Clarification

by tonraq

Summary:

Beginning of the Arrancar arc. Ichigo is annoyed; Rukia's been out killing hollows without him. And that's just rude.

((The non-con aspects are in later chapters; I will provide warnings. It never gets graphic. That said, it does weigh heavy emotionally, thus the tag.))

Notes:

I began this in winter 2008.

Chapter 1

Rukia laughs, the high falsity of it irritating Ichigo to no end...he looks back down at his food as his sisters ply Rukia with questions about her "old home". He should be helping her out, but it's satisfying, he thinks, to see her put on the spot, to get flustered, to not quite know what she's doing. Makes up for how seamlessly she blends in at school, how knowledgeable she is about Hollow slaying, how she can calmly go to her death and chastise him for saving her. Baka.

He finishes the bok choi but leaves the broth; Yuzu's cooking is good, but soup has never been his favourite. Instead he pushes his chair away, stands up, gathers up his bowl and glances at Rukia to see how long it will be before she's done her meal (along with the ridiculous story. As if her parents had been acrobats). She's too busy chatting to notice his scowl; he turns to leave and she dips her head to take a bite of noodles, and a shadow moves across her neck.

Ichigo pauses, frowns; she leans forward again and her dress tugs down once more, exposing both the pale skin of her back and the purple shadow of a bruise. Ichigo shakes his head, goes to put the dishes in the sink. Had she gone hollow-slaying without him? Bitch.

Ichigo sleeps soundly that night and wakes up with bleary eyes, really wishing that school didn't exist. Rukia has already left the house by the time he scarfs a cold breakfast; he walks double-time to school, and gets to class in time to see her slipping into her seat, giggling annoyingly at something Keigo has said. She twists to get her school books out of her bag, and Ichigo turns his burning face away as her skirt hikes up, but is forced to double-take: there's a blue-ish shadow just where the hem of her skirt touches.

A hand comes into view, yanks the skirt down: Ichigo meets Rukia's eyes, which promise him death beyond his wildest nightmares before her smiling mask snaps back into place, distracted by Orihime's enthusiastic greeting. Ichigo doesn't talk to her at lunch, instead choosing to brood beside Chad. Chad, to his credit, offers insight into the nature of the text they had been reading earlier, and the subject of Rukia is avoided entirely.

She catches up with him on the way home, giving him a slap on the arm when he doesn't respond to her chatter. He swings to glare at her; she glares back, and he knows that the skirt incident is forgotten, at least to her mind. This is contrariness just for the sake of it.

"Next time, invite me along," he informs her, and keeps walking.

She catches up, voice sharp and inquiring, asking him what the hell did he mean.

"Don't pretend I don't know," he bites back, "I'm not stupid. Next time a hollow shows up, invite me along. Never know when it'll be an arrancar, and then what'll happen if you don't have backup?"

She is silent for a moment. "I can take care of it myself." Her voice is odd, annoyed.

"Like hell. You're getting beat up, Rukia...don't think I didn't see the bruises. You just got your power back; it's not surprising you've lost your edge." He smirks at the barb. I'm so clever. "Take me with you next time; you need to take it slow."

Rukia kicks him in the ankle; he hops in agony as she stalks past him into the yard, slams the door as she goes into the house.

Ichigo doesn't dream that night, but wakes up in the morning exhausted, his hand aching. He shakes it out, curses his odd sleeping postures, stretches to get the crick out of his back. Rukia is gone again; he sees her for a brief moment in the hallway at school, going into the girls' bathroom with Inoue. When he looks at her in class, she turns away from him, to look out the window; Ichigo is instantly aggravated.

"Quit ignoring me!" It is the walk home again, and Rukia is walking in front of him, nose in the air, prim and proper and Kuchiki.

"He says," she quipped snidely. "You avoided me all of yesterday." She walks a little quicker.

"Wait up, baka," he calls, and strides forward, putting a hand on her shoulder and pulling her back to walk beside him. She winces and smacks his hand away. Ichigo is baffled for a moment, then his eyes narrow.

"You're hurt again. You went out again without me." She doesn't answer. "It's dangerous, Rukia. I'm not saying this cause I think you're helpless or anything -"

"I can handle myself," she says snootily, and he bites back the urge to snap at her.

He sleeps uneasily that night; sets his alarm for one am just to make sure she doesn't go off without him. It is hard to get out of his warm blankets and soft bed, but he does so anyways, and shuffles over to the closet before remembering. Yawning, he makes his way down the hall and peeks into Yuzu and Karin's room. The two girls are sound asleep; Rukia is standing by the window in the ridiculous bunny pyjamas she bought the other week.

Aha. She was planning to go out! He knew it...he'd sneak up on her, catch her in the act, and she'd HAVE to apologize! Ichigo quietly slips into the room, careful not to disturb his sisters. Padding over, he puts his hand on her shoulder, whispers in her ear.

"Gotcha!"

He is expecting some sort of reaction: a yelp, maybe, or her furious face as she turned to slap him. Instead, she turns rigid under his hands, but stays silent. After a moment her shoulders droop and she sighs.

"Get on with it," she mutters, and her voice is curiously choked. "Just don't...I'm sorry. I'll stay, just don't hurt them, please."

"Rukia?" He is puzzled; she freezes, whirls, her eyes huge in her face.

"Ichigo!" It's a hiss of shock and...relief?

"Rukia, what the hell was that just now?" He whispers, confused by her body language.

"N-nothing," she turns away from him, walks back to bed. "Go back to bed, Ichigo." She lies down, curling up away from him, the motion hiking up her pyjama top to expose her waist.

Ichigo stares. Rukia hurriedly pulls the material down, but Ichigo has already seen the bruise, blue fingerprints and a reddish palm imprint; she knows this, and piles the blankets on top of herself, wishing he would go away.

Ichigo is at her side in an instant; in an instant he has used the badge to force her soul form out; in an instant they are both in his room, door shut, and his body lies on the bed as he stands in front of her, eyes questioning and furious.

"Who did it?" He demands, when she gives no indications of speaking of her own volition.

She doesn't meet his eyes, looking to the side as if bored and uninterested. His patience is draining away.

"Rukia, who did that to you? I'll kill him, I swear; tell me who it was!"

"No use," she says flatly. "It was a hollow."

"That was not a hollow's handprint, Rukia, and you know it! Unless...an arrancar? You fought an arrancar, and you didn't even tell me?!" Ichigo's face is red, and he's glad he's in soul form; his shouting should have woken the entire neighbourhood. Kon, snuggled in Yuzu's arms in the next room, groans and stuffs his paws in his ears, unable to decipher the words coming through the walls, but secure in the knowledge that Nee-san is probably on the verge of kicking Ichigo into silence.

"Wasn't an arrancar," Rukia says stiffly. "Do you think I would be petty enough to hide an arrancar's presence from you? From Hitsugaya-taichou and Matsumoto-fukutaichou?"

"Then who grabbed you, Rukia? You can't lie to me, even if it was someone...is it someone we know?" He flicks through people in his mind, trying to catalogue the people he has seen Rukia with in the last few days.

Rukia is silent.

"Damn it Rukia, if you won't tell me, I'll start guessing. There's only so many people with hands that size...it couldn't have been any of the girls, and Hitsugaya's still too small..."

Rukia's mouth sets in a hard line.

"Fine then," Ichigo scowls down at her. "Was it Ikkaku?"

She gives him a look.

"Well it wasn't Yumichika; he's got girly hands. Was it Ishida?"

Rukia shakes her head mutely, almost amusedly. Something in Ichigo snarls.

"Fine then. Renji. He's the only other one I can think of that -"

Rukia cuts him off with a slap; his head snaps sideways, and her eyes are no longer dancing. "Don't you ever, ever insinuate anything like that about Renji!" Her voice is low, deadly; Ichigo puts a hand up to his stinging cheek as he stares into her murderous expression. She reaches forward, yanks his hand savagely towards her, lifts her shirt and plants his hand firmly on her waist: Ichigo's face flames automatically.

"Rukia, what-" He cuts himself off; his hand fits perfectly over the bruise; the faint edges of it radiate away from his fingers like some sort of halo, or kidou gone wrong.

"I didn't want to tell you," she informs him, "but I won't have you thinking things like that about Renji."

Ichigo is still staring at his hand, dark against the paleness of her skin, uncomprehending. How...?

"Try going bankai," she suggests sarcastically; his eyes widen in realization.

"What-"

"Oh, I don't know how it takes control of your body," she says, as if it is a conversation, as if they weren't standing in his dark bedroom in the middle of the night, his hand on her waist, his alter-ego her nightmare. "But it comes out and we stand by the window."

