Romance and Rivalries

Chapter Seventeen
by Rob

He should have felt angry.

He knew that he was entitled to anger, or at the very least a mild annoyance, for what right had that child to confront him in such a manner? Madarame-san was nothing more than a hoodlum child, cast away by his parents into the home of Zaraki-sensei in the hopes of reforming him. He was crude, coarse and obviously not the least bit intelligent if he was in need of tutoring, he even spoke as if he were nothing more than a common street thug. A boy like that had no right to confront a man, and not just any man but a Kuchiki. Byakuya had more money than that boy could hope to save in an entire lifetime, he also had fine breeding and an excellent upbringing, and he had studied in universities that the boy would not even be able to say, let alone spell the names of. The distance between them was vast, extreme, and it could never hope to be reached. It was like the baboon reaching in the waters to touch its own reflection, like the crab gazing at the moon in hopes of walking its surface; it was like the common animal seeking to achieve some unobtainable ideal. Madarame-san was that common animal, and no matter how hard he tried he would never be anything remotely equal to Byakuya, and he had no right to even try to force supremacy over his clear superior. Madarame-san had no right to try to lay a hand on him.

It was strange to Byakuya, but despite the grave offence committed against his person, and in his very home no less, he did not feel the rage appropriate to deed that had taken place. Instead all he felt was a sense of emptiness, a feeling of what could be described as hopelessness and despair. It was a feeling inspired by several factors, the first being Madarame-san’s words and the second by his current environment. It was also a feeling exasperated by the fact it was beneath him to feel this way. He was a great man, a man who should feel grateful for his blessings or blessed by his surroundings, and yet all he could feel was this . . . pain.

What was it that Madarame-san had said? Was it that Rukia wished to attend that school, that she was too afraid to stand up and question Byakuya? It certainly had been something to that effect, but what of it? The words themselves meant little to Byakuya. He loved his sister dearly and she was all he had left in the world; his wife, sister and father had all died many years ago, and if he were to lose Rukia he would no doubt lose his very reason for existence. He had his work, and they had their grandfather, but Rukia was the very thing that gave his life meaning nowadays. His friends had long since left him or created new lives of their own, lives that had no place for him, and the few friends he had left there was a sharp and painful distance between them, separating him from them like the seas between land. There was no one left in his life to make it worthwhile, and certainly no one left to talk to who could hope to understand him. Gin was too preoccupied with his new love interest, Yoruichi-san seemed to have forgotten his existence at the best of times, and Ukitake-san had problems of his own, serious problems as well as a family to focus upon. The truth of the matter was that Byakuya had spent so many years consumed with work that he had ostracised the few friends that he had, and in the process lost so many without putting in the effort to gain new ones. All he had in life was Rukia. Rukia who would hang on his every word, who would listen to him with awe, who aspired to be like him in every way. Rukia who loved him unconditionally, who desperately tried to live up to his expectations and who sought to prove herself to him. Perhaps he could have spent more time with Gin, Yoruichi and Ukitake, or maybe made new friends, and there was still time to rekindle his friendships . . . but Rukia had – for better or worse – became his entire world, and he could not bear to give her up.

It may have been foolish, and his grandfather would certainly be disappointed were he ever to admit it, but it felt as if his friendships with others came at the expense of his relationship with his sister. There was a part of him scared that time spent with his friends was time wasted, for it was time not spent with Rukia. It created a distance between them, surely, and the more distance whether it was geographically or time was more distance between them, more chance of losing her. He had lost his wife, he had lost Hisana, and he had lost his father. He could not bear to lose Rukia too, and experience had taught him well that the things he loved were often the things that were destroyed. What meaning would he life have without her? He’d be alone. He would have no companion, no one to talk to or share time with, and no one to love and to protect. Without Rukia he would be entirely alone.

It was no wonder he wanted the best for her. He wanted her to be strong, powerful, a shining example of what it meant to be a Kuchiki. Then she would be grateful to him and share her life with him, he would not have to fear the isolation most Kuchiki’s were cursed with, but more than that he would be fulfilling a purpose. It was his reason for being to make her the best she could be, and protect her in the process; it gave his life a meaning that it would otherwise lack. All he had was work, but Rukia gave him something else, something more than that. He would do everything he could for her, and if that meant removing her from that awful school so she could receive a real education, so she could be free from the influence of those hoodlums, so she could be closer to Byakuya . . . then so be it. How dare Madarame-san question him? He didn’t understand. No one could understand, especially not street scum like that pathetic little boy.

Yes, he should have felt anger, but instead all he felt was empty. He felt – for once in his life – a sense of self-doubt, because all he wanted was the very best for Rukia, and now he had the cruel, nagging doubt that what he was doing wasn’t perhaps the very best option. Was he truly hurting her by taking her out of school? Would she truly miss her friends and companions? He would still allow her to see the well bred few, and no doubt she would see Renji, the idiot boy who occasionally helped out at his office and seemed to worship Byakuya like a god. She would also make new friends, meet new people, but would that really be the best for her? He longed for a way to know what path was the right one to take, but the life of a Kuchiki was a lonely one, and there was no one to help him, no one to guide him along the right way. It made him wonder how Zaraki-sensei was able to raise a whole school of boys; how he could possibly cope feeling this way not just for one person but for dozens, and then Byakuya regained his senses. It did not matter how Zaraki-sensei coped. That man was a filthy commoner and nothing more.

Byakuya drew in a deep silent breath and looked around his office. It was, truthfully, the other reason why he had found himself feeling rather indifferent to Madarame-san’s actions, as opposed to angry.

His home office did nothing but seem to symbolise and externalise his inner emotions and turmoil, making a statement to the world he did not wish to make. It spoke of loneliness, despair and a sterile existence free from hope. It also served as a permanent reminder of how alone he truly was, of how his whole identity was tied to his work and his family. He was not an individual, he was not Byakuya, he was merely a Kuchiki, a man with no real personality or sense of self, and is office proved that. There were no photos, no posters and no sparks of colour or decoration, not even one plant to lighten the mood or atmosphere. No, instead there were cold, white walls with a large light overhead, encased in a crystal shade, and the only other source of light came from the large window that lacked any blinds, shades or curtains, and simply overlooked the Kuchiki Manor gardens. The floor was bare floorboard, polished to make the mahogany look almost unnaturally clean, and the one real piece of furniture in the room was a large glass desk that featured a state of the art computer. There were, of course, filing cabinets along the left wall and a post-it board on the right, but that was the extent of items his office had to offer. It was a dead space used solely for work, nothing more or less, and each time Byakuya sat in his chair he always felt the same coldness wash over him. It was a room without life.

He had truthfully expected a quiet evening typing up some reports sent from the main office, followed by some light filing before retiring to bed. He would be sure to send an email to Ukitake-san later to ask after his health, pleased to know his friend was recovering quite well, and he would be sure to send a voice-message to Gin to ask to see him within the week to catch-up. That would be the full extent of his personal time and socialising for the day. It was for that reason he was most surprised to find his evening disturbed by an intruder. Not least because security should have escorted the intruder off his premises once Madarame-san had been collected, but because what reason could a brute of a man like Zaraki possibly want with the likes of a Kuchiki?

Byakuya barely looked up from his computer screen as Zaraki entered his office, and upon ascertaining his intruder’s identity went immediately back to work, ignoring the way the door slammed a little too loudly for his tastes.

Zaraki looked positively furious. His hair was how it had been during Yoruichi’s party, pulled into an array of spikes with what appeared to be carefully placed bells upon the end, the only explanation for which was perhaps he used them in sparring to teach his pupils the art of listening to one’s opponent. His clothes were no different to usual either. Today it seemed he had opted to compose part of his outfit with cheap, old jeans that were torn in places and covered in stains, some of which appeared to be blood. How common. Could this man not afford anything better? Did he really think that just because they clung perfectly to his muscles, emphasised all the right places, and drew attention to all the right areas, that he could get away with it? Then there was also the way he wore a sleeveless, black shirt but allowed it to stay open to reveal his chest. It looked so ridiculous, so promiscuous, and yet Byakuya could not help but let his eyes travel the expanse of skin. Zaraki was perfectly tanned all over, his chest marred with scars that added to his masculine appeal, and his abs and pectorals almost chiselled solid. He looked so firm, strong and powerful. He’d somehow managed to take a common, plain looking attire and transform his body from that of street scum into a sex symbol. No, that was ridiculous. This man was a violent, disgusting teacher of hooligan children, whose grasp of Japanese was only a small measure better than Gin’s. It didn’t matter how physically attractive he may be, he was still a worthless creature not deserving of Byakuya’s time, and he would not lower himself for a second to entertain this monster of a man for a second longer than need be.

