Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Murder My Heart ❯ Blooming and Wilting ( Chapter 5 )

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

 

(A/N: Bonjour mes amis! Here's another chapter for you! I hope you all like it, it's once of my favorites.

I also wanted to assure my readers that there will be more allusions to the actual anime/manga, but they will come on a little later. This is mostly the brainchild of my imagination and my love of Law and Order… It's an addiction, I swear.

Also… the Bleach movie… Memories of Nobody, I found it on veoh.com. I'm so excited to be able to watch it! Who cares about homework?!?!

Okay… I also appreciate all of the reviews I've gotten so far and I hope I get more, so READ AND REVIEW!!!)

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5

 

Ichigo opened the door to the two eight and was met with the beginnings of a warm, lovely, April day. The sun was shining bright and the sky was blue with little puffy clouds traipsing across its cobalt surface. Everything looked so peaceful and happy in the serenity of nature… it was almost revolting.

 

Then there was her. Her. His new partner. The newest bane of his existence. The woman he was supposed to work with, be civil with, and talk with on a regular basis—without stabbing her in the eye. Right now she was pacing back and forth, seething and muttering to herself. In the bright light from the sun she almost looked nice, she almost looked like she would turn her attractive face up and smile at him, she almost looked like she would offer her his hand and take him to a nice, sunny spot in the park.

 

Almost.

 

Right now she was frowning, growling, and cursing the ground… Ichigo thought he saw a flower wither underneath her hostile glower. He cringed slightly and began to walk towards her. He noticed as her feet kicked at the ground, an unfortunate stone got in the way of her pummeling foot and ended up flying into the street, ricocheting off of a car, and hitting a stray cat, the mangled thing yowled and scampered away. Rukia didn't even give the thing a second glance. Ichigo whistled and shook his head lightly. She wasn't in a very good mood today… and it wasn't even noon!

 

He finished clomping down the steps but still stood a ways away from the furious woman.

 

“Stupid Lou… fucking assignment… can't believe I got stuck with this asshole… fuck!” She snarled, kicking another rock out of the way. This time it hit a fire hydrant, bounced away, hit a car, and ended up cracking the windshield. Rukia glowered at the car as it honked its horn and continued.

 

Ichigo—after about five more minutes of listening to her cursing and grumbling—came a bit closer and asked, “What do you think we should do first… Rukia?” He paused and rolled her name around on his tongue before saying it. It sounded good, the kind of name you wanted to say again and again.

 

Rukia turned her head and glared at him, “It's `Detective Kuchiki' to you, Kurosaki,” she snarled a bit more before squashing an ant on the sidewalk. “And I guess we had better go to the three one.” She spat out the numbers as if they were poison before she turned and glared heavily at him, “I want you to know that I get your desk, I'm a guest and I expect to be treated like a lady.”

 

Ichigo snorted and chuckled, “You… a lady, yeah right.”

 

Her eyes flared and she ran towards him, stopping only when her face was a mere inch from hers. “Listen,” she shouted, “I didn't ask for this but since we have to work together you had better start showing me some respect!”

 

“Respect works both ways!” Ichigo retaliated, yelling as loud as she, “To get some you have to give some.”

 

That was when he felt it. It was minimal, but it was there—that tiny, infinitesimal, minute spark of what he could only call frisson. A friction that he had only felt a few times before—but nothing like this. It might have been small, but it was definitely strong. Attraction. Damn, it was tiny but it was big enough to make him feel a shudder spiral down his spine.

 

Something must have showed in his eyes because a moment later Rukia narrowed her eyes and backed away from him, loathing written in every inch of her face. Ichigo swallowed dryly and shook off the feeling of frisson he had experienced only a moment ago.

 

Rukia shook her head and resumed pacing; she was running her hands through her hair and cursing gently. Whatever the hell it was she felt run up her spine when she looked at him like that… well, she didn't want to feel it again, that was for sure. It was intense, but it was small… and she knew it was safe to say it would go away soon.

 

Wouldn't it?

 

“Look,” Rukia said softly after a minute, she was turned away, her hand pressed to her forehead. “This case is important to me. My brother was killed, my friend was killed, and then my colleague was killed.” She sighed and turned around, her eyes turning into liquid lavender as she penetrated him. “I just want to find out who killed them, if I have to work with you… fine, I'll respect you if you do the same for me. Okay?”

 

She pleaded silently with her eyes—no, she was too proud to plead, she was demanding this of him… but softly enough to still appear polite.

 

Ichigo narrowed his eyes, “So what, we're supposed to be friends now? All happy go lucky? I don't think so.”

