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regasssaTitle: Friendship, Hatred and Science - Part 3 and 4
Word Count: 5224
Rating: PG 13 for now, for language
Pairing: Uryuu/Ichigo
Warnings: AU, violence, dark themes, mild bad language
Summary: The battle with Szayel Aporro Granz ends without interruption; this is what happens to Ishida after that, how his life changes and how his friendships suffer. Does Kurosaki's vow extend to saving even him?
Disclaimer: Bleach and its characters belongs to Kubo Tite, I make nothing out of their use.
Pink splotches danced down from the ceiling, turning blue as they came closer, splitting apart into bright, brilliant silver, only to be devoured before they could touch him.
"The cherry blossoms are falling, Quincy. Finally things will stop being so sickeningly pink."
More sakura petals swam through the air toward him, and Uryuu sighed, looking toward the source of Mayuri's voice. "Is this how you lighten the mood? You throw petals at me? I want to see the sky. I want to go home. How long's that going to take?!" The days had begun to wear at him -- the back of his eyelids had ceased being interesting, and the laboratory never changed. The days blurred together, seeming to go on forever, and he was sure he was going to lose his mind in here. Maybe that was what Mayuri was actually up to...
"Don't be such a fool... I'm simply enjoying watching your power destroying beautiful things. Of course, I could let you out right now..."
Uryuu scowled, looking away from Mayuri again. "I want it to stop," he said, loudly. "Can't you just stop playing and fix me?!"
"I am fixing you, Quincy. Every time I drop something into the barrier I am building your resistance...when you can touch objects, we'll be able to make the experiments more interesting, won't we?"
Building up his resistance...? And just how long was that going to take? It had already seemed like weeks, and nothing had changed.
Nor had anyone come to see him. It had been lonely in the box; with only Mayuri and occasionally Nemu for company, and only the black and white emptiness of the lab. Since he couldn't touch objects he was starved of human contact, of real food, of books.
He had run out of textbooks to recite in his mind, and had started to craft increasingly miserable lines of haiku in an effort to focus himself on something. He longed to feel the sun on his face, if only for a little while; to stand up to his full height and stretch his arms right up above his head until he heard his joints crack from the effort...
Mayuri was talking, but Uryuu had long since learned that most of his words were meant to inflict pain of one kind of another. The 12th squad captain enjoyed the discomfort of his victims; their torture. Even though Uryuu was not strictly the same kind of experiment, it did not change the kind of monster that Mayuri was.
"...shinigami have come back to Soul Society for the Cherry Blossom Festival. Captain Kuchiki organises it every year, and of course, every member of the Kuchiki family must attend."
Kuchiki...Rukia? "Wait...when did they leave? They came back for the festival?"
They'd left him here without even coming to visit? It seemed so wrong, somehow. A desperate part of him was sure that Kurosaki would do no such thing; that he would have valued Uryuu's help at least enough to show interest in his healing - that perhaps Orihime would have come to see him to attempt to heal him in her own way, or at least to cry on the other side of the box and tell him how sad she was that he'd got hurt coming to rescue her. Why wasn't Chad there to sit and...to sit with him? They had been injured together so often; both of them had almost been killed fighting for Kurosaki over and over again. Where were they?!
"Don't you ever listen to a word I say, Quincy?" Mayuri had stepped off into the darkness, but his white haori was still visible in the reflected light of the computer screens. "It's spring, Quincy; the sakura petals are falling."
That was really the point after all, wasn't it? They had left for Hueco Mundo in September, when the leaves had been turning yellow, and now it was spring, and everything was coming back to life. How much of that time had been spent in Szayel's laboratory? How much of it had been spent here? He buried his face in his hands, trying to make sense of it all.
*****
Time ceased to exist. Each day seemed to be a suspension of time, where one breath would come after another, and his heartbeat would slowly march ever onwards. It would almost be a pleasure to slip into the peacefulness of death now, when life was no longer worth living. Kurosaki had gone home without coming to see him, Mayuri had told him, and a piece of him had flaked off and shattered. Nobody was coming, only Nemu and Mayuri, day after day, dropping objects through the barrier.
Once the apple had almost come close enough for him to touch it -- he opened his hand in surprise, so sure had he been that it wouldn't come close, and then all at once it sparkled and vanished into nothingness, leaving him disappointed.
Hope, however, was not entirely lost. One morning when he opened his eyes, it was to find a bright red apple beside his head, entirely intact. It stayed that way for almost half a minute before it vanished; but it was time in which Uryuu was finally able to work out the process by which he could prevent the instant destruction of the apple.
After that, the tests began to get easier. He was getting better! His reward was to eat the food that was passed through his barrier; simple foods at first, pieces of fruit and rice cakes. The flavours erupted over his tongue as though he had never tasted them before; sweet and sour and savoury. Rice had never tasted so good!
They began to run tests to try out his control, his protestations at being experimented on dying on his lips. Nemu would put four items into the box, and then Mayuri would name each of them in turn, and Uryuu would have to absorb them in order. It didn't work at first, and part of Uryuu was sure that the Shinigami must be mad; but as it persevered it became easier - more and more possible - and Mayuri became increasingly fascinated with the strange talent...
One of the last tests involved Nemu entering the box herself. It was a mark of Uryuu's developed control that he did not cause her any accidental harm, and the reward for this was something else he had longed for; the touch of another person. It was incidental, of course -- the box was small, and there wasn't really enough room for them both inside of it, but her hand on his shoulder was very real, and her fingers were warm through the thin white fabric of his kimono. She looked straight at him, clearly a little frightened. "When we rescued you," she said, and her voice was soft, her warm, sweet breath gusting across his skin, "I put my hand into the box and Quincy-san absorbed it."
"I'm sorry," Uryuu replied, glancing toward her hands which were both intact.
Nemu caught him looking and smiled. "Mayuri-sama healed me a fortnight later because he said I was more useful with two hands."
"Two weeks? He left you with only one hand for two weeks?" he scowled, raising his eyes towards where Mayuri stood above them. "Why would you do that?"
"Don't you know me well enough yet, Quincy? I do not suffer fools."
