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Changing of the Guard	By : c0p13r Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female Views: 81 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own BLEACH, nor do I make money off of this story

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            “Oho!” The large, burly man pulled enthusiastically at his bushy beard. “He’s awake!”
            Awake? No, not awake. Alive. Ichigo gave a violent surge, eyes opening and rolling to the back of his head as he shot up, arms twisted outward, back arched inward, face turned to the ceiling. He looked to be in agony, though he’d done nothing but rest peacefully this past week. He might have been dead for how little he breathed, how soft his heart beat.
            Now, conscious and reeling in visions he could not even fathom, his entire existence agonized him. The cords of his neck sprung out as a growing scream tore from the pit of his throat.
            Osho’s eyebrows lifted; concerned, but only mildly. He might as well have been watching a pot come to boil sooner than expected. He continued at his beard, watching the orange-haired youth kick back onto the bed and churn violently, knocking the sheets back, gurgling on his own pain. “I suppose that’s to be expected. I hope he doesn’t bite his tongue. Hm?” He turned to the rushing patter of heeled footsteps on the stone floors of Reiokyu. Hardly a surprise; she could barely be removed from his bedside, that human girl.
            “Kurosaki-kun!” Inoue Orihime’s hands lost hold of the basin of water. It was a warm day – by her assessment, as the climate of Reiokyu never lost its balmy comfort – and she thought Kurosaki-kun would appreciate some cool water dabbing on his brow. It was just like any other day since he was comatose! The once-silent palace was suddenly echoing with screams of pain! Hurrying past the Monk – He watched her go with interest – Orihime ran to Ichigo’s side, calling out to him over and over, begging him to calm down and let her help. Anxiously, her hands reached and grabbed at his shoulders. He bucked, but stalled.
            Brown crept back into the whites of his eyes. With effort, they turned to her.
            “Eee…!” He strained, the conflict of will against body evident as half of him tangled and the other half pressed deeper into the bed. “Ee! Eeeno…! Guh! Eenoay!”
            Orihime’s eyes widened, her heart fluttering with relief.
            Ichigo gave a last, big jolt before exhaling loudly and going limp. He panted, head dropping towards the girl beside him. He was exhausted, but it seemed that the tantrum was over. He panted, half-lidded eyes coursing over Orihime’s face, studying her, unsure if she was really there.
            “Inoue?” he whispered, lucidly this time.
            She looked overjoyed, to the verge of tears as her smile stretched across her face. “Thank goodness,” she whispered. She then, unable to help herself, threw herself onto him, arms around his neck, face buried in his nape. “Thank goodness!” Now she was sobbing; he felt the hot tears dropping on his chest. “You were asleep for so long! No matter what I did, you didn’t move! I was afraid…! I was afraid that…!” She broke down in unintelligible, uncontrollable sobs.
            Ichigo, while glad that she was not upset with worry, hadn’t the foggiest idea what she was talking about. Really, he couldn’t explain anything about what had happened last. What had happened last? Calling out Inoue’s name was a reflex. In his throes of anguish, he couldn’t say if he knew anything but that he was alive. He couldn’t recall his name or who he was, and even now, he couldn’t tell you where he was.
            Comfortingly, he picked up an arm and wrapped it around the weeping Orihime, but his eyes were surveying his surroundings. This was a pretty fancy place, made of stone and marble, unlike most structures of Soul Society; maybe closer to Las Noches, but without the ominous gloom. Here was bright outside, with endless blue sky; no view whatsoever.
            Ichigo’s throat hurt. “Where,” he managed to get out before having to clear his throat.
            “You’re in Reiokyu! The Palace of the Soul King! And, Kurosaki Ichigo, you are alive!” boomed the husky voice of Hyosube Ichibe, High Priest of Reio, Osho. Ichigo could barely bear the weight of looking at him, let alone hold himself up underneath Orihime. “You surprise me again and again, Ichigo! But I expected you to, and therefore, it’s not surprising at all that you surprise me! Well done!”