 

“I didn't say I'd like you,” Rukia pointed out coldly, her expression changing to one of inquisition to one of distaste. “I just said I'd work with you.” She looked him up and down, “I still think you're a worthless idiot without the least bit of common sense or even brains…” she paused and took a deep breath, “But those are simply my opinions. I will try to respect you if you do the same.”

 

Ichigo glowered and opened his mouth to make a comment on his “lack of common sense,” when the doors to the precinct banged open and a breathless, skinny, bespectacled man leaped out.

 

“Kuchiki!” He cried, panting slightly, “Thank God you haven't gone yet.” He rushed down the steps and stopped in front of her, completely ignoring—or perhaps not even seeing—Detective Kurosaki. He raised his hands in the air and shook his head, his temper rising and his pale face reddening. “I don't have my body!”

 

Rukia's eyebrows rose, “What?” She asked flatly and looked him up and down, “I see it right there Ishida.”

 

He glowered at her, “Not my body… my body! Yumichika! They dropped him off to the three one and some hack medical examiner has got him! I need to examine him myself! I need that body!” He cried angrily, punching his right hand into his left. Rukia jerked her eyebrows higher, she didn't think she'd ever seen Ishida this mad before… ah well, there was a first time for everything.

 

Rukia looked from the heated medical examiner—still in his scrubs, gloves, and white coat—and back to Detective Kurosaki. She folded her arms across her chest and sighed, “Well Detective, are we going to the three one?”

 

“Yes we are.” He answered just as unenthusiastically, he jerked his head to the M.E., “I'm guessing he's coming with us?”

 

Rukia extended her hands from one person to the next, “Ishida Uuyru, meet Detective Ichigo Kurosaki, Detective Kurosaki, meet Uuyru Ishida.”

 

Ishida's face ceased to twist in anger and he raised an eyebrow, “The Ruthless Strawberry himself? Pleasure.”

 

“Christ,” Ichigo muttered disgustedly, “Don't tell me you guys use that term here too?”

 

Rukia smirked, “Now we do.” She pointed to a bland detective's car sitting near the side of the road, “Yours?”

 

Ichigo nodded wearily, already tired of the female detective and her new companion. He went to the car and got into the driver's side. Rukia and Ishida followed him without complaint and got into the vehicle as well. Thankfully, Ichigo murmured a prayer to the heavens that she didn't have a compulsion to be the driver.

 

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

 

The moment Ichigo, Rukia, and Ishida walked into the three one the people in the building turned to stare—overtly. Rukia felt like she was under some sort of damn limelight. It was fucking annoying.

 

She grunted in response to a few snickers she got and instantly wished Renji was by her side, not this washed up hack of a detective with fiery orange hair and a smile to kill for.

 

Her brain must have stopped functioning… a smile to what for…? When did she start thinking about… never mind.

 

“Well,” said a deep, rumbling, voice from the corner of the room. Rukia looked up and found herself staring at a giant of a man, easily a head taller than Renji and three times wilder. He had a tan face with multiple scars, spiking black hair, huge hands that looked like they could kill any person with a single blow, a wicked smile with large canines poking out, and a black eye patch covering his right eye. He was intimidating to look at and even more intimidating to hear. His voice was gravelly and taunting and rubbed harshly against Rukia's skin—like sandpaper. She felt chills run up her spine and had to shake them off before she took another look at him.

 

The man came up a bit and moved to stand near Rukia, she barely came up to his chest. “So you're the detective who's taking on our Ichigo.”

 

“More like forced to take him,” Rukia answered shortly, no matter what he said she wouldn't be intimidated by him. She smirked a bit and crossed her arms, her eyes traveling across the room and glaring at a couple people brave enough to look her in the eye. Hey, Renji was right… they did stop looking.

 

The large man smiled and chuckled darkly, “Yeah… Aizen said you were a pistol.”

 

“And I'm fully loaded,” she remarked, the slight threat not lost on her new boss. “Just so you know.”

 

The man snorted, “I know… I know…” he raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down, “Just don't shoot anyone and we'll be fine.” He held out his hand, “I'm the Lou here, Zaraki Kenpachi.”

 

Rukia took his gigantic proffered hand and nodded, “I've heard you're a hard ass, a good Lou, but still a hard ass.”

 

“I'll take that as a compliment,” Kenpachi commented dryly.

 

“You should,” Ichigo interjected, “Because I have more colorful adjectives to use if you want.”

 

Kenpachi smirked, “Ah, you two are already making quips together,” he pressed a man hand to his chest and shook his head, “Breaks my heart of hearts.”