Ichigo feels sick. "The bruises, Rukia..."

"It likes me, I guess," she says, her dark eyes unreadable. "I don't think it's very good at showing affection, though. It's like you in that respect, at least." She shrugs, her half-smile humourless.

"And that's all?"

"We talk about things, Ichigo," she said. "Maybe that's what keeps it from actually-" she stops, regains her steady composure "-it has a lot of time to think about things, and it wants to know what I think about them. Sometimes what I think isn't what it wants to hear. That's all."

In the end, Rukia goes back to her bed, leaving Ichigo with a desperate need to kill things and a deep-seated fear of drawing his sword to counter it. He, too, ends up in bed, slipping back into his actual body and into a light sleep full of restless tossing and turning.

He would talk to Shinji in the morning.

Chapter 2

The first time it happened, Rukia thought it was Ichigo...at first. She had been staring out the open window, unable to sleep, listening to the deep, even breathing of the Kurosaki sisters, and remembering a time once before, when the sound of small sleepers had filled the room around her every night. Although, Renji had always snored a bit; Karin and Yuzu were quieter.

The hand on her shoulder startled her; she turned to look up at her visitor and her eyes grew wide, her open mouth was covered instantly by a large hand. It was bent over, black and yellow eyes flashing malevolently several inches away from her own.

"Hush, hush, Shinigami-chan," a voice that should not be slithered into the air around her. "Don't want to wake the girls, now."

Ichigo's hand was removed from her mouth; the other remained resting on her shoulder, grip light but powerful. "I'll kill you if you tell him," it said conversationally, "and I'll kill the girls if you try to fight me. So relax, Shinigami; come sit and talk to me!"

She let it steer her to sit on the window ledge beside it, its legs dangling above a two-storey drop, her own on the sill as she sat perpendicular to it, resting her back against the wall. She was still trying to get over her shock.

"Ichigo?" She tried, but knew as soon as she said it that it was the wrong answer to the wrong question.

"Wrong." Its face tightened for a second. "Ichigo's asleep." The orange hair contrasted strangely with the black pits of its eyes; Rukia tried not to stare, but it was hard not to: something had slipped into Ichigo's skin, and it didn't quite...fit. Like a t-shirt too small for the wearer. She realized suddenly that it wore only Ichigo's faded sleep pants; in profile she could see the faint tracery of scars over Ichigo's shoulder and the side of his chest and back.

"You know I'm a hollow," it stated; Rukia nodded mutely, how could she not? The reiatsu all around her was jagged and polluted; she wondered how she hadn't noticed it before.

It cocked its head to the side. "Then you should know that I don't have a name. Shinigami." An emotion flashed across its face, too quick for Rukia to catch it, but slow enough that she knew it had something to do with her.

Rukia frowned. What did it want? "Hollows forsake their human names the moment they lose their hearts..." A memory flitted through her mind; Inoue crying, a monster writhing in emotional agony. "Though," she amended, "if they are recognized, their names can be given back...once they become self-aware."

Black eyes regarded her. "I am self-aware," it pointed out. "I know I'm not Ichigo. I know who and what I am; I know why I came into being." It gave her a twisted smile. "I bet some people would kill to be me; I know my purpose in life. I think and feel and hate -" it cut itself off abruptly, staring out at the street.

"Could you not name yourself?" Rukia ventured. Blazing eyes turned on her full-force; it took her shoulders and slammed her back into the wall behind her, snarling into her face.

"What makes you think I want a name?"

She turned her face away in fear, from familiar features pulled into insane, irrational anger. After a moment, it let her go and sat back, brooding.

"I don't need a name." Its distorted voice sounded almost petulant, addressed to its own feet. "I have no name. No-one can take that from me."

Rukia said nothing, but fought to breathe evenly, to control her reiatsu flow so as not to wake Karin, who was the most sensitive to reiatsu and often woke if a fight was near to the house. She saw the hollow in Ichigo's body glance her way, almost surreptitiously, and wondered if she was dreaming. Black eyes and orange hair. Warm hands and cruel intentions.

They sat like that for over twenty minutes; Rukia spent the time meditating, refusing to wonder, refusing to pay attention to the growing pain across the top of her shoulders, refusing to think whether it had planned this or woken up, suddenly in control.

"Shinigami..." Its voice broke the silence; she opened her eyes and looked at it. The hollow gazed at her through Ichigo's eyes, its expression unreadable, its hand reaching over, hovering in the air between them, undecided.

"It's Rukia," she told it quietly; its fingers made a fist and it withdrew its hand reflexively, muscles shifting under skin.

"I know," it said, and then grinned at her, feral, savage. Had Ichigo's teeth always been so large? "I told you; I know why I was made."

She didn't want to delve into that one. "What are you doing here?"

It shrugged, its grin turning sly, almost conspiratorial. "Gotta have fun some time. Can't do much, though, or I'll wake him up...can't kill, or I'll wake up the old man, too."

Rukia assumed he meant Zangetsu, and was forever grateful for small mercies.

"So don't tell 'em about this. Got it?" It leaned over, bare chest brushing her kneecaps, eyes hungry, promising, threatening. Rukia gulped, and nodded until it leaned back again. "Good. I haven't talked to anyone in...well, ever. Besides Ichigo, but he doesn't count; he ain't got half a brain." It leered at Rukia.

"I suppose you have it, then." The sour words were said before she could help it; she clapped her hand over her mouth in horror.

The hollow, however, snickered, and Rukia was struck once again by the alien look of it on Ichigo's features. "Damn right I do, smartass. Take your hand away."

She did as it told her.

"You're kinda funny, Rukia," it said flippantly. "I can see why he keeps you around." It gave her a sidelong glance as she bristled at its words. "Don't be like that. That's how it works; he's more powerful than you could ever hope to be, and so you're just an accessory. Helpful, but only just. More entertaining than anything else, like I see now."

Rukia's eyes flashed in anger. "I taught him everything he knows," she growled, fear forgotten. How dare it!

"Even bankai?" It raised an eyebrow mockingly. Rukia glared mutinously. "I thought not. Yet he keeps you around anyway. I was interested; I wanted to meet you, to see what he found so fascinating about you, why he keeps you around even though he's settled his debt with you."

Rukia was too furious to say anything, and the hollow continued, its voice malicious, aware that it was provoking her.

"Don't worry, Rukia-chan. Once I'm in control - for good, cause once he wakes up, I'll be gone again - I may keep you around, too. I think I see what he does in you...but as for the rest of them, they can go." It waved its hand dismissively. "I don't really see a need for friends and family. Drags one down."

"You would think that," Rukia spat; this time, its eyes darkened considerably.

"Yeah." It shot back, wrapping its hand around her ankle and yanking, "I would think that, actually."

Rukia stifled a yelp as it dragged her forcibly over to where it sat; she found herself sitting in its lap, arms pinned to her sides by its powerful hands on her upper arms. Without warning, it shoved its hands forwards: Rukia dangled, helpless, two stories in the air, afraid to scream, unable to fight.

"What good are friends and family now?" The hollow hissed at her; its grip was like iron bands around her arms. When she didn't answer, it shook her slightly. "Huh? Huh? Is your brother gonna come save you? Are your friends gonna come running to your rescue? Who's gonna stop me, even if you had the guts to scream?"

Rukia remained wordless. She'd been hazed at the Academy; she'd been given grief over her family before; she'd been given empty threats many times before. And so she remained silent, until she could feel Ichigo's arms shaking, until the hollow drew her back, until she sat between Ichigo's legs, Ichigo's chest at her back, Ichigo's arms draped loosely around her shoulders, Ichigo's lips near her ear, the hollow's voice buzzing through her mind with all the wrong words.

"Stop it," she whispered.

"Never," it said, voice wicked and self-indulgent; she cringed away from the heat of its breath, from the feel of Ichigo's body, solid around her. It should have been comforting.

"Let me go." She said, pushing its left arm away from her. To her surprise, it let her go, following her suit as she clambered back in to the room, and walking with her to her bedside. She sat down; it moved to the door.

"Until next time, Rukia," its voice was light; the soft glow from the small hallway nightlight highlighted a swathe of Ichigo's chest and a stripe of face. Its eyes glinted. "Remember...don't tell..."

She did not sleep for a very long time after it had left.

Notes:

This is not a continuation of "An Exercise in Insanity"; this is a different take on the idea. Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Chapter 3

The second time, Rukia was awakened by a heavy weight settling on to her bed. She sat up, and a monster grinned at her from behind Ichigo's face; even as she scrabbled away from it, she remembered and kept silent. Reaching the head of the bed, she drew the covers up around her defensively, glaring at it. Ichigo was shirtless, as before; the hollow curved Ichigo's features into a wicked grin of delight.

