:

"Your haori... Did something happen to it? Is it at the tailor?"

"No," answered Urahara, surprised. "Why?"

"I just noticed that you haven't been wearing it lately. I thought maybe there was some problem with it."

"No, my haori is perfectly fine. Thank you!"

"May I..." Momotaro took a deep breath and tried again. "May I ask why aren't you wearing it?"

"Because... I haven't put it on?" answered Urahara slowly with a smile, as if he was trying to figure out the trick in a trivial question.

"Captain," said Momotaro querulously. "Low ranking shinigami who don't get a chance to meet their captains in person often look out for the haori. If they cannot see it, they might mistake you for someone... unimportant. They may even act towards you in a way... a way you may consider impolite."

"I see," said Urahara as Momotaro saw understanding shining up in the other's eyes, and suddenly he knew it was stupid to press this topic, but anger drove him on.

"You haven't been wearing your haori for a while now." A thin layer of sweat was shining on his forehead. "I hope no such atrocity has happened to you lately, because of it."

Urahara nodded and then he smiled the coldest smile Momotaro had ever seen on anything without scales.

"I think, Yamada-san, we should probably continue this talk in my office," he said and with a casual move he waved towards the door of the lab, then turned around and left. "Please, follow!"

Momotaro obeyed.

_That's it,_ he thought._ I will probably be fired, but at least I will be fired with a clean conscience._

He liked this thought. It was kind of romantic. He, Yamada Momotaro stood up for himself at last (well... sort of...), despite how small his chances were! He felt like a knight in shining armor from a novel, marching right into the cave of the evil dragon to face him in an earth shaking, epic battle!

Well, he corrected himself, actually a knight following the dragon politely into his cave to ask him some questions. He wondered if this maybe made the situation a bit less heroic.

They arrived in the Captain's office. Urahara sat behind his desk and motioned Momotaro to take a seat in front of him.

"I believe you wish to talk about Kurotsuchi-san," he said. "Am I right?"

After a moment of hesitation Momotaro nodded.

"Urahara-san," he began. "I don't know what kind of a grudge you hold against him, but please forgive him! He can be really stupid sometimes, but it's really not his fault! He doesn't think like others, he cannot see that the way he acts is wrong."

Urahara laughed.

"But Yamada-san, I have nothing against him! Kurotsuchi-san does indeed have a quite _unique_ kind of personality, but, to tell the truth, I find him rather more interesting than troublesome."

"Then why don't you tell him the truth?" Momotaro burst out. "You are U.K., aren't you?" He saw Urahara arching an eyebrow." You are the one who left the message on my wall, and the one who replied to my articles, right?"

"You mean Kurotsuchi-san's articles?" interrupted Urahara.

"...Yes," agreed Momotaro, squirming. "You know about that too, don't you, sir?"

Urahara nodded.

"I have been aware of it for a while now. I wonder, what could you possibly have thought when you accepted my offer. You couldn't seriously believe that you could do this job with your knowledge," said Urahara. His voice wasn't particularly unfriendly, it merely carried the tone of someone simply stating facts. Still, Momotaro felt himself blushing in shame.

"I wasn't really thinking, sir," he said. "I was scared of what would happen if I told you the truth and Captain Unohana learned that it wasn't me who wrote those articles. I remembered my bride and I thought... I thought about all that money I could get for this job..." He paused. His anger and the adrenalin that came with it was already disappearing, and it started to dawn on Momotaro that he had lost control over this conversation.

"Indeed!" brightened up Urahara suddenly. "You are about to get married, ne? I believe congratulations are in order then!"

"Thank you, sir," muttered Momotaro. He wished the ground would open under him and swallow him whole. Then he asked hesitantly, "What will happen now, sir?"

Urahara took his pipe out from the drawer of his desk and lit it.

"Did you tell Kurotsuchi-san that you know that I am U.K.?" he asked.

"No," replied Momotaro. He lowered his gaze. "Not yet."

"I see," said Urahara. "In that case, I have an offer for you, Yamada-san. You know that you are not the one I want. I have no use for someone like you in this division, so how about this: I am a bit busy right now. One week from today will be the Obon festival in the Living World, and as you know, our division, as well as all the others, must attend."

Momotaro nodded again.

The Obon festival was one of the most important holidays in the living world, and also one that caused much headache for Soul Society. On this day, the gates of the Nether World opened and the souls of the deceased were allowed to return and visit their living relatives for a single night. This, however, didn't skip the attention of the hollows either, and so, each year for a single night, thousands of shinigami got assigned to the Living World to protect the visiting souls.

"Once the festival has ended, however," continued Urahara, "I will write a letter to Captain Unohana, in which I will ask her to take you back. You would keep your present rank and your present salary, only you would return to the 4th division."

Momotaro stared at him suspiciously. This sounded too good to be true! There had to be a catch somewhere, he thought, and as Urahara went on, he was proven right:

"All I ask in exchange, don't tell Kurotsuchi-san about me just yet."

"What will happen to him?" asked Momotaro, cautiously.

"Do not bother yourself about that!" replied Urahara, but when he noticed the expression on Momotaro's face he continued a bit more softly. "Don't worry! I mean no harm for him. He will come out better from this agreement than you would think!"

Momotaro considered this. Urahara's offer sounded good, very good in fact, but the question was, did he actually trust Urahara enough to believe him?

_Well,_ he thought, _I don't have many other choices, do I?_

"All right," he said at last. "I agree."

"Good. One more thing," said Urahara and pushed something towards the other shinigami on the table. When Momotaro picked it up he saw it was the book Urahara held in his hand in the lab. "Could you please give this to Kurotsuchi san? I think he would find it interesting. Just don't tell him I sent it, please!"

.

**-oOo-**

**.  
**

When Momotaro arrived home he hardly recognized the place. It felt strangely small, and it took a few moments for Momotaro to realize why. All the things and furniture that should have been near the walls were now shoved into a pile in the middle of the room. Yet, the real shock came when he saw the walls: they were covered by small black letters, numbers and formulas all written in Mayuri's jittery handwriting, from the ceiling to the ground.

Mayuri was pacing up and down in front of one of the walls, deep in thought. From time to time he stopped, steepled his fingers and glanced up at his notes.

On any other day Momotaro would have been shocked, but after facing off with Urahara today, he felt too tired and apathetic to be even surprised. He stopped behind Mayuri and looked around.

"You really should have written around the windows too, you know," he said flatly. "Then, if anyone asked I could say that this is the trendiest decor pattern for modern homes. It's a bit oppressive with all this black, though."

Mayuri turned around very slowly and glared at him, miffed and baffled.

"Moron," he said and returned to his thoughts.

"You could have told me if you ran out of notebooks, you know. I would have gladly bought you some more. There are only so many walls in this house, after all!" continued Momotaro a bit more sharply, hoping that he could drive the message home, but Mayuri only shrugged.

"I just needed more space to think," he replied after moment of pause. "I really couldn't keep the calculations straight in the notebook, with all of them being on different pages."

Momotaro looked over the walls; here and there he could identify some small drawings too. If he didn't think too hard about what they pictured, he almost liked them.

"Ah, this is about that serum, right?" he said.

"There must be a mistake somewhere! A miscalculation!" said Mayuri fervently. "But I will find it! I will find it and rub it in that jerk's face!"

"Oh..." said Momotaro weakly. _It is, of course, about Urahara again_, he thought. _Who else, really?_

Momotaro looked at his roommate curiously - he wondered if Mayuri had noticed how obsessed he had became with the other man. The book Urahara had given to him began to feel as heavy in his hands as if it was made from lead.

"Do you want to know what U.K. did?" Mayuri interrupted his musings.

"I am sure you are going to tell me anyway," said Momotaro in resignation.

"He ignored me! That bastard, simply ignored _me_!" said Mayuri and he described his encounter with Urahara at the 4th division.

Momotaro listened. At last he said:

"Yes, well, isn't that what you wanted?"

"I wanted him not to notice me."

"But since he did, would you rather that he stopped and talked to you?"

"Of course not!" Mayuri snapped. "I hate him!"

There was a thoughtful pause while Momotaro subjected this to careful analysis.

"Shouldn't you be happy then?" he wondered.

Mayuri shot him a look as if Momotaro had grown not only another head but possibly a few more legs and some fins too. Then, he simply shook his head as if he was suggesting that Momotaro was beyond any hope.

"What is that?" said Mayuri suddenly, pointing at the book in Momotaro's hands. "What are you reading?"

Momotaro felt the blood rise in his cheeks.

"Ah...It's a..." he stuttered, quickly trying to think up something. "It's a...nothing. It's a nothing!" he grinned sheepishly and quickly hid the book behind his back. "It's just a novel Mitsuko-san gave me."

"With dragons and brainless damsels in distresses in it, I presume," said Mayuri dryly.

Momotaro knew he had to be crimson colored by now, but he nodded.

"Then run along! Go and play with your _book,_" said Mayuri and he turned back to his scribbling on the wall.

Momotaro stood there for another long moment, wondering. He looked at the walls, then at the book in his hand hesitantly and then back at the walls again. Finally he quickly slid the book on the desk behind Mayuri.

Clear conscience was one thing. Family was another.

.

**-oOo-**

**.  
**

As the door closed behind Momotaro with a familiar 'click', Mayuri felt a shiver running up his spine. A feeling just crept over him, sneaking in through some back door in his mind and now it was decidedly trying to demand his attention. Mayuri realized that something was wrong. It had just gone wrong.

Something was wrong with Momotaro... with the way he acted. As if he was even more tense than usual, and the expression on his face was almost... guilty?