He lifted his hand, touching it tentatively to Nemu's. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he said again.
"And keep your hands off my daughter, Quincy," Mayuri snapped, shortly.
* * * * *
Warm. He was warm like he'd fallen asleep beside a raging fire. Even his fingers and toes felt warm. It was bliss, but not quite as blissful as reaching out and touching nothing to either side of him, of stretching his legs out inch by agonising inch until the full length of his body stretched across the cold tile floor. His muscles ached from lack of use and as he rose to his feet his bones complained at the stress of standing upright, but he resisted the urge to give in to that pain, holding tightly to Nemu's elbow for balance as he stood up for the first time in a year.
He wanted to walk alone, sure that he could -- but there was a temptation to use the warm spirit particles that he knew were filling his body; to let them coil around his limbs and move himself on painless puppet strings. He was determined. Standing, he could see the bright oblong of sunshine that was the door to the outside world and the sunshine beyond it.
He felt strange...as though his whole body were brand new and unused; all of the old muscle memory worn out of it by time.
"Wait. These are for you."
He'd grown used to the whisper of Nemu's voice now; it was comfortable and familiar, like a mother's should be. She pressed something into his hands -- his glasses, he realised, and he lifted them up and gently slid them into place. Instantly his tired eyes snapped into focus -- he could see the garden courtyard beyond the sliding doors, even the blades of grass on the lawn. The computer screens were filled with words and images, not just white blurs of light, and Nemu's face was crystal clear, instead of being a smudge of indistinct features. More interestingly, she was still holding something out toward him; his five pointed Quincy cross.
"I..." he hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"You are still involved in a controlled experiment, Quincy," Mayuri's voice came from the darkness behind him, and he turned, seeing the captain's frightening face clearly through the new glasses. "If you are not in control, I will neutralise the threat."
Kill him, then... Well, that upped the stakes. He took the cross gingerly, winding it twice around his wrist. This felt natural...safe.
With that comfort, he moved toward the open door, Mayuri moving to it ahead of him, and Nemu hovering at his side in case he fell. He felt feeble, weak. Each step was a series of muscle movements and changing balance that was now completely unfamiliar to him. The sunlight was well worth the effort; he basked in it, let it burn his face and his eyes, so that he could see the brightness even when he closed them. It was painful, but like the first day of sunlight after a long winter, it was a pleasurable agony. He was free -- no longer confined to a box. The world was bright around him, a shining world of spirit particles and warmth and afternoon breeze that he welcomed gratefully.
He felt himself falling and didn't try to stop himself. The ground that met him was soft and springy, and he let his face fall into the grass, inhaling the scent of it, digging his fingers into it. It was slightly wet; the green and brown dirtied the white kimono and stained his cheek as he rubbed it against the ground.
"When you're quite done..."
Oh...he wasn't. Not at all. The air was fresh and the grass was sweet. The sunshine poured down onto him like liquid gold. How could he ever stop enjoying this?
"Quincy-san!"
With a sigh he made an effort to stand up again, eventually getting his feet underneath him. His second time standing was less difficult than the first, but it still required a considerable amount of work.
"Form your bow."
For a moment, Uryuu considered disobeying, although he couldn't remember the reason why he'd want to. Forming a spirit bow -- forming his spirit bow... Even if it was on command, he couldn't help the burning desire to do it himself. He'd been given permission, even though Mayuri considered him a threat...
Soundlessly he lifted his right arm, let the cross fall from its grip in his palm, concentrated the spirit particles...
The instant power of holding his weapon once more in his hand... His bow. It was his. He knew this. He remembered it. After a year inside a box he could forget how to walk, but he could never forget this. He was a Quincy archer, an Ishida -- Uryuu Ishida. And this was his bow.
"I would like you to make a weak arrow. The building on the other side of this courtyard is an empty one; you may fire at it so that I may observe the damage."
A weak arrow. There was a certain pleasure in drawing his left hand back and releasing his first arrow in...actually, he hadn't asked how long it had been. The spirit particles were sparking like electricity, barely under control -- his arrows were supposed to be much cleaner than that. The sharper they were, the more damage they would do; unfocused like this they were weak. He released the arrow, and one of the tiles on the roof opposite shattered, raining terracotta dust across the other tiles, and he forgot his consternation.
"A stronger arrow. This time, make it as strong as you can without absorbing more spirit particles."
Uryuu nodded, lifting the bow again. Even without being entirely focused, this arrow blew apart the building he was aiming at. Since Mayuri did not seem concerned, neither was he.
"One more. This time, absorb the rubble from the building you destroyed. Fire the arrow upwards."
Absorb the rubble? All of it? Was he really capable of absorbing all of that? He reached his left hand toward it -- a pointless act, since he only had to direct his mind to absorb it. The raw power that came from the rubble as he tore it apart and devoured it was intoxicating. He didn't let it linger for long in his body. As he drew back the arrow violent vibration began to course through him, shaking him to the core, filling him with the powerful reverberation of the untidy spirit particles. The longer he waited, the more energy he put into the single arrow, the more his world seemed to shake. The single arrow was blindingly bright now; so bright that he had to look away as he finally let it go.
As the arrow hit the defence shield high above Seireitei, a sound like thunder made him open his eyes again. Brilliant ripples of light had erupted from where his arrow had impacted, and as that light faded, he could see that the arrow had passed through the shield and disappeared out of sight.
"As I thought," Mayuri said. He had shielded his eyes with his hand, but now he was looking straight at Uryuu. "You are far too dangerous to stay in Seireitei."
"I can leave?" Uryuu asked, surprised. That he was too dangerous did not surprise him. With an arrow that powerful...
"You are far too dangerous for the real world, too. You will have to be confined permanently, or destroyed. Of course, I would rather..."
Destroyed or killed?! No! After all this time he had been brought back, saved, and now he was to go back into his glass box - into that existence? He wasn't going to let it happen!
"No."
"What's that?"
