Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ Odalisque ❯ Chapter 12 ( Chapter 12 )

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

 

 

 

Odalisque

 

Chapter 12

 

Two weeks later and still Ichigo could not look at Rukia Kuchiki without picturing her in a pair of tight spandex shorts and a sports bra.

 

Although he found that it didn't impede his work ethic like he thought it would. All he had to do was modify his method of insulting so he wouldn't have to actually look at her while he said them, which was a lot easier to do than he had initially anticipated. His snide comments and evil remarks were simply passed to her over their desks or across the room. She didn't seem to notice though, each of his insults were just that—insults, nothing more and nothing less, no matter where they came from or how they were delivered.

 

They continued working as well as they could but the looming threat of the mergers' announcement kept them constantly on their toes. Aizen had given them specific parameters to work into so that they could be ready when everything was fully announced. They had to complete at least two fifths of the work presented to them. And while Ichigo didn't see this as much of a problem it was Rukia who was spazzing out about it. He had once reminded her—in a completely innocent fashion of course—that they had until the end of August to do this; she only snarled at him and said that it would be beneficial if they got even more ahead. So they continued on and the awkwardness began to fade.

 

As the time between them passed and the work became more intense their insults became less frequent. They were able to work longer in the silences presented to them and, happily enough, it stretched longer and longer each day. There was even this one particular day when she even went as far as to allow Ichigo to drink from the same pot of coffee. He had to hold back any quips about cooties for fear of her taking the coffee pot privilege away.

 

By the time August first rolled around they had nearly half of their commissioned work finished. Ichigo was rather proud of their success while Rukia was telling him that they could do so much more if they only tacked one more hour onto the workday. Ichigo still flatly refused and kindly reminded her of her dastardly chat with Aizen. He had that to back him up as well. She had merely wrinkled her nose, grabbed her purse, and went down to the lunchroom.

 

Rukia ran a hand through her hand tiredly and glanced at the watch on her wrist. She was nearly ten minutes late. She groaned inwardly and wondered if Momo was already having a hernia.

 

When she stepped into the cafeteria she immediately noticed her friend. She was standing at the food counter, staring at a wobbling plate of jello with ravenous eyes.

 

She sighed and walked calmly over to Momo, whose hand kept reaching out to periodically touch a plate of neon goo, then retreating when she thought of the consequences.

 

Rukia placed a heavy hand on Momo's shoulder and she must have jumped nearly two inches into the air.

 

“Rukia! Oh my god you scared me.”

 

“I noticed.” Rukia said dryly, “You can eat it, its sugar free. And get me a red one too.” She handed Momo the money and began her trek over to the salads. The salad dude, who knew her quite well since she basically ate from his booth every day, smiled when she approached and spread his hands out in front of him. He indicated to the Caesar, she nodded, mumbling her thanks, and he handed it over to her. Rukia grabbed a bottle of water and a pair of utensils before paying the cashier and finding Momo at their usual table.

 

She had a color manual.

 

“Momo,” she moaned, “Please, not now, okay? I've had a long day, I've got five more hours to go with Kurosaki, and we need to go to the gym, so please, please, please no colors today.”

 

“Rukia,” she countered immediately, her tone was deadly, serious, and completely un-Momo like. Rukia had to blink twice before conceding that that voice actually came out of this particular person. “Do you know how long it will take to create your bridesmaids dress? With your tiny size they need to know the color right now, that way, by the time your fitting comes you will actually be wearing a dress and not just a paper bag!” She thrust the manual into Rukia's hands and glared. “Now, I've narrowed it down to carmine red, deep violet, or sky blue. You take it from there.”

 

What Rukia actually wanted to do was bang her head on the cafeteria table.

 

“What color are your flower arrangements?” She asked wearily, her hands digging for the manual.

 

“Ivory and an undetermined color, it'll be the color you pick for your dress.” She answered matter-o-factly. “So it is very important that you pick a good one Rukia. It could make or break my wedding.”

 

“Oh gee thanks,” Rukia muttered woefully, “No pressure.” She blinked a few times to clear her fuzzy vision and fought back a yawn. She needed to try and get her logic to work right now. “Alright… let me see, it's going to be Valentines Day so red would make the most sense. However, too much red—and since the flowers would also be the same shade as my dress—might get a bit tacky. And no one wants tacky at a wedding… except rednecks.”