Byakuya collected himself with a deep breath and crossed his legs in a manner that he hoped seemed to be elegant and self-assured. He didn’t want to admit the gesture was done in order to hide his arousal, because what man could possibly be aroused by the likes of Zaraki? The man was a brute, snarling and sneering as he stormed into Byakuya’s office without an ounce of respect or etiquette. No, Byakuya did not – nor would not – find him attractive, even if his body was everything a man or woman could possibly ask for . . . besides looks weren’t everything. What could Zaraki offer in the way of intelligence, manners or empathy? Nothing. It was best not to even consider what it could mean to be with a man like that.

“Is there something you wanted, Zaraki-Sensei?” Byakuya asked coldly, “I ask only because something must be terribly important for you to interrupt a man in his private office, particularly without announcing your presence first.”

The glare he shot to Zaraki would have felled a lesser man, sent them scurrying away in shame at having broken the correct protocol and procedures in speaking to a man that belonged to a much higher station. Abarai-kun would have stumbled his words and apologised quickly, Rukia would have bowed and begged for forgiveness, and even the likes of Gin would have said a quick word of apology before getting to the point. This man was different. Byakuya’s icy words of indifference did not shock him, his implicit accusation was lost on him, and his bitter stare did not scare him. All in all it seemed Byakuya had no effect on Zaraki at all, and that in itself was a great cause for offence.

“If you are lost I shall call for Maria on the intercom. She will show you to your pupil. I trust that you will deal with him accordingly, Zaraki-Sensei?”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, Kuchiki?”

Byakuya dared a glance up to Zaraki and caught the sheer rage in his expression. The older man had often looked angry in the rare few times they had met in person, but never had he looked so murderous. The scars on his face seemed taut and tense, pulled together as his eyes narrowed dangerously, his mouth curled into a sneer. It was worrying, but Byakuya could handle any matters. He would not allow this man to harass him. Instead he kept an impassive face and returned to the spreadsheet on his computer, focussing his attentions on last year’s accounts.

It seemed that this had been the wrong response, because at once his computer screen had been forcefully grabbed and spun around, before a large and calloused hand jabbed the power button, turning the screen off into darkness. Byakuya merely glared at his intruder, but despite his passive face he was quite frightened inside. He could feel his heart beating incredibly fast, his mouth turning dry and his thoughts were almost entirely on the logistics of a fight between himself and Zaraki. No matter how much he planned, thought or considered it he could not see how he could enter a fight with this man and win, even if he did win he would most certainly come out of the fight very injured. He was being presumptuous though. Yes, Zaraki was a brute, a fiend, a commoner, but he was not necessarily a man who would resort to violence with little provocation. Surely Byakuya’s fears were unsubstantiated? There was no reason to assume the worst of this man, none whatsoever. It would not do to grow fearful of things that were not a danger, and it would only dishonour the Kuchiki name if he allowed himself to be swayed by a man so barbaric as this. So instead of resorting to violence, strong words or fear he reached for his intercom, resolved to call for security that would see this man off from his property. The moment his hand reached out for the intercom, however, Zaraki grabbed the device and ripped it from the desk, leaving its wires completely wrenched from the wall. It was at this point Byakuya felt fearful, wishing that he had installed a silent alarm under his desk like his staff had suggested.

“Oh no,” Zaraki growled, “You ain’t calling for help, Kuchiki. You’re gonna sit down like a nice, little boy and tell me exactly why my student in there’s got a tooth that sits nicely in his palm. You often slap around kids ten years your junior?”

“I can see where this student of yours has learnt such eloquence.”

“Oh, so you just going to sit there and insult me? Well go ahead. I’m not one of your lackeys and I ain’t scared of anything you have to say. You go around acting like some big shot because it scares everyone off, ain’t that right? If no one’s around poor, old Kuchiki then poor, old Kuchiki can’t get hurt. Is that what you’re scared of, getting hurt? Is that why you won’t fight me, but you find it so easy to go around insulting and hitting those ‘commoners’ you find weaker than you?” Zaraki scoffed at that and slammed his hands down hard upon the glass desktop, shaking the entire contents of the desk and making Byakuya jump, “Well I got news for you, I ain’t going nowhere and I sure as hell ain’t afraid of you! So you better loosen up and tell me exactly why I’m going to have to fork out a fortune for a false fucking tooth, or I’m going to make you cough up teeth of your own!”

Byakuya found himself somewhat speechless.

No one had ever spoken to him like that in his life, ever! He wasn’t sure whether to be completely offended, outraged and scared or to be in awe of this man who had spoken so honestly to him, who had spoken to him as a person and not as an unreachable figure of status. Of course there was some offence taken, how could there not be? Zaraki had just dared to invade his personal space, address him without honorific and yell quite viciously at him, not only that but he presumed to know Byakuya’s personality and fears, and threatened him with physical violence. Yet at the same time that was an appreciation that for once in his life someone had seen him for whom he was! He wasn’t being coddled or spoilt for being the only grandchild, he wasn’t being ignored or snubbed as people assumed him to be a cold, cruel being, and he wasn’t being used for his money or position. He was simply being spoken to as a man by a man, and most of all somebody was looking at him and not through him. It was nice to have some attention, even if it was negative and violent, it was nice just to have someone realise his existence and realise he was there. His friends so often seemed to forget he was alive, his family seemed to forget he had feelings, but this man had not forgotten Byakuya, and he would not overlook his wrongs simply because of what Byakuya was, instead he was addressing Byakuya for who he was. No, no one had ever spoken to him that way, but frankly it was something that he could get used to, because frankly the very act had impressed him more than he would like to admit. It was also somewhat arousing for him too; to have a man so strong and masculine overpower him in his own office, to take away the control that Byakuya had longed to be rid of on so many occasions . . . It was overall hard to know what to feel, how to feel, but all he knew was that Zaraki was certainly a very unpredictable man.

He carefully placed his hands against his desk and pushed himself back, allowing his chair to slide away and place some distance between himself and Zaraki. He hoped that this would allow him a chance to react if necessary, to see an attack coming before it actually came, but most of all he hoped it would allow him to resume control of this situation. He simply did not know how to respond or act with Zaraki in the lead. Never in his life had he lost control, never had he given control away. It was simply too disarming to allow this man to stay in a position of power in this room.

“Your student had taken a very rude tone with me,” Byakuya responded calmly. “He then proceeded to put his hands on me. I reacted accordingly.”

“Interesting. Since when did you have the right to discipline children other than your own, I wonder?”

Those words impacted him more than he had expected. He hadn’t realise just what he had done, but he had disciplined a child that was not his own, disciplined a boy that was not his flesh and blood nor his responsibility.

He had no right to physically harm Madarame-san, no more than Madarame had the right to provoke Byakuya, and being the older of the two Byakuya should have pushed the boy aside and walked away. How had he allowed his temper to grow so far that he felt the need to physically attack the boy? What had occurred that – for once in his life – that he had allowed his emotions to take control? He was a strong man. He was a Kuchiki. How could he have allowed himself to be swayed by the words of a child? The very thought repulsed him, as if he was losing control over everything he was and would be, as if he had not only disgraced his family name but his own soul in the process. In future he would control his temper, and he would not repeat this mistake again. The only thing that plagued him was the question ‘why’. Why had he allowed himself to get so angry? What was it that Madarame had done or said to provoke his wrath this way?

Byakuya took in a deep breath and opened a drawer under his desk, and removed a large chequebook. He lived in a cash society, one in which even cards were rarely used, and being that he himself rarely ever purchased anything – leaving it entirely to the servants and staff – he knew this was only the third time in the past five years he had used a cheque. It was strange to think that he so rarely had anything to do with money other than spreadsheet, board meetings and phone calls. It just made the distance between him and a man like Zaraki seem all the wider. He quickly shook the thought from his head and wrote down the details with a flourish, before handing the cheque to the older man.