 

Rukia turned and stared at Ichigo with a horrified expression before she twisted back to his boss. Both of them were ready to make up some sort of insult to throw at each other, or punch each other in the face, or pull out their guns and shoot each other—all in the name of reputation—when Ishida appeared beside them.

 

“Excuse me,” he began curtly, he was standing beside Rukia now and inclining his head towards the lieutenant. “Where's my body?”

 

Kenpachi blinked, “Excuse me?”

 

“My body?” Ishida persisted, “Where is it?”

 

Kenpachi grinned evilly, “To the best of my knowledge the scraggly thing is standing right in front of me.” He snorted and chuckled at his own joke.

 

“I don't mean my body,” Ishida growled, obviously annoyed that he had to explain this twice, “I mean the dead body, the one that was mistakenly brought to the three one when it was supposed to go to the two eight. Yumichika Ayasegawa! That body!”

 

“Oh,” Kenpachi said, Rukia could tell he was sounding confused even though all he wanted to do was laugh, “He's probably down in the M.E.'s lab with Orihime.”

 

“Orihime? Who's Orihime?” Ishida raged, “And why the hell does she have my body?”

 

“Ishida!” Rukia snapped, turning to him and giving him an exasperated look, “Go down to the woman's office and talk to her, I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding.”

 

“Misunderstanding my ass,” Ishida spat, turning on his heels and storming in the direction of the M.E.'s office, “I'll show her a `misunderstanding.'”

 

Rukia watched as he disappeared down the hall and in the direction of—what she assumed was—this Orihime person's office. She cocked her head to the side, had Ishida been here before? How did he know which way to go?

 

“He's going the wrong way,” Kenpachi muttered, “The boy's so angry he doesn't even know where he's going.”

 

The lieutenant and the detectives watched in amusement as Ishida reemerged from the misleading hallway and took off in another. Men, Rukia thought ruefully, too damn proud to ask for directions.

 

Rukia snorted and turned to Lieutenant Kenpachi, he was glancing around the room staring down anyone he wanted… he seemed to be picking someone terrorize next. When it was clear Kenpachi's train of thought was elsewhere, Rukia glanced at Ichigo. “So,” she asked, almost bored, “What do we do now?”

 

Ichigo shrugged and pointed to the right, Ishida was stiff huffing around and looking for the M.E.'s office, “Let's take your friend to the M.E.'s office and see if there's anything else on the body.”

 

Rukia sighed heavily and nodded, “I'll go but he's definitely not my friend.” She rolled her eyes, “I think he's a schizoid.”

 

Ichigo silently agreed… even though he would never tell Rukia that himself. God, if she knew that he was actually agreeing with her… there would be no end to her taunting.

 

He cocked his head to the side and indicated the way to the M.E.'s office. Rukia called to Ishida and he came immediately to her side, mumbling about how he had known the way the entire time, he was just waiting for them to finish talking. Ichigo led them to an empty stairwell and went down first. Rukia followed next, reveling in the cool air that hit her face as she went further down into the black hole of dead bodies and medical equipment.

 

The three entered the room and Ishida immediately surged forward, he pressed through the swinging double doors and set a frown on his pale, scrawny face. “Alright you, give me my body ba… bac… back…?”

 

Rukia came into the room next and immediately stopped in her tracks. There was Ishida, right in front of her, staring wide-eyed at a pretty red head in the center of the room. She was bending over a body, her mouth covered in a pale blue mask; her eyes were expressive and practically popping out of her head. A second later she had removed her hands from Yumichika's dead body and was standing in front of him.

 

“Ichigo!” She trilled, her voice slightly muffled by the medical mask. She was talking to him but not taking her eyes off of Ishida, “Who… who are your friends?”

 

Ichigo entered the room last and nodded at the pretty medical examiner, “Orihime, this is Uuryu Ishida, the medical examiner at the two eight, and this,” he nodded towards Rukia and continued distastefully, “Is… Rukia Kuchiki.”

 

“I'm his new partner,” she injected coldly, stuffing her hands in her pockets. “You examined my brother.”

 

“Oh!” The girl cried, leaping forward and tearing off the mask, even her smile was pretty. Rukia raised her eyebrows just a bit and let her gaze travel south. Her eyes widened and she coughed embarrassingly. She was certainly… well endowed. “Yes, yes, you're Rukia Kuchiki; it's a pleasure to meet you.”

 

She didn't offer her hand and Rukia didn't take it. Instead, the woman came up to Rukia and smiled hugely. She clasped her hands in front of her and ended up pushing her extremely large breasts upward. Rukia found it hard not to stare but ended up averting her eyes to the floor.

