The Noble Sort

A/N: As usual, all the important information is lurking in the notes of the first two parts.

And if you have a question, ask. If you go to my profile page there is a link where you can e-mail me. Or get an account and PM me. I'm actually a very approachable person and will answer any questions you ask. As for the Japanese, most of the words are translated at the ends of the chapters somewhere, but once again, PM me and I'll answer any questions you have. I want everyone to enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it, and it isn't possible when someone's having problems with it.

And this will be the last said of the matter.

R & R if you like it!

Enjoy!

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"The Noble Sort"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Instead, she saw the very angry taichou of the Thirteenth Division.

She sat there but a moment, tears still running down her face from the argument with Hidaruma, then scrambled across the bed and into the floor. Ukitake-taichou was in front of her before she could even reach the pitiful form slumped against her wall, holding her back.

She jerked but his grip never loosened. For a thin, usually ill man, he was stronger than he looked.

"Let m-me go! What did you do to him?" she cried.

His eyebrows went sky high.

"Me?" he said, his voice full of disbelief and shock. "He was attacking you!"

"He wasn't! We—we were arguing, and he n-never hurt me! He wouldn't!"

Which should have been a clue to her that it wasn't her uncle; he would've known that Hidaruma would never hurt her, even if it looked bad. He also had a fire-based zanpakutou and knew how volatile the relationship could sometimes be. It wouldn't have been the first time he had seen them in an argument and he would never have blasted off kidō.

She moved again, hoping to break free, but he grabbed her arms even more tightly and dropped his head to meet her eyes, which were frantically trying to find a way to see around him to Hidaruma.

"He was on top of you, growling. That is not an argument!"

He turned his head, catching the big black dog in his peripheral vision.

She concentrated on stopping the tears and gently pulled backward. He let her go, and she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Hidaruma, whose big eyes were alternating between staring at her pitifully and glaring at the man in front of her.

"I know it l-looked bad, I do. But we were j-just arguing. I-I-I was so mad, and," she sniffed, "and I took it out on him."

She looked up at him. "If he'll g-go back to h-his normal form, will you let m-me explain?"

He nodded, still looking angrier than she had ever seen him.

She looked at Hidaruma, who whined.

Ukitake-taichou ended the technique, and the black dog was immediately replaced with a sword.

She closed her eyes, focusing on stopping the tears and the sobs still working their way through her body.

When she felt composed enough to explain everything—something she seemed to be doing a lot of lately—she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of the jacket she had on. Then, she opened her eyes and looked straight at the man in front of her.

"How did you get here so quickly?" she asked, curious.

"I've been here all day," he said, sounding a little hurt and shocked that she hadn't noticed.

Oh.

He turned and bent at the waist, picking the sword up off of the floor before carefully handing it to her. She laid it down on the bed next to her, softly stroking the hilt and sheath.

I'm sorry, shishi.

I know, Minako. It was gonna happen anyway.

Too much tension. We were both holding in our emotions.

It's alright. We both said things we didn't mean.

I know.

I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have done that.

It's ok, shishi.

She looked back up at him sheepishly, noting the look on his face.

"Sorry, but we had to—there were apologies to make. On both sides."

He nodded, still standing there silently and waiting on her explanation.

"We—I was upset. I have been since I got here, but I just bottled it up until today. After I blew up at you, I sat in here and stewed and one thing led to the other—before we knew it we were at each other's throats. The unfortunate thing about sharing emotions is we both feel it, so he was angry and scared and upset and I was angry and scared and upset and we just let it escalate."

She laughed; it was a bitter sound.

"I said something I shouldn't have, he called me a name, and I responded. He was trying to calm me down the same way oji-san does, by scaring me. But I trust him—he wouldn't ever do anything to me! So it just continued to escalate, and we were actually finally getting to the apology point when you came in."

She looked up at him, her expression pleading.

"Please, don't—don't think he's dangerous. He's not. He's all I have, and we sometimes are just too stubborn for each other, and—"

"It's alright, Minako-san, I understand," he said.

"It's just, well, fire-types! They tend to be very stubborn and passionate and violent, and he is of course a manifestation of my own soul, so he is very stubborn and violent when he wants to be. Although, what that says about me, well, yeah…"

"It's ok, Minako-san."

He stared at her, and she could tell he was finally calming down, the shock of the situation wearing off. His face, usually so pale, was flushed, and strands of hair were sticking to his cheek. She knew he couldn't have gotten that worked up from the run here, so it had to be his emotions causing the reaction.

