dracoqueen22 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dracoqueen22) wrote2011-02-01 09:31 pm
dracoqueen22) wrote2011-02-01 09:31 pm
Entry tags:
Bleach - Buyer's Remorse - Part Three
a/n: An update wherein things don't get any better, but a little more clues are given.
Characters: Ensemble
Rating: M
Warning: Non-explicit noncon, foul language, speculation, nonconsensual drug use, flagrant alcohol use, possible slash, het, or femslash, NO romance/no pairings
Description: For all he can't remember, this is something that he'll never forget.
(One)(Two)(Three)(Four)(Five)(Six)(Seven)(Eight)(Nine)
Senpai is a lot heavier when he's drunk.
“I'm not drunk,” Hisagi-san suddenly declares as though he's read Izuru's mind. “I didn't have nearly enough to be drunk.”
He says this. But he's still stumbling and slurring some of these words and leaning far too heavily on Izuru's shoulders. Shaking his head, unable to hide his amusement, Izuru hooks one his senpai’s arms over his shoulders and allows himself to bear more of his weight.
“Yes, yes,” the blond agrees absently. “You only drank three bottles of sake this time as opposed to five. Why, you might as well be sober.”
Hisagi-san bursts into laughter loud enough to disturb anyone sleeping in the neighborhood. “See? And no one believes me when I tell them you have a sense of humor.” He leans against Izuru, all warm and sweaty flesh. “You should share it more often, Kira. ‘S good for ya.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” Izuru returns dryly.
He feels utterly relieved when Hisagi-san's house comes into sight, where he can finally drop off his burden and head back to his own home. Izuru is exhausted, and he'd really like some sleep before heading into the division tomorrow morning.
“You should,” Hisagi-san slurs, stumbling a little on a loose stone in the street and nearly dragging Izuru down with him. “Door’s not locked by the way.”
“That’s not exactly safe, senpai,” Izuru chastises as he reaches forward and pushes it open, grunting as he half-drags the other man inside.
Hisagi-san makes a noise. He leans against the wall where Izuru sets him, panting softly like he's the one who should be exhausted.
“Oh, yeah? And I'm a lieutenant. What do I have to worry about?”
Izuru rolls his eyes and crouches briefly, long enough to struggle with the knots of Hisagi-san's waraji in order to remove them. His senpai is less than helpful, leaning drowsily against the wall as though he's going to fall asleep at any moment.
Sometimes, Izuru wonders why he bothers being the reasonable one. The one who always makes sure his drunken idiot friends get home safely and don't drown in their own vomit. The fairness in these situations is just nonexistent.
Standing again, Izuru grabs his half-conscious senpai and drags Hisagi-san to the back corner that is his bedroom. There, he drops Hisagi-san onto his futon – wisely laid down before he headed out for a night of carousing with his buddies. He fights getting dragged down with the heavy and sleepy man but somehow manages to stay standing.
Hisagi-san groans as he hits the bedding. His limbs flop out as he wriggles around like a beached fish in effort to get comfortable.
“Damn, Kira. I'm not a sack of rice,” he grumbles then.
“You've enough sake in you to seem like one,” Izuru retorts and rests back on his heels for a moment to recover his breath. He rubs his shoulders, next wiping sweat from his forehead.
Hisagi-san chuckles at Izuru's comment, one arm slinging up lay across his forehead. “I'm not that drunk,” he repeats, as though he's not made this declaration several times on the way home.
Izuru rolls his eyes yet again. He sets about making sure Hisagi-san is comfortable and won't wake up with a crick in his neck in the morning, though it’d only serve him right. He glances disapprovingly at the organized mess that is Hisagi-san's room, piles of clothing and books and sword-sharpening supplies everywhere. He honestly doesn't know how his senpai can live like this.
Shaking his head, Izuru wanders out of the room in search of a potential bucket in case Hisagi-san's sake decides to make a reappearance come morning. He's successful when he finds a small wastebasket in the much smaller spare room. But on his way out, Izuru glances at a shelf only to pause and become very puzzled. There's a blank spot in the middle where something once sat but not anymore. Izuru distinctly remembers Hisagi-san having a small picture there, one that Izuru himself had drawn years and years ago when he still imagined himself an artist.
“Senpai?”
“Nrgh” is the ever-so-coherent response Izuru receives as he wanders back into the bedroom. Hisagi-san is curled up on his side with a pillow shoved over his head.