"Hello again, Rukia-chan," it purred, its garbled voice a shock to her ears, even though she had been expecting it. "What's gotten into you tonight? Are you afraid of me?"

"Yes," Rukia hissed, "Now go away."

"Ohhh, you can't get rid of me that easily," it slid itself towards her, stopping just before it drew up beside her, resting Ichigo's hand lightly on top of her ankle. Rukia did not miss the deliberate action, but held still. "Don't you want to talk to me again?"

"No," she spat. "I don't want anything to do with you."

It leaned closer, and Rukia began to edge sideways, away from its burning, yellow stare, Ichigo's face so close to her own. "That won't work, Rukia." It closed its hand around her ankle and she hissed as its grip put pressure on the bruise, even through the covers. "Because I have everything to do with you."

Rukia's hand darted out to push it backwards: it caught her wrist and held her still.

"Now, Rukia, we're going to talk. Because I want to talk to you." It settled itself further on the bed, and Rukia felt exposed and vulnerable, despite the covers.

"About what?" She clenched her fists in the comforter as Ichigo's hand trailed its way up from her ankle, coming to rest on her shin, casually, familiarly.

"What do you mean to Ichigo?"

Rukia swung her eyes to meet its intense, black stare: it was serious, curious. "What kind of question is that?" She spluttered. "Especially from a hollow -"

"Answer me," it commanded her, eyes blazing, and her mouth snapped shut. After a few moments of squirming under its piercing gaze, she gave her careful answer.

"I don't know. We are very good friends. He owed me a debt, and he repaid it, and now I am here on a mission from Soul Society, and it is my job to keep him updated on the arrancar situation. We work together. Any more and you'd have to ask him. I don't know." She kept her eyes focused on her hands, toying with the sheets, the entire time she spoke.

"Huh." It seemed disappointed by her answer.

"What?" Rukia snapped defensively.

"You missed the mark by a bit." It shrugged Ichigo's shoulders, smirking slightly. "Want to know what -"

"No." She said, firmly and deliberately. "I don't."

"You're no fun. And what makes you think I even know those things, hm?"

"You're a -" Rukia found herself at a loss for words. "I guess I just assumed..."

"Everyone does," it rolled its eyes. "Even him. Shinigami have such narrow minds: I'm his double, but I'm not him."

"But you're his mirror opposite -" She was cut off as Ichigo's hand tightened painfully on her leg.

"No, I'm not!" Its voice was spiteful and angry. "I'm not Ichigo any more than you are. Just because I have to sit around in his mind doesn't mean I share his thoughts or feelings or anything!" Ichigo's hand flexed convulsively, and then let go.

"You're a hollow," Rukia pointed out cautiously, once she felt that its sudden rage had subsided. "You were born out of Ichigo's feelings and thoughts at the time...at least, that's what I assume. I really don't know how or why you exist."

It gave her a crafty look out of the corner of its eye. "Wouldn't you like to know." Its voice was sly, taunting, and Rukia found herself blushing slightly, although she had no idea why, and was glad of the darkness of the girls' bedroom. When it continued, its voice was the closest to serious she had heard it yet, dark and sending shivers down her spine. "I was born out of self-hatred and a pathetic sense of failure; out of hopelessness and a deep feeling of loss."

It sniggered then, destroying the solemnity of its own words. "Do you see any of that in me?" Its voice was derisive; the question rhetorical. Rukia shook her head wordlessly.

"I thought not. I'm not like those dumb animals you kill night after night. I have my own thoughts, I learn, I'm smarter than a hell of a lot of people, Ichigo included!" It boasted, dropping one of its eyelids in a cocky wink at Rukia, who felt like she was drowning: it switched emotions and methods quickly, threatening one minute and playful the next, and she was tongue-tied, unsure of what to make of it.

"I'm better than him," it said smugly. "Why shouldn't I get to use his body? Why shouldn't I be able to have free reign? The old man's on his side, but he's even more narrow-minded than Ichigo! Right this, wrong that. Makes me sick, sometimes."

"You're using his body right now," Rukia felt the need to say.

"Tch." The hollow made a sound of disgust. "This is about all I can do without him waking up and freaking out, and even then, I gotta give it back when he actually wakes up in the morning. I ain't even using the whole of my power; just a spark, really. This is just a shade of who I am, Rukia-chan." It gave her a smouldering glance. "If you saw me in my full power, you'd be speechless. Probably because you'd be dead."

Rukia didn't quite know what to say to that, and so sat there, not saying anything. It wasn't touching her at all, and she was beginning to relax, fraction by fraction; she unbent her knees, stretching her legs out under the covers, shifting slightly to better slide the pillow between her back and the wall. It sat still, watching her silently, and she wondered what it was thinking, a creature trapped in a human body, denied the souls it feasted on, hating its captor...The bed shifted, and she looked up to see that it had crossed Ichigo's legs under itself, and was studying Ichigo's hands with some fascination.

"What would you do, if you got control?" She asked it, and Ichigo's head snapped up, the hollow's eyes burning into hers, teeth bared in a smile.

"You don't wanna know," it said.

"Yes, I do," she said, irked. "Why do you think you should have control? Ichigo was there in the first place."

"So? Just 'cause he got here first doesn't mean he has a right to stay here. He might be lord of the castle now, but he'll eventually have to give way to a stronger fighter; that's the way of things. And I'm way stronger than he could ever imagine."

"Obviously," Rukia said sarcastically, irritated to no end by its constant boasting and consequent degrading of Ichigo. It slapped her.

"I told you yesterday," it said casually, as if nothing had happened, as if she wasn't holding her face in pain, heart pounding, "that once I'd taken over, I'd keep you around. What does it matter what else happens?" Its expression darkened considerably; it knelt on the bed, leaned forwards, took her chin roughly in Ichigo's hand, forced her to look into its black and yellow eyes. "Don't doubt me, Rukia-chan," it said softly, and its voice was a distorted growl, "I am better than he is. I am more deserving of freedom than he could ever be. Don't forget that."

Rukia stared icily up at it, burying her emotions under a wave of frozen indifference. "Let me go," she said, and hid her surprise when it did so, slowly, deliberately, watching her all the while. "Thank you," she told it, and then wondered why.

It dipped Ichigo's head in a mock-bow, eyes still fixed on hers all the while; when it was done, it remained leaning over her, one hand steadying itself on the wall beside her head. Rukia tried not to be intimidated, but the fact remained that she was very small, and Ichigo was very tall. Muscles moved under the skin of his chest as the hollow leaned closer, grinning, grinning.

"Get away," she said, but her voice was small, swallowed up in his smile, and suddenly it wasn't Ichigo's face that neared hers; it was not Ichigo's arm that supported the body... it was not Ichigo's body, the muscles were not Ichigo's muscles, the body heat that of a stranger, the reiatsu of a monster, the grin of insanity, all slowly closing in on her. Rukia's heart quailed; it brushed unfamiliar knuckles over her cheek, still warm from the slap, and she jerked away.

It chuckled wickedly and withdrew, settling back to sit on the edge of the bed; leaving Rukia gasping for air.

"Until next time, Rukia-chan," it said, giving her a pat on the ankle, causing her to flinch away as it stood up.

It walked to the door and disappeared. Rukia remained sitting at the head of the bed, heart pounding, resigned to another sleepless night, though whether from fear or something darker, she could not say.

Chapter 4

Notes:

Things get non-con in a sexual way, the tone gets darker.

The third night, Rukia was standing by the window; she did not want to be caught helpless in bed once again. She was in her soul form; gigai "sleeping" peacefully on the bed: she was prepared this time, and occupied herself with looking out the window. She knew there was nothing she could do - how could she, it was in Ichigo's body - yet Sode no Shirayuki still hung at her waist, a comforting weight. She felt the reiatsu ooze into the room once again, sharp edges scraping against her awareness, and steeled herself: last night had been overwhelming, and Rukia was not sure she could handle it again.

A hand clamped itself around the hair at the back of her head; her neck was wrenched back, face forcibly upturned to meet inverse eyes made intense with rage. She wondered at its anger, but it had already thrown her over its shoulder and leapt nimbly out the window, pulling itself up to the roof. Rukia is dizzied - how did it move so fast still embodied? - but jolted out of it as it fairly threw her down to the roof, crouching over her, pinning her facedown as it snarled in her ear.

