The Noble Sort

A/N: R & R! Enjoy!

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"The Noble Sort"

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All the taichou and fuku-taichou moved slowly through the courtyard in the First, many talking and gossiping about the events that had taken place.

Two men, two of the oldest there, were situated against one wall. They were waiting for the female of their trio to return to them—she was currently grilling her friend and fellow fuku-taichou, Isane. She had admitted to her taichou that she had been shocked by her friend's appearance, and she wanted to know what was going on. She hadn't been the only one; apparently very few knew what shape the Yamamoto heir had been in. Even Ukitake had seemed surprised.

What had been worse was that the little female wouldn't even speak to his friend. She kept glancing over at them and shooting him dirty looks.

"Do you know what that's about?"

"No idea, Ukitake."

The two women nodded at each other, at which point the brunette headed their way. But she stopped short, shooting the paler of the two a scathing look before turning on her heel and stomping off. She was the epitome of Injured Womanhood.

"Which did you anger, hmm, Ukitake?"

"I have no idea," he said, flabbergasted. Nanao-san had never acted like that toward him.

"Truly?"

Oh.

He sighed.

"Minako."

"They travel in herds, Ukitake, and you went and picked on one of the alpha females. Hoo-boy," his friend said, whistling. "And an injured one at that! Not a smart move, my friend."

"We just settled everything, I swear!"

"That's not how it looked earlier." The taller man pushed up his sakkat, his eyes shining beneath the rim of the hat. "She looked horrible."

"But she told me to leave!"

"Really?" he asked, his disbelief obvious.

"Well, she didn't say exactly that, but that's what she meant! I'm not that inept at this, you know. I do remember how the battle of the sexes works." He shot his friend a look. "I used to be the lady-killer, not you, remember?"

"Indeed I do, Pretty-Boy," he said, smacking his friend on the back. "But I get to go home to a lovely woman every night, and you've just pissed yours off."

"Thanks for the support, Kyouraku."

"No problem."

They started down the wooden porch surrounding the courtyard, but they were stopped by Unohana-san, who called out to them before they were able to make it to the gravel entrance of the division.

"Kyouraku-san, Ukitake-san."

"Retsu-san."

"Unohana-san."

They all nodded at each other, then watched as the fuku-taichou of the Fourth zoomed past, shooting a dirty look of her own at the taichou of the Thirteenth.

"I—I really don't believe this!"

"You have angered them, Ukitake-san," Unohana-san replied calmly, a quirky smile on her face. "An unimaginable feat considering your reputation, but it has been done."

"But—seriously, this is ridiculous!"

"They are merely being protective of their friend. Considering the fact that she has only recently returned to them, it is not so unbelievable. They are being a little overprotective at present, perhaps, but it will pass."

"But—" he stopped right outside the gates, turning to the medical shinigami to his left. "What did she tell them, that they're treating me like this? She hasn't even been out of the hospital a full day yet."

"I don't believe she told them anything, actually."

She turned to walk away, heading in the opposite direction towards the Fourth, but then she stopped, turning back to them. She titled her head to the side, and both men felt a chill go through their bodies—the look was coming.

"She was apparently in quite the state this morning, having cried most of the night. And we all know you were her last visitor—you snuck in to the hospital around midnight, yes?"

Both men stared at her, dumbfounded, but she merely turned and walked serenely away, her haori swaying with her steps. They turned to each other, sharing a look. Then Kyouraku's eyes turned dark and Ukitake shot him a guilty look.

"I didn't know…"

The taller man sighed.

"I know, Ukitake. But it's not me you'll have to worry about now, hmm? She's not my little fuku-taichou any longer. You made sensei's niece cry—I would stay away from the First for a few years."

The pale man stood, shocked and still, in the middle of the road for a long moment. Then he shook his head and quickly caught up with his friend, shooting a wary glance at the large gates they had just exited.

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Two Days Later

Things had finally gotten somewhat back to normal.

Minako's trial would start the next week, but the girls had plans to take her mind off it with a night of drinking. They all hoped it would help—she was up and moving around, even making Akane continue with her daily training, but there still a fog around her most of the time.

