The Noble Sort

A/N: This is the last chapter of the December 21st update, which begins with chapter 23. I hope everyone enjoys the very large update, and please!

Read and Review!

Consider it a very small Christmas present to a very *non-paid* author for putting untold hours writing, editing, and scheming for this story. (Not that all the research was bad; lemon research for Ukitake, courtesy DeviantArt, was especially yummy.)

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"The Noble Sort"

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Pale hair was tickling her neck and shoulders as he leaned over her, his lips caressing her jaw. His hands were rubbing circles over her belly, her thighs, and she could feel his leg as he pushed it up and grinded it into her center with every involuntary thrust of his hips.

He said something—she couldn't understand anything right now other than what she was feeling—before the hand on her thigh tightened, lifting her leg just enough to let him—

She woke with a loud thud as she fell off the couch.

Hidaruma yelped as she landed on him, all fur and bones as he tried to throw her off and scramble away. It wasn't her fault he had a rude awakening—he shouldn't have slept right under her.

You were drunk, onna! I was protecting you!

Too early. And please, for the love of all the kami, stop shouting.

"Need coffee. Somethin'," she murmured as she used the coffee table to pull herself up from the floor. "This is why I quit drinking."

Hidaruma huffed at her from his new position but was smart enough not to make any comments.

She shuffled into the kitchen, happily starting the kettle for tea—coffee would be too much this morning—and wondered where Akane had gotten off to after their night of binge drinking.

She'll feel like shit this morning.

She moved as quietly as possible through the dining room and the short hall connected to it, past the bathroom, and past her own bedroom door before peeking into the open guestroom. There. Akane was sprawled out on the bed, clothes still on and dead to the world. At least she had made it to bed last night; she also needed to stop calling it the guest room since the girl practically lived there now.

She quietly crept back to the kitchen and let herself sink onto a stool, head in her hands.

As if Sasakibe witnessing the night before wasn't enough humiliation, she was pretty sure she had compared him to the man she woke up dreaming about. He didn't hold anything back when he reported, either; her uncle would know exactly who she was babbling about.

It had been one of the main points of the agreement, too. She got her freedom and wouldn't be hunted by anyone as long as she completed the mission and stayed far away from his student. His opinion of the situation had hurt her—she couldn't help but feel he thought her unworthy of the man—but she had ignored it in favor of getting out of what would have most likely been a death sentence.

She had hoped the time would be enough to forget the man—staying attached to a guy had only been an issue once in her life, with Matsu. Still, she had been able to keep him at arm's length, never getting too close. There was a time she had thought she loved him but she later realized she hadn't loved him, just the security he offered her.

Juushi—Ukitake-taichou was not the same. Not by a long shot.

She sighed, smacking the counter ineffectively. This wasn't getting her anywhere. If anything, it was only making things worse. She had to put all thoughts of him out of her mind and finish this as soon as possible.

Oh, but the mental images!

She could see him as he was in part of her dream, the night's darkness cloaking him while the moon highlighted the contours of solid muscle covered in pale skin. White hair flowing over a shoulder, the look on his face screaming 'sex!' His yukata splayed open, beautifully defined abdominals sloping into—

She whimpered, cringing from the torture of her mind.

She couldn't have him; she did not need images like that popping up to destroy her self-control right now. It would be disastrous, considering.

It took almost half an hour for the tea to finish and the first cup to wake her up, after which she moved down the hallway into her own bedroom. First thing she needed was a hot shower.

After that—there was work to be done.

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The warehouse was nothing like any shinigami would have expected, not for two members of Zero to be meeting there.

But these two members had learned early on in life how to confuse others, how to protect themselves. It wasn't always comfortable for them but it kept them alive through things most of the Gōtei 13 couldn't even imagine.

As Nishiori Kirin stepped into the shaft of light provided by one grimy window high above them, a silver head of hair appeared out of the shadows to his right. The newcomer straightened his haori, fiddled with his fuku-taichou badge at his waist, and rotated his neck, the bones popping loudly in the silence.

"Well?"

"It's impossible. I guarantee the old meddler is involved, but I can't find any proof that Yamamoto Minako did not die three years ago."