“I am unaware as to what percentage of costs the national health insurance is willing to pay, but I believe it is around eighty percent of the overall cost of healthcare? I am also reluctant to admit I cannot recall the usual bills received for dental treatment. The cheque is for eighty-four-thousand yen, I trust that will be enough?”

Byakuya used all his self-control not to flinch as Zaraki snatched the cheque from his hand brutally, and tore it into small pieces before throwing it into the air. He staved off a reaction, keeping his face expressionless despite the fury coursing through his veins. How dare Zaraki literally throw his money back in his face? The insult was absolutely outrageous! This man could surely not have enough yen to pay for Madarame’s treatment without his help; it was ridiculous to just throw it away like that. He needed Byakuya’s money; he would be a fool to refuse it.

“I don’t need your money, Kuchiki!”

“I insist on paying you for the damages inflicted upon your student.”

Zaraki’s eyes seemed to light up upon hearing this. He slowly stepped around the desk slowly and stood a mere foot away from Byakuya, glaring down at him as if he was the menace who entered people’s homes uninvited and caused havoc.

He stood so tall that Byakuya could feel himself cast in the older mans shadow, leaving him both feeling apprehensive and awed. There was obviously a sense of dread, a fear being that he was now completely in the other man’s power, that his safety and well-being resided solely in the trust and faith that Zaraki was above attacking people unprovoked, but there was also something more than that. He felt something flutter in his chest, some sort of primal and basic instinct and attraction, something that just drew him to Zaraki. It was a feeling that he had never felt with his wife, a sort of weakness that felt acceptable, like he just wanted to be drawn into those muscular arms and let go of his control, to give it all up to this man who would protect him. It was foolish, irrational, stupid, and yet he could not help it. He was an embarrassment to the Kuchiki name! How could he stand there and allow this man to overpower him? He should have fought back, called for help, escorted him off his premises, and yet all he could do was stand there and admire the man for all his power. He felt foolish and weak, and damn it he wanted to regain control in whatever way he could. He could not let Zaraki win.

Zaraki looked down at him with an almost lecherous grin, his teeth showing in what should have been a foul and disgusting manner, but instead seemed almost hypnotic and attractive. He was leaning so close that Byakuya could feel his warm breath upon his face, and although he did not flinch he realise he should have at least felt repulsed, but instead he stood there, anxious, waiting, but waiting for what he could not tell. What was he expecting from Zaraki? What was it that he wanted from this man? What could Zaraki possibly offer him or give him?

“I tell you how you’re gonna repay me, Kuchiki,” Zaraki said slyly. “You’re going to go with me on a date. I’ll leave my kid with Gin for the night, bit too soon for you to meet her, and that kid sister of yours can go hang out with a friend or something, and you and me can spend some quality time together. You hear me?”

“You must be insane, Zaraki-san. I would rather die than humiliate myself by associating with low-class, riff-raff like yourself.”

The man must be a fool! Did he really think he could blackmail him into a date, simply by guilt tripping him about what he had done to Madarame-san? If he was to be seen with Zaraki someone would see them, someone would find out, and how would he ever explain that to his grandfather or to Rukia? This man was crass, coarse and subhuman. He was a born fighter and had little to no intelligence, living solely for the thrill of the fight. He didn’t want Byakuya for any real reason such as love, marriage or money; all he wanted was either a quick, one-night fling or a punching bag with a pretty face. He would not lower himself to a one-night-stand, it was improper, immoral and so common, and he would also not allow himself to enter an abusive relationship. Zaraki was incapable of real love or affection. He would not be some toy to a commoner, and moreover he would not ruin his reputation by being seen with one. He would never live it down, never be able to explain it. It simply was not possible to date such a man. Where would they even go? Byakuya would certainly not enter a club, pub or a shopping mall, and how could Zaraki ever hope to afford fine dining, rich wines or romantic getaways? It was a foolish suggestion! He would most certainly not agree to it, there was simply no way!

“Aw, is little Kuchiki worried what people might think?” Zaraki laughed, “Fine, let’s compromise, eh? We could always eat at your place or mine; of if you’re too much of a coward to be left alone with me we could always double date somewhere. Gin’s got a new boy-toy of his own, I’m dying to meet him, or what about a few drinks at Shunsui’s place, I’ve heard you’re pretty tight with Ukitake-san.”

“Those suggestions are far too common. Besides, I simply do not have time in my schedule. I’m fully booked until next month. I suggest you simply take my money and leave.”

Zaraki let out such a loud and hearty laugh that it took Byakuya completely by surprise. He lifted his head and wiped all emotion from his face, glaring at the kendo teacher as if he were merely a member of staff, as if he had no power in the world over Byakuya. He kept his eyes firmly upon Zaraki’s face, watching his expression for any minute changes that would giveaway any vital information about his thoughts or feelings. The older man seemed deeply amused by his words, as if he had heard some sort of joke, and his actions did not amused Byakuya at all.

Then – just as soon as it had begun – the laughter stopped. Zaraki continued to peer down with a lecherous grin, but merely shook his head and lifted his palm in a dismissive gesture, as if waving Byakuya away. He then turned around and began to walk out of the room. Byakuya felt a sense of almost disappointment, but overall allowed himself to feel nothing but relief. Finally, the ogre of a man was leaving. He no longer had to fear about his personal safety or his reputation, it seemed that Zaraki had taken his hints and decided to give up, to leave. Of course there was a very small part of Byakuya that wanted Zaraki to stay, to enjoy the novelty of a person who could be so honest with him, so real and so truthful, but how could he – in all honesty – allow such a man to have his company? Zaraki was unworthy of his friendship, let alone his love and affection. The man was nothing more than a brute. So when the kendo teacher stood at the door for a long moment, still and unmoving, Byakuya resisted the urge to admire his body and instead focussed upon how much easier it would be to watch him leave. He did not need a man like that in his life, or Rukia’s. In fact he could only be a bad influence upon his sister, marring her mind and making her as disgusting as any one of his pupil’s. No, he was doing the right thing by letting him leave. There was no other choice.

It was then Zaraki looked over his shoulder as he opened the door, looking at Byakuya with a grin that could scare even the devil himself, before letting out a devilish chuckle.

“Yo, if I were you I’d check that organiser of yours in your desk. Next Friday, eight o’clock, you’re going to be on a date with me. Don’t forget, okay? You better dress up . . . or dress down in your case. Huh, bet a tight-ass like you doesn’t even know the meaning of casual, but I hope you prove me wrong, Byakuya.” The sound of his given name without honorific sounded far too intimate on the lips of a virtual stranger, he couldn’t think of anyone other than his grandfather who addressed him as such. “See you around.”

Byakuya stood there searing but remembered not to let a hint of emotion shine through. The moment that Zaraki closed the door behind him however he stormed over to his desk, wrenched open his drawer and violently fished around until he found his organiser. The slam it made when it hit the glass desk was almost as loud as the noise of Zaraki’s fists upon the glass, but this time the sound was almost satisfying, a reflection of the anger that had built up inside of Byakuya.

He quickly flipped through the pages of the black binder. Next Friday? Next Friday he had an appointment to spend the afternoon with Gin, they were scheduled to meet at a restaurant the two had always enjoyed, in the evening he would be meeting Yoruichi who had insisted on seeing him to make sure he was still alive, as she had put it. All his other days that week were filled with work engagements or the rare few social events. Besides how could Zaraki possibly know his schedule or even change it? Nemu knew Byakuya’s mind better than he himself did, and there was no way she would dream of booking in a meeting with Zaraki, and especially not to enter it into his private diary without as-! Gin. Of course, if he actually had an appointment with Zaraki it would have to be Gin who arranged it, that sly fox had a horrid way of knowing everything and playing pranks on anyone who so much as looked at him. Of course Gin would find something like this amusing, he would have to have severe words with that man, that was – of course – if he really did have said appointment.

He sighed deeply and found the relevant week in his binder. At first he was completely shocked and had to turn forwards and backwards to make sure he had the right week, and when he realised he had he was too surprised for words. The bright side was that he had been wrong, Gin had not been involved with any pranks on his person, and he had not touched his planner at all. That left him feeling oddly guilty; he hadn’t meant to assume the worst about his friend after all. There was still one problem however . . .

All his appointments for that week had been rescheduled to other days and crossed out, and across the two pages that encompassed the whole week were the words: ‘My special gift to Bya-kun, enjoy!’