 

Ichigo coughed slightly and put a hand on Ishida's shoulder, the skinny medical examiner was still staring openly at the voluptuous woman before him. Rukia was pretty sure he was even drooling. “This,” Ichigo said, “Is Uuryu Ishida, he's the medical examiner over at the two eight.” He looked at Ishida and smirked at the stunned man. “Why don't you tell the nice lady why you're here?”

 

Ishida gulped and started shaking, “I-I thought… we-well there was a mistake with the—the stuff and they se-sent the body h-here instead of to the t-two eight.”

 

“Oh!” She said, smiling, she turned her attention back to Ishida and batting her eyelashes prettily. “Well then,” her lower body swished back and forth and she smiled sweetly at him, “Do you want to come examine him with me?”

 

The way she said it, Rukia thought—somewhat surprised—made it sound like an invitation to bed. Even Ichigo looked slightly surprised.

 

Ishida blanched immediately and nodded, coming forward jerkily; Orihime smiled at him and then glanced over at Ichigo. “Did you guys need something?”

 

“Just wondering if you had examined the body yet,” Ichigo answered.

 

“We'll do it now.” Ishida said, smiling goofily like a two year old. Orihime turned and blushed a bit. “Yeah,” she chimed in, “We'll get to work on it now.”

 

Rukia nodded, “Okay, let us know if you find out anything unusual.”

 

“Will do,” Ishida muttered, staring intently at Orihime's figure.

 

Rukia turned around and made her way back to the first floor while Ichigo followed close behind.

 

“So,” he said lightly, trying to keep his eyes off of her gently swaying hips. “What do you want to do now?”

 

“Solve the case,” Rukia answered shortly. She emerged from the stairwell and turned on Ichigo. “I want to know what you have so far.”

 

Ichigo sighed and nodded fruitlessly, “Alright, it's over on my desk.”

 

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

 

Rukia trembled in the darkness. She was sitting in the darkness of her apartment, shuddering from the cold and wrapped in a soft, wool, blanket. Underneath was her damp skin, unclothed and unashamed. Her hair was cold and plastered to her forehead, little droplets falling into her eyes and onto her nose as time ticked by. She didn't know what time it was. She had no idea.

 

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

 

Her brother was killed with a six hundred year old katana, sliced across the throat and stabbed seventeen times post-mortem. It was suggested that his killer was exceedingly angry with him; the stab wounds were excessive and wild. The killer had lost his temper.

 

Matsumoto was killed much more effectively. She was running away to escape her attacker and tripped when her heel broke, her ankle twisted inside of her boot and snapped in half, she was prostrate on the ground when the she was shot in the head with a .22 caliber pistol, the bullet was homemade and thus untraceable. She was left to fester for three days.

 

Yumichika was driving back from her house when someone tapped on the glass—with a latex glove—he stopped, turned his head, and was shot. He was dead before he could even put the car into park; it was a .22 caliber pistol and a homemade bullet lodged into his skull… a bullet put inside of his head, bits of glass from the window piercing his skin, and pieces of his brain dribbling from his head.

 

Eight more months and they had nothing.

 

Absolutely nothing.

 

Rukia had gone over file after file after fucking file and she still didn't have a single thing. She and Ichigo had gone to the M.E. and examined every single damn detail they could think to ask. Both of them had gone to the Urahara shop—Rukia had to pretend to go to be Ichigo's girlfriend—and asked about the katana's once again. The strange man had simply shrugged and told them that he'd call if anything came up.

 

They had scoured The Corner once again, tying to find anything relating to the package Matsumoto was carrying the night she died. She and Ichigo investigated drug dealers, homeless men, and more prostitutes only to come to the conclusion that no one—no one—had seen a damn thing.

 

It was going on eight months now, it was already late September, the case had started in early February, fall was approaching with rapidity and they had nothing.

 

In their misery and futility, they had had no choice but to inform the media of the serial killings, who, in turn, told the masses. Yet since the release of the information—near the end of June—they had become swamped with tips, leads, and downright bullshit. The three one and the two eight had agreed to release the names of the victims, the way they were killed, and to ask people to send possible tips to either precinct.

 

Rukia had been against releasing the information from the start, but both Kenpachi and Aizen shook off her protests and released it anyway. They told her it would only help, not hurt. Rukia had merely glowered at them and stalked away, back to her cramped seat at Ichigo's desk.

 

When the descriptions were released Rukia, and sometimes Ichigo, had followed false lead after false lead after false lead. She had gotten everything from society women calling about suspicious trespassers they thought they might have seen the night of one of the murders to summons from convicts in prison, saying they had connections to people who knew people who knew cousins of people who could get them the information they wanted… for a price.

