Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Murder My Heart ❯ The Lies of Truth ( Chapter 6 )

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any Bleach affiliates.

 

(A/N: Hello again, people who read my stuff whom I love dearly, just wanted to tell you a bit about this chapter. Um, from hence forth I kind of made Ichigo a little OOC… okay, maybe a lot, but still, I think it works with the story. After all, he's the one who… well, encourages things more than Rukia. But I talk too much.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 6

 

His moment of indecision was brief but Jesus Christ! It felt like the apocalypse could have come and gone and he wouldn't have noticed. The hands wrapped around her back had reached up and smoothed a piece of hair from her face—her fucking beautiful face—and had paused only a centimeter away from her lips.

 

He had come so close to touching them, those preciously soft twin pillows of forbidden desires. Desires, Ichigo's mind was raging, when did I start thinking about `desire?' And with Rukia, no less? There was no desire here, he was not thinking about desire, it was spontaneous, it was cantankerous, it was just so… unreasonable.

 

His fingers retracted into a fist and he swallowed laboriously. After a few more moments of staring at her, he realized that he had more than just a naked woman asleep on his lap to deal with—it was what was inside his lap that was making him truly nervous. He felt the throbbing realization and immediately wrapped his arms around Rukia, determined to get her off of him before she woke up and started screaming…

 

…Or moaning.

 

Ichigo's eyes flashed and his mind began to take wild turns… yes… he knew he could make her moan… or scream if he wanted to. Her moaning would drown out any other sound in his ears and he would be panting and breathing hard and—

 

He shook his head furiously and stood from the couch. Rukia was so light it didn't take much effort to move her. He stepped over a few articles on the floor—crime scene photos, possible tips, and M.E.'s reports—and carried her near the room he guessed was hers.

 

Ichigo paused as he stood over the pictures. His gaze lingered on the stuff on the floor and he grimaced. If he had known how much it was tearing her up…

 

Guilt. That was what he was feeling… it was guilt. His heart was sinking into his chest just thinking about it. Everything in this case was so important to her, she was working tirelessly to solve it and he… he was just dillydallying around waiting for her to either solve it or give up. He looked down on her and grimaced at her closed eyes and peaceful expression. What he hadn't been waiting for was a total breakdown.

 

He pushed open the door to her room and immediately noticed her immaculately clean chamber. A dark and modern bed in the center of his room, a vanity to the right, a dresser to the left, a door leading to a bathroom, and a closet. He saw nothing unnecessary except for a picture of her brother—alive—with his arm around the woman he knew to be her sister. He had seen that picture before, in Byakuya Kuchiki's own apartment in his photo album. Apparently they were a family sparse on photography.

 

He set her down gently on the bed. She muttered a little in her sleep and frowned a bit. Ichigo's attention was drawn to her face once again. He stood above her and stared down at her wonderful features… She really was beautiful…

 

…When she was asleep and not snarling at him. Not that he'd ever tell her that… but still. He could still admire her from here, a safe distance away from her naked body and sensuous lips.

 

Ichigo's roaming eyes smoothed downward and noticed the woolen blanket she used to cover her now-warmed body was slipping off of her skin. It pooled near her breasts but covered anything that was short of obscene. The pearly skin of her arms, collar, and the tops of her white mounds. The blanket covered everything down to the middle of her thighs where her thinly curved legs, shapely ankles, and pink little toes were exposed. He could see the inside of her thigh and even tiny tendrils of black hair extending to rest calmly against the skin.

 

Ichigo's eyes burned into her skin as they swept up and down her body. He could feel his erection pressing against his pants and he hastily swallowed the lump inside of his throat.

 

Stay… he remembered, she had asked him to stay… so he would. Once she was fully covered, that is.

 

Ichigo moved to the closet and opened it in order to find some sort of blanket. He found a white fleece covering that would seem to do the job. He came out from the closet and strode over to her; carefully, he placed the off-white cloth over her unknowingly sensual body. The hem tickled her nose lightly and she wiggled her nostrils, he placed his knee on the bed and reached forward, pulling the blanket down. He smiled softly—a gesture rather unknown on him—at her little face and finally did what he had wanted to do since he brought her into the room. He reached his hand out and gently caressed her cheek. The skin was smooth as glass under his calloused fingers. Ichigo drew in a shuddering breath and immediately blinked away his initial surge of desire. It will pass, he told himself, it will most definitely pass… you hate her right? It will pass.