No doubt anyone who read his planner would have assumed it a friendly, kind gesture that they would organise his events to give him a week free, fully allowing him to go on any dates that he wanted (or did not want as the case may have been). It wasn’t exactly something he could criticise for the gesture was a warm one, although it incensed him that someone could play with his personal property and life with such ease. It was a total invasion of privacy. He also had to stop a few moments to keep reminding himself that this was not Gin’s fault, even if the actual prank reeked of the fox-faced man. It was Gin’s style but certainly not his handwriting. There was only one person he knew with such handwriting, and that man would most certainly be getting a rather angry visit later today. No one – no one – took such liberties with Byakuya’s’ life and possessions. He would certainly make them pay.

He took in a deep breath and grabbed his phone from his desk; dialling the number for his home secretary and making sure to keep his voice calm and collected as he spoke to her. Angry as he was he could not arrive at someone’s home uninvited, he would first need to get Maria to call ahead and let his victim know that he was going to be arriving any moment now. Manners did not cost a thing after all.

“Maria-san,” He spoke into the receiver, “Get Kyoraku-Sensei on the line.”

He would definitely make his friend pay for this.

* * *

Kisuke sighed as he sipped at his cup of green tea.

He remembered a time back in med school, even a time when he first opened the shop, that he’d been optimistic, cheerful and frankly a bit of a pushover. There’d been an unending hope for the future, dreams of a perfect life, and he’d have done whatever it took to make the people around him happy, even at the cost of his own happiness. It was normal that over time he’d change, after all everyone changed as they got older, and – if he was to be honest – the whole Aizen incident really was a knock on his trust for others. It’d left him feeling that he couldn’t trust anyone, that he’d have to watch his back at every turn, and most of all it had left his optimistic nature in shreds, replacing it with a pessimistic pragmatism. Sure he often wore a smile but, like Tessai and Yoruichi knew, he always made sure to plan ahead in case the worst case scenario took place, and he never took any risks unless he was sure they’d pay off. It just didn’t seem worth it anymore to be so out there, when ‘out there’ was full have betrayal and backstabbing. It had taken him a long while, but eventually he’d realised that it was okay to open himself to people. Tessai, Yoruichi, Ichigo, Shinji, and all the others . . . he could trust them unconditionally, and as for his children? He loved Renji, Jinta and Ururu so much that he didn’t think it possible to love them any more that he already did, even if he occasionally mentally planned his defence case if he just happened to kill them one night. Seriously, if anyone had to raise those three they’d soon learn how acceptable it was to picture smothering them with pillows, it wasn’t as if he’d ever act on it of course . . . even if it would mean a silent night’s sleep for once in the past six years.

There’d been a lot of changes over the years really. Like he said, it was the nature of people to evolve and to grow. Yoruichi loved retelling stories of Byakuya’s youth for example, relishing in how the hot-headed, aggressive boy grew to be a coolheaded adult. He could remember Uryu too, always smiling and giggling, always telling Kisuke fantastic stories as he’d buy sweets galore from his store, and then the poor lad grew into an angry, emotional wreck who sought to be better than anyone and everyone. Huh, what was it about the adorable kids that made them grow into ice queens? Then again there were some people who never changed.

Zaraki-san still loved the thrill of the fight and the love of bloodshed, Rangiku-san was still the hopeless romantic he’d always known her to be, and Tessai had never changed from his cool, collected, calm demeanour. Sure, all three had dramatically changed their looks, but who they were and their fundamental personalities, those always stayed the same. They were never changing, never moving, always the same song and dance. It was nice really. It was something stable, something you could rely on, something that felt level in Kisuke’s crazy world with illegal activities, a husband obsessed with ‘tried and true’ medicines, and kids who seemed intent on giving him a massive coronary by the time he was forty. It was nice to know where you stood with people, and what to expect from them. It was great to never have to worry and to just go with the flow of life. There was only one person who he wished would change, who he wished was even just slightly different, and that was Gin.

The man had always been the same: always. There had been times Kisuke had met Gin as a child, like when he’d go to meet Shinji and find his – at the time – shadow Aizen attached, along with Aizen’s ‘adoptive’ son who’d tagged along to spend some quality time with his father figure. He remembered looking at that boy and being somewhat disturbed. He hated how Gin would always smile, always grin as if the whole world was a joke, and yet behind those eyes was a seriousness and severity that only an adult could possess. It was hard to interpret, hard to know if he saw the cruelty in the world and liked it, or hated what he saw but wished people to believe otherwise. No child should ever possess such maturity or such intellect. No child should ever look at an adult and appear to be psychoanalysing them. No child should ever be that manipulative either, knowing instantly what to say to impress people or to unnerve them, and always knowing which response to provoke in order to get the reaction they wanted. He’d imagined Gin had suffered some sort of trauma to make him that way, that with time that he’d grow out of it, but he didn’t. The next time Kisuke saw Gin was when he had finished med school, and Gin himself had gotten a job as a teacher at a local senior school. It was as if all that time with Aizen had merely emphasised his already mysterious, intense and disconcerting nature, as if he’d merely learnt to harness his intelligence and Machiavellian traits rather than ridding himself of them. He seemed to be more a shadow of a man than a man himself. Yes, if there was one person he had hoped would change, it was certainly Ichimaru Gin.

Of course he loved the occasional visit. It gave Kisuke time to engage in a battle of wits, to exercise mind games that he so rarely got to play, and to exchange very important information with the man who seemed to know a little of everything. The problem was that although he loved occasional visits, he detested constant visits, and for every day for the past week and a half he had not been able to shake Gin. The man had come every day for at least a minute, all under the pretence of worrying about Ukitake’s health. He may have been telling the truth, but it was impossible to tell with Gin. It could very well be possible that he had ulterior motives.

Currently the two sat quietly and politely around the dining table, sipping tea as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Kisuke had no doubt that Gin was exceptionally uncomfortable as he was, but the man wanted something, and so did Kisuke. It was one of those incredibly awkward moments when both parties knew something, both wanted something, and yet both were loath to be the first to speak, to ask, to make a move. It was like playing ‘Chicken’, where the first one to give into instinct was essentially admitting himself to be weaker than the other, and with two men as exceptionally stubborn as they were it was a game that could go on for a very long time. Kisuke knew that, Gin knew that, and so they were at a form of stalemate. In a moment one of them would no doubt begin a casual small talk, and hopefully business could lead from that, so that at least neither one of them would have to admit defeat. Until then all they could both do was simply sit, drink, and wait.

It wasn’t long before Gin broke the silence.

The silver-haired man sat opposite Kisuke at the dining table, staring at him with a wide and sadistic grin, his hands holding elegantly onto his warm cup of tea. The screen door was open, thus adding a sense of space to their room whilst eliminating privacy, and so the atmosphere was an odd one. There was a sense of space and freedom, but at the same time it came at the cost of privacy, it made both men somewhat paranoid about what they would say and how it would be said, fearful of who would be listening, but it also made the game all the more interesting. It forced them both to rely on wits and cunning, and although Kisuke wasn’t in the mood for such mental games it still tempted him, lured him into wanting to play. He couldn’t deny that it was always fascinating to engage Gin a battle of wits.

“Ja! So how’s Ukitake-san, Kisuke-san? Is he making a good recovery?”

“I believe he’s still doing well, it’ll be another three days until we can say for certainty that the treatment’s worked, but it looks like he’s made a full recovery.”

Kisuke sipped his tea, trying to hide an expression of irritation. He’d heard the exact same question for the past twelve days now, and his patience was wearing thin. He wasn’t sure if Gin was genuinely worried or simply had ulterior motives, working Kisuke’s last nerve on a matter he cared little about in order to get access to a bigger prize. It seemed that he was trying to win Kisuke’s trust, or at the very least make him slip up on certain subjects, all in order to pry information from the shopkeeper’s mind. It seemed the two things he was most interested in was Ukitake’s recovery and Mayuri’s activities. Whilst he did seem to actually care about Ukitake, Kisuke still had to wonder if Gin was taking advantage of the situation to try and win more knowledge about Mayuri. In fact he’d even heard rumours that Gin had been pestering Nemu on occasion for details on her father, but it was impossible to say with certainty because it may have just been idle chit-chat, one man talking to a woman as he waited for Kuchiki to finish up in his office. It was hard to say why Gin would want such information, assuming it was true, but the likelihood was that it meant something to Aizen, something that he was willing to pay big bucks for to the person who revealed it, and probably something to do with his latest case against Ishida. It was all very curious, very curious indeed . . .