His fuku-taichou sighed, shaking his head.

"He's not stupid, Nishiori. There won't be any proof."

"Well if he's hiding her he's doing a damn good job of it."

He looked at the man in front of him inquiringly, tilting his head a minute amount to the right. He could see something building in him, something waiting to come out.

This man scared the shit out of him, he wasn't afraid to admit it. When they had first been approached by him to begin the project, it had seemed like a good deal. He and Rashogen would get promotions, they would have something capable of battling Aizen when the traitor finally made his move—it was perfect.

Except, well, it had all gone to shit.

Now, it seemed like the sou-taichou was on their tail, taking care of everyone involved in a quiet way that would assure questions were asked but not of him. They would be removed from existence by the old man—he had never had much respect for the sou-taichou—and he would continue, oblivious to what was going on around him.

"She's alive, I know it."

"You are so sure," he said deprecatingly. "You can't possibly consider that anyone other than her could've gotten the jump on him when he wasn't even that skilled to begin with?"

"He didn't belong in Zero," the fuku-taichou conceded.

"And she does?" he asked disbelievingly.

"She's…capable. Don't forget it."

He felt an eerie feeling creep through his body at his fuku-taichou's look.

"So, what now?"

His fuku-taichou curled his fingers underneath his cloak, pulling the hood up and over his face.

"I'll find her. You concentrate on fixing the issue before someone sees just how much you screwed up."

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"Zero's got people on the move again—and in the human realm, taichou."

Kurotsuchi Mayuri looked up from his computer screen at the technician in front of him, his lips twisting into a devious smirk.

"Indeed?"

The shinigami—he couldn't remember his name—handed him a stack of printouts.

"Hai. Two of them. They were briefly ensconced in a warehouse on the edge of Karakura town. I wouldn't have seen the second one, but the first one—we caught him mid-dimension jump—met up with him and I recognized the wavelength from the parameters you gave us."

A plant.

"Very good."

The shinigami stood there a moment, obviously unsure whether or not he had been dismissed, before finally just turning and leaving.

Maybe the sou-taichou would like to see this.

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That Friday

She swept her hand across the table, scattering the stack of papers in front of her all over the dining room in her frustration.

"This isn't enough!" she shrieked, the stress of the past few months finally getting to her.

Akane, sitting in one of the chairs to her left, stared wide-eyed at her sensei. It wasn't unusual for Minako to have a fit of temper—actually, it was quite normal. But she had been blowing up over every little thing for the past few days. Her nerves were shot, which Akane could understand, but even Hidaruma was tucking his tail and running out of the room when she entered now.

"I don't know what to do to help, sensei! But you can't—"

"What I can't do is identify someone with a code and two appearances without library access or a fucking photo. Something other than a string of numbers and the fact that he went and saw Aizen. Seriously, who hasn't? According to this, every shinigami and noble that can walk has gone to see the man confined."

"But even if I got into the library, Minako, I wouldn't know what I was looking for!"

Minako slumped in the chair, her forehead propped up by her hand.

"I know. It might not even be there, to be honest. They usually clean out the library logs once you are inducted into Zero. The only ones who ever know you existed after that are those who remember you." She shot Akane a look. "How long ago did you enter the Sixth?"

"I, well," she stuttered, "Kuchiki Ginrei was my first taichou. Maybe—"

"Were you a shinigami when everything went down with Urahara?"

"Hah!" Akane laughed, her eyes bright. "No way! I was in the academy at that point."

"Now, you'll have to forgive me; I was in the academy almost four centuries before you," Minako said dryly, clearly not happy revealing her age. "Do they still do that stupid introductory course where you have to remember the taichou's names and what they have their divisions specialize in?"

"Yeah—at least they did when I was there."

"Twelfth Division taichou Hikifune. Ring any bells?"

Akane tapped her chin, staring at the ceiling. "Urahara replaced her, right? Retirement I guess?"

"Incorrect!" Minako grinned and slammed her hand down on the now-clear table. "She was…promoted. Can you guess where they promoted her to, that no one ever saw her again and you can't find her name in the library?"

"Zero."

