The Noble Sort

A/N: I'm not going to keep repeating all the earlier information. Everything pertinent was included in the Prologue and Chapter 1.

But be warned, I told you there was some dark, and some of it will be included in this chapter. There's a lot of dark emotion floating around Minako's return to the Seireitei.

As I said in the last chapter, I'm sorry it's so late. I'll try not to let myself get behind again, although RL might happen to interfere at some point in the future.

As always, R & R if possible, even if just to say you're enjoying the story. I update two chapters every ten days on four sites, which means hours of formatting. If it isn't being read on a site I'll pull it down and save myself some time.

Enjoy!

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"The Noble Sort"

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It was three very subdued men and one very nervous woman that came through the specially-ordered gate Tuesday morning.

None of them had gotten any sleep after her nightmare, instead staying up and just waiting on the morning light to signal it was time to leave. She had answered a few questions—brushing most of it off with the answer that the dream was triggered by something that had happened in the human realm—had gotten ready, sent a text off to Lisa saying she had been caught and to feed her kitties, and they had all left after a fast breakfast of miso, tea, and rice.

There had been a momentary urge to send out an S.O.S., especially to Rin and Mori, but she decided not to. If anyone else became involved and got caught because of her, she didn't know what she would do.

They had gone to Urahara's to go back, and she had glared at him from underneath her lashes, but he just shrugged and gave her a "what can you do?" look from under his stupid hat. Thank the Kami Yoruichi was not there to see the humiliating spectacle.

Tessai had almost cried, a little moisture collecting in his eyes, which made it even worse; the poor guy was so big, crying looked awkward anyway, but the fact that he was crying over her?

Even worse.

These big men, they were all too soft. Of course, that brought up the question: what was wrong with her? But she never let herself look at it that way, preferring to focus on their softness instead of her insane amount of cynicism and bitterness.

She had given him a big hug and told him not to worry, she would see him soon, somehow.

Freakin' men. Every one of them was soft.

Now, they were standing in an antechamber in the First Division—a place she could probably recognize by scent alone, so much time had been spent here—waiting on her uncle to acknowledge their arrival.

It almost hurt her, that she had, in the end, given in so easily after promising to fight them tooth and nail. But it didn't matter, she had decided last night; three taichou would find her, and after one escape attempt a binding was sure to follow. After the humiliation of last night she wanted to try to get around anything else that might showcase her craziness.

All plans of escape—she had about four figured out by the time she went to bed last night—had been abandoned in the face of common sense.

Plus, good behavior might get her a lesser sentence. She was still dead set on the idea that she was going to jail or a pretty gilded cage after this, or after their big battle, and she was going to try to get whatever leniency she could, however she could.

There was also the embarrassing, buried fact that she was scared.

She was going to see Gen-oji-san for the first time in almost a century, and at least she knew two of these men were somewhat on her side. It showed.

The third, well, she didn't think he had a heart, so he didn't register on her emotional radar. He would be of utterly no use to her.

Finally, there was a feeling of elation; she was home. This had been her home for so long, and just the smell of it was enough to make her want to come back again and again.

This waiting was making her nervous, causing a mental ramble.

They had been left standing here, all three men bordering her. The dark one was right behind her, the other two on either side, and it was obvious they were waiting on Gen-oji-san to appear and cut off her north route.

Like she would run now.

Um, where would she go? She was in the freakin' Seireitei, last time she checked. And inside the walls of the First Division HQ. Escape was not a possibility.

What made it worse was the fact that they were so calm about it all while she stood here and fell apart.

And she could hear feet, as people passed by on the long veranda outside or through the inner hallway. The one which, about twenty feet north, led to the large room the taichou met in. Where oji-san sat and handed out his orders.

Suddenly a door to the right slammed open, the one that led to the veranda around the building. Her oji-san's fuku-taichou stepped through—Kami, he was looking older these days, last time she saw him he had at least some black in his hair—and stopped short upon seeing her.

"I don't think I believed it until I saw you," he said breathlessly.