 

They had received anonymous tips from pay phones telling them things that were either not true or were so stupid no one even bothered to follow up on them. One man called the three one and told Ichigo that a triceratops had slashed the “detective man” with his first horn, stabbed the “lady hooker” through the brain with his second, and drove the third into the “pretty boy's” head. Needless to say Ichigo had found the man and sent him to a free clinic and then to a homeless shelter for the mentally impaired.

 

Each day—every day—she was still being bombarded by helpful hints that lead to nowhere or crazy hints that she were forced to investigate. Ichigo was nowhere to be found anymore, he would give her the keys to the car, the files she needed, or a spare pen whenever he had one, but nothing more than that.

 

No matter how fucking hard she looked, she just couldn't seem to find anything. None of the “leads” actually led anywhere. In her opinion they were simply stupid and wasteful hunts.

 

Only this morning Rukia had gone to her captain to vent her frustrations. She had just recently escaped the three one—she hated that precinct; no one besides Ichigo even spoke to her, and that wasn't even very often. Well, except for the medical examiner Orihime… but she wasn't exactly the down-to-earth type Rukia was used to talking to. Finally, she had gone to her home precinct, where she was met with a rather unpleasant surprise.

 

Renji was at his desk, as usual, looking comfortably at ease as he rifled through papers and joked around. But it wasn't Renji on which Rukia was focusing, it was the woman directly across from him—in what was supposed to be her desk—a woman Rukia had never seen before. She was a small thing, kind of sickly looking but healthy enough for physical exertion. She had dark hair wrapped in a tiny, lace enclosed, bun propped on the top of her head, a pair of small hands, a warm smile, and a confident set of eyes that didn't seem to suit her that well. She was sitting comfortably in Rukia's old desk, smiling and laughing with Renji in a way that could only be described as flirtatiously.

 

Rukia had walked up to her old partner calmly and cocked her head to the side, waiting to be noticed by the red-headed buffoon. While she waited she could clearly see that her old desk was completely taken over. Picture of the same woman—only smaller and with her family—decorated the top, small pens with fuzzy caps and paperweights in the shape of small ducks were scattered around. Deep within herself Rukia felt rage boiling. Yeah, her desk was still there, just all her stuff was somewhere else.

 

“Rukia!” Renji gasped, his eyes bulging at the sight of her. It seemed as if he had turned to stand up and go for coffee when ending up running into her. The fact that he was holding two cups did not pass her by. “W-What are you doing here?” He asked, his cool demeanor slipping away under her chilly stare.

 

Rukia stared at him, “I work here,” she answered icily. “Did you forget or did you just assume that I had gone missing?”

 

“N-No!” Renji sputtered, his glance turned from his desk to the one across from him before swiveling back towards Rukia. He grinned guiltily and clapped a gigantic hand on her shoulder, “How ya been lately?” He asked with forced friendliness.

 

Rukia gritted her teeth together; her angry aura expanding until she could swear her vision was turning red. “Well, Renji, let's see…” she took a step forward and felt a slight twinge of pleasure when he stepped back, “My brother has been murdered, my job has been taken, I'm working with a fucking jerk, my old partner seems to have forgotten about me seeing as how he hasn't contacted me in eight months, and I'm working on a case that has no end in sight! How the hell do you think I'm doing Renji?” She took another step towards him, making Renji take another step back, he moved until he tripped and fell into his chair.

 

“H-Hey, Rukia…” Renji stammered, holding up his hands defensively, “I've been meaning to call and visit but I've just been really busy. Hinamori and I have been working really… really… hard, um, lately.”

 

“I'm sure you have,” Rukia snarled nastily before turning on her heel and marching into Aizen's office, not even acknowledging the presence of Momo Hinamori.

 

Rukia slammed her way into the Lou's office and immediately began huffing.

 

“… No! Need to… no, find Gin and—Kuchiki! Don't you ever knock?”

 

Click.

 

Rukia looked up and immediately put her face in her hands, that was a stupid, stupid, stupid thing to do. No one walked in on Lieutenant Aizen without knocking or being invited. She had learned that in the second week she had been on the job—she had walked in to inform Aizen about a drug bust and he immediately chastised her. She was later put her on desk duty for a month.

 

She sighed and swallowed heavily, “I—I'm sorry, Lieutenant Aizen, I'm just… can I talk to you?”

 

Aizen glared at her for a second—a rather evil look she had never seen on him before—sighed, and nodded. He indicated to an open chair and muttered, “Go ahead, sit down.”