She almost felt bad about it, but too much had already happened for her to be worried about how their fight had affected him.

Finally he sighed, then turned to the sword.

"Still, you should not attack her! Not only is she a girl, but she is your other half, yes? You should not do that!" he scolded, his finger out once again.

She could see Hidaruma sweatdrop in her mind, although she also felt some guilt coming from him.

"I think he got the message, Ukitake-taichou," she said, amused at the sight of him berating a sword.

He smiled at her, giving a sharp nod, before giving the sword another quick scowl.

And then coughed.

She looked at him apprehensively; this she remembered. He had to be careful not to get excited. She was pretty sure that trailing her today had been nothing but excitement. And now, looking at him, he looked like he had run a marathon. Definitely too excited.

"Are you alright?"

He nodded, shaking his head to clear the remnants of the coughing from his throat.

"I'm fine, really. Unohana-taichou has become very experienced in healing me. I rarely have attacks anymore. They are usually smaller, but the coughing is still an issue."

"If you're sure," she said, unconvinced. She kept a wary eye focused on him, waiting for some odd collapse.

He just raised his eyebrows at her weird look.

"Well. That's settled, then?" he asked, his normal bright tone back in place.

She nodded and sent him a smile, grateful that he was willing to drop the incident. She knew her uncle would hear about it, but he wouldn't be surprised. She and Hidaruma were very stubborn and he knew it could result in some very heated arguments.

He wouldn't be happy that it had become physical off the training ground, though. She would probably get an earful over it.

"Where's Gen-oji-san?"

"There was a situation he had to take care of. He might not be home tonight. I was told to look after you instead."

"As if I'm not an adult," she said dryly.

He motioned to the spot on the other side of the zanpakutou and she nodded quickly.

He sat down heavily; it must have been a long day for him.

"You overhead our conversation last night, didn't you?"

She nodded, not even bothering to hide it. He was intelligent, and he had most likely pieced together the clues, the largest of which was her drastic change in behavior from yesterday to today. He would have known that something had caused that change.

"Minako-san, Genryuusai-sensei is in a very awkward position. He is not sure what to do with you, really. He wants you safe, and I think he would like you here—permanently. But he also has a duty to Seireitei that is very important to him."

"And I understand that. But if he had no clear course of action, he should have left me alone. Now I'm stuck in this limbo."

She closed her eyes, her body slumping.

"To hear him even mention execution, do you realize…after that first night here, I realized I wouldn't be able to handle prison, much less sitting in a cell waiting for my own death."

"First night?" he asked perplexed.

"It would figure," she murmured. "He didn't tell any of you?"

"Tell us what, Minako-san?"

She opened her eyes and turned toward him.

"I spent my first night here in the very same cell you and Kyouraku-taichou took me to when we got here. After—" it was humiliating to even talk about it, and worse knowing he had witnessed it, "after the night you spent at my apartment, you can imagine how I reacted to that."

"He left you there," he said breathlessly.

"Of course. It's classic oji-san. Try and scare me into submission. It's why we got into the huge fight the next day—I wasn't going to let him think such things would still work on me."

"We had no idea he would leave you there," he said, and she could hear the upset returning to his tone.

"It's not that big a deal, really. It was then, of course, but I was fine the next morning. Besides, you couldn't have done anything. You can't do anything. I hope you realize that."

"I—"

"Don't even say it didn't cross your mind. I've known you for centuries, even if we weren't close. I watched you and taichou most of my life. I know how you two operate. And I heard rumors about what happened when Urahara's pet human came this way to save his friend. I believe, according to Yoruichi, you were about to try to free her from execution."

He smiled at her sheepishly.

"I also owe you an apology," she said, turning from him and crossing her arms over her chest petulantly.

"Oh?" he said, his voice bright and innocent.

"I took it all out on you. I shouldn't have. I was no better than shishi, blowing up at the wrong person."

I don't think so. I blew up at the right person, onna. Just the wrong time.

The pale man scratched his head, shooting her a dazzling smile. She felt her stomach drop but ignored it.

"It's alright, Minako-san," he said, "but I'm not acting. Both of us always had a bit of a soft spot for you. I might not…be your friend, but I'm not being nice to you to get information."

"You're being nice because you are, I know," she muttered.

Perhaps I can see what you see in him, she heard shishi say grudgingly.

You still have nothing to worry about, shishi.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was one of the most beautiful autumn days she had ever seen.