“What happened to that picture I gave you?” Izuru asks, knowing that his senpai isn't unconscious yet. The wastebasket rattles as he sets it near the futon.
Hisagi-san rolls over, tugging the pillow out from over his head. “The one in the backroom?”
“Yes, that one.”
A low curse spills from the man's lips. “Fuck, don't remind me. It was that one-night-stand from hell.”
Izuru blinks. “...What?”
Hisagi-san waves one hand dismissively through the air. A drunken weave that does little to explain things.
“A couple weeks ago I got wasted, took some chick home, and the bitch stole from me!”
“She took the picture?” Izuru is certain that he missed something in that explanation.
“Near as I can figure,” Hisagi-san mumbles, and his jaw cracks with a wide-mouthed yawn. “And I still can't remember a damn thing.”
Izuru pauses mid-step, head cocked to the side. “What do you mean you can't remember?”
“I just can't.” Hisagi-san rolls back over, arms curled around the pillow like he has every intention of going to sleep. “I was drunk, remember?”
Izuru frowns. He's never known his senpai to get so drunk he can't remember anything. Not once in all the decades they’ve known each other. Not even times when he's been so plastered that his body responded violently.
“Weird enough that she folded my clothes,” Hisagi-san adds, voice beginning to get that thick quality the nearly-asleep acquire. “I guess she figured it repayment for taking my damn picture. Bitch.”
“When was this?” the blond questions rather faintly. The wheels in his head are already turning, and he doesn’t like the way everything is adding up.
“What does it matter?” He sounds annoyed now, like Izuru's an asshole for keeping him awake.
The blond sighs. “Humor me, senpai.”
“I don't know. A month ago maybe?” Hisagi-san snorts and throws a hand upwards, like he’s trying to wave his friend away. “Going to sleep now. Thanks, Kira. See ya later.”
“You're welcome,” Izuru replies, distracted.
Hisagi-san says nothing else, just lets his arm flop back to the pillow as he cuddles against it. Izuru takes this as a dismissal and quietly makes himself scarce. He can't, however, ignore what Hisagi-san told him. The theft bothers him, but more than that, memory loss bothers him. It just doesn't add up. He wants to let it slide, chalk it up to Hisagi-san's usual and occasional indulgence of a one-night-stand. Izuru doesn't want to make a big deal out of nothing or blow things out of a proportion.
But it just doesn't make any sense.
o0o0o
Izuru stews on it for days, finding his thoughts wander to the missing picture and Hisagi-san's lost memories at inopportune moments. He finds himself digging out his old materials from when he was a member of the fourth, scanning notes and personal anecdotes to find out why his senpai’s amnesia would bother him so much.
Hisagi-san for his part doesn't seem troubled by the blank spot in his memories. If anything, he's more enraged by the fact his so-called one-night-stand had stolen from him. He elaborates a bit more when Izuru presses the next time they meet but can't understand why the blond wound find it so important.
Frankly, Izuru can't understand why Hisagi-san finds it so easy to dismiss. He can't even remember what the woman looks like or her name. He can't remember drinking with her at the bar. He can't remember taking her home or any of their relations. He can't even be sure it was a woman for kami's sake!
Hisagi-san can't recall a single detail, and the knot in Izuru's belly continues to grow. He increases the depth of his search, certain that the niggling thought in the back of his mind has a meaning. There's a reason all of this is cause for alarm.
In an old notebook with scribbled notations and immature sketches, Izuru finds his answer. One that makes his blood burn with anger and his eyes narrow. He's furious with himself for not remembering something so obvious and knows what he has to do next.
He has to speak with Unohana-taichou.
o0o0o
Izuru waits with bated breath for the captain to either confirm or deny his suspicions, to ease the frantic worry inside of him or only make it worse. He waits, hoping against hope that he's wrong and paranoid and Hisagi-san's denial is well-founded.
His hopes are shattered to dust when Unohana-taichou gives him a sympathetic look.
“Kira-san, I think it’d be best if you brought your friend in to see me.”
His shoulders sag. “I was right?”
“Without testing him, I can't be sure.” Her eyes are dark with brimming affront. “But from what you are describing, yes, your memory suits you well. It does sound like someone has taken advantage of Hisagi-fukutaichou.”