 

She smiled at him as she slept and blearily opened an eye; it glanced around the room for a moment before landing on him. She poked her chin out from under the blanket and murmured one single word that made his insides shrivel and his mouth go dry.

 

“Stay.” She whispered.

 

Ichigo was beside her in less than a second. He situated himself on the bed and pulled her towards him without another thought. His arms wrapped around her back and he pressed her against his chest, thankful that she could not feel his rather persistent erection nudging through the blankets. But he would deal with that later. He wouldn't leave her tonight… even if she was technically naked underneath those two scraps of cloth.

 

He brought her close; close enough that he could swear he felt the gentle beating of her heart. Her face was fitted snugly against his chest while her hands rested against his pectorals. She sighed and breathed in his scent.

 

Comfortably, she went to sleep.

 

Throbbing painfully down below, Ichigo stayed wide away.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

 

“See ya later Nanao!” Isane chided coyly as she elbowed her friend out the door. “Don't keep him waiting.” The woman with the lightly purple colored hair winked and giggled as she twirled a lone braid along her finger.

 

Nanao shook her head, “I'm not keeping anyone waiting, you don't know what you're talking about. I'm going home.”

 

Isane shrugged, clearly not believing a word she said, “Sure, whatever.”

 

Nanao nodded and clipped smartly, “Good.” She turned around to leave when she heard Isane giggle. She turned sharply and glowered, “What is it now?”

 

Isane grinned toothily, “Come on; don't think I didn't notice the fact that you're wearing the same clothes today as you wore yesterday.”

 

Nanao blanched and felt her jaw drop as far as the muscles would let her, quickly, she looked down at herself and realized that indeed, she was wearing the same clothes she had worn yesterday—granted they were more wrinkled and definitely dirtier but they were still recognizable. How could she have missed it? She swallowed and looked warily up at Isane, whose smile was larger than ever before.

 

“So, is it that guy from—from that big ad agency over in the west side?” Isane asked happily, “What's his name… um… Koroku?”

 

Nanao shook her head and pulled out the chair from her desk, if she was going to be late she might as well have a good talk with her girl friend. “His name is Shunsui KyÅraku and yes, he does work at that ad agency.”

 

Isane leaned forward and wiggled her eyebrows, “Do you love him?”

 

Nanao blushed and blinked; trust Isane to get right to the point. “I don't know,” she answered truthfully. “But I really like him.” She scooted forward and nodded to a bag she was holding in her hand. “He's taking me to a really nice restaurant tonight.”

 

“Which one?” Her friend giggled.

 

Nanao's blush deepened and she licked her lips, as if tasting the food already, “La Fleur.”

 

Isane's jaw dropped almost as far as Nanao's had, her eyes widened as well and she scooted forward, so her nose was almost touching her friends'. “Get. Out!”

 

Nanao shook her head excitedly. “No! I'm serious! He really is!”

 

“But it takes two years to get a reservation there!” Isane declared, “How did he get it? I need to know.” She demanded.

 

Nanao shrugged, “I seriously don't know how he did it.” She grinned widely, “But he did!” She jiggled her legs up and down in an excited and jittery dance. In exuberance she jumped up and twirled around, her glasses glinting in the fluorescent lights. She sighed and sat back down with a smile, “But Isane… I think he might just be the one!”

 

“Ooooh!” Isane cried, making the three other people—the only ones left in the precinct—glance annoyingly at them. She jumped up and hugged Nanao tightly. “I'm so happy for you Nanao!”

 

“I just can't believe it!” She replied, she released herself from the lethal hug and took in a shuddering breath. “I think…” she said slowly, “That he might be taking me there to propose.”

 

Isane's eyes widened even more—by now they resembled dinner plates—and she placed a hand over her mouth. “What will you say?” She breathed.

 

Nanao wiped a stray tear from her eye and swallowed, “I'm going to say yes! If he asks, that is. I mean, we've been seeing each other for a while now and I really think he might do it.”

