Bleach - Buyer's Remorse - Part Six
Mar. 17th, 2011 08:32 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dracoqueen22a/n:At last, a clue! But don't think things are at an end. We still have three parts to go. Enjoy!
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)
It's late. Or far too early depending on how one looks at it. Most of Retsu's division has gone home for the night, but she remains, poring over and over pages of notes and interviews and materials, looking for the one clue she may have missed. The one vitally important piece of information that will tie everything together and set her on a path of justice.
But no matter how much she looks at the same words, they never change. And now, her vision is swimming. It turns the carefully inked characters a dark blur.
Retsu sighs and puts down the most recent document, one which gives Kuchiki Rukia's account of her assault, and rubs her aching temple with her fingers. She can't help feeling personally responsible. Retsu knows she should’ve solved things by now. Four assaults and she doesn't have a shred of evidence linking any one person to the crimes.
Four.
The number rings in the back of her head, reminding Retsu of her failures. Four of them. Kuchiki-taichou nearly died.
Her free hand curls around her teacup, significantly cooled after being all but forgotten in favor of deeper studying, and Retsu lifts it to her lips. She sips at the fragrant tea and knows she has to leave the office soon. Sleep can only help her at this point, though she can't help feeling it's time wasted. Time she could be spending tracking down the perpetrator and putting an end to this pattern of violence.
Lowering the cup and her hand, Retsu resolves to leave her office for the day. If only because she's getting no further work done by sitting here and staring dully at her own increasingly incomprehensible notes.
She rises from her desk with a creak of limbs that she promptly ignores. Retsu is not and will never be old, but sometimes, the years try to pretend that she is.
She reaches for her haori, abandoned in the wake of a sticky, spring night. She pulls it over her shoulders with slow movements that belie just how exhausted she truly feels. Yet, just as she’s heading for the door and reaching to cut out the light, a jigokuchou floats in through her open window.
As black wings flutter madly toward her in a burst of quiet reiatsu, Retsu's heart sinks into her belly. She turns, lifts her hand, and allows the jigokuchou to rest on her finger. Its message immediately spills to her in a flood of emotions and words. Worry is most prevalent. As is a need for haste. And it jumbles together in a fine mess of panic.
There is enough, however, for Retsu to understand. Ukitake-taichou is in need of her assistance, per Kyouraku-san's desperate request, and it's not something that can wait until the morning. Retsu dearly hopes he hasn’t had another episode; the last one was only a few weeks ago and he deserves much more rest than this.
She inclines her head, whispering a soft reply to the jigokuchou, and watches as it alights from her finger to carry the message back. Even though Retsu takes a moment to gather supplies, things needed in the best and the worst case scenarios for Ukitake-san, she’ll still beat it there.
Once she’s convinced she is prepared, she leaves from her office in a flit of shunpo, her feet taking her on an all-too-familiar path. Sometimes, Retsu swears she can better find Ukitake-san's home than her own.
Kyouraku-san greets her by the door like a worried sailor’s wife whose husband has been too long out at sea. His eyes are both wide and dark, concern pouring through his voice, and his is reiatsu a disturbed jitter.
“There's something wrong with Jyuushiro.”
“So I gathered,” she says and tries for a reassuring smile, a touch of humor that this situation usually warrants. Anything to ease the tension.
However, it falls flat when Kyouraku-san's mouth doesn't even twitch toward amusement, and Retsu belatedly realizes that perhaps she’s mistaken. That maybe this has nothing to do with Ukitake-san's illness. She can count on her fingers the number of times she has heard Kyouraku-san refer to his best friend by his only given name, and each and every one of those situations had been desperate indeed. The last was the same night that Shiba Kaien died, and that memory sends a stab of dread straight to her spine.
Retsu pinches her lips together, berates herself for sounding so callous, and tightens her hold on her medical bag. “What's wrong? Has he stopped breathing?”
The other captain, usually so well put together and composed but now looking ragged in a hastily thrown on robe over his sleeping clothes, shakes his head. He chuckles, but it’s a bitter sound and not at all amusement.
“How terrible is it of me that I wish that were the case? That, at least, I know how to fix.”