Izuru feels cold all over. “I honestly hoped I'd come here and you'd tell me I was wrong,” he comments, sitting back in his chair and wondering how in the hell he's going to convince his senpai to come to the fourth.
“I know.” Unohana-taichou sounds sympathetic, her voice warm and concerned. “The sooner you can get him here, the sooner we can know for sure. This is very worrisome.”
She has no idea.
“Yes, taichou. Thank you.”
Izuru nods his head and rises to his feet. His earlier lunch is like a lead weight in his chest. One that refuses to budge.
o0o0o
“You have to talk to her.”
Hisagi-san sighs, glaring at Izuru from the corner of his eyes. “Why?”
“Because you can't remember who it was!”
“So?”
Izuru fights back the urge to scream and tear out his hair from sheer frustration. “Senpai, for all you know it was a gang of burly men who thought you looked like a pretty date for the night!”
Hisagi-san snorts. He bends back over his paperwork, obviously believing Izuru has lost his mind.
“I think I’d had a bit more pain in the morning if that’d happened.”
“That's not the point, senpai,” the blond insists, wondering if he's going to have to drag his friend kicking and screaming to the fourth. Hisagi-san seems to be living in this happy land of denial where nothing happened, even though it's painfully obvious and worrisomely so to Izuru that something did.
He sighs and rubs his forehead with his fingers.
“Senpai, don't you even care that you can't recall anything?”
“Why should I?” Hisagi-san shrugs and scribbles his brush across another semi-important document. “Can Unohana-taichou bring back my memories so I can kick the bitch’s ass for stealing from me?”
“You'd never hit a woman, senpai.”
“I might,” he retorts, lips twitching as though he were trying to hide his amusement. “If she stole from me.”
“But you don't even know it was a woman,” Izuru reminds him. “For all you know, it could’ve been Aizen!”
Hisagi-san sets down the brush with a clatter as he glares at Izuru. “That was a low blow.”
Izuru isn't ashamed. He squares his jaw and meets his senpai's eyes without flinching.
“I don't care,” he declares with his chin lifted. “You need to speak with Unohana-taichou.”
They stare at each other, stubborn and unyielding, but Hisagi-san is the first to break. He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and leans back in his chair.
“If I go, will you stop hounding me about it?”
Izuru lets his shoulders sag with relief. “Yes.”
“Fine,” Hisagi-san agrees with an annoyed huff and picks up his brush again, looking down at the documents scattered over the desk. “But not until I'm done with my paperwork.”
That’s good enough for Izuru.
o0o0o
“You were drugged, Hisagi-fukutaichou,” Unohana-taichou begins gently.
Izuru just winces. Hisagi-san though stares at her and shakes his head.
“No, ma’am,” he says slowly, as though explaining something to a slow child. “I was drunk.”
Izuru represses a sigh. He's never understood how good his senpai is at denial until now. He hates that there's a situation warranting that realization.
“No,” Unohana-taichou corrects so very gently. “You were drugged. Your tests came back positive.”
Hisagi-san shakes his head, leaning forward with elbows braced on his knees and hands clasped together. “I was drunk,” he repeats in a tone that refuses to believe anything else. “I was drunk, and the bitch stole my picture.”
Izuru sees the moment Unohana-taichou realizes it's pointless to say otherwise. She purses her lips together, gives Hisagi-san a long look, and then closes his patient file with a quiet snap of paper. She sets it aside on the desk and folds her hands in her lip.
“So you say, and certainly, it must be true then,” she acquiesces gracefully, and if not for the situation, it would almost be amusing the way Hisagi-san nods and visibly relaxes now that the captain is not going to press the issue. “What do you remember then?”
Hisagi-san shifts as one hand scrubs over his messy hair. “Drinking. A lot,” he says. “I was with Renji and Kira, and damn, half the eleventh it seems.”
“And do you remember anyone approaching you?” the captain questions gently, softly like she’s trying almost too hard to be pleasant. “Anyone you didn't really know?”
“No. I don't.” He shakes his head. “The last thing I remember before waking up is Tetsuzaemon promising to buy everyone a round ‘cause he'd finally gotten some girl to talk to him.” Hisagi-san sniggers at that. “Who were we to argue? It was free booze.”
Izuru listens, remembering that but not able to recall just whom Hisagi-san had left with. That was one of the few nights when Izuru hadn't been the designated sober one since Ayasegawa had been there. It seemed virtually impossible for that man to get drunk.
