Bleach 1. Prologue: Extreme Ways

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School's out! Yes! Freedom at last!

_Well, this is the new story that I'm pretty psyched about. It took a LOT of research, but I think that I did a pretty good job getting all of the fact straight. It's a bit of a deviation from what I normally do, but I was pretty proud when I finished the prologue. Part of the credit goes to my co-writer, Mini Tank, for helping me work out the contingencies. There's not much more to say, other than that I hope you enjoy this first installment._

_Arigato!_

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I had to close down everything,  
I had to close down my mind.  
Too many things to cover me  
Too much can make me blind.  
I've seen so much in so many places,  
So many heartaches, so many faces,  
So many dirty things  
You couldn't even believe.  
-Moby, "Extreme Ways"

* * *

_The patter of heavy, rapid footsteps splashing in the puddles of muddy water echoed off the brick walls. Dark, foreboding eyes watched as the figure of a man ran down the deserted street and into the dank alleyway, gasping for breath as he leaned against one of the crumbling walls of an abandoned building, his hand clutching his chest. The man looked frantically around the small enclosure, half coughing and sobbing as the storm overhead growled ferociously, a bolt of lightning illuminating the dark sky._

_Another figure stepped out from his position in the shadows, rain-drenched hair falling over his brow, hiding a set of empty, dull eyes. A face as equally impassive emerged from the dark, followed by a lean, intimidating body that slowly began to limber towards the visibly frightened man. The silhouette of a pistol was clenched in his hand, his index finger wrapping around the trigger as the man looked at him, eyes wide with fearful panic._

_The gunman's face remained expressionless as the target turned to run, his foot catching on a fallen brick from one of the buildings. He stumbled to the ground, falling onto his stomach, cursing under his breath as he attempted to quickly crawl away from the aggressor. Blood was spat from his mouth as a small fragment of a shattered tooth fell from his lips. He looked back quickly, and his heart nearly stopped as his eyes made contact with suddenly murderous ones, their owner's face contorted into a disgraced snarl. Swiftly, the firearm was raised, the muzzle pointed directly at the frenzied escapee._

_There was a long, terrible moment of silence, where it seemed as if the rain itself stopped falling, though he could feel the water continuing to drench his clothes. The only noise the gunman could hear was the beating of his own heart, the brisk pounding within his own ears that drowned out all other noise. With one final breath, he pulled the trigger, eliciting a monstrous explosion from the weapon and a pained scream from his victim as crimson liquid splattered over his face, the target slumping to the ground as fragments of bone and blood leaked out onto the ground from a jagged hole in his skull._

* * *

_**January 10th, 2008  
**__**Tokyo, Japan  
**__**9:28 PM, Local Time**_

"Hey, hey! Earth to Kurosaki! You there, buddy?"

Amber irises focused in on a hand waving before his face as the loud voice violently pulled him back into reality. The scowl quickly replaced the absent expression he had previously been adorning, his eyes narrowing as his antagonist continued to bellow into his ear. A low, throaty growl erupted from his mouth as he looked at the hand's owner, visibly displeased at the annoying manner in which he had been summoned from his inattentive state of mind. With a gruff sigh, Kurosaki Ichigo rose from his chair and grabbed his coat, gazing angrily at the man standing next to him. "Yeah, I'm right here, idiot. What do you want, Keigo?"

The brown-haired man drew up his hands in a defensive position, a nervous chuckle accompanying his voice. "Calm down, buddy. You just spaced out for a while. Besides, it's 9:28; we're off in two minutes."

Ichigo looked up at the clock hanging upon the far wall, the long black hand only a few millimeters from the large six at the bottom of its face. It was indeed nearly time for him and a few select doctors to depart from one of Tokyo's busiest hospitals for the evening venture back to there respective homes and apartments scattered throughout the bustling Taito district and communities surrounding it. After a quick-paced day of mending injuries and stitching shut bloody cuts and scrapes, it was finally time to emerge from the bland, ridiculously sanitized structure and into the thriving, pulsating metropolis.

"Hey, you up for bar-hopping tonight?" Keigo piped up yet again, much to Ichigo's disdain.

"Bar…what?" He cocked an eyebrow, looking back over his shoulder at the hyperactive young man who continued to trail behind him.

A pseudo-gasp was emitted as he proceeded to explain, "Bar-hopping! You mean to tell me that you don't know what it is? Me and Mizuiro and some of the guys are doing it tonight. It's where we go from bar to bar all over the city until we have to come back here to be treated for alcohol poiso-"

"No thanks," he blandly turned down the offer, packing a bulging manila folder into his black computer bag. It had been a basic routine for the past three years; wake up before the sun dared to lift itself over the horizon, take a shower, eat a rushed breakfast, work for eleven-plus hours, and return to his moderate-sized apartment. Though it seemed rather boring and customary to most, the regimen was just calm and mundane enough to ensure himself that he could see several days ahead. No surprises, no violent uprooting. "I don't think Rukia would be all that happy if I came home drunk. Especially since I'm having to work so many extra hours that I'm not getting home until after ten."

"You've become such a bore since you got married!" he wailed dramatically, sulking after the irritated doctor into the dim parking garage. Though Ichigo had managed to send several signals that, with each passing second, his patience with the energetic medical assistant was becoming increasingly thinner, he continued to be followed, up until he unlocked his car and slid into the drivers seat, only to turn and see the object of his infuriation sprawled across his once clean windshield. Growling, the orange-haired man slammed his fist against the horn on the steering wheel, the sudden loud blare sending Keigo onto the concrete pavement.

Going against the very tempting idea of rolling over the bothersome pest and being freed from having to spend six days of his week in a cloud of pointless conversation and chatter, he waited until the young man was far enough away from his car before he pulled out of the yellow-lined space and slowly eased the automobile out of the dark enclosure and into the brightly lit streets of Japan's largest city. The array of architectural marvels, the old Meiji and Edo period structures mixed with the modern glass high-rises, were the only things that made the slow trip back to his apartment somewhat bearable.

It was a shame, and quite a bothersome one, that the only hospital that would accept a physician with a degree as fresh as his was near the far north side of the sector on the border with Sumida district, while he lived just south of the downtown area in Taito. There were really only some thirty-odd kilometers that he had to journey, but with dysfunctional streetlights and morning traffic, it ended up seeming like sixty or seventy kilometers. Though, there was one positive side to having a shift that ended later than most, and that was the fact that the traffic was nowhere as near as terrible as it was at night.

He slowly pressed his foot down on the break pedal as the streetlight turned to yellow, then to red just as his car reached the intersection. His eyes scanned the ledges of the rooftops surrounding the street, but quickly shot back to the road as he caught his meaningless actions, silently scolding himself as the usual scowl instantly reappeared on his face._ There's no one up there, idiot,_ he laughed tiredly at the odd habit he had picked up from his younger years, the calloused fingers of his left hand rubbing his shut eyes. It had been a rough day, he decided; he just needed to go home and rest.

As a great many pedestrians wearing all manner of clothing crossed before the growing line of cars, he spared a quick glance at his watch, his weary mind trying to recollect the date, which, only ten minutes ago, would have been easy to recount. January tenth--the beginning of a new year, a new chapter in his ever predictable life. He could see virtually everything ahead of him, what nearly every month would hold, what the year would be like. Simple and sweet, with little or no contingencies; exactly the way he wanted it to be.

As the last of the weary citizens crossed the black asphalt walkway, Ichigo returned his foot to the acceleration pedal and continued to drive down the avenue, already knowing that the dark circles under his eyes had grown more prominent, a physical sign of just how taxing the extra time that he had to spend at work was. There were some days when he didn't even return to his apartment until nearly two in the morning, collapsing onto his bed only to have to rise again a mere few hours later.

Though he wanted to forget about the entirety of the time span of his twenties, there were times when he couldn't help but to long for how easy late hours had been for him. He was only thirty-one, and he could already feel his body slowing down, his mind becoming far more lax than he wished it to be. When once he could remain awake and vigilant for days on end, he now found himself downing cup after cup of coffee to simply make it through a single workday.

It had been a rough week, though; for two nights he had been forced to spend the night at a fellow surgeon's condominium due to the late ending and early starting periods of his drastically elongated shift. He hadn't even had time to stop by his own apartment and check in on Rukia, who he knew was going give him an earful on how ridiculous it was for the management to extend the work period of all the other medical personnel while the hospital was understaffed instead of hiring temporary replacements from neighboring infirmaries. And, though it was expressed in the form of a tirade, he could tell that she was truly only concerned with the toll that it was taking on his body.

His eyes snapped shut and quickly reopened, the dim lighting of the overpass tunnel that was strangely clogged with traffic beginning to make his eyes droop tiredly. He reached over to the radio on the dashboard of his car and mulled through several stations and expanses of static before leaving it on a popular rock station, hoping that the blaring music would rouse his senses enough so that he could complete the venture to his apartment without being the cause of a potential accident.

Several long minutes passed before the traffic slowly began to flow through the tunnel and back into the urban landscape that had become so familiar to him. He hastily rolled down the driver's side window and tilted his head at an angle, the chilled breeze sending a stimulating shockwave through his body that immediately sprang him into a sense of acute awareness, the remedy for his grogginess working much better than he had anticipated.

The tedious drive back to his apartment in the western end of the Taito district had become almost like a routine voyage that had become embedded into his mind where he probably could have continued in the sleep that he so desired. Across the Sumida River on the Azuma Bridge heading northbound, hanging a sharp left once the steel and concrete viaduct connected to the river's western front, and headed straight down the Kaminarimon Dori. He could see every intersection and road sign clearly, even though he was just boarding onto the bridge.

He spared a glance over the inky black waters surrounding the suspended bypass and at the towering buildings of his domain, the countless lights sparkling on the river like diamonds on a piece of flawless ebony silk. _Almost there,_ he thought tiredly as the bridge gave way to asphalt pavement and solid land. For what it would be worth, he would manage to gain a few hours of sleep before waking himself for another normal day at an overcrowded hospital in the Sumida district. Perhaps, he thought as he turned onto Chiniyoko Dori, the approaching weekend would bring a slight reprieve from the grueling hours.

He pulled into a freshly-marked parking space in front of a large skyscraper, only one or two of the windows on the street side face were lit, residences of tenants who lived in the bliss of lenient workdays and late starts. Briefly consulting his wristwatch before exiting from the vehicle, Ichigo gave a half-scowl as he saw the late hour at which he had arrived at his apartment. Sixteen minutes past ten o'clock was much too late for any man to return home, especially considering the fact that he was obligated to wake up as soon as the sun did.

He put the car in park and grabbed his coat from the passenger seat, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he slowly opened the metal door and trudged across the lavish foyer, a drawn-out yawn escaping his mouth as he pressed one of the many buttons on the metal plate slightly protruding from the marble walls. He was quite certain that Rukia would not be the one complaining about his extended shift; _he _would, and it would not be in a quiet or polite manner, either. Something loud and rough, a tirade that would attract attention and make the naive personnel realize that they were being worked like dogs. Yes, he smiled as the elevator gave a quiet _ding _and the metal doors opened. That would do just fine. Push them to where they can't ignore one of their best, but not far enough to where they can cut him loose and leave him on the street without a job.

After several seconds, the elevator lurched to a stop at the twentieth floor of the sky-rise complex. He walked down the long, dimly-lit corridor, cursing as he realized that he had forgotten his patient's files in his car. There was no need to go back down to ground level to retrieve them; all of the records had been reviewed and evaluated and, unless someone planned on stealing his car, would be perfectly safe in the glove compartment of his black automobile. And, considering that fact that he was too tired to even give a damn, he concluded that they would be fine.

He shoved his hand into the front pocket of his pants, fumbling through layers of yellow memo notes and spare change that had accumulated throughout the day in search of the spare apartment key, which he had so idiotically removed from the ring where his office and car keys were. Finally managing to locate the small piece of cool metal, he gave, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, a groggy sigh and pulled it out of the recesses of his pocket and unlocked the door to his apartment.