But his voice is thick with bitterness and something altogether like frozen fury. It draws her up short, but before she can reply the low sound of coughing floats to Retsu's ears. Ukitake-san undoubtedly. But it sounds no harsher or wetter than usual. Nothing that would cause this much concern in his closest and dearest companion.
“What is it then?” she questions, surprised when Kyouraku-san leads her to his permanent room here as opposed to Ukitake-san's own.
Here, he stops outside the door, angling his body to face hers. His expression pulls into an unusual seriousness. One that barely masks his anger.
“I came back from the celebration – you know, in honor of Abarai-kun's promotion to captain? And I heard odd noises coming from Jyuu-chan's room. I went to check on him.”
Retsu begins to feel a low curl of alarm in her chest; she suspects that this has nothing to do with Ukitake-san's illness at all. But the alternative is even worse.
“And?” she prompts but fears she can already guess where this is headed.
“He was naked, Retsu,” he states, eyes boring into hers. “Jyuu-chan never sleeps naked, even in the summer. He gets cold too easily.” His hands curl into fists. “And at first, he wouldn't even wake up. He kept trying to fall back asleep. Almost like he was on one of those medicines you give him sometimes.”
“Perhaps he had a friend over?” Retsu suggests, hoping that her optimism is warranted. She would hate to jump to conclusions. Even if it seems they are leaping in front of her face with arms waving wildly for attention.
Kyouraku-san's lips curl into the faintest edge of a smile. “Believe me, Retsu, you’ve no idea how much I wish that were the case.” He inhales deeply and rakes a hand over his hair, fingers tangling in disordered curls. “But you know how he is, and he's not dating anyone right now. Hasn’t for a long, long time.”
“What about reiatsu? Did you sense anyone?” Retsu asks, suddenly desperate for details, for anything that provides the link and the answer she needs.
“No.” There's a touch of disgust to Kyouraku-san's tone, disgust with himself mostly. “They were very good at masking themselves. If not for the noises, I wouldn’t even have known. He or she was gone by the time I got to the room. Probably out the window.”
Out the window. Perhaps there are footprints in the rain-soaked soil of the garden outside Ukitake-san's bedroom, but Retsu doubts it. Any Shinigami would’ve used a flit of shunpo and avoided touching the ground. This criminal is too smart to leave such an obvious clue behind. Still, Retsu will look; it can’t hurt. Not at this point.
Chills wash over Retsu's body with that thought. Her fingers tighten around the straps of her medical bag, but she stamps down everything but her professional objectiveness. These are her friends and have been for millennia. But she needs to focus, to keep a level head.
“Is he awake now?” Retsu steels her shoulders to the weight of a crime unsolved, a crime that had now claimed another victim.
“He fades in and out.” Kyouraku-san’s eyes get a distant look as he gazes in the direction of his room. “I redressed him; he was starting to get cold. I...” He shakes his head, lips firming. “He has bruises, Retsu. Small things, something that would’ve healed by dawn. Light scores on his belly and a couple random, smaller bruises on his thighs and arms.”
Her stomach churns. Ukitake-san's skin does tend to show marks easier. Much like that of Kuchiki Rukia.
“But that's not the worst of it.”
Retsu's eyes jerk up. There couldn't possibly be worse, could there.
“Was something missing?”
It’s barely a whisper. Like she doesn’t dare be louder.
“You could say that,” Kyouraku-san admits, face hardening as he lifted his hand, gesturing to his own head. “They cut his hair, Retsu. Not a lot of it. But enough… enough for a souvenir.”
Like Hisagi-san's picture then. Only a lot more personal this time. Retsu feels the disgust within her mix with something else, something a lot like wrath this time. How dare they? Bad enough that they rob Ukitake-san of his memories and touch him without consent. But to be so bold as to take a trophy from the man. That, along with everything else, cannot be forgiven.
Retsu's lips firm. “That is unforgivable,” she says emphatically and knows that Kyouraku-san agrees completely.
Hair will regrow, yes. But the fact that it was done is what matters here.
Bruises will heal. Hair will grow. But the memories will never return. None of the victims have been physically harmed – Retsu remains convinced that Kuchiki-taichou's reaction is an unintentional accident. But the perpetrator obviously thought nothing of the mental scarring.