 

She raised her hand again and wiped away another tear, Isane—who was beginning to tear up herself—sniffled and asked, “When are your reservations?”

 

“Eight thirty,” Nanao said matter-o-factly. She raised her watch to her face and gasped. “Oh Christ! I need to get going!” She gave Isane a friendly kiss on the cheek and grinned, “Wish me luck!” She cried as she ran towards the door.

 

“Good luck!” Isane cried, “And happy you-know-what!”

 

Nanao was already out the door.

 

She wouldn't make it to dinner.

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

 

Ichigo woke from a rather startling dream.

 

He dreamed he had gone to Rukia's apartment to find her naked, except for a blanket around her body. She had been freezing cold and doused with icy water. He went to her and began to cradle her, anything to get the warmth flowing back into her face and her veins. She told him about how she had failed everyone in her search for a killer; he had felt his own guilt for abandoning the case to her. His heart had twanged at the thought of making her take the responsibility of three deaths—one of them her own brother—onto her own shoulders. He dreamed he cradled her and felt her hands wrap around his waist at her naked breasts pressed against his chest. He dreamed that she asked him to stay and he did, lying right next to her as he held her close and tried to control his desires.

 

That was all a dream of course… until he woke up from his unsettling sleep and realized it was real. All of it.

 

When he opened his eyes at near five in the morning the first thing he saw was the top of Rukia Kuchiki's forehead. He had to blink the sleep completely out of his eyes before he could comprehend exactly what he was seeing.

 

But there it was, her beautiful and creamy skin resting right before him. And her wonderful hair, mussed from sleep, brushing against his face. Her eyes were closed peacefully in sleep and not open and staring into nothingness, like they had been last night. And to his surprise he was relieved at their shut serenity, and those eyelashes… how had he not noticed how long and black they were? Her tiny nose was flaring slightly as her own dreams progressed. Then there was her mouth—Jesus Christ her mouth!—it looked so silky and lovely and looked so fucking edible! Her body was pressed against his and he could feel the tiny hills of her breasts pressing against his chest. He could feel one of her legs, still entangled in the blankets, draped across the backs of his legs. The blankets had slid down a bit and now her back was bare, her buttocks barely covered by the bone colored sheet. Her own skin nearly blended in with the whiteness of the coverlet.

 

Ichigo swallowed heavily and raised his locked hands from around her waist. The one underneath her he did not move but the one on top… that one he arranged so he could slide it down the smooth skin of her arms. She stirred but did not awaken. Emboldened by her response he pattered his fingers over her back. He could feel the planes of her shoulder blades and the bumps of her spine. God it felt so right to touch her right now, even if she was semi-unconscious.

 

Granted, he would have loved to have to actively participating in his exploration of her body… but he doubted that would ever happen.

 

His hand flattened on the center of her back and pressed down just a bit, only enough to give her a tiny jolt. Some of him wanted her to wake up… but only because he wanted to see her slowly open her eyes and shake away the sleep from her pliant body.

 

His plan worked and not a moment later her brow furrowed and she slowly began to raise the lids of her perfect eyes. She opened them slightly before taking in a deep breath and truly focusing. He watched her in amusement as she saw him, frowned, blinked rapidly, widened her eyes to their maximum, and instantly recoiled in his arms. She gave a startled gasp when a firm hand on her back pressed her forward, melting her into Ichigo's rock-hard chest. Her eyes gleaned with a panicked expression and she pressed her hands to his pectorals—good God, when had her hands gotten there? She tried to slide away but only a moment later she realized she was naked.

 

Her eyes widened imperceptibly and her mouth gaped open, before Ichigo could say a word she was screeching.

 

“What the fuck did you do to me?” She cried, her heart beating hard in her throat.

 

After a moment of silence, Ichigo's grin turned dark and devilish. To lie or not to lie, he thought as he stared at her deer-in-the-headlight eyes. On one hand, he could describe in graphic detail what he would—now—like to do to her and make her believe it truly happened… or he could be the good guy and tell her the truth. If he told a lie she might find out and castrate him, if he told the truth… well, what fun would there be in that?

 

In the end morality won out again… damn it. “I didn't do anything to you last night.” Ichigo said clearly. “In fact, the only thing I did last night was help you.”