 

“Thank you sir,” she murmured, feeling obligated to include the formality of `sir.' She sat and put her elbows on the tops of her knees, curving her body into an arch and letting her face dip to the floor.

 

“Lieutenant…” she began quietly, trying to sort out what to say. After a moment she raised her head and said, “Sir, this case is going no where.”

 

Aizen's face remained impassive and he set his elbows on his desk, folded his hands in front of his face, and resting his mouth against them. “Oh?” He asked.

 

“There are no leads,” Rukia continued, “No witnesses, no evidence, not even a single scratch, I mean, this guy… this guy was brilliant.” She sighed and looked at him with pleading eyes. “You know I'm not one to give up sir, but… I just don't see an end to this case.” Her eyes traveled back to the door leading out to the precinct. “And now Renji has a new partner that he looks… really comfortable with, I don't seem to have a desk anymore and… and…” she stood up and let out a cry of frustration, it took all her restraint for her not to lash out and kick the chair she had just been seated in. “And I still don't know who fucking killed my brother!” She finished angrily—not to mention loudly.

 

“Then keep working on it,” Aizen answered calmly, chewing lightly on his pinky fingernail.

 

“But there is nothing.” Rukia reminded him coldly. “Ichigo and I don't have a single clue!” She paused and glowered evilly, “And Ichigo… unprofessional, unorthodox, and… and… and just unclean! You know, once he put his gun in the face of a twelve year old!”

 

“A twelve year old?” Aizen asked, slight warning creeping into his voice.

 

“Well, he was a street hustler and we're pretty sure a pimp… but still!” She raged, “He needs ethics and he just—I honestly don't know why he's considered such a great detective.”

 

Aizen sighed and cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow, “Are you here just to vent or do you have a purpose?”

 

Rukia swallowed harshly at the irritation in his voice. Almost immediately her anger receded and she felt the encroaching hands of shame.

 

He was right… what was she doing here other than just complaining about her own grievances? Jesus, she thought, bringing up her hand and rubbing the bridge of her nose, the Lou didn't need to hear this… he didn't need to hear any of this…

 

She needed to run. That's what she needed to do. She needed to put on a pair of running shoes and just go, go until there was no energy and no anger and no pain left inside of her. She needed to swim until her lungs could not hold air anymore and took in water instead. She needed to climb to the highest mountaintop and just let go. She needed to… she needed to…

 

Rukia swallowed with even more difficulty than before and tried to offer her lieutenant a small, sorrowful, nod—which she couldn't even seem to manage. “Sorry chief, I didn't mean to… it's my own business… I'll just—I'll talk to you later.”

 

Aizen didn't try to stop her, even though he did get up from his chair and watch her as she hurried out. No one in the precinct even came to talk to her. She heard Renji calling her name but she didn't care. He was better off with his new partner… Hinamori was the best thing for him now. She couldn't do anything for him. She was out the door in seconds, in her daze she didn't even notice that she caused Nanao Ise—a young street cop with a knack for reading large tomes instead of giving out traffic tickets—to jump out of her way and fall down in the process.

 

She ran out to the car and immediately climbed into the driver's seat. Her breathing was unsteady and her hands were shaking. It was almost like the day she had seen her brother. But today it seemed worse… so much worse. She had failed him. She had failed him and her friends because she was not able to find who had killed them.

 

Rukia felt her throat restrict tightly and her eyes burned with unabashed pain.

 

Failure.

 

Hurriedly, she turned on the car, set it in drive, and began the screeching journey back home.

 

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

 

The moment Rukia entered her house she threw herself against the couch and gasped.

 

Her lungs weren't working properly and she was having so much trouble breathing. Her nose was stopped up and her eyes were burning—but she didn't feel any wetness running down the sides of her face. Her cheeks were bare but for a cold drenching of sweat.

 

Fumbling inside she hurled herself into her bedroom where she tore off each of her bland shirt, her basic pants, her plain shoes, and her shining badge. She was naked; standing in the center of her impeccable room, the window's open for the world to see. Her chest heaved and she began to gasp for breath—her cheeks still free of any salt. Her throat constricted even further and she doubled over, her body awash with raw sensations of vulnerability and pain.

 

Failure.

 

Stumbling even further she hobbled into her shower and turned the water on until the temperature was equivalent to the coldest streams of a raging river. She stepped inside and felt her skin seize into shivers and goose bumps. But compared to her heated and hurting flesh it was a relief.

 

The sweat was now coming in droves; she could feel it sticking to her neck and the center of her back. Her heart was throbbing, her stomach was whirling, and now her body was covered with freezing water.

