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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: This took forever. The muse refused to focus and life is being...interesting. I am still writing however, just a little longer between updates. Many thanks to all those reading this story and all those who take the time to review.

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Kisuke grew tense and silent as they neared the shouten. A part of him raged and snarled at his old friend's betrayal - and that Isshin thought he would be dumb enough to fall for it. As if he wouldn't recognize the path they walked or infer their final destination. As if he was really that naive or stupid. A dark part of him whispered that he should have expected it. Ichigo was Isshin's son and as Urahara knew all too well, blood was thicker than friendship. Hadn't Soul Society proven it to him time after time?

"You can stop quietly hating me, Kisuke. I said you weren't going back and you aren't; we're just making a small stop," murmured Isshin, tossing an inane grin back at him and making the younger man flush. He hadn't realized he'd been so obvious in his anger.

He closed the small distance between them so that he was trotting at Isshin's side and glanced over at the older man. Isshin couldn't lie worth a damn face to face; Ichigo was the same way, everything they felt showed up in their eyes. And it was all there for the reading if someone just knew how to look. "Swear it," he demanded softly, his voice a low growl and his frame tense, ready to bolt.

Dark eyes met his, full of warmth and amusement. "There's the paranoid bastard we all knew and loved. I swear on my son's life that no one is going to try and return you to the Shinigami. We're just going to stop by the shouten to pick up a few things...unless you would rather leave Benihime."

Denial twisted so sharply through him that Kisuke wondered that it was really his. But it was. He would sooner cleave off his arm than be parted from the sword. Her gentle songs pulled at things deep inside him that he barely understood and had no hope of putting into words. He needed her. "No. No, we have to get her," he whispered, a quiet desperation lacing his voice and making Isshin pause to stare at him.

A gentle smile tugged the older man's lips upward and a warm palm settled on Kisuke's shoulder. "We will," promised the older man before continuing on.

The shouten was dark and all the doors and windows closed when they stole into the yard, and Kisuke wondered if anyone would even be up. A soft rap, barely more than the grazing of Isshin's knuckles against the wood had the door sliding open though, a young woman standing there in the doorway. She was pretty, a few years older than him, with a gentle, timid smile. The name Ururu came to mind and Kisuke could almost see the little girl she had been, the image a dizzying overlay to the woman before him. He wanted to say something to her, thought he should, but the words seemed to dry up inside him and left him opening and closing his mouth a few times.

"Please come in," whispered the girl, stepping aside to let them pass and quickly closing the door. "Tessai-san is in the kitchen," she began, leading them through the darkened shop and into the living quarters. Everywhere he looked triggered a small wave of nostalgia and under that just a tiny grain of hurt. Like Yoruichi this place was both beloved and despised. It had been his home once and honestly, the sight of his greatest joys. But it had also been his prison, the place he had been forced to flee to after his banishment, the embodiment of his failure. Either way it was home and it was his a part of him insisted. For a moment he rebelled against the feeling, but weariness and the pervading sense of rightness won out. This really had been his home once and some small part of him still thought of it as home.

"Come on, Kisuke," murmured Isshin as he fell behind, each new wave of memory gently tugging to capture his attention.

"You go. I want...I need to look around a little," he said as they neared the kitchen. He couldn't sit quietly in this place that had once been his home, couldn't watch ghosts of what had been flicker behind his eyes, or speak quietly to people he had once known.

It was easy to pretend Isshin was his friend rather than Urahara's. The man didn't push at him and he had come to avoid his old friend towards the end - guilt over Ichigo. Sitting with Tessai and letting Ururu serve him tea would be nothing like his time with Isshin and Ryuuken and he couldn't do it.

Isshin paused to stare at him for a moment before giving Ururu a brief nod and proceeding on alone. "I'll come and get you when I'm done. Stay in the shouten. Ururu can show you around."

Ururu blushed at him, loss and longing in her eyes. "It's alright, Ururu-chan. I can find my own way," he murmured, the words slipping out as he gave her a gentle bracing smile and slid by her. Just wanting to be away. His feet carried him down the hall into a darkened room automatically. Only when the door slid shut did he manage to shake off the daze that had seized him. And then he wished he hadn't.

Even in the darkness, with nothing beyond the faint moonlight peaking in the window, he knew this place. His room. Just as he had left it.

Memories washed over him, poignant and powerful, drawing him around the room without conscious knowledge or thought. His bureau with a few small knickknacks on it was on the west wall near the bathroom door, his closet on the east wall - doors neatly closed - and his futon occupied most of the space. There was a low table near it, a place for notes or a book before he drifted off to sleep, although a second nightstand had been added to the opposite side - one for Ichigo. Kisuke felt his heart clench and his whole body tremble as he stared. He closed his eyes, trying to wrestle back control from the heady rush of longing.