 

“Help me?” Rukia squeaked, attempting to clutch the blanket up to her neck but hitting a snag when she realized the blanket was trapped underneath Ichigo's body. “Having sex with me is supposed to help me?”

 

“I didn't say we had sex,” Ichigo injected, his anger rising slightly.

 

Rukia gulped slowly, “Th-then what did we do?” She pulled away from his hands just a bit but shuddered when she realized he wasn't letting go.

 

“Well,” Ichigo murmured, inching his face just a bit forward—he was personally enjoying making her squirm, “You weren't at the office all day so I decided to make a little house call.” His tone became more serious as he began to move his thumb over the skin on her back. Her breath hitched fractionally and he perceptibly caught the sight of goose bumps rising on her arms. “When I came to your door I saw it was open.”

 

Rukia stopped squirming and looked up into his face, recognition seizing on her features.

 

“I came in and saw you on the couch, you were dripping wet, freezing, and naked—except for a blanket you had draped over yourself.”

 

Rukia swallowed lightly and bit her bottom lip, Ichigo had to tell himself not to reach his tongue out and tracing the small depression she was making look so delectable.

 

“I came up to you and I warmed you up. You told me all about what you were feeling about the Birthday Basher case and asked me to stay with you.” He finished slowly, allowing the memories from the previous night to flood into her mind. He saw her eyes fill with understanding—and a bit of horror—as she tried to wiggle out of his grasp.

 

He stared at her with inky eyes, “You asked me to… stay with you, so I did.” He finished on a light whisper.

 

She swallowed hard and looked up at him with such vulnerability that the hand on her back went limp. For a moment she didn't try to move away but stayed in his arms, breathing with him, resting with him, and feeling her heart beat along with him.

 

Then she was gone. She tugged at the blankets surrounding her naked body so they wrapped around her like a toga. Quickly, she jumped out of bed and dashed into her bathroom. Ichigo barely had time to register her disappearance by the time she emerged from the bathroom draped in a terry cloth bathrobe.

 

She tightened the knot around her waist and stood before Ichigo—who was still lying on the bed. Gingerly, he sat up, his muscles a bit stiff from sleeping in a singular position during the night. He swung his legs over the edges of the bed and rubbed his hands over his face. Now comes the onslaught, he thought bitterly.

 

Rukia began to pace in front of him, her eyes blinking rapidly and her hair shaking before her face. She was muttering to herself and sighing repeatedly. Ichigo watched her as she debated with the inner demons resting inside of her. He couldn't hear what she was saying but he could see her: her hand would frequently cover her pattering chest, her neck was blushing red, her mouth was quivering slightly, and her eyes opened and shut as quickly as a hummingbird. She was panicking and they both knew it.

 

She pursed her lips together and brought her clasped hands before her perfect mouth. “Okay,” she began seriously, “This is what we need to do…” She continued pacing and muttering, after a while longer she came towards him and stood so her breasts were in perfect line with his eyes.

 

Ichigo swallowed thickly, if he just leaned forward only a bit, wrapped his arms around her waist, parted the folds of that bathrobe, and pulled one taunt nipple inside of his mouth… then she would be his.

 

Rukia looked down at his face and Ichigo looked up. Her lips were pale and pursed into a thin line. Her expression was severe and controlled but to him she couldn't have looked more edible.

 

She drew in a breath and nodded, conviction in her voice and her gaze, “We never talk about this again.”

 

Ichigo felt his eyes blink involuntarily and he could have sworn that something fell with a deafening plunk inside of his stomach. “What?” He asked as she stared him down. “Never talk about what?”

 

Rukia glared at him, “You know what.”

 

“But nothing happened,” he told her. She opened her mouth to speak but Ichigo cut her off as he rose from the bed and stood in front of her. God, her head barely came to the top of his chin. She backed away from him immediately and ended up hitting her bottom on the edge of her vanity. She still looked panicked but now that there was more than four feet between them her eyes dropped the deer/headlights look.

 

“I know that,” she answered slowly, “But you tell someone that you spent the night here and they put the pieces together on their own.” She shrugged, “I don't want to take any chances.”

 

“I know how people think,” Ichigo said casually as he took a few steps forward. “The only question is… what do you want them to think?”