Akane moved down the long hall that bisected the house, two bowls of rice and sticks of yakitori balancing in her hands, but she stopped as she passed the formal study—they would be eating in Minako's room tonight. Her sensei was too busy doing something on her laptop to come out for dinner, apparently, although she believed it was a way for Minako to avoid seeing her former taichou, who would be there for the evening meal tonight.

The sou-taichou looked up as she paused, his eyes fully open and almost giving her a heart attack.

"Do I want to know how many females will be converging upon my residence tonight?"

"Probably not," she murmured, shooting him a guilty grin.

"Hn."

She ignored his huffing; there was a grin on his face.

The old man wasn't so bad, really. He did seem to care about her sensei, and he wasn't making a fuss about the fact that the girls were protecting her like a newborn right now. He had even fought with her own family—they had come calling not too long after hearing she was back in Seireitei.

She hadn't expected his defense of her, but it was welcome. She had never had someone stand up for her like Minako and the sou-taichou did. And only the Kami knew how much she wanted to avoid any connection to her family.

She continued down the hall, humming lightly.

Things were getting better, slowly.

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Four hours later Akane, Nanao, Isane, and even Yoruichi—she didn't know how they had worked that one out—had settled in her bedroom. There had been a brief moment where she wanted to just tell them all to leave, but then Akane brought out a box of sake, bottles clinking merrily.

At that point, she just felt grateful.

Nothing was feeling normal right now. She knew it was just the shock of everything that had gone on and the prospect of facing her trial. No matter how many times oji-san told her everything was taken care of, she would continue to worry. But she still didn't feel like herself, and it bothered her.

So a night with the girls seemed like it might, maybe, be a good idea.

At least, after Yoruichi was done hugging her and then punching her for pulling the wool over her eyes.

They had all gotten comfortable, lounging in different sleepwear, and were currently throwing back sake at an astonishing rate. Well, all but Nanao, who sipped slowly and seemed to be the only one not planning to get plastered.

She leaned over awkwardly, digging under the bed, and pulled out a deck of cards. It would give them something to do. She tossed the pack of cards onto the bed in the middle of the circle they had formed.

"What should we do?"

"Not cards," Isane said, her voice full of pleading. "Do you know how many nights I've spent playing cards with my division? I'm not up for anymore card games."

The five women stared down at the pack of cards as if it would tell them what they were supposed to do to keep themselves entertained.

"This is why you always invite Matsumoto," Nanao murmured.

"Yeah, well, I didn't know her well. And the last time she saw me I was about to kill Ichimaru—didn't think it…prudent."

"She's probably over it already. Last time I spoke to her she was going on and on about some guy in the Sixth—or was it the Ninth? Anyway, she's been dating. Completely back to normal."

"Thank you for that completely unneeded status update, Isane." Akane laughed as the silver-haired woman shot a look toward the one they were there to cheer up. "What I want is something different. Hmm."

"It's hard to get different when you've done it all and then some, sensei," Akane said.

"Don't I know it," she muttered, before her face lit up and she grinned. "Got it!"

"What?" all the women asked, suspicious.

"Yoruichi, do you remember that drinking game we played when Kimiko got married?" Yoruichi nodded. "I can remember some of the commands, but I can't remember them all. What do you think?"

"It could work," she said, an evil smirk on her face.

"What is this game, Minako?" Nanao asked, suspicious look still present.

"American drinking game! Each card you draw has a command." She spread the cards out into a pile with her hands, and drew a four of diamonds. "Every number has a command, as does every letter card. Some are dares, some drinks, some just telling some secret you never wanted to spill."

Nanao looked wary now.

"It can be fun!" Minako protested. "Last time we ended up so drunk we passed out on a friend of mine's lawn after the bachelorette party. There's a video, somewhere, although I'm pretty sure we told the guy that took it to destroy it."

"You know he wouldn't get rid of that kind of blackmail material," Yoruichi remarked, turning her bottle up and finishing it off. She grabbed another out of the rapidly dwindling box.