            Too much weight. Ichigo slumped, groaning in pain so that Orihime jumped up, realizing that she was overstepping the bounds of their relationship by embracing his naked chest, and her attire – having naught else to wear – was over-flattering to her buxom chest, though her requests for extra clothing during this prolonged stay were met with duplicates of Urahara-san’s ‘gift’, but with minor alterations for comfort and insignia.
            But Ichigo didn’t have time to engage her about her dressing. He was starting to ache again, the throbbing in his very core made it seem like his head would split and his heart would race to pure exhaustion. He gagged, a torrent in his head that muffled Inoue’s cries in his ears. “Is there anything I can do?! Satten Kesshu…!”
            “That won’t work,” Osho immediately stopped her when her hairpins began to activate. “Your power does indeed step into the realms of Gods, but against the actual power of one…” He narrowed his eyes on Ichigo, predicting a bad omen. “This is to be expected,” he said ominously. “A fusion of the races, but he is a human first of all. He wouldn’t be able to grasp this power so easy. It was reckless, wasn’t it, Adnyeus?” With a great grunt, the giant man pulled his brush from his back. “Step away, Inoue Orihime! Where you are is not safe!”
            Orihime could feel it too, and at the same time, against the instinct to flee from imminent danger, she could not abandon Ichigo’s side when he was in obvious pain. Then the air began to shift. The frightening creak of stone under pressure, unsettling pockets of dust falling from the ceiling. And the weight began to bend the gravity. In its very first stages, Orihime already felt like she was being crushed beneath a house.
            “Inoue…!” Ichigo choked out, his brown eyes turning to her as he fought the internal agony. If a house was crushing her, then the entirety of Karakura was being held back by his shoulders, and still he would not break. “G-Go!”
            “Kurosaki-kun!” That fleeing instinct was overcome; she grabbed his straining hand in both of hers. She couldn’t do anything for him but be at his side.
            Admirable and very poignant, but also foolishly dangerous. Osho whipped his tool in front of him, making grunts that sounded like a melody as he swished the ink in the space in front of him. “Blacken, Ichimonji!”
            The power in the air was disrupted. Orihime cried out. The pillar holding back the true mass of unstable reiatsu was crumbling, and Ichigo’s body with it. He screamed out the last of his willpower to hold it back, to give Orihime that lifesaving second.
            And then he was blasted with black ink. The spatter was everywhere and it seemed to quench the rumble of insurmountable energy. Orihime recoiled reflexively, yet despite its mess, the ink landed only on Ichigo. Only his hand was free from the consuming black. “K-Kuro…?” Orihime couldn’t finish.
            “Yes, painting over something to remove what it was,” jeered Osho, standing at the foot of the bed, brandishing the ultimate weapon tauntingly. “But it’s not going to affect a King for long, will it? There is only one King, isn’t there? Your name, cut in half, retains that one power. Hurmph!” He swung his brush mightily. “Now show your true self! Shirafude Ichimonji!” His big eyes fell on Orihime as his brush’s bristles glowed white. “Step away from him, Inoue Orihime! You can’t do anything for him now!”
            Orihime scrambled with her decision. The Zero Squad had done everything for him, but waving a weapon at him, throwing ink at him, she didn’t know what to think. But she made her choice to trust him, though she begged, “Please don’t hurt him!”
            “Ha!” bellowed the Monk, twirling his Shirafude Ichimonji over his head. “A mere Priest like me cannot hope to hurt a King! We merely need to channel his powers, don’t we?! Hmm! A black ant’s body would be crushed under the responsibility of a King, wouldn’t it?!” He stopped spinning and held his staff at the ready, the tip pointing at the black-stained teen, still frozen in shock. “Let’s put your title to work!”
            Kanji was scribbled over Ichigo, using the canvas of black down to his waist. And the Kanji read ‘Reio’, Soul King.
            Orihime clenched her hands to her bosom, her heart racing underneath. He wasn’t moving! Had something gone wrong? What was the white paint supposed to do?
