Absence Makes the Heart Go Yonder

A/N: Sorry for the delay. Life has an unfortunate habit of getting in the way on occasion, so this is a bit short. Un-beta'd, and so on, and so forth, yadda yadda yadda.

* * * *

“Whoa. . .” Ichigo trailed off as he stood in the doorway, and stared in confusion.

The bathroom was huge.

“Come on, Ichigo, I'm tired,” complained Kon as he gently pushed the other red-head through the door. “Whoa,” he echoed as he looked around.

To say the room looked bigger on the inside than it did from the outside was an understatement. Urahara apparently had decided to build his own personal spa, complete with an inset stone bath they could very easily swim in. A waterfall splashed quietly in the corner.

Kon poked his head back through the sliding door and looked down the hall. “How does it fit. . .” he started before Ichigo yanked him back by the elbow. They undressed and quickly rinsed off before slipping into the luxurious bath.

A rather haggard Ichigo had appeared before Urahara and company, hauled his body up by the wrist, then disappeared with some half-assed excuse about needing to clean up. “Any particular reason you dragged me along?” asked the mod soul.

With a deep sigh, Ichigo sank down until his chin rested just above the water and grumbled, “I wanted some normalcy. Thought you might too, since everyone has been acting odd this evening.” Ichigo looked at his double and asked, “Why are you so grouchy?”

His lookalike sent him a whithering glare and huffed, “You left me at the house! Do you know how long it takes to walk here in that stupid stuffed lion?” Kon continued to glower at Ichigo who sniggered under his breath before shrugging: his idea of an apology. “Besides,” he continued, “you're not any better. Who pissed in your kool-aid?”

The substitute shinigami narrowed his eyes and responded, “I don't want to talk about it.” He proceeded to wrap his arms defensively around himself.

Kon's eyebrows shot up. The emotional barrier thing, well, he was used to that. However, the mod soul could not remember Ichigo ever feeling the need to use protective gestures. He exhaled slowly and decided not to press the issue. Instead he asked, “Could you pass me the loofah? I need to exfoliate. . . .”

That did it. Ichigo turned and looked at Kon as if he had grown a second head. “What the hell is a loofah, and why are you using it on my body?” he demanded.

Kon snickered, then reached out to grab the sponge before informing the other soul about the necessity of proper skin care.

“Man, you seriously need to quit hanging out with so many girls. People are going to think I'm totally fruity if you say things like that out in public,” retorted Ichigo.

“Nothing wrong with being gay,” the older soul said. He faced the other direction and tossed the loofah to Ichigo. The younger red-head stared dumbly at the rough material before Kon pointed. He continued as Ichigo began to scrub his back, “I saw that mark on fox-face before you carted me off. Didn't look like a normal battle wound to me.”

Ichigo stopped scouring. “Shit,” he warned, “Kon.”

Kon rolled his eyes, and remarked, “I was just saying, is all. You don't have to get so. . . .”

“Kon,” Ichigo interrupted. His voice was quiet, yet urgent as he commanded, “Stop talking.”

With that, Kon whirled around, “Look. . .” but the words died on his lips when he saw his counterpart. Ichigo had his eyes scrunched shut, and the sponge was beginning to fray in his tightly clenched fists. The substitute shinigami was ashen. Disturbingly so.

“Don't,” he started as he felt the other man move towards him, “don't touch me.”

Kon inched forward slowly. “Ichigo,” he began, “calm down.” A flush had spread across Ichigo's skin. “Let's get you out of the hot water,” he suggested and grabbed the red-head's wrists. He stroked the skin in what he hoped was a soothing manner in an attempt to coax the loofah out of the death grip.

Ichigo's eyes snapped open and he gasped as he felt electricity sizzle along his arms and up into his back. “Th-that. . . f-f-. Don't. . .t-t-touch me,” he stammered.

Black eyes. The shinigami's eyes had been swallowed by darkness. “Shit!” Kon repeated as he tried to tread backward as quickly as the water would allow.

“Go-,” Ichigo tried, but the heat enveloping him was insanely distracting. He shut his eyes against the questioning and worried look Kon was sending him. “Urahara. G-get Ura. . .Urahara. Please,” he tried again.

The mod soul vaulted out of the bath, threw his clothes back on, and hauled as much ass down the hallway as his physical body would allow.

* * * *

A pale hand snatched the hat from the blond, and moved it to his own silvery locks. Gin laughed as Urahara's eye unconsciously twitched.

“I suggested you train, you know, for that important, upcoming, and life-altering event,” muttered Urahara, “I did not intimate that you should become intimate with the one person who wants to tap into his vast reserves of unknown power and utterly decimate you.”

He was attempting to patch Gin up, but the argent-haired man was being obstinate.

Gin disrupted the stream of Urahara's reiatsu once more. “Yer jealous,” he offered. He willed the energy back at the shopkeeper, who shivered as the invading current pushed against the blond's steady flow.

“Knock it off,” demanded Urahara, “and no, I'm not.” To emphasize his point, he disintegrated Gin's mental block by forcing more reiatsu through. The other shinigami winced in discomfort. “You should be able to speak normally now. The rest can heal on its own,” he added sourly.

Gin cocked his head to the side and watched the shopkeeper scowl at the floor. Urahara was grumpy. Sometimes, if the call arose, he would pretend to be of an ill temper, but Urahara was never seriously grumpy.

“I think I'll live,” Gin quipped.

The shinigami felt the solemn grey stare wash over him and pin him in place. The ex-captain of the twelfth was not just sincerely grumpy, but truly grumpy.

Uh-oh.

“What did you-” the impending interrogation of Ichimaru Gin was cut short as the door banged open. Both occupants looked up blankly as Kon, whose clothes were clinging to his wet body, entered the room. Between ragged breaths he managed, “You think I'd,” the red-head hunched over and gasped, “be used to this,” then pushed his hand through his hair and continued, “after running around as a plushy all day.”

Tessai fretted in the hallway. He seemed undecided about whether he should leave his employer alone, or restrain the depraved soul who dared drip water all over his floor.

“Nice recovery, but if yer in such a hurry, maybe ya should get to tha point?” Gin sweetly reminded Ichigo's mirror image.

Kon took a deep breath and babbled his attempt at an explanation as quickly as he could, “Ichigo's eyes turned black, and for some reason he can't move, but I think he said it hurt when I tried to help him, and he's asking for you now.”

Gin and Urahara were passing the mod soul before he had finished. “I need a barrier around the room to limit any damage,” the shopkeeper requested as the kidou master caught up.

They paused outside the door and listened. When no attack came, Urahara opened the door and tossed back over his shoulder, “Kon, stay here and help Tessai.” The shop assistant was preparing a spell, and Kon looked like he was going to protest until the blond gave his mandate, “Unless I say otherwise, no one else comes in here.”