Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Odalisque ❯ Chapter 11 ( Chapter 11 )

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

 

 

 

Odalisque

 

Chapter 11

 

The bruise still hadn't come off.

 

Rukia grinned when she opened the door to the office and was greeted by the dark, grimacing, face of one Ichigo Kurosaki, who was still sporting a large purple bruise on his right cheek.

 

At least the indentation of the stapler has worn off. She noted with a type of scientific evaluation. Last week I could still see the brand name on his cheek.

 

“Hmm,” Rukia murmured, still staring at his face, “Mottled purple today.”

 

“Shut up,” he growled.

 

“You should be feeling grateful,” she informed in dryly, “Purple goes with your hair much better than the vomit green it was yesterday.”

 

“Can it Kuchiki!” He snarled, “You should be lucky that I didn't press charges.”

 

“You have no one to blame but yourself,” she commented.

 

“Should I be writing this down?” He seethed, “I'll want to remember it so I can tell my attorney.”

 

“A lawyer would need an attorney to defend himself in an itsy-bitsy, teeny-weeny, personal injury suit?” She twisted her voice so it sounded as if she was talking to an infant instead of a completely grown man. “How pathetic.” That statement came out cold and harsh. A complete contradiction of her earlier tone.

 

“I have thought of so many ways to kill you.” He told her. She glanced over at his desk and saw that he was squeezing a smiley-faced stress ball between his fingers.

 

She nodded to the squishy ball. “Can you actually break those things?”

 

He glared darkly at her, “I've broken three in the last week, midget.”

 

“Huh, that sure is interesting.” She muttered, totally ignoring his anger and going over to make a pot of coffee. “I didn't know you could actually do that.”

 

“I bet I'll get through another hundred before we're finished.” He growled.

 

She tossed him a file, it flew harmlessly across the sky, and landed directly in front of him. “Sign that,” she said, sitting down in her seat.

 

He picked it up and glanced at the contents. “What is it?”

 

“Our progress report.” She told him confidently.

 

He glanced up, looked back down, counted the sheets, and scoffed disgustedly. “It's twenty five pages… single spaced.”

 

“I was very thorough.” She answered smugly.

 

He quickly clicked a pen and scrawled his signature over the front of the paper. Next to her own graceful signature it looked primitive and childish.

 

“When does Ukitake want it?” He asked coolly.

 

“This afternoon.” She said.

 

There was a small pause from Kurosaki before he looked up and scowled. “I'll take it over.”

 

Rukia's neck nearly cracked because she flipped it up so fast. “What?” She demanded. She shook her head vigorously and clenched her hands on her desk. “No, definitely not, I need to go, he's my boss, and I'm the one who's going to take his place when this is over. I'm going to take him the file.”

 

“Listen Ms. Stick-Up-Your-Ass,” he drawled, “I understand that, however, I need to meet this guy too. You've met Ichimaru, it would only be fair that I meet Ukitake.”

 

“I understand that, Mr. My-Brain-Resides-In-My-Pants,” she snarled, “However you were there when I met Ichimaru, don't you think it'd be fair if I was with you when you met my boss?”

 

“No,” he countered, “You humiliated me in front of my boss. With you there when I meet Ukitake you're bound to bring up my nonprofessional attitude or how I won't work overtime,” he sent her a withering glare, “Like you did when Aizen was here.”

 

“I did nothing of the sort.” She sniffed haughtily.

 

“You did too,” he growled. “Listen Kuchiki, I need to impress the bosses too and trust me when I tell you it'll be a lot easier to do if you're not there hovering over my freaking shoulder.”

 

She shook her head and sighed, “Trust you, Kurosaki? Hell would freeze, Carrot Top would be elected president, and my brother would actually smile before I put any type of trust in you.”

 

He wrinkled his nose exceptionally hard and shrugged his shoulders. “Fine then, you don't have to trust me, just believe that I'm not going to screw you over when I take these files to Ukitake.”