            Yet Osho seemed satisfied, humming as he poised his staff’s end on the floor. “How’s that? It might not be an infinite seal, but it gives you the boost of energy to be what you are and realize your potential.”
            The blot of a boy didn’t respond.
            Osho made a noise of concern, rearing up. “Huh? Can’t you hear me, Kurosaki Ichigo? As Reio, your name is certainly restored.”
            “Kurosaki-kun,” Orihime muttered, touching her lips. Odd that she’d forgotten how to speak his name for a moment. Even so, not for a second did her heart waver from him.
            Trepidatiously, she made a step toward him, hand reaching out, hoping to touch and feel life under the ink stain. “Is-Is he…?”
            “Conscious, it seems.” Osho’s keen eyes must have seen something she had not, for all signs indicated that Ichigo was beyond a state of comatose. “It must be an effect of his mind comprehending what is happening to his body. My Ichimonji cannot be a permanent solution. It’ll likely no work a second time. He’s got to figure this out quick.”
            Orihime took two steps to Ichigo; two hasty steps before she brought her heels together. Like there was a chasm between them, she leaned forward and called to him. “Kurosaki-kun! Kurosaki-kun, can you hear me?!”
            No response. Not for a long time. The blot of ink and Kanji just sat there, dripping onto himself, eyes wide and white behind the surface. He looked like an eerie phantom, something come from a dark place of the underworld to haunt the Reiokyu.
            After a while, Osho picked up his hand and rubbed it into his chin. “Strange. He’s frozen in place.” He tilted his head as he leaned forward, humming in observation.
            Curious, hoping to see something he might be looking at, Orihime mimicked him, humming herself as she stared at Ichigo.
            The danger seemed passed, so her eyes took a more superficial account of Kurosaki-kun, and it dawned on her with fierce intensity: I hugged Kurosaki-kun without a shirt! She suddenly withdrew her study, blushing furiously and hoping to shrink to the size of a mouse and escape notice.
            Osho did not share such a plight and continued to look Ichigo over. Over and over and over again, and then… “Ah! So that’s it!” his voice boomed with realization and amazement. He came back to full height, folding his arms and laughing boisterously. “What an impressive boy to realize it! He might still need to figure it out, but he reacted perfectly to my Ichimonji! His battle instinct, even the instinct of his own self!”
            Orihime got over her embarrassment to try to figure out what the priest had seen. “Wha-What do you mean?” Ichigo was still very motionless, possibly dead but for the light still shimmering within his open eyes. “Did he do something?”
            “Hm! Yes! Merely look at his right hand!”
            And she did. Aside from it being mostly untouched by black ink except for a spatter clenched in his tightened fist, she couldn’t say there was anything especially different about it. “Um…” She did not want to leave the riddle at least untested. She held up her finger and furrowed her eyebrows in a look of concentration. “He’s making the symbol of a cheer for scrumptious red bean and carrot cake!”
            “No, no,” answered the Monk with a shake of his head. He pointed, and the ink stain in Ichigo’s fist seemed of greater importance to him. “The Right Arm of Reio-sama has returned to its proper place.
            Orihime left a moment of confused silence pass before she feigned an understanding “Oh.”
            “Mimihagi, the Right Arm of the Soul King, the Arm of Stillness.” Osho’s arms folded again, and he gave an approving nod. “Kurosaki Ichigo’s power was getting out of his control, so I dampened it with Ichimonji, bringing it to a level his consciousness could comprehend, if only for a moment. But rather than pass that moment, he clutched the debuff and willed it to stay. So long as his fist is clutched, he will remain weakened. But to sustain it surely takes a great deal of concentration, for the powers of Reio-sama surpass mere imagination.”
            “You mean…” Orihime looked worriedly from Ichigo to Osho. “Will Kurosaki-kun be stuck like this… forever?”
            “If he cannot figure out how to control his power, perhaps.” Osho did not sound worried. “But, if I believed he would be frozen forever after figuring out Mimihagi’s power, I wouldn’t believe he’d last with the powers of Reio-sama at all!”
