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Renji could feel the weight of Kisuke Urahara’s stare. Even though Urahara’s hawkish gray eyes were nearly entirely shadowed between striped bucket hat and his fan, they seemed to prick at Renji’s back like twin spikes of ice.
Finally, Urahara said in a light, curious voice, “Are you intending to sit by Ururu all night, Abarai-fukataicho?”
What could he say? Renji felt responsible for the poor kid getting hurt. He’d been so worried about her that he just sort of followed Urahara and Tessai Tsukabishi when they’d carried her inside the shōten for healing. He’d sat in the corner during the procedures and just sort of stayed there, just sitting, long after everyone else had said their goodnights and headed off to bed.
Standing by the door as if hoping to help show Renji the way out, Urahara cleared his throat again, “She’s quite stable. She’ll be fine, that is, if you have somewhere you need to be…?”
The implication was obvious. Renji should go.
“Uh… yeah, about that,” Renji said. With a blush threatening to redden the tips of his ears, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Actually, I was kind of hoping you might have a spare bunk somewhere in this place. I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”
The fan stayed pressed to Urahara’s face, but his eyes widened a little. “Oh.”
Renji had hoped an invitation would have been a little more forthcoming after that. But Urahara continued to stand by the door, glancing thoughtfully between it and where Renji sat in the corner.
Several long moments passed as Urahara considered Renji with cold, unsympathetic eyes. Renji started to think he might need to remember where the nearest overpass was or wonder if those guys sleeping on cardboard down the road might share. He supposed he could do it. It wasn’t like he didn’t have experience sleeping rough. He was about to say so, when the fan snapped shut and Urahara tapped his lightly stubbled chin.
“No,” Urahara said, each word coming out slow and measured as if trying to talk himself into allowing Renji to stay, “You’re a lieutenant. It would be a favor to the Gotei, I suppose. But, perhaps more importantly, you’re Kuchiki-taicho’s lover; Yourichi-san has a soft spot for her ‘Byakuya-boy.’ It would be rude of me to do otherwise.”
The last sentence sounded almost like a question, so Renji nodded. “Great. That’s really kind of you. I appreciate it. I’ll stay out of your way.”
Urahara tipped his hat back slightly, as though trying to get a better look at Renji. Then, in a happy, sing-song voice he exclaimed, “Of course you will--especially if you stay right where you are and leave first thing. One night is no bother!”
“Uh… actually, I was sort of hoping to stay for the duration, you know, as long as it takes.”
“As long as it takes?” Urahara repeated, his enthusiasm deflating out of him like a balloon. Squashing the hat back into place, he tucked his hands in his green overcoat, “Oh dear. That could be… a while.”
“Yeah,” Renji agreed.
They stared at each other for a long time.
Urahara finally sighed, slumping his shoulders against the nearby wall, “Oh, very well. I’ll have Tessai make you something up in the morning. You’ll be fine here for the night?”
“Sure, I’ve stood sentry over Rukia more times than I can count. I can do the same for this little one.”
At that, Urahara seemed to soften a little, “Ah, yes. That’s thoughtful of you. I’m sure Ururu appreciates it. Jinta isn’t much of an onii-chan--at least, not in this way, I’m afraid. She could use someone like you.”
Glancing at the frail-looking girl lying on the futon on the floor, Renji nodded. It was a strange little family Urahara seemed to have made for himself.
Ever since running into them during his and Byakuya’s date, Renji had been under the impression that the Lady Yoruichi was Urahara’s lover. But, seeing the way Tessai deferred to him and the children they seemed to care for together made Renji have to… broaden his assumptions. Urahara seemed to have a lot of people he cared for and cared about.
Then again, ‘made-families’ were something Renji understood and respected. He only felt a little bad horning in on this one.
“I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job protecting her in the first place, and, uh, I do appreciate you taking me in like this,” Renji said.