With as much stealth as his half-asleep body could muster, he stepped off his shoes and treaded through the carpeted living space, maneuvering around the weak spots in the flooring that would surely creak if he walked across them. He placed his coat on the back of the coffee-colored sofa on the middle of the room and continued silently down a small hallway, gradually letting his movements become less strained in his attempt to make as little noise as possible. Quite positive that he had cleared all danger spots on the flooring, he let the full weight of his body shift back into the soles of his feet as he slowly opened the door to a small bedroom.

His amber eyes strayed to the sleeping figure on the bed, giving a small smile as he lazily walked to the other side and began removing the miscellaneous items that had somehow managed to build up within his pockets, placing them onto the bedside table. He could tell that Rukia had stayed up waiting for him, even though he had sternly told her not to. Her breathing wasn't as deep as it should have been for someone who should have gone to bed at around nine o'clock, as per the usual weeknight schedule. As far as he could tell, she had probably drifted off only a few minutes before he had arrived, which wasn't healthy for someone who insisted on waking up at the same time he did, if not earlier.

Without even bothering to remove the bland combination of a white button-up shirt and a pair black pants, the doctor collapsed onto the warm mattress, relishing the rare opportunity to relax his aching muscles and be free from the normal erratic events of the stressful days that seemed to constantly harass him. And in just a few hours, he would have to rise again and repeat the daunting task until the weekend, where he received only a single day off each week. He shut his eyes, not really wishing to bother himself with the schedule he had been given, and quickly fell asleep.

* * *

_Keep walking, get the hell off this street. Don't stop, don't look around, at least not up at the rooftops. Keep an eye on them before they're right next to you. Light reflecting off of steel, off of the metal of a weapon. Slow down, idiot! Don't look like you're running from someone, just trying to get out of the street quickly. Nice, brisk strides, not that track-team sprinting shit. Keep your eyes in front of you, just look straight ahead. Stay in the crowd; blend in with these people. Stay hidden, don't go into the middle of the street. Look for a flash, the light reflection...there! The third building to your right, on the left edge of the roof! Get behind a building, something, for Christ's sake! _

"Ichigo!"

The said man's eyes snapped open as he bolted upward, turning frantically in the bed, his legs becoming tangled in the sheets as his eyes fought to see through the abysmal darkness surrounding him. He turned from side to side, grabbing the headboard as suddenly alert yet anxious eyes scanned the fleeting shadows being cast across the white walls by lights from outside the window. He felt a pair of small, cool hands frame his face, his body ceasing its erratic movements as his mind recognized the familiar touch. His eyes were redirected to the petite raven-haired woman sitting up next to him, her own violet orbs shining with worry as she stared up at his face. Choking back a cough, Ichigo slowly leaned back against the headboard, taking deep breaths to try and slow the rapid pounding of his racing heart. "Shit."

"Ichigo, are you alright?" Rukia's question received no reply, which served only to frighten her more. She gently ran her fingers over his scalp as his ragged breathing evened out, his eyes shutting as the adrenaline left his body and replaced it with newfound exhaustion. She repeated the question softly, only slightly convinced when he gave a quick nod as he used the back of his hand to wipe the perspiration from his brow. Her hands latched onto his shoulders as he tried to sit up and completely erect, a painful grunt escaping his lips as a result of the effort. As far as she could tell, he had probably pulled a muscle during the thrashing fit he had been in only moments before. "What happened, Ichigo? What's wrong?"

"N...nothing. Just a dream." He gave a deep, winded breath as an accompaniment to the unconvincing reply. That had been...what _had _that been? Never before in his life had he had any sort of unconscious vision that vivid, that terribly real, where it would cause him that much discomfort. A fatigue-induced hallucination? That was the only thing he could think of, for that was the only plausible answer. No way could that have been some kind of post-traumatic stress replay of past events; he had never been briskly striding down a crowded street that he had never been to before, let alone with people on rooftops being a concern. "Too weird," he whispered, pulling at the suffocating collar of his shirt. "Too damn weird."

"Hey," she murmured, soothingly kneading the tense knots of muscle in his back. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" She decided to let the subject rest momentarily when he rapidly nodded and pulled on the edge of his shirt, which, much to her surprise, had become drenched with sweat. With his help, she managed to remove the clinging button-up shirt and the equally soaked tee-shirt he wore underneath, the crisp air of the room cooling his heated skin. She waited a few moments, debating upon whether or not to get a cloth with cold water for his burning neck, but knew that he would never admit that he needed it. If there had been one thing that she had learned about Kurosaki Ichigo in the seven years that she had known him, it was that he never accepted any kind of help from anyone unless it was forcefully given to him, and even then there was a fair chance that he would simply scowl and refuse it.

Deciding that forcefully calming him would be the only way to handle the situation, she gave his shoulder a comforting rub before exiting the bedroom, grabbing a small washcloth on her way to the kitchen. In all the time that she had known him, never once had she seen him tossing and mumbling in his sleep to such a severe degree. He was normally very composed and calm, even when he was unconscious, and the most dramatic actions he had ever taken in his sleep were to whisper something and turn over on the mattress. But what had been going on five minutes ago was something akin to a mixture of night terrors and nocturnal myoclonus, though she knew that neither effected him. As a student teacher at one of Japan's most prominent medical universities, she could easily recognize the signs of both, and the panicked man just fifteen feet away had exhibited only a few of them.

She walked back into the bedroom, switching on the fan as she approached the bed. The cool washcloth was quickly placed on his forehead, residue from the drastic difference in temperature almost immediately forming along the edge of the small towel. She felt him shudder against her leg as his hand covered hers, holding the damp cloth against his brow as his breaths slowly began to even out. She heard him whisper a quiet "Thanks" as he pulled his body back into a sitting position, his hands once again beginning to rub his bloodshot eyes.

Her slender fingers held onto his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face and studied the thin red lines that laced intricate patterns over the whites of his eyes. She put her other hand against his face, the muscles along his jaw flinching instinctively before relaxing into the soft touch. "Are you _sure _you're alright?"

"Yeah, it…God, it was just really _weird_. Like it was real, you know? It just kind of…shook me up a bit." He pulled his body off of the mattress and began to walk out of the room, muttering in a hoarse voice, "I'm going to get a glass of water."

"You need to lie back down, Ichigo. I'll get it." She began to get up, but stopped when his hand rose to silence her.

"No. I'm fine." He plodded into the living area, a note on the wood coffee table at the end of the sofa catching his attention. It was printed in his wife's impeccable handwriting, obviously written while she was still fully awake.

'_Keigo called. He said that most of the doctors would be coming back tomorrow, so the shifts would go back to normal. He also wants to know when you plan on loosening up and having some fun with your co-workers. And, quite frankly, I'm wondering the same thing.'_

"Ha, ha," he rolled his eyes and walked up to the counter, removing a cup from the cabinet and turning on the faucet. The water ran through the tap for several seconds before he muttered "Screw it," and walked over to the polished mahogany wet bar, pulling a wine glass and bottle of Red Côtes de Bordeaux from the rack. With little elegancy, he yanked the cork from the opening and poured the red beverage into the glass, not stopping until it was nearly filled to the brim. At that moment, his state of mind when he awoke the next morning didn't matter much to him. He'd have to wake up, so it might as well be with a hangover. It might even serve an excuse to take the Friday off, since most of the medical personnel would be returning and the hospital would no longer be understaffed.

"I thought you said you were going to get some _water_."

Ichigo turned his head and gave a half-smile, taking a gulp of the rich liquid before replying, "I plan on having a massive headache tomorrow with a touch of nausea. I don't think I'll be able to go to work." He ducked his head as she crumpled up the note that had been on the table and chucked it at him. "Don't be sore. Besides, the docs are coming back and we won't be short-staffed anymore. There's no harm in taking the day off. That'll give me two days, since I get Saturday via contract agreement. Maybe we can go out and get some dinner instead of having takeout every night."

"One problem with that." She pointed at the now nearly-empty wine glass before stating, "I don't think you'll be in the mood to go anywhere with the hangover that you'll be having tomorrow, at least if you keep that up."

He shrugged, pouring himself another generous portion of liquor. "You want some?"

"No, thanks," she replied, walking up next to him and leaning against the bar. "I'm staying clean. Someone's going to have to have a clear head tomorrow and make you your aspirin and coffee remedy. Just do me a favor and don't vomit all over the place."

"Eh, don't get your panties in a twist. I can hold my alcohol better than you think."

"Don't push it. You're Japanese, not Irish. Besides, your breath's starting to stink." She took the glass from his hand and poured its contents into the sink, a frown removing her flawless smile as she glanced at Ichigo. His brow was furrowed in a type of frustrated concentration, his lips turned downwards into a sharp scowl. For a brief moment, his face scrunched up into a disgruntled expression that seemed more comical than serious, but immediately changed back into an even more quizzical frown. "Is it about the dream?" she asked quietly, her violet eyes meeting with his surprised amber ones.

"Yeah," he answered after a long period of uncomfortable silence. He set his glass down and stared at the floor, his arms folded over his bare chest.

She had known him for nearly eight years, and found that it was clearly visible when he was confused or frustrated. But the only drawback was that he never told anyone specifically what it was that was upsetting him. All she could truly do was throw around random guesses until he replied with a "Sure" or a "Yeah" or a simple grunt. He wouldn't ever sit down and talk about his problems or concerns, though he openly encouraged her to talk with him about hers. Then he would actively do all that he could to resolve them, and pay no regard to his troubles, no matter how grave they may be. Nevertheless, she felt that it was her duty as his confidante and spouse to pursue the matter; "What was it about?"

He was silent for a moment, eyes not moving from their random target on the floor. Then the traditional reply came. "Nothing. It was just a dream. A weird dream."

"You know what my sister would say about keeping your problems locked in?"

Ichigo bit his lip, but then looked toward his wife; her sister was a touchy subject, and he knew that if she were to bring her into this that his lack of communicating his problems was staring to become a major concern. "What?"

"That keeping them to yourself just makes them worse. I've told you that I'm here to listen if you want to talk."

He offered her a small smile and crossed over towards the sink, putting an arm around her waist. "Yeah, I know," he replied quietly. "Thanks."

"So," she turned around in the embrace to face him and rested back against the counter. "Are you going to talk about it?"

"Nope," he replied, shaking his head.

"What? Why not?"

"Hey, just because I agreed with you doesn't mean I'm actually going to _do _it." He shied away when she threw a dishtowel at him, muttering something about how "impossible" he was.

He gave a deep, long yawn and pointed to the clock. "It's two in the morning, Rukia. We should probably get back to bed."

"Especially if you're going to work tomorrow."

"I'm not."

"You're going to call and see if they need you, and if they don't, then you won't have to go."

"Fine, fine," he waved his hands, putting and arm around her shoulders and guiding her to the bedroom. "Let's just get some sleep, okay? I know for a fact I'm going to be as tired as hell tomorrow morning, and if I do have to go to work, I won't want to fall asleep during an operation."

"And you're sure you're alright? That nightmare seemed to have you pretty shaken up."

"I'm _fine_," he sighed, stumbling as she took hold of his hand and dragged him to the bed. "It was just a stupid dream."

"Whatever you say, tough guy," she snickered.

"Ha ha," he retorted dryly, waiting until she had gotten situated under the sheets before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. "Goodnight. Or, good morning, really."

"Just get some sleep, Ichigo," she murmured, rubbing his arm.

The minutes ticked my, the digital alarm clock on the nightstand reading 3:24 by the time he finally shut his eyes. He wanted to forget about the dream, to just dismiss it as his mind working overtime, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Everything about it seemed so real, too real, that he couldn't dismiss it. He could actually _feel_ the sweat rolling down his face and hear his heart beating rapidly.