 

“But I don't even think you'll do that!” She screeched, throwing her hands up into the air in ruthless exaggeration.

 

“You know what?” He shouted back, “Just forget I even asked you. I'm going to take them over right now… yeah, just forget that I'm actually doing you a favor because I'm transporting this personally to Ukitake—freeing you from my apparently insufferable presence—while you stay here and work quietly on getting organized for a few minutes! Just forget all of that!” He stood up sharply and trudged towards the door, file in hand and scowl in place.

 

Rukia had more than half a mind to stop him but her knees just didn't seem to comply with her mental demands. He went to the door, opened it, stepped through, slammed it shut, and continued to walk down the hallway without another word passing through Rukia's lips. She simply sat there, stunned by his logic and his outright determination to piss her off.

 

Though she'd never, not in a hundred million years, admit that he might have a point.

 

*~*~*

 

“Rukia!” Momo screamed, she brought of her hands to her head and viciously tugged at her hair, practically ripping it out of the precariously coiffed bun she had set it in this morning. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes and her nose was already a shiny shade of pink. She was biting her trembling bottom lip and tiny rivers of snot collected directly beneath her nose.

 

Rukia remained impassive as she tightened the laces on her sneakers.

 

“What am I going to do?” She shrieked, so loudly in fact, that three people standing near them cringed at the volume such a tiny woman was creating.

 

“About what?” Rukia asked in a bored voice.

 

Momo looked as though she was seconds away from having a massive heart attack. Rukia wondered if one of these helpful citizens would even think about calling an ambulance for this rather insane woman. She sure as hell didn't have her cell phone hidden in her tight spandex running shorts. Once again, Rukia cursed herself for postponing laundry day. If she hadn't she might be wearing comfortable shorts that didn't make her look like some type of prostitute.

 

Although, she mused silently, they are rather comfortable and they don't make running too unbearably uncomfortable when I get really sweaty.

 

“Rukia! Are you listening to me?!”

 

“Wow, Momo,” she grimaced, rubbing her hands against her ears as she stretched out her quadriceps, “Tone it down a bit, will you?”

 

“Tone it down?” She demanded in panicked disbelief, “Tone it down?” She threw her hands up in the air and began waving them around like she was signaling an aircraft to land. “Rukia! We're talking about the most important day of my life! I can't tone it down until it's over and done with!”

 

“Have you picked a date yet?” She asked nonchalantly.

 

Momo's mood brightened instantly and Rukia snickered inwardly. It was a trick she had learned in the business world, all she had to do—if she was dealing with a particularly moody or upset client—was change the topic, and their temperament, their frustrations, and their outlook would often shift immediately. The same this was true with her friend. Rukia knew that whenever Momo was upset with something all she had to do was change the topic just a bit—well… same topic, just a different subtopic—and begin to talk about that. It worked for a bit… until Momo remembered what she had been talking about in the first place.

 

“Valentines Day,” she announced in a happy, choked, voice. “Valentines Day…” she sighed and blinked her wet eyes furiously. “I decided on that day well… because it's still in winter, it's the day of love, and that way Toshiro will never have to buy me an anniversary present and a Valentines Day present separately, it'll just be one big day to celebrate our love… again and again and again…” She wiped a tear from her cheek and sniffled happily.

 

Rukia felt like vomiting.

 

“Our wedding will be absolutely perfect… but you'll have to wear pink… hmm, or red maybe, since you hate pink. But I'll make sure the dress is… is…”

 

When Momo trailed off into a silent and empty state of terror, Rukia turned her head back to her and looked while stretching her deltoid muscles. Her eyes were wide once again, her mouth was open in terror, and her chin was trembling precariously.

 

“Rukia!” She screamed, “The dress!”

 

Now seriously irritated, Rukia rolled her eyes and switched arms, “What dress?” She demanded, although she was being nice and using her patient voice.

 

“My wedding dress,” she wailed, tears now running freely down her eyes. “My grandmother's wedding dress!”