"Soul form? You dare - you bitch," its breath was hot in her ear, Ichigo's hands at her waist and shoulder burning with heat, "I should break your sword for this. Do you know how tempting it is for me, just like this? I could devour you and you would be helpless to stop me!"

Rukia's racing heart stopped for a moment; she tried to dismiss the sudden, paralyzing fear, along with the heat that had been spreading through her body from where Ichigo's hands were making contact with her skin through the material of her robes.

"But I can't," it hissed in disgust, "because it would wake him up, and then the game would really be over."

Rukia, once again, wondered at the hollow's motives for the late-night chats with her; what "game" could it possibly be playing? Her thoughts were interrupted as she felt it wrap Ichigo's hand around Sode no Shirayuki.

"Don't touch her!" It was Rukia's turn to growl; she struggled against its restraining hands, managing to get to her knees, but it had unhooked the sheath and danced away from her.

"Make me stop," it taunted and, with a smooth motion, unsheathed Shirayuki, the white blade glistening in the moonlight. "Beautiful," it murmured, eyes flicking from the sword to Rukia and back. Rukia, appalled, stalked forwards, intent on snatching her zanpakutou, but stumbled to a halt as the hollow, openmouthed, dragged Ichigo's tongue up the length of the blade.

"She tastes almost as good as you smell," it said, giving Rukia a smug grin; for her part, Rukia was concentrating on keeping her knees from buckling: the motion had twanged something in her soul, sending it shivering uncomfortably within her, vibrating violently all down her spine and into her gut. She clenched her eyes shut and willed her body into stillness, afraid that the shuddering inside her would throw her off balance, sending her tumbling off the roof.

"Having troubles, Rukia-chan?" She could hear the harsh amusement in its voice, and fell to her knees as the chord within her was plucked once again, wrongness shaking through her central nervous system. She felt its nearness; opening her eyes, she saw it crouching before her, eyebrows shot up in wide-eyed glee, Shirayuki's edge held between lips curved into a demonic smile.

"Bastard," she ground out, reaching desperately for the blade. An intense shudder rang through her like the vibrations of a bell; the hollow took Shirayuki from Ichigo's mouth, softly, gently, and laid her across Ichigo's bent knees. A smear of blood marred the white steel; a matching smear remained on Ichigo's mouth as the hollow licked its lips.

"She bit me," it said conversationally. "I was being gentle, just having some fun, and she sliced my tongue. But I expected no less," it caressed Rukia's furious face with Ichigo's hand. Rukia seized the hand in her own, eyes murderous, fingers like a vise.

"Give her back," she snarled into its face. "You're crossing the line."

The hollow winced and shoved Shiryuki, hilt-first, at Rukia, who dropped Ichigo's hand to take the sword. As soon as her hand closed around the hilt, she breathed a sigh of relief: the twanging within her ceased, and she drew an even breath.

"And the sheath." Her voice was hard. The hollow sighed, and handed it back. She snatched the sheath out of its grip, wiped Shirayuki clean and slid her home, then reattached her zanpakutou to the sash at her waist, muttering as she did so. "The fact that you stand here before me like this is crossing the line. I don't know why-"

"I told you," it said, cutting off her mutinous words, "I have more of a right to be in this body than Ichigo ever will. If Zangetsu ever threw his lot in with me, Ichigo would be gone for good. The daft old man plays at being neutral, but he favours the king, and I know it." It stood up, and Rukia let it put Ichigo's hand on her shoulder to bring her up with it. "You should give up on him, Rukia," it said, bending Ichigo's head toward her, orange hair strangely silvered by the light of the moon. "I'm stronger, I'm smarter, I'm more fun than he will ever be."

Rukia gritted her teeth against the irritating boasts, but did nothing; standing this near to Ichigo, directly in front of him, Ichigo's hand resting lightly on her shoulder, all served to reinforce the several feet of height difference between them. She was feeling very rageful, but very, very small - which only served to further feed her rage.

The hollow bent down curiously. "You're angry, Rukia-chan," it observed, its voice dancing with suppressed mirth. "Did I do something wrong?" It leaned even further, almost bent double, clearly aware of what was enraging the petite shinigami in front of it.

"You insufferable -" Rukia kicked it in the shin. Instead of hopping around in pain and anger, however, the hollow hissed, straightened, and tightened its grip on her shoulder. Rukia cursed inwardly at her own spontaneity, even as her eyes widened in shock.

"I'm not Ichigo," it said, fingers digging in cruelly, and Rukia made a muffled noise of pain as it found a pressure point. It straightened up, dragging her closer to it as it did so, until she was standing nearly toe-to-toe with it. "Don't you ever forget that I'm not Ichigo," it said again, giving her a small shake, and Rukia tried to understand the strange undercurrent in its tone of voice, but gave up in favour of being seriously alarmed as it put its other hand on her hip.

"What are you doing?" She hissed at it, attempting to flinch away. "Get your hands off of me, hollow!"

Its face turned dark, but eased its grip on her shoulder; Rukia felt the aftershocks of pain quivering through her muscles and winced. Its hand on her waist was warm.

"Is this better?" It asked, and Rukia's eyes snapped to its face, hopelessly confused by the swift change of tone.

"What do you want?" She asked it in return, half-despairingly. "You've proven that you're not Ichigo, and I understand that. What else do you want from me?"

It did not answer her right away, its face looking curiously bare without the constant grin or angry frown. "I am different," it said finally. "Different not just from Ichigo, but from every other hollow out there. You need to see that. You need to understand that I'm not just a beast, something that can be killed off without a second thought." It looked more like Ichigo than ever, now, with the same slightly defiant frown on its face, with only the inverse eyes and distorted voice giving it away. "If you sliced through my mask, what would happen to me? The original soul that gave me life remains a whole, uncorrupted spirit; would I disappear?"

Rukia shifted uncomfortably; its grip was getting tighter as it began to speak more intensely, but it didn't seem to notice and carried on, black eyes boring in to her own. "Ichigo's never thought of me as someone in my own right; for all his moralizing bullshit, he can't deal in shades of grey. He'd probably try and hit a baby with that zanpakutou of his if he suspected it was a hollow." It snorted as Rukia shook her head in disagreement.

"You're wrong about him," she said quietly. "Ichigo tries to do what's right, and -"

"And what? So he gets to be the good guy? The guy who keeps me as a slave, not letting me out, not letting me have my own free will, keeping me caged away?" Rukia's shoulder was on fire; her hip ached, and her skin under its hands was burning, the warmth spreading to suffuse her entire body. The hollow was staring down at her; the ever-present smile was back, but twisted into a look of defiance. "Bullshit! I have every right to this body! I'm not a monster, any more than he is!"

Ah, thought Rukia, looking into the hungry eyes. She was beginning to understand now. Painfully, she raised her hand and placed it on Ichigo's arm; surprise registered in its eyes, and it let go of her, stepping back. She realized that it was the first time she had touched it of her own volition, without intent to harm.

Curious, she advanced, closing the gap between them once again. It regarded her silently as she reached out, hesitated, and then pressed her palm to the cool skin of its cheek. It jerked back slightly, almost reflexively, then relaxed into her touch. Slowly, it brought Ichigo's hand up to cover hers. Rukia let out a breath that she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"I-"

It cut her off with a kiss, mouth searing over hers, hard and soft and more sensual than anything she'd ever felt. It only lasted a moment, however; it drew back with a faint smile on its face as Rukia's breath hitched in her chest.

"Don't look at me like that, Rukia-chan," its voice was throaty, promising. "I might not be able to resist the temptation of really tasting you next time, and then Ichigo would wake up, and then where would we be?" It remained holding her hand loosely in Ichigo's much larger one, no longer against its cheek but between them, a connecting line running between hollow and shinigami.

Rukia stared at it, at a loss for words as thoughts and emotions warred within her. She'd kissed it (a hollow), responded to Ichigo's lips (controlled by a hollow); it wanted to kill her (but no, it had mentioned several times it would spare her), it was an aberration, a usurper (but it had made her feel something she hadn't in a long time, not since)...

"Rukia-chan..." It tilted her chin up with the long fingers of its other hand, bending over her just slightly, its eyes dark with hunger.

"Don't." She whispered, confused, half-hearted, unsure.

"You'll help me, Rukia-chan," it continued, lacing its words with a cocky smile. "You know what I am now. Together, we can -"

"Wait." Rukia interrupted it, several things becoming crystal clear at that moment. She let go of its hand, brushed its other off her shoulder. "You don't actually think I would side with you against Ichigo?"

Its brows knitted, and Rukia took a few steps backward, shaking her head slowly. "You can't pull me in that easily; my loyalty can't be bought with lies and kisses.... You're wrong if you think I'll betray my friendship for- for that."