He hesitantly turned around and glanced at Momotaro's door, as if it could give him an explanation to all of this.

_This is foolish_, he thought at last, shaking his head. This was Momotaro after all; he was made of at least 90% unfounded guilt! _He probably just stepped on someone's leg on his way home or something, _decided Mayuri and turned back to the wall with a shrug.

He had already been glaring at it for hours now, but he just couldn't get anywhere. Everything looked perfect, and yet the formula didn't work. He knew there was a mistake there somewhere, a small detail that skipped his attention, but he couldn't find it. He simply couldn't concentrate. Every time he tried to focus on the problem the image of U.K. swam into his mind. U.K. talking to him in the restaurant, joking at the bridge, and then there were all those _interesting_ dreams too. He was beginning to find this all very annoying.

Mayuri was certain that he was fully aware of what was happening to him: his hormones were playing a trick on him. He, however, was Kurotsuchi Mayuri and he was sure as hell he was not going to give in to that stupid dreamy-weamy, butterflies-in-the-stomach stuff that always seemed to follow whenever hormones had a say. People called that love. Mayuri called it temporary dementia.

He was certain that if only he could concentrate on his serum enough he could forget about U.K. and return to being productive again. He tried to focus harder.

At last, at around midnight, he gave up and went into the little kitchen to make himself a tea. That was when he noticed the book laying on the desk. It didn't look familiar to him, and wondering how it got there, he put his mug on the table, flipped the book open and read a few pages randomly.

Hours later his tea was still untouched.

.

**-oOo-**

**.  
**

The next day, when his work time ended, Mayuri had set out to find U.K. Thanks to that book Mayuri had reached a realization he felt he had to share with the other man, as soon as possible, but he was nowhere to be found. Mayuri had been searching for hours, peeked in every tavern, shop and generally every hole and crevice one could expect to find a man, but seemingly U.K. had disappeared from the city.

It was already getting dark when he gave up. It seemed simply impossible to find a man in Soul Society he knew practically nothing about, not even his name, without using kidou. If only the place was less crowded with shinigami he would have had a chance to sense U.K., but with all the different reiatsu patterns around him this was impossible. They blinded his senses and made him feel as if he was standing in a crowd where everyone talked, shouted and laughed and he had to find a single person only by spotting his voice.

He quickly looked around the narrow street in which he was standing to make sure nobody could possibly see what he was about to do. People had a tendency to became nervous when unseated rookies began casting captain level spells in the middle of a street, and the last thing Mayuri wanted now was to draw attention to himself.

He ran through the incantation and felt his own reiatsu flare up. The world began to shrink and spin, and when it settled again at last a queer sensation washed over Mayuri; he knew he was still standing on the dark street, he could feel the cobblestones under his feet, and yet, at the same time, he could see the whole city as if he floated high up in the sky. The walls of the buildings became translucent beneath him, shifting uncertainly as if they were made only of mist. Among them thousands of tiny lights fluttered like candle flames, with long silken ribbons drifting and swirling around and behind them akin to many hungry serpents. Most of them were red, but here and there Mayuri could spot white ones too.

It didn't take him long to find the one he was looking for, it was sauntering down a solitary, little street towards a house Mayuri vaguely remembered as one of the many sento, public baths of the city. With a sigh he let the spell go.

He found the building easily; a blue curtain was hanging before its door, with the white kanji of "hot water" printed on it. Dashing in, he threw some coins on the counter, snatched a towel and a bag of soap and was just about to enter the bathing area when an attendant stopped him.

"Sir, your zanpakuto, please," he said, holding out his hand towards Mayuri.

Mayuri glared at him.

"No."

"But, sir!" gawked the attendant in shock. "That's the law!"

Mayuri knew he was right, and normally he left his sword at home when he visited a place like this, but he didn't know he would be doing so today. He had never cared much for his zanpakuto beyond the fact that it was a useful tool, but it was _his_ tool. Only his. The thought that he should allow a complete stranger to touch it felt oddly disturbing.

"Get out of my way or I will gut you right here," he said. His voice was calm, but he felt his grip growing tighter around his weapon.

The attendant paled.

"But I... only... " he stammered, taking a few steps backward. Then he quickly bowed and turned away. "As you wish, master..."

Mayuri entered the small changing room and threw off his clothes. He placed them in a straw basket and put that and his sword in a locker.

Before he entered the bath he took a deep breath to calm himself. It wasn't as if he should have been so nervous because of what he wanted to ask from U.K., he reasoned with himself. It was a sensible request, a completely natural thing, and anyone with a lick of sense should have, in Mayuri's opinion, seen the logic behind his reasoning. There was absolutely no point in being worried about it!

He flexed his muscles, opened the sliding door and entered the bath.

The room was fortunately almost empty; it was already getting late and with the nearing of the closing time, most patrons had already left the bath house, for which Mayuri was silently thankful. Only U.K. was lounging in the huge bathtub. He looked up at the noise of Mayuri entering the place.

"Greetings, Kurotsuchi-san," he said with a tired smile. "I began to wonder if you wanted to stay in the changing room forever. It is good to see you decided to come in at last."

Mayuri felt his face flushing in irritation over the teasing.

_The nerve of this man!_ he thought, but he tried to keep his calmness, teeth gritting.

"I want to talk to you about something and it cannot wait," he said coolly as he sat down on one of the small stools next to the tub and began to quickly rinse himself. "Yesterday evening I found a most interesting book on my desk, at home. It was about cell structure and genetics." He finished cleaning himself, and sloshed a bucket of water over his head to wash off the soap. Then he rubbed out the water from his eyes, and turned around on the stool to face Urahara. "That book belongs to you, I suspect? It was you who put it on my desk."

"Now, why would you think that?" said Urahara, with a quizzical smile, leaning against the bathtub, enjoying the sight. "I can assure you I haven't entered your home!"

Mayuri frowned.

"It had to be you," he said as he joined Urahara in the warm water, pointedly ignoring the disappointed look on the man's face. "Momotaro couldn't tell a good book apart from a ruminating sheep, and I am sure I have never seen that volume before. I would surely remember if I did." He risked a sly smile. "You shouldn't be so modest, I merely wanted to thank you for it."

"Oh?"

"It has not only helped me figure out how I could make my serum work, but through this it has also made me realize something very important." He quickly explained what he had discovered about his serum to Urahara, who now and then commented with a few words. "I have not tested this yet, of course," Mayuri finished his monologue, "but I am positive the serum will have to work now."

"This is great news. Good work, Kurotsuchi-san!" said Urahara, and Mayuri clenched his fist under the water in his embarrassment over how the other man's approving smile filled him with guilty delight.

He cleared his throat.

"Indeed. I have not yet figured every detail out, but this realization made me think," he said, carefully taking a deep breath. Now came the critical, delicate part of the conversation, he knew. "The mistake I had made was so blunt and obvious I should have noticed it much sooner. I am not used to being this..." he pondered for a moment, searching for the right word, "this _ineffective,_" he said at last. "Therefore I have subjected my current situation to careful analysis and I have come to a conclusion."

"Yes?"

"This is all your fault," he stated and before Urahara could have disagreed he quickly continued. "Don't even try to deny it, there is no point! This was a mistake I shouldn't have made, and the fact that I did shows only that the situation has completely got out of my control!"

"What situation? I can't say I understand you."

"You! In the past few weeks I have become completely unable to get you out of my mind. I always think of you. I even dream about you! This is unacceptable!"

Urahara must have not expected this, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Well... I..."

"I am certain this is nothing more than a blend of curiosity and innate instincts; something completely understandable for an average male of my age and lifestyle," Mayuri interrupted him in a tone that suggested he considered this topic entirely indisputable. "_I_, however, have no time, need or use for such idle fancies and I don't approve my mind being occupied by them. Hence, I have decided I want to remove the source of this trouble, meaning you, from my attention. I expect you to understand."

Urahara hesitated.

"You are not telling me you want to try to kill me again, are you?" he asked, warily.

"The idea had indeed crossed my mind, but no," said Mayuri matter of factly. "I am certain I could poison you, but then there would be nobody left with whom I could have an intelligent conversation with! No, what I think the best way to handle this situation is by giving in to our natural urges and have sex."

Urahara's jaw dropped.

"Natural..." he blinked in shock."... What?"

"Don't you agree?" asked Mayuri, the embodiment of complete surprised innocence. "I am certain this is for the best. You will get an unlimited access to my body for a single night, while my curiosity will be satisfied. With this I will get rid of this pointless infatuation I have with you and I again will become able to concentrate on what is important. I believe this is a fair exchange."

"Let's just stop here for a moment!" Urahara raised a hand. "Are you saying you want to sleep with me because you think that it will be so _bad_ you will get disillusioned with me because of it?"

Mayuri considered this for a while.

"Basically, yes," he nodded calmly. "Though the word I would have used is not 'bad', rather 'boring'."

"Boring?" Repeated Urahara, indignantly. "Is this some way to butter up someone to get him into bed?"

"Considering your actions after our meeting in that run down hole you called '_restaurant_', I was not aware that you were in need of any more 'buttering up'," stated Mayuri dryly. Then, after some thinking he got up and knelt down in front of Urahara, placing his hands next to the blond man's thighs, so near he was almost touching them, and leaned closer. "Or did I misunderstand something?" he asked.

Urahara leaned back.

"Kurotsuchi-san, you hardly know anything about me! You may come to regret this later..." he said softly, and Mayuri paused for a moment, uncertain.