"I know," she sighed.

"This is Circle of Death, isn't it?" Akane asked, her brow furrowed. "I don't think so, sensei. Last time we played Kenta ended up naked and you had a hangover for three days. And it took us weeks to figure out where we had hidden the car keys from ourselves."

Poor Nanao actually looked a little scared now, while Isane was also looking a little nervous.

"I'll have you know I once won an entire box of manga from Lisa playing this game, thank you very much," she said as she formed a circle with the pile of cards, throwing the four back in. "I'll even go first."

She moved her hand around the circle, eventually drawing a card and holding it up for them all to see before tossing it into the middle of the card circle.

"Jack! Rule card! Right at the beginning, too!" She rubbed her hands together, thinking. "Okay, I call 'Little Man.'"

There were groans from the two women that had played the game before.

"What does that mean?" Isane asked.

"Every time you drink you have to remove the Little Man!" Minako demonstrated with her fingers, pulling the imaginary man from her bottle before taking a sip, then placing him back on top of her bottle.

"Ridiculous," Nanao scoffed.

"You think so now! Wait until you're drunk because you keep forgetting to remove his evil ass!"

Yoruichi drew next and unfortunately happened to draw a six. They both shrugged—there were no guys to give a drink to. They explained the problem and moved on to Isane, who was next in the circle. The tall fuku-taichou drew a two, and she was made to take a drink, then take another when they pointed out she had forgotten to remove her 'Little Man.'

Nanao was next, and she warily picked up a card and threw it to the middle for everyone to see. Yoruichi and Minako looked at each other, grinning, then screamed out:

"Nine! Bust a Rhyme!"

Akane swallowed loudly. Words were not her strong point when she drank.

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Kyouraku moved the go piece slowly, his smile stretching across his face. The sou-taichou huffed at the loud shriek that came from the hall leading to the bedrooms, shaking his head. They were going to make sure he got very little sleep tonight, apparently.

"I should have sent them to the other house," he muttered, fingering a piece he was contemplating moving.

There was a round of laughter, then, the sounds of five women having way too much fun in a house that was typically as quiet as a mausoleum. He only hoped they didn't wake Hikaru; she was not the nicest person when woken from a sound sleep.

"It sounds like they're having fun. That's good, Yama-jii, remember?"

The older man huffed again, finally moving his piece.

But there was a small grin underneath his moustache; it had been a very long time since he had been interrupted by the squeals of females in his home. In a way it was nostalgic. As if the last eighty years could somehow be forgotten and they could all go back to normal at some point in the future. And once upon a time, this had been a normal part of his weekends—Minako and some friend squealing over something in her room. Usually a boy.

But he glanced over at the third chair, which was empty.

"Where is Juushirou?" he asked gruffly, one eye opening to stare at his student.

Kyouraku chuckled.

"I don't think you'll see him around until he's settled everything with Minako."

"Not Minako-chan?"

"I think it's time I let that go, hmm?" he said, moving another piece. "She's not under my protection anymore. Time to let her free."

"Does he think I will set him on fire? I would prefer to know as little as possible about their relationship. The fact that I am even allowing them to entertain the idea should be a most obvious clue to the boy."

They both stared at the board in front of them, contemplating the pieces and their next moves. The silent, calm atmosphere was destroyed by someone belting out a song in English, and they both shook with laughter.

"I think he's letting her calm down. I don't really know—he won't talk to me about it, actually."

"Interesting."

They shared a look.

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The door creaked open slowly, and she turned her head to yell at the intruder but stopped herself.

"Up, ladies," a gruff voice boomed out, and she winced.

Her uncle picked his way through the female bodies scattered about the room, his cane whapping against female legs every so often as he smacked them fully awake. She sat up rubbing her eyes and pushed Yoruichi partially off of her. The woman was a cuddler of the first degree.

"Hikaru has breakfast ready, and then we have some business of our own to take care of, Minako. I suggest you all get up and get to the dining room."