"Precisely."

"And the one we're looking for—"

"If I'm right, he'll not have been a shinigami in the thirteen during our lifetimes. At first I thought Nishiori had traded far up but now, well, I think it's the other way around." She stared at her protégé, a dark look in her eyes. "I think he was taking orders from someone high up. Fourth seat or better."

"In Zero!" Akane exclaimed. "He'll be damn-near undefeatable!"

"I know," Minako murmured.

They both stared off, lost in thought. It was one thing to take down some Zero small-fry that obviously didn't deserve the promotion. But a Zero officer—that was another thing. The man would be powerful, old enough to know tricks they hadn't even thought of yet. Never mind the issue of the cloaks; he wouldn't be stupid enough to let her see him as they fought.

"Perhaps I'm going about this the wrong way."

Akane shot her a questioning look.

"I've narrowed it down to about five prospects. They are all high up in Zero, unusually silent as far as activity goes, and there is very little information on them." She gestured to a stack of manila folders on the other side of the table, one of the few that had not been disturbed in her display of temper earlier. "The leader I've counted out—he's had the chance to take out oji-san and never taken it. And they are still in contact with no problems. He obviously has no idea who would want to kill Rashogen—and you can bet the one we're looking for knows exactly why he was assassinated."

"And?"

"I need to know what they look like. Hell, if I could get a rank I could narrow it down."

"And?" Akane asked exasperatingly.

"Perhaps it isn't library access I need." She sent Akane an evil little grin. "Who hasn't visited Aizen, my little protégé?" she asked whimsically.

Akane frowned, obviously thinking very hard about what her sensei had not said, before an eerily similar grin broke out on her own youthful face.

"You."

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Barely eight hours later, around nine that night, the situation had been rectified.

It had taken some quick maneuvering—she had to call into work, Akane and Sasakibe had to run messages back and forth all afternoon, and her uncle had to put in for a special dispensation to visit the prisoner—but it was done. At exactly a quarter to nine Minako was being ushered through the security parameters in the prison deep underneath Central by Sasakibe, the only part of her visible her eyes.

Which no one would recognize; contacts were a marvelous invention.

It had taken less time than she had thought; even with the sou-taichou's special permission she had thought they would be wary of anyone visiting the man. But apparently, according to the speech she was given by a guard that obviously thought her another noble wanting to see the side-show, she couldn't get anywhere close to him without being blasted to smithereens.

No wonder they weren't worried. She wouldn't blow herself up just to gawk at Aizen.

They passed through three different check stations, an elevator, what seemed to be a kidō force field inspired by Star Wars, and finally a very thick vault-like door before finally arriving at the hallway that led to Aizen's cell. There were four doors along the hallway, only two of which had anyone behind them. One was Aizen, obviously, while the other was a criminal she had never heard of that had apparently been there since before she was born.

Sasakibe grabbed her arm, pulling her slowly down the hall to stand in front of one of the doors—ah, you could see him and he could see you—whispering quietly that she needed to make sure he never said her name.

As if she didn't know that.

There was a brief moment of pity, perhaps sympathy considering she could be in this very situation any time, when she saw the condition he was in. If the man ever had an itch he was screwed. The only thing that could possibly move was his hair. The only thing not tied down and covered was his head. They were taking his imprisonment very seriously; after twenty thousand years here he wouldn't be able to even lift a sword due to muscle atrophy.

"Will the guards stay down there?" she whispered to the older man next to her. He nodded at her.

She stepped to the line on the floor, staring straight at the man in the cell, and she smiled when he raised his head and opened his eyes.

"Aizen."

He smiled at her.

"I imagine you don't get a lot of intelligent conversation down here. I'll even feed you enough human celebrity gossip to keep anyone happy for the next three years if I have to, if you'll do one thing: don't say my name."

He nodded slowly.

She inhaled deeply; she had never imagined she would be deep in the ground interrogating this man, all to find a member of Zero. How twisted it was to use a traitor to track a traitor.

Then she realized the irony of that thought, considering her own dubious past, and made herself stop thinking.

"So, how you been?" she asked him with a comical flourish, receiving a soft laugh in response. "That good, huh? Just checking—scoping out the prospects."