She stared right back, entranced with the new, yet old, face in the room, before he shook his head and focused on the taichou surrounding her.

"We have a situation. Yamamoto-taichou has ordered you, Kuchiki-taichou, to his office. There are others there."

The man behind her nodded slightly and was gone before she noticed him begin his shunpo.

Yeah. She swallowed. Not someone I wanted to try and run from. Glad I ended up reading that one right.

"Kyouraku-taichou, Ukitake-taichou, you are to stay with the—with Minako-sama. No one is to see her, if possible, but you have to get her downstairs."

She felt the anxiety rolling off the men beside her, and then she remembered what downstairs was code for.

A cell.

Actually, a row of cells, some of which had the heaviest kidō spells possible surrounding them to prevent prisoners from even contemplating escape. She had only been down there once, and that was an accident. As a child she was not allowed to roam there, and as an adult she had had no wish to.

She felt panic start to grip her insides, but tried to push it down; a cell was what she had expected, after all, and as long as they didn't bind her it would be fine. She could deal with small spaces, just not being bound.

Her oji-san's fuku-taichou shot her a sympathetic look, then turned and ran off to do whatever other important things he must have to do.

"I don't know about this, Shunsui. This was not—"

"We don't have a choice, not right now."

"Sorry, Minako-chan," her taichou said, his voice rough, before he picked her up, his arms around her waist very suddenly, and they were flying at the speed of shunpo.

Talk about walks down memory lane. She had never liked her taichou that way, but it was always a preferred method of travel. He always smelled nice.

Walls and people blurred at unbelievable speed, some of whom were just trying to get out of the way. She knew it was the only way to get her down there without them being seen, but it really was impolite to shunpo through a building; the clerks hated that, if she remembered right.

They headed down a small flight of stairs at the back of the building, and then the world was moving at normal pace again.

There was only one guard and no one actually in any of the cells. They all did that nondescript nod that men do as a greeting, and then Kyouraku-taichou grabbed her arm lightly and walked her to the fourth cell.

The door opened slowly, and yet again her heart raced at the thought of being put in a cell, but she clamped it down for the second time.

She pulled her arm out of his grasp; if she was going, she would do it on her own terms.

She entered the cell slowly, taking in the eight foot by eight foot space, and then walked immediately to the thing they called a cot and sat down heavily.

She heard the door shut behind her—they never did so quietly, she noticed, even when one wasn't slamming them like on those prison shows on television—and she leaned back against the wooden, kidō-enforced wall.

Suckage!

She felt the heat of both their eyes upon her but she just pulled her knees up to her chest and stared at the ceiling.

"Go ahead and go to whatever meeting is taking place. You have Hidaruma, that stupid shishi, and there's no way I'm getting through this kidō."

She could hear a soft presence in the back of her head snorting at the insult of being referred to as a shishi—him, a glorified guard dog—but she brushed it off. He would soon be too far for her to worry about anyway.

Good luck, old friend.

Looks passed between the two men for a minute or so before they just turned and left, although not without one look back at her. Two, in the case of Ukitake-taichou.

Such a soft touch.

She let her head fall back against the wood once more, and returned to watching the ceiling do nothing.

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So.

Jail was boring.

And creepy.

And really dark at night.

All the things she hated, basically.

Peachy-fuckin'-keen.

She swore something had just crawled across her toe. She slapped at her foot ineffectually, not being able to see anything and no longer feeling the tingle of creepy-crawlies.

They had brought her in here sometime around nine-thirty or ten, if she was calculating right, and she knew she had been here at least long enough for it to have been dark for hours. If she calculated right, considering it was late October, it was at least past nine at night.

There were four possibilities…

One: the situation was one of those situations where situation becomes code for attack, battle, or murder. Of course, she hadn't heard any explosions, collapses, or anything that screamed danger, so she discounted it.

Two: oji-san, who was now on her shit list and becoming Yamamoto-sou-taichou from here on out, was letting her sweat it out, hoping a night in the slammer would make her talkative and malleable in the morning. She really wouldn't put him past psychological warfare either. He had done it when she was young, always with the reverse psychology and the manipulative punishments.