            It was somewhat heartening to hear that, but Orihime was more thrilled to hear Kurosaki-kun’s voice!
            “P-Powers… of Reio?” Ichigo’s mouth hung open, letting out air in a rasp.
            Orihime clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes awash with the onset of joyous tears.
            Osho addressed Ichgio. “That’s right. It all happened so fast, I doubt you’d remember it upon waking, but…” He was interrupted.
            “Inoue…” With little strength or support to his movement, Ichigo’s body shifted to his bedside. His eyes rolled, heavy and weak, but they gradually rested upon her. “Inoue,” he said again, “I-I didn’t… You’re not…?”
            She caught his intentions and immediately pumped her fists, giving a spritely cheer. “I’m alright, Kurosaki-kun! There’s nothing wrong with me! Oh, but they don’t have the brand of peanut butter I normally use for soup, so I had to improvise! Kirio-san taught me all these lessons about how to cook while I was here! And Senjumaru-san is teaching me how to sow!”
            Though rambling, it comforted Ichigo. Even under the black, his smile could be seen.
            “But…” Orihime ended the list of activities she’d been treated to in Reiokyu. Her fingers knotted together, her expression teetering between happiness and sorrow and even embarrassment. “I was… so worried about you.” Her gray eyes lifted to meet his browns. “I’m… so happy you’re awake.”
            “Heh.” Ichigo’s head dipped, though she wasn’t sure if it was because of his own apparent lack of mobility. “Thanks, Inoue.”
            “Yes, she has barely left your side!” proclaimed Osho as if he was proud of the human girl himself. “It is the Zero Squad’s duty to watch over Reio-sama, and yet she was here more than any of us! You could not ask for a more loyal, trustworthy guard.”
            Orihime flushed at the confident and returned to watching the tips of her boots.
            “And that is what you must be concerned with now, Kurosaki Ichigo!”
            “Huh?” Ichigo looked as a thick finger was shoved at him.
            “As the new Reio, you must select your guardsmen!” As Ichigo deliberated those words, Osho gave a grunt of a chuckle and folded his arms again.
            “Guardsmen? Reio? What’s going on?! What happen-gk!” Ichigo hunched suddenly, feeling an abrupt and intense pressure on his insides.
            “Careful now. It was a clever trick to use Mimihagi, but lose focus now, I doubt you’ll contain it long.” Osho was being very serious.
            Ichigo’s right fist tightened again, though in his palm, he could feel the ink steadily dissolving. He really hadn’t a clue what was going on, but instinct had saved him from collapsing under the power apparently procured in this mortal coil. The moment the last of the ink slipped off of his sweating skin, he’d be overcome. Observing himself, flecks of ink were already dissipating, pulling off of him like water evaporating to steam.
            How he got into this predicament was irrelevant. His face and hair were beginning to clear up. All because of that second of lost focus! He couldn’t lower a stage that he’d stopped at, just like he couldn’t reverse on a game by pausing. The bit of energy that had gotten loose was peeling away the affront to its authority, and when it was gone, there was nothing to stop the endless reiatsu from swelling all over again!
            “Is there… any way to control it?!” he asked desperately, not knowing whether to clench his hand tighter on the ink or loosen and not smudge it with more sweat.
            “Aha! I was waiting for you to ask that! You took longer than expected, Kurosaki-san!”
            That voice! That sardonic merriment, and the clatter of wooden sandals, the flap of a billowing robe! Striped hat, scruffy jaw, and an infuriatingly-jovial smile in the face of such a dangerous plight.
            “Urahara-san!” blurted Ichigo as ink finished climbing off of his head.
            “That’s right!” cheered the shopkeeper, swiping open his fan. “Good to see you up and about, Kurosaki-san! We’ve never had a transference before! But you handled it just as I expected you would! A good thing, too! Our other options were rather risky, to tell the truth! Ah! Inoue-san, you’re here too! Let me tell you that those rice buns with seaweed sauce were delicious!”