Sasakibe sent her a weird look but she ignored it.

"I'm sure they will treat you much better than they have myself."

"Yes, well, we both know Central. It's doubtable." She cleared her throat. "Anyway…"

"You are here for a purpose...fuku-taichou." She smiled. "Ask me what you wish to know."

"Straight to the point then? You certainly weren't last time we spoke. Anyway—not too long ago you had a very special visitor—"

"But I get so many," he said sarcastically.

"Incredibly special. I dare say you knew how special as soon as he showed himself. Tell me, did he wear his cloak all the way down, the entire time you talked to him, or did he actually let you see his face?" He smiled at her again, this time leaving a sick feeling in her stomach. "Well?"

"I saw his face, yes."

Bingo!

Little bells and whistles with matching confetti were populating her subconscious at the moment. Hidaruma was throwing his own personal party, apparently.

"Will you tell me what he looked like?"

"Why should I?"

She looked at him consideringly. Of course he would want something out of it, and he knew that if she was here with Sasakibe he just might be able to get it. Most likely he knew exactly how important the information he had was to them; Aizen wasn't stupid, even if he was a traitor.

"What do you want," she asked, her voice no longer teasing and pleasant.

He raised one slim brown eyebrow at her.

"I can't get it for you if you don't say."

His eyes flicked over to Sasakibe deliberately before settling on her face once again.

"He'll be the one approving it, so you better get over it." She looked at him as his grin widened. "And nothing like shortening your sentence either—stick to something I can fucking accomplish, if you could."

"How about light? Food?"

Ah. Sensory deprivation was getting to him. Understandable under the circumstances; even Aizen had a soul buried in that mass of evil. And looking at millennia without basic human necessities must be a bleak reminder of how much he had lost.

Not that she really cared.

She looked at Sasakibe, who nodded his head. He would play ball.

"You know they won't do it every day. The most I can probably get you is once or twice a year. Maybe a little more. Food would raise your reiatsu and they won't let that happen to any considerable extent."

"It will break up the monotony." His grin suddenly turned feral, his eyes sharp. "Even I need a break from strategizing."

"It will be done. As a matter of fact," she rested her hand on Sasakibe's arm, gently turning him away, "I'll send him to get something for you to eat now. A show of good faith."

Aizen dipped his head once at her, the only show of thanks she would ever get from that man.

They both waited silently as Sasakibe's steps echoed in the long hallway, finally ending in a hushed conversation with the guards and his exit through the massive door. Finally.

"Now. He's gone." Her maroon eyes gleamed in the little light they gave him. "How high up is he? I know he's at least a fourth seat."

"Fuku-taichou. His badge was on his sash."

She felt her stomach drop. They had a name, then. She had looked at the file over and over, praying it wasn't him. Going against the fuku-taichou of Zero would probably be a death sentence. Even for someone as highly trained as she was.

"What does he look like?"

"Older—perhaps around Sasakibe-fuku-taichou's age and appearance. Grey hair, common height, nothing truly distinguishable about him."

"Nothing at all? I know you would have looked to see if there was anything. A scar, bad haircut, even an eye that doesn't seem to move with the other one? I need something."

"Nothing."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping.

"Well, fuck."

"Well, perhaps there was something…"

"Yes?" she asked, perking up.

"He wears glasses frequently. He did not have them on when he visited, but there were clear indentations in the skin at his temples." He sent her a spine-chilling smirk. "His left eyebrow also had a very slight patch of skin where the fine hairs were missing above it."

Zero-fuku-taichou waxes?

She felt herself grow cold.

No male shinigami would do that. This man has spent a great deal of time in the human world.

"Anything else—any little detail you can think of?"

"I would say he is ambidextrous. He used both of his hands equally. He also had a habit of rubbing the knuckle of his right index finger with his thumb."

No.

She felt her body tense and forced herself to relax; she couldn't give anything away to the man in front of her. He wasn't above making a deal with Zero if the guy came back and giving them information on her.

Too late, though.

"You know him," he said, a perverse, dark satisfaction evident in his tone.

"Perhaps."