Now, more than anything, Izuru wishes he hadn't decided to let loose and have a little fun as they were always trying to encourage him.
“And in the morning?”
Hisagi-san lets out a sharp exhale. Just a bluster of air that hints of annoyance he won't ever expressly exhibit to a captain.
“I woke up ridiculously thirsty, naked, and unable to remember a damn thing. It wasn't until later that I even realized the bi-- the woman stole from me.”
That stops her up short.
“You were naked?” she asks, and Izuru feels his belly grow cold without understanding why.
“Yeah, but that's not exactly unusual.” A hint of red stains Hisagi-san's cheeks, the first sign of acute embarrassment that Izuru has seen. “Though I don't usually fold my clothes before going to sleep.”
Something flashes in Unohana-taichou's eyes, and she visibly straightens. Hisagi-san is too busy looking everywhere but at her to notice. Izuru does, however. And he doesn't like what her reaction implies.
She watches him closely, eyes narrowed. “Your clothes were folded?”
Hisagi-san nods. He looks more uncomfortable by the second.
“Yeah, though the weirdest thing was that I was clean, like I'd taken a bath. But you'd think I’d remember that.”
Izuru's paying close attention, so he notices when Unohana-taichou's eyelashes flutter and her face pales. As though Hisagi-san's words are striking a bit too close to home.
“I see,” she adds and studies Hisagi-san closely. “Is there anything else you remember?”
“No.” His senpai looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but here right now, his foot restlessly tapping like he's ready to bolt. “Did you want to ask anything else, ma’am?”
Unohana-taichou seems to understand. She shakes her head, offering him a warm, reassuring smile that never fails to comfort her patients.
“No, Hisagi-fukutaichou. Though I would suggest curbing your alcohol habits in the future.”
“Way ahead of you on that one,” Hisagi-san assures and all but rockets from his chair, and Izuru half-imagines him fleeing from Unohana-taichou's office with an inward vow never to return. “I've got paperwork to do, so...”
“You can go.” Unohana-taichou's smile seems almost indulgent as she waves permission for him like they aren't all here for Hisagi-san's sake in the first place.
He flees before Izuru can so much as stand. Thereby leaving the blond to sigh a little to himself and thank Unohana-taichou for the both of them.
“His powers of denial are like none I’ve ever seen,” Unohana-taichou comments as Izuru rises to his feet. “It might be better for him in the long run if he continues to consider the circumstances a drunken encounter with a thief.”
“The alternative isn't any better,” Izuru agrees and chews on his bottom lip, wishing he knew how to fix what he hadn't realized was broken until now. “The drug doesn't have any lasting harm, does it?”
“No,” the captain replies heavily.
Izuru releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A part of him hanging onto a concern that something might happen to Hisagi-san in the future.
“But if he does remember anything else, I don't think he'll want to share such details,” she continues after a moment. “I'd appreciate it if you'd bring them to me.”
Izuru frowns, something in her tone ringing of the other oddities he had noticed earlier. He shifts so that he's looking at the captain directly.
“This has happened to someone else, hasn't it?” he realizes suddenly. “That's why you wanted to talk to Hisagi-san in person?”
Unohana-taichou seems haunted and concerned, the skin around her eyes pinched with fatigue. But there’s a fire burning in them, too. A fire to find whoever is doing this and make them wish they'd never been born.
“Unfortunately, yes. There were two others,” she admits, only to amend it a second later. “That I know about. This is forming a pattern, Kira-san, one that has me very concerned.”
He stills, the twist in his gut mingling with an icy feeling of fear. “You think it's going to happen again?”
“I can only assume.” She folds her lands into her lap. “For obvious reasons, I can't tell anyone the details, and I can only do so much. Please be aware, Kira-san. And for your own sake, please be careful.”
Izuru nods, wondering when the hell it had come to this. It wasn't so long ago that they'd all had to suffer through Aizen's betrayal, and there’s still his war on the backburner. And now, one of their own is committing a terrible crime, made worse by the growing number of victims.
When will they catch a break? When will they be able to just breathe?
It seems like peace is a long time in coming.
Izuru breathes in, slow and steady, and vows to keep his eyes open. To watch his friends more closely, to do his damndest to catch whoever this bastard is as soon as possible. If Hisagi-san insists on living in his denial, then Izuru will just have to fight his battles for him. It's the least he can do; it's the best he can do.
For all of them.