 

Rukia's cheeks blushed heatedly, “I want them to think we hate each other!” She fumed.

 

“Don't we?” He asked as he took another step towards her, “Don't we hate each other?”

 

“O-Of course we do!” She choked, her voice sputtering slightly.

 

“Are you sure?” Ichigo asked, finally coming to stand in front of her. The fuzz of her bathrobe was brushing his jeans, which he hadn't changed out of since he had come to her apartment. Her face was a bright cherry red and her eyes were glistening with anger and something else… she was flustered and heated… and he absolutely loved it. Purposefully, he reached his hand up and lightly traced the back of his fingers across the silk of her face, watching her reaction and listening to the hitch in her breathing. Secretly, he knew that goose-bumps were rising on the skin of her arms.

 

“You sure we hate each other?” He asked coolly as he slid his fingers down her neck, past her fluttering pulse, her collar bone, and then lower. Her eyes widened as his encroaching hand parted the front folds of her bathrobe.

 

Ichigo swallowed the dry lump in his throat and opened his mouth to try and breathe. He could feel the top of her breast and he knew that if he just sent his hand a little lower he would feel the distended tip of her tiny nipple.

 

Ichigo saw Rukia's head begin to bob only a bit, as if she was trying to straighten her limping neck. Her breathing was becoming a bit more ragged as Ichigo didn't move his hand from the top of her chest. He could feel her skin and her heartbeat and even a few drops of panicked sweat as they ran down her silky skin.

 

But he wanted so badly to move his hand down and cup her breast in his palm, brush his thumb over her nipple, and breathe hotly onto her flesh.

 

He was almost ready to when Rukia jerked away from him, raised her hand, and slapped him across the face.

 

Ichigo stood, stunned, in the center of her room as she huffed away and slammed the door to the bathroom.

 

“I'm taking a shower,” she screamed from the opposite side, “Just be a good little boy and don't do anything.”

 

Ichigo chuckled lightly, the sting from her hand receding gently, “Are you sure you want me to be a good boy?” He asked, his voice on the verge of becoming full-blown laughter. “Or would you rather me come in there and be a bad boy?”

 

He heard a soap dispenser clatter to the ground and took a moment to revel in her nervousness. He heard a few more movements in the bathroom before the shower turned on and the bathrobe flopped to the floor. She stepped inside and he heard the small curtain close and her sigh at the heat as it swirled around her body.

 

Ichigo nodded softly and sighed, feeling the tension in his muscles melt away as the morning light fluttered through the windows.

 

With another sigh he opened the door to her room and exited slowly, checking out the rest of her apartment. There was her bedroom and her bathroom—the room he had just vacated—a kitchen, a living room, an extra bedroom, and another bathroom. It was quite a nice apartment; everything was well stocked and in proper order. He made his way into the kitchen and appreciatively moved his hands across her stainless steel refrigerator, marble countertops, and rather unused oven.

 

He casually opened the refrigerator and peeked inside. Let's see… orange juice, eggs, and there was also some bread.

 

Ichigo reached inside and pulled out some of the necessities. If he wanted to make it seemed like they slept together… shouldn't he make her breakfast?

 

Ichigo got out the eggs and was beginning to scramble them when he heard the phone ring. Mumbling pleasantly, he reached over and picked up the slick, silver, contraption and made sure the shower was still running. Shrugging, he flipped over some of the eggs and placed two slices of toast into the toaster oven before pressing the talk button.

 

“Yeah?” He asked as he shook the pan and made sure most of the juice was gone.

 

There was silence on the other end of the line for a moment, Ichigo could hear the sounds of sirens in the back round and even the excited yells of what sounded like police officers. Ichigo cradled the phone between his ear and his shoulder and paused for a moment. “Hello?” He asked into the phone, wondering if it was just a crank call.

 

The person on the other end of the line cleared his throat and asked in a terse voice, “Who is this?”

 

Ichigo frowned, “Detective Abarai?” He asked coolly.

 

“That's my name,” he snapped rudely, his voice rising with anger, “Who the hell are you?”

 

Ichigo grinned wickedly, “Why do you want to know?”