There was long, uncomfortable moment of silence.

"Why are you helping them?" he asked, his voice dark. "They have only schemed, tricked, played with you since your arrival in Seireitei. From the very beginning you have been nothing more than an amusing pet, yet you would protect them?"

The clang of the large vault door was loud, as were Sasakibe's steps. She spared him a quick glance—he was carrying a tray with fruit pieces and a slice of bread. She wasn't sure how he intended to get it to the man in the cell considering Aizen couldn't even feed himself at the moment, but that wasn't her problem.

"I protect oji-san." She titled her head, a devious smile crossing her face. "But I'm out for blood, if you must know. I'll make sure they all pay for what they've done to me."

He tsked.

"You should know better—vengeance is a sad motivation. It dulls the mind, leaves you open to attack."

"If I'm going after the fuku-taichou, it won't matter, will it? I'm not too proud to admit that I probably can't defeat him."

"You might surprise yourself."

He smiled when Sasakibe arrived with a guard, the latter of which quickly undid a layer of kidō around the cell and opened a tiny slot in the door. It was amazing to watch as he used kidō to somehow levitate the food piece by piece into Aizen's mouth. And Aizen chewed slowly, savoring every bite he was given.

It took almost twenty minutes to feed him a small fruit cup and two pieces of bread, the entirety of which she spent thinking, her mind racing through the possible outcomes of the coming battle. She had needed the information, yes, but finally knowing who she was going against was also demoralizing.

The guard stepped back when he had finished, redid the layers of protection he had taken down to feed his prisoner, and left them standing there with a harsh look.

"Anything else, fuku-taichou?"

"I don't think so." She glanced over at Sasakibe before flicking her eyes back to him. "I'm sure I'll see you around, Aizen-taichou."

His smile was sin in the low light of the room.

"I'm sure you will."

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It was past eleven when they arrived at her ancestral home where they would meet with her uncle and Akane. Once again she was coming back to this house, years after leaving, so sure she would never see it again.

She stopped on the stone path, eyes closed as she breathed in the scents on the air.

The flowers were blooming down by the pond. Hikaru-san had planted her garden already, and the small of radishes was heavy in the night air. Even the grass had a particular scent, greener and fresher than the poor imitation growing in her front yard. And wood polish—Hikaru-san had polished the beams and the rails of the veranda today.

"Minako-sama?"

She shook her head, opening her eyes and staring at the man now looking at her with concern written all over his face.

"I'm fine, Sasakibe." She took a deep breath. "Let's do this."

He nodded, shooting her a tiny smile.

They navigated the stone path and the veranda to the sliding doors that would let them enter directly into the living area where they could feel her uncle and Akane. When they entered it was to light, warmth, and the smell of fresh black tea.

Akane was sitting across from her uncle, somewhat subdued compared to normal, but her uncle—his eyes were open and focused on her.

"Sir," she greeted politely, her head held high.

"Minako."

She raised an eyebrow at Akane as soon as he turned toward Sasakibe, who had already moved to sit next to him on the couch. Akane scooted over, letting her slide onto the couch and putting her right across from her uncle.

How generous.

"Did you get what you needed? I cannot arrange anything like this again," oji-san said dryly, his voice harsh.

She could feel every cell in her body deflate at the obvious disappointment, and her stomach—it felt like a black hole was growing there, pulling in everything around it. It was half numbness and half insane hurt, although she probably shouldn't have expected anything else from him. He had made his opinion clear three years ago and was only humoring her now so that he could be sure all threats to the Gōtei 13 were eliminated.

Still.

There was this small child inside of her that screamed out for his approval, for something from him. She shoved it deep, allowing her face to fall into a mask of perfect politeness. She would be the embodiment of civilized behavior tonight. She could pout and wallow later.

"I have. Aizen was very cooperative, Oji-sama." Sasakibe sent her a look of astonishment, and her attention focused on him to the point where she didn't catch her uncle's subtle wince at the honorific. "While I am no closer to finding him, I at least know who I am searching for."

"And?"

"His name is Matsuno Ietaka."

All three of them stared at her with widened eyes.