 

“Uh huh,” Momo muttered in affirmation, sipping her diet soda innocently.

 

“Yet the violet would match my eyes and contrast nicely with my skin.” Rukia continued, “Sky blue would be alright but I would think that it would be more suited for a summer wedding than a winter wedding.”

 

Rukia looked up at Momo for some sort of consent and found her nodding silently.

 

“So it's really a choice between violet and red.”

 

“Carmine,” Momo corrected.

 

“Red, carmine, scarlet, cherry, burgundy, fire truck… it doesn't matter,” Rukia snorted, waving her hand dismissively. “I don't really know…”

 

“Go with the violet.”

 

Rukia's spine tingled when a deep, masculine voice rushed over her body. She narrowed her eyes in recognition and immediately swiveled around in her seat.

 

Ichigo Kurosaki loomed over them like some sort of tower swathed in an Italian suit and topped with orange fuzziness. Her face was only level with his waist and she made it a point to look up so her head wasn't next to improper genitalia. She glanced up into his face and glared at him hard. He smirked down at her and turned his gaze back to the manual in front of her hands. He leaned over her and Rukia's eyes widened significantly. His chest was practically pressing into the top of her head and his chin was only a few inches away from the top of her head.

 

Her brain was screaming at the impropriety of such an act. What would her colleagues think if they saw her in such a position with Kurosaki? They might think she had become one of his new conquests. Her eyes darkened at the thought. Never in a million years would that ever happen. Still, even though she was practically ready to rip off Kurosaki's head for being so callously casual about all this her nose was assaulted by his unique scent, it was spicy but it was clean. It was even kind of… nice.

 

She heard Momo gasp softly as he picked up the manual and genially flipped through it. Rukia's eyes stared daggers at him while he hummed a small tune and glanced through the pages.

 

“Kurosaki,” she snarled through gritted teeth. “Did you want something?”

 

Today was not the day for Ichigo Kurosaki to intrude upon her only hour of semi-happiness. This was the only time of the day where she was able to talk to her friend, when she was away from him, and when she was able to recharge and get ready to go back in and spend the rest of the day with him. This was her hour and she'd be damned if he wasted it.

 

When he didn't answer she reached up to snatch the book away from him. He slid a ways away from her and another smirk appeared on his face.

 

Rukia let out a feral growl and flipped back into her seat. She angrily dug into her Caesar salad and stuffed a few greens into her mouth. She chewed with a fury and glanced up at her friend, expecting to see utmost loathing on all of her features.

 

What she saw wasn't loathing… it was appreciation.

 

“Hi,” Momo said softly, her voice filled with awe and a bit of the wow-factor that normally accompanied a woman being pleased by the appearance of a man. But wait a sec… Momo was already engaged… she wouldn't look at another man while she was still reeling from this size of the rock Toshiro had given her… and why was she looking between the two of them like… like… she wanted there to be something between them?

 

“Hello,” he grinned down at her charmingly and continued to rifle through the manual—oh come on his arms can't be that long. “Ooh,” he smirked, “I like this color,” he turned the book towards her and smiled like a rouge. “Champagne, I think it would look very nice on you.”

 

He was staring straight at Rukia as he said this and she scowled at him. “It would make my skin look sickly.” She told him acidly.

 

“Oh no,” he gleamed softly, “I think it would just… shimmer.”

 

Rukia could tell that he was mocking her but Momo seemed to be swooning in her seat. She felt like smacking her friend across the face for acting so foolish around her mortal enemy.

 

“Did you want something, Kurosaki?” She spat, shoving another bite of salad into her mouth.

 

“Oh now don't be like that,” he snickered lightly, “Here I am, visiting you during your lunch hour—”

 

“Did I ask you to do that?” She demanded through a mouth filled with leafy greens. “No, I didn't, in fact, I'd rather you leave, so get to the fucking point.”

“Rukia!” Momo gasped, “Don't be so rude!”

 

“Yeah Rukia,” Kurosaki mimicked and chided, “Don't be so rude!”

 

“Both of you,” she snapped, “Shut up!” She pointed a threatening finger at Momo and warned her quietly to stay out of it before tuning her back to her friend and glaring up at her coworker. “What did you want, for the love of God, tell me and leave me in peace?”