            “Eh-heh-heh!” Orihime fussed modestly and thanked him for the compliment.
            Ichigo, on the other hand, raged, “Dammit! Did you come here with a solution?!” This lunatic always drove him up a wall with his filibustering.
            “Hm? Oh! Yes, of course, Kurosaki-san! As you know, I didn’t have any data on Mimihagi until Ukitake-san released it from his body! Since then, in the week you’ve been unconscious, I’ve made great strides on it and have made progress on how to suppress the omnipotent power of a Soul King. Admittedly, though, it takes a mind beyond even my imagination, so I required help.” On that note, he stepped aside and allowed his assistant or co-worker… or better file it, snickering malevolently as he waved a fleshy device in front of him; one that had a small, vaguely human head but with a missing jaw so that the tongue flapped blindly in the air, making guttural noises as it sampled the reishi of a room permeated with a Soul King’s reiatsu.
            Kurotsuchi Mayuri leered at Ichigo. “So the new Reio awakens. Quite a disturbance, though I shall not begrudge you for giving such a ready sample of raw reiatsu to this stagnant air. Heh-heh-heh! There are still traces of the Quincy King’s presence. Could that be because of how you obtained this power? I see your left arm is intact as well. Tell me, does it still bear a name? Or does a fresh body reset the Reio’s limbs’ memories?! How about I take a sample!” Not a request, and he produced fresh clippers from within his sleeve. “The fingers still grow back, correct? You needn’t your pinky as you lie on the bed like a lump of empty meat. I’ll take it back to the lab. Oh? If you can’t bear to part with a pinky, then how about the fingernail? I’ll happily extract it with the most delicate of care, Kurosaki Ichigo. You are Reio after all, and you’d want your people to thrive with knowledge.” His throaty chuckle was ominous as he stepped forward, his fingers wriggling excitedly.
            “With such crude instruments, what would you hope to learn of the power of Reio-sama.”
            Mayuri’s smile vanished; a look of confusion briefly passed over his face before he glowered angrily and swept an arm around behind him. “Intrusive woman!”
            A woman’s chuckle entered the room before she appeared: Shutara Senjumaru, her head tilted with posh glee as she looked down her nose at the quaking scientist. “It’s a wonder you have accomplished anything in that pitiful lab of yours. Do not forget that it was by my talents you were able to come up with a solution to Kurosaki Ichigo’s dilemma.”
            “S-Senjumaru-san?” Ichigo was surprised to see her aside the two developers from two eras of the Research and Development Bureau. But he had little time to express his shock, for the caged power was stressing his will to its limits now that he held onto a fragment of Osho’s power-dampening ink.
            “You certainly have exceptional minds,” Senjumaru praised the two behind her, drifting forward without so much as turning her head to either of them. Urahara laughed sheepishly, giving a word of gratitude while Mayuri was affronted by her dismissive tone. The seamstress’s eyes were solely on Ichigo, though. “But it takes craftwork beyond your clumsy hands to make something so exceptional for Reio-sama.” From behind her, in a flash of cloth, was brought Ichigo’s renewed uniform, stitched like brand new, nearly gleaming with its newness.
            Orihime was easily impressed and applauded Senjumaru’s skill. On the other hand, Ichigo – who looked to be dealing with stomach cramps – grimaced. “Th-That’s it? It’s just my normal shihakusho.”
            “Is it?” Senjumaru did not seem pleased by his assessment. “I suppose our new Reio hasn’t eyes to see. This is a uniform befitting a Soul King, crafted in my finest work, woven from the very threads of my veins to keep the structure intact. Fabric of my very being, where each stitch had taken concentration beyond the training of Bankai. And you call it a normal shihakusho.”
            “The unenlightened rarely can spot the finesse of my work,” Mayuri butted in like Senjumaru hadn’t said a word. “Of course I would not give you anything ordinary from my lab. Would you call the chair that binds Aizen anything but beyond extraordinary? Perhaps I should bind you to it yourself, and we can suppress your dangerous energies that way.”