"I doubt that," he shook his head at last. "I only want to have sex with you and nothing else! I don't need to know anything about you for that, do I? There is nothing complicated in this."

"Are you serious?" whispered Urahara, and Mayuri felt a pair of calloused hands on his hips, sliding slowly up his sides. "What do you think will happen tomorrow? Will we get up, forget about the whole thing and go on our separate ways like two strangers?"

"Why?" said Mayuri as he entwined his arms around Urahara's neck. "I don't see any problem with that."

"Do you seriously believe this is how it works?"

"I don't need to _believe_ anything," scoffed Mayuri. "I _know_ that this will happen." He was so close by now he could feel the warmth of Urahara's breath on his lips, and despite his disgust with his own weakness, the other's nearness sent a soft shiver of pleasure through him. When he looked up he saw how lust burned behind Urahara's gaze, and he knew the blond man must have felt the same as he.

"Is that so?" murmured Urahara brushing his lips softly against Mayuri's. "Well, if this is what you want, who am I to argue with you?" he laughed softly, and leaned back in the tub, putting some space between the other man and himself again.

Mayuri stared at him dumbfounded.

"What are you doing?"

"Why, I am just enjoying the bath!" replied Urahara happily, then his smile widened into an impish grin as he added, "...and wondering if you knew what to do next."

Mayuri's jaw clenched. Even the assumption that he, Kurotsuchi Mayuri could be anything less than perfectly adept at something as mundane as this was completely ridiculous! Admittedly, he was more used to being served, and he wasn't completely certain where to start, but he had faith in his imagination.

He saw Urahara's pale eyebrow rise challengingly, and pride inflamed Mayuri's courage. He tilted forward and placed a shaking hand on Urahara's waist under the water. He tried to slide it upwards in what he was almost certain an erotic way, while he bit softly down on the other's white neck, but when his fingers reached the area where normally a woman had breasts he froze and drew his hand back as quickly as if he himself had been bitten. He heard Urahara's deep laugh and he felt his face flush crimson as shame and anger washed over him because of his own awkwardness and clumsiness.

"Oh my," he heard Urahara chuckle. Silken, blond hair fell over Mayuri's hot cheeks as the other man leaned closer, and whispered, with amusement thick in his voice, "You are so cute."

_Cute? Cute? _Mayuri's gritted his teeth at this comment. The bastard was teasing him, he was certain of it! His head jerked up as he wanted to retort with a fittingly biting comment, but smooth fingers on his jaw stopped him, and before he could utter a sound, warm lips locked his mouth in a deep, sensual kiss.

U.K. had apparently taken mercy on him, realized Mayuri as he felt two strong arms encircling his waist, drawing him closer. Skin slid around his waist, and suddenly Urahara lifted him up, and with a yelp Mayuri found himself sitting on the other man's lap, his knees on either side of Urahara's hips. His muscles tightened when Urahara brushed carefully along the inside of his thighs. Thumbs trailed around his skin, over his stomach, down the crease of his hip and thighs. Urahara pressed hard against his body, and Mayuri sensed the other's heart pound under his ribs. His fingers were digging in Mayuri's back, finding all the sensitive spots that made the other moan in delight, while his lips also moved against Mayuri's, a clever tongue flicking in and out, tracing his mouth with gentle touches.

Eventually Urahara pulled far away enough to breath.

"The bath house will close soon," he whispered in Mayuri's ear, softly nipping at his earlobe. "We should get out of here... To go somewhere where we won't be disturbed."

"Come with me to my home!" replied Mayuri, breathlessly.

Urahara's mouth quirked into a smirk.

"I doubt Yamada-san would be ready to see me under his roof like that just yet..." he said.

"I will kill him," offered Mayuri. He turned, trying to catch Urahara's mouth again, but the blond man stopped him, grinning.

"I am certain Captain Unohana wouldn't appreciate that!"

"I will kill her too!"

"And what about the secret ops? They will come after you!" said Urahara, laughing.

"I will kill them all if I must. Can we please proceed now?" he whispered, and leaning closer he tried to steal another kiss, but Urahara stopped him.

"No, I am afraid that won't do at all," he said, shaking his head with a smile. "Luckily, I think I know a perfect place." They went into the changing room, picked up their clothes and Mayuri's sword from the lockers and then Urahara put his arms around Mayuri's waist. "Hold on tight!" he said. The world turned into the familiar spots and lines again as Urahara shunpo-ed away with him.

The next moment Mayuri found himself in a huge, dark room.

He couldn't see well in the dim light; he could make out the stone walls, but the ceiling was lost in darkness. It looked like a cave, but Mayuri knew they couldn't have gone far from the bath house and he didn't know any caves nearby.

A shiver ran through him, reminding him that he was still naked. It felt very cold here compared to the bathhouse.

"What is this place?" Mayuri asked.

"Nothing important," replied Urahara. "Just an old secret place of mine. I often came here to play as a child."

After some searching, Urahara found a dusty, old futon in one of the corners. He rolled it out and pushed the quilts aside from it. It looked relatively clean.

Arms wrapped around Mayuri again, now from behind, and a golden haired head came down to nuzzle the nape of Mayuri's neck. Mayuri leaned back into the other man's welcomingly warm chest with a sigh. He glanced around. He saw the dark shape of shelves leaning against the walls. Most of them were full of weapons.

"You must have liked dangerous games as a child, I see," he said cynically.

Urahara laughed, hot breath gushing against the shell of Mayuri's ear.

"I still do! But those I used later. For training."

Mayuri wasn't entirely certain how he got to the futon, or how Urahara got over him.

He slid his hands down sinewy arms, back up to the other's shoulders. He could feel small scars under his fingers. He slipped his hand behind Urahara's head, and weaved his fingers among silken, blond locks. He felt a nose push at his jaw, and he tilted his head to make more space for the other. Urahara was rubbing against his throat, his hot, wet tongue gliding along, following Mayuri's pulse. He kissed Mayuri's shoulder, open mouthed, teasing his skin with small bites.

Eventually Urahara rose up again and kissed him. Mayuri opened his mouth letting Urahara's tongue slide between his lips, tasting and caressing.

It felt nice.

Now that Mayuri's eyes had begun to get used to the dim light of the room, when Urahara leaned a bit back again he could take a good look at the other man at last.

His eyes widened in fascination. He had seen arousal before, certainly, but he found the sight of another man aroused by none other than him, profoundly new. At once he felt alarmed and surprisingly stirred by this thought. When he reached out for the member, it rose to his touch and pulsed in his hand; a rigid shaft beneath soft, velvety skin. He heard Urahara groan and found himself suddenly locked in a tight embrace and being drawn down onto the dusty futon.

The feeling of the unfamiliar weight on him startled Mayuri, as did the realization of how different this was from all his previous experiences. Dressed, Urahara didn't look too big, he had slender wrists and long fingers, but without his kimono Mayuri could see his well formed muscles. Urahara was hard everywhere where Mayuri was used to softness and delicacy, he was all flatness and steel sinews. He felt strong and powerful (almost dangerously so) above Mayuri, and this stirred a strange desire in the other. Mayuri felt powerful for being able to effect such a man - and he found this a most heady, arousing sensation.

_You are all mine_, he thought as he locked his legs around Urahara and bit down sharply on his shoulder. He was filled with savage delight as he was rewarded by a hoarse gasp.

He returned touch with touch and kiss with kiss. The soft tongue and sharp teeth teasing his nipples, and clever fingers caressing his skin and manhood sent him to the verge of climax. Tension was knotting in his loins and his inside felt aflame; he could hear the pulse of his own blood in his ear, his moans turned to hoarse cries as he felt about to burst, but at the last moment Urahara suddenly stopped. He quickly pressured some points at the base and the top of his erection, and the world slowly swayed back to the center for Mayuri.

"What the..." he breathed in surprise as he realized what had happened: he got denied of his satisfaction.

A peculiar sensation began to come over him. His arousal diminished a bit, but he was still rock hard. His head began to feel too light, while his senses grew extraordinarily sharp. His skin was prickling and every nerve in his body vibrated; and he could sense even the slightest touch of the cloth beneath him with painful clarity.

"Not very patient, are we?" said Urahara smiling above him. He moved back a bit and sat up on his knees, putting an arm's length between them, leaving the feeling of disappointing coldness on Mayuri's skin.

"What are you doing? Come back here!" demanded Mayuri, panting.

A mischievous smile spread on Urahara's face as he quickly leaned forward and placed a small kiss on Mayuri's lips.

"I believe you said that you want to be _disappointed_," he said, "and also that I can have _unlimited_ access to your body. So be silent now and let me have my fun!" With that Urahara stood up and disappeared into the darkness of the room.

For a moment it occurred to Mayuri that U.K. had probably just left him there, and to his surprise horror flooded him at the thought of never satisfying the urgent need that was growing in him.

"Bastard..." he muttered, closing his eyes, taking huge gulps of air.

Another laugh was his answer, it was tinkling around him, mocking him, and then Urahara was back again, holding a small vial of oil in his hands. He dropped it beside the futon and lowered himself before Mayuri. He gasped as he saw Urahara take his member into his hand, caressing it with slow, deliberate motions, and when Mayuri was already squirming under his touch, Urahara leaned forward and his lips joined in the play too.

His mouth was hot and moist, and as he moved up and down, his fingers slick with saliva followed, squeezing at all the right places. The exquisite sensation drew a low moan from Mayuri. He desperately tried to hold on to the last splinters of his self-consciousness, but his pleasure was mounting too fast too high - much higher than he would have ever believed it was possible. It was almost painful already.