_It's nothing, _he told himself as he finally dosed off. _Just a dream. Just a weird dream._


	2. Fake It

_Gomen! I'm so sorry that took so long. Research for this is a pain in my butt, and it's summer vacation, so I'm always out doing stuff with friends and family. BTW, I hope your summers are going very well. Also, I put my e-mail up on my profile page, so if any of you have to ask any questions, feel free to drop by._

_Arigato!_

* * *

_Who's to know if your soul will fade at all?  
The one you sold to fool the world.  
You lost your self-esteem along the way._

-Seether, "Fake It"

* * *

_**January 11, 2008  
**__**Tokyo, Japan  
**__**8:25 AM, Local Time**_

Abarai Renji, Vice-Commander of the First Intelligence Department's Sixth Division, lazily buttoned up his black two piece single-breasted suit and walked through the glass doors of the Public Security Intelligence Agency's headquarters. As per the usual daily routine, he strode up to the large granite and mahogany reception desk and unclasped his identification card, handing it to the uniformed and armed personnel standing behind the counter. After much unnecessary scrutiny, it was handed back and refastened to the lapel of his suit jacket, the guard nodding for him to enter his respective wing of the building.

He turned sharply on his heels and walked through one of the many sliding glass doors on the far walls of the lobby, sliding the end of the identification card with the barcode stamped on it into a small slot on the wall, the doors opening upon recognition of the cryptic numerals and lines. Years ago when he was a child still in grammar school, he would have laughed at the mere notion of a place like this, a Japanese "CIA" with so much security that it would put American airports to shame.

Attaché case in hand, Renji wove his way down corridors lined with gray doors and whitewash walls, the occasional subordinate or co-worker stopping to bid him a good morning. He continued his short journey until he spotted a cluster of well-dressed individuals surrounding a door at the end of the hallway before it broke into an intersection that eventually led to the executive's offices. The small cluster of suit-clad officers turned their heads briefly to look at him before going back to their hushed conversations. He searched for a specific face in the small crowd, and eventually found it when he turned around to a warm clap on the shoulder.

"Abarai, where the hell've you been?" asked Hisagi Shuhei, coffee mug and newest issue of _Nihon Keizai Shimbun _in hand.

"Been doing some work down at the Osaka Institute of Technology. Apparently, some of the professors down there were former agents for us. Just a routine sweep of files to make sure they're not going turncoat." He grabbed the business newspaper out of his colleague's grip and leaned up against the wall, skimming through the pages. After several seconds of perusing, he handed the tabloid back with disdain before commenting, "Not a damn thing worth reading."

"Aren't you even interested in how the stocks you own are doing?"

"Don't own any stocks," the tattooed redhead replied, consulting his Rolex wristwatch before adding, "We're all grossly overpaid as it is; we don't need to be throwing around and raking in any more money."

"Can't help it, hot shot. My dad was on the Board of Trustees for Sony, so this kind of upper-class bullshit runs in my blood."

"Well, I came from a dirt-poor mechanic and a middle-aged stay-at-home mom, so I suppose this kind of frugal bullshit runs in my blood."

"Alright!" a booming voice yelled, causing all of the heads in the area to snap up and stare at the source of the noise. "Quit yer bitchin' and get in there," Zaraki Kenpachi, impulsive and irrationally violent Chief-Commander of the First Intelligence Department's Eleventh Division, jerked his thumb towards the open door they had all been standing in front of, "before I pop a cap in all'a yer heads an' this damn institution has to start over from _scratch_!"

Most of the onlookers he was addressing smirked and chuckled, having to be told that same command and threat virtually every time all Vice and Chief-Commanders were called together for their monthly meeting. They all formed a haphazard line and slowly muddled into the room, taking their respective seats on either side of the long rectangular table in the center of the room. Dossiers and division reports were placed on the table for easy access should their missions be the topic of tense and unsavory conversation. The room grew deathly silent as the officers became situated in their chairs, all eyes turning to the elderly male sitting at the head of the table.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," the man greeted, his long gray beard flowing over his navy pin-striped suit and crimson tie. "It trust you all had an exceptionally wonderful New Year, and a Christmas, for those who celebrate it."

Muttered affirmations were passed down the table before the elderly officer continued. "I believe that our first order of business is the," he paused for a moment, peering down at the sheets of paper stacked before him, "recent investigation of former operatives in the Osaka area, conducted by the Sixth Division."

Kuchiki Byakuya folded his hands and placed them on the table before giving the mission's debriefing. He glanced over at Renji, who opened his attaché case and handed his superior a manila folder. "Senior Chief-Commander Yamamoto, after an extensive two-month investigation, we have concluded that none of the former members of the Public Security Intelligence Agency that now reside in Osaka are informing our enemies of vital government information."

"So outta all of those pansies who resigned, none of 'em are traitors?" Kenpachi inquired skeptically, leaning back nonchalantly in his seat.

"Are you questioning the honesty of my report?" Byakuya asked, his cold eyes staring directly into the maniacal ones of the psychotic Senior-Commander.

"Maybe I am," he replied, slipping his hand inside of his suit coat and fingering the Colt Chrome .45 situated in his cross-draw chest holster. "You always did seem too pretty to be in this kinda business. Maybe I should just-"

A loud cough silenced the two men, and all eyes turned to Yamamoto-Genryusai Shigekuni, who reached up an aged hand to wipe his mouth. "I've had enough of this pointless squabbling between my ranking officers," he growled as soon as he had regained his breath. "You're all the best in your fields, and it's about damn time you started acting like it."

Both of the arguing men hesitantly settled back into their chairs, leaving the nearly fatal disagreement at a brief battle of deadly stares.

"Now, I would like a joint investigation with the Third, Fifth, and Sixth Divisions. You will be investigating and watching all former operatives in the areas of Tokyo and Kawasaki. Kuchiki, you will investigate Tokyo, Ichimaru will take Kawasaki, and Aizen will be the reserve that you both can pull from," he ordered, nodded to each division commander respectively.

"_Another _one?" Renji asked incredulously, not paying any heed to the burning look his division commander was giving him. He knew he should have known better than to blurt out his every thought and opinion, but as far as he was concerned, another investigation that consisted of steak-outs, endless interviews, and only a few hours of sleep per week was out of the question.

"I trust that I do not have to remind you, Abarai," Yamamoto began, regarding the far younger man with a steely gaze, "that all of our former operatives had, to a certain extent, access to classified documents. Documents that, if leaked to terrorist organizations like the Omu Shinrikyo or the Nihon Sekigun, could throw our country into utter turmoil. We've narrowly dodged several such fiascos in the past decade, and I will _not _allow our nation to fall into a calamity while I am in command of this organization. Am I understood, Vice-Commander?"

"Yes, sir," Renji eventually replied, leaning back in his chair under the uncomfortable looks of his superiors and co-workers.

"Remember this well; anyone can break. There isn't a man or woman on this earth who cannot either be bought out by money or beaten and tortured until they spill the truth. The job of these routine investigations is to find the weakest ones before they break. A close friend of mine works for America's Federal Bureau of Investigation, and worked on the Robert Hanssen incident. I can assure you all that you'd much rather work on the investigations than have to swim through the bureaucratic muck that he had to. Is there anything that we are unclear about?"

All of the heads in the room shook in unison, some uttering comments along the lines of "No, sir," and "No way in hell."

Yamamoto studied the sheets of paper in his hand before stating, "The rest of you may continue with your current assignments. Leave your dossiers on your way out."

All of the officers pushed their folders into the center of the table, eyes darting from the Senior Chief-Commander and between the dueling officers of Sixth and Eleventh Divisions.

"Dismissed."

* * *

_**January 11, 2008  
**__**Tokyo, Japan  
**__**9:00 AM, Local Time**_

Rays of bright sunlight drifted through the apartment windows and roused Kurosaki Ichigo from his deep slumber. He rubbed his face groggily, raising his hand to protect his half-shut eyes from the light. Growling quietly, he limbered from the incredibly comfortable mattress and over to the windows, shutting the blinds to keep the annoyingly bright beams out of the small bedroom and tiredly stumbled back to the bed, collapsing onto the sheets.

The shades, he thought with a fair amount of disdain, had served their purpose of keeping the light out, but failed to muffle the sounds of Tokyo's pulsating metropolis; honking horns, shouts, robust laughter, and squealing breaks all mixed into a faint din that only kept the exhausted doctor from returning to the sleep that he craved with every aching fiber in his worn-down body. He suddenly had an impulse to run to the window, throw up the glass barrier, and shout at the world to just shut the hell up for another half hour so he could get some rest, but was quickly staunched by the fact that the last of his strength had been used to clumsily make his way across the room to shut out the light. But he was already awake, and the dim morning light accompanied by the sounds of the city reminded him of one thing: Breakfast.

As if on cue, his stomach let out a loud, angry snarl, and his dry mouth began to water. "Dammit," he groaned, his unbearably sore arms slowly elevating his torso into a slouched sitting position, his stiff back resting against the headboard of the bed. He hated having to wake up, especially when it was just a force of habit and he didn't really have to. He was completely sapped of strength, every muscle in his body sore and rigid, and he was famished. "Dammit."

"What are you cussing at this early in the morning?" a muffled feminine voice yawned, his wife turning over next to him and looking up at his scowling face with a pair of bleary violet eyes. The scene had been much the same since he had been forced into working an extended shift; he would be sore, extremely tired, and would be swearing at either himself or the management of the accursed hospital that he had been working at for the past nine months.

"Myself," he replied, sighing almost painfully as he rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "Damn stiff muscles, probably slept in some funny position the whole night. Freaking dream…" his voice trailed off as rubbed the knotted muscles at the base of his neck. After that uncomfortably vivid nightmare, sleep had not come easily for the young physician; he had awoken twice in the mere six hours since he had returned to bed, the first instance had been when he had rolled off of the mattress and landed face-first on the floor, the second being because his bladder had been filled to capacity and was ready to burst.

"How are you feeling?"

"A little sore," he grunted, rubbing his shoulder.

"I meant after the nightmare."

He sighed, letting his head rest against the headboard. "I'm fine, Rukia. C'mon, seriously, it was just a dream." He could tell that she was unconvinced by his white lie. _She knows me too well. _"Look, it shook me up a bit, but I'm fine now."

She shrugged, turning over. "Alright."

"Better go call the hospital and see if they need me. Crap," he muttered, easing out from between the sheets and onto the floor, stretching his sleep-cramped legs.

"Aren't you going to have some breakfast?" she called after him as he stumbled into the kitchen.

"No, I'm already late as it is," he growled, the words _by three hours_ flashing in his mind. "Son of a _bitch_! I should've gotten up hours ago."

Rukia emerged from the bedroom, her hand covering her mouth to suppress the laughter that would undoubtedly pour out at the sight of her fuming husband gathering his supplies and sprinting towards the phone with what seemed like an unnecessary amount of haste. Deciding that she might as well help, she returned to the bedroom and brought out a fresh pair of clothes for him to put on. _How the hell did he manage to take care of himself for so long?_

Ichigo nodded in thanks as he grabbed his clothes, his fingers punching in a flurry of numbers before his thumb slammed down on the button labeled "Speaker Phone." He set the telephone down and hurriedly began to pull on his pants and button up his white shirt when, much to his disdain, the hyper-active medical assistant by the name of Asano Keigo answered the hospital line.

'_Hey, what's up Ichigo? Where are you? Too busy having fun with your w-'_

"Shut it. Do they need me to come in today or not?"

'_Yeah, but only for half of a day. You'll be able to go home by about two in the afternoon.'_

"Fine."

'_Hey, wait! What about-' _The sentence was cut short as Ichigo abruptly hung up the phone. He tucked his shirt in and grabbed his coat off of the back of the couch, patting down his pants for his car keys. "Dammit, could I be any more of an idiot?"

"I would find that very hard to believe," Rukia smirked, handing him a small metal ring with several keys fastened to it. "Aren't you sure you don't want to get something to eat?"

"No time. I'll pick something up on the way there," he ran a hand through his hair as a makeshift comb, running through the mental checklist in his head. "Don't _you _have to go to work?"

"Winter break."

"Lucky…"his voice trailed off as he shot her a glance. He strode over to the entrance, looking at his wristwatch and cursing as he opened the door. "See you in a few."

"Love you."

Ichigo stopped in the doorway, allowing a small smile to betray his usual scowling demeanor. "Love ya too. I'll be back in a while. We'll grab some chow after I wash up."