Its expression on Ichigo's face is thunderous; its teeth are bared, and not in a grin. "And here I was trying to do it the easy way," it growled. "It would have been so much more fun, Rukia-chan. But you can't run from me, and you can't hide: you'll side with me whether you like it or not."

Rukia's eyes narrowed. "Never," she spat, hand on hilt. "I'll transfer back to Soul Society first."

"You'll side with me," it said, voice dark, "because if you don't, I'll tear the little girls to shreds. It'd be worth it to have Ichigo wake up in the middle of it, let him see the carnage, let him know that it was your fault..."

"Monster," she hissed at it; it flew at her, rage on its face, and she had Sode no Shirayuki at its throat even as it fisted Ichigo's hands in her hair.

"Go ahead then," it sneered, keeping a constant pull on her hair, cruelly tugging at the smaller, individual ones at the back of her neck. "I'm a monster, so kill me now, righteous shinigami! Afraid you'll take Ichigo as well? A truly moral person would be able to see past the costs of killing me, and know it was the right thing to do! Do it, shinigami!"

The ghost of Kaien danced through Rukia's mind, leaving trails of misery and regret, the lingering scent of rain, damp forest, spilled blood. She turned Sode no Shirayuki; now the flat pressed against Ichigo's windpipe, merely a barrier against which a monster could push and overcome, against which a friend could fall and rise again.

It snarled, pleased, and bruised her lips, pulled her hair, whispered threats and promises into her ears; she ignored it, tried not to respond, stood frozen, the image of Kaien burned on to the walls of her mind.

She had closed her eyes against the tears, but they flew open as she felt it wrap Ichigo's hand around her hand on Shirayuki's hilt. "Sheathe your sword, shinigami," it told her. "We're going inside."

Rukia did as it asked, numbly, and did not protest as it scooped her up into its arms and clambered back into the girls' room. Striding across the floor, it deposited her on the bed, pinning her with hands and gaze alike.

"Remember, Rukia-chan, not a word to anyone. From this day on, you're on my side -" its eyes flicked to Karin and Yuzu before focusing back on Rukia - "and I don't think I need to say anything else. Oh, and I don't ever want to see that zanpakutou again."

It walked out of the room grinning. Rukia slipped into her gigai, feeling the bruises manifest themselves on flesh, and told herself she wouldn't cry.

Chapter 5

It is later that night, and Ichigo is dreaming, for the first time in quite a while. Bits and snatches of his conversation with Rukia drift through his mind; her face, the bruise, his hands on her all flash before his eyes. He feels remorse, he feels regret, he feels anger, hatred, a deep well of rage that begins to overflow as her words play and replay. Underneath emotion, he wonders vaguely why he is directly angry at Rukia for this... he's the one hurting her, really, it doesn't make much sense that he's mad at her because she told him, betrayed him, broke her promise to him...

The dreams turn dark, and Ichigo is caught up in hopeless battles and foundering ships in stormy seas. He is just about to drive Zangetsu through a snarling arrancar dressed as a pirate when he feels cold pressure against his neck; someone has snuck up on him from behind!

"Ichigo," the person says, their voice terrified. "I know you're in there; wake up, damn it!"

Ichigo wants to protest; the arrancar is getting to its feet, grabbing for its sword, but no words come out of his helplessly moving mouth. The arrancar raises its sword and deals a blow straight to Ichigo's skull; Ichigo blacks out.

He wakes up, head aching, Zangetsu drawn, Rukia pinned to her bed beneath him, Sode no Shirayuki across his neck.

"You think you can - Ichigo!" She cuts herself off with his name, relief colouring every syllable. His head feels like it is splitting open; he falls to the side. Rukia gives an alarmed cry; he notices vaguely that they are both in soul form once again, that Rukia has small rips in her pyjama shirt, that there is blood on the tip of his zanpakutou.

"What's happening?" He asks, clutching his head in one hand, Zangetsu in the other.

"You're...it came out again," Rukia says; her voice is low, urgent. "Ichigo, it's angry that I told you; it - "

"Get away - " Ichigo gasps, and Rukia recoils, hurt, confused. "No," he grits his teeth, "I have to - get away from here." He winces and cries out in pain; understanding dawns in Rukia's eyes.

"Follow me," she whispers; she takes his hand and leads him - bent over, stumbling, vision muddied from the pain in his head - out of the room, down the stairs, out of the house in to the yard. He leans against a tree, breathing heavily, thoughts spinning out of control.

"Ichigo?" He hears Rukia's voice as if from very far away; it grates against his hearing, adds to the pain, and he is angered. Why is she hurting him? Didn't she understand what was going on? He thought she understood, he thought he'd persuaded her - Ichigo shakes his head; the thoughts creeping in are not his own, and he realizes what is going on.

Rukia's face swims before his eyes; he needs to get her away, call Hitsugaya, call Ikkaku, call everyone to come and hold him still until he can regain control, because he is scared, frightened, terrified of what will happen if he slips. But it is like in the dream; his mouth moves, but he cannot say anything.

"Rukia-chan," his lips move; the hollow's voice comes out. Dimly, he sees Rukia jerk back; words continue to spill out of his mouth unbidden, his voice corroded, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "You broke your promise, Rukia-chan,"

Ichigo tries to wrench away the cotton which seems to stop his voice, tries to articulate his confusion, his sudden doubts. "Ruki-agh..." he gathers himself again, and manages to blurt out "Promise?!" Control is brutally seized; his throat moves in a cold chuckle.

"That's right, King, she made me a promise," its voice is mocking, but Ichigo lets it speak, wanting to know. "But she broke it - " Ichigo feels his head turn; his eyes fix on Rukia, who is openmouthed with shock, horror smeared across her features - "knowing what would happen if she did."

"Sounds more like you threatened her," Ichigo manages; his hand is wrapped around Zangetsu, and it is easier for him to talk, to think, now that he is in direct contact with his zanpakutou.

"Oh no," it butts back in. "I'm a ...man of my word. I'm even willing to cut her a break, while still holding up my end of the deal; instead of killing her, like I originally said, I just decided to play with her a bit - but she managed to interrupt that."

Ichigo, mind shying away from the implications of what it had been doing when he had awoken, doesn't understand. "Deal?" He asks, forcefully because it is hard to move his mouth.

"There was no deal," Rukia's voice slices into the odd conversation, brittle and sharp as a chip of ice. "I made no promise; the hollow blackmailed me to keep quiet by threatening my life...and your sisters, Ichigo."

"Rukia-chan," the hiss slithers off of Ichigo's tongue, "do you still really think I am still like that? I thought you, of all people, would understand..."

Rukia looks stricken; Ichigo feels as if something is going on out of his sight.

"I tried to talk to you, Rukia-chan," his mouth is still moving, the syllables dropping off his tongue loaded with accusation and hurt. "Did you just ignore me the entire time? Did you pretend to be interested, plotting to betray and kill me all the while? Shinigami are all the same." Ichigo could feel himself almost spitting the words.

"Don't try and pull that," Rukia's eyes are narrowed, and Ichigo is suddenly struck with the realization that she is talking to a being utterly not him; he is a nonentity in this conversation, as all her attention is diverted on and through him. And he can feel the other presence, the dark spot in his mind, the block on his control, the thing that even now works steadily to control voice, features, limbs.

"You threatened murder," Rukia is still talking, her voice hard, "and what you did... what you were doing tonight was just as twisted. You have no moral high ground over me, or anyone else."

"I was merciful." It says, and Ichigo feels his face twist into an unfamiliar expression. "But to a fault, it looks like. I would never kill you, Rukia-chan. Doesn't that count for anything?"

"No." Rukia's voice is quiet; Ichigo wonders why his hand stings, and realizes that the hollow within him has backhanded the girl in front of him. With a roar, Ichigo surges forward, but it is too late; the hand that rested on Zangetsu now burns from contact with Rukia's face, and it is hard to move, harder to think. He manages to buckle his own knees, collapsing at the base of the tree, refusing to give it the chance to hurt Rukia again. There is a whisper and a thunk, and the white blade of her zanpakutou quivers where it has been driven into the trunk beside his head: Rukia is leaning over him, her expression angered and strangely disappointed.

"Being human is more than choosing not to murder."

Ichigo chokes; human? Was that what this was all about? The hollow is strangely silent, its control relaxed, preoccupied; Ichigo takes advantage. "Human? Come on," he manages to say, "You're doing a great job so far convincing her with violence - " Ichigo feels his voice shift painfully as the hollow seizes control of it.