 

He grinned and removed his hands from the manual. She didn't move until she saw him pull out a small envelope from his breast pocket and toss it down on top of the book he had just left unattended.

 

“The invitation,” he told her, “It came today from Aizen's carrier, I was told to give it to you immediately.”

 

She blinked twice before picking the envelope up and placing it inside of her own breast pocket. Yet instead of being thankful or even the least bit appreciative she glared at him and glanced quickly at her watch. “You know, you could have just given it to me in twenty minutes.”

 

He shrugged nonchalantly, “I could have, but…” he grinned and looked from her to Momo and back again, “I saw you sitting with your friend and just couldn't resist coming over and meeting the one person who seems to like you.”

 

Rukia wished dearly that she could reach out and punch him in the nuts. But no, that would cause a scene. Momo was tittering and giggling silently in her seat while Rukia wanted to throw up. She crossed her arms and felt the invitation pressing into her chest. She blatantly noticed that no one had even bothered to refute the statement about her having only one person who liked her.

 

“Well now you have,” she seethed, “And now you can—”

 

“Ichigo Kurosaki,” he said pleasantly as he extended his hand over Rukia's head once again. She couldn't help but think he was, once again, making fun of her height. “I work with Rukia.”

 

“Momo Hinamori,” she giggled, “And soon to by Momo Hitsugaya.” She twisted her left hand on the table ever so slightly, as if to make sure that Ichigo caught the glitter of her engagement ring. Psh, as if he could actually miss it. You could see the damn thing all the way in outer space.

 

“Delighted to meet you,” Ichigo grinned and Rukia felt like gagging. Sure, now was the time when he was turning up the charm… to the point of suffocation, that is. Why couldn't he ever act nice around her?

 

“I've wanted to meet you for a while now actually,” Momo said and Rukia could swear that she saw the little twit blush. “Rukia's told me a lot about you.”

 

“I certainly hope not,” he said just as charmingly as before. He even dared to shoot Rukia a twinkling smile.

 

She wanted to kill him.

 

Kurosaki straightened and he pressed a hand onto Rukia's shoulder, squeezing it for emphasis, “Well, I just wanted to meet you and now, if you don't mind, I think I'll get back to my own lunch.”

 

“Oh won't you join us?” Momo asked and Rukia had to stop herself from lunging across the table and strangling the stupid bitch. Although she did relish in the fact that she could probably make it look like an accident, or at least make it seem justifiable. She held herself back on the notion that killing Momo before her wedding would upset Toshiro quiet a bit.

 

“Maybe some other time,” he said genially, “Perhaps when Ms. Kuchiki isn't clenching the table hard enough to break it.”

 

Rukia, although both of the people standing/sitting next to her glanced at her hands, did not pick them back up from the table. She fisted her fingers tighter around the edges of the plastic and sullenly stabbed her fork back into her meal.

 

“Bye bye then.” Momo cooed happily. Her eyes followed him as he left the room, pausing to say hello to a few people here and there. Rukia watched his disgusting orange head vanish into the hallway.

 

She gritted her teeth together and turned back to her friend. “Don't even start Momo, I mean it, don't say a single word.”

 

“What?” She demanded innocently, placing her hands up in a defensive gesture. “I wasn't going to say… much.”

 

Rukia put her face into her hands and swallowed her food for fear she'd choke on it. “Alright… say it and get it the hell over with.”

 

She braced herself.

 

“Oh my God!” Momo shrieked. “Rukia are you blind? He's gorgeous!” She rolled her eyes frantically and waved her hands around in the air dramatically. “All that shit you told me about him having an ugly face and being horrid and talking to you so rudely… Rukia! My God, if I weren't already engaged I think I would have jumped that guy right on this cafeteria table.” She smacked it for emphasis and brushed the back of her hand against the forehead, as if she was in heat.

 

“All that `shit,' as you put it so eloquently,” Rukia retorted dryly, “Is true, he is ugly, he is horrid, and he is rude.” She shook her head and viciously drank from her water bottle, “I can't believe you would just throw everything I said it away because you think he's hot and because you actually believe that little three minute performance of his.”