He had the power -- he wasn't going to let himself be confined here. He could feel the space around him warping, warmth flooding into his body -- the walls of the courtyard were trembling, and then they were shattering apart, turning blue and bright, gravitating toward him before they disappeared. He felt warm, the heat pouring into his body. He turned his bow toward Mayuri. "I'm leaving. Please don't try to stop me."
"You can't leave here...the gates won't open for you."
"I don't need the gates to open..."
He felt like he should thank Mayuri, somehow, but clearly the Shinigami wanted to kill him -- he wouldn't let that happen. Now he had his control back the experiment was over; he was going home, and nobody would be able to stop him.
It occurred to him only when he was quite a distance away from the 12th squad barracks that he had escaped too easily -- Mayuri knew how powerful he was, but like Szayel, he had studied him long enough to stop him escaping, Why, then? How had he managed to escape?
The gates to the material world were not well defended -- after all, they couldn't be opened without permission. Still, he would have expected Mayuri to raise the alarm. No...no; Mayuri would try and recapture his experiment without the help of other squads, wouldn't he?
Uryuu raised his bow, then lifted his hand to draw back the silver-blue string; the arrow forming easily, tighter than the last one, brimming with power as he poured it down through his fingertips. He lifted the arrow, fired it, and watched the great doors blow apart as the arrow hit them. Ah...there were the alarms. Uryuu didn't wait for company; he was going home.
*****
After the beautiful weather in Seireitei, the pouring rain of the material world seemed a bitter disappointment. He let it drench him, even though he could easily have prevented it from touching his skin; let the sensations overwhelm him. Cold rain soaked his hair, made it cling to his face, washed him clean in a way that felt more real, somehow, than the box had kept him. Water poured down his back, made the thin white kimono cling to the contours of his skin, splashed over the lenses of his glasses until he could no longer see out of them. Under his feet the gravel was cold and wet, and he wriggled his toes into it, exhaling contentedly.
To make his progress gentler he moved onto the grass, letting the mud squelch between his toes as he walked along the riverbank. The town was invisible from the bottom of the high walls built to protect it from flooding; it made Uryuu feel as though he was completely alone, and the sensation was eerie.
As he reached the fork in the path that led toward the center of town he did hesitate. He wasn't ready to be seen yet. There were several reasons for that, of course, but the most pressing one was his state of undress; back at his apartment there were changes of clothes, yards of material. He couldn't face Kurosaki like this...no; he wanted to look his most impressive when he faced Ichigo down. Perhaps that was why he'd been more careful than ever to conceal his reiatsu now he was finally home.
He decided to follow the rarely used path that had once been a railway track through to the center of town. It came out, quite conveniently, right behind his apartment building, and he could enter through the bathroom window without waking anyone; since he'd left the keys inside when they'd gone to Hueco Mundo, it was necessary anyway.
At the right place he jumped over the fence and climbed down the short hill, jumping up to the windowsill and using the key that he left on the ledge to unlock it. Then he carefully opened it and slid inside, letting it close soundlessly behind him.
Instantly he realised that there was something wrong. Very wrong.
The bathroom was empty of his personal effects. The bottle of gel he used to tame his hair into place, the fluffy towels, even his toothbrush. Had he been robbed? If that was the case, who would steal a toothbrush? With a deep sense of foreboding he stepped out of the bathroom into the darkness beyond and switched on the light.
Everything was gone. His bookcases and his desk, his sofa bed, his sewing machine. The whole apartment was empty, from the ceiling to the floorboards; all of his effects, all his furniture... Part of him felt a deep rage; something he pushed down to pick over and conquer later. He had fought, suffered and almost died to protect this town, and they repaid him by robbing him blind while he was gone?!
He sat down in the middle of the empty floor, suddenly feeling very cold and miserable. None of the delight of the rain soaking through to his skin remained -- only the chill -- and he shivered and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Why...? He'd come so far only to feel like he was still in that box!
Uryuu lay there until self-preservation forced him back to his feet. He was freezing; he had no money and he had no change of clothes. In this weather, he couldn't even steal from a clothes line, and it was too late to try to go shopping even if he had money. There was one place he could go, he supposed...
* * * * *
Urahara Shoten was still the same as Uryuu remembered it. The storefront was dark, soaking in the blackness of the clouds in the sky above. The windows never seemed to advertise the merchandise within. In fact, if you hadn't known what kind of shop it was, you wouldn't have been tempted to enter at all. Today, it looked like it was a funeral house, dreary and depressing.
As he approached the door he could hear an argument within, raised voices ringing clearly out through the empty storefront from the living quarters behind.
"I'm not doing it! You do it!"
"But Urahara said..."
"I don't care what he said!"
"Now then, now then! What's all this about, hmm? There's no need to argue when the weather is so beautiful!"
"Beautiful?! It's raining!"
"That's what I said. It never rained in Seireitei. I rather like it -- don't you?"
Uryuu stopped just inside the doorway, reaching up to take off his glasses so that he could try and dry them. With his clothes so wet, it was an impossible task, and it rendered him defenceless against Urahara Kisuke until the man was close enough to look him straight in the eye without putting them on.
As usual, and as expected, Urahara's expression showed nothing of his thoughts. He was a very clever man, Uryuu knew, watching him move back out of his field of vision.
Urahara said nothing; the silence he left was clearly meant to be the space in which Uryuu incriminated himself.
"I'm looking for a change of clothes," he said, wary of what he might give away with even those simple words. "Mine were all stolen."
"Stolen?" Urahara had lowered his head now, hiding his eyes behind the brim of his hat -- Uryuu recognised this particular action as calculation, so he decided to answer, in the vague but probably flawed hope that he might get some answers of his own.
"Isn't that what you call it when items disappear when you've locked them away?"
"I suppose I might call it that... Okay!" The shopkeeper tipped his head back, a broad smile now fixed into place where none had been before. It was the kind of smile that instantly aroused suspicion. What was it? What part of the story was he missing? It was frustrating not to know, and Urahara Kisuke would hold out on him now, he was sure of it. "I'll fetch you a change of clothes. You don't mind sunshine yellow, do you?"