The door shut behind him, and Rukia walked over to the window by a small table in the kitchen, opening the glass and letting the chilled winter air inside. That last time it had snowed had been a week ago, yet it seemed as if the light layer that blanketed the ground had just fallen yesterday. She would have to drag Ichigo to the park one day before spring came, especially since he wouldn't have to be working those ridiculously long shifts anymore. But he would need a few days to sleep before he felt up to doing anything, that she knew very well.

She was snapped from her thoughts as a loud yell resounded throughout the city block, but smiled and laughed as the unmistakable sound of her husband's voice roared, "Who the hell left _dog shit_ in the middle of the _sidewalk_?"

* * *

_**January 11, 2008  
**__**Tokyo, Japan  
**__**2:28 PM, Local Time**_

Kuchiki Byakuya loosely clung to the stick shift in his gray Honda Acura RL, the automobile silently cruising down the city streets. Soft, mellow jazz floated from the speakers as he sank back into the leather seat, his mind combing over the masses of information he had received during the day, specifically the data on the Tokyo area investigations. While the number of ex-operatives stood only at a mere one-hundred and twenty-one, this city was the largest in the world, and if any of said operatives had a reason to hide, it could take days to find them.

He simply thanked the gods that he was blessed enough to have been given the command of a hard-working, loyal division with subordinates who would gladly slave around the clock. Even Abarai Renji, his abrasive rough-around-the-edges Vice Commander, was one of the top officers in the entire organization, though his negligence in turning in and even doing his paper work would deceive most people. And since the investigation would take place in the town in which a vast majority of them lived, it would make the job much smoother than the one in Osaka.

He pulled himself from his thoughts long enough to realize that he had missed a turn and had entered the Taito district on accident. A sudden impulse to visit his sister-in-law, the younger sibling of his dearly departed wife, came over him as he realized that the apartment she shared with her husband was only a few blocks away. The last time he had even so much as talked to Rukia was six years ago when Hisana died, and even then the words shared between them had been sparse. But that had been because she had begun a relationship with that Kurosaki Ichigo, a ruffian surgeon who worked in the Sumida district.

He had always made it very clear that he had never approved of Ichigo, even though he knew very well that Rukia would never listen and that the orange-haired physician would never take offense to anything that was said about him. Perhaps he was simply hoping against hope that she would listen, but now it would be a lost cause; the two had been married for quite some time now and, though it could rarely be seen in public, they were so infatuated with each other it was practically past the point of no return. No, he sighed, Rukia was going to be with Kurosaki for the long haul, whether any of them liked it or not.

The Chief-Commander turned into a dimly lit parking garage near the apartment building and pulled into a vacant space. With one elegant movement, he sung open the automobile door and stepped onto the frigid concrete, reaching his hand back over his shoulder with a small central locking controller and bolted the doors shut. Perhaps he was lucky and her smart-ass husband wouldn't be home.

He strode down the walkway and up to the imposing sky-rise, opening one of the glass doors and walking through the marble-tiled lobby, his back perfectly erect and his strides even. One of the elevators was already open, which he took, and pressed one of the many clear buttons, hoping that he could remember his sister's apartment number. The elevator rose to the chosen floor smoothly, and with a quiet _ding _it came to a stop and the stainless-steel doors slid open.

The black-haired man walked down the hallway and came to a halt in front of a seemingly familiar door, curling his fingers into a fist and knocking on the white door. The voice of his late wife's sister sounded from within the room with a call of "Be there in a minute," before soft footsteps made their way to the door and the handle turned, the large slab of wood swinging inward on its hinges. A pale face framed by disheveled raven hair peeked out at him, violet eyes growing wide in surprise. "Brother…"

"Hello, Rukia. Might I come in?"

She caught herself, opening the door completely and allowing the man to enter. "Yes, of course." She stepped aside, combing her fingers through her hair to straighten out the tangles. "The university's closed for winter break, so I was just straightening out some things here."

"And your husband?"

"Working," she replied, nodding towards an armchair in the living area where he could make himself comfortable. "They finally shortened those damn shifts, so he'll be back in a few minutes if you want to see him."

He shook his head and turned to the television set, one of the major national news stations on the screen. A developing story about rising gas and oil prices was the main topic of a heated discussion between a highly accredited reporter and a politician, the debate going back and forth in such a rapid manner that he soon found it difficult to keep track of the conversation-turned-live argument. But he could see why she would enjoy watching something like this; the reporter was saucy and full of sarcasm, with a loud voice to complete it all. Rukia was saucy, sarcastic, and had a voice that could shatter windows if she willed it so.

"Ichigo and I were going to grab some dinner later. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you came along." She immediately slapped herself; Ichigo _would _mind, and though it was always entertaining to see his jaw go tight and watch him shoot bitter looks at anyone who caused him any trouble, it wouldn't be fun to sit in a deathly silence and watch the two men glare angrily at each other.

"No, thank you," he replied curtly. "There's no need to pretend, Rukia; I know very well that Kurosaki dislikes me, and to be completely fair, I dislike him as well."

"…So I take that as a no?"

He didn't bother answering, internally scoffing at the smirk playing on her lips. His eyes strayed from the intense debate playing out on live television and over to a stack of medical textbooks strewn about the coffee table beside the chair. Pages were open to sections about night terrors and hallucinations and insomnia, small sheets bookmarking other sections with similar topics. "Is this what the class your helping with is studying?"

She looked at the books, then at him. "No. Ichigo had some weird dream last night, and I'm trying to figure out what the hell it was. He doesn't want to tell me what it's about, and he won't admit that it scared the crap out of him. Idiot," she chuckled, gazing out the window. "Men are all the same," she sighed, glancing back at her brother-in-law to see if he was even listening before continuing, "They'd rather deny that they're even a little bit frightened than actually talk about it, and when they finally do, they're either half-mad or half-dead. Chances are, Ichigo will be both by the time he's ready to talk."

"Yes, the boy was always far too stubborn for my taste," Byakuya replied, leaning back in the chair.

"Well, you're not married to him, I am, so you really can't complain," Rukia bit back, tossing a semi-glare at the older man.

"Fine, very well," he stood up, glancing at the clock on the wall. "I apologize for the briefness of this visit, but I have work that needs to be done elsewhere."

Rukia shrugged. "I know how it is. Are you sure you wouldn't want to get some dinner with-"

The apartment door opened and Ichigo walked in, an uncharacteristic half-smile on his face. Apparently, the fact that he only had to be at work for five hours had done him wonders. That smile, however, quickly vanished when his amber eyes locked and focused on the certain black-haired man who was standing in the living area. Rukia could then see a potential argument brewing up in the air, the atmosphere becoming electric as the two men glared at each other with visible disdain. Almost immediately, plans on how to defuse the potentially lethal situation raced frantically through her mind.

"Byakuya," Ichigo greeted, his spine having gone completely rigid and his jaw tight.

"Kurosaki," came the sickeningly courteous reply.

"What brings you here?"

Rukia sighed in relief; at least he was trying to be civil for a change.

"I was in the area and thought that it would be nice to stop by and visit my sister-in-law," the elder Kuchiki replied nonchalantly.

"Huh, that so? After six years you've finally decided to show up and see her," the doctor snarled menacingly, walking over to Rukia and taking a protective stance in front of her. "You practically bailed on her when her sister dies, and then you have the balls to come back here and act as if nothing ever happened? Just who the _hell _do you think you are?"

"Ichigo," Rukia warned, putting a hand on the back of his shoulder. "It's fine, he was just on his way out."

"No, it's not _fine_, Rukia," Ichigo barked, shooting an accusing glare at the other man. "Your sister dies and he just ups and ditches you in a home you couldn't even afford without his help. I remember how you had trouble just affording _food_. He hasn't even called in _six years_. You could've ended up on the damn streets, rotting in some shitty sewer somewhere!"

"You mean like yourself?"

Ichigo's body froze, every bone going completely rigid until it was hard to tell whether or not he was breathing. "Don't go there, Kuchiki," he growled, his fists clenched so tightly that he was near the point of drawing blood from his calloused palms.

"What's he talking about, Ichigo?" Now she was curious; when had Ichigo ever been living on the streets? And more importantly, how did the one person in the world who her husband detested the most know?

"That's not important," he snapped. "You can't make the accusations here. None of that matters anymore. She needed you, and then you just leave the country for god knows how long?"

"Ichigo…"

"She's my sister, Kurosaki, and if I feel like paying her a visit, then I believe I have that right."

"She's _my _wife, your sister_-in-law_, and you gave up the right to harass her when you abandoned her!"

"_Ichigo_!"

His tirade was abruptly cut short as the petite woman roughly shook his arm and shouted his name. He then realized that he had crossed a line and, by fighting with someone over her, had greatly damaged her pride. Any member of her family, blood or by title, was someone that she would always cherish, and he knew that he had upset her by making degrading remarks about the man that her sister trusted enough to marry. He looked back over his shoulder to see her staring angrily at him, which he returned with a semi-apologetic look.

"I'm sorry, Byakuya, but apparently neither of you are mature enough to sit together in a room and talk like men. I wish you could stay and chat longer, but you have to get back to work and I don't want my husband to go to jail for committing murder." She walked over to the door and opened it, showing that she was just as mad at him as she was at Ichigo. "Good bye."

"Very well," he sighed, walking through the door and nodding at the two other people in the room. "Kurosaki, Rukia; I bid you both a good day." She shut the door behind him, and then the apartment dove into a thick, unsettling silence.

Ichigo hung his head down a bit, assessing the damage he had done; apparently, it had been a lot. From the looks of it, she seemed as if she were ready to carve his arm off with a butcher's knife, probably more out of annoyance at his perpetual immaturity than anything else. In truth, he was remorseful, but not for igniting a verbal confrontation with Kuchiki Byakuya. His repentance came from the fact that he had unintentionally wounded her and, now that he thought of it, probably ruined the potential "mood" that a night free from work might have produced. _Damn. Double negative._

"Sorry," he muttered, refusing to make eye contact as she turned to face him. _Here comes the storm._

"Thanks for getting rid of him."

Ichigo's head snapped up, an orange eyebrow cocked in obvious disbelief. "What?"

"It was fine when he was here to visit, but he was asking for it. He should've just left as soon as you walked through the door. And you did make some valid points. Although," she shot him a mix between a glare and a smirk before continuing, "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't act like a complete _girl_ every time someone you don't like visits."

He gagged a strangled laugh. "He's the girl, not me."

"You're both girls."

"Yeah, and you tell _me _to act mature," he snickered, grinning triumphantly as his comment was met with silence. "See, now you're just a hypocrite." He groaned as her small foot made contact with his shin, clutching the sore spot that was most definitely going to turn into an ugly bruise.

"Now _you're _asking for it," she retorted playfully, shoving his shoulder. "Besides, we're supposed to be going to dinner, and _you_need to take a shower. Sorry, Ichigo, but you're smelling a little ripe." She pushed on his back, shooing him down the hallway and into their bedroom, opening the door to the conjoining bathroom and pointing inside.

"Alright, alright! Stop shoving, woman!" he shouted back over his shoulder. He walked over to the dresser on the far side of the room and pulled out a shirt and a pair of pants, tossing them onto the bed. "You mind ironing these for me while I'm in the shower?"

"Do you even _know_ how to iron your clothes?"

"Yes, I do, thank you for asking," he shot back, pulling off his shirt and sniffing it. "Damn, I am starting to smell."

"Well, you're a guy, so I suppose it's natural."

"What's your excuse?"

"Cute, real cute."

Ichigo shrugged, a smirk plastered on his face as he dug around the inside of one of the drawers for a shaving blade. "Can't help it; it's fun."

"Do you have _any_ self control?"

"Not with you, Rukia."

"Figures," she replied, turning her back to him and picking up one of the pillows on the bed, hurling it at his head. She scoffed as he shot her a wounded look. "So," she began, trying to start a casual conversation about dinner, "what are you in the mood for tonight?"

"You."