The rest of the world had disappeared for him, faded into a blur of colors, and everything reduced into a single, white-hot point, a tightening in his loins. He cried out and his back arched as the spasms of climax washed over him. However, right before he reached the peak, he felt Urahara's fingers deftly pressing down on those points, preventing his full release yet again.

Mayuri could have almost cried in his frustration.

"Please..." he whispered and reached out towards the other man, to grab him, to do anything that could get Mayuri closer to the fulfilling of his need, but he was firmly pushed back to the futon.

The spicy scent of orange oil filled the air, and Urahara parted Mayuri's thighs and leaned over him. His mouth traced Mayuri's neck, he softly bit over the delicate whorl of the other's ear, finding his way to Mayuri's lips at last. Their tongues met, gliding, entwining as Mayuri desperately pulled him closer with a needy moan. Through the haze of excitement, the rational part of his mind was watching himself in horror as the last remaining shreds of his self-consciousness burned away, but Mayuri couldn't care. It didn't matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was Urahara above him, and his fingertips, slick with scented oil, playing over Mayuri's opening, stroking, teasing, demanding to be allowed inside.

Waves of heat were burning Mayuri up from the inside and the wild, erratic pounding of his own heart filled his ears, and his back arched in response as he felt Urahara caress and touch him at places where he had never been touched before.

"Relax," purred Urahara, "It will hurt if you don't relax..."

It did hurt. Urahara tried to enter him slowly, but despite his care Mayuri gasped in pain and stiffened for a moment.

"I am sorry," said Urahara quickly.

"Stop..." panted Mayuri, lifting his hips gently, "...talking!"

The pain quickly grew into pleasure. Urahara began to move within him, and even the last flickers of discomfort melted away. Mayuri clasped Urahara with fierce joy, digging his nails hard into the other's pale skin. Urahara's embrace tightened, and with a stifled moan he increased the speed of his thrusts.

Mayuri almost swooned. The world spun around him, black dots danced before his eyes, and his strained lungs couldn't get enough air. Panic washed over him, as he felt his heart skip. He would die of pleasure!

"No! Wait! I can't... take..."

Suddenly, his muscles strained so hard that for a moment he was certain they would snap, his breath skipped and then the world exploded in a cataclysm of rapture. His body shuddered with the ecstasy and time stopped.

Minutes passed before he opened his eyes again. He had never felt this relaxed before. All the tension had gone from his body, all the anger, and all his problems seemed distant and small, leaving only warm bliss behind.

Urahara looked down at him panting for a long moment, a soft layer of sweat shining on his forehead. He let out a long, tired, satisfied sigh, caressed Mayuri's cheek and pressed a soft, longing kiss against his lips before he rolled off Mayuri to lie on his back next to him.

"Was this disillusioning enough for you?" he asked with a wide grin.

"I hate you, I hope you know that..." muttered Mayuri tiredly when he managed to muster enough strength to speak again.

"Good, good!" chuckled Urahara, and he sleepily drew up the quilt around them. "What would became of the world if you didn't?"

And with that they drifted into sleep.

.

**-oOo-**

**.  
**

The next morning brought fat clouds from the mountains that filled the air with moisture. A warm, damp wind blew lazily across Soul Society and it caught into Unohana's hair, sweeping a few loose strands into her face as she was walking through the main courtyard inspecting her troops.

The Obon Festival was about to begin the next day, and the shinigami of the 4th were ready to leave for the World of the Living. Two hundred of them stood in orderly lines in the courtyard, with their white medical packs thrown over their shoulders as Unohana walked past them, her vice-captain in tow. She made a little speech to them, reminding them of their duties and the importance of the help only they could provide; the healing.

She had just finished and was about to give the order for the opening of the Senkai Gate when she noticed a figure coming, running through the other end of the square. It was a young man she often saw cleaning the main building of the squad.

"My deepest apologies, Captain!" he said bowing deeply, in a voice that didn't really suggest this. He was panting heavily from the running, his hair was dishevelled, there were dark circles under his eyes and his kimono was rumpled, as if he had dressed in haste. His black kosode, outer kimono was also hanging from him as if it were many sizes bigger than he needed.

"Who are you?" asked Unohana.

"Kurotsuchi Mayuri," replied the young man. "Rookie."

Unohana examined him. She had heard that name before (mostly in reports that were demanding detention), and one of the officers was using it as a curse word, as she recalled.

"You are late, Kurotsuchi-san," she said.

"I am sorry. I overslept," he apologized.

She reached out and carefully examined the inside of the sleeve of Mayuri's kosode. The symbol of the 12th division was embroided in it with white thread. When Mayuri noticed it, a crimson blush spread over his cheeks.

"I... There must have been some mix up... in the laundry!" he said quickly, but Unohana only smiled back at him.

"But of course, Kurotsuchi-san," she said.

She stepped aside and gave the signal. The Senkai Gate opened, and even when the last of her men passed through, she was still smiling.

.

**-oOo-**

**.  
**

The same afternoon, somewhere in Seireitei, Morihashi entered Yamamoto Genryuusai's office with a thick case of papers in his hands. He knelt down before the High Captain's desk and bowed so deeply his forehead had touched the tatami before him.

"Rise!" ordered Yamamoto.

Morihashi did, but he politely kept his eyes down and stared at the floor before him, while the old captain studied him.

"What do you want, Morihashi? I suggest that you have a good reason to disturb me!" Yamamoto said at last.

"Sir, I have a crime to report!" said Morihashi. "You must know that a dangerous criminal, a murderer, is on the loose in Seireitei, disguised as one of the shinigami."

"And you came to me with this?" grumbled Yamamoto with a snort. "That is the 2nd division's job. Bring it up with them!"

"With all due respect, I cannot do that, sir," replied Morihashi, bowing his head deep again. "I have reason to suspect that Sihouin Yoruichi, captain of the 2nd Division is involved."

The High Captain regarded him with an unreadable expression for a long moment.

"Are you accusing one of my Captains of not fulfilling their duty, Morihashi?" He said slowly. "I expect you have proof, not just empty words!"

A self-confident little smile flashed across Morihashi's lips. From here on, there was no way he could lose, he knew.

"Indeed, I do, sir!" he said, placing his hand on the paper case he brought.

"I see," said Yamamoto and with a nod he motioned Morihashi to come closer. "Speak then!"

.

..

* * *

**a.n.: ****If you do want to see this story continued, p**lease don't forget to review! I am serious! As much as I appreciate "story allerts" and "favorites", they don't have the same, inspiring power as reviews do.  



	10. The Obon Festival  Part 1

**Warning:**I do not intend to hurt anyone's national feelings! Please keep in mind that **this is only a work of fiction, taking place in imaginary places with fictional characters and their subjective opinions, which in no way reflects what I think! **If you read on, don't take anything you see here personally!

**Warning2: This chapter is dark! If you don't like that, don't read on!**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

**The Obon Festival**

**Part 1**

**.  
**

Yoruichi walked down the wooden floored corridors, passing the 1st Division offices that occupied the outer part of the building. Only half an hour earlier she had received a butterfly from the High Captain, with a strange, curt message, saying that her presence was immediately demanded in his office. Yoruichi didn't know what to make of it, but she began to worry; she was certain Captain Yamamoto wouldn't call on her like this unless there was some trouble.

She had almost reached the huge, double door of Yamamoto's office when they opened and Morihashi stepped through them. When the man noticed her, he stopped for a moment then bowed deeply, politely.

"Captain Shihouin!" he said with a smile. "Good day to you!"

Yoruichi nodded in acknowledgement and as she watched him leave, she felt the vague, nagging feeling that she had had all afternoon that something wasn't right strengthening. She had never seen Morihashi glad nor happy before! She was practically certain that was something this man was not capable of! It almost seemed unnatural in him, and Yoruichi could hardly suppress the desire to quickly glance around for unexpected assassins, or in all probability, flying pigs.

This feeling grew even stronger as she entered the High Captain's office.

Captain Yamamoto was sitting behind his desk, browsing through a pile of papers before him. The anger radiating from him through his reiatsu hung in the room, settling by the walls like a dark cloud of smoke and filling the air with an almost tangible tension. He hardly glanced up when he noticed her and without a greeting he motioned her to come closer.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, picking up a few pages from the stack before him and pushing them into Yoruichi's hands.

She immediately recognized it. It was a background check, a detailed analysis on Kurotsuchi Mayuri's mental condition and achievements from childhood up to the point when he finished the Shinigami school, along with the opinions given by his teachers. Every little crime, even the smallest misstep he ever made or could be accused of making, was listed in the document, beginning with the mysterious death of his mother. With red ink someone also stamped the word "failed" on the top of it.

Yoruichi could also remember sharply the conclusion drawn at the end of the report: Kurotsuchi Mayuri was marked as mentally unstable, a danger to both society and himself.

"This report was written by one of your men, wasn't it?" asked Yamamoto sharply. "Explain to me then how is it possible that I have been told that this Kurotsuchi is a member of the 4th Division right now? Why is this man not in the Maggot's Nest, Shihouin?"

Yoruichi closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts. She had known that this day might come sooner or later, yet she had always hoped she could avoid the confrontation and solve this problem before anyone else noticed it. This wasn't really about Mayuri, she knew. Mayuri was just a rookie, a nobody, and he was certainly not important enough for the High Captain to bother with his case. The problem was that this whole situation looked like it was Yoruichi's doing; as if it was she who had abused her power as the leader of the Secret Ops.

And in a way, that wasn't entirely untrue.