 

“I—I f-failed you,” Rukia gasped as her head rested directly beneath the spigot and water flowed through her hair, hitting her skull and stilling the thoughts inside of her throbbing mind.

 

Her dry eyes closed and she pressed her head against the marble tiles of the shower, feeling the water as it rode down her face, flowed into any crevice—her eyelids, her lips, her nose, her chin—anywhere it could reach.

 

Her head rested as her knees shook and her body began to slide down… down… down… until she was kneeling. Her shoulders slumped in the cold liquid and she shuddered—not really feeling the water but feeling the numbness nonetheless. Soon the sensation in her toes, her fingers, her legs, her arms… her entire body was nothing.

 

It was nothing but it was everything.

 

Rukia Kuchiki shuddered in the cold.

 

She was alone.

 

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

 

Ichigo Kurosaki looked at the name, then the address, and frowned. This was most definitely it: Akame Apartments, located on Tokkio Street, on the very boarder of the two eight and the three one.

 

Ichigo took another glance at the folded piece of paper and silently hoped Ishida was right. A slight pang of guilt plagued Ichigo's gut… he had been working with the woman for almost eight months—eight fucking months of futility and boredom—and he still didn't know where she lived. Ah well, he told himself casually, there was a first time for everything. Well, there was that and the other half of him that believed she lived beneath the earth, in the nether regions of Hell to be exact, but still, that was simply his opinion.

 

Shrugging, Ichigo sighed and began to move up the steps. Damn witch, that's what she was, she was a witch. Evil and ugly and mean and downright vengeful, he thought as he trekked up the steps.

 

He had worked with the woman for almost a year and yet each day he tried desperately to get away from her. But that, he admitted to himself, was the easy part. He had always been a good liar, especially when he lied to deceive people. He would always make up stories about needing to go see informants related to the case at hand or check out a tip someone had left at the precinct when in reality he would just go out for a burger and fries or even to the gym.

 

Personally, Ichigo prided himself on his cunning. It made him deviously able to tell her just about any lie he wanted. She was just so gullible.

 

Ichigo smirked, he also hadn't told her that he had been working different cases during the past few months. He wasn't just focusing on the Birthday Basher, who had seemed to have gone underground since his last murder, but was working on good, old fashioned homicides. Rukia had no idea, of course. Christ knew if she found out he wasn't one hundred percent committed to “her brother's case” she would have him impaled on a staff and drained of blood.

 

He had worked forty other cases in the past couple of months, letting her stew over most of what the Birthday Basher left behind. He knew it might not be the fairest of situations, but hey, he needed something else to do that just let his mind rot on “the case that never ends.”

 

He made his way slowly up the steps; Ishida had said she lived on the third floor so that was where he was going.

 

Ichigo sighed… Ishida… now there was a man with the world at his feet. When he had popped her head into the morgue to ask Orihime if she knew where Rukia lived, she saw the female Medical Examiner in a rather engaging position with the M.E. from the two eight. It would have been disturbing actually, if Ichigo hadn't known Orihime for so long. She and Ishida were apparently having a small snack on the stainless steel examining table while a dead body rested only a few feet away. He even caught them running around the corpse, laughing as they leaned over and kissed each other across the prostate person. Ichigo felt slightly sickened that they would be doing that over a corpse but hey, their prerogative, not his… Ichigo could tell that they were falling in love and he was happy for them. Orihime deserved someone like Ishida and from what he had heard about the skinny medical examiner, he definitely needed someone like Orihime.

 

Love… twenty percent of him said it was great, wonderful, and joyous… the other eighty percent told him that it was horrible, wretched, and nasty.

 

Ichigo had to agree with the other eighty.

 

He sighed heavily as he came to door 312 and knocked lightly. To his surprise, and slight discomfort, the door was open only a crack. Years of police training had taught him that this was not a good sign; deftly, he pulled his gun out of the holster and placed his back against the fixture. Slowly, he pushed his way inside, careful not to make any more noise than was necessary.

 

“Rukia?” He called softly, his footsteps touching the ground lightly. “Rukia… are you in here?”

 

He didn't see any disturbances in the room, what he could see in the dark anyway. Nothing was out of place, the carpet was newly vacuumed, and all the chairs were all polished and well kept. Coming forward just a bit he flipped on the light switch. Beige and white—just like her brother's apartment; the only variations were the splashes vibrant colors that came in the form of pillows, paintings, and lamps. But everything—everything—was clean and put in its place.

 

“Rukia?” Ichigo called once again as he slid forward a bit and entered the living room.