She pouted at him; her head was banging and his voice was like the buzzing of a bee in the back of her brain.

It could be worse, though. Poor Nanao looked incredibly disoriented and very uncomfortable as she realized she was waking up in the sou-taichou's personal residence, hungover. Or maybe still drunk. Isane had already had this experience, as had Yoruichi, and they just rolled over, pushing up off of the surfaces they had slept on and groggily moving toward the packs they had stowed in the bathroom.

They knew the drill.

"It's early, oji-san," she whined, squinting her eyes at the brightness.

"Only to you. It is past midmorning for the rest of us."

Akane, closest to the door, had merely rolled over and attempted to go back to sleep. She had tried valiantly to make it to one of the guest bedrooms but fell far short of even making it into the hall. But his wake-up call didn't bother her, either. She had been living in the house for a few days; it didn't take long for the mystery surrounding the sou-taichou to leave once you shared a house with him and realized he was human.

He whacked her extra hard with his cane, right on her calf, and she yelped. The other girls cringed at the loud noise.

"Up, Akane. Or I'll send Hikaru in."

The redhead scrambled up, her hair in all directions and her eyes wide.

Facing the sou-taichou first thing in the morning was one thing—Hikaru was a demon if you didn't get up when she came in the room. It was a well-exercised threat for Minako, and she grinned at the girl's frantic pace.

Then she rolled out of bed herself, intent on at least finding a robe to throw on for breakfast; she could shower later.

Barely two hours later the girls had all left and Minako was seated in the formal reception room—she didn't understand why he couldn't just call it a living room—waiting with her uncle for the most dreaded guest they'd had since this all began.

Zero-taichou.

Last she knew, he was pissed. And she hadn't seen him since he had stuck the stupid reiatsu collar on her. She was dreading meeting with him.

But oji-san had said that Zero had two squads going through every bit of information they had, as well as her house. She had thrown a small temper tantrum about that—visions of ruined furniture and ripped up paintings had flooded her brain courtesy of the many episodes of crime dramas she had watched. She pictured ripped couch cushions and shoes thrown out of their boxes. It made her antsy.

She also knew, though, that Akane was surreptitiously on her way to the real world with her former taichou and Nanao to see exactly what had been taken. They had to know what they would be defending her against.

She heard the back entrance open—all of the special ops and shadow squad leaders tended to use the entrance nearest the public area of the house without actually ever using the front door—and she realized that he was there.

She sat up straighter, her mask of calm on her face.

A tall, dark man that she had only seen a handful of times entered the living room, his silver haori visible underneath the brushed aside cloak that granted him invisibility. He just nodded to them both and took up what she believed was his normal chair in here, closest to the door. Always worried about entrances and exits. As if it made a difference; all the furniture was arranged around a central point in the room.

Everyone was silent as he flipped through the large file he had brought with him, most likely containing every piece of evidence he intended to hang her with. Or so she thought—it was odd that the man, earlier so eager to see her punished, was now meeting with them outside of official channels.

He looked up from a specific paper—an image, she thought—and stared straight at her. She resisted the urge to fidget.

"I have something, here, and I want to know if you can verify what it is," he said, his voice low and even. She got the idea that he was holding something back, not unusual when dealing with men that were so wrapped up in secrecy.

"I'll do my best."

He leaned forward and passed the paper over to her. She could see it was an image, a grainy black and white one. It looked a lot like a security camera feed, but the date—

Oh.

"Where did you get this?" she asked, her eyebrows shooting to her hairline in disbelief.

"Your home is not the only one we have searched."

She nodded, staring at the image.

It was a picture of her. To be more specific, it was a picture of her almost eighty-five years before. Her hair was short, still, and she looked a little younger. But the most surprising was that she had on a medical gown of some sort, and she was passed out on a gurney in the middle of a room she couldn't identify.

"There are more."

Her head snapped up, and he began passing her even more papers, each one an image of herself with information taking up half of the page. Observations, medical read outs, heart rate, breathing rate, so much information.