“Why do you think I moved him from his room?” Kyouraku-san comments with a shake of his head. “I didn't want him to have to stay in his bed. Not if… Not if it really happened how I think it did.”
“I understand.” Her hand finds his arm and squeezes. “Shall I take a look at him?”
Kyouraku-san gestures her ahead of him. “Please,” he replies and opens the door for her as another low cough spills into the tense silence.
She enters ahead of him and takes only a brief moment to notice how the décor matches Kyouraku-san very well. While she has on numerous occasions been called over, she's never had reason to visit Kyouraku-san's bedroom here.
Ukitake-san is on the futon, dressed in one of his pale sleep robes and under a blanket. His eyes are closed, but as she approaches, they open very slowly as though it’s a great struggle.
“Ukitake-san?” Retsu calls as she drops to kneel at his bedside.
He's faintly feverish, but that could be more a result of his illness than the circumstances. His eyes are bleary and unfocused, but if he's been drugged like all the others, then he hasn't had as much time to sleep it off. She doesn’t know if that’s better or worse in this case. Perhaps even a bit of both.
“Retsu-chan,” he sighs in greeting, voice thick with sleep. “I told Shun he could wait until morning.” His eyes slip closed again, but his breathing doesn't even out. Maybe keeping them open requires too much energy.
Behind her, the other man snorts. “Like hell, Jyuu. I told you Retsu would understand. This is serious.”
Ukitake-san's face contorts with a mixture of shame and humiliation, though he keeps his eyes closed. “I’m unharmed, Shun. It's just my pride that has taken a beating.”
“I'm not talking about your physical state, you noble idiot,” Kyouraku-san berates gently, but worry thickens his tone. Make his hands shake just a little as he kneels on his friend’s other side.
A soft cough is the answer Ukitake-san gives as Kyouraku-san inches past Retsu to drape another blanket over his best friend. He still leans into the brunet’s touch though, but it may be unconscious. She can’t be sure either way.
“He’s right, Ukitake-san,” Retsu inserts, her insides a twisted knot of complicated emotions that she knows she won't be able to unwind anytime soon. “You've been drugged, and that's no mere matter.”
“Drugged?” Kyouraku-san repeats, and if the other man heard her, he gives no sign of it. Or maybe he's leaving the surprise to his friend, preferring to save his energy for something else.
Retsu nods, turning toward her bag and drawing forth a small kit she crafted a couple weeks ago. Retsu is no inventor or scientist like Urahara-san or even Kurotsuchi, but she can do well on certain things. And this situation warranted a privacy that meant she couldn't go to either for help.
“I believe so.” She tenderly extracts one of Ukitake-san's arms from his silk cocoon. “Though this will confirm my suspicions. Tell me, Kyouraku-san, did he seem unusually clean when you found him?”
The brunet clears his throat. “If you mean aside from the almost anal-like cleanliness that Jyuu-chan usually insists upon, then yes. He doesn't normally bathe before bed. It takes too long to dry his hair.”
“And his clothes. Were they neatly folded?” She gently pricks Ukitake-san's forefinger, drawing free several drops of blood, which she then guides onto the small strip of absorbent paper of her own design.
There's a moment of quiet before Kyouraku-san shifts closer, eyes watching her. “Retsu, why am I getting the feeling that this situation isn’t entirely unfamiliar to you? Does this have to do with what you said at the meeting last month?”
Her hands carefully guide the bloodied strip into another small vial, this one containing a colorless liquid. As the paper sinks into the chemical and a bright orange blossoms into being, Retsu's heart sinks lower. All the way to her ankles and through to the floor.
“A little too familiar, Kyouraku-san,” she answers as she swallows by the bile in her mouth and shows him the results of her test. “I can confirm this better at the fourth, but it’s around ninety percent accurate. Ukitake-san has definitely been drugged. I'm afraid that come tomorrow, he probably won't even remember this conversation or my presence here tonight.”
Kyouraku-san exhales in a bluster. “Someone drugged him,” he repeats, voice flat, though the rage coiling in his reiatsu is a testament to his true reaction. “How? How did this happen?”