His arms had already snaked around her waist and pulled her back against his solid chest, his chin resting in the crook of her neck. She could already see the cocky smirk that was bound to be plastered on his face, especially as she shuddered from the feeling of his warm breath bathing her neck. She had to admit, he was probably one of the strangest people on earth; pissed one minute, laughing the next, then embracing her after that. "And I repeat; do you have any self control?"

"Not with you. Never with you," he replied. But he didn't have the playful, childish tone that would accompany actions similar to the ones he was taking at that moment. His voice was serious and sober, like if he let go of her and walked away that something horrible would happen. His grip around her waist seemed desperate, as did the way he kept her firmly pressed against him. His face, she saw as she turned her head, had kept the usual foreboding scowl, his eyes cast towards where his fingers were splayed across the fabric of the shirt covering her stomach.

"Ichigo…"

"Sorry," he murmured, kissing the junction between her neck and shoulder apologetically, releasing his hold on her abdomen. "I was a little too forward there. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

She silently turned around and wrapped her arms around his chest, resting her head against his shoulder. He seemed a little dismayed at first, but quickly returned the tender sign of affection. "You don't make me uncomfortable, Ichigo. I trust you." She felt the tightly-wound muscles in his arms and torso relax as she spoke, a pent-up sigh escaping from his lips and rustling her hair. He seemed far too tense, at least more so than usual, though that was probably because of the unexpected visit from Byakuya.

"Yeah, I know. I just don't want you to feel like I'm forcing anything on you," Ichigo replied, nuzzling her hair with his nose.

"Don't worry about that."

"You sure?"

"Positive," she consoled, placing a small kiss on his collarbone. "Don't worry about changing clothes, by the way."

"Why not?"

She reached up and hooked her arms around his neck, pulling his down into a soft kiss before responding softly, her lips brushing against his, "I don't think we'll be making it to dinner."

Smirking, he crushed his lips to hers and thought, _Thank god I don't have to go to work tomorrow._

* * *

_That was fun to write (heh heh). Alright, I know that you all, my loyal readers, may be confused, but fear not! All will fall into place with time. But I will explain what I can for now:_

_- Public Security Intelligence Agency - Japan's version of the United States' Central Intelligence agency. Its Internal Departments are divided into General Affairs, First Intelligence, and Second Intelligence, as well as a training institute and several regional bureaus. _

_- Nihon Keizai Shimbun - A Japanese business newspaper printed in Tokyo._

_- Osaka Institute of Technology - Prominent engineering/tech college located in Osaka. Think of the southeast's Georgia Tech._

_- Omu Henrico (Aum Shinrikyo) - Japanese terrorist organization that was formed in 1984 by Asahara Shoko. They are famous for carrying out the Sarin Gas Attack on the Tokyo subway lines in 1995._

_- Nihon Sekigun (Japanese Red Army) - Japanese terrorist organization that was formed by Shigenobu Fusako in 1971. Their most notable attacks were the Lod Airport Massacre and the hijacking of Japan Airlines Flight 351._

_- Robert Hanssen - Former Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI) operative who was arrested in 2001 for spying on the United States for the Soviets/Russians for nearly twenty years. This was deemed as being "possibly the worst intelligence disaster in U.S. history."_

_Research takes time, so that's why the updates take as long as they do. BTW, the news reporter that Rukia and Byakuya were watching was modeled after Glenn Beck :D. For the stuff I can't explain:_

_- Byakuya's comment about Ichigo living on the streets - We'll delve into that later, a little bit in the next chapter._

_- Why is Ichigo acting so weird all of a sudden around Rukia? - That becomes very obvious within the next three or so chapters._

_- Why did I feel it necessary to put in a scene implying that Ichigo and Rukia were going to do it? - Believe it or not, this scene actually has a point (and I was suffering from IchiRuki withdraws)._

_Well, hope you enjoyed!_

* * *


	3. You Cry A Tear To Start A River

_

* * *

_

Alright, here's the next chapter, posted today in honor of Independence Day. Damn, that took forever to write...Anyways, I hope that you all enjoy, and that those of you who are on summer vacation are having a blast! And a special super-huge thanks to my beta reader PerfumedLilys, who slaved away to make this as pretty as possible.

_Arigato!_

* * *

_So you head on down  
to the bottom near the river  
just to wash away  
all the pain of today and yesterday.  
And you try so hard  
to wash away the spots,  
but your tears  
don't seem to do enough.  
It's just too much._

Between The Trees, "You Cry A Tear To Start A River"

* * *

_**January 11, 2008  
Tokyo, Japan  
10:28 PM, Local Time**_

In his twenty-six years of living in some of the toughest neighborhoods of Japan, eight of those working on some of the most deadly missions for said country's security branch, there was one thing that Abarai Renji found to be the irrefutable, undeniable truth; work sucked.

He leaned back in his chair and swung his feet up to rest on the surface of his mahogany office desk. The pen held between his tightly clenched teeth bobbed slightly as he mumbled angrily under his breath, large stacks of paper strewn about the desk. He consulted the documents in his hands before letting his head drop back against the headrest of the chair, his eyes shut tight against the dim light coming from the table lamp perched on the corner of the desk.

So, this is what he would have to look forward to for about the next three months; sitting at a desk or in some stranger's home, conducting unnecessarily extensive research on people who weren't even a threat while they were _in _the organization, let alone out of it. He'd just had to go through all of that when he was forced to drive down to Osaka for several weeks, and he truly didn't want to have to do it again, even if all of this would be taking place near his own apartment. Perhaps he could feign sickness and go on leave…

No, Kuchiki was already fully aware of the fact that Renji was completely against having to be on this mission. Requesting permission to take a few days off because of a questionable illness would not go over well with his division commander, and he didn't need any more black marks on his already filthy record. He knew that he was good when it came to field work, but the desk job that he had been stuck with upon becoming Vice-Commander of the Sixth Division had become his worst nightmare. He worked his best under pressure with a handgun, chasing after a suspect through city streets and parks, not in a small, stuffy room in uptown Tokyo writing and typing reports and manuscripts.

And on top of being stuck behind a desk for hours on end, his career in the Public Security Intelligence Agency was teetering on the brink of termination. He had already had several infractions placed on his record, as well as an assault charge for allegedly striking a man suspected to be in the Omu Henrico. Renji hadn't denied pulling back a large fist and slamming it into the smug, overweight suspect's face, feeling his nose break under the force. In fact, when approached about the incident, he had simply smirked and said, "That son of a bitch was asking for it."

That was one of the other problems he had with desk work; that had been a mere routine interrogation, the norm for officers and people whose worst injuries had come from falling out of their plush office chairs. When he had first joined up and been at the bottom of the chain of command, he would be scouring the streets of Japan's most populated cities with a squad of five or six others, armed only with hand-held transmitters and receivers, handguns, and street maps. That had been the field work that he longed to be a part of again. And also, if a suspect was punched or pistol-whipped, it was simply collateral damage that was to be expected when tensions were high and adrenaline was pumping from a chase.

He had been told several times lately that, should one more infraction, no matter how minor, have to be placed on his record, then his employment would be terminated on the spot. A termination from one of the most elemental branches of the country's government would not look good on any resume, and neither his division commander nor himself would let him forget it, especially since he had never even bothered to attend any kind of university for additional schooling.

The shrill ringing of his cellular phone roused him from his thoughts and elicited an annoyed grumble. He pressed a small button with a green marking on it and held the small device to his ear, barking out a gruff "What?" before the person on the other line had any chance to introduce himself.

'_Now, now, Abarai,' _a calm, relatively happy voice entered the Vice-Commander's ear. '_Is that any way to answer you phone?'_

Renji pulled his feet off of the desk and sat up in his chair, removing the obvious annoyance from his voice. "Sorry, sir. It's just been a rough day. It'll probably be a long night, too, with all of these damn investigations we've gotta conduct. Pardon my language."

'_Don't worry, Abarai,' _the happy-go-lucky voice of Aizen Sosuke, Fifth Division's Chief-Commander, consoled the tired officer. '_There are more of working on this investigation, especially since Ichimaru's share should only take a week or so if he decides to go all in.'_  
_  
_"Yeah, and Kuchiki's got the entire division working overtime. We're not going home until midnight at the earliest."

'_Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but,' _the brown-haired man hesitated briefly before continuing, '_I just received some more paperwork from Yamamoto-san. You know, reports, old records, transcripts. I sent my Vice-Commander to give you your share of the work. She should be arriving any moment.'_  
_  
_"Christ…"

'_That was exactly what I said when I was faxed the papers.'_There was a knock on the door, which Renji took to be Hinamori Momo coming to deliver the detested paperwork. "Sorry, sir. I've gotta go."

'_Very well. Have a nice night, Abarai.'_The tattooed man hung up the phone and called to the persistent knocker, "Come in, it's open."

Instead of seeing the bubbly, brown-haired Vice-Commander of First Intelligence Department's Fifth Division, the somber, scarred face of Hisagi Shuuhei appeared as he opened the door. His eyes were bloodshot and glazed over, probably because the higher-ups had sat him in front of a computer screen all day to type of reports and whatnot. The man shuffled lazily into his friend's office, collapsing on a chair near the desk and shutting his eyes.

"Long day?"

"Hell yeah," the man with sixty-nine tattooed on his face replied groggily, rubbing his bleary eyes. "They always assign three divisions to work Tokyo, but half of First Intel is gonna be searching the streets by the time the investigation is done."

"Whadda ya mean by that?"

"What, you never worked Tokyo before?"

"No, this is my first shot at it."

Shuuhei chuckled, wheeling his head around to stretch out the stiff muscles. "Can't believe it. Eight years, and they've never pulled you into it."

"Pulled me into _what_?" Now Renji was becoming annoyed with his comrade's word games. Typically, they did this to each other just for laughs, but it was becoming quite apparent how taxing simple fun and games could be after such an exhausting day.

"Tokyo's the biggest damn city on earth. We've got over a hundred ex-operatives lurking all over this place. But each time, there's always some nut job who thinks we're gonna whack 'im right away, no questions asked. And, trust me, these guys were trained to remain undetected. So then everything starts going off the wire, and other divisions start getting involved. Before long, we got one lunatic running around with a gun hiding in sewers, cat houses, abandoned buildings, you name it, they've been there. And a couple hundred of us are breaking down doors and causing all this ruckus 'cause of some jittery ex-op."

"So you think it's gonna happen again?"

"Undoubtedly. Either someone thinks we're out to get 'em, or they've led a double life for so long that they finally snap and go nuts."

"Snap?"

"Eh, I don't know. Kill someone, hostage situation, rape, suicide. Things like that."

The two men sat in silence for several minutes. Renji then leant forward and propped his elbows on the edge of the desk, his tattooed brow in a disgruntled furrow. "Was that a shitty attempt at making me feel better?"

"Just a heads-up so you don't act like someone crapped in your cheerios when you do end up having to run around town looking for someone."

"Your concern touches me."

"You're welcome."

There was a timid knock on the door, and Renji called for whoever it was that the door was unlocked and that they could enter. Hinamori Momo peaked her head in and cautiously crept to the man's desk, placing a hefty stack of papers and manila folders on its sleek surface. She seemed somewhat intimidated by the two men, even though both she and Renji had a certain fondness for each other. "Hello Abarai-san, Hisagi-san."

"Yo," the red-haired man replied tiredly, pulling a pack of cigarettes out from a drawer in his desk. He offered them to his two comrades, both of whom declined, before pulling one out for himself and lighting it up with a match.

"You're gonna die of cancer before you get killed on duty, Abarai," Shuuhei scoffed, slinging his arm over the back of the seat.

"Whatever."

"Hisagi-san's right, Abarai-san," Hinamori stated, swiping the pack of cigarettes from the table and tossing them into the trash bin at Renji's feet. "These are bad for you."

"What the hell is this, health class?" the man barked, pulling the package out of the bin and grumbling as half of its contents fell to the floor. "These things are expensive, dammit!"

"I can guarantee you that getting a lung removed will be way more expensive."

"Scram, both of ya!"