The smile Urahara gave him looked practiced. “It’s all right,” he said with a little shrug. “But, I should warn you, altruism isn’t really my thing. I’m sure I’ll find a way to make you pay eventually.”
“That’s fair,” Renji agreed, even though there was something vaguely menacing in Urahara’s trying-to-sound-light tone, “But it’s going to have to be barter. I’m so broke my debts have debts.”
Nodding in understanding, Urahara pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against to stand upright. He adjusted his hat and overcoat. “Duly noted,” he said. “Alright, a few house rules before I say goodnight! Wake no one before ten in the morning unless the shop is on fire. No overnight guests. No wandering into unmarked rooms without a chaperone. Don’t touch anything that looks like lab equipment and that includes the coffee maker. If it has a button or a lever or a dial or blinking lights, just don’t… in fact, if it has any of those, best to say at least ten feet from it. No trying on or molesting any bodies you might find in the closets. Also, it’s probably not wise to ingest anything found in the refrigerator that’s in an unmarked plastic container, unnaturally green, or seems in any way sentient. Understand?”
“Sure,” Renji said. He ticked them off on his fingers as he repeated, “No snooping. Sleep in late, have sex elsewhere, stay away from your coffee and your lab stuff, don’t fuck the gigai, and… oh, yeah, don’t accidentally eat the experiments. I got it.”
A slow sly smile spread across Urahara’s face. “I see that you do. Very good. Goodnight to you then, Lieutenant.”
Without thinking, Renji replied, “Goodnight, Captain.”
Urahara squeaked. “Oh, no, no, no, no! New house rule: no titles for me! If you have to call me anything it’s: ‘handsome, perverted shopkeeper,’ okay?” he trilled as he dashed away, his wooden geta clacking on the floor as he beat a hasty retreat.
It was going to be very strange staying here, Renji decided, settling in to watch over the little girl who, sleepwalking, could bloody the face of a steel-skinned Arrancar with just her tiny fists.
Renji leaned his head against the wall and tried to sleep.
#
Renji never did get a full night’s rest. He managed to doze on and off, but the unfamiliar noises of the shōten had him jumping at any creak or floorboard pop. Every time a jet passed overhead or a train rumbled nearby, Renji started awake, gripping Zabimaru tighter.
Then, just as the distant traffic noises became a sort of urban lullaby, Renji heard someone wake. Despite what Urahara said, it was not long after dawn when slippered feet shuffled past the room Renji and Ururu were in, plodding down the hall, where pots and pans began clanging. A funny percolating, gurgling noise brought with it a bitter dark scent. When the smells of cooking grew so strong his stomach growled, Renji decided to risk investigating.
However, before he left, he checked on the girl, Ururu. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Impulsively, Renji patted her head. She sure looked like a frail little thing, not at all like some kind of super-killing machine. “Sleep tight,” he told her kindly. “No sleepwalking, you hear?”
Sliding open the door softly, Renji nearly tripped over his own gigai.
Somehow, despite Renji’s restless night someone had managed to leave it lying in the hallway like a corpse. Its hands were neatly folded on its chest, clutching the soul candy Pez dispenser.
Apparently, the mod soul had been popped out of it for the night, because it didn’t move when Renji cautiously toed it with his stocking feet.
Clearly, the house rules only applied to Renji. The gigai had been dressed in something other than the school uniform Renji last remembered wearing. “Someone’s been playing with my gigai,” Renji muttered, crouching down to take a better look at it.
It had on soft, worn-in denim jeans that didn’t seem to quite fit as they fell low on his hips. In contrast, the muscle shirt was so tight, Renji swore he could see the outline of nipples and it seemed to ride up his torso, exposing belly button and a whole hell of a lot of tattoos. Someone had also embellished the outfit with jewelry: there were a couple of funky necklaces and several bracelets on his left wrist.