“That is what I’d like to know.”
Retsu leans toward Ukitake-san again, one hand cupping his cheek. She uses a soft pulse of power, warm and soothing. Hoping that might chase away the effects of the drug, even if only temporarily.
“Ukitake-san?” she calls. “Are you awake?”
He stirs. “If you want me to be,” he mutters drowsily, eyes still closed. It would be cute, if not for the situation.
“What happened, Jyuu?” Kyouraku-san asks before Retsu can get a word in edgewise.
“I don't know,” the other man replies with words slurring together as he fights off the need to sleep. “I don't remember, Shun. Ask me tomorrow.”
Retsu winces. “Tomorrow will be too late. I need you to remember now. Can you do that?”
His eyes flutter but don’t open.
“Can you do that, Jyuushiro?” she repeats and sends out another pulse.
His eyes crack open, but his pupils are largely unfocused. Not for the first time does Retsu lament that such a powerful drug was ever invented. Sure, it has proven quite useful to her a number of times. Particularly on the eleventh division. But to see it used in such a manner…
Ukitake-san makes a face, like a child denied a treat. “I can try,” he allows grudgingly, and his brow furrows, tongue emerging to slide briefly across his lips. “I was at Abarai-kun's celebration. I’m very proud of him. He deserves this, you know. He really does. Such a nice boy. I remember--”
“What time did you leave?” Retsu prompts to get him back on track. “Who did you leave with?”
“I was alone... wasn't I?” he asks. Then his face contorts again, as though the strain of trying to remember is too much for him. “I left early. I was tired. I’m tired now. So sleepy.”
Was he tired because of an actual fatigue or because of something else?
Retsu wishes she knew. But it will take more blood work than what she can do here. She needs to get him to the fourth. At least, they can use the rumor that he had another fit related to his illness and be able to keep this quiet.
Retsu turns toward Kyouraku-san. “You were there, weren't you?”
“Yes.” He sighs heavily, and guilt washes over his features. “But I was drinking with the usual crew. I knew Jyuu had left early, but I didn't see him go with anyone. He seemed fine.” He pauses, hands sliding down his thighs as though trying to wipe his sweaty palms. “I should’ve paid closer attention.”
“This is not your fault,” Retsu insists, fixing him an unwavering stare. “If anything, it’s mine for not solving this sooner.”
He tilts his head to the side, too intelligent to miss her meaning. “There were others?”
“Four that we know of,” Retsu admits with a slump of her shoulders. “All with similar if not exact circumstances.”
Her hand goes from Ukitake-san's cheek to his hair. There, her fingers thread through the long, pale strands until they wander upon a portion that’s noticeably shorter than the rest. If he wears his hair down as usual and brushes it just so, it is likely very few will notice. But Retsu knows, and so does Kyouraku-san. And they will not forget.
Something within her trembles with a righteous fury and an indignant resolution.
“That's what you were warning of in the meeting then,” Kyouraku-san inserts with sudden understanding. “I can see why you were so circumspect. Though I don't think there’s anything you could’ve said to prevent this. Even after Aizen's betrayal, we’re still too trusting.”
“Trust is not such a bad thing,” Retsu returns softly.
She hates that it has come to this once again. That they should all watch each other with wary eyes, waiting for the knife in the back. What Aizen's deeds have shaken, this new crime is threatening to destroy all over again.
The brunet inclines his head. “No, it isn't. But it can be used to their advantage.” He bites his lip until it nearly bleeds. “If only I'd come back sooner...”
She reaches for him. “There's a lot of room for blame, Shunsui. But I think he’d be better helped worrying about what to do from now on, don't you?”
“You're right. Of course,” Kyouraku-san admits, and his eyes fall fondly back to his best friend, who’s slipped into sleep during their conversation. “What now?”
Retsu rises to her feet, brushing down the wrinkles in her haori. “For now, I'll ask that you help me take him to the fourth where I can run some more tests. But first, I'd like to have a look at his room. Perhaps there are some clues that will lead me to the criminal. I suspect that your arrival interrupted them.”
“You know where it is.” Kyouraku-san stands as well, looking all the more relieved for having something to do rather than sitting in anxious worry. “Thank you, Retsu.”