 

“You have a grandmother?” Rukia inquired thoughtfully, she shrugged her shoulders and stretched her triceps, “Huh, learn something new everyday, don't you?”

 

Momo gritted her teeth together and snarled like a wounded tiger, “I know, thirty years in a nursing home, never even bothering to contact her one and only grandchild even though said grandchild tried many times to visit her only to be shooed away with a metallic cane like some rat away from a lump of cheese!” Momo's voice was growing the longer she spoke and Rukia's eyebrows went with them. “And believe you me she smells like cheese too! Ninety four year old cheese to be exact and not the good stuff either!” She turned towards Rukia and began to advance threateningly, her face was purple and her fist was out and shaking, “And then suddenly, after I call her to tell her that I'm engaged she tells me that she's sending over the wedding dress that she wore on her wedding day! Don't get me wrong, the dress is the most fantastic thing I've ever seen in my entire life—white lace, silk petticoats, pearl buttons, rather revealing neckline for the nineteen thirties—but! Oh you'll never believe this…” she paused for dramatic effect and Rukia took that chance to take one small step back.

 

“It's too small for me!” She screamed.

 

“So adjust it!” Was Rukia's immediate answer, well, it was kind of immediate, she had to make sure that Momo wouldn't strike her if her answer displeased the bride-to-be.

 

Momo's face became a shade of purple that Rukia had never seen before. She almost wished she had a camera so she could take a photo and send it to crayon companies. Momo, however, was less than amused, she took two threatening steps forward and came to stand in front of Rukia. Their matching heights made it easy for them to stare at each other but when it came to the outright amount of intense maliciousness that either one of them could muster, Rukia was the clear winner. Her angry and powerful glare had such an alarming effect that Momo's stance became less homicidal, her fists became unclenched, and her face became less… colorful.

 

“Sorry,” she muttered sourly before turning her pleading eyes back to Rukia. “But I just can't Rukia, I can't! The designer said that since the dress was made from such unique fabric and since it's so old that any adjustments would ruin the sparkle!” Tears began to roll down her face and she passed her bare arm under her nose, catching a thin trail of snot against the small hairs and tan skin.

 

“Well it can't be that much smaller,” Rukia reasoned, glad that her friend had calmed down enough so she could actually speak coherently. “You're so thin as it is!”

 

“It's one size smaller than I am,” she muttered woefully. “I'm going to have to starve myself.”

 

For the first time today, Rukia felt actual pity for her friend. She reached out and delicately pressed the palm of her hand against Momo's shoulder. If there was one thing she firmly believed in, it was most eating. Women and girls around the world shouldn't have to starve themselves to fit society's demented conceptions of beauty. It was downright barbaric.

 

Rukia's eyes fixed on Momo's form and she frowned softly. Momo was healthy and vibrant and beautiful… any thinner and she would start to look sick. Her grandmother must have had problems to be that thin… but then again, it was the nineteen thirties.

 

“You're not going to starve yourself.” She told Momo firmly before moving her hand down to her friends' arms and pinching lightly. A sudden idea climbed slowly into her brain and she smiled softly.

 

Momo saw that look, knew that look, and suspiciously narrowed her eyes. “What are you smiling about?” She demanded.

 

“Momo,” Rukia said, grinning like it was Christmas, “You don't need to go on some crazy diet. All you might need to do is trade in some of this adipose tissue for muscle.”

 

“Adipose what?” Momo asked and immediately crossed her arms over her chest, “Are you saying I'm fat?”

 

“No,” Rukia sighed, “All I'm saying is that maybe if you came running with me more often you'd build lean muscle to replace some of your… softness.”

 

Momo opened her mouth—presumably to argue—but Rukia cut her off again before she could utter another word. “And then right after the wedding you can go back to eating triple chocolate fudge brownie ice cream anytime you like and restrict our runs to Sundays only. All you'd have to do is… oh, I don't know, meet me in the park or the gym maybe twice more during the week.” She shrugged and grinned at the thought. “We could work out together, talk about the wedding, and help you fit into that perfect dress of yours.”

