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 I have a warning for all the readers—this chapter is a little different. It's comedic relief, Bleach style, which usually means insanity.

Yamamoto will be a little OOC, but it actually fits his character to a point. And take it from the granddaughter of a general, military brat to the bone—when the family misbehaves, they act like any parent/grandparent/uncle would. Trust me. Rank flies out the window. I've seen military men of high rank act very much like this, as if they just snap and can't separate the role of family man and the role of military leader.

(I was once told a story that involved one of my parents getting a beating on the front lawn when the MP's at Fort Bragg brought them home drunk. They're still people behind that rank. And we grandkids knew never to ever let the police take us to papa's if we were in trouble.)

Anyway, if you don't like it, that's your prerogative. This chapter is not needed for the plot, just comedic relief. You can skip it if you wish-that's why there are three chapters being posted this week instead of two.

And I want to shout out to all those who have reviewed or favorited so far on the many different sites: toast, taixi, Kaylzee, Kairi-senpai, apples and bananas, KajiMori, ninjamonkey20, Midori Ren, Time Force Red, Kyliwolf, Severus4ever, JamieTurpin, Ariannith, owlxxOxx, fangame, essex6789, DragonEmperor, and YurGurl. And to those who did so after I wrote this note last week. For those of you on the LJ board, well, there are too many to list every person that's commented, so I say "thank you" to all of you.

And a special thank-you to pawsbells, who has read much of this story, answered my crazy e-mails, and generally been a support while I wrote this thing even though I'm supposed to be her beta.

Enjoy!

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"The Noble Sort"

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She came out of her meditative state to the feel of a cold gaze on her.

Her uncle was standing outside her cell, Sasakibe fuku-taichou right behind him. And if she had thought Choujirou had aged, her uncle was even more ancient than she could possibly imagine.

Perhaps not everyone could see it, but she could. He had lost a great deal of weight and what looked like another inch on his height. He was trying to hide it under those clothes, but that wasn't going to work on her; she knew better. She could see the bones in his hand as it rested on his cane, the roping veins as they pulsed, barely covered by his thin skin.

She fought the urge to scramble down out of her new perch—as morning had come on she had moved back to the cot and taken up the farthest corner to hopefully meditate and allow her mind some rest, even if she couldn't sleep. Moving quickly would give him the idea that she was going to bow to his authority, an image she didn't want to present.

Instead she just stared, waiting on him to make the first move. He had left her here all night, after all.

It seemed like an hour passed before he finally did.

She felt rather than heard him sigh, and he motioned to Sasakibe to open the door. His eyes, usually small slits in his weathered face, opened wider to glare at her. She held her breath as inconspicuously as possible as he stepped into the small room, his five foot and six inches seeming to take up the whole of the space. The force of presence he carried had always awed her; he was never a large man but he was always the biggest in the room, the center of attention and mental focus. It was a trait she had never mastered and always envied in her uncle.

"Well, gaki? What do you have to say for yourself?"

She sweatdropped.

"Answer me!" he boomed, his voice echoing along the corridor of cells.

In response she tightened her arms around her knees, dropping her head to stare down at the bony joints.

"Yamamoto Minako, if you don't answer me I will drag you out of that cell and give you a thrashing you won't forget." The promise was oozing from his words, too. He would do it.

"I refuse to incriminate myself for one of your mock trials," she hissed, finally looking up at him, her eyes glaring daggers.

He glared right back.

The reiatsu in the room rose forcefully as the two let their pressures clash against each other violently, even with the kidō reinforcements trying to keep any trace of reiatsu out of the cell.

Sasakibe backed up, running into the bars of the cell in his haste to vacate the area. The poor man was not inexperienced when it came to the stubbornness of the Yamamoto clan, and he had seen them go at it before.

It rarely ended well, and it never ended without some damage to surrounding property once the fire was brought out. Too many times it had ended in trips to the Fourth and tears or very, very loud screaming.

"Mock trial?" he thundered. "You voluntarily deserted your post! That offense is punishable by execution, little girl!"

"Then execute me, Yamamoto-sou-taichou," she hissed, her eyes narrow and her lips pursed together.