            “N-Now, now,” Urahara awkwardly pacified the two craftspeople. “You can’t blame Kurosaki-san. He’s hardly woken up. If you’ll allow me…”
            Mayuri scoffed and rolled his eyes, already bored; Senjumaru’s disembodied hands passed off the uniform to Urahara, who stretched it out by the shoulders and began to point at it. “Senjumaru-san’s correct, Kurosaki-san! An amazing amount of detail, artistry, and technology was put into this uniform. Bands of Fusatsu Kakei were crafted into the underarms, sleeves, waist, knees, to regulate the spirit vents from your wrists to a more manageable flow! I’ll admit, it took quite a few hours to figure out how to stabilize such a powerful Kido to material, but Senjumaru-san…!”
            “Guh!”
            “Wah! Urahara-san, Urahara-san! Kurosaki-kun looks like he’s going to pass out!” wailed Orihime.
            “Sorry, sorry!” Urahara ran forward, sprawl-legged in his haste and immediately threw the outfit over Ichigo. Not properly put on, “But it should work for a bit. It’s still fresh and unused.”
            Ichigo was still straining from the impending outburst of energy, but after a few deep breaths, he exhaled, and unclenched his right fist to let the final vestige of ink float away into nothing.
            And there was no violent shaking, no uncontrollable flex of immeasurable energy, and no head-splitting pain. Ichigo blinked twice before lifting his head and looking at Urahara. “It…” His voice trailed off.
            “Success!” hollered Urahara with both hands making the victory sign.
            “Hmph! Naturally,” murmured Mayuri, Senjumaru saying, “Was there truly any doubt?”
            Feeling much better, his spirit starting to swell warmly, Ichigo opened the vest and began to put it on. As expected of Senjumaru-san’s work, it fit perfectly and comfortably. If there were regulators, he didn’t notice them, though his hands felt pleasantly cool. “That’s amazing, Urahara-san! You guys got this figured out in a week?”
            “Of course! You shouldn’t underestimate Kurotsuchi-san! He has quite an impressive intellect that he uses to its fullest when pit against a greater mind.”
            “Hm?!” Mayuri whipped around from his remote’s testing to glare at his predecessor. “Are you implying that you are my better, Urahara?!”
            “Not at all,” laughed the shopkeeper, hiding his playful smile behind his fan.
            Ichigo didn’t mind their banter. He was just glad to be feeling normal. Having just woken up, he was already put under so much stress that he… “Argh!” His face turned beet-red when he went to roll down the blankets to put on the hakama. It nearly blurted from his lips, but with Orihime there, he was a bit too embarrassed to do that. But… he was naked! For the first time, he realized it. Not just boxers or any other sort of smallclothes; he was undressed from top to bottom!
            “H-Hey!” His hands folded onto his lap like the blanket itself was evaporating, threatening to show off his shame. He didn’t even regard Orihime as a suspect, but Urahara was certainly known to do unnecessary things simply to provoke reaction. So his eyes fell directly on the shop owner when he shouted, “Who undressed me?!”
            Urahara held up his fan between them like a barricade. “My,” he stammered with anxious humor, “that certainly sounded like an accusation at me.”
            “It was me.” Senjumaru had no qualm drifting forward to take responsibility for his juvenile plight. She looked down on him, the intensity of her stare enough to balk his outrage. “We can’t expect Reio to sleep in drab and dirty wears, do you? Don’t look so embarrassed.” Her eyes sharpened shrewdly to his flusterment. “It isn’t like I haven’t taken your measurements before.”
            An experience that haunted Ichigo on the back of his mind, recalling how exposed she had made him, down to his very marrow as she scrutinized his nakedness the first time.
            “K-Kurosaki-kun!” wailed Orihime at his side. He turned to her and saw her frantically waving her hands out in front of her. Her complexion had turned scarlet like she’d been baking in the oven with her muffins. “I-I didn’t…! I mean, I had no idea…! When I hugged you, it wasn’t because…! I didn’t know-know you were na-na…!” Her lips closed and sputtered as she tried to spit out the word.