 

“I don't think he's hot, Rukia,” she replied wisely, “I know he's hot.” She looked to the end of that hallway longingly and swallowed. “Can't you just imagine what's underneath that shirt of his? He looked cut.”

 

“Whatever,” Rukia growled, “I already know what's under that suit.”

 

Momo's head whipped around to her but Rukia just smiled wryly, “Red skin, tail, and horns.”

 

“Psh,” Momo muttered, her former excitement completely forgotten. “I highly doubt that Rukia; seriously, if you wanted, you and Mr. Kurosaki over there could have some fun… hot, sweaty, scream-like-a-porn-star fun.”

 

“No thank you,” she snapped and grabbed up her half-eaten food. She stalked away from the table but turned after a second. “Violet,” she told Momo scathingly. “I choose violet, and not because he said anything either, okay?”

 

Momo's grin made Rukia want to come over and wipe it off of her face—physically. “If you say so.” She answered in a sing-songy voice before Rukia stomped out of the cafeteria, trails of smoke frankly steaming from her ears.

 

*~*~*

 

“You didn't have to do that!” She screeched as Rukia Kuchiki banged opened the door and stomped up to him.

 

Ichigo only smiled and leaned back in his chair. “Do what?” He demanded innocently, “I didn't do anything except visit you during your lunch.”

 

“Yeah well don't do it again,” she snapped, “I will not have my best friend thinking that you're the greatest guy in the world when you act like the second coming of Satan when you're around me.”

 

“Only because you treat me like shit day after day.” He pointed out clearly. “And Satan doesn't have a second coming, that's Jesus.”

 

“I don't care,” she hissed. “And I treat you like you treat me.”

 

“And what does that say about you?”

 

“What does it say about you!”

 

“I asked you first.”

 

Rukia let out an angry shriek and brought her hands to the top of her head. He saw her fingers itching to start ripping out her own locks but he doubted that she would ever do anything to mess up her perfect ponytail. He smirked happily at his own power to annoy her.

 

Then he blinked twice and had to turn his head softly to the side. He couldn't help but see her dressed in a bra and a pair of spandex shorts… or less.

 

He barely registered her pacing in the background as he busied himself with attempting to control his mind's eye.

 

Lately he hadn't been able to keep himself from imagining her in skimpier, lacier, clothing. He told himself that it was perfectly healthy. He was a young, sexually active man who just happened to be somewhat attracted to his business partner. It wasn't her mind—or her attitude—he thought about whenever he pictured her in tight lingerie… it wasn't how she acted around him—that was what he thought of when he wanted to be turned off—it was just a fantasy, nothing more and nothing less.

 

So, thinking about Rukia dressed in a lacy bra and panties set, smiling like she had smiled at him that one time three weeks ago, slowly bringing a strap down from her shoulder and exposing her—

 

“Kurosaki!”

 

Ichigo jerked up and blinked twice before taking a swift look down at mini-Ichigo to make sure he wasn't completely alert. No, he was good.

 

Then he looked back at Rukia, “What?” He demanded, “I was tuning you out.”

 

Ichigo wondered for a moment if he should dive under his desk and shout “She's gonna blow!” but thought better of it. He wouldn't want her to discover his semi-erect cock while she was on her way over to dismember him. She might think that he was into the whole punishment-dirty-talk thing… and he wasn't. It was only that he might like the way she looked. But only a little. A very teensy bit. Sometimes.

 

He watched her slowly take her hands down to her sides and begin a series of breathing exercises that he guessed were given to her by one of the many therapists she must undoubtedly have. He thought he could even hear her counting backwards from ten.

 

“You know what?” She muttered, staring at the ground. “Never mind… just, never mind.” She went over to her desk and pulled out the file they had been working on before they had gone to lunch. “Here, finish this one up, I'll start on the other.”

 

Ichigo caught the file before she completely tossed it onto his desk. He frowned slightly and took it anyway. He wondered blankly why she had just let him off the hook like that. It wasn't like her at all. His frown increased and he looked her over once again.

 

She had dark circles under her eyes, much darker than was normal for any person, and her skin looked paler than usual. Her shoulders were stooped just a bit even though he could tell that she was trying vainly to straighten them. It must have been that Kuchiki upbringing that was making her act so proper around the office. But yes, there was no denying it… Rukia Kuchiki—the indomitable, the indestructible, the invincible—was worn out

 

“You look tired.” He stated plainly.

