With a Silent Step

Ichigo finished dressing in the clothes Orihime had brought over - a pair of jeans, socks, and sneakers, as well as several different tee shirt choices.

"It's too tight," Ichigo complained, shifting and pulling at the material around her chest.

"It's just because you've got more stuff there right now," Yoruichi admonished. "Quit pulling on it, you're going to stretch it out." Ichigo glared, but the impact wasn't as heavy as it was as a boy.
When they entered the kitchen, Ishida's face slowly turned vibrant red. He coughed. "Ah... my apologies..ladies. Ichigo."

"Stuff it," Shinji said arbitrarily. "At least you GOT to see something!"

Ichigo shoved her hands into her pockets. "Well, I figure, it's not really my body. I mean... it is, right now, but it's not really me, so it doesn't count." For some reason the Shinigami looked almost as embarrassed as Ishida felt. With her hair falling in straight lines down her back and framing her face, and the masculine posture she'd adopted, Ishida thought he'd never seen a more beautiful woman. The only problem, he thought wryly, is that it's not really a girl.

A glint of colour in the window caught everyone's attention. A black hell butterfly fluttered inside, and floated around, seemingly confused. Finally Ichigo raised her hand, and the butterfly seemed visibly relieved as it landed to relay its message.

Ichigo's unnaturally pleasant face twisted into a more familiar scowl. "Shit," she muttered as it drifted away. Rukia looked determined.

"A summons?" she asked.

"A captains meeting," Ichigo confirmed. She slid the badge she still carried out of her pocket, and slammed it into her thigh. To her great shock, her Shinigami form was a girl as well - and her shihakusho hadn't changed a bit. Looking down helplessly at the massively voluminous robes that nearly drowned her, she wondered how the hell she was going to do this. Ishida sighed, and then pulled out a tape measure.

Ichigo found herself the sudden object of one of Ishida's sewing miracles - without even disrobing her, the Quincy managed to sew, lift, hem, and tuck the excess fabric in such a way that it would be easily let back out when she regained her true form.

"Can you still fight like that?" Rukia asked suddenly, as Ishida was biting the last piece of excess thread away. Ichigo looked horrified, as though the idea had only just occurred to her as well.

"Ishida-"

"Get Zangetsu-san," Ishida cut her off. "I'll meet you downstairs."

The grateful look Ichigo shot him went straight through him, and he caught himself almost wishing that Ichigo could stay this way. She was much... much nicer. His crush was growing immensely with every glance his way and every movement she made. He forcibly turned his mind away from the way Ichigo looked presently, and made himself think about the battle ahead. It was just going to be a brief test of skills.

Ichigo was in the basement training room already when he got there, and Ishida paused briefly, wondering how she'd managed it. No matter, he thought finally, brushing it off and drawing his bow. They'd done this many times before, and it was easy to fall into a routine. As he fired, he took note of the way Ichigo moved in the shihakusho, making sure it wasn't too tight or too loose in any way that would be restricting during a battle. The strap that usually held Zangetsu was flailing a little loosely, he thought, as Ichigo leapt up and swung, the arrow knocked in half.

They continued for a few minutes, Ichigo striking each arrow as it came towards her, but dodging once, her hair fell across her eyes and it was only a preternatural speed that kept her face intact. Her hair didn't fare as well - the arrow streaked through it, scant centimeters from her face and singed several inches off in the front. Ishida stopped firing for a moment to allow Ichigo a second to collect herself, and then had an idea. Since they were on an impromptu break, he could use this time to tighten Zangetsu's strap. He let go of the bow, and it flickered back into the invisible spirit particles drifting around the room. Ichigo stood, breathing heavily, looking at her hair which now sported a rather fashionably chopped look around her face.

"That was close," she said, grinning. The fact that her head had nearly been taken off didn't seem to bother her, Ishida mused. Although, after some of the things they'd seen in Hueco Mundo, something as mundane as that wouldn't really bother him, either.
"Let me tighten this," Ishida said, drawing some of the excess material up in the back and sewing it quickly. Ichigo stood motionless while he worked, half afraid that he would mess up and sew it into her shihakusho if she moved. While he worked, he contemplated her hair, which was currently draped over one shoulder. It was clearly a liability in a battle, but he didn't dare suggest she cut it. It was beautiful, and even if his crush never went beyond looking and admiration, he wanted to keep it. The wrappings around Zangetsu's hilt gave him an idea, and he used his sewing scissors to lop a short length of it off before tying back her hair with it. The singed locks were too short to reach into the back, and they fell around her face, but they wouldn't be a visual impedement, at least, and she could tuck it behind her ears if it bothered her.

Ichigo's face was stained pink when he finished. "Thank you," she murmured, and looked away. Ishida felt his heart clench. If only she were a real girl, he thought desperately. If only it wasn't Ichigo! Because even as a girl, Ishida realized, Ichigo still wouldn't be interested in him. She was still Ichigo on the inside.

"Hand to hand?" Ishida suggested, dropping the ponytail and stepping back to a safe distance away. Ichigo grinned fiercely and slammed Zangetsu into the ground, stepping away from him.

"Ready to get your ass handed to you by a girl?" Ichigo taunted, and then jumped.

She's fast, Ishida realized almost immediately. Much faster than when she was a guy.

They sparred easily for a few moments, when Ichigo attempted a roundhouse kick. It fell short by several inches, and Ichigo looked down at her feet as though they were personally responsible for the miss. Ishida paused to allow Ichigo to recover.