*****
a/n: Theories anyone? *grins* The mystery only deepens. Six more parts to come.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
On to part four!
Characters: Ensemble
Rating: M
Warning: Non-explicit noncon, foul language, speculation, nonconsensual drug use, flagrant alcohol use, possible slash, het, or femslash, NO romance/no pairings
Description: For all he can't remember, this is something that he'll never forget.
(One)(Two)(Three)(Four)(Five)(Six)(Seven)(Eight)(Nine)
----------------------------------------
Buyer's Remorse
Part Three
----------------------------------------
Buyer's Remorse
Part Three
----------------------------------------
Senpai is a lot heavier when he's drunk.
“I'm not drunk,” Hisagi-san suddenly declares as though he's read Izuru's mind. “I didn't have nearly enough to be drunk.”
He says this. But he's still stumbling and slurring some of these words and leaning far too heavily on Izuru's shoulders. Shaking his head, unable to hide his amusement, Izuru hooks one his senpai’s arms over his shoulders and allows himself to bear more of his weight.
“Yes, yes,” the blond agrees absently. “You only drank three bottles of sake this time as opposed to five. Why, you might as well be sober.”
Hisagi-san bursts into laughter loud enough to disturb anyone sleeping in the neighborhood. “See? And no one believes me when I tell them you have a sense of humor.” He leans against Izuru, all warm and sweaty flesh. “You should share it more often, Kira. ‘S good for ya.”
“I'll keep that in mind,” Izuru returns dryly.
He feels utterly relieved when Hisagi-san's house comes into sight, where he can finally drop off his burden and head back to his own home. Izuru is exhausted, and he'd really like some sleep before heading into the division tomorrow morning.
“You should,” Hisagi-san slurs, stumbling a little on a loose stone in the street and nearly dragging Izuru down with him. “Door’s not locked by the way.”
“That’s not exactly safe, senpai,” Izuru chastises as he reaches forward and pushes it open, grunting as he half-drags the other man inside.
Hisagi-san makes a noise. He leans against the wall where Izuru sets him, panting softly like he's the one who should be exhausted.
“Oh, yeah? And I'm a lieutenant. What do I have to worry about?”
Izuru rolls his eyes and crouches briefly, long enough to struggle with the knots of Hisagi-san's waraji in order to remove them. His senpai is less than helpful, leaning drowsily against the wall as though he's going to fall asleep at any moment.
Sometimes, Izuru wonders why he bothers being the reasonable one. The one who always makes sure his drunken idiot friends get home safely and don't drown in their own vomit. The fairness in these situations is just nonexistent.
Standing again, Izuru grabs his half-conscious senpai and drags Hisagi-san to the back corner that is his bedroom. There, he drops Hisagi-san onto his futon – wisely laid down before he headed out for a night of carousing with his buddies. He fights getting dragged down with the heavy and sleepy man but somehow manages to stay standing.
Hisagi-san groans as he hits the bedding. His limbs flop out as he wriggles around like a beached fish in effort to get comfortable.
“Damn, Kira. I'm not a sack of rice,” he grumbles then.
“You've enough sake in you to seem like one,” Izuru retorts and rests back on his heels for a moment to recover his breath. He rubs his shoulders, next wiping sweat from his forehead.
Hisagi-san chuckles at Izuru's comment, one arm slinging up lay across his forehead. “I'm not that drunk,” he repeats, as though he's not made this declaration several times on the way home.
Izuru rolls his eyes yet again. He sets about making sure Hisagi-san is comfortable and won't wake up with a crick in his neck in the morning, though it’d only serve him right. He glances disapprovingly at the organized mess that is Hisagi-san's room, piles of clothing and books and sword-sharpening supplies everywhere. He honestly doesn't know how his senpai can live like this.
Shaking his head, Izuru wanders out of the room in search of a potential bucket in case Hisagi-san's sake decides to make a reappearance come morning. He's successful when he finds a small wastebasket in the much smaller spare room. But on his way out, Izuru glances at a shelf only to pause and become very puzzled. There's a blank spot in the middle where something once sat but not anymore. Izuru distinctly remembers Hisagi-san having a small picture there, one that Izuru himself had drawn years and years ago when he still imagined himself an artist.
“Senpai?”
“Nrgh” is the ever-so-coherent response Izuru receives as he wanders back into the bedroom. Hisagi-san is curled up on his side with a pillow shoved over his head.