 

“Thank you Captain Obvious.” She sniped.

 

“Well fine,” Ichigo retorted, “I was merely looking out for your health and well-being but, oh well, I guess you don't care.”

 

“In that you are correct,” she muttered, “I don't care, nor do I need any input from you on my physical state of being.”

 

Ichigo glared at her over his mug of post-lunch coffee, “Well,” he began snidely, “I'm glad to see you don't get any ruder when you're like this. What a relief!” He scoffed sarcastically and shook his head.

 

She narrowed her eyes at him and sank forlornly into her seat. Ichigo watched as she brought a hand to her forehead and rubbed her fingers against her eyes, smoothing over the bottoms and applying friction to the tops. A little groan escaped her mouth and she pressed another hand, the back of it, to her cheek. Ichigo peered a bit closer and wondered if the rosy coloring he saw was the result of his teasing or if it was more from a bacteriophage infecting the inside of her body.

 

Before he knew what he was doing Ichigo was out of his chair and on his way over to Rukia's desk. She seemed to be trying to ignore him to the point where she wasn't even looking in his direction. She must have thought that he would just veer off to the side and head for the door instead of coming directly over to her. She nearly jumped out of her seat when Ichigo swerved, sat on the edge of her desk, and put his hand on her shoulder.

 

“What are you doing?” She yelped as she tried to scoot back but Ichigo's hand prevented that.

 

“Just stop moving for a second, would you? I'm not going to freaking bite you.”

 

Amazingly enough she stayed quiet, even though her eyes were riddled with daggers the likes of which she had never mustered before. She didn't even turn her head away. Her neck was a rigid line connecting her head with the rest of her rigid body. She was sitting so stiffly that Ichigo wondered if he could just snap off some part of her body. Or, if in such a state, she only moved like a Barbie doll. He shrugged and just did what he was planning to do.

 

Ichigo brought his hand out and pressed the palm into her forehead. A new batch of red blossomed on her skin yet he was rather positive that it was from his hand and not an infecting bacteriophage. However, her forehead showed signs of heat that were not induced by him. He then slid his hand down to touch her cheek with the back of his fingers. More red bloomed on her face and he had to fight back a small snicker at the sight. Her cheeks were just as hot at the rest of her face and Ichigo had to surmise that she had a slight fever.

 

“You should go home and rest after work,” he told her bluntly. “You've got a small fever.”

 

His hand had not strayed from its spot on her face. “I can't,” she told him just as bluntly, still stiff and unmoving. “I've got to go to the park tonight and run with Momo.”

 

“I'm sure it can wait.” He pressed his hand to the other side of her face just to be sure, all the while ignoring how soft her skin felt against him.

 

“No, it can't.” She refuted, “Momo needs to be able to fit into her grandmother's dream dress and she can't do that if she's a size too big.”

 

Ichigo frowned and smoothed his fingers over her skin just a bit. If he didn't know any better he'd say that she was actually enjoying having his cool hand against her hot skin. “But she's pretty skinny already.”

 

“I know,” Rukia said, her eyes were closed, perhaps in annoyance, but Ichigo thought it was for different reasons. “But she can't make any altercations on the dress without ruining it. It's nearly ninety years old and the fabric that was used to make it doesn't really exist anymore.”

 

“Oh,” Ichigo said.

 

“We devised a workout plan,” she continued, her head was resting on the back of her chair and her eyes were shut peacefully now. Ichigo grinned to himself and pressed another hand onto her face. She jumped just a bit but a little sigh escaped from her throat. She seemed to be enjoying having his hands on her face immensely. “We run around the park twice now on Sundays and either I run with her or go to the gym with her on two other times during the week.”

 

“Sounds… constant.” He said softly.

 

“I don't mind it,” she sighed quietly, she seemed to almost be falling asleep. Her body was relaxing and her head was beginning to turn in whichever direction he applied pressure with his hands. “But since I always run in the morning it can get a bit weary.” She groaned a bit. “Four miles, five a.m., everyday.”

 

“Good God woman,” he muttered, kneading his thumbs into her skin ever so slightly. “No wonder you're so tiny.”