“Gin,” Kisuke said with a soft sigh, “it’s not often I say this but maybe we could just get straight to the point. I know you’re not here for idle chitchat, and I’m sure your lunch break isn’t any longer than mine.”

“Aw, who says I ain’t here for ‘chitchat’? Ya must not think very highly of yourself if you think I wouldn’t wan’ ‘o be friends with you. I would ‘o thought a man like you, Kisuke-san, would have some more self-esteem.”

Kisuke smiled brightly. The man was a born liar, and if he wanted to play silly, little children’s games then two could play at that. There was no way he was going to make this easy for Gin, especially not when it was still only eleven o’clock in the morning and he’d much rather be asleep in bed, it was sheer torture being forced awake at this time to socialise! On the bright side at least Renji was coming home for lunch today, if he was lucky he’d be able to use it as an excuse to slide away from Ichimaru-san and get the redhead to mind the shop. Until then he was more than willing to turn his companion’s games against him. It was the very least he could do considering the inconvenience Gin was putting him through, and a bit of torture never hurt anyone.

“Ah, so you’re here as a friend, Gin?”

“Yeah! I mean, have I ever given you reason to think otherwise?”

Only every time you open your mouth, thought Kisuke. “No, of course not. Although I’m so relieved you’re here as a friend, Gin! It means now we can talk openly and honestly!” He quickly gulped down his tea and gave a huge beaming smile of his own, his eyes hid entirely in shadow by his hat and his hair blustering slightly as he fanned it with his fan, “I mean I’ve got such a dilemma and I don’t know who to turn to, but a friend would be so easy to confide in!”

He watched with interest as Gin’s smile turned slightly crooked, his eyes narrowing as he lowered his head so that he was cast in a temporary darkness. He suddenly appeared all the more sinister and cruel, even if his expression was one of familiarity and openness. The younger man was obviously relishing in the idea that he was about to be privy to something secret and confidential, something that Kisuke had been saving for a ‘true friend’, and the very thought made the shopkeeper want to laugh out loud. His face was already jovial and open, like the few times he faked a slight hyperactive appearance in order to win Ichigo’s trust, but the humour of the situation only increased his smile all the more. It wasn’t a bad thing mind; he’d learnt over the years that an overly happy, ditzy, air-headed and hyperactive personality was often the best to portray. It meant that you not only gained the trust of those around you, but it also left people feeling secure around you, it meant they never saw you as the threat you truly were. It worked well too, for example Gin seemed to be buying right into it.

“Really, Kisuke-san? Well, I’m here t’ help ya! What are friends for, right?”

“Exactly~” Kisuke replied, exaggerating the first syllable and ending in an almost singsong voice, “Well, you see it’s like this . . . I’m so worried! Lately I think Tessai’s been going a bit rough, always pounding and pounding, and each morning it’s ever so sore! You know – come to think of it – whenever I go to the bathroom it always comes out all –”

“Ah! I believe that’s plenty o’ detail! Ya so mean too t’ play such games!”

Kisuke had to hold back a rather loud laugh at Gin’s expression. The poor guy had actually raised both hands in a gesture of defeat, and his eyes kind of squinted in disgust as if by trying to blind his sight he could get rid of any mental images that plagued his mind. His smile had even gone entirely, instead to be replaced with a rather nervous, terrified half-smirk and half-frown. If Kisuke didn’t know any better he would have said that Gin had paled considerably too.

“Aw,” Kisuke said with mock sadness, fanning his face leisurely. “Here I thought we were friends. I’m so disappointed . . . Here I go confiding in you and you hurt me in return! Oh, the pain is so unbearable . . .”

Gin gave a little pout and folded his arms assertively.

“My, my,” He almost whined, “Ya no fun today. I should o’ gone with Zaraki-Sensei to Kuchiki-san’s instead, would o’ been more fun. Least then I would o’ got to be the one doin’ the teasin’.”

If he’d been a lesser man then he may have felt slightly guilty over teasing Gin. The poor guy’s words just sounded so hurt, his tone going up and down on each word as if trying to fight back a wave of sorrow, as if he was genuinely hurt or offended. There was also the way he was slightly hunched, with his lips in a sharp pout that probably had lesser men like Ukitake asking for forgiveness or men like Aizen offering it. It was a little disconcerting. It wasn’t right to see a grown man acting this way, trying in such an obvious attempt to evoke sympathy and get attention. He would have expected such a response from Jinta or Ururu, but even a kid Renji’s age tended to have grown out of such a gesture. The only person he knew who pouted like that was Ichigo-kun, or maybe Soi Fon . . .

Still, he knew full well it was just an act. If he had showed the slightest bit of guilt Gin probably would have milked it for all it was worth, before jumping up with ‘ha, I lied’ and smiling like a cat that got the cream. The guy’s sole entertainment came from playing with people, from manipulating their emotions and twisting them into something to amuse him. It was childish, sadistic and creepy, but Kisuke knew that it was just something he’d have to put up with. It wasn’t like he didn’t carry those same traits at times himself. After all, hadn’t he just played Gin and manipulated him just for the fun of it? Maybe Kisuke was a lot more like Gin than he liked to admit, but still, it didn’t mean he had to like the guy any more than he did.

“So Gin, what are you really here for?”

“What am I ever here for? I got something t’ trade ya.”

Admittedly his interest was piqued. More often than not Gin’s information turned out to be quite useful, however they both knew well that to trade something you had to give something of equal worth, and he wasn’t sure – what with circumstances as they were – that he’d be willing to pay the price. Of course a heavy price meant the information he’d get in return would be worth a lot more, but frankly he was starting to wonder if ignorance really was bliss . . . He could certainly say that he could have done without seeing some of the photos of Renji down at Rangiku’s bar, and he certainly could have done without a hung-over Shinji telling him a blow-by-blow account of everything he’d done with Aizen. Still, there was no way of telling if it was worth it until he heard Gin out, and so it looked like he might as well settle down and listen to the man.

“Really? What is it that you want from little, old me?”

Gin’s smirk came back full force. “Copies of all your research involving Ukitake-san. Aizen-sama recons he could use it as proof that the antidote works, what with all your science stuff being in it. It could whack up the percentage of profit Mayuri-san wins from Ishida-san, and that means more profit for Aizen-sama, ya know?”

“You’re being awfully up front for once, Gin. What do you have to offer in return?”

“This.”

Kisuke quirked an eyebrow expectantly as Gin reached a bony arm inside his white overcoat, careful not to ruffle the uniform due to his need to return to class in less than an hour. He seemed to find what he needed and slowly withdrew his arm, his hand coming up to reveal in his grip a videocassette in a blank case. It was strange for Kisuke, he hadn’t seen such an old piece of technology in years, he’d updated the security cameras in his shop to computer and DVD a few years back, and he wondered if anyone still owned a video recorder. Well, he was sure Renji and Jinta did, the boys often watched really old movies on video rather than deigning to spend money replacing them, but Ururu, Tessai and himself always watched films on the new equipment. He hoped that there was more to this than met the eye, because if Gin wanted to trade vital information with Kisuke in return for a trip to the eighties, then he wasn’t impressed.

The shopkeeper leant back slightly and looked up to the ceiling, fanning his face and trying to remain impassive and emotionless, showing little to no sign of feeling in his features. Meanwhile Gin looked positively devilish, his eyes nothing but narrow slits and his lips but a thin line as they stretched into a menacing smile. Obviously the tape meant something, but what Kisuke wasn’t sure.

“You want me to give you vital scientific information, that could potentially land Mayuri and myself in jail, just to help out the very man who betrayed my friend and lost me my job . . . in return for a videotape?”

“My, my, Kisuke-san! This ain’t just any videotape!” Gin said as he waved it lightly in the air, “Ya see, a while back I somehow lost my key-card for work. Not for the school, nah, if I did that I’d be fired for sure! It’s for my other work. Ya see, I sometimes work on the side for Aizen-sama, giving lectures and presentations, that kind of thing. Plus I always like to go visit, so he gave me a key-card to get in. He’s a nice guy like that! He likes t’ know his employees can always get to work, and he’s always been like a mentor to me, so it’s nice t’ always be able to get in and see him, but – would you believe it? – I lost my key!