“What happened to that picture I gave you?” Izuru asks, knowing that his senpai isn't unconscious yet. The wastebasket rattles as he sets it near the futon.
Hisagi-san rolls over, tugging the pillow out from over his head. “The one in the backroom?”
“Yes, that one.”
A low curse spills from the man's lips. “Fuck, don't remind me. It was that one-night-stand from hell.”
Izuru blinks. “...What?”
Hisagi-san waves one hand dismissively through the air. A drunken weave that does little to explain things.
“A couple weeks ago I got wasted, took some chick home, and the bitch stole from me!”
“She took the picture?” Izuru is certain that he missed something in that explanation.
“Near as I can figure,” Hisagi-san mumbles, and his jaw cracks with a wide-mouthed yawn. “And I still can't remember a damn thing.”
Izuru pauses mid-step, head cocked to the side. “What do you mean you can't remember?”
“I just can't.” Hisagi-san rolls back over, arms curled around the pillow like he has every intention of going to sleep. “I was drunk, remember?”
Izuru frowns. He's never known his senpai to get so drunk he can't remember anything. Not once in all the decades they’ve known each other. Not even times when he's been so plastered that his body responded violently.
“Weird enough that she folded my clothes,” Hisagi-san adds, voice beginning to get that thick quality the nearly-asleep acquire. “I guess she figured it repayment for taking my damn picture. Bitch.”
“When was this?” the blond questions rather faintly. The wheels in his head are already turning, and he doesn’t like the way everything is adding up.
“What does it matter?” He sounds annoyed now, like Izuru's an asshole for keeping him awake.
The blond sighs. “Humor me, senpai.”
“I don't know. A month ago maybe?” Hisagi-san snorts and throws a hand upwards, like he’s trying to wave his friend away. “Going to sleep now. Thanks, Kira. See ya later.”
“You're welcome,” Izuru replies, distracted.
Hisagi-san says nothing else, just lets his arm flop back to the pillow as he cuddles against it. Izuru takes this as a dismissal and quietly makes himself scarce. He can't, however, ignore what Hisagi-san told him. The theft bothers him, but more than that, memory loss bothers him. It just doesn't add up. He wants to let it slide, chalk it up to Hisagi-san's usual and occasional indulgence of a one-night-stand. Izuru doesn't want to make a big deal out of nothing or blow things out of a proportion.
But it just doesn't make any sense.
Izuru stews on it for days, finding his thoughts wander to the missing picture and Hisagi-san's lost memories at inopportune moments. He finds himself digging out his old materials from when he was a member of the fourth, scanning notes and personal anecdotes to find out why his senpai’s amnesia would bother him so much.
Hisagi-san for his part doesn't seem troubled by the blank spot in his memories. If anything, he's more enraged by the fact his so-called one-night-stand had stolen from him. He elaborates a bit more when Izuru presses the next time they meet but can't understand why the blond wound find it so important.
Frankly, Izuru can't understand why Hisagi-san finds it so easy to dismiss. He can't even remember what the woman looks like or her name. He can't remember drinking with her at the bar. He can't remember taking her home or any of their relations. He can't even be sure it was a woman for kami's sake!
Hisagi-san can't recall a single detail, and the knot in Izuru's belly continues to grow. He increases the depth of his search, certain that the niggling thought in the back of his mind has a meaning. There's a reason all of this is cause for alarm.
In an old notebook with scribbled notations and immature sketches, Izuru finds his answer. One that makes his blood burn with anger and his eyes narrow. He's furious with himself for not remembering something so obvious and knows what he has to do next.
He has to speak with Unohana-taichou.
Izuru waits with bated breath for the captain to either confirm or deny his suspicions, to ease the frantic worry inside of him or only make it worse. He waits, hoping against hope that he's wrong and paranoid and Hisagi-san's denial is well-founded.
His hopes are shattered to dust when Unohana-taichou gives him a sympathetic look.
“Kira-san, I think it’d be best if you brought your friend in to see me.”
His shoulders sag. “I was right?”
“Without testing him, I can't be sure.” Her eyes are dark with brimming affront. “But from what you are describing, yes, your memory suits you well. It does sound like someone has taken advantage of Hisagi-fukutaichou.”
Izuru feels cold all over. “I honestly hoped I'd come here and you'd tell me I was wrong,” he comments, sitting back in his chair and wondering how in the hell he's going to convince his senpai to come to the fourth.