 

Momo's mouth closed and her lips stopped trembling long enough for her nose to scrunch together ever so slightly. Her brow crinkled lightly and she gulped.

 

Rukia could tell that she was winning. She always won whenever she employed logic like this.

 

“Well…” she murmured softly, “I—I guess that could work.”

 

Rukia put another comforting hand on her shoulder and smiled, “Of course it'll work. All it takes is a little dedication.”

 

A determined look was beginning to click into Momo's pretty face. Her gray eyes began to take on more of a hopeful tint and her skin tone replenished itself with familiar pinkness. She seemed brighter by the second as she thought about Rukia's idea.

 

“Alright,” she said finally, she curled one of her hands into a fist and brought it down hard into her second open palm. She whirled on Rukia and pointed one semi-threatening finger in her direction. “But you have to make sure that I don't skip out on a single day. It's gotta be constant. No excuses.”

 

“Fine,” Rukia said solidly, even though she wasn't able to shield her friends' gaze from her encroaching evil grin. “I mean, if you insist.”

 

“Just don't torture me, okay?” She said, her mood becoming more and more cautious the longer she stared into Rukia's maliciously planning eyes.

 

“Torture?” She scoffed, “Nothing of the sort.” Rukia pulled her limber appendages from their places in the air and smiled at her friend. “But we do have to get started right away. Now. You and me, same as always,” she motioned to the trail and smirked. “But we pick up the pace.”

 

“Okay!” Was the chipper answer Rukia received.

 

“And we run it,” Rukia murmured, holding up one hand and spreading out her first two fingers. Momo's eyes widened immediately and her face lost that happy pink color. “Twice.”

 

“Twice?” She gasped. “Rukia! I thought you said you weren't going to torture me!”

 

“This isn't torture,” she answered matter-of-factly, “Its exercise.” She turned and began to speed-walk down the path, expecting Momo to follow her. “Let's begin.”

 

*~*~*

 

“And then! Oh Ichigo, and then Jinta looked over at me and he smiled!” Yuzu Kurosaki squealed in delight and hugged her arms around her body. Her brother looked on with slight indifference. “He's so cute! I thought I was going to faint on the spot!”

 

“Oh please Yuzu,” Karin snorted, “The guy was probably smiling at the cake you just made. I mean, you gave him a piece didn't you?”

 

Yuzu's pretty face contracted a bit and she pulled her bottom lip out into a pout. “Well, yeah, but I know that he was looking at me because his cheeks went all red. They almost matched his hair.” She giggled wildly and sighed, bringing a piece of coffee cake to her lips. “It was so cute.”

 

“Yuzu!” Isshin Kurosaki cried, finally waking up from the unconscious state Ichigo had put him in, “Why didn't you tell me that you were finally interested in boys?”

 

Yuzu gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth. Karin snorted and reached for more juice. Ichigo rolled his eyes then returned to people-watching.

 

“I—I, um… well… Daddy,” she said in a quiet voice, “It's just that, um, you tend to be a bit… eccentric, sometimes. And I was afraid that you might go on one of your little… episodes if you found, um, out.”

 

Isshin began to wail about being left out of the loop while boys might have been engaging in inappropriate behavior with his precious daughters. Both Yuzu and Karin attempted to calm him but neither of them seemed to be able to do anything to stem the flood of tears falling from his eyes. So Karin merely kicked him on the side of the head and he fell back to the ground, unconscious.

 

“God Ichigo,” Karin muttered to her distant brother, “How can you just ignore that?”

 

“Years and years of practice.” He said in return.

 

He wasn't lying either. All he had to do when he was younger was hole himself up in room with hundreds of his school books. His father wouldn't dare interrupt him while he was studying, thus, he had been successfully out of the range of his father's insanity through most of high school and college. Weekends had been a bit more difficult, mornings too, mostly because his crazy parental unit thought it would be fun to try and wake up his son with a dropkick to the face.

 

“How was your week, Ichigo?” Yuzu asked.