"I did not expect this from _you_ of all people," went on Yamamoto bitterly. "Your clan has served Seireitei for generations, fighting against crime. You should know better than anyone else why our laws are as they are! Why we cannot make any exceptions to them, for any reason! Not even for the sake of _family_!"

"That man is no family of mine," said Yoruichi calmly. "We are only distant relatives. My grandmother and his father were siblings, but there hasn't been any interaction between our clans for decades."

There was nothing unusual in this. Lesser clans often tried to marry their children into the great noble families to gain prestige and connections, while the greater clans jumped at the chance of sharing the lesser clans' wealth. Over the past thousand years the whole nobility of Seireitei slowly became related to each other in one way or another; but this was only business, nothing else. Yoruichi had met Mayuri just once in her whole life, as a child, and he didn't make much of an impression on her. She vaguely remembered him as a weird, silent boy with a dour expression.

She cleared her throat.

"I made the decisions I did only because I thought they were for the best, sir," she said evenly, keeping her eyes on Yamamoto. She wondered how much the High Captain knew, if this was merely a test to see if Yoruichi would be willing to admit her part or would try to lie about it. If he knew the whole truth, Yoruichi was certain that denial would only earn his wrath. She had also realized that the rest of the captains weren't there yet, so this wasn't an official interrogation. "Please, let me explain what happened! I will tell you everything."

The High Captain nodded for her to continue with hardly veiled impatience.

"A few months ago," began Yoruichi, "I got reports on the strange disappearance of a few low ranking shinigami. Apparently they took their leave to visit some friends or families in Rukongai and they have never been seen again. At the beginning we believed these men had simply defected from the Gotei 13, but after some searching we learned that in the past few years many spirits have disappeared from Rukongai too, in a similar manner. They just left their homes and never returned again."

"How could this go on for years? Why hasn't it been investigated yet?" interrupted Yamamoto suddenly.

"Because we didn't know about it, sir! Some of the humans claimed they have reported these cases, but for some reason, these reports have never reached the 2nd Division," said Yoruichi.

Yamamoto nodded.

"What about the disappearances?" he asked.

"So far we believe a shinigami must be behind them. Some of our leads point towards the 5th Division, but we are still continuing our search for suspects and witnesses," said Yoruichi. "I have launched an inside investigation, and I have found that some of my men were regularly taking bribes - many of which we traced back to clan Kurotsuchi."

"Are you trying to say that you didn't know about Mayuri until the investigation?" asked Yamamoto, his thick brows drawn in a frown.

"Yes, sir," nodded Yoruichi. "After I learned what happened I did not intend to let him go free, but he was already a member of the 4th Division and I couldn't arrest him without revealing what had happened."

Such a revelation could have proven disastrous for the Secret Ops. They would have lost all the respect and fear earned by hard work, and the fact that all this seemed to originate from a relative of the leader of the Omnitsukido didn't help either. They would have not only looked corrupt but weak too.

"So, I had Kurotsuchi watched," continued Yoruichi. "I needed him to do something, to commit a crime that is serious enough to have him arrested for it," she explained. "We have reason to believe that he broke the law on many occasions, and he can be connected to the fire that destroyed a part of Rukongai a few weeks ago. I also have solid evidence that he is involved in ethically highly questionable experiments. This, however, isn't enough to arrest him."

She left out the detail that many witnesses would have gladly testified that they saw Mayuri lighting that fire in Rukongai with their own eyes, because she didn't want to implicate Urahara in that case if she could avoid it.

"What happened to your men? The ones who were bribed?" asked Yamamoto suddenly.

"They have been dealt with and were made an example of," said Yoruichi and then she added with a wry smile: "Making side deals will not be tolerated in the Omnitsukido."

Yoruichi glanced up at the old man, hoping to catch any sign betraying his thoughts, but Yamamoto's expression was unreadable.

"I realize that this doesn't justify my actions," she said severely, bowing her head. "I know what I did was wrong, but I have chosen what I believed to be the lesser of two evils!"

Yamamoto didn't answer immediately. He just continued to look at her, stroking his long mustache thoughtfully.

"If I were to follow protocol I would demote you from your position. That is what you deserve," he said eventually. "But you have not given any reason before to doubt your devotion to the Gotei 13, and because of this I am willing to believe your explanation. Your actions and your incompetence will have consequences, but you shall remain a captain for now."

Despite herself, Yoruichi felt relief washing over her.

"The problem of Kurotsuchi Mayuri still remains, however," Yamamoto went on. "As soon as he returns from the World of Living, I want him arrested and his case sent to the Office of 46, and I don't want to hear about any more delays or accidents this time. Do you understand, Shihoin?"

"Yes, sir!" said Yoruichi, but her stomach clenched as she thought of Urahara. She wasn't sure how her friend would take this news. "What should I arrest him for?"

Yamamoto thought a bit.

"For the murder of the concubine of Lord Kurotsuchi," he said at last. "All the evidence you need is in the dossier on my desk. Collected on the order of Captain Urahara." then he added. "Apparently he grew tired of Kurotsuchi sneaking into his laboratories"

Yoruichi froze.

"By the order of... Captain Urahara, sir?" she repeated. She couldn't believe what she was hearing! She opened the dossier and took a look at the pages inside, but to her shock she saw Urahara's personal seal on them all. Then she remembered Morihashi's smile as he went past her in the corridor, and in that instance she understood everything.

"As you wish, sir," Yoruichi said, bowing.

"Good," said the High Captain with a nod. "Dismissed!"

As soon as she left the High Captain's office, Yoruichi hurried to the 12th Division to tell Urahara what had happened, but she had hardly entered the compound when a young lab assistant stopped her.

"If you are here to visit Captain Urahara, he isn't here!" said the young man. "He left for the Obon Festival in the Living World this morning. He will not return for days!"

**-oOo-**

Karakura town was hardly more than a rapidly growing village and a few dozen separate farms collected under a name. It was surrounded by fields and scraps of woodland. It had a little square next to the river, a newly built hospital and a factory somewhere near its outskirts which covered the town with a smothering, bitter, yellow smoke every day. All in all, it was just like many other towns around the country which were rising desperately on the wings of the industrial revolution after the first hard decades of the Meiji Era. It was completely unremarkable, but Mayuri found this place exciting none the less.

He had never been to the World of Living before. The humans he usually met in Soul Society were such foolish, whining and unreasonable creatures that the idea of a world full of them didn't sound like something he ever wanted to waste his time on. But now... Now he wanted to take a walk around the town, to sneak into the factory and to take apart something, _anything_, but preferably one of those curious looking horseless iron carts, one of which almost hit him only half an hour after he arrived. He wanted to take a good look at how humans could make them move so mysteriously, but every time he tried to sneak away, Mr. Pig caught him.

"I am watching you Kurotsuchi," he grumbled. "If you dare make any trouble while we are here, if you as much as disappear for longer than five minutes, I swear to all the Gods of the Universe I will get you fired from the Gotei 13! I won't let you make me look like a fool in front of everyone! Am I clear?"

So, now Mayuri was sulking alone at the river bank, near enough to the square that he could still feel the nauseating, heavy smell of fried food and hear the song of the Obon dancers and (not for the first time in the last few hours ) he silently swore that he was going to kill Mr. Pig one day. Preferably in a slow and painful manner.

The other shinigami were forming small groups, drinking and laughing. They should have been watching for hollows but the day had passed so uneventfully so far, they felt they could allow themselves to loosen up a bit. Everyone knew that there wasn't a sane hollow that would try to attack with so many shinigami around. Mayuri couldn't fault them; he was bored too, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Unoccupied, his mind had a tendency to wander back to _him_, and the fact that Mayuri managed to mix up their kimonos and now he was smelling like U.K. didn't help at all either. It was a nice smell though, it was warm and spicy with a tinge of expensive tobacco, and every time Mayuri caught it, it made his heart beat faster and his stomach heavy. It brought back the memories of the previous night, and every time he thought of that, Mayuri's pulse quickened. He couldn't help but wonder if U.K. was in the Living World too, if he too was boring himself to death in some similar, small town under the lead of some similarly idiotic officer, but he almost immediately berated himself for these thoughts. Shouldn't last night have gotten that man out of his system after all?

He hid his face in his hands with a frustrated sigh. Now he began to doubt if he had made the right choice.

Momotaro's voice woke him from his musings as he threw his arms with a yell around Mayuri's neck. He had a sword almost as long as he was tall hanging from his shoulders and he was positively drunk.

"Yoooo Kurotuchi-saaaaaan!" he said giggling and the heavy smell of alcohol hit Mayuri. "Why are ya sitting here all alone? We are having a paaarty! Come and have a drink!" he grabbed Mayuri's wrist and began to drag him towards one of the groups, but with a swift move Mayuri drew his hand back.

"Whatever for? Apparently you are drunk enough for two of us," he said angrily. "What would you do if a hollow attacked us now?"

"I would hide behind you, and order you to kill it," snickered Momotaro. "I would say: Kurotsuchi! Kill that hollow for me! I am an officer, you know!" he said proudly, while he sank to the ground and spread out on the grass. "C'mooooone, Kurotsuchi-san! I know you love to hate to be here and you love to be grumpy about it, but you should try to loosen up sometimes!"

Mayuri only shrugged with a dismissive huff.

"Come to think of it, I wanted to ask you..." Momotaro sat up suddenly, his expression turning a bit more serious. "Will you come to my wedding? It will be next month at the..."

"No," Mayuri interrupted him.

"Oh," blinked Momotaro, surprised. "Why?"