He was tired, a bit of brainstorm while he was enjoying a shower and his nice leisurely day had been turned into an eighteen hour day with him spending the last six pouring over notes and advanced calculations in his lab. He sometimes wondered at the perversity of his psyche - he would likely be scribbling equations for days and driving everyone mad with twenty and thirty hours stretches spent in his lab - and he was utterly thrilled by the prospect. He wiggled his fingers to try and loosen them and considered another shower before deciding that all he really wanted was a few hours of sleep before he headed back to his lab.

He staggered into his bedroom and stopped, staring, not quite able to believe his eyes. Kurosaki Ichigo was laying there in his bed, a vision made flesh. A welcoming frown pulled on the younger man's lips but his body was relaxed and he was holding up the bed sheets in a clear invitation. Urahara sighed and quickly shed his clothes, eagerly joining the younger man.

He sighed in weary pleasure as he snuggled close to his lover. "You're late," scolded Ichigo softly, fingers tangling in his hair to pull him close so the younger man could kiss him. He moaned softly and wondered if life got any better, Ichigo waiting for him, warm and welcoming, and a shiny new project to keep him busy in the coming days.

"Stop it," he ground out, clutching his head as he managed to wrestle the memory back. "Leave me alone," he whimpered, another memory rising quickly on the heels of the one he pushed away. Then another. And other. A vast wave of sensation that threatened to drown him.

It was warm and comfortable and utterly perfect, Kisuke thought fuzzily, lounging in that blissful daze between slumber and alertness. Ichigo was wrapped around him, the younger man's head a pleasant weight on his shoulder. Silky, orange hair tickled his cheek, smelling of apples and smoke, rich and subtle like a fall breeze. He sighed and snuggled closer, savoring the tranquil moment.

His fingers traced gently over his lover's sun warmed skin, enjoying the minute brush of Ichigo's reiatsu against his fingers as it twined lazily with his own power. It was still early, before 9, but it was Sunday and they had nowhere to go, nothing to do but lounge. He brushed his lips against the top of Ichigo's head, smiling as the redhead grumbled and tightened his hold on him.

His legs gave way and he dropped heavily to the floor, not even the sharp pain of his knees hitting wood breaking the spell; the physical pain blending into sharp pain trying to block the memories generated. 'Do something. These are your memories,' snapped the Captain, stepping between him and the memories, adding a cool layer of control to temper the grief and pain that threatened to consume him.

They fell onto the bed with soft grunts, the impact jarring their barely healed wounds. They were both dirty, bloody, slightly charred and utterly exhausted. They were both wounded and neither of them had seen any sleep in nearly forty hours, but the lines had held and the town was once again theirs. It had been brutal and bloody, the stuff that Kisuke knew would haunt his nightmares for years to come. A tiny part of him whispered that it was all his fault - his creation, his lack of attention in not realizing how dangerous Aizen was, his stupidity for not finding some way to avoid all this. Ichigo would have kicked his ass if he ever heard him voice such thoughts, but they still crept in to torment him from time to time. To remind him why he was unworthy of the glorious creature at his side.

"Tell me we don't have to get up," groaned Ichigo. And Kisuke agreed with him. His body was announcing, quite firmly, that it had no intention of moving for anything for at least 96 hours and maybe even a full week.

"We should shower," he managed to get out, sensibility warring with weariness. Both he and Ichigo were disgusting and the idea of sleeping in his nice clean bed in such a state was less than appealing. On the other hand, the bathroom was several steps away and would require movement on their part. Worse yet, the stitches they both had would demand that they take sponge baths rather than share a shower, meaning a delay in sleeping. "Tomorrow," he sighed, reaching out for Ichigo and smiling as the younger man returned the favor. Their fingers laced together and Kisuke felt the world drift away.

The world shifted sickeningly and Kisuke found himself in the soulscape again. Things were different though. The fog, while still present, was significantly lessened. He could make out the edge of the Rukongai - shadowed, twisted runs that turned back upon one another in a Gordian knot to challenge even the bravest of souls. As they drifted eastward the Rukongai streets slowly became more planned. They no longer ran haphazardly and the buildings bordering them were no longer quite so cramped or dilapidated. Nestled into that quiet, unassuming area like an afterthought was the shouten.

Kisuke shuddered, trying to blink away the disorientation that the shift had brought when a hand touched his cheek, gently wiping away the tears. "It's over now. Just breathe," soothed a soft, melodic voice as he shuddered and tried to get the tremble in his limbs to stop. He felt raw and painful, every nerve tingling and his head throbbing in agony.

"I think we need to talk about this a little," purred a second voice in a tone Kisuke knew all too well, it was a shade too bright and brokered no argument - it was his own 'we can talk about this or I can kick your ass and then we can talk about this, but either way we are talking' tone.

"There is very little to talk about. The shouten was my home for nearly fifty years, you expect it not to trigger memories? If we dropped him in the middle of the Seireitei it would have the same effect," retorted the first voice tartly, long fingers moved from his face to soothing his hair and rubbing his shoulder.