To Urahara's credit he took Uryuu's glare as a direct answer, and he returned shortly with something white and far more acceptable. The change of clothes was warm and dry; it comforted him in its familiarity, even though it wasn't quite the outfit he was used to. It was clothing in a way that the kimono had not been.
"Would you like a bowl of something warm? We have tea...or sake?"
"..." Uryuu studied Urahara for a moment, and then, sure that it was not a request, he submitted. "I would be grateful for some warm milk," he admitted, drying his glasses on the sleeve of the jacket. He followed Urahara into the back of his shop with his eyes down, and knelt at the table, feeling the Shinigami's eyes on him.
"Who are you concealing yourself from?"
"Quincy conceal their reiatsu for the safety of the people around them," Uryuu answered, succinctly. It was a calculating question, and he didn’t like not knowing what was going on inside the shopkeeper’s head when he decided not to reply.
"I suppose I just want to know why you came here, instead of going to Ryuuken."
A surge of panic came to life inside his chest. His father...he didn't want to face him! He tried to push it down as he spoke, but the seed of fear was already blooming in his expression despite his best efforts. "You know Ishida Ryuuken?"
"Of course."
Uryuu looked down, embarrassed and angry. Urahara knew something, and he seemed determined not to say a word to him. Fine – if he wanted to play it that way, then Uryuu was going to have to clam up too.
"Am I going to regret my kindness?" Urahara asked, taking the tray from Jinta as it was brought in.
Another moment's hesitation as Uryuu took his bowl and answered, "You might."
"I see." There was that calculating look again.
Uryuu drunk the warm milk gratefully - it was his first since before his imprisonment - and Urahara continued to watch him out of the corner of his eye, clearly fascinated by the way Uryuu let the warmth of the bowl seep into his fingertips, and closed his eyes to savour each mouthful.
"You should rest here tonight," Urahara said, slowly. "In the morning, I'd like you to visit the cemetery with me."
Uryuu had no intention of staying the night; a fact he was sure - by past experience - that Urahara was familiar with. Rather than say so out loud, he instead said "Why?" hoping to secure a good reason.
"I would rather show you," Urahara answered. It was a bold attempt at piquing his curiosity, but Uryuu had more important things to do now.
He felt as though he had been sleeping for years, and freedom was finally his. The rain that had been thundering against the windows had finally abated, and only a brisk wind remained, whipping the raindrops away from the surface of the glass.
"Drink some sake with me."
“I’m underage.”
“Oh, but I won’t tell anyone.”
"I don't drink." Uryuu barely contained a growl, meeting Urahara’s eyes across the table.
"You don't drink? I see. That's disappointing." The man’s gaze dropped away, and Uryuu lifted his hand under the pretext of adjusting his glasses, so as to hide his scowl behind his hand.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Urahara sighed. "It can't be helped. Seems I'm running low on drinking partners nowadays."
Uryuu frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I don’t have any friends.” Now that was a bald faced lie. Urahara gave him a stern look that made it clear that he was supposed to see right through it.
"I see."
It was interesting... Had they achieved everything they'd meant to by defeating Aizen? Had they made the town a safer place to live? If there really was nobody here to drink with Urahara, rather than it being an attempt at securing his presence for a few hours of insobriety where more information could be drawn from him, then it must mean that Soul Society were no longer sending extra Shinigami to protect Karakura Town.
When they'd returned from Seireitei the last time, the incidence of hollows had increased; and the desire to recover his Quincy powers had pressed in on him. Now, even with the power he now possessed, the threat had passed. Never mind that he felt as though he could have taken on Aizen himself -- he had to be grateful that his purpose was fulfilled; that the people in this town were safe.
"Now, about those clothes," Urahara started with a wolfish look. "You can pay me back..."
"Tomorrow," Uryuu said, looking up. "I'll have money to pay you by tomorrow evening."
Urahara looked disappointed; clearly one of his more devious plans had just been foiled. "Are you sure?"
"I'm certain." Uryuu coughed. "Do you mind if I lie down? I think I stayed a little too long in the rain."
“Fine, fine. Follow me.”
* * * * *
The room in which Urahara had ensconced him was the same one in which he’d spent many days and nights recovering from previous injuries. The burn marks still lingered in the corner from a previous explosion which had been painted over clumsily, and one of the window panels had a bullet hole sized crack through which the wind whistled as though it were playing the glass like an instrument.
Uryuu waited until the lights began to blink off elsewhere in the building, and then he pushed aside the white sheet that covered him and slid to his feet. The clothes he was grateful for, of course, but not so grateful that he intended to stay the night. For all he knew, Urahara had a reason to keep him away from the others, and he intended to find out what it was.
He left the sandals off until he reached the door in his socks, determined not to make a noise, and as he slid back the door, he looked once more over his shoulder. No interruption…still, he couldn’t help feeling as though he were being watched. No – he was definitely being watched.
Uryuu stepped out into the wind, reaching up to lift his hair from in front of his eyes and pushing it back over his shoulders. He looked into the wind, then turned away from it, letting his better judgement guide him away from Kurosaki’s house and down toward the river. With open spaces, it would be easier to see if he was being followed, and if he crossed the river, he could disappear easily amongst the houses on the other side before a discreet companion could catch up with him.
Losing his tail seemed to progress to plan, surprisingly. He had expected it to be harder, and again the suspicion lingered, even after he had used hirenkyaku to return to his previous course, turning once more into the bitter north wind.
Kurosaki’s house was quiet and dark; only one light was on, a bedside lamp that illuminated the Shinigami’s torso in the pool of darkness that was his bedroom. It caught the violent orange of his hair and turned it into flame in the darkness, and Uryuu came closer; close enough to see the way the light made some of the strands brighter than others, and how it highlighted every tiny hair on his bare chest as it rose and fell with the steadiness of his breathing.
Uryuu watched for a few hours, until the thin rising light on the horizon reflected into his eyes from the inside of his glasses, and from the pane of glass that was between himself and Kurosaki, obscuring his view. Today he would need to devote himself to finding money and a place to stay – he would not be able to rebuild his life without confronting Kurosaki and the others, but neither could he confront them without, at the least, getting a haircut.