She saw him jerk, as if slapped, and she felt just a hint of remorse for the insult. She knew he hated it, but at least it let him know how she felt right now.

Of course, only he would take her use of his formal title as an insult, but it had always been that way.

Sasakibe had, by now, backed all the way to the guard's desk, and it looked like he was ready to call the kidō corp. at any moment.

"It's not like it matters to you anyway. I'm damn sure you could watch them chop my head off without remorse," she said, the bitter words literally flung at her uncle and only living relative.

"Minako, what you have done is unacceptable. Do you realize the position you put me—put your mother in—when you left?"

She scoffed.

"Don't mock me, girl," he hissed, and he stepped forward, getting ready to use his favorite intimidation tactic, crowding. IT had always worked well for him, mainly because she had always had personal space issues.

If they could only see their great commander when he dealt with his errant niece…she was sure most of the shinigami nowadays had no idea of the things that used to go on in this place.

She sighed, heavily.

"I'm not mocking you, Yamamoto-sou-taichou." She noticed another flinch, although much better hidden.

"I just want to go home," she said, soft and tired.

"Home? And where is home, Minako?"

"My home. With my cats and my own bed and furniture. And no bars," she said, now disgusted with the cell she had been in for somewhere around twenty-four hours.

Although, she had answered her question. It was psychological warfare; a night in the cells to impress her.

Yeah, right.

"No. You'll be going home, but not to the human realm. We have much to discuss; unfortunately, some of us have responsibilities."

He turned, speaking to the wall in front of him instead of her.

"You will be taken home. I have posted enough of my division there as security that you will not be getting out. I anticipate the…conversation…we will have this afternoon."

"So nice to have been important enough to get a visit!" she yelled as he began to walk down the hallway separating the two rows of cells, cane tapping on the floor in time with his footfalls. "It's nice to know that I'm in the class of criminals who warrant special consideration from Yamamoto-sou-taichou, and in the first twenty-four hours, too!"

He didn't even break stride that time, although she still saw the twitch in his shoulders.

He was gone up the stairs in seconds. Sasakibe, the poor man, came back down the line of cells and motioned for her to follow him, and she desperately wanted to take pity on him and do as he asked. But he wasn't capable of coercing her into anything right now, and he wasn't capable of defeating her either. Even without Hidaruma.

It was daytime now. Light made everything different.

Where last night she had seen shadow and only felt fear, she now saw purpose. And, there was light. Lots of light.

Jail still sucked, but in daytime, not as much.

"Shut the door, Sasakibe. If I'm a criminal, I'm gonna be treated like a fucking criminal."

She felt something rising up in her; it felt like courage. She had had that, once upon a time.

Poor Sasakibe. He looked devastated, and yet again she felt pity bloom in her heart for the man who got the wonderful job of telling her uncle that his headstrong niece refused to vacate her cell.

He also looked really upset by her language, which made her morning brighter.

The only thing she needed now was a whole turkey, and she would be happy until dark fell.

And maybe a puzzle, or a Sudoku book.

He scrambled down the hall and to the stairs, and she also gave him a parting shot:

"And some damn toast if you please!"

The room was quiet again, with only the guard to stare at—who was also staring at her, probably wondering who the fool that had just pissed off his taichou was—and she realized something.

Oh. Yeah.

This wasn't courage.

Shit.

The bars were all she could see again.

What happened to leniency, and good behavior? Parole, remember?

False bravado. Shit.

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It was light, and it wasn't scary, so she finally slept.

Of course, that was only after taking her hair down and using the clip that had held it up as a music maker on the bars. She had never been to jail before; she was gonna get all the clichés out of the way. She wished she had a small mirror and some company in one of the cells further down the corridor; it would be interesting to test that old prison-movie trick of passing messages and codes with mirrors.

Or a spoon. People were always digging out of jail with spoons. Perhaps she could give it a try, just to see how possible such an escape really was.

But she didn't have any of these things, and trying to liken her situation to a television show bored her about an hour in.

No one brought her any toast either, which only upped the anger writhing in the pit of her stomach.

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She woke in the afternoon to the clatter of the cell door being thrown open—yeah, oh shit—and she watched as her uncle threw off the cultivated visage of infirmity and stalked into the cell.