"Your legs are shorter," he noted. "Your arms, too. You're gonna have to get closer than you're used to." He briefly imagined Ichigo getting closer and his face flushed.

Thankfully, Ichigo was too preoccupied with her own thoughts to notice it. A footstep behind them alerted Ishida to the fact that they were no longer alone.

"He's right," Yoruichi said, laying a hand on Ichigo's shoulder. "We're going to have to teach you how to fight all over again, so you can have a chance against Mayuri when we find him."

Ichigo looked irritable at first; she wasn't planning on being a girl long enough to need to know how to fight that way, but Yoruichi's further explanation mollified her.

"We'll start after the meeting tomorrow. For now, just relax." The flash-master padded away silently, and Ishida followed after her.

-

After dinner that night, Ichigo realized she'd missed a lot of school. It wasn't that she would fail without it, but she didn't like not going. Rukia smirked at her.

"You're going to have to go in a girl's uniform," she said, sipping delicately at her tea. Ichigo sputtered.

"She's right," Ishida sighed, seeing more sewing in his future. She wasn't that much bigger than Rukia, and it would be a simple thing to alter one of the other Shinigami's uniforms. Actually, he didn't truly mind it. He found he liked the idea of sewing clothes for Ichigo. Anything to help her time as a girl go more smoothly.

"Ishida," Ichigo said suddenly, breaking the silence that had fallen. "Can I sleep with you tonight?"

Ishida spit out the sip of tea he'd just taken while Urahara's fan snapped open and Shinji wailed. "Excuse me?"

"ICHIGO, how could you?! I wanted to sleep with you!"

"Oh my, Ichigo, isn't that rather sudden?"

"Don't be perverted!" Ichigo shouted at them both. She turned back to Ishida, and he could see in her face how much it was hurting her to ask. "It's just... I don't want to be alone tonight. Please?"

He nodded wordlessly. Her face broke out in a smile - a real smile and not the sarcastic grin or triumphant smirk from her boy-days. It struck him into his heart, and he found himself wishing, not for the first or even second or third time, that this was anyone but Ichigo - the one person he couldn't have.

-

Shinji kept up a tirade for the next three hours, until everyone parted ways to go to bed. How could Ichigo choose some stupid Quincy over him, what he was going to do if he heard any suspicious noises from the room, how he was much more experienced - and therefore better - than Ishida. Ichigo finally shut him up with a foot planted into his face.

They were in Ichigo's room, the window having been repaired, and simply standing, staring at one another nervously. Finally, Ishida lay down on the futon, giving Ichigo a wide berth of space to lay in. Ichigo followed suit, laying on the far edge of the futon, but found she couldn't sleep.

As soon as Ishida's breathing evened out into the deep rhythm of sleep, she scooted backwards until her back met his chest. He murmured something and wrapped his arm around her. Feeling warm and secure, Ichigo drifted off to sleep.

-

The next morning she was awoken by a loud screeching noise from the vicinity of the doorway.

"I~chi-GAAAAHH!"

It sounded vaguely familiar, but her sleepy brain couldn't focus on more than one thing - she felt heavy. There was something laying across her chest, and cracking one eye open, she found the gentle curve of a shoulder and black hair that spiked out in several directions. Curious, she inhaled; a soft, masculine scent drifted off the person on top of her, and she wondered briefly how she'd gotten there.

The person atop her shifted, stirred, and then lifted himself up on his forearms, looking down at her sleepily. Ishida, she realized. This close, without his glasses, and looking sleepy, he seemed so much softer than when she normally saw him. Softer, and... well, the only word coming to mind was cute. His eyes closed halfway and he leaned down slightly. She realized he was about to kiss her, and as soon as that thought made it's way through her brain, she realized that she didn't mind. In fact, she wanted him to. She wanted to know if he tasted as good as he smelled.

Suddenly, he was gone, and she heard a thumping noise. Terrified briefly that Kurotsuchi had come back - and then furious for feeling afraid - she sat up, ready to kill.

Shinji stood over Ishida triumphantly. "I knew you couldn't be trusted, you ... you... Quincy! How dare you lay hands on my Ichigo!" he all but shouted. Ishida blinked blearily up at him, confused. Ichigo snarled, and planted a foot into his back.

"Who the hell gave you permission to come in here, anyway?" she demanded, and found the piece of Zangetsu's wrapping that Ishida had cut the day before. She tied her hair back, adjusted her pajama top, and stormed out of the room.


-[TBC]-
I'm supremely troubled by everyone referring to Ichigo as "Strawberry" and this is only a personal pet peeve. ichigo does indeed mean strawberry, but Ichigo's name in Bleach is written with the kanji for ichi (one) and go (five) making it either fifteen or one-five, however you look at it. It's like Death Note; Light's name is written with the kanji for moon (tsuki) but it's pronounced "Light", and nobody calls him 'moonboy' in fanfics. :/

Also, this one, I think, is a little bit shorter than the others, because I know where it's going, but the words are slowing down. XDD It doesn't help that I got about five hours of sleep last night, and then have been up for another sixteen all day. :/ Awake sixteen hours on five hours of sleep = not good. Especially for writing.

One more thing; this chapter is also dedicated to Baroqueangel and Anise for their lovely reviews. Just between the two of you, you guys are keeping me motivated to write more. ♥ ♥ ♥ I know there must be people reading it - or at least looking at it, since the counter keeps going up, but you two are special to me for reviewing.