 

His normal scowl deepened a bit and he sighed heavily. “It was alright. My new partner's being a bitch though.”

 

“Really?” Karin asked, perking up immediately. Ichigo rolled his eyes and wondered why his sister didn't just go goth or skater punk, she certainly had the attitude to match one of them. “What did she do?”

 

Ichigo glared at his younger sibling and said, “She tried to make me look like a lazy ass in front of my boss's boss.”

 

“You are a lazy ass,” Karin reminded him. “And by your `boss's boss' do you mean the head honcho?”

 

“Yep,” he growled, “But it didn't work. Instead we got invited to a party.”

 

Yuzu giggled happily and dished out more food. “That's odd.”

 

“Yeah,” Ichigo said, his voice muffled by copious amounts of coffee cake. “It is.”

 

He turned his head back to the myriad of runners, joggers, dog-walkers, and Frisbee players all milling around in front of him. His eyes ran over each person thoughtfully as he chewed on the deliciously sweet treat.

 

His meeting with Ukitake hadn't gone badly. He smirked at the memory and wondered how it was that a man who was that kind got stuck with the `I'll-eat-you-face-before-I-look-at-you' Rukia Kuchiki. He was a nice guy though, he accepted their file, offered Ichigo some coffee, and he stayed to talk for a bit. Business remained the topic of conversation and throughout the entire time and Ichigo prided himself on how he didn't even mention Rukia Bitch Kuchiki once. He liked the guy. He had that grandfatherly air about him that made you like him immediately. His white hair, kindly smile, and the added bonus of laugh lines everywhere on his face made him so likable that even Ichigo left his office with his spirits raised a bit.

 

Then he went back to the office. Kuchiki had railed against him for at least fifteen minutes—throwing questions at him, accusing him, and even voicing paranoid delusions about him taking her promotions—before finally allowing him to get back to work. He had to spend that entire fifteen minutes imagining different ways to kill her—using only a napkin and a pair of chopsticks, which was all he had in his desk from one too many Chinese lunch orders.

 

There must be a reason why she's always so fucking mean. He thought disgustedly, Maybe she had chronic constipation or some sort of disease that makes her act like that. He took a sip of juice and shook his head. But it's probably just genetic.

 

He hadn't ever told her this, but he had once met her older brother at a conference while he was still a junior partner. Byakuya Kuchiki was probably the most frigid person he had ever had the displeasure of meeting. Hell, for the entire first hour that he was in the same room with said ice block, Ichigo had thought that he had been the victim of some sort of botched Botox thing—guys did that these days—because his face didn't move throughout the entire meeting. But no, that was just the way his face looked all the time. Ichigo could have sworn on the eventual grave of his father that the man had not moved a single face muscle in the span of the next three whole hours.

 

When he had actually contributed to the conversation the elder Kuchiki had given him a look that clearly told him not to speak again. Ichigo hadn't thought it was possible, to give someone such a murderous glare without moving his face muscles that is. Needless to say he had been far too green in the business world to ever contradict the great Byakuya Kuchiki so he had wisely kept his mouth.

 

So Ichigo could definitely see where Rukia Kuchiki got her unique sense of entitlement and arrogance. She was the sister of Byakuya Kuchiki, the man who had so much power packed into one nonmoving stare that he had been rooted to the spot by it.

 

Ichigo listened distantly into the conversation between his sisters and then slowly tuned them back out. He kept watching the dog-walkers and the runners and the parents with their children as they passed through his range of vision. Listlessly, his eyes moved next to the concessions cart.

 

Speak of the devil.

 

There was Rukia Kuchiki and her bouncy friend. Ichigo immediately felt like groaning. Wonderful, why did she have to be here again? This was completely ruining his Sunday morning.

 

He kept his eyes pinned on them, even though he told himself that he was only trying to figure out why the friend was backing away in horror and why Rukia was shaking her hand in front of her face. The girl looked exhausted and terrified at the same time.