Word Count: 5224
Rating: PG 13 for now, for language
Pairing: Uryuu/Ichigo
Warnings: AU, violence, dark themes, mild bad language
Summary: The battle with Szayel Aporro Granz ends without interruption; this is what happens to Ishida after that, how his life changes and how his friendships suffer. Does Kurosaki's vow extend to saving even him?
Disclaimer: Bleach and its characters belongs to Kubo Tite, I make nothing out of their use.
Pink splotches danced down from the ceiling, turning blue as they came closer, splitting apart into bright, brilliant silver, only to be devoured before they could touch him.
"The cherry blossoms are falling, Quincy. Finally things will stop being so sickeningly pink."
More sakura petals swam through the air toward him, and Uryuu sighed, looking toward the source of Mayuri's voice. "Is this how you lighten the mood? You throw petals at me? I want to see the sky. I want to go home. How long's that going to take?!" The days had begun to wear at him -- the back of his eyelids had ceased being interesting, and the laboratory never changed. The days blurred together, seeming to go on forever, and he was sure he was going to lose his mind in here. Maybe that was what Mayuri was actually up to...
"Don't be such a fool... I'm simply enjoying watching your power destroying beautiful things. Of course, I could let you out right now..."
Uryuu scowled, looking away from Mayuri again. "I want it to stop," he said, loudly. "Can't you just stop playing and fix me?!"
"I am fixing you, Quincy. Every time I drop something into the barrier I am building your resistance...when you can touch objects, we'll be able to make the experiments more interesting, won't we?"
Building up his resistance...? And just how long was that going to take? It had already seemed like weeks, and nothing had changed.
Nor had anyone come to see him. It had been lonely in the box; with only Mayuri and occasionally Nemu for company, and only the black and white emptiness of the lab. Since he couldn't touch objects he was starved of human contact, of real food, of books.
He had run out of textbooks to recite in his mind, and had started to craft increasingly miserable lines of haiku in an effort to focus himself on something. He longed to feel the sun on his face, if only for a little while; to stand up to his full height and stretch his arms right up above his head until he heard his joints crack from the effort...
Mayuri was talking, but Uryuu had long since learned that most of his words were meant to inflict pain of one kind of another. The 12th squad captain enjoyed the discomfort of his victims; their torture. Even though Uryuu was not strictly the same kind of experiment, it did not change the kind of monster that Mayuri was.
"...shinigami have come back to Soul Society for the Cherry Blossom Festival. Captain Kuchiki organises it every year, and of course, every member of the Kuchiki family must attend."
Kuchiki...Rukia? "Wait...when did they leave? They came back for the festival?"
They'd left him here without even coming to visit? It seemed so wrong, somehow. A desperate part of him was sure that Kurosaki would do no such thing; that he would have valued Uryuu's help at least enough to show interest in his healing - that perhaps Orihime would have come to see him to attempt to heal him in her own way, or at least to cry on the other side of the box and tell him how sad she was that he'd got hurt coming to rescue her. Why wasn't Chad there to sit and...to sit with him? They had been injured together so often; both of them had almost been killed fighting for Kurosaki over and over again. Where were they?!
"Don't you ever listen to a word I say, Quincy?" Mayuri had stepped off into the darkness, but his white haori was still visible in the reflected light of the computer screens. "It's spring, Quincy; the sakura petals are falling."
That was really the point after all, wasn't it? They had left for Hueco Mundo in September, when the leaves had been turning yellow, and now it was spring, and everything was coming back to life. How much of that time had been spent in Szayel's laboratory? How much of it had been spent here? He buried his face in his hands, trying to make sense of it all.
*****
Time ceased to exist. Each day seemed to be a suspension of time, where one breath would come after another, and his heartbeat would slowly march ever onwards. It would almost be a pleasure to slip into the peacefulness of death now, when life was no longer worth living. Kurosaki had gone home without coming to see him, Mayuri had told him, and a piece of him had flaked off and shattered. Nobody was coming, only Nemu and Mayuri, day after day, dropping objects through the barrier.
Once the apple had almost come close enough for him to touch it -- he opened his hand in surprise, so sure had he been that it wouldn't come close, and then all at once it sparkled and vanished into nothingness, leaving him disappointed.
Hope, however, was not entirely lost. One morning when he opened his eyes, it was to find a bright red apple beside his head, entirely intact. It stayed that way for almost half a minute before it vanished; but it was time in which Uryuu was finally able to work out the process by which he could prevent the instant destruction of the apple.
After that, the tests began to get easier. He was getting better! His reward was to eat the food that was passed through his barrier; simple foods at first, pieces of fruit and rice cakes. The flavours erupted over his tongue as though he had never tasted them before; sweet and sour and savoury. Rice had never tasted so good!
They began to run tests to try out his control, his protestations at being experimented on dying on his lips. Nemu would put four items into the box, and then Mayuri would name each of them in turn, and Uryuu would have to absorb them in order. It didn't work at first, and part of Uryuu was sure that the Shinigami must be mad; but as it persevered it became easier - more and more possible - and Mayuri became increasingly fascinated with the strange talent...
One of the last tests involved Nemu entering the box herself. It was a mark of Uryuu's developed control that he did not cause her any accidental harm, and the reward for this was something else he had longed for; the touch of another person. It was incidental, of course -- the box was small, and there wasn't really enough room for them both inside of it, but her hand on his shoulder was very real, and her fingers were warm through the thin white fabric of his kimono. She looked straight at him, clearly a little frightened. "When we rescued you," she said, and her voice was soft, her warm, sweet breath gusting across his skin, "I put my hand into the box and Quincy-san absorbed it."
"I'm sorry," Uryuu replied, glancing toward her hands which were both intact.
Nemu caught him looking and smiled. "Mayuri-sama healed me a fortnight later because he said I was more useful with two hands."
"Two weeks? He left you with only one hand for two weeks?" he scowled, raising his eyes towards where Mayuri stood above them. "Why would you do that?"
"Don't you know me well enough yet, Quincy? I do not suffer fools."
He lifted his hand, touching it tentatively to Nemu's. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he said again.