His hair was also different: more of a pony tail than a topknot. Whoever’d messed with it clearly couldn’t quite control it because several thick red strands hung loose in the front, spilling over a tie-dyed bandana. A little trashier than his usual look, but, considering Renji had no idea where they kept the clothes and he’d been warned away from snooping through closets, it’d have to do.
Pulling himself and Zabimaru into it, Renji tucked the Pez dispenser in the jeans’ pocket, and followed his nose to the shōten’s kitchen.
His bare feet slapped on the cold floor as he made his way deeper into the shop. This place, Renji decided, was far bigger on the inside than it looked from the outside.
Magic probably.
Or that freak technology of Urahara’s.
Finally, he came to the source of the delicious smells. Cautiously peeking his head around the open doorway, Renji saw the big guy—Tessai—frying something in a pan over a stove. It was the first time Renji got a good look at the kidō master. He was an… interesting character. Huge. Renji could not get over the size of him; Tessai stood nearly as tall as Kenpachi and was similarly built like a brick wall… and Renji could see pretty much all Tessai’s muscles because he wore nothing more than a frilly pink apron and super tight short shorts, that clung to his ass like a second skin.
Renji suddenly thought he had a clue who might have dressed him like a hustler.
“I see you found your gigai,” Tessai said cheerfully, glancing at him with those thick square glasses that hid his eyes as effectively as Aizen’s. Renji couldn’t decide if the whole thing was made more or less disturbing by the tight cornrow braids and the handlebar mustache. “How do you like your eggs?”
“I’m not picky,” Renji said. “I guess as long as it’s not ‘sentient’ I can eat it.”
“Ah,” Tessai chuckled. “You’ve been given the house rules, I see. Did Kisuke print out the full file or only give you the quick rundown?”
Renji pulled out one of the four Western-style chairs that were clustered around a battered wooden kitchen table. With a shrug, he sat down, “I guess I got the quickie.”
Eying the fruit in the basket in the middle of the table, Renji reached for an orange.
Tessai clucked his tongue. “I wouldn’t. Bombs.”
Bombs?
Renji pulled his hand back in a hurry. “Are you shitting me? In the kitchen? Looking like food?”
“The boss likes to be prepared for any contingency. There are weapons hidden everywhere,” Tessai said. “Always double-check the pens before you click one! It’s in the full rules and regulations/employee handbook. I’ll get you a copy.”
Slowly, Renji looked the half naked man in a frilly pink apron up and down, and then asked: “So… you work here?”
Tessai’s eyebrows shot up over the glasses and hung there as if unsure of what his response should be.
He was saved from answering by the grumbling, red-haired boy, Jinta, who wandered through the door in pajama bottoms decorated with Cricket bats. “Don’t be an asshole,” the kid snarled, pulling up a chair across from Renji. “Who the hell invited you, anyway?”
“Technically, Lieutenant Abarai invited himself,” Urahara announced, with a yawn, coming in from another door. As he passed Tessai, he stretched up on tip toe to place a quick peck on the big guy’s cheek. “But I agreed, so we should try to get along, shouldn’t we?”
Tessai seemed shocked by the casual kiss, and a slow, blushing smile spread across his face. But, then he recovered and started whistling happily to himself as he returned to the stove and the eggs.
As Urahara made his way over to the kitchen counter holding the spitting and hissing machine Renji assumed must be the coffeemaker, Urahara ruffled Jinta’s hair. Jinta rolled his eyes and batted at Urahara’s hand, but Renji could see the boy was secretly pleased with the little show of affection, too.
Renji nodded. His first instinct had been right: a family.
A family with an ‘employee handbook’ and fruit bombs, but a family, nonetheless.
Urahara dug through a cabinet until he found a mug. Renji watched him as he clumsily poured himself some of the black liquid from the pot. Urahara was without his hat, and his hair was a straw blond jumble, sticking up in every direction—kind of an insane combination of bed head and hat hair. He wore a fluffy green bathrobe and his usual drawstring pants. The robe was tied loosely, opening all the way to his stomach and showing off that surprising rock hard physique.