"And you didn't anticipate that visiting might be problematic?" snapped the second.

Hat-n-Clogs and the Captain, thought Kisuke wearily, glancing up to blink at them, his eyes not eager to focus. In fact, his whole body not eager to do anything other than curl into a ball.

"Stop hovering and do something useful," rejoined Hat-n-Clogs, reaching up and dragging the Captain down to kneel beside him. A fan was shoved into the younger man's hands and Hat-n-Clogs grinned, cocking one blonde brow. Kisuke chuckled wetly and wondered how the black robed figure restrained himself from punching the other man.

"You are not a very nice person sometimes," he mumbled, giving the green clad man a resigned look.

The almost jovial air that had surrounded the older man evaporated and gray eyes disappeared into the shadow of a hat. "No, no, I'm not." There was a whole world lurking in the simple words, but Kisuke decided he wasn't up to pushing or demanding answers.

"Isshin and Ryuuken suggested accepting it, the memories....you," he murmured, rubbing tiredly at his pounding temples.

"Isshin and Ryuuken are very wise men," murmured Hat-n-Clogs blandly.

"Sometimes anyway," added the Captain with a smirk.

"Why do I sense a story or three there," sighed Kisuke.

"Probably because you know us and yourself. I'm still not sure who was more annoyed that one time I snuck them into the labs," begin the Captain, a grin spreading across his face. It made him look his age and washed away the lean hungry edge that seemed to cling to him. It made him look...like him, realized Kisuke.

"We are not going to start trading Isshin and Ryuuken tales," interrupted Hat-n-Clogs. "We would be here all night. And Kisuke doesn't have enough yet to make it any fun. Very nice card-counting by the way."

"The palming needs a little work," murmured the Captain, the fan disappearing so quickly Kisuke was unable to follow the gesture. A moment later it was back, in the other hand, and concealing a brimming smile.

"The joys of a misspent youth," quipped Hat-n-Clogs.

"I'm not sure our middle years were all that much better," retorted the Captain with a telling glance at the older blonde.

"They had their moments."

Ichigo, thought Kisuke. It always came back to him.

"Most things do come back to the people you love eventually," murmured Hat-n-Clogs, gray eyes meeting his own and staring. There was so much in them, a wealth of knowledge and emotion, usually hidden behind a wall of glittering mirth, but peeking out occasionally to give glimmers of the cache that lay beneath. Kisuke felt himself sinking into those eyes, getting lost in mysteries that lingered just out of sight.

The world wavered and then condensed again, but different and new. There were shades and hues that had somehow been missing before. And the pain that had been griping his heart was lighter, easier to bear. Kisuke swayed lightly, blinking in confusion as he realized that his clothing was different. A green haori was draped around his shoulders and he didn't remember how it had gotten there. Although he suddenly remembered other things, things he couldn't possibly know. They came slowly and at his bidding now, not like the headlong rush of before.

"Now that is interesting," murmured the Captain, looking at him like he was a particularly interesting specimen. The Shinigami reached out for him and they both gasped as the world shifted again, the colors skewing and then resettling. More memories and a hard edged will of iron that seemed determined to bend the world to his will. He took a few slow breaths, trying to understand, adjust to the feelings of rightness and calm that was suffusing him. He wasn't just Mizuno Kisuke but Urahara Kisuke as well and it was right, it made sense. It was the way it was supposed to be.

"Time to go," announced Isshin, sliding open the door and startling him from the odd moment of clarity and shattering the peculiar merger. Kisuke turned to stare at the other man and caught sight of Benihime in his hand. He instantly reached out for the zanpakutou and felt a surge of power go through him as a ringing note of crystalline joy resounded through his blood. Isshin was chuckling at him as he clutched the sword close for a moment before forcing himself to his feet and strapping her to his hip.

"I need a minute," he told the former Shinigami, sighing in gratitude as Isshin stepped back into the hall and slid the door shut.

He went to the closet, opening it and wading past a wide array of clothing. Ichigo had been shocked at how extensive his wardrobe had been the first time he had gone rooting through the closet. There, buried in the back, was an innocuous shoe box, yellowed with age and dusty, but still right where he had left it. He smiled faintly, stowing the box under his arm and headed for the door. He had just slid open the door when a nagging sense of longing seized him. He held up a hand to forestall Isshin from shepherding him off and darted back into the room. He dug around the back of the closet, quickly shoving something white under his arm with box before grabbing a green and white striped hat and putting it jauntily on top of his head.

"Ready when you are," he told Isshin, emerging into the hall where a young redhead was talking to the other man. Tall and lanky and still bursting with energy, he recognized the young man instantly. Jinta. He tousled the brilliant red hair on his way past earning a violent curse and then quiet awe, which he decided was infinitely better than the mingled pity and sadness he had getting.
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A Shadow of What Was