            “Inoue, are you alright?” asked Ichigo urgently.
            She stalled for a moment, and in that moment, she felt something running down to her bottom lip.
            Ichigo’s finger raised with a blatant point to her face. “Your nose is bleeding.”
            “Huh?” It was true. A small line of red from her left nostril, occurring as vivid images went to her head that she knew she shouldn’t be thinking but could not help herself. Not when Kurosaki-kun was na-na…!
            “Wah!” She spun around, covering her face and dabbing her nosebleed with a tissue. “Don’t look! It’s-It’s just the altitude!”
            Ichigo looked on confusedly while Urahara smiled behind his fan. “Such great reactions. I’m disappointed I can’t take credit for it.”
            Senjumaru’s head leaned back with a pompous smile, the tresses of her hair flowing like rows of silk from her face. “You’re merely an amateur, Urahara Kisuke.”
            “Yes,” he admitted, rubbing his neck with a dry laugh, “I suppose to Squad Zero, I still have much to learn.”
            “My, what a rambunctious wakeup call.” The lazy drawl came from the doorway. Holding the brim of his straw hat, Captain Commander Kyoraku Shunsui lifted his head and smiled languidly at the gathering. “Ichigo, welcome back. It’s good to see you in health.”
            Next to him, Nanao gave a respectful bow, but said nothing.
            “Here now.” Clap! Clap! “We should all convene in the meeting hall. Give our new Reio a chance to dress. I’d say he has enough questions for us without wondering where he can get some privacy.”
            “Oho! An excellent idea!” concurred Osho, thrusting his Ichimonji back to its retainer on his back. “Ichigo! Dress in your new royal robes! We shall await you outside!”
            Off to the side, spying from the outskirt of the room in the freefall of the Reiokyu atmosphere, a mouth split in a checkered grin. His presence couldn’t be mingled with the crowd leaving, but he’d gotten a good glimpse. He cut out to rendezvous with the others, dropping to a lower level with his gangly limbs spread wide about him.
            Already, the crowd of Shinigami had begun to filter out, though Mayuri made his usual snideness and said that he would opt out of this meeting and return to Soul Society presently. He had an urgent project to work on, and he couldn’t be caught dawdling with his eyes shut to it. There were voices beyond – more people anxious to see Ichigo – but they were hushed and ushered away by Urahara and Kyoraku. Osho lingered last, or he would be last if Orihime had made any move to go with them.
            “Hm? Orihime? You wish to stay?”
            Orihime looked like she’d just been broken out of a daze by his voice. Then, frantically again, she made some excuses. “I don’t mind staying to help Kurosaki-kun if he needs it! N-Not that he would need it when dressing…!”
            “It’s alright, Inoue.” Ichigo was shoving his arms through his robe’s sleeves; at least he had something on. He turned to her, his head lilting as he gave her a warm smile that put a blaze in her bosom. Her lips tightened by his radiance. “If you don’t mind…”
            “I-I don’t mind!” she answered hurriedly, like it was an offer quick to expire. Pumping her fists readily at her chest, she told him to instruct her for anything, and she would help as best as she could! His smile became somewhat apprehensive at her enthusiasm, and he assured her that there wasn’t much she needed to do. But, while dressing normally was more comfortable in private, he was glad to have her soothing company.
            Orihime turned around hurriedly when he gave her a very timid look – Kurosaki-kun looks cute even when he’s nervous, she gushed! – and held him at his back, her eyes casting to the dull ceiling, trying to seem fancied by considerations of the décor than the sounds of Ichigo rustling into his clothes behind her. She could hear him grunting in his haste, to be not naked as soon as possible.
            She guessed he was at least clothed at the bottom; he started to speak. “What happened, Inoue?”