Now Renji shook his head at himself. How did anyone not read these two guys as super-flaming queens? He found himself suddenly wondering how Lady Yoruichi fit in and who topped who or if it was all just some kind of spectacular free-for-all orgy.
Tessai plunked a plate of eggs and French toast down in front of Renji, wrenching Renji from his fantasy daydream. “Silverware is in the drawer to your left.”
“Uh, right, thanks,” Renji said. With Tessai close, even briefly, Renji could feel the massive, swirling reiatsu that surrounded him like a cloak or the hazy smoke of incense. The guy reeked of power and magic. Renji reminded himself that even though Tessai might seem silly, to never, ever underestimate him.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Urahara said. Pulling a rolled up parchment from the pocket of his fluffy robe, he handed it to Renji, “Spirit mail for you. Apparently it arrived shortly after the fighting was over last night, but, rather thankfully in my opinion, the sender assumed you’d be staying with the Kurosakis.”
Renji blinked stupidly at the rolled up paper in his hand, “Mail?”
Pulling out a chair, Urahara sat down. “Yes, as in correspondence, post, printed matter, special delivery, or,” he smiled slyly, “…a love letter.”
Jinta, who had been shoveling food into his mouth, glanced up at that, “A love letter? Someone’s sending you smut mail?”
Tessai bopped Jinta on the top of the head with his spatula, as Urahara said, “Oh, I’m sure it’s much more poetic than all that, given the source.”
Then, the three of them scooted chairs and crowded around Renji to read over his shoulder as he unrolled it. Byakuya’s perfect script read:
Dearest Renji,
I trust this letter will find you recovered and well. The Twelfth Division ‘treated’ Zaraki and me to a show of your first foray against the new enemy. I can’t say I found the experience enjoyable, but it’s always a pleasure to see you in action and I found myself unable to sleep for thinking of you.
Renji felt himself blushing deeply at that. Sparing a quick glance at everyone to see if they noticed his reaction, he found them all still intently reading, so he returned to the missive.
You may be happy to hear that Aunt Masama and I have come to a sort of a truce. She approves of my plans to appoint an heir, so, by chance, when you return, that matter may be resolved once and for all. It should be interesting to have my aunt as an ally again after all this time. I’m hoping, given enough time, she’ll be able to see in you what I do.
Renji could almost hear the hesitation in Byakuya’s voice before he added the next line:
Though, perhaps not.
I’d hoped she’d pack up and leave shortly after the candidate broke contract, but it seems that she and our Third Seat may still be up to something. I suppose, despite my wishful thinking, Auntie Massey will only be truly satisfied once the clan has an heir and you’re gone.
Well, she’d hoped for the same with Hisana. I will do my best to keep her at bay.
I suppose all of this seems trivial given the things you’re facing, but I wanted you to know how constantly you’re in my thoughts. The estate seems far too empty with you so far away. You’ve left your cherry blossom robe behind, and, though it fits me ill, I’m wearing it as I write, imagining your arms around me and your skin pressed close to mine.
“My, my,” muttered Urahara, as he settled back in his chair to fan himself with his hand as if overheated suddenly.
There was only a little bit of the letter remaining and it read:
I will pray for a break in the fighting so, if you will allow, I might visit surreptitiously. I’d very much like a repeat of our last night here. Like a schoolboy, I’ve saved a bit of ivy I found in my hair. It sits here on my writing desk reminding me of your kisses.
Then, Byakuya attempted another heart-shaped smudge, and signed his name--not his usual stamp, just a very personal scrawl of only his first name—which, beyond all the other steamy stuff, made Renji’s heart skip just a little.
“It’s not that hot,” Jinta remarked, as though disappointed, “Just kind of sappy. And what’s that picture supposed to be anyway? Is that something rude? It kind of looks like a c--”
Tessai smacked Jinta’s head again. “Be nice.”