Three: he had forgotten about her in the middle of the crazy situation earlier and she would rot down here. Highly possible, considering no one had brought her lunch or dinner. Not even a glass of water. There was a sink, if it could be called that, but she wasn't that desperate yet.

Four: she was down here for good, at least until they transferred her to one of the more permanent prison cells under Central. Or until they took her to be executed. But she was pretty sure even death row-ers got food, and they usually got a visit from someone who cared. She had had neither.

And food sounded really good right now.

Not only because she was hungry—although she was—but because it would take her mind off things. They had put her in cell four, which was close to the end of the hallway lined on both sides with cells, and the only light was coming from a lamp up by the guard. There was none back here, really, which made her twitchy and nervous. Dark was not something she needed to be around.

It ranked right up there with being bound and bright lights.

It freaked her out sometimes. She could walk around at night outside, and it never bothered her. It was as if the light was filtered differently.

She wasn't even contemplating sleep; not here. She just knew the "big one" would come on while she was asleep, terrifying her and scaring the guard, who looked like he was young enough to still be living with his parents in the human world.

The guard moved around, getting up and grabbing something from a low shelf in front of his desk, and she shifted to the right frantically, staying in the small shaft of light the lamp put off this far down.

She had long ago vacated the uncomfortable cot for the even more uncomfortable floor, only because the stupid thing was wedged in the corner and didn't get any light at all.

She held her breath as he walked back around to his seat, watching as the shadow crept up on her. She immediately scooted back to the left.

And it was cold, too. Didn't they know she was a fire-type?

She put her head back against the now-cool wood, staring into the space above her. The ceiling was no longer visible; she swore there was a light hanging—

No!

Don't you go there!

She tried to calm the hyperventilation she could feel coming on as quietly as possible, not wanting to alert her errant guard to her distress. She was pretty sure he had forgotten she was down here.

Shadow was bad. Shadow was made up of men, on top of you, thrusting and doing horrible things…shadow was painful.

She was surrounded by shadow.

She suppressed the urge to pull her hair out, letting her hands fist in the dark strands but not pulling.

She was starting to get tired, too, and she swore she would, under no circumstances, fall asleep in this pit of nightmares.

Jail sucks.

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"There's so much blood," someone said shakily. "What do we do, what do we do!"

"Try and clean it off!" Someone shouted.

She felt a cool shadow fall over her, and she cringed. But moving away was impossible; parts of her were in agony that she didn't know she had.

Someone took her hand, not in a creepy way but trying to comfort her, she could tell, and she felt a wisp of air by where her ear should be—was it there? She couldn't tell anymore, she couldn't tell anything anymore—and suddenly Urahara. Urahara. It flashed across her brain. That was who this was.

"Minako. Listen, Minako. Come on, look at me."

His voice held a tone she had never heard before, so different than the cool, the playful, the sly she was used to from her blond friend, and it scared her, because it was her he was trying to get through to. And she tried, she tried, but her eyes wouldn't open, they wouldn't focus, she couldn't find him at all.

"Minako?" She heard someone inhale quickly and loudly, gasping.

"Can you see me?"

"I—I can't—"

She was trying so hard, but the pain was unbearable, all she wanted was to scream, like she could hear Hidaruma doing, her precious puppy—oh, he would hate that—but he was screaming for her, screaming so loud. And he must have stolen her voice, because she could barely get the words out, could barely breathe enough to even form the words.

"Can't open—eyelids—"

She heard his breathing hitch sharply, and she worried—if Urahara was this upset, surely she was dead, dead dead dead, and right now that didn't sound too bad because this was more than agony—

"Your eyes are open, Minako."

And it was the final straw, she realized, as his words finally penetrated her brain and it pulled up the corresponding meaning to those sounds and tones, and she finally let the agony out and joined Hidaruma in his screams.