 

“Damn it!” The man screamed, so loudly Ichigo had to take the phone away from his ear. The red-head detective was already angry; Ichigo didn't know why he enjoyed making him so mad, but the effect was so fun to watch—or in his case hear—that it was all he could do not to continue tormenting him.

 

“Calm down tattoo brain,” Ichigo chuckled darkly, “It's Detective Kurosaki.”

 

There was a pause, Ichigo could hear Abarai breathing hotly into the phone. He waited for the man to speak while he sifted the eggs back and forth in the hot pan. The toast popped from the toaster and he reached over to grab it. Renji still hadn't said a word and Ichigo wondered if he should start whistling, just to piss him off a bit more.

 

“What… the hell… are you doing… in Rukia's… apartment?” He snarled darkly.

 

If Ichigo could picture him now… he would see Renji Abarai, dressed as he always was—leather jacket, black jeans, bright shirt—holding his cell phone close to his ear, his eyebrows stitched into an angry V shape, his tattoo's throbbing out of his face, his skin blotched and red, and the hand not holding the phone was probably curled into fist at his side.

 

Maybe just a little angrier… and a little more jealous.

 

“Can't you guess?” Ichigo asked, his voice plain but with a suggestiveness neither one of them missed. “I stayed the night.”

 

In the distance he heard the shower go off. He even swore he heard Rukia's tiny footsteps as they hit the ground and pattered—naked—around the bathroom tiles. He heard her drying off and wondered when she'd put her robe back on. He'd better finish this fast before she came out and figured out who he was talking to.

 

He could hear Renji sputtering into his phone and in his minds-eye he could see his face growing redder and redder and redder.

 

“WHAT?” He screamed into the phone, Ichigo held it arms length away from his ear and chuckled darkly. Oh this was fun…

 

The door to Rukia's room opened and she walked out, still toweling her hair with a tiny white cloth. She came into the kitchen and stopped as soon as she saw what Ichigo was doing. One hand was wrapped around the handle of a frying pan, wiggling the sizzling eggs, the other hand gripping a phone that was situated an arms length from his ear. Her eyes shifted from one of his hands to the other and then stood blinking confusedly at the small, plastic contraption which—currently—was shouting rather obscene and incomprehensible words.

 

“What are you doing?” She asked softly, her fingers absently gripping the small towel at her neck. She glared at the phone, “Who's on the phone?”

 

Ichigo smiled charmingly, “It's your old pal Renji.” He held out the phone in her direction. “I think he wants to talk to you.”

 

Rukia's jaw dropped and she hurried forward, her dripping hair curling in various strands—they framed her face nicely and Ichigo wished her could run his fingers through them. She came forward and grabbed the phone from him, cautiously, she pressed it to her ear and then jerked it away when she heard the river of curses flowing from his voice.

 

She gaped at Ichigo, “What the hell did you say to him?” Her voice was angry and evil and he sighed at its majesty.

 

He shrugged, “I just told him I spent the night here.”

 

She drew in a gasp of horror and closed her eyes, letting loose a piercing shriek as she placed the phone back to her ear and began shouting. Ichigo listened while he dished the eggs out on to the plates and placed the toast next to it.

 

“Damn it Renji! It's me, it's Rukia for Christ's sake! Stop yelling okay—no, it's not Ichigo, no—no! I won't explain myself to you! No! NO! You just shut up, no, shut the fuck up you asshole!”

 

Ichigo got the juice out of the fridge and began to search for glasses.

 

“No! I don't have to explain a damn thing to you! No—no, for your information! Wh—of course I'm sure! What the—fuck, of course I'm not making it up! Why would I make it up? Oh, oh! You don't know what the hell you're talking about! Oh yeah? Why don't you just go ask Hinamori, I'm sure that would clear a few things up! No—oh no, don't you dare try and pin this on me!”

 

Ichigo found the glasses and filled them.

 

“I am a grown woman, Renji, I can do whatever the fuck I want and as a matter of fact I can fuck whomever I want! But I didn't fuck him so just back off! No! Back off and tell my why the fuck you called me at quarter of six in the morning! No, I won't take this any further… no… I won't hand the phone back to Ichigo! N… no! NO! Alright, you know what? I'm going to hang up and you are going to fucking call me back when you're fucking calm! Alright! Alright? I'm hanging up and when you call me back… call me back with your senses in tact! Goodbye!”