“Of course I eventually had to report it, and Aizen-sama was pretty miffed, but he got Szayel-san from the Technological Department to make me a new one! Says I got to be more careful though, and in the meantime he’s got Stark-san trying to track down the guy who’s got my old key-card. Seems like someone’s tried to break in twice using it, right shame, ain’t it? Can’t trust no one these days.” Gin seemed almost wistful as he said that, before perking up again. “So anyways, I head to the security centre one night, ‘cause Grimmjow-san had left his little sister in the office and I really ain’t too good with kids . . . turns out that he’d asked Ulquiorra-san to baby-sit, ya know? Only whilst he set up his new place, but then Ulquiorra-san said he had work to do and left me with little Nel, so I had to take her to the security centre on the ground floor. Ja! You won’t ever guess what I saw there!”

Kisuke really had no idea. Truth be told his head was already swimming with all the information of Gin’s story, which admittedly was a very good trick to use, albeit a rather annoying one.

Gin had long ago learnt that by telling a long story of great detail that it often brought about a sense of trust in his words, the general consensus being that no one could remember that much information if it was a lie and not slip up at some point. However, Gin had also learnt that there was two kinds of truth, and so even when he told events as they happened, detail by detail, in all honesty, he could still hide his true motives and reasoning, making him appear almost innocent by spinning his story from a whole new perspective. No doubt such a trick worked on most people, leading them to either believe what he said to be true, or for them to realise he was lying but unable to call him on it, because how could you call someone a liar when they hadn’t technically told a single lie? Everything he said had happened, and how could anyone prove that he hadn’t really ‘lost’ his key-card, or that he hadn’t’ really ‘been looking for Aizen’ or that he was actually great with kids if the situation arose? Those were the lies, the things that could never be proved to be false, and when you wrap such lies up in a sea of honesty and facts . . .

It was nearly as infuriating as the times when he told a truth so outrageous people assumed it to be false, where they thought he was lying and acted contrary to what he’d said, not knowing he was really being honest. The point of the matter was that Gin wasn’t technically a liar, but that didn’t mean you could ever trust him. He was a manipulative Machiavellian at its worst, and no doubt even Aizen feared him, even if he secretly admired him at the same time.

“What did you see?” Kisuke asked.

“Well Stark-san was on duty that night, and Nel went all hyper and started to bounce on him and he got distracted from the monitors, and then I saw it! It was ya little, blonde pal who’d stolen my keycard! My, I was so shocked. Couldn’t believe it, ya know? Not only that but he was busy screwing Luppi-kun right in the security room! It was some really kinky stuff too, so perverted I actually felt a bit sick. I didn’t know that ya pal was into that kind o’ stuff. So I pointed it out to Stark-san, and he told me he hadn’t been on duty long but someone had come in and deleted a bunch of security footage, but they weren’t smart at all, nah, because they left the footage of Blondie screwing with Luppi-kun on tape. Turns out Stark-san was makin’ a copy for Aizen-sama, cause it’s his duty, ya know? I got him to give me the original master-copy though.”

Gin waved the tape around a little bit more. Kisuke couldn’t deny that his interest was captured, and that he was willing to trade. After all if a tape like that got leaked out it’d cause a huge scandal for Shinji, and it would ruin his reputation as well as humiliate him too. It felt like his duty as a friend to make sure he got the tape from Gin and stopped it from getting into the wrong hands, although he didn’t have to do Shinji any favours he was far too loyal to just let this slide and let his friend come to harm. He gave Gin a stark look that spoke volumes over what he thought about such blackmail.

“Figured that you and Blondie wouldn’t want more eyes seeing this than need be, so I figured I’d trade ya for your research . . .” Gin said conversationally. “Of course I could always ‘dispose’ of this in a harmless way if ya don’t want it.” He gave a deep sigh and looked into the distance sadly. He seemed kind of downtrodden and downhearted; it was an almost pitiable sight. “That’s two sex tapes I’ve seen in two weeks, and both o’ them got Hirako-san in. Ja, I wouldn’t ever dream about making a tape like that, even if my boyfriend would let me, then again I ain’t like Hirako-san, am I? I mean that pal of yours is a real ‘butter-legs’, huh?”

“Pardon?”

“You know,” Gin shrugged, “Easy to spread.”

Kisuke immediately bristled. His eyes took on a sharper glare, looking at Gin with such intensity that the younger man couldn’t miss the anger and rage behind it, and his back became straight as a rod. His very posture and demeanour had become more tense, rigid and taut, almost as if he were preparing himself for a physical battle of sorts. Sure, it was pretty stupid to let Gin get to him that way, after all Shinji may have been his friend but he was also his own man, there was no reason for Kisuke to be offended by what the teacher had said, but that was it, there was a reason to be offended by Gin’s words. Shinji was his friend.

The blonde had always been there for Kisuke, offering him advice when he first opened the shop, helping him deal with Hiyori and her tempers, and even supporting him through the adoption process that he and Tessai went through. Shinji was an undying, loyal friend and at the very least Kisuke owed him for all he’d done, and that meant not letting anyone slander his name unnecessarily. An insult to Shinji was basically an insult to Kisuke. Not only that but Gin was here to trade information, he wanted something from Kisuke as much as Kisuke would want that damned tape from him, and to go around provoking someone who you wanted a favour from . . . well, it was a little like biting the hand that feeds you.

After a long moment Kisuke snapped his fan shut and lowered his hand upon his lap. The smile he gave to Gin seemed a little too innocent, and hence looked a little too disconcerting, almost as if he had something up his sleeve . . .

“You’re not one to talk about sexual indecency, Gin,” Kisuke said with a very devious smile, “because from what my adorable, little Renji’s been confiding in me there’s a few rumours going around about you, mainly that you’ve been sleeping with a pupil. Kira-kun, if I’m not mistaken.”

Gin’s face was a picture; the look of both shock and fury was so perfect that it really made Kisuke wish he had a camera ready, it wasn’t often one saw such an expression on Gin’s face, one of pure unadulterated emotion. It was nice to see that something could actually rile the teacher up, actually provoke him into a response of sorts, that he wasn’t entirely an actor without emotions of his own.

It was times like these that he was glad that he had the relationship with Renji that he had. Sure his son annoyed him to hell, sure he often annoyed his son to the point Renji wished he hadn’t been born, but overall their relationship was one of complete trust, honesty and acceptance. There were times when Renji felt unable to talk to his friends, or even to his other father, where he couldn’t trust them not to make a huge deal, or lecture him or worry about him, and Kisuke knew what that feeling was like. It wasn’t nice to feel alone, to feel that you had no one to turn to for advice, and so he’d made sure from day one that no matter what Renji told him he’d respond level-headed and rationally. He wanted Renji to be able to come to him, so that way rather than suffering alone he had someone to help him fix things with. Of course there were some things Renji would never tell him, ask him or confide about, you know, like teenage sex issues or intimate relationship troubles, but Kisuke hoped that was normal, that no child would go to a parent with anything that personal . . . Well Kurosaki-san might try with his kids, but he had no doubt that Karin and Ichigo would punch him first before ever actually talking about stuff like that. So when Renji had came home one evening, yelling in frustration about how no one believed him about a serious matter, Kisuke had calmed him down and spoken to him about it, refusing to pass judgement so that Renji wouldn’t feel judged. In the end he’d learnt that Renji thought his friend Kira had entered a sexual relationship with Gin, and the reasons why. The only reason Kisuke had kept the issue private was because he had no solid proof, but if it turned out to be true then he’d have no choice but to go to the school and report Gin. After all, Renji’s safety came first, and a teacher who engaged in such activities wasn’t entirely safe to have around kids . . .

“I’d hate to find out that my wonderful, eldest son was actually not mistaken all along, that he’d been telling the truth,” Kisuke said with feigned sadness. “Why, I’d have to report such actions at once! Then my favourite pal in the whole world would lose his job, and poor Kira-kun would be humiliated by such a public scandal, coming from such an upper-class family and all . . .”

“Ah, well I wouldn’t listen to anything ya son said, Kisuke,” Gin said, dropping all pretences of politeness and formality. “He ain’t exactly the smartest kid on the block, is he? Last exam I set he failed miserably. Apparently it was the Japanese that bombed Hiroshima, which adds a whole new dimension to suicide-bombing . . .” Gin smirked brightly, his eyes narrowed dangerously to show his sadistic intent, “I shouldn’t be surprised though, should I? What with Tessai being his dad an’ all . . . I mean the guy didn’t even have the smarts to be a shopkeeper; instead he’s just a measly shopkeeper’s assistant. What a role model, eh?”