Minako's whole body stiffened as the electric shock of reality returning raced through her body. She was breathing heavily but wasn't screaming—little things to be thankful for—and she gently laid her head back against the wall, fighting the full body shivers that were coming on from the coolness of the floor and the horror of her dream.

She wanted to scream at the guard to bring her some light, something, but she didn't dare. She bit her knuckle, focusing on slowing her heartbeat, her breathing, and not letting her mouth form the four little words that were her favorite after her dreams.

Turn on the light! Turnonthelight!—

STOP!

She threw up the mental halt, and it worked, thankfully. All she needed was a freak out. She'd had more close calls in the past week than she had in the last fifty years. It was getting ridiculous.

But she couldn't help it; her daydreams were filled with a beautiful, lit bedroom with light-colored sheets and cream walls. Light.

But it wasn't the only thing on her mind. After all, in jail, all her time was time to think.

Death.

She couldn't remember it, thankfully.

Urahara had said, later, that it had been momentary, that her heart had not handled the shock of it.

She remembered that feeling, when even though her brain couldn't comprehend simple words it could comprehend that blind meant permanent dark and her body had just said hell, no and given up right then. Her mind had joined in, too, and everything had blanked.

She had woken up weeks after that first try, and she had still felt the flames licking her body.

It was one thing to be a fire-type, and actually, expected. Such things tended to run in the family, she knew, and both her father and her uncle were fire-types. But it was one thing to be a fire-type and a totally different one to become fire. It had been the most terrifying experience of her life to date, even worse than the original assault that started all of it.

Later on, of course, it had become a joke between Hidaruma and herself. He had joked that his name needed to be changed to Kagutsuchi, or Ho-Masubi, and she had told him his ego was already large enough. He didn't need the name of a Kami to make it even bigger.

He had pouted for months.

Eventually they had reached a compromise: she would stop calling him Baka-inu and he wouldn't get a new name. But it was alright; the shishi insult had been born not too long after due to a trip to a shrine during one of the many festivals, and there was always the old "tanuki" epithet.

She had even told him they could just be rid of it all, once, and called him Inubi. He hated that.

Right now, she missed him. It was like missing part of herself, not having him here, but at least she knew he was safe in her old taichou's possession. He wouldn't be broken or abused, thankfully, which was probably more than she could have asked for if the guard here was watching him.

She once again tried to gauge the time, but it wasn't going to work. She could guess it was about midnight, maybe two at the latest. It was the darkest part of the night, and there was a new guard. They changed shift at 10 or 11, usually, and this one looked too fresh to have been down here half his shift.

She considered the cot again; it had to be more comfortable than the floor. But it wasn't in the light, only shadow, and she couldn't handle it after that. To be honest, she was surprised she wasn't freaking out about the light.

Her fingers itched to start scratching at invisible flame, invisible shadow. She could feel it creeping up her arms, spreading throughout her body, and she was waiting, irrationally, for the pain to kick on.

She wanted so badly someone, someone that was not her, right now.

Just someone to talk to. Even Ruri or Kiri would do.

Just not the guard.

She pulled her knees closer to her body, hugging them against her as tightly as possible, and she tried to settle herself comfortably against the wooden wall behind her and the bars beside her. She huddled under the jacket she had on when she came here, hoping it would give her some comfort and warmth.

She was cold.

She was alone.

The shadow was creeping closer every minute, every second.

She was going to go insane. In jail. Yamamoto sou-taichou's jail.

Jail sucked.

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A/N: The Daily Japanese Lesson.

Miso is a soup, orange-ish, made out of a block of stuff called miso. No clue what it really is.

Kami is a god.

Shunpo is the flash-step.

Kidō is a spell using the spirit force or soul force.

Hidaruma is Minako's zanpakutou, literally means "mass of flames."

Shishi is a protective guard dog, usually looking very lion-like. Found at the entrances to temples most often.

Kagutsuchi is a fire god in Japanese myth.

Ho-Masubi is another name for a fire god in Japanese myth.

Inubi means fire dog, literally.

Tanuki is a raccoon dog, a small animal of Japan. Yes, it is real.