* * *

_**January 12, 2008  
Tokyo, Japan  
1:12 AM, Local Time  
**_  
The first thing Rukia noticed as she woke was that she was cold. The next thing she noticed was that there was an extremely warm body next to hers, which she immediately moved closer to. The body grunted sleepily and sighed, filling with air and slowly exhaling, the gust of breath ruffling her sleep-tousled hair. Then the body proceeded to shift and squirm underneath her for several minutes, effectively keeping her from returning back to the sleep that she was craving once again. "Ichigo, quit moving around."

"Then get your damn bony elbow outta my bladder."

She jabbed his abdomen with her index finger, only to be met with a barrier of heated skin and solid muscle that nearly broke said finger. She pulled it back and cradled it in her other hand before kicking him in the shin, glaring at him when he asked why the hell she had done that.

"That hurt, idiot," she murmured, looking at her aching finger.

"Stop being such a baby. Here, let me see it," he commanded, sitting up against the headboard and pulling the sheets to his bare waist. He looked at it with a small tinge of amusement, holding it gently in his large hands. "Well it's not broken."

"Of course it's not. I just jabbed your concrete stomach. I didn't shoot it off with a handgun."

He rolled his eyes, slinging his arm over the headrest before kissing her finger. "Better?"

"Yes."

"Good." He shut his eyes, a ghost of a smile passing over his face as she sat up and curled against his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling the junction of his neck and shoulder. She was one tough girl, but she was also touchy-feely and sappy when he didn't ruin the mood with one of his witty comments. But it allowed him the luxury of showing the softer, more childish side of his personality without having to face any judgment. He snaked his strong arms around her petite body and held her close, placing his chin on top of her head.

"Hey, Ichigo, do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Of course not."

"What did Byakuya mean? When you guys were arguing today?" She almost immediately regretted it as she felt his body stiffen underneath her own, his embrace growing more tight and protective. She felt him bury his nose in her hair and give a weary sigh, something that he would only do when he was frustrated. "Look, I'm sorry, it was a stupid question. You don't have to answer."

"Yes, yes I do. We're married now, and I owe you an explanation. Besides, you just told me yesterday that refusing to talk is unhealthy. "

"Yeah, but not when it's none of my business."

"My past isn't your business? So you wouldn't want to know whether or not I was a psychotic killer?"

"Actually, no. Ignorance is bliss."

At that, he gave a deep, jovial laugh that rumbled up from within his chest and spilled out in his rich baritone voice. A wide, amused grin was spread across his face before replying, "Yeah, I guess so." Then there was silence as his robust laughter died down and the conversation turned back to the subject of his past. "Well, where do you want me to start?"

"At the beginning."

He chucked quietly to himself, tightening the embrace briefly. "Well, once I turned seventeen, I had a falling-out with my dad. Shit had been hitting the fan in that house for a while, so I guess it was in inevitable. So, right after my senior year in high school, I moved out and got a job. He wanted me to go to college, but I was stupid and young; at that point, I was just content doing the exact opposite of what he said," his eyes, glazed over in thought, strayed toward her. "Feel free to comment any time."

"Comment on _what_?" she asked incredulously, slightly stunned by his nonchalance.

"Well, that's about the time you'd make some remark about how 'I still act like that,' or 'I'm still stupid and stubborn.' Something along those lines."

"Perhaps it was your mouth that got you in trouble."

His face darkened, all previous traces of humor disappearing and being replaced by one of the fiercest scowls she had ever seen. She knew right then and there that she had made a mistake by digging up subjects which he desperately wanted to forget about. She watched as his mouth curled into a snarl and his eyebrows slanted angrily. "No," she heard him whisper through clenched teeth. "That's not it."

"Look, Ichigo, I'm sorry," she murmured, placing her cool hand on his arm. "I shouldn't have-"

"It's not you," he stated gruffly, his face softening a fraction. "It's me. It's what a damn fool I was. What a damn fool my father was. Have I ever told you how my mother died?"

"No," she replied quietly.

"When I was nine, she was killed. We were in the kitchen and she was making me some lunch. It was pouring outside, my dad was working at a hospital in Koto, and my sisters were asleep in their room. There was a window, a small one, right above the sink. She was reaching above it, getting something from the cupboard, when there was deafening crack. For a split second I thought it was thunder, but as soon as I heard it my arm felt like it was on fire, and my mom was lying on the floor. Didn't take too long to figure out that she had been shot and that my arm was killing me because a bullet was lodged in it."

She almost asked him to stop as she saw tears welling up in his eyes, but he continued nonetheless, his voice wavering. "So I grabbed the phone and called my dad. He was over at the house with the police before long. The paramedics told us that she probably had died as soon as she hit the floor. My dad, the stupid idiot, told me that he kept a handgun in that cupboard and that it had fallen out andhad discharged, shooting her. The bullet ripped right through her and got me just below the shoulder."

"God, Ichigo, I'm so sorry."

"I was a naive son of a bitch. Funny, the window was shattered and the counter that the gun supposedly had landed on only came up to her waist, yet the bullet hit her in the center of the chest. I was a smart kid, but I wanted to believe that it was an accident. The thought of someone murdering my mother…no, I just told myself that it was a freak accident. So eight years later my father pulls me into the kitchen and tells me some drunk psycho had taken a loaded Desert Eagle and shot right into our kitchen. He'd lied to me about that for so long, I was absolutely livid. I couldn't even stand to look at him. About half a year later I ditched outon graduation night and moved into Setagaya."

Then there was deafening silence for what seemed like hours. The subject of his mother was something that was hardly ever touched upon, except for that one day each year when they would silently get in their car and drive halfway across downtown Tokyo to a quiet cemetery. It was the same for him as it was for her and her late sister; it was rarely spoken of, and when it was, only happy memories were shared. But this, this wasn't like Ichigo. A sudden thought crossed her mind that he might be suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress, which caused her heart to constrict painfully. How long had he kept that hidden from the world, bottled up inside or him?

"I held a steady job for a few years, but it was rotten and I got sick of it and quit. I was too full of myself to go back and ask my dad for help, so I just kind of wandered around for a few months. I had some cash saved up, so I wasn't a complete bum. Then I came back to Tokyo and met you at the university. God, you were a real piece of work."

"You were asking for it," she retorted, hoping that the saucy comeback would make him feel somewhat better.

"Yeah, I guess I was," he replied, a kind of sad, childish smile replacing his frown. Hell, that had been a day he'd never forget. The middle of October in the year two-thousand and one. He had been wandering around for what felt like years, in the godforsaken rain and snow and sleet, knowing fully well that he had enough money saved to get a small apartment once he found a new job. Tokyo held far too many bad memories, but it was his place of birth and where he had grown up. It had felt both oddly comforting and acutely painful when he had stepped back into its boundaries, but he had pushed the feelings aside and trudged through the congested city streets.

It had been about an hour before he had come across the Tokyo Medical University, the college his father had attended for six years before marrying Ichigo's mother. He had stopped and stared at the building for several minutes, a strange feeling drawing him towards it. His mother had always told him that he'd make a good doctor. "_You're so smart," _she had told him, holding his small hands in hers. "_So intelligent and careful. You'd be a wonderful doctor, just like daddy."  
_  
Then _she _had walked up.

"You know what a pain the ass you had been?" he asked, turning his head to look at her smirking face.

"Do you know what a crotchety grouch you had been?"

"Touché," he grumbled, settling back on his pillow and staring at the ceiling, his brow knitting together in a scowl once again, obviously deep in thought.

"Hey, are you alright?" she asked with genuine concern, propping herself on her elbow and running her nimble fingers though his hair with her free hand. "I could tell that it was hard, talking about your mom. I'm so sorry Ichigo, I had no idea that had happened. I wouldn't have brought up what he had said had I-"

He leaned up, pressing his lips to hers softly, one of his scarred hands coming up and holding the back of her neck. "I'm fine," he whispered as he drew back slightly, giving a rare, genuine smile, his hand cupping her face and caressing the skin beneath her violet eyes with the rough pad of his thumb. "Don't worry about me."

She returned the smile with one of her own, curling up against his chest and burrowing her face into his shoulder, finding peace in the heady scent and comforting warmth that his body emitted. But it was hard not to worry about him when he insisted upon tormenting himself just because he thought that she "deserved and explanation." And the newly discovered theory that he might suffer from PTSD only served to alarm her even more. All she could do for him was offer what comfort she could give and pray that his mind was at ease as they drifted into sleep.

* * *

_**January 12, 2008  
Tokyo, Japan  
5:00 AM, Local Time  
**_  
"What the hell d'ya mean ya can't find the damn files?" Kenpachi Zaraki roared angrily, grabbing one of the operatives from Tenth Division by the collar of his shirt and yanking him around roughly. The Chief-Commander sneered at the young man who quivered in his shadow, his neck turned upwards at almost a ninety-degree angle, his wide eyes glued on the much taller man's scarred, grizzly looking face. "Well? I asked ya a question, dammit! These bastards're top priority on this investigation!"

"I, uh…I'm not sure…sir, I'm sure they'll turn up," the shorter of the two squeaked nervously, feeling the hand holding onto his shirt tighten significantly.

"You'd better pray that they do!" Kenpachi barked, relinquishing his vice-like grip on the cowering operative and pointing a menacing finger towards the door. "Now get outta my sight and find those files!"

"Kenpachi, what are doing terrorizing one of my men?" asked the visibly annoyed Chief-Commander of the Tenth Division, Hitsugaya Toushiro. "Don't you have something to kill?"

"Feh, I wish," he retorted, the operatives of his division chuckling at their commander's sadistic sense of humor. "If Yamamoto had just put us in charge of taking care of their files, then this mess wouldn't be happening. You wimps always muck this shit up."

"First of all, we weren't in charge of the files, Aizen and Fifth Division are. And things always get lost in the bureaucratic bull crap that the politicians have us keep in here. They'll turn up eventually."

"Fine, runt. Just make sure we get 'em. Yamamoto's got us on standby in case shit hits the fan."

"The only time shit hits the fan is when your boys get involved. That's probably why you're just on standby and not out doing field work."

"Naw, it's Fifth, Sixth and Third and they've already started screwing things up in the ass."

"Perhaps I shouldn't bring up the time you killed all of our leads in a government coup and we had no way of knowing anything about the assassins."

"Aw, shaddap, kid. Those sons of bitches weren't gonna be any help anyways. 'Sides, they were a liability. What if they'd escaped back to the rest of the rats? Then they'd of been spillin' the beans on our HQ. An' these louses can go runnin' 'round to every damn terrorist organization in the Far and Middle East with more info than Yamamoto himself knows."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, Kenpachi, I'll even head down to the archives and look myself," the nineteen year-old prodigy stated, his arms folding over his chest.

Kenpachi grumbled, seeming to calm down to some extent. The last thing Hitsugaya needed was to be the mutual party in a bloodbath between the Tenth and Eleventh Divisions. "Alright, then, but heads're gonna roll come sundown if those copies aren't sittin' on my desk by tonight."

"Fine, fine," Hitsugaya dismissed the Chief-Commander's threat with a wave of his hand, leaning nonchalantly against the bland, white wall.  
"Just give me their names and I'll go search for them."

"Only ones I can think of off th' my head're Grimmjow Jaggerjack, Ulquiorra Schiffer, an' Szayel Aporro Granz. They were all part of a failed task force from th' late nineties made up of just 'bout every kind of person out there. Jaggerjack was an ex-Marine from the States, Schiffer was a half-German Special Ops officer and part of the neo-Nazi movement, an' Granz was a fruitcake who worked in Research an' Development before bein' tossed in with those two."

"Failed task force? You mean Task Force Espada?"

"Yeah. They were the groundwork for Task Force Vizard, which was just as much a disaster. Espada was one of the best assassin squads in th' entire institution had ever seen. But they went off the wire an' got a little too trigger happy. The ones that weren't terminated were kicked out. There were more than those three, though."

"And those are the only ones missing?"

"Yeah."

"Are you sure? I'm not having a repeat of Operation Las Noches. I'm not going to be cleaning up your messes if you miss crucial information. As of now, your division is the only one on standby, not mine. I'm not getting pulled into this mess."