 

“No…” she murmured, “I just run for muscle, not to lose weight or anything, just for the… I don't know… the feeling, I guess. You're free. When you're running nothing else really exists. Just you and the gravel.”

 

Ichigo raised his eyes to her face and noticed how she was practically melting into her chair. He continued and pressed his thumbs into her temples. His shoulders were aching in this position but he didn't want to move, not when she was acting so nice and everything.

 

“Just tell your friend that you need a day off. You can make it up on another day.” He told her. “I want you to be as bitchy as you are when you're healthy, not the über-bitchy you're bound to be when you're sick.”

 

He expected her to at least lash out verbally at him. Even though he was glad she didn't. She just smiled and chuckled ruefully. “Sure… whatever Kurosaki.”

 

Ichigo just grinned and continued massaging her face with his hands. Her skin felt nice against his rather rough skin. She seemed to be enjoying it very much. He told himself that it was just the fever; it must have been getting to her brain or something since she would never actually allow him to do something like this when she was rational. Still, he couldn't help but relish the moment. She looked peaceful sitting against the chair like that. She was relaxed and soft and pliable in his hands. She looked… appealing, just resting comfortably in her chair. It made him think of the fantasy he had had only a few minutes ago. What if she was dressed in that skimpy lingerie he had imagined… lying against that chair… breathing softly and beautifully because he had just made her come…

 

Whoa, Ichigo thought, surprised at how vivid the image became in his mind. That was not right.

 

“Maybe I will go home today.” She said softly. Ichigo's hands were going down to the area of her neck. She groaned softly and smiled as his thumb skittered around her pulse. “You're… surprisingly good at that.”

 

Ichigo smiled and almost had the insane urge to run his thumb over her bottom lip, just to see if it was as soft as it looked.

 

He scooted forward just a bit until he was on the very edge of her desk. He rubbed his thumb over the front of her throat and she immediately went boneless in his hands. He wouldn't have been surprised if she actually slid down onto the floor in just a moment. Ichigo smirked softly and brought his hands back to her cheeks. The urge to touch her lips was so strong. He moved his hand into position and swallowed before reaching his thumb out and—

 

“Mr. Kurosaki?”

 

Ichigo's thumb jerked back but his hands did not move from their spot on Rukia's face. Rukia had also jumped to attention at the sound of Ichigo's name being said by someone other than herself. She jerked back and swatted his hands away.

 

“Okay Kurosaki,” she said scathingly and Ichigo inwardly cringed at the sound. “I get that I have a fever, stop molesting my face why don't you?”

 

Ichigo growled at her and flinched when he felt his hand stinging from her slap. He glared down at her but she didn't return it. He frowned softly and noticed that her eyes flickered ever so slightly over to the person—the woman—standing in the doorframe. Ichigo glanced back at the door and immediately felt his stomach drop three feet.

 

Orihime Inoue was standing stock still at their door, gripping a file like it was her lifeline, biting her lip until it was bloodless, and squinting her eyes into a narrow glare.

 

He swiveled his head back to his business partner and she stared at him meaningfully. She even nodded her head just a bit before he realized what she was trying to tell him.

 

“God woman,” he spat as vehemently as he could, “I was just trying to help. You're a thankless bitch, you know that?”

 

“Oh how adult,” she hissed back. “I suppose tomorrow you'll be calling me a poopy-head?”

 

“Thanks for the suggestion; I was thinking more along the lines of `butthead' or `turd breath.'” He shot at her. He turned to Inoue and narrowed his eyes at her. She did seem to be a bit more relaxed at the sight of Ichigo sitting on the edge of Rukia's desk. She had looked like she was ready to start screaming at the sight of Ichigo's hands on his business partner's face. He thought that they covered it up well enough though. That bit about the fever—while it was technically true—would explain why Rukia was blushing at the moment, if she really was blushing, that is. He glanced back at her and smirked. She looked mortified that she had allowed him to touch her face like that.

 

Inoue stepped into the room and handed Ichigo a small file. “This was from Mr. Ichimaru, he just wanted me to give it to you.”

 

Ichigo opened it, scowled, and closed it before he looked up at Inoue, scowled again, and said, “Thanks Orihime.”