Of course, some of the sappy sentimentality she was currently feeling was most likely due to the fact that she was in Seireitei, sitting on her favorite veranda of her uncle's home, and basically reminiscing about the past by reenacting it. She had often lounged in this same spot decades ago, looking out over the small bit of land and above the buildings of the Gōtei 13 to the hills around Rukongai, watching the seasons change. Autumn and spring were always especially lovely, and that held true even today.

The clouds were marching along, puffy little things with just a shadow of gray hinting that they were likely to join the large mass in the east. The sun was shining momentarily around them as they covered its rays, catching the gold and reds and browns in the trees.

It was beautiful.

It was also somber. The gray of cloud cover took over in the long moments that the sun was hidden, and there was a brisk, cold wind picking up the leaves and adding to the autumn dreariness.

When Aizen had not been around to make trouble, they had often sat here and talked away the hours, or read, or even just had tea and watched the world around the house. She missed those days. It was one of the few things she could really remember in her senses about what her life was like "before."

There was a clear delineation there, too. "Before" encompassed her life when everything was normal and just about as perfect as it ever got. "After" was this limbo she lived in now.

From angry to maudlin, onna. Are you pregnant?

She scoffed at him in her mind; he knew better. But he was right—her emotions were all over the map lately. She longed for the control she had before all this started.

Not that it mattered much at present, though.

Her guard today was posted around the perimeter of the house; small fry shinigami from her uncle's division that she could plow through in no time. Ukitake-taichou was nowhere to be found, nor was her uncle.

Whatever had happened yesterday, it had to have been big.

Everyone seemed anxious and alert, and she didn't think it was her presence causing it. Something was going on and she just hadn't been told what.

Her phone was hidden in the inside pocket of the haori she had donned this morning—traditional dress seemed like a good idea if her uncle would be coming home upset—but she didn't pull it out. If he wasn't home by tonight, though, she would make the call.

She doubted her luck would last that long.

Besides, she needed a little more information.

What exactly did he want her to do? She had already decided she would somewhat follow his lead in this, but not from here. She would return home, prepare on her own, and be ready to act as if she would play the role he wanted her to. But she would do it on her own terms.

But she had to find out what he wanted her to do, and she had to figure it out soon. If things were escalating the way she thought they were, they only had days, weeks at the most.

She heard the door slide open and Hikaru's soft footsteps as the old maid set down a new pot of tea on the small tea table. Hikaru's kimono fluttered in the chilly breeze, and she moved to go back into the house, bowing low as she left.

Minako caught her arm and pulled her toward the table.

The woman, so well-versed in understanding what they wanted, smiled and nodded. She sat gracefully next to Minako near the tea table and prepared them both a cup of the steaming tea—black, if her sense of smell was correct—and Minako closed her eyes, soothed by the sounds of tea preparation.

Tea. It was a foundational block of their family.

She sat up straight, no longer lounging against the wooden beam surrounding the enclosed veranda, and looked at the family's oldest servant.

"Are you prepared for this, Hikaru-san?"

Hikaru looked off into the distance, not even pretending to misinterpret her meaning.

"I am prepared as I can be, Minako-dono. All things have an end, just as they have a beginning."

The maid's voice was soft and sensual, yet graceful and understated in a way only women from a forgotten era of their history could manage. It was the voice of a noblewoman, a geisha, and a fighter all rolled into one. These women were strong before they were ever allowed to be so, and it always showed.

"Genryuusai-dono is as well." She sent a small, bittersweet smile toward Minako. "We of the old generation have always known the day would come when we would hand over our world to the younger. It is why we work so tirelessly to assure you all will be ready when the time comes."

"But knowing it and doing it are two very different things," Minako said, her voice low. She had learned the lesson well, that what you thought and what you felt were two very different things when events actually happened.

"Perhaps," the maid said thoughtfully.

"Perhaps, Minako-dono, your generation is just not ready to gain leadership yet. It is usually harder on those left behind."

"Maybe you're right," Minako muttered, staring into her tea.

Maybe they weren't ready to take over after this, if there was an after.

"Minako-dono, do not be saddened by what must happen. All things have a time. Genryuusai-dono has lived longer than most—he has watched most of his family fall to time. If he should fall in this battle, he will not grieve for anything he has lost in the future that will not be."

Minako sighed, and once again turned her gaze to the world around them. The wind was colder now, and the storm was gathering its strength in the mountains above them.

