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A Shadow of What Was	By : katami Category: Bleach > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 49594 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author's notes: It's over! July is over and sanity has returned to my life! Thank any and every god who wants to take credit. I am not picky at this point because I survived.

And you sense trouble because you know how my wicked mind works, Irana.

The Orihime beatdown is coming, I promise. Although she really is too pathetic to hurt too much, a pity since pounding on her would be fun.

Once again, thanks to everyone reading this and thank you for enduring July with me.

* * *

He awoke achingly hard and smeared with come. There were tears on his cheeks and Ichigo's name still on his lips. Kisuke stifled a soft cry, his body trembling as he tried to struggle through the conflicting morass of emotions. There was pain and fear, the denial of waking and the denial of the dream. There was Urahara's longing to reach out and pull Ichigo close. And there was his own bitter anger over the situation, the devastating certainty that no matter what he did he could never make things right with Ichigo.

The other man would never see him as anything but a stand-in for Urahara, would never care about him. It hurt, he realized as a dull pain radiated through his chest. It hurt to know that Ichigo could never love him because it was becoming harder and harder not to want to love the other man. But he would never be anything but a pale shade of Urahara Kisuke.

"A shadow of what was," he whispered, Ulquiorra's words coming to him and making him gasp as pain lanced through him. That was all he was, all he could ever be, he realized, tears beginning to slip over his cheeks.

"Somebody had a good morning," taunted a feminine voice filled with laughter.

Gray eyes flew open, meeting with sparkling golden eyes set within Yoruichi's smirking face. She was eyeing his rumpled sheets and stained boxers with wry humor. Rage flashed through him. She was laughing at him! He was being ripped apart and she was laughing at him, mocking his agony! Despair turned to fury in an instant.

"Get out!" he snarled, his left hand going to Benihime. He had gone to bed clutching her close, drawing comfort from the familiar feel of her and the faint song that he could hear when he held her. Now he was gratified by the echoing ferocity he could feel vibrating through her.

"Hey! I was just joking!" yelped Yoruichi, holding her hands up in a placating gesture that just annoyed him more.

"GET OUT!" he screamed, rolling to his feet and tossing Benihime's sheathe away. Her blade looked dull in the artificial light, but he could feel the hunger resonating through her, the desire to slake his anger in blood. There was a primal and savage joy in holding her, a promise of blood and death that sang within his veins.

This at least was his, this angel of fury and fire.

"What's all the noise?" demanded Shunsui, crowding into the doorway to the bedroom. Jyuushiro was behind him and Grimmjow shoving at the both of them trying to get in.

"GET THE FUCK OUT!" he bellowed, suddenly infuriated by the lack of privacy. He was not some exhibit fro them to stare at and his pain was not on display for them all to chortle over. A door opened out in the living room and more people called out in concern. "Sing, Benihime," he growled, the command falling easily and naturally from his lips. A sharp pain nipped at his wrist and a cut opened. Blood flowed, a few precious drops of crimson life. The ruby glow suffused Benihime as she drank it in, his power, his energy, his very life force. Her power flowed up his arm and through him in return, a brilliant song bursting into existence in his blood. A red blast sailed at the four bodies in his doorway and they dropped to the floor to avoid being hit.

"Kitten," began Grimmjow.

"You think this is funny?!? This is my fucking life!" he screamed, a fresh sprinkling of tears falling. He swung at Yoruich as she rolled to her feet. Jyuushiro shoved Grimmjow back into the living room, following the Arrancar.

"Kisuke," tried Shunsui

"Get out! Get out! GET OUT!" he snarled, a red halo enveloping him and a blast of crimson energy flying towards the other man's head. Shunsui ducked and dove back into the living room, Yoruichi following him through the door. Kisuke growled and pressed the attack into the other room. "I think we should go!" exclaimed the captain of the Eighth, jerking his lover clear of a kidou blast.

"You might be right."

"I'm not leaving him," snapped Grimmjow, jerking clear of a swipe from Benihime.

"I don't think he wants you here right now," said Jyuushiro, grabbing his collar and tugging the Arrancar through the living room door. Yoruichi dove through a second later and then the door slammed shut, a kidou blast rocking it before a barrier snapped into place.

Kisuke stared at the door, panting and crying, his limbs trembling. The rage drained away slowly, leaving him aching and frightened. Benihime fell to the floor a second before he did, his arms wrapped tightly around himself as his tears become wreaking sobs. He rocked gently, nails digging furrows into his skin and his whole body trembling, not sure what he felt...or if he ever wanted to feel again.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, sweaty, bloody and stained with his own release. It was long enough for numbness to replace the pain, and weariness to overwhelm the anger though. The fear didn't fade, only receded slightly, just waiting to ambush him again. With a few soft sniffles he dragged himself to the bath, rinsing mechanically, before sitting heavily, letting the hot water pelt his back. He drew his knees up to his chest, laying his head on them and sat there in the shower, as small as he could make himself.

He wasn't exactly sure when the world went from being the bathroom of his little jail cell to being somewhere different. He just knew that the bathroom had disappeared and been replaced with a world of fog. There were hints of things through the fog, buildings that he could glimpse, voices that echoed around and reminded him of a childhood he had never had, and smells that were alien and familiar at the same time.

"You do realize that drowning ourselves is not a solution? Or at least not one I am prepared to explore," murmured a serious sounding voice, although Kisuke thought he detected a slight hint of dry amusement in the tone. He whirled to find a nearly exact double of himself standing a few meters away. Except this him looked harder, more confident, with a certain sharp cleverness and avarice lurking in his eyes. He was dressed in a Shinigami's robes and a white captain's haori was draped around his shoulders.