"And keep your hands off my daughter, Quincy," Mayuri snapped, shortly.
* * * * *
Warm. He was warm like he'd fallen asleep beside a raging fire. Even his fingers and toes felt warm. It was bliss, but not quite as blissful as reaching out and touching nothing to either side of him, of stretching his legs out inch by agonising inch until the full length of his body stretched across the cold tile floor. His muscles ached from lack of use and as he rose to his feet his bones complained at the stress of standing upright, but he resisted the urge to give in to that pain, holding tightly to Nemu's elbow for balance as he stood up for the first time in a year.
He wanted to walk alone, sure that he could -- but there was a temptation to use the warm spirit particles that he knew were filling his body; to let them coil around his limbs and move himself on painless puppet strings. He was determined. Standing, he could see the bright oblong of sunshine that was the door to the outside world and the sunshine beyond it.
He felt strange...as though his whole body were brand new and unused; all of the old muscle memory worn out of it by time.
"Wait. These are for you."
He'd grown used to the whisper of Nemu's voice now; it was comfortable and familiar, like a mother's should be. She pressed something into his hands -- his glasses, he realised, and he lifted them up and gently slid them into place. Instantly his tired eyes snapped into focus -- he could see the garden courtyard beyond the sliding doors, even the blades of grass on the lawn. The computer screens were filled with words and images, not just white blurs of light, and Nemu's face was crystal clear, instead of being a smudge of indistinct features. More interestingly, she was still holding something out toward him; his five pointed Quincy cross.
"I..." he hesitated. "Are you sure?"
"You are still involved in a controlled experiment, Quincy," Mayuri's voice came from the darkness behind him, and he turned, seeing the captain's frightening face clearly through the new glasses. "If you are not in control, I will neutralise the threat."
Kill him, then... Well, that upped the stakes. He took the cross gingerly, winding it twice around his wrist. This felt natural...safe.
With that comfort, he moved toward the open door, Mayuri moving to it ahead of him, and Nemu hovering at his side in case he fell. He felt feeble, weak. Each step was a series of muscle movements and changing balance that was now completely unfamiliar to him. The sunlight was well worth the effort; he basked in it, let it burn his face and his eyes, so that he could see the brightness even when he closed them. It was painful, but like the first day of sunlight after a long winter, it was a pleasurable agony. He was free -- no longer confined to a box. The world was bright around him, a shining world of spirit particles and warmth and afternoon breeze that he welcomed gratefully.
He felt himself falling and didn't try to stop himself. The ground that met him was soft and springy, and he let his face fall into the grass, inhaling the scent of it, digging his fingers into it. It was slightly wet; the green and brown dirtied the white kimono and stained his cheek as he rubbed it against the ground.
"When you're quite done..."
Oh...he wasn't. Not at all. The air was fresh and the grass was sweet. The sunshine poured down onto him like liquid gold. How could he ever stop enjoying this?
"Quincy-san!"
With a sigh he made an effort to stand up again, eventually getting his feet underneath him. His second time standing was less difficult than the first, but it still required a considerable amount of work.
"Form your bow."
For a moment, Uryuu considered disobeying, although he couldn't remember the reason why he'd want to. Forming a spirit bow -- forming his spirit bow... Even if it was on command, he couldn't help the burning desire to do it himself. He'd been given permission, even though Mayuri considered him a threat...
Soundlessly he lifted his right arm, let the cross fall from its grip in his palm, concentrated the spirit particles...
The instant power of holding his weapon once more in his hand... His bow. It was his. He knew this. He remembered it. After a year inside a box he could forget how to walk, but he could never forget this. He was a Quincy archer, an Ishida -- Uryuu Ishida. And this was his bow.
"I would like you to make a weak arrow. The building on the other side of this courtyard is an empty one; you may fire at it so that I may observe the damage."
A weak arrow. There was a certain pleasure in drawing his left hand back and releasing his first arrow in...actually, he hadn't asked how long it had been. The spirit particles were sparking like electricity, barely under control -- his arrows were supposed to be much cleaner than that. The sharper they were, the more damage they would do; unfocused like this they were weak. He released the arrow, and one of the tiles on the roof opposite shattered, raining terracotta dust across the other tiles, and he forgot his consternation.
"A stronger arrow. This time, make it as strong as you can without absorbing more spirit particles."
Uryuu nodded, lifting the bow again. Even without being entirely focused, this arrow blew apart the building he was aiming at. Since Mayuri did not seem concerned, neither was he.
"One more. This time, absorb the rubble from the building you destroyed. Fire the arrow upwards."
Absorb the rubble? All of it? Was he really capable of absorbing all of that? He reached his left hand toward it -- a pointless act, since he only had to direct his mind to absorb it. The raw power that came from the rubble as he tore it apart and devoured it was intoxicating. He didn't let it linger for long in his body. As he drew back the arrow violent vibration began to course through him, shaking him to the core, filling him with the powerful reverberation of the untidy spirit particles. The longer he waited, the more energy he put into the single arrow, the more his world seemed to shake. The single arrow was blindingly bright now; so bright that he had to look away as he finally let it go.
As the arrow hit the defence shield high above Seireitei, a sound like thunder made him open his eyes again. Brilliant ripples of light had erupted from where his arrow had impacted, and as that light faded, he could see that the arrow had passed through the shield and disappeared out of sight.
"As I thought," Mayuri said. He had shielded his eyes with his hand, but now he was looking straight at Uryuu. "You are far too dangerous to stay in Seireitei."
"I can leave?" Uryuu asked, surprised. That he was too dangerous did not surprise him. With an arrow that powerful...
"You are far too dangerous for the real world, too. You will have to be confined permanently, or destroyed. Of course, I would rather..."
Destroyed or killed?! No! After all this time he had been brought back, saved, and now he was to go back into his glass box - into that existence? He wasn't going to let it happen!
"No."
"What's that?"
He had the power -- he wasn't going to let himself be confined here. He could feel the space around him warping, warmth flooding into his body -- the walls of the courtyard were trembling, and then they were shattering apart, turning blue and bright, gravitating toward him before they disappeared. He felt warm, the heat pouring into his body. He turned his bow toward Mayuri. "I'm leaving. Please don't try to stop me."