 

Ichigo was ready to turn his head away and focus on his sisters when Rukia Kuchiki did something he never thought she'd do in one million years. Hell, screw one million, maybe two million. His throat went dry and his jaw dropped when he saw it.

 

Rukia Kuchiki took her shirt off.

 

*~*~*

 

“Take it!” Rukia shouted.

“Rukia no!” Momo wailed breathlessly, “I can't go again, and not with an extra shirt on, I'll die!”

 

“You will not,” she scoffed, “All we need to do is get some of that water off of you, it'll come off faster if you sweat more and you'll sweat more if you put on my shirt!”

 

“Rukia,” Momo's voice was pleading and desperate, “You ran really, really, really fast last time and I barely kept up with you then, how do you expect me to do it again when the sun it beating down, I'm tired, and when I'm wearing more clothing?”

 

“Do you or do you not want to fit into your grandmother's wedding gown?” Rukia shouted, immediately taking on the role of boot camp trainer and motivator.

 

Defeat shined in her friend's eyes and she nodded her head pathetically. Rukia thrust the shirt out in front of her friend and she took it while weeping silently. She brought it over her head and secured the fabric against her other shirt. It took a few minutes but Momo finally adjusted it until it fit well.

 

“Rukia…” she moaned, tugging fitfully at the collar. “It's so hot!”

 

“You'll live,” Rukia scoffed, “Trust me, I did this once when I was younger, it helps to get rid of excess water weight so you can see what you kind of look like when you lose the poundage. Then you just re-hydrate.”

 

“I'm going to look like I just stepped out of a swimming pool, aren't I?” Momo demanded mournfully.

 

“Yes… yes you will.”

 

“Fine,” she sighed, “But… just, tell me something that will distract me.”

 

“Alright…” Rukia racked her brain for a few minutes before adjusting her sports bra, tightening her ponytail, fixing her spandex shorts—Rukia told herself not to think about how revealing she looked—and saying to Momo, “Well, I got an email from the dating service.”

 

“Really?”

 

Good God, if that was all it would take to cheer Momo up a little then why hadn't she thought of telling her this before?

 

“Um, yeah,” she muttered, “They told me that it would take a couple of, um, months to get the algorithm to find me a match compatible with my best attributes.” She finished in a sneer and scoffed angrily. “Compatible with my best attributes my ass… what about my worst attributes, huh? What do they do about those? Do they think I'll just throw them away?”

 

“Don't worry,” Momo wheezed as breezily as she could. “I'm sure that they're just basking in the glory of the challenge you just gave them.”

 

“Challenge?” Rukia retorted, “What challenge?”

 

“Oh let's face it Rukia,” she sighed, “You're probably the most difficult candidate they've ever had. I just think that it might take a few months,” she tilted her head to the side and shrugged her shoulders, “And then maybe even a few more months. Just don't be too anxious.”

 

“Trust me,” Rukia chortled, “I'm not the one who's anxious, and besides, you were the one who made me sign up for this stupid thing.”

 

“True,” she agreed and then groaned, “Alright, let's just get this over with.”

 

Rukia grinned and nodded her head. She turned, motioned for Momo to follow her, and broke out into another run.

 

*~*~*

 

Ichigo Kurosaki felt something stirring in his pants. Well, okay, it wasn't something, he knew exactly what it was and he wasn't really sure he was alright with it at this moment.

 

Rukia Kuchiki just ran away wearing next to nothing. A tight pair of spandex shorts where he could see every curve of her hips—which he had previously thought were flagrantly flat—as well as twin expanses of strong, creamy, milk-white, legs. He had only ever previously seen her from the bottom of her knee and down, and even then her skin was covered by tan pantyhose. He never knew that her legs looked that velvety smooth.

 

Ichigo shuddered softly and recalled what had been above the nearly nonexistent waistband of her shorts. An abdomen that was conspicuously toned and just as creamy white as her legs. She obviously worked out more than he had previously thought. He thought of her tiny black sports bra and gulped. She didn't have large breasts, but from what he could see they weren't nonexistent either. They looked pert and… and… touchable, behind that thin bolt of fabric.