"Urahara?" he whispered softly, trying to resist the urge to back away from the other man, this mirror image of him who wasn't.

"In a manner of speaking. You do realize that denying the memories won't work, don't you? You need to remember. Knowledge is power. And blind emotional displays like earlier are hardly productive."

"Where am I? What do you want?" he demanded, settling for edging away from the other man slowly.

The Captain sighed at him, but an almost indulgent smile tugged his lips upward. "This is our soul - well, your part of it anyway. My portion is over there," murmured the other man with a gesture into the foggy landscape and for just a second Kisuke thought the mist cleared. He thought he could make out a tangled warren of dusty streets and tiny, cramped houses. The Rukongai. He knew it as surely as he knew his name.

�As for what I want, I'll settle for conversation for the moment. You need help and I am the only one around able to provide it - and since my fate is tied to yours, you will admit I have a certain vested interest in your welfare," continued the Captain, pacing a narrow strip of earth.

"You know how to make the memories stop? How to make it end?" demanded Kisuke eagerly, a faint blush climbing his cheeks as he remembered the latest dream. It was so hard, remembering so much, feeling so much, and yet knowing that if he acted on it, it wouldn't be him Ichigo would be touching. It wouldn't be him the redhead loved. He would just be a substitute for Urahara.

The Captain gave an apologetic shrug, "I can't. They're not my memories. They come after my time. I only remember our childhood and time in Soul Society. Ichigo and our relationship with him came after. If you will remember, I did try and keep us away from him," pointed out the other man.

Kisuke sighed. It had been a futile hope anyway. "I don't trust you," he told the other him petulantly. "Why should I listen to you if you can't help me?"

"You might consider things from my perspective," snapped the Captain. "You were raised with a home and a family. I grew up on the streets of the Rukongai. If my methods seem...harsh, it is because I learned to value survival above all else. And you will admit that so far I have done an admirable job of keeping us alive - even if the conditions were less than ideal."

Kisuke blushed faintly. He hadn�t gone out of his way to help the other man, but he was not exactly eager to surrender his body either. It was his life damn it! He deserved a chance to live it.

"If it helps any, I do not believe our later self intended for you to experience the dream," murmured the captain with a soft chuckle as he turned vibrant red.

"Why do I get the feeling that dream doesn't bother you in the slightest," he demanded of the other man with faint annoyance.

"What is to be bothered about? We got an orgasm out of it and after giving the matter due consideration I have decided that we could have done much worse than Kurosaki,� murmured the Captain, making Kisuke shake his head in mild exasperation. Why did all parts of him have to agree on that one thing? "He is handsome and powerful. He has sufficient rank to make a relationship possible without the trouble of a noble title. He cares deeply about us and has proven willing to deal with our eccentricities. Matches have thrived on far less."

"We are talking about someone you are supposed to love, not a damn political ally," snapped Kisuke annoyed by the brisk summary.

"But I didn't fall in love with him. That came later, after our banishment. Love is far too fickle an emotion for me," murmured the Captain benignly.

"Yoruichi," breathed Kisuke, his eyes locking with the Captain's, He could feel it, the aching and bitter anger of being told he wasn't good enough. Knowing that Yoruichi could never love him simply because of what he was. He was good enough for her to play with, good enough to train with her, and to stand with her in a fight - but not to love her. He was a Rukongai mongrel. That was all her family saw, all he could ever be in their eyes. And the knowledge was a sharp and bitter pain that tainted everything else. The Captain nodded.

"To a spurned child love is a foolish hope, but power...power seems to promise all the security and stability he could ever want. So I chose to pursue the mistress I could obtain. Love came later."

"After our fall," murmured a soft, solemn voice. A third figure stepped from the fog. He was older than the Captain or Kisuke, maybe thirty, but it was clear he was an older version of them, what they would grow into.

He lacked the Captain's self assurance - this man had tried and failed. And he was forever marked by that failure, held prisoner by it. There was a certain sad acceptance to him, it was masked by a bright smile and a clever fan, but it was easy to see that whatever merriment the man feigned, it never reach his eyes. Those stayed shrouded in sadness.

"Urahara, I presume," murmured the Captain.

"Hat-n-Clogs, for convenience. And this is certainly unexpected. My younger self and our current incarnation I would guess?" inquired the self proclaimed Hat-n-Clogs.

"You!" snarled Kisuke, lightning flashing in his eyes as he stormed towards the other man. A well placed foot sent him stumbling before he could get close however and a moment later he was pressed snuggly into the Captain, his right arm twisted up behind his back.

"I believe we discussed emotional displays already," scolded the Captain lightly. "And fighting against ourselves will accomplish nothing. We also covered the dream."

Hat-n-Clogs grinned sheepishly. "I really hadn't planned for that to happen. Benihime and the other two woke me up."

"Benihime?" asked the Captain and Kisuke could feel his interest sharpen.

"I don't care why it happened," snapped Kisuke. "I don't want it to happen again." He yelped, jerked from the soulscape as cold water pelted his spine. He scrambled to turn off the water and quickly toweled off and armored himself in a fluffy robe. Not sure if he was glad to be free of the disturbing soulscape or annoyed at not being able to resolve things with Urahara.

'Do you think he would be mad if I told him that I have no control over what he remembers?' came a cheerily whispered voice at the edge of his hearing.

'Probably.'
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A Shadow of What Was