 

Rukia took the phone away from her ear and pushed the `end' button quickly.

 

Ichigo smiled at her and held up a glass of orange juice, “Breakfast?”

 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

 

He should have seen the phone coming. Well, he should have seen it coming at his head at any rate, even if he didn't expect she'd actually throw it at him. Ichigo rubbed the slight bump on his head and let a scowling grin overtake most of his features. Ah well, he hadn't see it, so it really wasn't his fault.

 

It was hers.

 

As he steered the car around a couple of expensive-looking foreign cars his eyes occasionally flickered over to the fuming woman sitting beside him. As soon as he had offered her breakfast and she had chucked the phone at him, Renji had called back—not any calmer but he was yelling coherently enough for Rukia's taste.

 

Ichigo had watched her, as he placed scrambled eggs on his toast and folded it over like a sandwich; she spoke to Renji in anger for a few more moments before becoming deathly quiet and turning to him. Her face had been drained of blood and her eyes were wide in panic. Ichigo immediately stopped stuffing his face with egg and stood slowly, ready for whatever Rukia was going to say.

 

“You can't be serious,” she had whispered into the phone.

 

Ichigo came to stand near her, his ear vying for the other end of the conversation. He heard Renji mumbling softly, he caught the words: “scene,” “dead,” and “birthday.”

 

His blood ran cold when he realized what Abarai was telling the woman standing before him. Her eyes met his and in that moment he knew that there had been another murder. He went to the couch and grabbed his coat, slipping his arms through the sleeves and fixing the collar. His attitude was now serious. Gone was the good-natured—and slightly perverted—teasing he had subjected Rukia to only moments before. His heart wasn't twanging at the sight of the tiny woman in a bathrobe anymore, his eyes weren't dancing around her body—thinking of what he could do or say to make her body flush and respond, and he definitely wasn't thinking about her breakfast, now cooling on the smart table in the kitchen.

 

Rukia was on the phone for only a bit longer. The tiny button made a high-pitched beeping sound before it slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground. Ichigo heard the clatter and looked up from his place on the couch. His gut twisted when he saw her lone figure standing forlornly in the center of her living room. It her hands were shaking involuntarily as they clutched each other. Her face was pale and her lips—which had been so flushed a pink a few moments later—were ashen and shivering.

 

She turned to him and blinked slowly, Ichigo was almost ready to run to her and carry her back to her room—she looked like she was ready to collapse again. But she cleared her throat, which didn't help her hoarse-sounding voice, and said, “I'm going to get dressed.”

 

Ichigo nodded, “What happened?” His voice was soft; it was almost soothing to his own ears—he hoped it sounded like that to hers.

 

“Nanao Ise was killed last night.” She said softly, she cleared her throat again and continued, “She was on her way to meet her boyfriend at La Fleur when she was shot… once in the back of the head with a .22.” She paused and finished, “It was her birthday.”

 

Ichigo nodded slowly and rose from the couch. Slowly he walked towards the immobile woman and placed both hands on her shoulders. Her eyes were on the verge of going blank; he shook her body lightly before she was able to look him in the eye. He jerked his head grimly and murmured, “You go get dressed and then we'll go to the scene.”

 

Rukia snorted, “You're going to report me to Kenpachi when we get there, aren't you?”

 

Ichigo shook his head, “I'm not.”

 

She frowned at him, “Why not?”

 

The detective sighed and he rubbed his thumbs along the rough material of her bathrobe. “Because what happened last night was mostly my fault.”

 

Rukia's eyes widened and she jumped away from him. “B-But nothing happened l-last night! We didn't—we didn't do anything!” She sputtered, her face flushing immediately with anger, “You said we didn't do anything!”

 

“We didn't!” Ichigo cried, “I'm talking about what happened before you fell asleep.”

 

Rukia glared at him confusedly, “You mean my… `meltdown?'” She scoffed, “Not that it was even a meltdown,” she paused and glowered as she crossed her arms across her chest. “It was more like my mind taking a sabbatical.”

 

Ichigo snorted, “Well, before your mind went on sabbatical…” he sighed and drew a hand through his tousled orange locks, “Look, I know how hard you've been working on this case and I… well, I haven't.”