 

Then she turned around, she ran away, and he got to see her ass. It was tight, it was supple, and it was just there. Like… pinch-able there, even bitable there.

 

“Oh… fuck,” he groaned softly. He could feel a small sheen on sweat on his forehead and another insistent throb from inside his pants.

 

This was not how he ever wanted to see Rukia Kuchiki. Not the person who always wore pencil skirts, blouses, and sport jackets while simultaneously wearing shoes that could poke a hole in concrete. He didn't want her to become an actual… an actual… woman.

 

No, she was just Rukia Kuchiki, the bitch, the evil, the malicious, the nasty, and the wicked person who worked with him. She wasn't the woman with the fantastic legs attached to the most amazing ass he had ever seen. She most definitely wasn't the woman with a stomach that was practically begging to be eaten off of. She certainly wasn't the woman with the great breasts and the—the—

 

“Ichigo? Are you… alright?”

 

His head snapped up to his family, all of whom were staring at him—even his father, who had woken up from his second unconscious state of the morning. He swallowed hard and shook his head. He prayed that he wasn't sweating anymore.

 

“Oh, I'm fine. I think I must've eaten something that didn't agree with me.” He answered lamely.

 

“What?” Yuzu shrieked and immediately Ichigo realized the mistake he had made.

 

“Ichigo!” His father bellowed, his own eyes leaking with salty wetness. “How dare you assume this was your beautiful sisters' fault?”

 

His sister's bottom lids began to tear up immediately. Her bottom lip quivered hard and her eyes began to leak surreptitiously.

 

“Yuzu!” He squeaked, “No, no, it wasn't anything you made, I—I um, I grabbed some weird coffee at some shady place that didn't look too good before I came, it must have been that.”

 

His father's face became red and he readied his muscles so he could spring upon his son. “How dare you actually drink something and then consume all of Yuzu's wonderful food!” His father screamed. “You're so selfish, my son!”

 

“I really don't think that's Ichigo's problem.” Karin interjected snidely.

 

Was he blushing? God he hoped not. But his cheeks were hot and his family was staring at him as though he was some sort of alien. Isshin's eyes were the most critical as they raked over his son's crumpled form. He blinked twice, focused on one area in particular—oh God, he knew that he was blushing now—and his father's eyes shot back to his. A grin appeared on his face and he glanced over to the dog-walking, Frisbee playing, joggers.

 

“So… Ichigo,” he said, even though his voice was not his usual insane rambling Ichigo was still rather afraid of what his dad might say, especially in front of his two sisters. “See anyone you know?”

 

“No,” he answered immediately, or, more likely, squeaked immediately. Ichigo cursed himself inwardly and felt like slapping himself.

 

“Are you sure?” Karin snickered. “I thought for sure that you were looking at that half-naked chick.”

 

“Shut it Karin,” Ichigo snarled.

 

“What half-naked chick?” Yuzu asked, helplessly out of the loop. Ichigo hoped that Yuzu was still too innocent to really know about all of his sexual partners. He was sure that Karin was astute enough to know about most everything about it, since she did Google him, and then there was his dad, and he… well, he encouraged it—yeah, he wanted a grandchild that badly. Still, Ichigo prayed that Karin hadn't showed Yuzu all of his web pages. He still wanted to be the perfect older brother, at least in her eyes. He wanted to remain her unblemished hero… at least for a little while longer.

 

“Yeah,” Isshin said hungrily to Karin, “What half-naked chick?” He turned to his son and widened his eyes, “Ichigo?”

 

“Shut up you guys!” He bellowed.

 

Karin continued as though he wasn't even there. “Ichigo was looking at this girl and then she took off her shirt and gave it to her running buddy. She was standing there in spandex and a bra and big bro over here was salivating.”

 

“Karin!” He screamed.

 

“What?” She demanded, “It's true!” She turned back to her dad and shrugged her shoulders. “And besides, you should be thanking me Ichigo, you're little problem is all gone now.”