"You can't leave here...the gates won't open for you."
"I don't need the gates to open..."
He felt like he should thank Mayuri, somehow, but clearly the Shinigami wanted to kill him -- he wouldn't let that happen. Now he had his control back the experiment was over; he was going home, and nobody would be able to stop him.
It occurred to him only when he was quite a distance away from the 12th squad barracks that he had escaped too easily -- Mayuri knew how powerful he was, but like Szayel, he had studied him long enough to stop him escaping, Why, then? How had he managed to escape?
The gates to the material world were not well defended -- after all, they couldn't be opened without permission. Still, he would have expected Mayuri to raise the alarm. No...no; Mayuri would try and recapture his experiment without the help of other squads, wouldn't he?
Uryuu raised his bow, then lifted his hand to draw back the silver-blue string; the arrow forming easily, tighter than the last one, brimming with power as he poured it down through his fingertips. He lifted the arrow, fired it, and watched the great doors blow apart as the arrow hit them. Ah...there were the alarms. Uryuu didn't wait for company; he was going home.
*****
After the beautiful weather in Seireitei, the pouring rain of the material world seemed a bitter disappointment. He let it drench him, even though he could easily have prevented it from touching his skin; let the sensations overwhelm him. Cold rain soaked his hair, made it cling to his face, washed him clean in a way that felt more real, somehow, than the box had kept him. Water poured down his back, made the thin white kimono cling to the contours of his skin, splashed over the lenses of his glasses until he could no longer see out of them. Under his feet the gravel was cold and wet, and he wriggled his toes into it, exhaling contentedly.
To make his progress gentler he moved onto the grass, letting the mud squelch between his toes as he walked along the riverbank. The town was invisible from the bottom of the high walls built to protect it from flooding; it made Uryuu feel as though he was completely alone, and the sensation was eerie.
As he reached the fork in the path that led toward the center of town he did hesitate. He wasn't ready to be seen yet. There were several reasons for that, of course, but the most pressing one was his state of undress; back at his apartment there were changes of clothes, yards of material. He couldn't face Kurosaki like this...no; he wanted to look his most impressive when he faced Ichigo down. Perhaps that was why he'd been more careful than ever to conceal his reiatsu now he was finally home.
He decided to follow the rarely used path that had once been a railway track through to the center of town. It came out, quite conveniently, right behind his apartment building, and he could enter through the bathroom window without waking anyone; since he'd left the keys inside when they'd gone to Hueco Mundo, it was necessary anyway.
At the right place he jumped over the fence and climbed down the short hill, jumping up to the windowsill and using the key that he left on the ledge to unlock it. Then he carefully opened it and slid inside, letting it close soundlessly behind him.
Instantly he realised that there was something wrong. Very wrong.
The bathroom was empty of his personal effects. The bottle of gel he used to tame his hair into place, the fluffy towels, even his toothbrush. Had he been robbed? If that was the case, who would steal a toothbrush? With a deep sense of foreboding he stepped out of the bathroom into the darkness beyond and switched on the light.
Everything was gone. His bookcases and his desk, his sofa bed, his sewing machine. The whole apartment was empty, from the ceiling to the floorboards; all of his effects, all his furniture... Part of him felt a deep rage; something he pushed down to pick over and conquer later. He had fought, suffered and almost died to protect this town, and they repaid him by robbing him blind while he was gone?!
He sat down in the middle of the empty floor, suddenly feeling very cold and miserable. None of the delight of the rain soaking through to his skin remained -- only the chill -- and he shivered and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Why...? He'd come so far only to feel like he was still in that box!
Uryuu lay there until self-preservation forced him back to his feet. He was freezing; he had no money and he had no change of clothes. In this weather, he couldn't even steal from a clothes line, and it was too late to try to go shopping even if he had money. There was one place he could go, he supposed...
* * * * *
Urahara Shoten was still the same as Uryuu remembered it. The storefront was dark, soaking in the blackness of the clouds in the sky above. The windows never seemed to advertise the merchandise within. In fact, if you hadn't known what kind of shop it was, you wouldn't have been tempted to enter at all. Today, it looked like it was a funeral house, dreary and depressing.
As he approached the door he could hear an argument within, raised voices ringing clearly out through the empty storefront from the living quarters behind.
"I'm not doing it! You do it!"
"But Urahara said..."
"I don't care what he said!"
"Now then, now then! What's all this about, hmm? There's no need to argue when the weather is so beautiful!"
"Beautiful?! It's raining!"
"That's what I said. It never rained in Seireitei. I rather like it -- don't you?"
Uryuu stopped just inside the doorway, reaching up to take off his glasses so that he could try and dry them. With his clothes so wet, it was an impossible task, and it rendered him defenceless against Urahara Kisuke until the man was close enough to look him straight in the eye without putting them on.
As usual, and as expected, Urahara's expression showed nothing of his thoughts. He was a very clever man, Uryuu knew, watching him move back out of his field of vision.
Urahara said nothing; the silence he left was clearly meant to be the space in which Uryuu incriminated himself.
"I'm looking for a change of clothes," he said, wary of what he might give away with even those simple words. "Mine were all stolen."
"Stolen?" Urahara had lowered his head now, hiding his eyes behind the brim of his hat -- Uryuu recognised this particular action as calculation, so he decided to answer, in the vague but probably flawed hope that he might get some answers of his own.
"Isn't that what you call it when items disappear when you've locked them away?"
"I suppose I might call it that... Okay!" The shopkeeper tipped his head back, a broad smile now fixed into place where none had been before. It was the kind of smile that instantly aroused suspicion. What was it? What part of the story was he missing? It was frustrating not to know, and Urahara Kisuke would hold out on him now, he was sure of it. "I'll fetch you a change of clothes. You don't mind sunshine yellow, do you?"
To Urahara's credit he took Uryuu's glare as a direct answer, and he returned shortly with something white and far more acceptable. The change of clothes was warm and dry; it comforted him in its familiarity, even though it wasn't quite the outfit he was used to. It was clothing in a way that the kimono had not been.