 

“Damn right you haven't.” Rukia grumbled snottily.

 

Ichigo gave her a shrewd look, “No, it's not that, its… listen, you've been working on this job so much and I've been… well, kind of moonlighting on other cases.”

 

It took only a moment for Rukia's face to screw into one of disgust and for her to jerk her shoulders out of his grasp. She took a few steps back and twisted her lips into a sardonic glare. He could see her eyes as they darkened with anger and malice. A cold sweat began to ride down the center of his back as she pinned him with her gaze. Perhaps I shouldn't have told her, he mused halfheartedly.

 

“I knew it,” Rukia snarled, she snapped the towel around her neck and turned around, heading for her room. “Bastard.”

 

“Hey!” He called, following her, his temper growing with each step. “I'm trying to tell you that I'm sorry!”

 

Rukia wheeled around, her eyes livid and hurt, “Don't try to tell me you're sorry! If you were really sorry you would have told me earlier, and besides that, you should have actually helped me on the case we were supposed to be working on!”

 

She placed her hand on the frame of her door and leaned towards him. Ichigo had to try hard to concentrate on her eyes and not her protruding breasts. “That's what I'm trying to tell you!” He breathed hotly, “I thought the case was a dead-end from the start and I didn't want to work on it so I left it to you!”

 

Her eyes were shining darkly; Ichigo paused and swallowed as he saw the pain that was hidden deep within them. Her brother, her friend, and her colleague… and he had given up on them whereas she… she…

 

“You just kept working on it,” he began again, his voice no louder than a whisper, “But it began to eat you up from the inside. I didn't mean to do that to you.”

 

He shuffled forward a bit and stuffed his hands into his pockets. When he looked back up at her there was a new determination shining in his eyes. “Rukia,” he said sternly, “I'm here to solve this case with you. I will do nothing else until I catch this guy.”

 

He paused and waited for her to say something. She was standing at the threshold of her door, her face radiating hatred and hurt. Her body was stoic and untouchable, it was not the pliable and soft thing he had touched the night before or this morning.

 

No… last night he had been with Rukia the Woman. Right now he was standing with Rukia the Cop. The difference was gargantuan.

 

She blinked twice at him before placing a palm on his chest and shoving him out into the hallway. “You're an ass.” She growled as she shut the door with a bang.

 

He remained where he was, determined to continue their conversation—argument—to the best of his abilities. He just needed to regroup his thoughts and find a plausible explanation as to why he practically gave up on the case. Well, an explanation that didn't get his ass kicked anyway.

 

He pressed his back against the wall as he stayed near, thoughts of rebuttals and accusations running through his head. Occasionally, on the other side of the door, he could hear the sounds of her dressing.

 

Ichigo allowed his mind to drift for a moment and wondered if she would wear anything colorful. He would like to see her in stark black with splashes of pink or vibrant reds with pure blues, or even forest greens with amethyst studs. Did she have anything of such vibrancy in her closet? Did she own an outfit that could make her look completely stunning no matter how drab the party was? He wondered if she wore things like that before she became so dead inside. He wondered if deep in her closet, untouched by years of mundane living and torturous job assignments, she had a tiny red dress, one with sequins and spaghetti straps and a hem-line that would make his dead mother roll over in her grave, a dress with a v-neck that displayed her curvaceous breasts and milky skin, a dress that any man would enjoy taking off of her luscious body.

 

He wondered if she would wear a dress like that and allow him to strip it slowly from her body as he kissed his way down her beautiful skin, touching her, teasing her, pleasuring her… he wondered if she would ever allow him to do that to her.

 

But as the door to her room opened and Ichigo's eyes finally met the woman he was picturing in a tiny red dress… out stepped Rukia the Cop, bland and colorless. She still looked angry—furious actually—but she straightened the badge at her neck and nodded to him. He glanced down from his position on the wall and made sure he didn't have a hard-on… well, there was a tiny one but it was nothing to worry about.

 

“Alright,” she said stiffly, “Let's go.”

 

 

 

 

 

Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed. Especially Laurie Bunter, gokusgirl, yuwa, bludragon89, Crys Chaos, polaris_sakura, and cactuspd. Merci!