It took every ounce of Kisuke’s strength not to throw Gin out of his shop then and there. He had to get that tape after all, and it wasn’t as if he could just forcefully steal it as Aizen had the master copy, and although Aizen would most likely keep that secret – or as a means to blackmail Shinji – Gin could almost certainly get another copy, and Kisuke was sure he had no qualms about using the tape in unscrupulous ways. That did of course imply that Aizen had some moral code of conduct, but the truth of the matter is that the tape also involved Luppi, and if the tape was made public or taken to court then Luppi could be accused of a number of things, including sexual harassment, which would be very bad for Aizen’s law firm. Gin, however, didn’t have the same attachments to Arrancar, and although he wouldn’t use the tape in anyway to put his mentor and father figure at risk, he might use it to humiliate Shinji in retaliation at Kisuke. In fact he could just picture now the wrong movie used during a social movie night, or maybe someone accidentally slipping in the wrong tape for the TV in Matsumoto’s Bar, or even just leaving it running in a conference room for when the Vizards wanted to entertain a new client . . . No, he might be seriously pissed with Gin, but getting that tape was more important that simply getting even, and the best way to get rid of the man was to simply give him what he wanted. They would do the trade and then they’d go their separate ways, and hopefully he wouldn’t have to see the teacher for a very long time. Although, he’d be sure to make a note that if Renji got marked down in any future history exams unfairly that he’d take the matter up with Gin, even if with Renji’s grades as bad as they were it’d be hard to tell if Gin was being unfair or not . . .

“Let’s not let the tone of our conversation shift any lower, shall we?” Kisuke said with a broad grin, “After all it simply wouldn’t do for us to go back to work sporting physical injuries. So why don’t we just get this over with, hmm? It seems that Yoruichi-san stopped by today to pay me a visit too, and I’m sure she’s overheard every word, so if she’d be so kind as to fetch Tessai for me and ask him to bring up the right files? Thanks.”

There was a slight shuffling from behind one of the screen doors, and a low mumbling that sounded like a complaint. It wasn’t unusual for Yoruichi to often spy on his conversations, and she could be trusted to keep things confidential, in fact – more often than not – when she wasn’t physically present in meeting people would often call out to her anyway, knowing from experience she’d be within hearing distance and able to reply. Ah, the life of a rich heiress! It was enough to make Kisuke somewhat jealous, if only he had the time to constantly prowl around town or to just hang out with friends, it’d be pretty much a dream come true.

Gin’s face lost some of its humour for a moment before turning back into a lifeless smile, and he glanced at Kisuke with a sort of emotionless expression. It as hard at the best of times to tell what was hiding behind that smirk of his, but now that all the humour had drained from his face it was near impossible. He couldn’t help but think that Gin would be an excellent poker player, because not only did he have not one single tell, but he could manipulate his expression, body language and tone to mimic any emotion he wanted, and it was always the emotion he felt he needed to portray to get the response he wanted. He never gave away his true motives or thoughts, and the rare times he did there was always a hidden motive. He was impossible to predict, impossible to understand, and when he dropped all pretences and acts it was even worse, it left him looking like a man without a soul, like the devil himself. How could anyone ever hope to bargain with a man like that? You couldn’t plan one step ahead with Gin, you had to plan several, and each time you made a move he’d change the rules and sweep the rug from under your feet. He was perhaps the most dangerous of all enemies, solely because you didn’t know if he was your enemy or not.

“I hope you don’t mind, Kisuke-san, if I check those files carefully before I give you the tape?” Gin said, tilting his head slightly to the side, almost as if he hoped it would give him a better angle of observation, “Just I want t’ be sure I ain’t being double-crossed, ya know? Wouldn’t do me no good to go back to Aizen-sama with the wrong information an’ all.”

“Likewise, I hope you won’t mind if I watch the tape before I let you leave.”

“Aw, I ain’t sure if that’s smart o’ ya or perverted o’ ya, but if it makes you feel better I won’t raise any objections. Just don’t make me stay in the room as ya watch it? I’ve seen enough of Hirako-san as I can stand for one lifetime.”

Kisuke was just about to retaliate when the shop door’s burst wide open. It took the attention of both Gin and Kisuke, forcing them to turn their heads away from one another and to the two boys who’d just entered.

The first one they noticed was of course Ichigo, probably as he was the most suspicious looking of the two. He’d literally opened the door a crack in order to poke his head inside, looking around casually before seeing his friend’s father and schoolteacher sitting staring at him, at which point he’d yelped and slammed the door shut. Then came the sound of loud bickering followed by what sounded like ‘are you kidding? It’s me he’ll kill! He won’t kill you, you’re his son!’ followed by the door suddenly being kicked wide open to reveal both Ichigo and Renji. Yoruichi must have snuck behind Kisuke at this point because suddenly the files he needed were being dropped onto the table, before footsteps shuffled away, but he was too engrossed with the sight before him to care too much about his friend’s sudden appearance. When Renji said he’d be coming home for lunch Kisuke had expected many things, but not quite this . . .

Ichigo was standing pretty tall but looking as if he wanted the ground to swallow him whole, his eyes wide with an almost imperceptible drop of sweat on the side of his face, and his mouth wide in a nervous grin. He looked like the personification of guilt, which couldn’t be good in the slightest, and considering the state of his uniform he’d probably been in a fight of sorts too. His shirt was no longer tucked in, his jacket rather ruffled, and there were grass stains all over his trousers, his wrists looked rather bruised too as if someone had been holding him down, and there was blood on his shoulders, although it didn’t seem to be his own. He was stumbling over his words as he tried to get out an explanation, but it was at that point Renji elbowed him in the side and told him to be a man, before hobbling into the shop with a groan. Of course the elbow to Ichigo’s side only cause Ichigo to lose what little patience he had and threaten to knock Renji out, but when the redhead nearly fell over Ichigo gave a noise of surprise and rushed to his side, helping him to stand up once again, and wrapped his arm underneath Renji’s to help him stumble over into the private rooms of the shop, and probably lead him to his bedroom.

It was the sight of Renji, properly and up close, which had Kisuke into panicking parent mode. He instantly jumped to his feet and frantically ran over to Renji’s side, fanning his face quickly as if somehow the gesture would hide his absolute fear at the sight of his eldest son looking somewhat like a bloody pulp.

Renji looked seriously far from well and healthy. His uniform was actually ripped all over, and his school jacket was literally hanging on by a thread, his shirt buttons had all been forcibly ripped off and his bandanna had gone from rainbow coloured to sheer red with blood. His lower lip was cut, his left eye swollen, and his skin that was on show was black and blue all over. Luckily whoever had cornered Renji and Ichigo in a fight hadn’t seemed to have used any weapons, as far as Kisuke could see his son had no gunshot wounds or knife wounds. His left leg was clearly bandaged though, he could see underneath one of the several slashed in the fabric, and he was covered in mud and grass stains all over. The poor kid, even his hair was loose and clinging to his sweat-stained face. He automatically began to run his hands over Renji’s body, searching out for any damage, and when he touched Renji’s shoulder his son yelled out angrily and tried to bat his father away, continuing to wander in the direction of the bedrooms.

“Jesus! Will you leave it? My arm was freaking dislocated, it’s still sore!”

Kisuke would have hit Renji hard if he didn’t think his son was already in enough agony. Seriously, did this kid know how worried he was? He was terrified! He had no idea what had happened, or what injuries Renji sustained or if whoever did it would come back and do it again! It was his duty as a father to protect his son, to nurture him and look after him, to stop any harm from coming to him, and yet here his son stood in a bloody mess, looking like a car had hit him. This couldn’t have been an accident, someone had to have hurt him and that person was seriously going to be dead by the time Kisuke got a hold of them. No one touched a hair on his children’s heads and got away with it, if he had to he’d be sure to slice them limb from limb, not only as revenge but also as a message not to mess with his family in future.