She heard the maid shift again, the kimono creating a rustling noised that could only be made by silk and cotton stretching against each other. She rested her hands on the table and slowly pushed up, the feeble, spindly fingers propelling her upward. She was no longer able to gracefully, almost athletically, rise from the complicated sitting position merely by shifting her feet and standing. Her bones were too brittle in her old age, and Minako found herself feeling desolate at the loss of such a staple of her childhood—this woman's quiet grace and beauty.

"Maybe we will be the ones that lose everything," she murmured, but her eyes lit upon the old maid and she asked her, quietly, "and you, Hikaru-san? If we should die in this battle, what will you do?"

The older woman smiled gently down at her, the halo of soft gray hair framing her face.

"Why, Minako-dono, what I have always done. I will continue on. I have served your family for over two-thousand years, and if you should perish, you will not be the first I have seen do so."

The maid moved toward the house, only stopping briefly to put her hand on the younger woman's shoulder. It was a method of reassurance Minako had received all of her life from the woman who had been more of a mother to her than her own mother.

"It's time then," Minako sighed.

She gathered the haori close around her and began the long trek up to her room.

There was a packet, hidden under her large, western-style bed, one that no one had seen the contents of in years. It was mostly a jumble of photos, many of her and some with others, but they told an important story.

The photos were placed in chronological order, with dates and the location printed in a solid handwriting on the back.

There was one—the first one—that clearly showed her and another woman on the steps of a shrine in Kyoto. It had been a quick trip, mainly taken for the celebration of a New Year festival they had wanted to see firsthand. It was dated January 23, 1986.

A second photo had been taken at the Electronics Expo in Okinawa that they had attended purely out of curiosity. Cell phones were just beginning to go commercial, and cds were brand new, still not mainstream. It was dated November 10, 1992.

There was another, much more recent, of her and the same woman, except they had visited an art museum in Tokyo this time. The museum had exhibited featured paintings of European artists, paintings you usually couldn't see without visiting larger, more renowned museums in France and Italy. It was dated July 2, 1998.

Another was of her and the same woman, yet again, but they were in front of a very large monastery that sat high in the mountains above Rukongai. It was clearly visible from the house, and they had spent almost a week exploring the grounds, getting to know the men that, even in death, were devoted to Buddhism. It had been a horrible year for anyone in the human world, especially those like her who had friends in New York or had lived there before, and they had gone outside of it to find solace. It was dated December 21, 2001.

The one at the bottom of the stack, though, was truly important. It was the last photo taken of them together, and it was from a small photo booth set up at a local festival. The plaza had been filled with revelers, streamers, balloons, and the sky filled with fireworks. It was the last time they had been able to enjoy such a carefree day.

Barely three years ago. Her hair was long, filtering over her shoulder and the shoulder of the smiling woman scrunched next to her on the booth seat, and there was a small piece of something caught in it. They both looked tired but happy, their kimono bright and cheerful for the summer celebration. The photo booth had been one of their last stops that day—too many of the small booths with food and games had caught their attention. It had been an afterthought, really.

There were others, of course, but those were the ones that stuck out in her mind, either because they were important dates or due to the memories they had created.

There was also, included in the small bundle she had secreted out of her house, a small book. It was blank when she bought it, but now it contained information that could be considered important to anyone in their family. It was a sort of diary of each of the pictures, explaining where they had gone and why, and it explained the existence of the photos in explicit detail.

Finally, there was a small, wrapped bundle of papers. Each one carried the seal of Central on it, and each one detailed the finer points of what her mother had believed the traitors to be attempting. Urahara and Yoruichi were not the only ones dead set against the course Central had taken in the last two centuries; even members of the elite group had been fighting back, although they had not been successful.

It was one single sheet of paper in this packet that had brought her mother to the human world in search of her.

The packet, which had been kept from others' eyes for so long, was going to be left somewhere certain persons could easily find it. The moment would come to her, she knew. After she was gone, the information would be valued by the older maid and, probably, even by her uncle. And she would be gone, far from here, and it couldn't hurt her. If she did survive this battle, she would go back into hiding somewhere they would never find her.

She did not feel guilt for missing her uncle more than she had her mother. She did not need Urahara to tell her when she died, when Aizen had killed off every member of the Central 46. She hadn't needed her uncle to tell her that they had stopped eating meals together long before her mother's death, the wound in the family that her absence had created finally festering and splitting them apart. She hadn't needed to look at the portrait on his desk in the study to see how her mother had subtly aged.

She had already known.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: We shall return to the regular update schedule now. As for the Japanese lesson, the only word I really caught was haori, which is a jacket-type clothing item, or sometimes a very heavy, long shirt.