He toyed with one of the papers, the last in the stack he had taken all the previous images from, but then handed it over to her. She barely glanced at it before turning her head, throwing it onto the low table in the middle of the couches. She breathed deeply, trying to force down the bile that had risen up her esophagus at the image.

"They were all recovered by one of my squads—he kept them very well hidden. With the amount of information he collected, I'm surprised I never noticed it before."

"Idiot. I can't believe he made that type of mistake."

"You should be glad he did. You now have photographic evidence that you are telling the truth—I'm not sure you would have gained my support without it." He stood, leaning over and organizing the photos into a neat stack before handing them to her uncle. She made sure not to look at his face as he took in the photo on the top of the stack—the one that showed Matsu hovering over her on the gurney.

"Is this 'good cop, bad cop' or something?" she asked, looking at him warily. The sudden change was unnerving. But he just ignored her question and continued on.

"If this had occurred when you were in the secret corps., it would have been billed as an assassination order, one I would have been forced to accept. Instead, I was given the choice to intervene in your trial—Central will be including my vote with theirs."

"I wasn't aware."

"You were not supposed to be, I believe. But it was the only way to assure that this proceeding was fair—we have all learned from the mistakes made with Aizen." He pulled another stack from the papers in the file spread across the couch, once again handing her a single sheet at a time. "All memos recovered from Central, most sent through Rashogen and Nishiori. These are only my copies—Central has the originals."

He pulled a smaller stack out, the last of the three separate stacks of paper he had in the folder, and held the top sheet up to her.

"That does not mean I do not have questions, however."

"It will all be covered when I give my testimony on Monday."

"I would like to know now." He shook the paper in his hand. "What is this?"

"It's a picture of me and a man I knew as Matsu at the beach in Miami. From 1987 I believe, although I could be wrong about the date." She felt a grin grow on her face at the picture; it had been one of her better trips to the beach, actually. "I thought he was human."

"There are thousands of photos and videos in your home—don't worry, we made copies, we did not actually remove them from your system or your property. Many of them include a man that I thought was—"

"He was a good guy. Most of the time, at least," she said, sending him a sympathetic glance. The guy looked like he'd been stabbed in the back. "I'm not sure how this all really worked out, if it was just a hidden part of him or…what."

He looked at the picture for a long moment, then set it back on the stack of papers that he had not shown her.

"You have another problem," he murmured softly, "one I was originally going to let you handle on your own. I'll admit I was being vindictive; you've killed three of my division members. But if what I've found is true, I'm not sure I can blame you for what you've done. I cannot say I would have acted…differently."

He pulled a folded, bent photo out of his haori, fingering the Polaroid before handing it to her.

"They cannot get you for treason; you have worked to maintain the balance of souls even when not in the service of the Gōtei divisions. Murder—it's a relative term, and with your uncle willing to back you and admit that the order came from his office, you'll be found not guilty. But the last two—you'll be found guilty."

"For staying in the human world too long? Last I checked Yoruichi and Urahara were just fine," she said incredulously, a scowl on her face.

"It's a slap on the wrist offense, even for active shinigami. The most I've ever seen them give is a few months detention for it, although I doubt you'll even face that for the offense."

"Then what's the problem?" she asked, still scowling.

"Where are you in that picture?"

She looked at the Polaroid, her mind whirring. In the years she had been gone she had visited more places than even she could remember. She flipped it over, but there was no date or place to give her a clue.

She was by a gnarled tree, in front of a jeep. There were tall grasses everywhere, and she looked dead tired in the picture. Still, she was grinning and her eyes shining, obviously excited about something. But—there. The jeep had a logo, and if she was correct…

"Africa. This was taken in the seventies—my first trip to see the Serengeti and the Sahel regions." She looked up at him, curious. "Where did you find this?"

"Your garage, actually, forgotten under some boxes." He sent her a tiny smirk, the first she had seen on his face. "Nice car, by the way."

"It's all original. I bought it brand new—one of the first batches of GTO's ever made." She fingered the picture, the image still holding her attention. "But why would a picture of me in Africa be the problem? I did go with Lisa, I'll admit, but I was a defect then. My involvement with others that had left wouldn't be surprising."