She squeezes his arm, hoping to provide even the smallest measure of comfort. He needs it now more than ever.
o0o0o
Ukitake-san's room is exceptionally neat, as always. The fragrance of tea is a lingering scent, but there is something underlying it as well, a musky odor that hints of sex. An odor that no doubt would’ve dissipated by the morning.
Retsu frowns, her jaw setting with revulsion. She hadn't needed the olfactory confirmation, but it’s there nonetheless.
Ukitake-san's bedcovers are disturbed, likely because Kyouraku-san had thrown them aside and paid little attention to where they fell afterward. His clothes, haori and all, are neatly folded on an end table. A careful stack that implies concern and tidiness. Something else to mark on a mental list of details that match the previous crimes.
This is her closest chance to find a real clue, and Retsu will be damned if she lets it slip past. She can't – and won't – allow another victim. Even if she has to swear off sleep until she finds the perpetrator.
She approaches the futon first, after thoroughly scanning the floor to make sure she won't step over any important piece of evidence. Retsu searches through the blanket and sheets, hoping to find a scrap of fabric or a single hair or something that might prove helpful. But either they somehow found time to clean the bedcovers or they had wisely removed the sheets beforehand.
Ukitake-san's clothes are much the same. The only hairs she finds belong to him. There is nothing absolutely unique about how they are folded either. Retsu doesn't have any other references to compare them to because she never had a chance to examine the clothes of the other victims.
She still can't decide if this action is intentional. Or if they don't even realize they are doing it and leaving behind an important clue to link all of the assaults together. Retsu knows that the criminal is smart, smart enough to get rid of all physical evidence, so it's hard to say why they’d choose to leave such an obvious link.
Then again, if they didn't want their victims to know what had happened, why let them wake nude? Why let them wake in unfamiliar places? Why leave them in such a way that they will always be marked by a nauseating dread of the unknown?
Retsu sighs and rises to her feet. She looks around the room once more. There doesn't seem to be anything here either. Not a single shred of evidence.
“Retsu?” Kyouraku-san fills the open doorway as he glances in on her.
“Is he ready to go?” she questions as she turns to him.
“He's still not really conscious, so I'll carry him,” Kyouraku-san replies, and he looks hopeful. “Any luck?”
“Not a damn thing,” Retsu says and knows that her curse is out of character, but she honestly can't imagine a better suited response. “It's like this is a ghost.”
The unintended pun is almost enough to curve Kyouraku-san's lips, but it fails halfway there.
“No way to track this at all?”
“They hid their reiatsu too well,” Retsu is forced to admit. “This is so frustrating. You’ve no idea how much energy I've put into finding them. How many hours I've spent staring at the facts, what little of them there are.”
“I have some clue,” Kyouraku-san says very quietly. “You look more exhausted now than you did cleaning up after Aizen's last attack.”
Another loathsome memory that Retsu would rather bury. Even if she must admit that Kyouraku-san is right.
She inclines her head. “At least then, I had an enemy I could see. A face that I could direct my anger.” Retsu bites back another sigh. “I'll be there in a moment, Kyouraku-san. I just want to check the window.”
“That'll give Jyuushiro a bit longer to sleep then.” The man nods. “We'll be waiting in my room.”
He turns away, padding down the hallway, and Retsu shifts toward the window. She pushes open the shutters and peers into a dull morning. The sun hasn’t yet begun to peek over the horizon, but the sky is lightening. It's approaching dawn on what should’ve been a beautiful day.
Shaking her head, Retsu peers down at the garden bed. But as she suspected, there are no footprints to be found. Not even in soil softened by the rain. Retsu draws back, closes the shutters, and tries to quell rising sensation of disappointment. She can't help feeling as if she has failed, and the weight of it settles on her shoulders.
She heads to the doorway, conceding defeat, when a desperate and hopeful thought floats to the forefront of her mind.
Kyouraku-san heard movement. Which meant that he had interrupted them. There is still a chance that something was forgotten. Kyouraku-san hadn't been able to sense their reiatsu, but maybe… maybe something was left behind. Maybe they weren’t able to be as thorough as in all their other victims.