"Would you like a bowl of something warm? We have tea...or sake?"
"..." Uryuu studied Urahara for a moment, and then, sure that it was not a request, he submitted. "I would be grateful for some warm milk," he admitted, drying his glasses on the sleeve of the jacket. He followed Urahara into the back of his shop with his eyes down, and knelt at the table, feeling the Shinigami's eyes on him.
"Who are you concealing yourself from?"
"Quincy conceal their reiatsu for the safety of the people around them," Uryuu answered, succinctly. It was a calculating question, and he didn’t like not knowing what was going on inside the shopkeeper’s head when he decided not to reply.
"I suppose I just want to know why you came here, instead of going to Ryuuken."
A surge of panic came to life inside his chest. His father...he didn't want to face him! He tried to push it down as he spoke, but the seed of fear was already blooming in his expression despite his best efforts. "You know Ishida Ryuuken?"
"Of course."
Uryuu looked down, embarrassed and angry. Urahara knew something, and he seemed determined not to say a word to him. Fine – if he wanted to play it that way, then Uryuu was going to have to clam up too.
"Am I going to regret my kindness?" Urahara asked, taking the tray from Jinta as it was brought in.
Another moment's hesitation as Uryuu took his bowl and answered, "You might."
"I see." There was that calculating look again.
Uryuu drunk the warm milk gratefully - it was his first since before his imprisonment - and Urahara continued to watch him out of the corner of his eye, clearly fascinated by the way Uryuu let the warmth of the bowl seep into his fingertips, and closed his eyes to savour each mouthful.
"You should rest here tonight," Urahara said, slowly. "In the morning, I'd like you to visit the cemetery with me."
Uryuu had no intention of staying the night; a fact he was sure - by past experience - that Urahara was familiar with. Rather than say so out loud, he instead said "Why?" hoping to secure a good reason.
"I would rather show you," Urahara answered. It was a bold attempt at piquing his curiosity, but Uryuu had more important things to do now.
He felt as though he had been sleeping for years, and freedom was finally his. The rain that had been thundering against the windows had finally abated, and only a brisk wind remained, whipping the raindrops away from the surface of the glass.
"Drink some sake with me."
“I’m underage.”
“Oh, but I won’t tell anyone.”
"I don't drink." Uryuu barely contained a growl, meeting Urahara’s eyes across the table.
"You don't drink? I see. That's disappointing." The man’s gaze dropped away, and Uryuu lifted his hand under the pretext of adjusting his glasses, so as to hide his scowl behind his hand.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Urahara sighed. "It can't be helped. Seems I'm running low on drinking partners nowadays."
Uryuu frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I mean I don’t have any friends.” Now that was a bald faced lie. Urahara gave him a stern look that made it clear that he was supposed to see right through it.
"I see."
It was interesting... Had they achieved everything they'd meant to by defeating Aizen? Had they made the town a safer place to live? If there really was nobody here to drink with Urahara, rather than it being an attempt at securing his presence for a few hours of insobriety where more information could be drawn from him, then it must mean that Soul Society were no longer sending extra Shinigami to protect Karakura Town.
When they'd returned from Seireitei the last time, the incidence of hollows had increased; and the desire to recover his Quincy powers had pressed in on him. Now, even with the power he now possessed, the threat had passed. Never mind that he felt as though he could have taken on Aizen himself -- he had to be grateful that his purpose was fulfilled; that the people in this town were safe.
"Now, about those clothes," Urahara started with a wolfish look. "You can pay me back..."
"Tomorrow," Uryuu said, looking up. "I'll have money to pay you by tomorrow evening."
Urahara looked disappointed; clearly one of his more devious plans had just been foiled. "Are you sure?"
"I'm certain." Uryuu coughed. "Do you mind if I lie down? I think I stayed a little too long in the rain."
“Fine, fine. Follow me.”
* * * * *
The room in which Urahara had ensconced him was the same one in which he’d spent many days and nights recovering from previous injuries. The burn marks still lingered in the corner from a previous explosion which had been painted over clumsily, and one of the window panels had a bullet hole sized crack through which the wind whistled as though it were playing the glass like an instrument.
Uryuu waited until the lights began to blink off elsewhere in the building, and then he pushed aside the white sheet that covered him and slid to his feet. The clothes he was grateful for, of course, but not so grateful that he intended to stay the night. For all he knew, Urahara had a reason to keep him away from the others, and he intended to find out what it was.
He left the sandals off until he reached the door in his socks, determined not to make a noise, and as he slid back the door, he looked once more over his shoulder. No interruption…still, he couldn’t help feeling as though he were being watched. No – he was definitely being watched.
Uryuu stepped out into the wind, reaching up to lift his hair from in front of his eyes and pushing it back over his shoulders. He looked into the wind, then turned away from it, letting his better judgement guide him away from Kurosaki’s house and down toward the river. With open spaces, it would be easier to see if he was being followed, and if he crossed the river, he could disappear easily amongst the houses on the other side before a discreet companion could catch up with him.
Losing his tail seemed to progress to plan, surprisingly. He had expected it to be harder, and again the suspicion lingered, even after he had used hirenkyaku to return to his previous course, turning once more into the bitter north wind.
Kurosaki’s house was quiet and dark; only one light was on, a bedside lamp that illuminated the Shinigami’s torso in the pool of darkness that was his bedroom. It caught the violent orange of his hair and turned it into flame in the darkness, and Uryuu came closer; close enough to see the way the light made some of the strands brighter than others, and how it highlighted every tiny hair on his bare chest as it rose and fell with the steadiness of his breathing.
Uryuu watched for a few hours, until the thin rising light on the horizon reflected into his eyes from the inside of his glasses, and from the pane of glass that was between himself and Kurosaki, obscuring his view. Today he would need to devote himself to finding money and a place to stay – he would not be able to rebuild his life without confronting Kurosaki and the others, but neither could he confront them without, at the least, getting a haircut.
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Date: 2009-04-06 09:09 pm (UTC)Absolutely wonderful!