“I know.” Unohana-taichou sounds sympathetic, her voice warm and concerned. “The sooner you can get him here, the sooner we can know for sure. This is very worrisome.”
She has no idea.
“Yes, taichou. Thank you.”
Izuru nods his head and rises to his feet. His earlier lunch is like a lead weight in his chest. One that refuses to budge.
“You have to talk to her.”
Hisagi-san sighs, glaring at Izuru from the corner of his eyes. “Why?”
“Because you can't remember who it was!”
“So?”
Izuru fights back the urge to scream and tear out his hair from sheer frustration. “Senpai, for all you know it was a gang of burly men who thought you looked like a pretty date for the night!”
Hisagi-san snorts. He bends back over his paperwork, obviously believing Izuru has lost his mind.
“I think I’d had a bit more pain in the morning if that’d happened.”
“That's not the point, senpai,” the blond insists, wondering if he's going to have to drag his friend kicking and screaming to the fourth. Hisagi-san seems to be living in this happy land of denial where nothing happened, even though it's painfully obvious and worrisomely so to Izuru that something did.
He sighs and rubs his forehead with his fingers.
“Senpai, don't you even care that you can't recall anything?”
“Why should I?” Hisagi-san shrugs and scribbles his brush across another semi-important document. “Can Unohana-taichou bring back my memories so I can kick the bitch’s ass for stealing from me?”
“You'd never hit a woman, senpai.”
“I might,” he retorts, lips twitching as though he were trying to hide his amusement. “If she stole from me.”
“But you don't even know it was a woman,” Izuru reminds him. “For all you know, it could’ve been Aizen!”
Hisagi-san sets down the brush with a clatter as he glares at Izuru. “That was a low blow.”
Izuru isn't ashamed. He squares his jaw and meets his senpai's eyes without flinching.
“I don't care,” he declares with his chin lifted. “You need to speak with Unohana-taichou.”
They stare at each other, stubborn and unyielding, but Hisagi-san is the first to break. He sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose, and leans back in his chair.
“If I go, will you stop hounding me about it?”
Izuru lets his shoulders sag with relief. “Yes.”
“Fine,” Hisagi-san agrees with an annoyed huff and picks up his brush again, looking down at the documents scattered over the desk. “But not until I'm done with my paperwork.”
That’s good enough for Izuru.
“You were drugged, Hisagi-fukutaichou,” Unohana-taichou begins gently.
Izuru just winces. Hisagi-san though stares at her and shakes his head.
“No, ma’am,” he says slowly, as though explaining something to a slow child. “I was drunk.”
Izuru represses a sigh. He's never understood how good his senpai is at denial until now. He hates that there's a situation warranting that realization.
“No,” Unohana-taichou corrects so very gently. “You were drugged. Your tests came back positive.”
Hisagi-san shakes his head, leaning forward with elbows braced on his knees and hands clasped together. “I was drunk,” he repeats in a tone that refuses to believe anything else. “I was drunk, and the bitch stole my picture.”
Izuru sees the moment Unohana-taichou realizes it's pointless to say otherwise. She purses her lips together, gives Hisagi-san a long look, and then closes his patient file with a quiet snap of paper. She sets it aside on the desk and folds her hands in her lip.
“So you say, and certainly, it must be true then,” she acquiesces gracefully, and if not for the situation, it would almost be amusing the way Hisagi-san nods and visibly relaxes now that the captain is not going to press the issue. “What do you remember then?”
Hisagi-san shifts as one hand scrubs over his messy hair. “Drinking. A lot,” he says. “I was with Renji and Kira, and damn, half the eleventh it seems.”
“And do you remember anyone approaching you?” the captain questions gently, softly like she’s trying almost too hard to be pleasant. “Anyone you didn't really know?”
“No. I don't.” He shakes his head. “The last thing I remember before waking up is Tetsuzaemon promising to buy everyone a round ‘cause he'd finally gotten some girl to talk to him.” Hisagi-san sniggers at that. “Who were we to argue? It was free booze.”
Izuru listens, remembering that but not able to recall just whom Hisagi-san had left with. That was one of the few nights when Izuru hadn't been the designated sober one since Ayasegawa had been there. It seemed virtually impossible for that man to get drunk.
Now, more than anything, Izuru wishes he hadn't decided to let loose and have a little fun as they were always trying to encourage him.