 

Startled, Ichigo had the lack of forethought to look down, directly where his `little problem' had been. Wow, Karin was right. Hey, fighting with his family was finally good for something.

 

Nevertheless, he turned to his dad and to Karin. He scowled harder than he had ever scowled before in his life. Yuzu was still looking helpless between the three of them. She pouted her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. Normally this cute face got her any information she wanted, but today, Ichigo was most certainly not going to give it to her, not when it dealt with him having a boner in the middle of The Weekly Kurosaki Family Picnic.

 

“I'm leaving,” Ichigo muttered grumpily. He stood up, once he made sure that he really was, um, flat.

 

“Have fun at home Ichigo,” Karin muttered under her breath, a snide innuendo obvious in her inflection of `fun.'

 

“If you weren't my sister I'd hurt you,” Ichigo snarled.

 

“Too bad I share your DNA then, isn't it?” She smirked.

 

Ichigo shook his head, “You're too much like me for your own good.” He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his baggy shorts and jingled the keys inside. He said goodbye to only Yuzu before kicking his father into unconsciousness and glaring at Karin.

 

He walked down the hill and dodged a couple of tiny dogs along the way. His eyes flickered over to that little concessions cart and he frowned softly.

 

He was nearly past it when he stopped, swiveled, and walked right up to the man behind the counter. He was currently serving a little kid an ice cream cone. Ichigo thought it was rather weird to eat ice cream at only eleven in the morning but whatever, the kid was fat anyway.

 

“How can I help you sir?” The man asked, smiling kindly.

 

Ichigo wondered if his scowl scared him. He did look a bit startled. But Ichigo couldn't help it, that was just the way his face looked.

 

“Hey,” he said, “You know those two girls who come here every Sunday? Kind of short, black hair—both of them—and they're always running… or jogging?”

 

“Oh yeah,” his eyes suddenly became suspicious, “Why?”

 

Ichigo rolled his eyes, “One of them is Rukia Kuchiki, I work with her, I just don't know the other one.”

 

The man, after one more minute of consideration, nodded and said, “The other one's name is Momo, she just got engaged to a very nice man. She and Ms. Rukia are the best of friends.”

 

Ichigo nodded, he wanted to ask the man what this Momo person's last name was but he held back, the guy already thought that Ichigo was some sort of stalker, if the creepy and untrustworthy look he was giving him was any indication. He didn't want to give the guy reason to call the cops or anything. He growled at the thought, if he called the cops then Ichigo'd have to explain why he wanted to know about Rukia and her friend, and then Ichigo would have to contact Rukia so she could actually vouch for him. He scowled; but he knew that Rukia would never end up helping him. Hell, she'd probably enjoy seeing him locked in a cell with three-hundred-pound burly men covered in piercings and tattoos. Bitch.

 

“Okay, thanks.” He nodded and headed to the other side of the park. Before he knew what he was doing, his eyes were searching the path for any sight of Rukia Kuchiki in that scandalously revealing workout attire. With his hand in his pocket, Ichigo pinched his leg hard.

 

Remember the Chappy mug comment. Remember the Chappy mug comment. Remember the Chappy mug comment. He chanted relentlessly.

 

It was hard though. He just couldn't seem to get that view out of his head. He drew in a deep breath and told himself just to wait until Monday morning when he would see her in her normal pencil skirt, blouse, sports jacket, and with her hair held up in a tight, restricting, ponytail. She would become sexless once again. She would go from Rukia Kuchiki the—the woman to Rukia Kuchiki the business partner, who possessed a tongue as sharp as razor blades and who wasn't afraid to use it.

 

That's it.

 

“Yeah,” Ichigo muttered, “That's it.”

 

Above him, some kind of malevolent spirit snickered.

 

 

 

 

(A/N: I know I should probably be more disciplined in my updating. Sigh. I need to have more patience. Oh well, this one couldn't wait. Think of it as a Friday treat. :D

 

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