"Yeah, well, kissing didn't work out so well last night," it growls; Rukia's face flames and she recoils. Shock runs through Ichigo, followed quickly by anger, which swells to a wave of rage as the hollow continued, its voice sly, "Although I think she may have liked it; I know I did - ack!"

"You bastard!" Ichigo fairly shouts, assuming the worst, struggling to control his own voice, "What do you mean, you -" he grasps for words, feeling sick, used, horror-struck. "You used my body, you made me -" he cannot articulate, because Rukia did not want it, could not have wanted it, and the monster inside him had forced itself - with his body - on her... "Why?" he croaks.

Rukia looks away. He waits, relinquishing control of his voice, but the hollow, too, is silent. There is a long moment, and then, without warning, Ichigo's consciousness bucks violently; he closes his eyes against a wave of icy cold, flailing helplessly within his own mind.

The world rights itself again sharply, and Ichigo opens his eyes to stare down at Rukia, who stands in front of him, her eyes on him pained and fearful. He realizes that they are on the roof, but he cannot move, cannot speak, only watch. It is more like a dream than anything else; as in a dream, he becomes aware that it is the night before, that he is shirtless and embodied, that his hands are cruelly tight on Rukia's shoulder and waist. The hollow is in control, he realizes, and there is nothing he can do, because it is just a memory.

Rukia, wincing, lifts her hand, rests it gently on his arm. Emotion breaks through Ichigo; it is not his own, it is alien, it floods his mind as if a dam has burst. At once, the hollow is prideful, desperate, hopeful, needing to be understood - her hand on his arm is electric, sending a jolt through him: awareness of his fingers digging into her skin, realization and something more flashing through the hollow. It lets go of her, quickly, steps back.

Ichigo wishes this weren't happening. He doesn't want to know what happens next. The hollow is feeling loss...of control? Ichigo tries to analyze the feeling, and realizes that it is worried and insecure underneath the still-blinding streak of pride. He tries to make sense of this, but is interrupted by a wave of shock mingled with disbelief: Rukia has put her hand up to his cheek. The hollow jerks back in surprise but quickly relaxes; Ichigo feels her palm warm and smooth against the side of his face, and lets the curiously warm feeling that the hollow is experiencing wash over him, feeling guilty for enjoying it.

Alarm trickles back into Ichigo as he feels his hand cover hers on its face. What is it planning? But all he can feel is the hollow's triumph, coupled with a strange, unnameable feeling as it looks down into Rukia's eyes; her face is hesitant, curious, compassionate. A wave of desire slams into Ichigo; most of it is the hollow's: it is jubilant, its hopes high and soaring, and Rukia seems to glow softly in its vision. Ichigo realizes suddenly that it is discerning her reiatsu; a hazy white that flutters like snow all around her, and realizes with a bizarre jolt that he can smell it. It is beautiful, and Ichigo cannot tell his thought from the hollow's.

Rukia exhales; the hollow inhales, drinking her in, and Ichigo is equal parts horrified, disgusted, and turned on. Her lips part; she licks them, tongue darting, and the lust in the hollow's mind is nearly overwhelming.

"I..." Rukia begins to speak, her voice soft, and Ichigo feels the hollow's decision click into place; smoothly, it bends over her and places his mouth on hers. Ichigo, dizzy from feeling, tries to gather himself, tries to remember that it is wrong, that this is not what he wants, that the hollow inside him is taking advantage of Rukia: her lips respond to his, and he feels it clamp down on a groan.

Her reiatsu is all around him, heady and intoxicating; he feels the hollow tasting it, tasting her, and his blood rushes hot in his veins. Ichigo can no longer tell his own feelings from those of the hollow; they are jumbled together in the flood of lust, desire, and jubilation which courses through them. It is all over in a moment; the hollow pulls back, and for one searing moment Ichigo feels a combination of disappointment and rage flash through him. Rage is quickly redirected at himself; what is he thinking?

Rukia is staring at him; agonized guilt crashes over Ichigo, a feeling completely unshared by the hollow, whose ego is currently running its brain. Ichigo is acutely aware of the way Rukia's eyes run over his face, the way her chest is heaving rapidly, the way her breath catches in her throat.

"Don't look at me like that, Rukia-chan," the hollow nearly purrs, and its voice to Ichigo's ears is vile. "I might not be able to resist the temptation of really tasting you next time, and then Ichigo would wake up, and then where would we be?"

Ichigo wants to hurt something. The world flips; all of a sudden his fingers are lifting Rukia's chin, and the world flips again; suddenly her blade (the flat, why the flat?) is pushing against his throat, and his hands are in her hair, and he is pushing their lips together with savage force, rage and lust and bitter pride filling the hollow; the world flips.

He opens his eyes to see Rukia's face, worried and fearful: she is crouching before him, hands on his shoulders, shaking him and urging him to wake up. He feels her stiffen and wonders why; in a flash, his hands reach out to spin her around, and his arm snakes around her waist to catch her into his lap. The hollow is in control of almost all of Ichigo's body.

"Give me an inch and I'll take the whole goddamn mile," it says wickedly. "Hello, Rukia-chan. Did you miss me?" Rukia is busy fighting tooth and nail to get out of his lap, but the hollow is bigger and its strength is inexorable; after a small struggle, Zangetsu's tip is pricking against Rukia's neck and she holds very still.

Ichigo screams profanities in his own mind, but the hollow's lips merely tremble as triumph lights its eyes. "That's better," it smirks, then leers, "But if you want to keep wiggling just slightly, I won't stop you." Rukia, stunned silent by the zanpakutou at her neck, does not remain so for long, sheer anger driving her to speak; Ichigo finds it easier and easier to believe the vision a twisted and biased memory the more she speaks.

"Get your hands off me, hollow," she spits, her eyes narrowed. "I will never side with you against Ichigo, do you understand? Never, no matter what you try to do to me."

Ichigo feels a grim satisfaction at her words; the hollow is silent. Rukia glares up at him; memory flashes through Ichigo's mind, her sword at his throat, his hands fisted in her hair and his mouth pressing brutally against hers, and he flinches away from it.

"Fine then," it says, its tone oddly final. "If that's what you want..."

Ichigo feels it stretch his mouth in an impossibly wide grin; the icy fingers of terror wrap around his heart and begin to squeeze. He can feel bits of bone forming on the left side of his face.

Chapter 6

Rukia, breathing rapidly, took stock of the situation. She was sitting in Ichigo's lap, pinned with a zanpakutou wielded by a hollow who currently had complete control of Ichigo's body. Sode no Shirayuki protruded from the tree beside his head, just out of her reach. The hollow followed her gaze.

"Not gonna happen, Rukia-chan," it said; she looked up at it, her attention diverted, and gasped. It was grinning, cruelly, insanely: on Ichigo's brow, white bone began to piece itself together.

"Ichigo..." she breathed; what was the hollow doing to him? A hand fisted itself in her hair; the hollow dragged her head back, bringing her face close to Ichigo's, hissing in displeasure.

"Don't say his name," it spat. "From now on, Ichigo doesn't exist; I'm the only one in this body now!"

Rukia, eyes tearing from the sharp pain, could see Shirayuki's handle out of the corner of her eye, could feel Zangetsu now across the back of her neck.

"He doesn't matter anymore," the hollow was still saying, Ichigo's face stretched into a grin of savage exultation; Rukia gave it a murderous glance through the haze of pain. "Finally, it's what I want that matters!"

Something clicked in Rukia's mind, very suddenly. "And what do you want?" she demanded of it. "Now that you have the body, what are you going to do with it? You don't think you can just get away with this, do you? Soul Society will -"

"Fuck Soul Society," it snarled, and Rukia fell into silence; white bone encircled Ichigo's eye, streaks of red running back towards the top of his head. It looked barbaric. "Soul Society can't stop me; they'll never catch me, and I'll kill anyone who comes after me, one by one..."

It loosened its hold on Rukia's hair, and her head fell back to be cradled against Ichigo's large hand. "You didn't plan this out very carefully, did you?" she said softly, and it looked at her with burning eyes. "Even if you kill me now, they'll know what happened, and they won't come after you one by one. They'll come after you squad by squad, tracking your reiatsu, and if I live, I'll be leading them."

It stared at her, and Rukia sensed that it was at a loss; she ground pity to dust under the heel of her loyalty to Ichigo. It was a hollow. Hollows didn't feel confusion or helplessness. Hollows didn't suffer.

"You'd lead them?" It asked, ignoring the possibility of her death, its distorted voice empty almost of the question itself. The bone crept down to Ichigo's jawline. "Why? Surely seeing him like this must disgust you, hurt you, knowing that you'll never get him back...I might as well kill him now; at least so I could know what it's like to be the only one in a body, for once."