Ichigo gave a nervous pout as Renji shrugged him away and limped off to his bedroom, leaving his friend standing alone with Kisuke and Gin as he went to collapse in bed, hoping that either of his father’s wouldn’t follow him. Ichigo had been hoping to go and make sure Renji was okay, but obviously his friend was still pissed at him, and he really didn’t want to explain things to Kisuke. He really, really didn’t. This wasn’t exactly something he wanted to admit any part in, not if he could help it at any rate.

“It’s – it’s nothing, Urahara-san.” Ichigo muttered nervously, scratching his neck as he looked to Gin desperately for support, “We just ran into some trouble down by the river, you know? I took Renji right to Ishida-san’s for treatment, and Ishida-san released Renji after a couple of hours and promised not to tell my dad about any of it. I think he’s going to send Uryu around after school to check him out.”

Kisuke wasn’t an idiot. He knew that Ichigo’s father’s clinic was closer to the place in question than Ishida’s hospital was, and the fact Ichigo admitted he didn’t want his father knowing certainly implied he had some involvement in this. Even if the facts didn’t add up the guilty look on the orange-haired youth was enough to give him away. So Kisuke merely smiled politely, and spoke as calm as he could.

“I see. Is there any reason why you don’t want your father to know, Ichigo-kun?”

“Err, well, you see, Mr Hat-and-Clogs,” Ichigo said as he cleared his throat, eyeing the shop doors as if they were the most wonderful sight in all of creation, “The guy who cornered us was someone we knew, a friend really, and – err – I don’t want my dad to get the wrong idea about the person in question. It’d be really awkward.”

“Oh, so you know who beat up my son?”

Ichigo drew in a deep breath and nodded. He knew there was no point in lying, not around Urahara anyway, because the man was more than able to make his and Renji’s life a living hell if he needed to . . .

“Yeah. I do.”

“So? Who was it?”

“Grimmjow . . .” Ichigo sighed, before catching the look in Kisuke’s eyes and jumping to his boyfriend’s defence, “Ah! It’s not what you think, honestly! See, Renji and I were taking a shortcut to school and one of Grimmjow’s friends spotted us and started up a conversation, Stark I think, so we kind of got delayed. We didn’t realise it was a trap! By the time we realised it two guys came up behind us, Nnoitra and Grimmjow. Grimm told Stark to not let me get hurt else he’d kill him, and Stark refused to fight anyway, said he couldn’t be bothered, so the guy pinned me to the floor. He was too freaking strong! I could budge him, and believe me I tried! That’s when Nnoitra and Grimmjow started laying into Renji. I think they’d had it planned, and sent Stark out to corner us, you know? They only stopped when some chick rang Stark on his phone and he told them it was time to go.” Ichigo blushed a bit before taking a step away from Kisuke, instinctively moving closer to the door, “It was then Stark let me up and Grimmjow ruffled my clothes up a bit and gave me a love-bite, said he hoped Renji got the message and then the three of them left. I – I didn’t know, I swear! If Stark hadn’t had me pinned I’d have kicked Grimmjow’s ass for sure!”

Ah, and so it now made some sense . . . Of course Ichigo had decided to take Renji all the way over to Ishida’s rather than Kurosaki’s, because if his father found Renji beat to a pulp he’d have asked questions, and even if he didn’t the tense atmosphere between the two boys would have told him enough. Kisuke knew full well how overprotective Isshin Kurosaki was, if he knew that Ichigo’s older boyfriend had lured the two into a trap only to beat the crap out of Renji he’d certainly go insane. It was bad enough that his son had – in Kurosaki’s view – been taken advantage of the night after the party. If he then learnt that Grimmjow had gone onto beating up on his friend’s kid whilst holding his son captive . . . Kisuke could picture the response. Isshin would go very serious, very intense and either command Ichigo to call it all off or want a very severe word with Grimmjow, before either punching the guy or threatening him. Even if he allowed his son to carry on dating Grimmjow he’d still most likely sock the guy one, so Ichigo was no doubt protecting his boyfriend, which explained why Renji was so pissed with him.

Oh, to be young again! Who did one choose, your lover or your best friend? It was a tough choice admittedly, and Kisuke wasn’t sure exactly what he’d do if someone said to him ‘Tessai or Yoruichi’, but this wasn’t exactly the same thing. Renji hadn’t given Ichigo an ultimatum, he’d simply wanted support from his friend because said friend’s boyfriend had done him wrong. That was understandable, wasn’t it? After all if Tessai went and beat the crap out of Uryu how could anyone expect Kisuke to defend him? Sure, he loved his husband, but he wouldn’t defend him if he’d done something so terribly wrong. Then there was the fact that this was his son that had been injured and so badly hurt, and frankly the fact that Ichigo was so closely involved and defending the perpetrator made him want to kill the boy. The only thing holding him back was the fact that Ichigo hadn’t known and he did try to stop it, but if he ever saw Grimmjow, around either Renji or Ichigo, he’d kill the man. There couldn’t be any excuse for what Grimmjow had done, none, and the fact that someone could do this to his son -! His heart was pounding in a way it rarely ever did, and it was nearly impossible to control himself to the extent he wished to. All he could say was Ichigo better have a damned good reason for why Grimmjow did this; otherwise his boyfriend was soon going to be his girlfriend.

“Ichigo. Why did Grimmjow do this?”

“Oh, well, you see,” The teenager sucked in a deep breath as he blushed red like a tomato, obviously completely embarrassed by the whole situation, “It was at the party, and – err – well, we were all pretty drunk and I wasn’t quite sure what was going on, well, yeah, then I was flirting with Renji and kind of passed out, I’m not really used to alcohol, you know? Then, well, I guess Renji kissed me, and Grimmjow was right in front of us, and he could see how drunk and unconscious I was too, so he got really angry. I – I think Renji was too drunk to know what he did, but Grimmjow is pretty possessive, so he said he was going to beat Renji up . . . I didn’t think he actually would! I thought it was just the pain meds, booze and testosterone talking!”

Kisuke sighed. What he’d done to deserve a life like this he had no idea . . .

“So Renji kissed you?” He asked, Ichigo nodded. “But you were really drunk and passed out?” He asked, Ichigo nodded. “But Grimmjow was only a few feet away and saw the whole thing?” Again Ichigo nodded.

Ah, so it wasn’t exactly an unprovoked attack after all . . . If Renji was stupid enough to kiss the boyfriend of what used to be a street hooligan, one that only escaped serious jail time because of his gang connections, then he really did deserve to get beaten up. Seriously, did he think that because Grimmjow lacked a criminal record and now had a very decent lifestyle that he wasn’t dangerous? Not only that but he felt rather disappointed in Renji, after all he and Tessai had taught all three children self-defence and fighting skills since the moment of adoption, and yet Renji couldn’t handle one little fight? Then again it was two-on-one, it was hardly fair, and it wasn’t as though Renji would be able to concentrate with his friend pinned to the floor not that far away. Still, the next time he saw Grimmjow he was really going to make the man suffer, even if he had to get creative and very careful, he’d make that man pay for hurting his little boy.

“Okay, Ichigo, you can head back now,” Kisuke said sadly, “But I’m going to have to tell your dad about this, just no two ways about it.”

“Thanks, Kisuke.”

The shopkeeper watched with a slightly despondent expression as Ichigo all but ran from the shop, probably heading to school so as not to miss his afternoon classes, because he couldn’t quite see him heading home or to Grimmjow-san’s.

He turned away from the doors with a sigh and smiled brightly at Gin. Frankly he felt as far away from happy as possible, because inside he was terrified, all he wanted to do was to go to Renji and comfort him, make sure he was okay and tend to his injuries. Then he wanted to find Tessai and engage him in a huge but comforting hug, just to be reassured that their son wasn’t in any serious trouble and was going to be okay. It felt like an intrusion having Gin there, like someone was interrupting a private and personal moment only privy to family members, and he also didn’t like knowing that Gin now had some extra information about him and his private life. Luckily however the younger man seemed to know that now wasn’t the time to make a nuisance and stood ready with the files in hand, the videotape on the table where Kisuke had just been sitting moments before.

“I’ll just go,” Gin said sadly, “Ya can trust me though, that’s the right tape, I promise.”

“Thank you, Ichimaru-Sensei.”

“Nah, it ain’t a big deal . . .” He walked away at a slow but leisurely pace, pausing by the shop doors to look back at Kisuke with an almost quizzical expression, before taking one last jab at him, “But Renji really ain’t the smartest kid about, is he?”

“No,” Kisuke said sadly, “No, he’s not.”