"Because I will be too busy to come, I am afraid" stated Mayuri not sounding too 'afraid' at all.

"How do you know that? I didn't even tell you when it will be!"

"I have a hunch," replied Mayuri dryly.

"But you must come!" Momotaro's brow furrowed as he tried to think up a good reason why that was so. "You live in my home!"

"So does a legion of cockroaches," said Mayuri with a sigh. "Did you invite them too?"

"Well, no," Momotaro shook his head, "but they aren't my friends."

"We are not friends!"

Momotaro looked at him a bit confused, with hazy, drunk eyes. He cocked his head to the side like a little sparrow as he tried to digest this piece of information, but as he failed he just shrugged and stood up.

"I really think you should try the sake," he said and shook his head with the cheerful ignorance of the comfortably and thoroughly drunk and patted Mayuri's shoulder. "You need to relaaaax!" With that, he turned around and returned to his drinking partners.

A few moments later Mayuri heard a cackle of laughter and then Momotaro's drunken voice raised in a song about a wizard and his staff. Mayuri could only catch a few lines from it on the wind.

_A wizard when young has a staff that is small.  
It's puny and weak, ineffective withal..._

Really now, thought Mayuri burying his face in his hands, could this guy become any more irritating?

_It grows with his power until it stands tall  
As his fame and his glory expand!_

_...He cherishes it, and he calls it his friend,  
and he frequently takes it in hand..."_

... and Mayuri just couldn't help but wonder if Momotaro was actually aware of what he was singing about.

Probably - he thought - someone should go there and explain it Momotaro...

Or - he added with a grin - probably he should wait until tomorrow, when Momotaro would be sober enough to _understand_ it, and tell him _then_.

**-oOo-**

Hours crawled by slowly and nothing happened. Mayuri didn't move from the river bank. He didn't want to mingle, and he was not interested in the festival, so he just lay on the smooth grass, staring at the night sky. Among all the things he hated, the Obon festival was very nearly the worst. It was not only dangerous and pointless in his opinion, but it also brought back bad memories. It was the time of the year when his mother died.

She was what Soul Society called an "administrative mistake". Gaijin, the dark or pale skinned, round eyed, strange foreigners of the west were a rare sight in Soul Society. They had their own afterworld (Mayuri suspected every country did) and although, from time to time, the rumor of one or two of them being sighted in Rukongai cropped up, they never remained there for long. They usually disappeared within a few years. In Soul Society the population was even more homogeneously Japanese than Japan itself in the Living World, so these strange foreigners with their unusual languages and habits were often marked as rude barbarians and were greeted with the same mistrust and rejection everywhere.

Dumped for apparently no reason in the strange and contradictory world of Soul Society, all alone, these people were lost, wandering souls. Yet, some of them did manage to build up some human relationships. This was how Mayuri's mother, a woman with weak nerves, who was born to be admired in the Living World, ended up as a tool of what was considered "eccentric sexual taste" in Soul Society, and a concubine of a man whose cruelty was legendary.

Mayuri of course didn't know anything about this as a child and even when he learned it later, he didn't give it much thought. He hardly had any memories of his mother, because he had barely seen her at all. Since Lord Kurotsuchi's wife couldn't stand the sight of her husband's concubine, he moved Mayuri and his mother into the family's summer cottage near the hills along with a handful of servants. It was a huge house for two people, and there was only one rule in it: Mayuri had to stay out of his mother's way. This, however, was something easily done, because she almost never left her room.

Mayuri was about seven when one evening as he was playing in the corridor, he noticed that the door to his mother's room was open a crack. He peeked through but the room seemed empty, so he tiptoed in, ready to run if needed. Despite meeting so rarely with her, Mayuri was terrified of his mother. It was commonly known in the household that she had an... _issue_. Sometimes she threw tantrums and broke everything into pieces in her room, ripping every fabric to shreds while yelling and screaming unintelligible things in her strange, childish sounding tongue. Once she had beaten up a servant girl who tried to stop her so badly, the poor girl was confined to bed for weeks - or maybe for longer, but Mayuri didn't know how long because Lord Kurotsuchi fired her a few days later for not being able to work.

Once Mayuri's mother calmed down, she usually moved to another room of the house, closed the door on herself, and disappeared for another month. She seemed to be almost constantly tortured by - what she said was - a terrible headache, and it generally made her snappish and short tempered, but sometimes it grew worse, and at these times she could break down completely at the smallest provocation. Once Mayuri accidentally dropped and broke a small hand mirror. When she noticed it, she went into a terrible fit of anger; she hit her son again and again, yelling and screaming what an intolerable, ignorant little fool he was, until the servants had to drag her off him. Ever since then he had tried to avoid her as best as he could, but this time his curiosity took the better of him.

The room was a mess. The air was heavy with the stale smell of sweat and perfume. The floor was covered with magazines, empty sake bottles were laying everywhere while brushes, vials and makeup jars were left all around on the mats. Mayuri poked about a bit, flicked through the magazines, spilled out the perfumes and opened the makeup jars. Within a few minutes he had completely forgotten where he was, he got so immersed in this game. He only realized his mistake when the door slid open behind him and when he turned he saw his mother standing there.

It took him a few moments to recognize her. The woman had wide, dark eyes, and long hair that was thick and wavy, much like his own. The servants told him sometimes that his mother was beautiful, but back then, as a child, Mayuri couldn't decide if this was true or not.

"Oh, it's you," she said with a lazy smile. She was leaning against the door frame, with mad light in her eyes, stinking with the sickening, sweet smell of alcohol. "And here I was wondering if some thief broke in."

At this point Mayuri, who had frozen in his fear and surprise, found his voice. He quickly tried to slip out past her leg, mumbling that he was sorry, but the woman caught him.

"Where are you going?" she complained. "I am your mother. Why don't you ever want to be with me? Stay!" she put her arms around him, and drew him into a close, tight hug. Mayuri could feel her hot breath on his ear. "You must stay here if I say so! You will never leave me, will you? You are my child, you can't leave me. You are mine," she purred as she stroked his hair.

Mayuri was fidgeting uncomfortably in her arms. He was hardly ever touched and never more than what was completely necessary, and now this hug was just too much, too sudden and way too intimate for him. He didn't like the way this woman smelled, he didn't like how her damp, long hair pressed to his face, but most of all he didn't like the tone of her voice. She sounded calm and sweet, but there was tension behind her words, like the calm before the storm. He carefully tried to break away from the hug, but her sharp fingernails dug so hard into the soft flesh of his tiny arm that he hissed in pain.

"Stay!" she snapped and suddenly all kindness was gone from her voice.

Mayuri obeyed. He could still remember vividly what happened last time he didn't. He tried to stand as still as a statue in the stifling hug, hoping if he did as he was told, he could be free faster.

"Good," she whispered.

She dragged Mayuri to the small dressing table by the wall, and pushed him down to sit in front of it. Then she knelt behind him and ran her fingers through his hair again.

"You have such a beautiful hair," she said with a little chuckle. "It is so soft, and its color..." she picked up a brush from the table and began to comb Mayuri's hair with it. "It has the color of peacock feathers."

Mayuri sat so stiff, his muscles began to ache, but he didn't dare to move. He was afraid even the smallest motion could annoy her and would earn him a beating again. Instead, he was staring into the mirror on the table, watching all her movements in its reflection with wide eyes.

"One day we will run away from here. Just you and me!" she went on smiling, and she stroked his head. "Then I will take you to my home and I will show you peacocks. Would you like that?"

These words calmed Mayuri down a bit. It seemed she was in one of her talkative moods again. Sometimes, when her demons left her in peace for a length of breath's time, his mother had these. She told him tales about a land where she was born in the World of Living, where the gods were golden, red and blue, where monsters with striped hides lurked in the forests, and creatures huge as a mountain with white teeth hanging out of their mouths and a noses long enough to sniff even the top of their own heads lived. Mayuri loved these tales.

"Peafowls are beautiful, magical creatures," she went on. "They don't age, and even the deadliest poisons can't harm them. They are immortal. The rich keep these birds in their gardens as guardians against the venomous serpents of the jungle."

"Immortal? Like a phoenix?" asked Mayuri.

A shadow crossed the woman's beautiful features.

"No," she said slowly. "Phoenixes aren't immortal. The fools in this world believe so only because phoenixes are reborn again after their death," her face contorted into a contemptuous grimace. "What sort of an immortal needs to die first to stay alive?" She pouted indignantly. "How absurd! Peafowls don't die. Ever."

The brush fell out from her hand and hit the floor with a loud knock and she grabbed his arms roughly and spun him around.

"This is why I named you Mayuri. Do you understand?" her voice turned strangely dark. "Don't die, don't _ever_ die! Because once you die you will only suffer..."

Mayuri nodded frightened.

"Mayuri..." she repeated. "Peahen. It is a beautiful name for a girl..." she said with a bright smile. Her voice was wavering.

A grimace crossed Mayuri's face.

"But I am not a..." he began but quickly stopped himself as he noticed the look on his mother's face, but it was already too late. The woman's expression froze in a frown, her pupils had widened, and suddenly her grasp tightened around his arms.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she snapped, spinning Mayuri around and shaking him hard. "Don't you dare look at me like that! Do you hear me?" she screamed and she drew back her hand and slapped him across the face. "Don't you dare look at me with those disgusting eyes of yours! You look just like that stupid old man! Stop it!"