Closing her eyes, Retsu concentrates, blanketing the room in a soft layer of her reiatsu, trying to trace the presence of others in immobile objects. Obviously, Ukitake-san's energy pulses from nearly every item in the room. It's a soft, subtle hum in the walls, floors, and bedding from centuries spent sleeping in the same room.
There's something else. A tiny speck of off-rhythm pulsing that's out of sync with Ukitake-san's reiatsu. An object that belongs to someone else and has since soaked up their energy.
Retsu's eyes pop open. She lets her senses guide her to the dresser and the gap beneath it, where there is an inch of space between the floor and the furniture. She kneels, sliding a hand under, until it brushes across an item that sits against the wall. Likely kicked there by accident. By someone not paying attention to their feet in their hurry to leave.
It's smooth, smaller than a marble, and when Retsu pulls it out, her eyes widen to ridiculous levels. Her heart stops for a beat, as though it’s forgotten how.
It's a small golden bead.
Retsu's fingers curl around it. The bead is oh-so-familiar to her, and she lets her eyes close for just a moment. Maybe there’s a rational explanation. Maybe she shouldn't jump to conclusions.
Maybe she's wrong.
By all the gods, Retsu dearly hopes she is.
Retsu tucks the bead into her pocket and staggers to her feet, trying to breathe normally. For now, she'll get Ukitake-san to the fourth and finish treating him. For now, she'll focus on Ukitake-san and ignore the infinitesimal weight of the bead in her pocket. For now, she’ll pray that she is wrong.
*****
a/n: A clue, a clue! But still not all of the puzzle. Theories are always welcome! Next part, we have confrontation Also, your feedback is most welcome and appreciated. I hope you enjoyed!
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)
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Buyer's Remorse
Part Six
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Buyer's Remorse
Part Six
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It's late. Or far too early depending on how one looks at it. Most of Retsu's division has gone home for the night, but she remains, poring over and over pages of notes and interviews and materials, looking for the one clue she may have missed. The one vitally important piece of information that will tie everything together and set her on a path of justice.
But no matter how much she looks at the same words, they never change. And now, her vision is swimming. It turns the carefully inked characters a dark blur.
Retsu sighs and puts down the most recent document, one which gives Kuchiki Rukia's account of her assault, and rubs her aching temple with her fingers. She can't help feeling personally responsible. Retsu knows she should’ve solved things by now. Four assaults and she doesn't have a shred of evidence linking any one person to the crimes.
Four.
The number rings in the back of her head, reminding Retsu of her failures. Four of them. Kuchiki-taichou nearly died.
Her free hand curls around her teacup, significantly cooled after being all but forgotten in favor of deeper studying, and Retsu lifts it to her lips. She sips at the fragrant tea and knows she has to leave the office soon. Sleep can only help her at this point, though she can't help feeling it's time wasted. Time she could be spending tracking down the perpetrator and putting an end to this pattern of violence.
Lowering the cup and her hand, Retsu resolves to leave her office for the day. If only because she's getting no further work done by sitting here and staring dully at her own increasingly incomprehensible notes.
She rises from her desk with a creak of limbs that she promptly ignores. Retsu is not and will never be old, but sometimes, the years try to pretend that she is.
She reaches for her haori, abandoned in the wake of a sticky, spring night. She pulls it over her shoulders with slow movements that belie just how exhausted she truly feels. Yet, just as she’s heading for the door and reaching to cut out the light, a jigokuchou floats in through her open window.
As black wings flutter madly toward her in a burst of quiet reiatsu, Retsu's heart sinks into her belly. She turns, lifts her hand, and allows the jigokuchou to rest on her finger. Its message immediately spills to her in a flood of emotions and words. Worry is most prevalent. As is a need for haste. And it jumbles together in a fine mess of panic.
There is enough, however, for Retsu to understand. Ukitake-taichou is in need of her assistance, per Kyouraku-san's desperate request, and it's not something that can wait until the morning. Retsu dearly hopes he hasn’t had another episode; the last one was only a few weeks ago and he deserves much more rest than this.
She inclines her head, whispering a soft reply to the jigokuchou, and watches as it alights from her finger to carry the message back. Even though Retsu takes a moment to gather supplies, things needed in the best and the worst case scenarios for Ukitake-san, she’ll still beat it there.