Rukia caught her breath; it continued, voice lilting, sneering. "It would be mercy, for both of you, Rukia-chan. Could you lead the hunt, knowing the quarry was Ichigo...could you really be the cause of his death?"

Rukia, for one moment, teetered on the brink, protests forgotten. Kaien-dono... The hollow caught the flicker in her eyes.

"Wouldn't it be simpler to let me go? Knowing that Ichigo was alive, even in a small way, knowing that there's a chance you could bring him back..." Golden eyes bored into Rukia's. "I could make a deal with you, Rukia-chan. I'd buy your silence, your complicity - " bone teeth formed, and the mask began to creep over the right side of Ichigo's face - "I'd let him live, Rukia-chan, as long as you called off the hounds of Sereitei. You let me live, and I will let him live... I would even let you see him, every once in a while." It began to snicker.

Kaien-dono... What if she'd had the chance to make a deal? To see him again, just once, alive and well? Rukia had turned the what-ifs over in her mind countless times, wondering endlessly if there could have been a different ending, if she hadn't killed him, if there could have been any other way... would she accept the consequences?

She watched helplessly as bone closed over the entirety of Ichigo's face, as the hollow chuckled in cruel delight, as the phantom of Shiba Kaien superimposed itself over Ichigo, his face kind one moment and a leering, defiled mockery the next. She shook her head to get rid of the image; Ichigo looked down at her with stubborn brown eyes, defiant and strong as he stood with her on the crossbeam of the Soukyoku.

The vision vanished as the hollow stopped laughing abruptly; it pulled her forward sharply, so that she was almost nose-to-bone with it. "So what's it gonna be, Rukia-chan?" It ground out from behind the mask, cocking its head to one side in an aggressive mockery of curiosity. "Is Ichigo gonna live, or is he gonna die?"

Reiatsu, sharp and ragged, ran through the air around her; Rukia desperately wished for her sword, knowing it was no use. So close to it now, she was nearly kneeling astride its lap, held up only by its one hand at the back of her head, and it was unfair that it was Ichigo's hand, large and warm and full of strength that the silly boy didn't know what to do with. Yellow, pupil-less eyes bored into her own from behind the mask, and the hand became alien, constricting, threatening to crush her skull. It wasn't Ichigo's hand anymore; no shred of the boy she knew and loved was left before her, replaced instead by a heartless being filled with haphazard, aimless wants and needs.

"Monster," she whispered.

"What?" It gritted out, voice laced with threat.

"Monster," she said again, her voice marginally stronger, still wavering with emotion, "How can you accuse me of pretending to listen to you when you were lying to me all along? You said you were different, you said you were not a monster, yet here you are, forcing me to choose either a helpless death or a life of slavery for one of my friends." Her voice wobbled and cracked; its eyes were inscrutable, the rest of its face covered by the blank mask. It lowered her slowly, until she was sitting, legs either side of its torso; she looked up at it, not knowing what to say anymore.

"Slavery." It regarded her for a long moment and then laughed bitterly. "And I'm the monster, who makes you choose between death and slavery for him -" venom dripped from the word - "when it's the exact same options which lie before me. But you don't want him to die." Its hand, no longer holding her up, had slid to hold her shoulder, fingers splayed on the back of her throat, thumb running along her clavicle, stroking her skin roughly, absently.

"Would you want me to die?" It asked, and Rukia was numbed. The answer should have been clear. "Don't I have a right to live and be free, just as Ichigo does? He imprisons me, forces me under, and you're happy; I do that to him and you threaten to send armies after me. How is it any different?"

Rukia didn't say anything; it grasped her hard enough to bruise, thumb digging into soft tissue under bone, and she cried out in surprised pain.

"Tell me, Rukia-chan, why is it any different when he does that to me?" it snarled, rage colouring its voice, black reiatsu surging and reverberating through Rukia, her eyes pinched shut, the hand on her shoulder marked in fire. In the aftermath, she looked up: howling reiatsu knifed through her, bitter and lonely as cold ash, and she felt her throat run dry under the condemning heat of its gaze.

Ichigo... did this truly come from your own feelings? It was rage and sorrow, want and need, and Rukia felt a surge of pity for it, coupled with horror at how human she felt it to be. She couldn't let this break down who she was: a shinigami, she fought hollows, they were the enemy. A thousand hollows could not compare to the worth of a plus. She could not afford this grey area, not when Ichigo was being pulled further and further away from her reach. Hollows were different. Hollows were monsters.

Shinigami training forced Rukia's thoughts into a straight line, and she followed it.

"You have no heart," she said to it, and it was a struggle, pushing back her feelings, pushing back her thoughts, pushing back the reiatsu which was frozen and wrong and yet tugged at her with its familiarity. Rukia spoke words hard with conviction, bitter and brittle and unsure whether she was speaking to condemn the hollow or convince herself. "You can't ever be human, you can't ever feel guilt or remorse for what you do, but Ichigo can. You may be strong, and you may be cunning and smarter than other hollows, but in the end, that's all you are! You're just a hollow!"

She hadn't been aware that she was shouting until she stopped. A ringing silence followed, and Rukia panted to catch her breath, emotions in turmoil under a blank yellow stare. She waited for it to speak, to shout, to snap her in two in a bout of rage, to kill Ichigo then and there.

"Hollow." Its voice was hard, deliberate. "Yes. Hollow. And you're a shinigami...to the last." Rukia stifled a gasp when it suddenly dropped Zangetsu, wrapping both hands around her upper arms and leaning down to shove its masked face in hers once again.

"Since that's all I am, just a hollow, what's to prevent me from killing Ichigo right now?" it demanded of her, and Rukia shrank back from the alien surface of the mask.

"Don't." She hissed, and wondered how she could still threaten it, even now.

"You love him, don't you?" Rukia felt the accusation behind its voice. "You'd die for him, wouldn't you?"

"Yes." She said simply, unwilling to think about which question she was answering, or if perhaps she meant both at once. Its hands clenched convulsively around the tops of her arms, then let go suddenly; she fell back onto its crossed legs, her spine banging painfully against bone, but before she could prop herself up, its hand was around her throat, keeping her lying horizontal, its torso between her legs.

"Shinigami," it growled, and Rukia could feel its arm over her chest, its rapid breathing brushing its sides against her thighs with each inhaled breath. "Beg for it, shinigami. Plead with me; scream, cry, grovel for me to let your precious Ichigo back. Shinigami, beg for mercy from a hollow, and so be it I will free him."

Rukia, helpless, enraged, humiliated by the position it had forced her into, wanted to tell it to go to hell, she would never, not in a million years - and then remembered, with sobering clarity, that Ichigo's freedom, Ichigo's life, hung in the balance. Tears of fury sprang to her eyes...her sword was so close...

"Just do this one thing," the hollow was murmuring; its other hand wove itself through her hair, toying with the strands in a strangely gentle gesture. "Rukia-chan, you can save your Ichigo, I will not kill him, just for you, Rukia-chan, ask me..." A chill went up Rukia's spine; her rage was tempered by a trickle of fear, honing it to a sharp point, and she began to think.

It was a small favour, really. A small thing in return for Ichigo's life; the boy who ran the gauntlet of Sereitei's most powerful in order to save her from obliteration. No one would ever have to know that she had lowered herself to beg a favour from a sworn enemy, no one would ever have to know that the enemy was within Ichigo himself...

But still...she hadn't missed the insinuation in the hollow's voice when it asked her to beg; would she just be playing into its hands? Its arm on her chest rubbed the material of her robes over the nicks and scratches from its first assault of the night, carved there by Zangetsu as it had used Ichigo's face to giggle and grin. It had seemed prepared to kill Ichigo and take on the entire Gotei 13 if she'd made the choice.

So why now -

"I'm waiting, shinigami..." the hand around her throat tightened just a little bit more.

Rukia closed her eyes and drew a shaky breath. "Okay..."

Chapter 7

Summary:

Cringe-y noncon is kicked up a notch in this chapter, be warned.

She should have killed it while she had the chance. She should have extinguished it - and Ichigo along with it - before ever being forced into such a deal; she had no guarantee that this all wasn't just some sick game, and that Ichigo wasn't already dead, the hollow in front of her the only being left within what had once been the Kurosaki boy's soul form.

She'd agreed, because his life hung in the balance. She'd agreed, because there was no alternative; she'd shattered whatever tenuous sway she'd held over the monster whose hand, wrapped around her throat, clenched convulsively before relaxing, allowing her to speak, wrong eyes traversing her body, spread out before it.