            She almost glanced behind her reflexively. She reaffirmed her considerate stance. “Well,” she started with a stammer, trying to focus, “you defeated Yhwach, but… but everything kept rumbling. It was like trying to stand on jelly or something! We went whoosh! to one right”—She swung theatrically with her hands, one way and then the other—“and zoom! the left!” She then blinked, feeling the aura in the air. Awkwardly turning, she saw Ichigo, mostly clothed by for his open robes, but he didn’t seem modest about his body being shown.
She gulped dryly at the befuddled look he was giving her. She laughed nervously, touching the back of her head. “I don’t know if I can explain it right! Urahara-san and Osho-san said they could explain it to you when you woke up. Um…” She twiddled her fingers, trying to keep them engaging. “They didn’t talk about it much in here, and-and I was mostly in here, so…” She blushed, thinking of how the majority of her time this past week had been spent regaling past instances to an unconscious body. It might seem foolish to her, but Osho had told her many times that a friendly and familiar voice could nurture a soul even more than medicine.
            “You were here all this time?” Ichigo asked, eyebrows lifted, hands stopped on his robes.
            Orihime was quick to clarify, throwing her hands out in front of her and proclaiming, “Not all the time, Kurosaki-kun! I-I told you, I worked with Kiro-san in the kitchen, and Senjumaru-san taught me sowing!” She brought a finger to her bottom lip, gazing upward like she was revisiting an old, unsolved problem on a math test. “Nimaiya-kun wanted me to go to his plate to learn dancing…”
            Ichigo flinched. “Y-You didn’t… right?”
            “Mm-mm.” She shook her head gaily and shrugged her shoulders. “Senjumaru-san said it would be a waste of time.” She tapped her fingertips together then and confessed her worry, “I don’t think she’d think that I’d be a good dancer.”
            That probably wasn’t it. It most definitely wasn’t it! Ichigo could breathe soundly now, having seen Oh-Etsu’s taste in pageantry and women. Orihime, with that revealing outfit, would fit in too nicely in that harem of Zanpakuto. No doubt the Blade Master shed his tears losing a groupie like Orihime… though Ichigo’s eyes rolled up and off to the side unassumingly as if to deny having an opinion on the matter.
            He finished dressing, made a comment that was neither complaint nor praise about the latches that kept his energies in check – “I never needed something like this before.” – and then shared a smile with Orihime and asked her to lead the way, which she was happy to oblige. She really did learn her way around this place; the corridors, the doorways, everything that seemed the same to Ichigo, she could describe its path or purpose.
            “Kiro-san and Senjumaru-san taught me everything,” she announced when Ichigo shared his amazement in her knowledge.
            “But how did this place get put back together? Yhwach destroyed it, didn’t he? Even before he turned it into that freaky haunted-looking city.”
            To this, Orihime turned at him and gave him a very thoughtful look; he actually stopped in place, leaning back slightly as she peered deeply at him. He held his lips together, making a sound behind them. He didn’t want to point out that his vantage and her clothes did not mix well with modesty.
            “You really don’t remember, do you, Kurosaki-kun?”
            “Remember?” He looked up and tried very hard for his memory before waking up. He remembered the stroke that cleaved the rampaging Quincy King in two…
            “Fool, Kurosaki Ichigo!” raged Yhwach as his split energies began to pull and dissipate from his material body. “You are a fool! The pattern of life and death! It could have been ended! No more fear and pain! An existence of eternity and peace! And you ended it! Always a cycle of death and fear!” His weathered face, perspiring as he clung to the last seconds of his life, twisted in a wicked grin. “You may see it again…! Just as when your mother died!” His energy flared in desperate tendrils. “I’ll take down the high palace, and kill everyone you care for!”
            “Kurosaki-kun?”
            Ichigo returned from that memory with a blink and found Orihime still in his personal space, peering at him, asking if he was alright. “Yeah,” he said in a sigh and put on a smile. “I guess I don’t really don’t remember anything after that. Maybe I passed out from exhaustion.” He wasn’t convinced by that, and from the look on Orihime’s face, he was certain that there was much more to it than that.
            Hopefully Urahara-san and Osho could fill in the gaps of his memory…
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Changing of the Guard