 

“No problem,” she stood for a few moments and shifted from one foot to the other. Ichigo still sat on the edge of the Rukia's desk and to his surprise—and he bet to Inoue as well—she didn't order him off.

 

After two minutes had passed Rukia turned to Inoue and asked, “Did you need something else?”

“Oh!” She giggled, pressing her hand to her mouth as if someone had just told an exceedingly funny joke. “No! I just… you're sick, Ms. Kuchiki?”

 

“Slightly,” Rukia told her stiffly. “It's nothing big.”

 

“Oh…” she blinked her pretty grey eyes a few times and smiled a strained and tight smile. “Alright then. Well, if you ever need someone to fill in for you then feel free to ask. I wouldn't mind dealing with Mr. Kurosaki for a day or two.” She grinned softly and Ichigo only nodded tersely. He glanced at Rukia and she glanced back at him. A small, sadistic smile was curling on her lips. Ichigo glared at her and shook his head softly from side to side.

 

Rukia disregarded the quiet warning and leaned in her chair so she could see around Ichigo. “I'll remember that Orihime. Thank you.”

 

Inoue immediately brightened and she clasped her hands together under her breasts, making them bounce upward in a rather unnatural way. “Alright then, I'll see you two later.”

 

“Goodbye,” Rukia said, her voice sounded just a bit more nasally than it had been earlier today.

 

Inoue exited the room in a flurry of orange hair and heavy perfume, leaving behind two agitated and slightly embarrassed coworkers. Ichigo also noticed how Inoue left the door wide open. He scowled hard, this woman was just freaky creepy. Did she think she was keeping tabs on him by keeping the door open?

 

Probably, he groaned inwardly in an answer to his own question.

 

He sighed angrily and moved to shut the damn thing. He pushed it closed loudly enough for Inoue to hear. He turned back to Rukia and saw that she had noticed.

 

“Great,” she muttered, “Now everyone is going to think we're doing something improper.”

 

“Improper?” Ichigo mocked. His temper was on the rise now. His mood always went down whenever Inoue showed up and acted creepy. Which was basically always. “How nineteenth century of you.”

 

“Just drop it please,” she muttered, her face was still horribly red and Ichigo had a feeling that it was also due to the augmenting fever.

 

He had a horrible quip on the edge of her tongue but he held it in. She was just sitting there, upset and feverish, and an open target for any jokes or accusations he could think up. She frowned softly and put a hand on top of one of her cheeks, as if feeling the heat for herself. Ichigo's mind immediately flashed back to where his hand had been there. His scowl softened and he thought to when he had rubbed and massaged her neck. How she had looked content and happy.

 

“Sorry,” Ichigo muttered softly.

 

Rukia's eyes lifted up to Ichigo's and she blinked twice before turning and glancing back behind her. She swiveled back to him and frowned. “Are you sure you're talking to me? Because I thought I just heard you apologize.”

 

He was on the defense immediately. “Shut it!” He snarled, hackles raised and teeth bared. “I was just trying to be a bit nice seeing as how you're sick and all.” He crossed the room and plopped down into his own desk chair. “But fine, you're just too used to being a bitch to actually appreciate an apology.”

 

Rukia frowned at him and turned away. Ichigo could see that her cheeks were still scarlet and that she seemed to be carrying her body a bit heavier than normal. She cleared her throat heavily and pressed another hand into her forehead. Ichigo actually felt kind of bad for her. She frowned softly and organized the already impeccable files sitting on top of her desk. She hesitated for a few more minutes before picking up her cell phone, dialing, and pressing it into her ear.

 

“Momo?” She said softly, her voice was becoming hoarser by the minute.

 

There was a slight pause before she pinched her fingers around the bridge of her nose. “Momo,” she groaned, “Please, I don't want to hear this right now. No, I won't… I promise, no—yes, I'll wait for the site.” She sighed softly and pressed her entire face into her palm.

 

Ichigo watched her call the chipper young woman with interest. What the hell were they talking about? What did she mean when she said she'd wait for the site? What didn't she want to hear about? He raised an eyebrow and wondered if this had anything to do with his surprise visit to their lunch table. He friend had obviously admired his… attributes. Maybe little miss Momo was trying to convince Rukia to do the same.

 

“Momo,” she sighed, “I just wanted to call you and tell you that I can't work out with you today.”