Mayuri was too stunned to react. He just stood there for a few moments, staring at his mother in shocked silence. Hot tears pooled in his eyes, and rolled down his face before he could stop them. His cheek was burning where he had been hit, but this pain was nothing compared to the terror he felt. He didn't understand what he did wrong this time; he tried so hard to be good! He couldn't understand why he was punished _now_; he couldn't see a logical reason to it! The whole situation was too irrational.

"Are you deaf? I said stop this!" the woman hissed as she slapped Mayuri again, then she grabbed his arm hard and dragged him to the door. "Get out! Get out!" she screamed, pushing him out to the corridor and slamming the door behind him.

Mayuri ran into his room and slumped into the corner, crying, wishing his mother would just disappear from his life somehow. If only someone would come and take him away somewhere far from her, or make her suddenly vanish somehow... - but even Mayuri knew these were only the wistful thoughts of a child. Nobody would come! Nobody would protect a child from their own parent. Nobody cared.

And why should they? Nobody had ever asked for Kurotsuchi Mayuri to be born, and now that he had been, he probably should have been simply glad to exist and be kept - only Mayuri couldn't feel this way. He saw the other children on the streets, how their mothers treated them, the tender love of a family, and he felt betrayed. How could others have such normal, loving parents, and why did he have to be stuck with _this_?

"If only I was never born..."he whispered between muffled sobs. "If only she would die!"

That day, however, someone was listening to his wishes. That was the day when his dreams began.

They were subtle at first, hardly more than a soft susurrus of voices on the back of the wind. They were strange, alien voices, twisted and dual-toned, nothing that could have belonged to a human, yet they sounded sympathetic, almost friendly. He could close them out if he wanted, but when he tried to listen he thought he could make out a few words.

_She shouldn't..._

_Why do you allow her to...? You shouldn't let her..._

_We could protect you..._

Usually he forgot about them as soon as he woke, but they had returned each night like a fateful friend, whispering in his ear. As time passed, these dreams became stronger, and sometimes Mayuri thought he could almost make out the words, while other times, the voices stayed completely absent. Instead he found himself on the bank of a black river, in the middle of a strange, dark desert, with dead sand under his feet, mounds built of rocks and stones around him and the image of a sparkling, white walled city up in the night sky.

It was years later when he at last understood the importance of these dreams, but it was already too late by then.

It was the time of the Obon festival back then too, and his mother was in a worse mood than ever before. Souls could leave the otherworld, but only if they were called on. The living crafted little horses and animals out of vegetables, placed them on the sacrificial altars, and they became magical steeds in the spiritual world. When people didn't have magical gates at hand, only these creatures could take a soul between the worlds.

Mayuri wasn't sure what his mother expected. Probably she believed if she could at least once slip away from there, she could find her way to the place she belonged to. She would sit in the garden for days, often without sleeping, watching the sky and waiting for something that never came. Nobody had ever created a vegetable horse for her. Nobody had ever tried to call her back.

With each day of waiting, she would become more and more bitter, and with each year it would be worse. It wasn't different now either. She sat in the garden, unmoving and silent like a statue all day.

Mayuri had set up bird traps around the yard to pass the time and collected the songbirds he caught with them in a cage on the veranda; on sunny days their song filled the garden and the house. If his mother didn't like them, she had never complained before. But today suddenly, without a warning, she jumped to her feet and stormed into Mayuri's room, ripping open the door with a violent jolt.

"I have had enough of this!" she yelled, her eyes were blazing with anger. "Make them shut up, or I swear _I_ will!"

Over the years Mayuri had learned to know the difference between the "_right answer_" and the "_sensible answer_" in such situations, but he was tired of always being the sensible one. He was tired of always avoiding the arguments, and cringing in the corner in fear. He was at that age when one is not exactly a teenager yet, but had already stopped thinking about himself as a child. He felt bold, defiant and very independent, and to show this to her, Mayuri gave an answer he knew would drive her even more mad, keeping his voice deliberately calm:

"No. They are birds; it is their nature to sing. If you want silence, plug your ears up!"

His tactics worked. Her brows furrowed, and her eyes darkened.

"How dare you speak to me like this?" she hissed in anger, and she crossed the room with a single leap and grabbed his arm in a grip so strong he cried out in pain. For all his momentary rebelliousness he was still just a child, much smaller and weaker than her. "Who do you think you are, my dear? You won't speak like this to me! You will do what _I_ tell you!" she yelled and shook him hard.

Tears burned in his eyes, and with a half sob, half growl he snatched his arm away from her grip, but this had only earned him a hard slap across his face.

"No, I won't!" Another hit came, and this time Mayuri couldn't hold back his weeping. "I won't because I can't! Don't you see? What you ask of me is impossible!"

_Impossible..._ This word rang in his mind again and again, and suddenly, for the first time he heard the voices despite being awake.

_She is hurting us! She shouldn't..._

_She has no right..._

"Oh?" she said lowering her voice. "Do you think you are so great? So mighty and clever?"

"No, I don't..."

_She should stop!_

"Do you think you know what is possible so much better than me? You are too full of yourself. Who do you think you are?" she repeated. "You are but a snotty brat!"

_I can help you..._

"Why do you hurt me? I did nothing wrong now!" Mayuri said, sniffing. "It isn't because of the birds, is it?"

His words must have touched a raw nerve because the woman seemed to pause, if only for a moment before she found her venomous rage again.

"You are just like your father!" she spat at him, her voice full of frustration and disdain. She bared her teeth and for a moment she looked like a beautiful, twisting asp. "A selfish, arrogant, cold-hearted monster!"

Mayuri wouldn't have believed before how much these words stung him, especially since he felt it should be he telling this to her. He burst into tears again, but he was also trembling in fury. He felt stronger than ever before, as if a strange, foreign power was bubbling up in him.

"I hate you!" he shouted at her, hoping his words hurt her as much as hers did him. "You are crazy!"

_She should die! _the voice whispered in Mayuri's head, and such a strong wave of anger washed through him like he had never felt before.

"I wish you would die!"

"What did you say?" the woman exclaimed in shock.

_Yes! Die!_

"Die!"

And then the world vanished.

**-oOo-**

It would probably be wrong to say that Mayuri awoke, because waking up usually comes with more light and space and an awareness of his body, but he was slowly beginning to gain back his consciousness. He was in darkness; a warm, airless darkness, like under the covers of a bed. There was a strong smell of water and Mayuri thought he could feel the sand under his body - although he wasn't entirely sure _where_ his body was.

He wasn't afraid; the whole place felt strangely familiar, as if he had arrived home.

_Mayuri, _said a voice, and Mayuri recognized it as the one that he had heard in his dreams before. It sounded like a child, but it had an undertone to it, as if an old woman was repeating every word said at the same time.

"Where am I?" he said.

_You are safe, _answered the voice.

_I took you and hid you from the eyes of those who would hurt you. You are safe now, here, with me._

"Who are you?" Mayuri whispered, almost fearfully.

_I am the savior of children_, the voice said.

_I am the protector of the lost and the unwanted._

_I am..._

And suddenly Mayuri knew what it wanted to say:

"...Jizo," he whispered.

_So close,_ the voice chuckled. _But not exactly..._

The world began to swirl around Mayuri, his head felt light and he felt a pull suddenly, as if some force was sweeping him upwards from the depths of an ocean to the surface, to the light. He woke up with a jolt and drew a breath as deep as if it was his first.

"Are you alright, son?"

As the world stopped swirling around him and shapes began to edge out again from the hazy patches and blotches before his eyes, he saw an elderly man kneeling above him. He had an open, honest face; wide and wrinkled, yet ageless in a "somewhere over his middle ages" way. Behind his round glasses his dark eyes were warm and sympathetic.

"Are you alright? Do you hear me?" he repeated again, and he was visibly relieved when Mayuri nodded. "You scared me there a bit, my son. Not a kind thing to do to such an old man!" he said with a kind smile.

Mayuri looked around. He was home again, lying on a futon in his own room. The sound of some sort of bustling filtered through the door, people were speaking hurriedly, in agitated voices, a woman was crying somewhere, and Mayuri was certain he could hear his father's voice too. He was yelling at somebody, and from the tone he sounded terribly angry for some reason.

Mayuri slowly sat up.

His head was hurting and he had an unusual, sickening feeling in his stomach, something he had never felt anything similar to before.

"Who are you?" he asked the old man.

"I am Doctor Miura, your mother's physician," replied the old man. "How are you feeling?"

"I am feeling strange. My stomach..." his stomach had chosen this moment to omit a loud rumble. Mayuri's eyes widened in terror. "What was that? Am I going to die?"

"Of hunger? I most certainly hope not!" replied Dr. Miura with a good natured smile and then sent to the kitchen for some food.

"Hunger?" repeated Mayuri, surprised. Hunger was something he had only heard about before, as something some adults experienced, but not he. "Is this what they call hunger?"

"I believe so," said the old man. "Have you never been hungry before?"

Mayuri shook his head.

"It isn't a very nice feeling," he stated disapprovingly. He felt he didn't like being hungry much.

"Indeed it isn't," agreed the doctor, watching him thoughtfully. "But it will be gone in a moment, just eat a little." In the meantime a servant - much to Mayuri's surprise, one he had never seen before - arrived with some soup and rice on a tray. He wanted to ask the doctor who it was, but before he could open his mouth the doctor commanded him to eat.

Simple rice had never tasted this good to him, and he had hardly taken a few bites before he had to admit that the doctor was right! The pain in his stomach was suddenly all gone.

"Do you remember what happened?" the old man asked him, and Mayuri told him all about his argument with his mother and how he fainted suddenly afterward. He carefully left out the part about the voice in his head - he wasn't sure what the doctor would think of him if he told him that. He suspected that hearing voices that weren't there isn't exactly normal.