"Feh, you worry too much, kid," Kenpachi chuckled with a lopsided grin, plopping down into a chair. "Just get your midget ass down to the archives and find those damn files. Weird shit's happenin' an' I don't wanna be caught with my drawers down."

"You're too paranoid."

"You're too calm. Either that or you're always pissed at somethin'. But their files've never gone missing before, not since they were booted from the program. Shit's gonna hit the fan, you mark my words. And when it does, Eleventh'll be locked, loaded, an' ready to go."

* * *

_**October 18, 2001  
Tokyo Japan  
1:23 PM, Local Time  
**__  
That damn medical university had been taunting him for the past fifteen minutes, practically staring at him with its pristine white walls and impeccably clean windows. It was mocking his entire being; his disheveled orange hair, his haggard features, his dark eyes, his sunken cheeks. Being out of a job and wandering around for several months had done nothing to improve his looks, that was for sure._was _this lady? "What's it matter to you if that happens?"_

_Of course, he did have enough money to get a small apartment, or at least a hotel room until he found a job. But for some reason that was unknown even to him, he refused to stay in one location for more than two days at a time. And there was no way in hell he was going back to that deceiving son of a bitch who had the audacity to call himself a father. So until he made an actual decision on where he was going to live and what job he wanted, he would have to suffice with McDonalds and cheap motels._

_So why was he standing on a sidewalk and staring at a building with a sign near the entrance that read in extravagant, gold letters, "Tokyo Medial University?" He had no idea. The prospect of becoming a doctor wasn't exactly appalling; in fact, it was quite intriguing. But he had never gone to college, though he certainly had the grades and resources to attend whatever university he would have wanted to. Would such a nationally renowned school accept a messy, scruffy-looking figure such as himself? Well, they might, but it'd be a cold day in hell when it'd happen._

_"Feh, it's a stupid idea," he muttered out loud, shoving his hands into his pockets. Yet, despite the verbal conformation that the prospect of applying for a spot in one of the classes was not only bizarre but impossible, he continued to stay rooted to that single spot on the pavement. Well, perhaps it was a little chilly in hell today. And he didn't even have to be a doctor; he could be a psychiatric consultant or a psychologist, one of those head doctors who the nutballs and convicts went to see._

_His eyes flickered to the woman who had, sometime during his absentminded daydreaming, strode up and been standing next to him, looking up at his face. He turned his head fully to look at the woman, his hard, narrowed eyes obviously not phasing her in the least. That came as somewhat of a shock to him, since nearly everyone was either intimidated, flat-out scared, or pissed off by his rough scowl. He gave a mixture between a snort and a grunt before growling, "Whadda you want?"_

_In turn, she cocked her head to the side like a curious puppy and continued to keep her violet eyes glued to his snarling face, her smirk poorly hidden behind a childish smile. "You know, if you keep staring at that building like you're going to rob it, someone's going to call the cops."_

_Just who the hell_

_"Then I can't go to class," she retorted, folding her arms over her chest and planting her feet in a stance that was probably meant to look imposing. "It's almost summer, and getting behind now with finals and class projects would be a mess."_

_"Wait, you're a student at the university?" he asked in unveiled disbelief, cocking an eyebrow at her. She looked like she was fifteen, not a twenty-something year old student at a medical college. She only stood at a little less than five feet tall, with unmarred pale skin and a cocky know-it-all grin that were the most obvious signs of the attitude of an adolescence. "You look like you should be catching the bus to your high school or something."_

_"Well, you look like you should be in a death squad, the way you always frown like some cliché no-nonsense killer," she snapped back, taking him by surprise._

_"Just why the hell are you bothering me, anyways?"_

_"I thought you were a graduate who was looking for an opening at the university. People don't typically stand on sidewalks for twenty minutes on end staring at this place, you know."_

_He shrugged, turning his eyes back to the building, hoping that blatantly ignoring the girl would convey the fact that he wanted to be left alone. But she remained at his side, continuing to keep her gaze fixed on his face. "Alright, look twerp-"_

_"You apparently are either looking for a job or some place to go to school. You seem old enough to be out of college, so I'd be guessing the latter rather than the former. If you're looking for a job, then you're out of luck, but as far as school goes, there are openings in several classes."_

_Hot damn, was he really that easy to read? His facial expression changed from one of obvious annoyance to one of hesitant curiosity. "So what if am? Looking for a place to go to school, I mean."_

_"Then why don't you go in and ask which classes have the openings?"_

_"I…don't want to."_

_"…You're not a people person, are you?"_

_"Look, if you're not gonna help-"_

_"Alright, alright, fine," she shouted, holding her open palms in front of her defensively. "Look, class starts in five minutes; come in and I'll take you to my teacher, Kaien-dono. He's pretty cool, so I'm sure he'd be able to work something out for you."_

_Ichigo looked at her skeptically, scrutinizing her petite body before asking with cautious curiosity, "And just why are you helping me?"_

_"Because you're one of those idiotic men who would much rather sit and brood rather than actually ask for help."_

_"Why, you," he growled, but was cut off as he was dragged across the street by a small raven-haired woman he had only known for about five minutes. Finally across the street, he pulled his coat sleeve out of her surprisingly strong grip and turned his tone to that of a stern, straightforward man. "Alright, before I accept any help from complete stranger, I'm gonna need to know your name, lady."_

_"My name isn't 'lady,' it's Kuchiki Rukia."_

_"Kurosaki Ichigo."_

_"Why, that's a pretty name."_

_"Oi, shut the hell up!"_

* * *

_- Koto - A district of Tokyo, located south of Sumida and east of Chuo._

_- Tokyo Medical University - A private medical school built in 1916. It is affiliated with the Tokyo Medical University Hospital, built in 1931, and located in the Nishi-Shinjuku skyscraper district._

_- Desert Eagle - A large caliber gas powered semi-automatic pistol._

_And, for those who were wondering, yes, it was implied that Ichigo and Rukia had sex. _

* * *


	4. Matters of Opinion

_I feel like I have some explaining to do..._

_For the past six months, I've really had virtually NO inspiration. In part, I blame how busy I was when I was in our school's production of The Diary of Anne Frank. Your director worked us like dogs, but when we went to the state acting competition we won first at Sub-Regionals, first at Regionals, and fourth at State. Then it was studying for exams, then I had a weird depression peirod where I really didn't want to do anything. It's a meager excuse, but it's all I got. _

_So, here's the latest chapter. Arigato, your patience has been appriciated._

_

* * *

_

_"In all matters of opinion, our adversaries are insane."_

- Oscar Wilde

* * *

_**January 14, 2008  
**__**Tokyo, Japan  
**__**5:30 PM, Local Time**_

Hitsugaya Toshiro was troubled. In fact, he was beyond troubled; he was flat-out worried. For hours on end, nearly thirty-six altogether, he had searched for the elusive files of the highest ranking members of the expelled Task Force Espada. And on top of his failure to locate said files, four more had slipped out of the archives under his nose, sending the entire First Intelligence Department, thirteen divisions in all, into a mass hysteria. The disappearance of three mere files from the disbanded death squadron was one thing, but the vanishing of seven members' information, all of whom were from the same unit, was a completely separate scenario.

As of noon on January the fourteenth, all other former operatives were ordered to be ignored, and the soul purpose of all divisions active in the investigation would be to locate and detain those whose records had mysteriously gone missing. Now, half of the divisions were on standby instead of one, while the other half worked around the clock to either turn the archive database into an impenetrable fortress or to pour though all files and mainframes to find the missing information.

"This wouldn't be such a big concern if they weren't some of the best killers we'd ever enlisted," Hitsuagaya commented as he leaned back in his chair, taking a bite out of his sandwich and turning his emerald eyes to Aizen Sosuke. "And I honestly don't know how those files could have disappeared into thin air. It just makes no sense. You have to be a high-ranking officer to even come close to having access to the archives, and none of those people were anywhere near so much as Vice-Commander."

"The people of this country are very technologically advanced," replied Aizen, who briefly paused to adjust his glasses before continuing, "so it's not an inconceivable notion that someone with the proper skills and knowledge could have been recruited by the ex-operatives to hack into the mainframe and remove the information."

"Yes, but then red flags would have been going up everywhere," argued the younger of the two, clasping his hands together and placing him on the table in front of him. "It's not impossible to get in, but once you are all the sirens go off and everything locks down. There's no getting out once you're caught. And if the computers couldn't pick it up, then surely Twelfth Division would have caught wind of something."

"There's no need to fret, Toshiro," Aizen consoled, twirling one thumb around the other as something of an awkward silence filled the air around them in the virtually deserted coffee shop. "There were only around ten members of the task force, and there are thousands of operatives working on this case. They're only a threat in theory."

"The Omu Shinrikyo was only a threat in theory, too, and they gassed Tokyo subway lines. That little incident resulted in twelve dead and well over five thousand who had inhaled that stuff and had to be sent to hospitals."

Aizen shrugged, taking a drink of his coffee before replying, "That may very well be, but it was a freak occurrence. No one was planning on that happening; they were a weak force."

"You're far too optimistic," Hitsugaya scoffed while shoving the last bit of sandwich into his mouth, folding his arms over his chest. "There's a gang of psychotic murderers running around on the streets and all you can do is make light of this situation?"

Aizen smiled kindly, undeterred even by the valid points that the young man held. "And you are far too pessimistic, my young friend. Let us examine the odds, shall we?" He did not wait for an answer, but instead continued. "The chances of them taking hostile action are extremely slim. The disappearance of their files has just recently been discovered, which means that it couldn't have been too long ago when they extracted them. They are trained professionals and will take time to develop a plan before taking any large-scale actions."

"Yes, but," the prodigy interrupted, holding his index finger up, "we're not necessarily concerned about 'hostile' actions more as them selling confidential and extremely dangerous information about this country's military and government, as well as the inner workings of this organization. If the citizens of Japan ever learned that their government was enlisting the aid of professional killers and massing them into death squads for the purpose of eliminating national security threats…" He shook his head, letting his voice trail off before muttering, "It would be a disaster."

Aizen's brown eyes had widened slightly at the grim picture Hitsugaya Toshiro had painted for him. But, as quickly as it had disappeared, his fatherly smile reappeared and he merely replied, "When we need their help they're elite assassins in leading Task Forces, but when we cast them aside for something better they're murderers in cutthroat death squads."

Hitsugaya cocked an eyebrow. "Just what does that mean?"

"We should not speak down upon those who put their lives on the line because of the orders we ourselves gave them. We took people who volunteered for deadly positions among our ranks and then we taught them how to kill. They're honestly no different from you and I, the only dissimilarity being that they were taught how to clean a mess up and we were always just left to our own devices."

"That may very well be," the white-haired officer grumbled, but cut himself off with a swift shake of his head. There was no use arguing with a man like Aizen; all smiles and kind words, nothing but a grown man with the spirit and hopefulness of an innocent child. How could one argue with a man like that, one so full of charisma and passion, who could find the silver lining to every cloud. How?

"I apologize, my friend," Aizen stated calmly, adjusting his glasses against the bridge of his nose. "But you must understand, I was once a member of one of those 'Death Squads,' and I know all too well the immense stress and pressure that comes with it. Most of the operatives that started out in my unit were either killed or succumbed to the rigors of such a life and had to be put down by our own. I just suppose I was never the judgmental type."

Hitsugaya shrugged, taking a drink of the bitter coffee before muttering, "Well, I suppose so." He then looked back at the man, a somewhat confused expression on his face. "Did you always have glasses? I recall you wearing contacts at one point, a number of years ago when I first joined."

"Yes, I did. And I used to keep this unruly hair combed back, as well. A little over eight years ago, actually."

"Might I enquire as to the reason of the change?"

"My wife."

"Ah, she likes you better with glasses?"

"No, actually," he replied, his smile disappearing for a brief moment. "She liked me with my contacts. She said that these bulky glasses hid my eyes. But, sadly, she died around when you were first accepted here and given a position. There was no reason to impress anyone with good looks, so I simply converted back to this style."