She was barely able to scramble off the bed and get on her feet before his hand was closing around her left upper arm and yanking her behind him. Sasakibe jumped in line behind them while they were still in the cell, making her plan harder to execute. She wouldn't be able to backpedal at all.

She fought, trying to pull her arm out of his grasp, but he was as muscular as ever.

She tried to plant her feet on the ground, but she soon realized he would just drag her with him and then she would be on the ground.

Right at the door of the cell she jerked, hard, to the right, slamming herself in front of the bars and whacking her head on them as the force he was dragging her with swung her bodily into them. It hurt, but that wasn't anything she couldn't handle. Thankfully, her face ended up smashed between two bars instead of planted right into one of them.

"Let. Go. Of. Me…Now," she rasped, her breath already speeding up from the kick of adrenaline.

He whipped around, his long beard swinging in an arc around his body, whipping against her thighs, and suddenly his face was right next to hers, his breath warm on her cheek. She could literally see the sparks of anger in his eyes.

"Stop acting like a spoiled brat," he hissed at her, jerking her over to the door of the cell and, finally, through it.

She continued to fight, meaningless though she knew it was, and by the time they had made it out of the building they had already startled more people than she had seen since she had arrived. The older ones just continued on; this was nothing new to anyone who recognized her. But the new clerks…

She briefly wondered—was it the fact that their leader was bodily dragging a much younger woman through his division or the question of who she was? After all, this could have become a habit by now, for all she knew.

She continued her jerking and spasming, even once trying to literally pry the huge hand off of her arm with her free hand, but it didn't work. He had her halfway through the courtyard before she smacked at his hand and gritted her teeth at the tightening of his grip.

The bruises! Think of the bruises!

Finally, most likely disgusted with her behavior and the situation in general, he stopped. She let out a big breath at the reprieve but then squealed when both of his hands moved to grab her around the waist.

Wait.

Freedom!

She pivoted on her heel, meaning to use her millisecond of time wisely, and made to take off—she knew the direction she was facing wouldn't help her get out, but if she could veer right later it would work.

But it didn't quite work out that way.

She had barely even begun her shunpo when she felt his massive arms come around her arms and waist and drag her to him, and she was squashed like a bug.

She shrieked.

It only made his reiatsu flare that much more.

He hauled her feet up off the ground—this was one of those times where she really wished she weighed more—and started forward.

"Put me down, jii-jii!"

"I am going to bend you over my knee like I should have when you were a babe," he muttered, and she had a sudden fear he actually might do it.

"Yamamoto-sou-taichou! This is undignified!"

Ooh. She felt that flinch. That one had hit the bull's eye.

From this position she could also see behind them and, mortified, she saw the group of shinigami standing at the door of the building, watching the spectacle.

Lovely. We have an audience. Maybe it's time for that false bravado to kick in?

"No respect at all. No propriety, either," he huffed, settling her higher; she could feel the bony shoulder digging into one of the vertebrae of her upper back.

She dredged up the ability she hadn't had to use in over a century, and she felt them start. Her vision was blurring before they made it the rest of the way across the courtyard.

There was a young redhead moving in their direction carrying a large stack of papers, and she called out to him, her voice teary and sorrowful.

"Help me, please!"

"Don't you dare!" he shouted, and she wasn't sure if it was aimed at her or the young fuku-taichou that had stopped, staring openmouthed at them.

Just in case, she stopped the fake waterworks. If the guy was too afraid to help her, they would just be wasted anyway. And she didn't see anyone else in the immediate vicinity other than Sasakibe, who wouldn't lift a finger to help her anyway. He just looked scandalized, as he always did when they fought like this.

Although, she would admit, she couldn't remember the last one that was this bad.

Wait.

Yes she did! That guy—she couldn't remember his name for the life of her—she had gone to dinner with about a century and few years more ago. He had hated the guy for some reason, and he marched into the restaurant, bodily hauled her out of the chair, and took her home. She had fought all the way and ended up being dumped in a mud puddle to "calm down."

They finally stepped through the gates and not even a second after, she felt him shunpo.

They arrived at the house shortly after.

His left arm, currently also connected to the shoulder digging into her back, hefted her up again and curled all the way around her waist.