 

Ichigo heard a resounding “Yes!” come from the other side of the phone. He grinned softly and wondered just how hard Rukia was pushing the poor bride-to-be. There was another moment of silence before the eventual follow-up question was asked.

 

“I'm getting a fever,” she told her friend, “I just need to go home and rest.”

 

There was a slight pause before, “Yes… I have something to eat at home. I think. If not I'll just have… tea.”

 

Ichigo raised his other eyebrow at that. Rukia was now arguing with Momo about eating things that weren't even healthy to have when you were sick. Rukia looked like she was ready to hurl her cell phone at the wall.

 

“Momo!” She cried, “I'll get some chicken soup from a Chinese restaurant, okay? Okay! I'm hanging up now.” She took the phone away from her ear and slid it shut. She pressed another hand to her head and sighed. “Let's just get this day over with. I'm going to leave right at five.”

 

“You can leave earlier if you want,” Ichigo told her, feeling generous for some reason. Maybe he just felt sorry for her because she was sick. That was probably it. “It won't kill you to leave at four thirty… or earlier. God knows you've probably put in hundreds of overtime hours.”

 

“I don't leave early,” she muttered before a full-on sneeze erupted from her nose. She covered it like a lady but she still refused to pull her hand away from her mouth until she had a tissue to wipe the, ah, remnants away. “It's a principle.” She continued nasally.

 

Ichigo only shrugged and shook his head. “If you say so.”

 

“I do say so.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

*~*~*

 

The fish, still mindlessly oblivious to everything going on around them, swam beautifully in the tank. The man stood above them and sprinkled a few flecks of food into the top of the aquarium. The colorful bodies in the water jumped up to the top of the tank and gobbled down the little morsels.

 

The door opened and the second man stepped inside.

 

“How's everything going?” The man near the fish tank asked as he twirled his finger around in the water.

 

“You're not going to invite me in?” He murmured snidely.

 

He turned softly and smirked lightly. He extended his hand to the chair and grinned. “Of course, how insensitive of me. Please, have a seat.”

 

The seat was taken immediately and the man near the fish tank toyed with his pets for a moment longer before he moved to his own desk and sat down softly. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back, and cocked his head to the side.

 

“Do you have an update?”

 

“I have the plan,” the second man said quietly, “The target is like a machine, the routine is solid. I'll have no problems.”

 

“Excellent.” There was a slight pause and the man behind the desk narrowed his eyes. “Was there something else you wanted?”

 

“Yes,” his companion murmured softly, “I want another quarter of my fee added on.”

 

The man behind the desk did not speak, he did not blink, he merely removed a piece of lint from his expensive suit. “You are not satisfied with your present fee?”

 

“I've done the numbers.” He answered. “This is a rather high profile target you want terminated. If I'm to do it and make my flight to the Islands without any complications then I'm going to need a little more… incentive.”

 

His associate did not move from his seat. The two stared at each other over the darkness of the room. Both of them had their jaws locked and their eyebrows furrowed. The client and the assassin, staring at each other, testing each other, trying to find out who was the more powerful of the two.

 

He leaned across the desk and folded his hands. “I'll give you another half.”

 

The associate raised an eyebrow and smirked softly. “That's very generous of you.”

 

“I'm feeling very generous.” The man affirmed quietly. “In fact, I'm giving you half because I can't afford to have this go wrong. I want the target completely terminated. No mishaps, no mistakes, and soon enough you'll be a very rich man sipping a martini on a nice, sandy, beach.”

 

He grinned softly but nodded curtly. “Excellent.” He rose from his chair and made his way to the door. “You won't be disappointed.”

 

“I'm counting on it.”

 

He moved towards the door but was stopped by the voice from behind the desk.

 

“Do you have a date set?”

 

The man turned at the door and shook his head silently. “The less you know the cleaner your hands will be.”

 

“Ah, of course, I forgot.”

 

The man nodded before exiting the room. The client turned to the fish in the tank and watched them swim silently.

 

 

 

 

(A/N: So the plot thickens even more! Hehehehee! I giggle in amusement!

 

Thank you to everyone who as reviewed, even if I haven't replied, I adore every single comment I receive. You guys are the real heroes; we authors are merely at your beck and call! :D

 

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