Rukia choked back disgust, all pity gone.

"Let Ichigo go free," she said, but rage coloured her voice, and it cocked its head and pinched her throat with its fingers.

"Shinigami, when I said beg, I meant beg," it said, and the mask still obscured everything except for those burning, inverse eyes. "Because if your apology ain't up to snuff, I'm not gonna give you any second chances; I'll kill him no matter what you say, then. Start again, shinigami. Make me believe you."

Despair rushed through Rukia, but she braced herself, her hands on its knees, pushing herself up towards it; its arm relaxed, allowing her to push against its hand until she was sitting upright in the space of its crossed legs. She would not fail at this. She would not be the cause of Ichigo's death. She had lived through that once: she knew that once more would break her.

She hesitated; it stared down at her, mask impassive, eyes expectant. She bowed her head, let her hair fall forward over her face.

"I'm sorry," she began, and her voice was a whisper. "Please...please let Ichigo live, I'm begging you -" she grasped the front of its hakama in supplication, and bent over still more; this close to it, the heat of its body against hers, the smell of Ichigo all around her, its dark reiatsu surrounding her in a jagged caress, warm and sickly sweet like gouts of blood...

(there had been another night, when it had been dark, and she had been close - so close - to a hollow in a man's body; when his familiar presence had also bled defilement, whose life had also been in her hands, his warmth mingling with hers and steaming in the rain as his blood ran down her sword and over her hands and out of them on to the ground)

...it was intimate, it was wrong, and the comfort of being in such close proximity to Ichigo warred and melded with the danger and sick thrill of being held close by a hollow.

Shame coloured her cheeks, tears of rage and despair spilled from her eyes as she forced the words out. "You - please don't kill him, please... I could not bear it if he died, because of me..." Like Kaien-dono... her breath hitched, but she went on determinedly. "I'd do anything -" (to have him back) - "please, don't kill him -" (not again) - "he deserves to live -" (both of them) - "please...please..." (I can't live through this again).

Cruel fingers grasped her hair; her head was wrenched back, her tearstained face lifted and exposed to the hollow's gaze. Rukia sucked her breath in sharply from the pain, but glared defiantly at it nonetheless, shivers going down her spine from where its palm held the back of her head. It leaned down a little, and took its hand away from her throat, going instead to its own, masked face.

"Rukia-chan..." it said, and then, in one swift movement, shoved its mask up to rest sideways on its head, exposing an unnaturally wide grin, teeth bared in horrible mockery.

"You'd do anything, eh?"

Dread rushed through Rukia like a tidal wave; it saw her eyes widen with realization and horror.

"You said it, not me." It shrugged, still smiling wickedly.

"That's not part of the deal, hollow!" Rukia spat, eyes narrowing to belie the panic moving through her.

"It is now," it sniggered, the sound a corrupted staccato. "Besides, there's nothing you can do about it. Oh, don't worry," it said, garbled voice filled with malicious glee,"I won't ask too much of you. Just a kiss."

"You -" Rukia's voice was constricted with loathing; she cut herself off, however, not trusting it to not interpret her words as a threat and consequently to kill Ichigo. Yet somehow, Rukia had felt the focus shift, almost imperceptibly; she realized that this was no longer about Ichigo at all - and began to wonder if it ever had been.

"Don't act all self-righteous," it was smirking. "You liked it last night, didn't you?"

Rukia clenched her teeth, and tried not to pay attention to where her thighs were touching its sides, heat radiating through the cloth of her robes.

"Or would you rather continue to beg?" It grinned smugly. "Either way, I get what I want. You could go back to grovelling; it's nearly as satisfying."

"You're sick," Rukia ground out.

"I know what I want," it replied, and ran the backs of its fingers over her cheek. Rukia shuddered at the caress.

It let go of her hair; she bowed her head once again, hair falling to curtain her face, providing a mask for furious thought.

She had to do something. She had to stall until she could think of something. She had to - she had to - but there was nothing she could think of that she hadn't already run over in her mind. She couldn't destroy it. She couldn't do to Ichigo what she had done to Kaien; she was not brave enough, not courageous enough, not selfless enough to make that choice. And so she could do it no harm; Rukia felt the iron bars of the cage closing in around her, small and scared and alone as she was.

Nobody would be coming to save her. Her saviour sat before her, watching her expectantly with golden eyes. There was no way out, no deus ex machina, not this time.

Words failed her, and so it was that Rukia didn't protest when it lifted her chin with those long, ice-cold fingers, didn't speak when it looked down at her out of Ichigo's face, didn't struggle when it bent down to place its lips over hers, didn't refuse when it ran its tongue over the seam of her lips, didn't move when it scooped her up lightly to seat her on itself. So gentle, so gentle... a mockery of concern, a farce with her at centre stage, a hideous joke that lanced through her with hot shame. It kissed its way along her jawline, pausing by her ear, hot breath causing her to shudder in response.

"You know," it said, and its voice was a breathy murmur, "I like you far better when you fight me. Shinigami. You're very pretty when you cry, but you're so much more beautiful when you're angry."

Rukia remained mute. It drew back to regard her with narrowed eyes. "Kiss me back, shinigami. I won't go out with my last memory being that of kissing a fucking gigai."

Rukia gasped sharply as its fists tightened suddenly, brutally in her hair; its mouth seared over her own, tongue shoving its way between her lips as it pulled her to it, lifting her up to slam her pelvis into its own. She yelled into its mouth, she scored its chest with her nails, she reached fruitlessly for Shirayuki as it ground her against itself, cloth rubbing uncomfortably, teeth clashing brutally, the coppery taste of blood filling her mouth. Yet the violence and obscenity of the situation flooded Rukia with something that was almost relief: this she could push back against, she could fight fire with fire, and it served to lessen the knot of nausea that its first, gentle kisses had driven deep into her stomach.

Rukia's hands clawed their ways up to its head; she twisted her fingers into the thickness of the spiky, orange hair, pulling it closer, and suddenly realized that she was reciprocating. The hollow had relaxed its grip on her a while earlier; it was she who was pushing against it, lips moving insistently, and she waited for the horror, the outrage, the anger to flood her, but it didn't come. In that moment, Rukia felt acutely the warmth of Ichigo's skin against the palms of her hands, the feeling of another's body beneath her own; in that moment, the hollow shifted under her, pressing itself up to her in a gesture that was both open and hungry, and Rukia felt.

His lips against hers were warm, strong; his frame trembled underneath hers, each breath causing his chest to rise and fall against her own; his hands caressed her hair, each movement deft and reassuring, and she moved her own finger slightly, nimbly, feathering through his hair, marvelling at how soft it was. A low groan issued from his throat, filling her with an unnameable desire at the same moment that her hand, travelling through his hair, came up against the cool, smooth edge of the hollow mask.

Reality snapped back into place, and Rukia jerked back: black and yellow eyes gazed down at her. It wasn't Ichigo. It wasn't even human, and yet...

It watched her, eyes smouldering, and she let the thought trail off into nothingness. Some things were best banished to the farthest reaches of memory. It watched her, not saying anything, and everything came full circle.

"Leave now," Rukia whispered. It remained silent, and Rukia sensed the unspoken question in its stare. "Leave," she said again, voice louder but trembling. "You got what you wanted. I understand."

"Silly Rukia-chan," its voice was light and derisive, its fingers nimble and quick as it plucked the mask from the side of its head and folded her own hands around the polished bone. "You can't possibly."

It blinked, and Ichigo looked out and then down, to where their hands met over the mask of a hollow.

Chapter 8

There should have been more than this.

Some sort of tearful reunion. Words of relief, pent-up emotion. Hell, he would have taken furious, screaming rage; he fully expected accusations and anger.

But not this.

Ichigo sat where Rukia had left him, at the base of the tree, Zangetsu on the ground beside him, her tears on his cheeks and a hollow mask in his hands and it was wrong.

She'd left. After he regained control, he'd looked up into her eyes and she'd gotten up and left.

He hadn't tried to stop her.

Ichigo closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree. Zangetsu o-san, he thought, what do I do now? But there was no reply from the sword spirit, and Ichigo sighed, opening his eyes to look down at the mask that he held in his hands.

It was starting to get light out, grey touching the horizon.

He remembered everything. And that's why he'd let her go, without a word, because he knew there was nothing he could say.

Notes:

An epilogue, of sorts. There's not much closure, but as I tried to make this fit in with the actual plotline of Bleach, that's how it had to be. Cursed canon-compliance! Thanks again for reading this old thing; hope it made you think.