"And will be left out of the trial at your uncle's insistence. It is irrelevant, really. But do you remember what happened on that trip?"

"Nothing! We spent a month seeing animals, finding out that there was a food that apparently tasted like a potato mixed with a banana, and buying pretty fabric. And some sort of wooden bow-spear thing pygmies…I don't think I'm supposed to call them that…apparently hunt with." She sent him a look. "Why?"

"There is a full box of photos you took in Africa in your closet—you went there more than once?"

"Yeah. Three or four times, actually," she said. "It's a gorgeous continent, even though you have to beware the locals in certain areas—oh."

"You understand now."

"They can't possibly!" she exclaimed, shooting to her feet. She ignored her uncle's remonstrations and his order to sit down, moving around the couch and pacing behind him. "It was self-defense. What was I supposed to do, take a few bullets to the head and just accept my fate? I was in a gigai—it would've hurt."

"It doesn't matter. You knowingly killed humans."

"I unknowingly wandered into the middle of a civil war! As far as we knew the area was peaceful—I was alone on that trip, just me and one of my friends from Egypt—we—how were we supposed to know that some dictator-to-be was about to make his move?"

"They found reiatsu in the area when konso was performed. The incident was logged, and when your imprint was taken at the hospital for the inquiry, it matched the wavelength in the database."

She turned to her uncle, her brow furrowed and hands fisted at her side. The poor, already wrinkled photograph was being crushed completely now.

"You knew about this already? Why hadn't you asked me about it?"

"Because I read the file and came to my own conclusions," he said, his calm demeanor never faltering.

"So they're going to put me in jail for something I did almost forty years ago to keep myself and a human alive. All because I wanted to see Ethiopia."

"Why would you go into a war zone, Yamamoto-san?" he asked, his face dark.

"It wasn't a war zone then!" she exclaimed, her hands flailing as she talked. "There had been some talk in the international news about some tension, but Selassie was still in control when we wandered that way. He was known for what he had been able to accomplish in the country—it was considered safe, for Africa, and it's one of the most historic regions in the world. I wanted to see some of the sights. And it was one of the few countries where I wouldn't have to wear a burka or hajib!"

"What—"

"Islamic dress," she said, waving her hand, "not important, other than the fact that I hate the burka—it makes kimono seem comfortable."

"So you ended up in the country right when a civil war sparked."

"A coup, actually," she said, sighing and flopping back down onto her seat. The angry energy was gone now; it always burned out pretty quickly. "The early seventies were weird internationally, with the gas crisis and the collapse of colonialism. There were some tensions among political ideological lines, capitalism versus socialism, communist doctrine spreading, lots of revolution and anarchy amongst the growing guerrilla groups. It's really the beginning of the terrorist tensions they're dealing with now."

"I understood none of that, Yamamoto-san," he admitted.

"It doesn't matter; it's human history. All you really need to know is that the time period we're talking about was full of war. Not world war scale, but there were a few of us that wondered how bad it would get. And it was all guerrilla warfare, which made it worse—you didn't know when it would happen. At least in WWII we knew to duck down when we heard a plane. But I didn't let it stop me from traveling."

"Why not?"

"Because the world was exciting," she said, her eyes shining. "So much to see, everything different and new. And it was a way to pass the time."

"Either way, they'll give you a guilty verdict on this and throw you in prison. Killing a human is forbidden."

"So I'm going to get a pass on everything except defending my life and that of a human from a revolutionary group. Fantastic," she bit out. "Are they going to try and get me for the stabbings at the Beijing Olympics? I did attend, you know."

He shook his head.

"Unless you can somehow come up with a witness to the event that will prove beyond a doubt it was in self-defense, they will use it against you."

"The only person that was with me is dead now; she was human." She rubbed her face, staring down at the table. "The only defense I could possibly muster comes from history books and the financial documents that prove I was there when the coup happened."

"Then you should gather what you can and hope it is enough."

She scoffed, hanging her head.

She was screwed.