 

That was when he saw her. She was huddled on the couch, wrapped in a woolen blanket, her hair was sopping and her lips were tinged with blue. She was simply staring into space, her eyes not focusing on anything in particular. Ichigo drew in a breath and noticed she was shaking violently, he doubted she even realized.

 

“Rukia…” he breathed, and was at her side in an instant. He knelt down beside her and felt her cheek—it was ice cold. He furrowed his brow and instantly felt the hand she had peeking out from the blanket, it was freezing as well.

 

The next thing he knew he had his jacket off of his arms and was draping it over her shoulders. Her eyes didn't move from the spot on the wall. She continued shivering.

 

Ichigo cursed violently and got up from his knees. He took a breath and bent down to wrap one arm around her back while the other hooked under her knees. He picked her up gently before setting himself on the couch and hugging her to his chest. The next thing he knew he was rocking her back and forth, murmuring soothing words into her crisp hair. He was holding her close, trying to get some of his warmth into her. He saw her tiny feet poking out from the blanket and he reached his hand down, rubbing her toes and pressing his palms to the soles. Christ, she was freezing.

 

“Come on Rukia,” he said softly, rubbing her back and her tiny feet, “Come on… look at me Rukia, look at me.”

 

Her face didn't move but she did begin to respond. Her eyes began to focus on things in the distance and her fingers twitched as they clutched the blanket tighter. He continued rocking her, staring deeply at her face as she began to wake up. Her shivers decreased slightly as he hugged her tighter. His eyes flickered downward and her little feet curled at the toes, they touched each other and Ichigo placed his hand over both of them, patting them until he was able to move his hand up her leg and rubbing her shin gently.

 

“Christ,” Ichigo murmured softly, “You're not dressed.” He swallowed thickly but kept rubbing her leg, determined to make her warm again.

 

“I…Ichigo…” she murmured in a voice so soft he almost didn't hear it.

 

“I'm right here Rukia,” he said in a strong voice, “I'm here… Jesus Rukia, what have you done?”

 

She swallowed softly and blinked a few times. Her eyes began to focus on things closer to them. She looked at her toes, her fingers, and then turned her head to stare at Ichigo. Her lips—which were slowly returning to a pale pink color—opened slightly, “I was taking a shower.”

 

“Where?” Ichigo asked angrily as he hugged her closer to his chest, “An ice tray?”

 

“I was thinking…” she murmured as she shifted in his arms, leaning towards him and resting her head on his chest, her cold hair seeped through his shirt and chilled his skin. “That I let them down.”

 

“Let who down Rukia?” He asked softly, all thoughts of irritation left his head and he felt a grip of panic begin to seize him.

 

“My brother, my friends, my lieutenant… you.” she whispered as her cold nose hit the skin directly above the collar of his shirt. He encased the back of her head with his hand and pressed her close. His heart was beating rapidly… to think that he had been so selfish when this case, this obsession, had permeated Rukia's heart, gnawed at her soul and eaten her from the inside out. He swallowed with difficulty and clutched her closer to his chest.

 

“Rukia…” he breathed, letting his hot breath caress her shivering skull, “Please, you didn't disappoint anyone. We're in this together. You and I. We'll solve this case, we'll find out who murdered your brother and your friends.”

 

Her hands, which had been holding tightly to the blanket, released the scratchy wool and smoothed downward until Ichigo felt them snake around his waist. He gulped dryly as he felt her naked breasts, her nipples still taunt with a chill, press against the center of his clothed chest. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he brought her closer to him. His hot breath was teasing her ear and his hands were rubbing her through the wool blanket.

 

“Ichigo,” she murmured softly as she rested her head against his chest. “Can… can you stay tonight? Please?” Her arms tightened around his waist and her face pressed against his chest until he was beginning to feel short of breath.

 

“Yes,” he whispered softly, running his hand over her hair ever so softly, “I'll stay tonight.”

 

She paused and drew in a deep breath, savoring his subtle, but strong, scent. “Thank you,” she murmured softly before closing her eyes and drifting off into sleep.

 

Ichigo stayed exactly where he was until he was sure she was completely asleep, it only took a few moments but to Ichigo it felt like years. He held her tightly to him as if she were a breakable vase. Right now, when she was asleep, she was a porcelain doll—his porcelain doll. Her skin was unabashed and smooth, her hair was ebony and fine as silk, her eyes were large and beneath the thin lids he knew that special inky color of violet shined, her nose was small and pert, and her lips… Jesus, her lips… they looked like they were derived from the softness of angel's wings with the pink flesh of fresh skin. He looked hungrily at her lips for a moment and wondered—for just a moment—what they tasted like.