"So you were arguing, and you got agitated? Maybe scared or angry too?" said the doctor, thinking.

Mayuri just stared at him. These questions began to annoy him. Then suddenly he remembered something:

"Where is my mother?" he asked, and not waiting for the answer he jumped up and ran out the door, down the corridor to his mother's room, before Miura could catch him.

"Wait! Don't go in there!" But Mayuri was already at the door, and had opened it.

Inside two saffron robed Buddhist priests chanted prayers and shook paper tasseled wands to drive away evil spirits. The air was grey with the smoke of strong incenses and someone had drawn a line of salt across the windowsills and the door to trap the contamination of the death in the room.

His mother was lying on a futon. Her lovely face was contorted in pain and her lips blackened. Her hair was lying around her in a tussled mess, smeared with vomit that also stained her kimono and dried on the smooth skin of her face.

Mayuri was staring at her unmoving form, and in a sudden shock he realized:

"She is dead, isn't she?"

"I am afraid so," said Miura behind him, slowly. "I am truly sorry, son."

Mayuri nodded.

"I know it feels terrible right now," the doctor said and squeezed his shoulder warmly. "If you wanted to be alone a little... to cry..."

"Would that change anything?" Mayuri asked levelly.

"No," admitted Miura.

Mayuri only nodded again calmly, then turned around and returned to his room.

**-oOo-**

The doctor left to talk to his father, and Mayuri was sitting alone in his room, staring at the wall, thinking. He was shaking. He felt sick, and guilt sat in his stomach as a heavy stone. His eyes were burning, red and hot, but he didn't cry. He couldn't.

His mother was dead, and he killed her. Of course he said he wanted her to die, but he didn't in his heart honestly think that anything would happen! He said those words from the safety of the knowledge that they don't matter! Only, it seems, they did, and now there was no way to turn things back.

He thought of the mysterious whispers in his head. He wondered if it was some sort of a demon or some evil spirit. He was certain its appearance was somehow connected to what had happened, and wondered for a moment if he should have told about them to the doctor, but he almost immediately shooed this thought away. It was better if nobody knew about that. Who knows what his father would do to him if he learned that his son got possessed or went insane and killed his concubine!

A shadow passed before the door of the room, and Mayuri saw the silhouette of a man kneeling down before it.

"Kurotsuchi-sama!" said the man and he opened the door, and bowed before Mayuri. "Your lord-father wishes for you in the yard!"

When Mayuri entered the yard, he found the doctor and Lord Kurotsuchi in what seemed from afar a heated conversation. His father looked furious, but not exactly shaken. He was walking up and down, stomping in his rage like some evil, angry dwarf out of a child's tale. He looked not so much as a relative in mourning, but more like a merchant who had just learned that he had lost a valued possession reserved for sale. When he noticed Mayuri, he motioned the boy to join them.

"The good doctor here told me something very interesting about you," Lord Kurotsuchi said, shooting a stern glance at doctor Miura who was wringing his hands worriedly next to him. "He said that you have reiatsu. What's more, he believes that you may have awakened that power within you somehow and that was what caused all," he vaguely waved a hand around, "_this_. Is it true?"

"My Lord..." began Miura in a nervous yet clearly disapproving tone, but a move of Lord Kurotsuchi's hand silenced him immediately.

"Answer, boy!"

Mayuri was glaring at his toes, not daring to look up. He had no idea what a reiatsu was, or how one went about to "awaken" it, but he suspected if he said this, it would only make his father even more angry.

"My lord, he has no way to know it!" objected Miura quickly.

"I see. Then we have no choice but to test it," stated Lord Kurotsuchi, and he reached out, and touched Mayuri's shoulder.

Suddenly, the whole world began to shake for Mayuri. He tried to scream but he couldn't. Air skipped from his lungs and his bones turned into jelly as he fell to his knees. He felt as if icy fingers grabbed and squeezed his heart and with a strong tug something had tried to drag his soul out. It had hurt so much, tears began to flow from his eyes and with all his strength he tried to oppose this unusual force. He tried to push against it both with his muscles and his mind, but it felt as if he was trying to stop a tsunami with just his hands. The tide was sweeping him away, but when he felt his consciousness slipping again, as suddenly as it began, it stopped.

Mayuri was kneeling on the ground, panting as the world slowly stopped spinning around him.

"My Lord! Please!" Mayuri heard the doctor's apprehensive voice. "You can't do that! He is still weak from what happened to him today!" Kurotsuchi, however, ignored him and dragged Mayuri back to his feet.

"It is true!" he said, a little surprised and thoughtful. "As weak as it was, I could feel your reiatsu pushing against mine." He turned to Miura. "Well, it seems you were right, doctor. I am in your debt! Tomorrow, I will send one of my men to your house with your payment. You may leave now!" and with a careless move he motioned for the other man to leave.

When the doctor was out of earshot, he turned to one of his bodyguards, and to Mayuri's horror, he said:

"Follow him! Make sure everyone sees him return home safely." The guard nodded. "And then make sure he doesn't get a chance to tell anyone what he saw here today!"

Lord Kurotsuchi looked his son up and down.

"A shinigami, eh?" he said, stroking his chin, watching Mayuri thoughtfully. "Maybe I have not paid as much attention to you as I should have. I believe it is time to change that. But first, we should take care of this mess you made."

Mayuri watched his father barking some orders to his underlings, who disappeared into the house. A few minutes later they came back, dragging a portly old woman, an old man and a servant girl with them. Mayuri recognized the older woman as the cook. He liked her a lot. She was always smiling and she always put some extra mochi away for him. The old man was someone who Mayuri often saw tending the gardens when the weather was warm. The girl must have been new in the household, because Mayuri couldn't really place her, but now they all looked pale and shaken, and the servant girl was weeping silently, with huge, shiny tears. They were, as Mayuri learned later, the only servants who survived - the rest died the same mysterious way his mother did.

One of the soldiers forced them all on their knees before Mayuri, their heads bowed deep.

"What is happening?" Mayuri asked at last, when he could muster up the courage.

"Because of you, I have made a fool out of myself," replied his father. "The whole Omnitsukido of Seireitei, every policeman and all my own guards are trying to find the assassin that supposedly snuck in here to murder my family. How do you suggest I should solve this situation without losing face? Hmm? Shall I go and tell them I already have the murderer? My own son?"

"It was an accident," whispered Mayuri, trembling, through his sobs.

"I don't care if it was," stated his father dismissively. "It doesn't matter. What does matter is that it has happened, my beloved lies dead and justice demands that the culprits shall be punished."

Mayuri's eyes widened in shock when he realized what his father was talking about.

"But they are innocent! They have done..."

"Nothing?" Lord Kurotsuchi retorted impatiently. "They die now for letting an assassin into my house and letting it go free. And because dead men don't speak."

One of the soldiers stepped forward and drew his sword behind the servant girl.

"They die now," went on Lord Kurotsuchi, "so you can live. Watch it. This is all your doing."

**-oOo-**

Months later the bird cage was still hanging on the veranda, but it was almost empty. Only one, lonely, green feathered little bird was hunkering on one of its perches silently. It was watching Mayuri closing the cage on him with its last companion crying heartbreakingly in the boy's hand.

Mayuri took it to his desk, where everything was prepared for his little experiment: the wood was covered with thick soft paper; pins, sticks and knives were lying in a neat line at the sides, shining in the afternoon light, and a small, unpainted china bowl sat in the middle.

After a moment of hesitation, Mayuri held the bird above the bowl, picked up the knife and drew it across the bird's tiny throat. He watched how it tried to fight and break away, how it fluttered its tiny, fragile wings to avoid its fate. Then, at last, its movements slowed down, its head fell forward with a weak rattle breaking through its open beak. The deadly white lower lids of its eyes slowly slid up and with that the bird froze.

Mayuri watched it with a strange, detached curiosity, and a tiny spark of satisfaction over the realization that this was done by him. The bird died, because it was in his power to kill it. It was his decision, his choice. For the first time in a long while he felt that he had control over something, even if it was such a measly thing as the life of an animal.

He was a little surprised, though, how little did the bird's death touch him. Death was just death. There was nothing complicated in it.

It was simple.

Unremarkable.

**-oOo-**

Mayuri awoke to the sound of battle. It took him a few moments to realize that he was back in the present again. The streets of Karakura Town were echoing with a roar - deep and angry - the sound of clashing steel, and the pained cry of the wounded. Someone was screaming orders, and shinigami were running around with weapons in their hand.

"Wake up! Wake up!" cried a familiar voice, and as Mayuri looked up he saw Momotaro emerging from the chaos of black robes. His face was pale, and his expression horrified. "We are under attack!" he said. "Hollows are everywhere!"

..

.

* * *

.

..

**A.n.**:

"A wizard's staff has a knob on the end" is a song by Heather Wood. If you were a Discworld fan, you know which song this is! :)

I am pretty sure Tite Kubo named Mayuri after the Japanese word "mayu", meaning cocoon, and meant us to associate him with caterpillars and butterflies instead of peafowls. But when I realized what the name Mayuri does mean in another language, and seeing how Szayel is already associated with phoenixes (and how he had his ass kicked by Mayuri himself), while peafowls have this legend about them, I thought this association fitted Mayuri just as well as "cocoons". Strangely enough the color of his hair, eyes and face paint seem to fit to this image too. Just take a good look at a peacock!

The place Mayuri is dreaming about is NOT Hueco Mundo, but I strongly suspect there is a connection.


End file.