Once she’s convinced she is prepared, she leaves from her office in a flit of shunpo, her feet taking her on an all-too-familiar path. Sometimes, Retsu swears she can better find Ukitake-san's home than her own.
Kyouraku-san greets her by the door like a worried sailor’s wife whose husband has been too long out at sea. His eyes are both wide and dark, concern pouring through his voice, and his is reiatsu a disturbed jitter.
“There's something wrong with Jyuushiro.”
“So I gathered,” she says and tries for a reassuring smile, a touch of humor that this situation usually warrants. Anything to ease the tension.
However, it falls flat when Kyouraku-san's mouth doesn't even twitch toward amusement, and Retsu belatedly realizes that perhaps she’s mistaken. That maybe this has nothing to do with Ukitake-san's illness. She can count on her fingers the number of times she has heard Kyouraku-san refer to his best friend by his only given name, and each and every one of those situations had been desperate indeed. The last was the same night that Shiba Kaien died, and that memory sends a stab of dread straight to her spine.
Retsu pinches her lips together, berates herself for sounding so callous, and tightens her hold on her medical bag. “What's wrong? Has he stopped breathing?”
The other captain, usually so well put together and composed but now looking ragged in a hastily thrown on robe over his sleeping clothes, shakes his head. He chuckles, but it’s a bitter sound and not at all amusement.
“How terrible is it of me that I wish that were the case? That, at least, I know how to fix.”
But his voice is thick with bitterness and something altogether like frozen fury. It draws her up short, but before she can reply the low sound of coughing floats to Retsu's ears. Ukitake-san undoubtedly. But it sounds no harsher or wetter than usual. Nothing that would cause this much concern in his closest and dearest companion.
“What is it then?” she questions, surprised when Kyouraku-san leads her to his permanent room here as opposed to Ukitake-san's own.
Here, he stops outside the door, angling his body to face hers. His expression pulls into an unusual seriousness. One that barely masks his anger.
“I came back from the celebration – you know, in honor of Abarai-kun's promotion to captain? And I heard odd noises coming from Jyuu-chan's room. I went to check on him.”
Retsu begins to feel a low curl of alarm in her chest; she suspects that this has nothing to do with Ukitake-san's illness at all. But the alternative is even worse.
“And?” she prompts but fears she can already guess where this is headed.
“He was naked, Retsu,” he states, eyes boring into hers. “Jyuu-chan never sleeps naked, even in the summer. He gets cold too easily.” His hands curl into fists. “And at first, he wouldn't even wake up. He kept trying to fall back asleep. Almost like he was on one of those medicines you give him sometimes.”
“Perhaps he had a friend over?” Retsu suggests, hoping that her optimism is warranted. She would hate to jump to conclusions. Even if it seems they are leaping in front of her face with arms waving wildly for attention.
Kyouraku-san's lips curl into the faintest edge of a smile. “Believe me, Retsu, you’ve no idea how much I wish that were the case.” He inhales deeply and rakes a hand over his hair, fingers tangling in disordered curls. “But you know how he is, and he's not dating anyone right now. Hasn’t for a long, long time.”
“What about reiatsu? Did you sense anyone?” Retsu asks, suddenly desperate for details, for anything that provides the link and the answer she needs.
“No.” There's a touch of disgust to Kyouraku-san's tone, disgust with himself mostly. “They were very good at masking themselves. If not for the noises, I wouldn’t even have known. He or she was gone by the time I got to the room. Probably out the window.”
Out the window. Perhaps there are footprints in the rain-soaked soil of the garden outside Ukitake-san's bedroom, but Retsu doubts it. Any Shinigami would’ve used a flit of shunpo and avoided touching the ground. This criminal is too smart to leave such an obvious clue behind. Still, Retsu will look; it can’t hurt. Not at this point.
Chills wash over Retsu's body with that thought. Her fingers tighten around the straps of her medical bag, but she stamps down everything but her professional objectiveness. These are her friends and have been for millennia. But she needs to focus, to keep a level head.