She knew—this was not her first time experiencing this, after all—that he was about to move his right arm. She knew it. She could feel it in her bones.

He did.

She closed her eyes, praying to every deity she could think of at present, and jerked. Hard.

His arm didn't loosen, unfortunately. He just shook her around a bit, something he knew she had hated when she was younger and this was more common—something she still hated. Especially with her stomach this empty.

"Get your fucking hands off me, jii-jii!"

He stopped, slowly turning to face her, and shook her hard enough that she swore she felt her brain rattling in her head.

Ow.

He never had liked foul language.

Probably deserved that one. Direct provocation.

He stormed past the walkway that would take them to the main building—his part of the family plot—and she felt them going downhill.

Oh, hell no.

"Ok, ok, jii-jii. I'm sorry," she said, her words rushing out of her mouth.

He didn't stop.

She wiggled her arms free and tried pushing on the large one that was holding her so tightly, but he wouldn't budge. She could finally see his destination coming up below them, at the base of the small hill, and she squealed. No. No way in hell. Uh-uh.

"I'm really sorry! I swear! Please, pleasepleaseplease don't, it's too cold for that!"

"Too late," he muttered, something like pride in his voice at the fact that he had finally managed to get her to stop fighting. Like that had ever been a problem; there were two methods that had always worked, one of which she was about to experience.

She continued wiggling about, desperate to get free, and she suddenly heard laughing.

She looked over at the balcony he had built especially for his personal convenience before she was even born and saw, to her utter humiliation, that they had a larger audience than Sasakibe.

He was one thing. It was, well, had been, somewhat normal for him.

But her old taichou? And—holy! Was that little Nanao? Talk about growing up! She had still been a teen when she had left!

But Kyoraku-taichou was laughing at her plight, and it only fanned the flaming rage growing inside of her.

"Stop laughing, ahou!" The woman next to him—she was sure that was little Nanao—looked scandalized. Lisa wouldn't believe her when she finally got out of this place and was able to tell her about it!

Her former taichou, though, just laughed harder.

She felt the ground even out under them and knew they were right there, right at the stupid pond, and she switched tactics. Instead of fighting to get lose, she tried to hold on as tightly as possible. One of her arms snaked around his while her right arm, almost useless at this angle, clutched awkwardly at his haori. Unfortunately, it was useless.

She felt his arm unfurl, and she felt one very large hand grab onto her waist, pulling her off of his body.

Then all she knew was the feeling of flying through the air, even as she grabbed for her uncle's arm, and the quick fall into coldcoldcold! water. She surfaced slowly, swimming awkwardly to the edge of the bank, and she just sat there. In the mud.

She knew better than to try to get out.

"Are you rational?" he asked, looking down at her.

Her hair was sopping wet, strands of it hanging in front of her face. Hopefully it was hiding her embarrassed blush.

"Yes, Yamamoto sou-taichou," she replied sullenly.

He just stared down at her, his cane once again out and tapping against the soft earth at the edge of the pond.

"Yes, Gen-oji-san," she muttered.

"Good. Now get out, girl, and dry off. We're going to hash this out if it's the last thing I do."

She just sat, legs and arms crossed, and watched the "Ichi" on the back of his taichou haori as he walked up to the house, where her former taichou was laughing his ass off.

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A/N: Now. Let me defend myself. I know someone's out there going "Yamamoto would never ever, ever, ever, ever, ever do that!" No, he probably wouldn't. That's why this is called fanfiction, yes? Because I may torture the characters to my delight.

Also, look up his character in the soul book. He's known to be rash and have a temper, and he's old school, thinking all the "youngsters" need a sound beating every once in a while. He does tend to yell, we've seen it in the anime and manga, and I have tried to follow everything I could as closely as possible. Would he ever do this? Who knows? We know that he feels Ukitake and Kyouraku are like his kids, and he goes to beat the crap out of them and probably kill them when they try to save Rukia.

But it was comic relief, something sorely needed, and I enjoyed it. And not to be too petulant, but it's my story, and if I want to torture Yamamoto, I will. I'm not the one throwing together yaoi pairings that would never happen, like Ichigo and Aizen.

Seriously. No.

And the Japanese lesson will be in Ch. 8.