"Matsuno-fuku-taichou?" Sasakibe asked, his astonishment evident. "Are you sure? Should you believe—"

"I wouldn't go there," Akane said darkly.

Sasakibe looked sheepish, and Minako had to break the sudden, uncomfortable silence with a well-timed throat-clearing.

"We all know Aizen rarely lies. And he was correct, right down to where the fuku-taichou supposedly wears his identification." She raised her head, her nose in the air. "It isn't your problem anyway. You won't be the one hunted for killing him, I will."

"If you survive," Akane muttered.

"Yes, well, there is that. I'm trying not to focus on it at present. Everyone here knows how likely it is that he is very skilled, perhaps even near oji-sama's level in skill."

She smiled serenely, much like Unohana-taichou.

"The largest problem I face now is finding him—he's very good at hiding and his access code—"

The door leading to the interior hall slid open suddenly and Hikaru entered the room bearing a tray laden with a variety of snacks. She had even—Minako fought a smile—included English tea cakes for Sasakibe.

When she saw who was sitting on the couch she hurriedly dropped the tray to the table in between the two couches and tugged her old charge up, pulling her into a bone-crushing hug that would most likely leave bruises.

"Oh, child! I had wondered if I would ever see you again!"

"Hikaru-san, please!" Minako gasped out. "Can't breathe!"

"Hikaur, dear. I think you're grown enough to call me by name."

The woman continued to hug her but let go quickly enough, pushing her back and scanning her body as if any wounds would be evident through her clothes. But that was Hikaru-san, really; she was always worried that the 'younger generation' didn't know how to care for themselves. It was something any visitor under a thousand became used to in the house.

"Look at you," she scolded fiercely, her face set in a scowl, "you're all skin and bones. You were tiny when I last saw you but there's nothing there now."

It was true, Minako knew. She hadn't taken care of herself as well as she probably should have, especially considering the fact that she used to be able to put a lot of food away. If she got much smaller she would be hard-pressed to find clothing that fit her, and that was with her already raiding Akane's clothing stash. She had never been a large girl but she had had some curves—something. Now, though, there was little left.

"Hikaru-sa-Hikaru, please—"

"Do you not eat, Minako-dono? I swear, one of these days I will—" Her muttering continued but Minako wasn't able to catch it all as she had turned to the tray and was loading a plate with tasty-looking food. And really, Minako couldn't remember the last time she had eaten.

Have I really been that out of it?

"Akane—"

"Last time I can remember seeing you eat anywhere near your normal amount was…well, I don't know. You ate some soup last night for dinner, I remember, but you only ate the broth and the meat. Said the peas were nasty. You threw away more than you ate, but you were engrossed in the files." The redhead tapped her chin. "You didn't eat breakfast, and unless you ate while I was out you didn't eat lunch or dinner."

Hikaru shot her a look and added more food to the plate before ushering her back to the sofa and putting it in her hands. Minako furrowed her brows and looked at the food, missing her uncle and Sasakibe's own looks of concern.

"It's because I was supposed to work tonight. I usually get something on the way—"

"A stick of yakitori ain't a meal, sensei."

"Maybe you should cook more often then. I burn water, remember?"

Hikaru tutted at her and gestured to the plate.

"What do you survive on, child?" Hikaru asked as she began fixing up three other plates. Minako took particular satisfaction in the fact that her uncle didn't get any of Hikaru's famous daifuku.

"She lives off of tea and coffee, Hikaru-san," Akane said helpfully, gleefully taking the plate that was handed to her. She looked like someone had just handed her a winning lottery ticket—yet another Hikaru fan taken in by the woman's cooking.

"Not helping, Akane," Minako hissed at her protégé as she took a bite of one of the three daifuku Hikaru had given her. They were delicious, as usual.

"You know better. I raised you to take care of yourself."

The bite of sweet dessert turned sour in her mouth. Wasn't that the truth.

Hikaru had raised her. Not her mother. Not her uncle, even. And they wondered why she was in the mess she was in—the maid had raised her, not that Hikaru had made a bad stand-in mom. She had done much better than Arisu, that was for sure.

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Daifuku-sweet rice cake, typical summer dessert