“And in the morning?”
Hisagi-san lets out a sharp exhale. Just a bluster of air that hints of annoyance he won't ever expressly exhibit to a captain.
“I woke up ridiculously thirsty, naked, and unable to remember a damn thing. It wasn't until later that I even realized the bi-- the woman stole from me.”
That stops her up short.
“You were naked?” she asks, and Izuru feels his belly grow cold without understanding why.
“Yeah, but that's not exactly unusual.” A hint of red stains Hisagi-san's cheeks, the first sign of acute embarrassment that Izuru has seen. “Though I don't usually fold my clothes before going to sleep.”
Something flashes in Unohana-taichou's eyes, and she visibly straightens. Hisagi-san is too busy looking everywhere but at her to notice. Izuru does, however. And he doesn't like what her reaction implies.
She watches him closely, eyes narrowed. “Your clothes were folded?”
Hisagi-san nods. He looks more uncomfortable by the second.
“Yeah, though the weirdest thing was that I was clean, like I'd taken a bath. But you'd think I’d remember that.”
Izuru's paying close attention, so he notices when Unohana-taichou's eyelashes flutter and her face pales. As though Hisagi-san's words are striking a bit too close to home.
“I see,” she adds and studies Hisagi-san closely. “Is there anything else you remember?”
“No.” His senpai looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but here right now, his foot restlessly tapping like he's ready to bolt. “Did you want to ask anything else, ma’am?”
Unohana-taichou seems to understand. She shakes her head, offering him a warm, reassuring smile that never fails to comfort her patients.
“No, Hisagi-fukutaichou. Though I would suggest curbing your alcohol habits in the future.”
“Way ahead of you on that one,” Hisagi-san assures and all but rockets from his chair, and Izuru half-imagines him fleeing from Unohana-taichou's office with an inward vow never to return. “I've got paperwork to do, so...”
“You can go.” Unohana-taichou's smile seems almost indulgent as she waves permission for him like they aren't all here for Hisagi-san's sake in the first place.
He flees before Izuru can so much as stand. Thereby leaving the blond to sigh a little to himself and thank Unohana-taichou for the both of them.
“His powers of denial are like none I’ve ever seen,” Unohana-taichou comments as Izuru rises to his feet. “It might be better for him in the long run if he continues to consider the circumstances a drunken encounter with a thief.”
“The alternative isn't any better,” Izuru agrees and chews on his bottom lip, wishing he knew how to fix what he hadn't realized was broken until now. “The drug doesn't have any lasting harm, does it?”
“No,” the captain replies heavily.
Izuru releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. A part of him hanging onto a concern that something might happen to Hisagi-san in the future.
“But if he does remember anything else, I don't think he'll want to share such details,” she continues after a moment. “I'd appreciate it if you'd bring them to me.”
Izuru frowns, something in her tone ringing of the other oddities he had noticed earlier. He shifts so that he's looking at the captain directly.
“This has happened to someone else, hasn't it?” he realizes suddenly. “That's why you wanted to talk to Hisagi-san in person?”
Unohana-taichou seems haunted and concerned, the skin around her eyes pinched with fatigue. But there’s a fire burning in them, too. A fire to find whoever is doing this and make them wish they'd never been born.
“Unfortunately, yes. There were two others,” she admits, only to amend it a second later. “That I know about. This is forming a pattern, Kira-san, one that has me very concerned.”
He stills, the twist in his gut mingling with an icy feeling of fear. “You think it's going to happen again?”
“I can only assume.” She folds her lands into her lap. “For obvious reasons, I can't tell anyone the details, and I can only do so much. Please be aware, Kira-san. And for your own sake, please be careful.”
Izuru nods, wondering when the hell it had come to this. It wasn't so long ago that they'd all had to suffer through Aizen's betrayal, and there’s still his war on the backburner. And now, one of their own is committing a terrible crime, made worse by the growing number of victims.
When will they catch a break? When will they be able to just breathe?
It seems like peace is a long time in coming.
Izuru breathes in, slow and steady, and vows to keep his eyes open. To watch his friends more closely, to do his damndest to catch whoever this bastard is as soon as possible. If Hisagi-san insists on living in his denial, then Izuru will just have to fight his battles for him. It's the least he can do; it's the best he can do.
For all of them.
Feedback, as always, is welcome and appreciated.
On to part four!