"Oh," Hitsugaya couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed. He had seen the golden wedding band wrapped around his left ring finger, so he had known that the older man was married, but he never would have guessed that his wife was deceased. "I'm sorry."

The older man smiled warmly and held up his hand, his palm facing the other man. "It's quite alright."

The young officer nodded, finishing off his coffee and consulting his Rolex wristwatch. Time had passed much quicker than he had thought it would. And knowing Rangiku, his lazy and flirtatious excuse of an assistant, the entire Tenth Division was either up in flames or half naked and drunk off their asses. And, he thought with a groan, he still had to continue looking for those files. Dammit.

"It was nice," Hitsugaya began, taking his coat off of the edge of the seat's backrest and pulling it on over his suit. "But I really need to be heading back to my office. There's probably mountains of paperwork for me to fill out, and I still need to go down to the archives and keep looking for those records."

Aizen looked up at the young commander and smiled pleasantly, standing up as well and engaging in the traditional parting handshake. "Very well. I should be going as well; our division's very understaffed at the moment, and we need to get to work on the local investigations."

After bidding each other a good day, the two men walked outside to their respective cars, but it was Hitusgaya who lingered on the curb for a minute. In between the massive breaches in the organization's technological security and Aizen's overly optimistic attitude, the young prodigy couldn't help but get a queasy feeling in his stomach. While he trusted the division commander, he couldn't help but feel an odd humming of his radar whenever he spoke with him.

"_And you are far too pessimistic, my young friend."_

Damn it all to hell.

_

* * *

_

_**January 16, 2008  
**__**Tokyo, Japan  
**__**12:22 Local Time**_

Abarai Renji was many things. He was tough, something that coming from a third-class family had taught him. He was a hard worker, something that having to drop out of high school and hold a steady job had taught him. He was a superb street-fighter, something that living in one of Tokyo's most dangerous districts had taught him. But there was one characteristic that, as hard as he tried, he could never learn to appreciate or change.

Being oblivious.

Renji had never been one to look for minute details. The way he figured it, if they were worth paying attention to, they wouldn't be so hard to find. If you need to be found, you make yourself a big enough target. Honestly, if you were stranded on an island you would be lighting up bonfires and running around the white sand like a madman trying to flag down a plane or a ship or anything that could help you. You wouldn't just go and hide in the jungle and converse with the wildlife and keep yourself hidden.

So, that was why, on his way back from lunch at Aoi-Marushin in the Taito district, the sight of a long line of several police cruisers near a semi-ritzy apartment building didn't strike him as odd. After all, where he came from, police cruisers and unmarked cop cars were a commonplace, especially since his stomping grounds had been crime-ridden and just plain shitty. So, maybe someone had gotten into a fight, there had been some kind of accident, or maybe someone had finally cracked and had decided to cause some major trouble.

The thought of going up and investigating had crossed his mind, even to the point where he pulled the car over to the curb and watched the scene for several moments, but finally came to the conclusion that one of the officers had already done so and, if there had been anyone there to apprehend, had already taken the trouble-maker down to the station. Besides, he hand enough on his plate and, with a full day ahead of him, didn't need to be taking a detour to fix something that was probably just a mishap.

Looking back on it, however, he had to sit at his desk and think; was just driving off really the smartest thing to do? For some reason, the location of the apartment complex, near the Yamanote Railway Line and the Akihabara Station, had struck a bell within his head. The building itself had seemed to jump out at him, though there was nothing in particular about it that differed from the surrounding structures. So then what was it? And more so, why was it nagging him so damn much?

Frustrated, Renji leaned back in his seat and rubbed his tattooed forehead with his fingers, his mind deep in thought, until Madarame Ikkaku, one of the noncommissioned officers of the Eleventh Division, came storming into his office. The sound of the door slamming into the wall startled Renji, who looked up and instinctively reached for his handgun lying on the table.

"Stand down, Renji," Ikkaku mumbled, slamming the door shut behind him. "I'm not here to kill you; that'll be someone else's job."

"Just what the hell are you talking about?"

"Your entire damn area of jurisdiction, that's what," the bald man replied, sitting down in the chair in front of Renji's desk, though he was perched on the very edge, every inch of his body visibly tight with tension. "Every file we've ever had on the ex-ops in Tokyo are _gone._ Vanished. Poof. Just like Task Force Espada's."

Had someone's fist been coiled back, it would have slammed into Abarai Renji's stomach at that very moment. The red-haired man shot forward out of his seat, his hands gripping the edges of his desk like iron talons as he leaned over it's surface.

"_What_?" he bellowed, his voice resounding throughout the air like an echoed gunshot.

"You hard me," the bald man fumbled with the handgun strapped to his belt, his voice a tone of faux nonchalance. He looked back up at his incredulous comrade, raising a hand and jerking his thumb at the door. "Brass wants us down for a big whoop-dee-fuckin'-doo meeting. Says this is a big-time security threat and all that jazz."

"All two-hundred files, missing?" Renji slowly sank back into his seat, logging onto his computer and to the main database to see for himself that all information on the Tokyo cases were gone. His fingers frantically flew over the keyboard, all the while his eyes fixated intently on the other man in the room, waiting for the answer.

"Database is locked, save for the big computer in the Research and Development building. 'S no use trying to get on with your computer. And it was two-hundred and _ten_ files."

Shoving the keyboard to the side roughly, Renji curled his hand into a fist and brought it slamming down onto the polished desk, his coffee mug rattling and some of the brown liquid spilling onto a stack of reports. His mind raced, working through the illogic nature of the situation. An entire task force was bad enough, but an entire _city_? And if word of the current debacle ever reached public ears…

"How the _hell _can over two-hundred files gone missing from one of the most well-guarded databases in the _world_ and no one be able to tell that it's happening?" The tattooed man's voice grew low, his head lowered closer to the desk.

Ikkaku was about to answer, but the sound of the intercom picking up silenced any potential reply.

'_Attention, all Chief-Commanders and Vice-Commanders assigned to the Tokyo district, please report to the surveillance compound immediately. This is a direct order from Senior Chief-Commander Yamamoto. I repeat-'_

"Son of a _bitch_!"

_

* * *

_

_**January 16, 2008  
**__**Tokyo, Japan  
**__**12:02 Local Time**_

It was an inexorable, irrevocable truth in the life of Kurosaki Ichigo that a day off from work was a blessing sent from the supreme deity above. And on days off, he certainly wasn't going to waste it sitting around and watching sports or news on the television while stuffing his face with doughnuts and guzzling coffee like a cliché couch-potato cop. He was going to go out and _enjoy _his freedom, which, as it just so happens, involved going out while Rukia had to, unfortunately, go to school, shop for food, and get the oil changed in his car, as well as getting both the interior and the exterior cleaned.

_And it's only noon, _he thought with an inward smile as he made his way into the apartment building with armfuls of groceries. Though his list of to-dos was very short, he could think of several ways to kill time. Reaching his floor, he stepped off the elevator and looked out the bay window in a small pocket area with several armchairs and a vending machine, spotting a red Honda CR-X in the parking lot below. His brow furrowed some, his amber eyes focusing and spotting the pink Chappy The Rabbit plate on the front bumper of the car.

"Rukia must've only had a half-day," he muttered to himself as he continued down the hallway, tightening his grip on the grocery bags dangling from his arms like bulky Christmas ornaments. It was actually a bit of a relief, since he had dreaded the boredom that would have undoubtedly ensued once his short list of personal chores had been completed. Maybe even now they could go out to dinner and be able to be a normal couple for a change.

Making his way down the corridor and to the door of his apartment, he stopped in front of it and carefully shifted the bagged items onto his right arm while his free hand reached out and grabbed onto the polished handle, turning it a short distance before being met with solid resistance from the lock. It struck him as funny for a brief moment, since neither he nor Rukia ever bothered to lock the door while the apartment was occupied. The thought, however, was quickly pushed out of his mind as he retracted his hand from the knob and stuck it into the pocket of his jeans, digging for the keys.

After several moments of customary fumbling with the many objects that accumulated in the pockets during the day, his hand emerged back into the daylight with a ring of burnished keys. He quickly picked the key that fit into the small incision in the handle and turned it, hearing the nearly silent _click _of the lock removing itself from hindering his entrance. Gripping the handle firmly, Ichigo twisted it and pushed it in, welcoming himself to the fresh smell of his apartment.

He stopped short, his eyes widening and his brow furrowing in concerned confusion at the sight of the interior of his apartment, which was anything but welcoming; objects lay strewn across the soft carpet of the living area, two lamps and a ceramic vase laying shattered into seemingly hundreds of pieces. A small table next to the couch was overturned, the phone and textbooks once atop it randomly thrown across the area. A picture frame lay smashed on the floor, its glass and wooden rim crushed beneath some great weight.

_A robbery? _he wondered silently as he gazed slack-jawed at his ransacked apartment. His mind worked speedily, assessing the most likely situation that could have resulted in the demolishing of the inside of his apartment. _No…nothing's missing. Just a damn mess…_But the image of a red CR-X parked below the building sent a wave of unfathomable panic though the body of Kurosaki Ichigo. If she had been in the apartment when whoever decided to come in and destroy it…

Dropping the bags from his arms, he bolted into the bedroom, frantically throwing open the doors to the walk-in closet and bursting into the bathroom, leaving no area unchecked for the presence of his wife. As his heart thudded in his chest and his feet thundered around the rooms in his search. He hoped, prayed, that she had been hiding, that he would find her hidden in some nook of the apartment, unsure whether the danger had passed.

But then, why would the door be locked? Surely whoever it was that had broke in had not managed to gain hold of a set of keys and, if he had, would not have bothered to lock the door behind him. Frustrated and a horrible twisting in his gut arising, Ichigo ran into the kitchen, his mind working as a steam locomotive would, gears and wheels turning relentlessly in thought. Perhaps…perhaps she was somewhere else in the building! The apartment had been torn apart, but she had left and sought refuge with a neighbor.

Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, he flipped it open and searched through all received calls, none of which were from Rukia on that particular day. Cursing, he threw the contraption to the floor and ran a hand through his hair, his chest heaving from the anxiety. _Wait…_he thought, his eyes darting to the discarded phone. _Her cell…call it! She'll pick up if you call her!_

Snatching it up from the floor and punching in her number with such force that he feared he would break the device, he felt his heart constricting within the confines of his torso; if she didn't answer, he would have to fear the worst. And he prepared for it as he held the phone to his ear, waiting impatiently as the dial ringed continuously. The sound of something picking up and a brief flicker of static caught his ear, and he waited.

'_Hello, this is Kurosaki Rukia-'_

Immediately, the crushing weight on his chest lifted and a smile of relief spread across his face without shame as he shouted into the phone, "Rukia? Rukia! God, are you alright?"

'_I'm sorry, but I'm not available at the moment. Please leave your name, number, and a message-'_

As if an electric current had shot through the phone and shocked him, he swore and dropped it, watching as it fell and hit the tile of the kitchen. A feeling of irrepressible horror filled him totally, the hand running through his hair fisting, grabbing a hold of the orange strands to keep from yelling, from screaming. He looked around, hearing nothing but the thudding of his heart as several lengthy seconds ticked past, his amber irises resting on an odd discoloration of the living area carpet.

Moving cautiously towards it, as if he were approaching some poisonous reptile that hissed and snapped at him, he let his gray and white sneakers pad silently and slowly across the floor. Upon reaching his destination, he crouched down, eyeing the spot warily, and reached a hand out, noticing that his hand was shaking. From fear? Worry? Distress? Anxiety? All of them?

Letting his hands drop to the soft fabric of the carpet, his ran his fingertips over the stain, a dark burgundy color, and felt that it was only very slightly damp. He retracted his hand, seeing a sickly red smudge on the tips of his index and middle finger, and felt himself become sick, nauseated. He jerked his body away from the spot, scrambling away and back into the tile kitchen, where he succumbed to the sickness. As his body shook and wretched from the force of the violent wave of nausea, a single thought stood out in his brain like a burning hot brand against a slab of wood:

_Blood. Fresh blood. Her blood._

* * *

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Bleach, Crime, Drama