“Is he awake now?” Retsu steels her shoulders to the weight of a crime unsolved, a crime that had now claimed another victim.
“He fades in and out.” Kyouraku-san’s eyes get a distant look as he gazes in the direction of his room. “I redressed him; he was starting to get cold. I...” He shakes his head, lips firming. “He has bruises, Retsu. Small things, something that would’ve healed by dawn. Light scores on his belly and a couple random, smaller bruises on his thighs and arms.”
Her stomach churns. Ukitake-san's skin does tend to show marks easier. Much like that of Kuchiki Rukia.
“But that's not the worst of it.”
Retsu's eyes jerk up. There couldn't possibly be worse, could there.
“Was something missing?”
It’s barely a whisper. Like she doesn’t dare be louder.
“You could say that,” Kyouraku-san admits, face hardening as he lifted his hand, gesturing to his own head. “They cut his hair, Retsu. Not a lot of it. But enough… enough for a souvenir.”
Like Hisagi-san's picture then. Only a lot more personal this time. Retsu feels the disgust within her mix with something else, something a lot like wrath this time. How dare they? Bad enough that they rob Ukitake-san of his memories and touch him without consent. But to be so bold as to take a trophy from the man. That, along with everything else, cannot be forgiven.
Retsu's lips firm. “That is unforgivable,” she says emphatically and knows that Kyouraku-san agrees completely.
Hair will regrow, yes. But the fact that it was done is what matters here.
Bruises will heal. Hair will grow. But the memories will never return. None of the victims have been physically harmed – Retsu remains convinced that Kuchiki-taichou's reaction is an unintentional accident. But the perpetrator obviously thought nothing of the mental scarring.
“Why do you think I moved him from his room?” Kyouraku-san comments with a shake of his head. “I didn't want him to have to stay in his bed. Not if… Not if it really happened how I think it did.”
“I understand.” Her hand finds his arm and squeezes. “Shall I take a look at him?”
Kyouraku-san gestures her ahead of him. “Please,” he replies and opens the door for her as another low cough spills into the tense silence.
She enters ahead of him and takes only a brief moment to notice how the décor matches Kyouraku-san very well. While she has on numerous occasions been called over, she's never had reason to visit Kyouraku-san's bedroom here.
Ukitake-san is on the futon, dressed in one of his pale sleep robes and under a blanket. His eyes are closed, but as she approaches, they open very slowly as though it’s a great struggle.
“Ukitake-san?” Retsu calls as she drops to kneel at his bedside.
He's faintly feverish, but that could be more a result of his illness than the circumstances. His eyes are bleary and unfocused, but if he's been drugged like all the others, then he hasn't had as much time to sleep it off. She doesn’t know if that’s better or worse in this case. Perhaps even a bit of both.
“Retsu-chan,” he sighs in greeting, voice thick with sleep. “I told Shun he could wait until morning.” His eyes slip closed again, but his breathing doesn't even out. Maybe keeping them open requires too much energy.
Behind her, the other man snorts. “Like hell, Jyuu. I told you Retsu would understand. This is serious.”
Ukitake-san's face contorts with a mixture of shame and humiliation, though he keeps his eyes closed. “I’m unharmed, Shun. It's just my pride that has taken a beating.”
“I'm not talking about your physical state, you noble idiot,” Kyouraku-san berates gently, but worry thickens his tone. Make his hands shake just a little as he kneels on his friend’s other side.
A soft cough is the answer Ukitake-san gives as Kyouraku-san inches past Retsu to drape another blanket over his best friend. He still leans into the brunet’s touch though, but it may be unconscious. She can’t be sure either way.
“He’s right, Ukitake-san,” Retsu inserts, her insides a twisted knot of complicated emotions that she knows she won't be able to unwind anytime soon. “You've been drugged, and that's no mere matter.”
“Drugged?” Kyouraku-san repeats, and if the other man heard her, he gives no sign of it. Or maybe he's leaving the surprise to his friend, preferring to save his energy for something else.
Retsu nods, turning toward her bag and drawing forth a small kit she crafted a couple weeks ago. Retsu is no inventor or scientist like Urahara-san or even Kurotsuchi, but she can do well on certain things. And this situation warranted a privacy that meant she couldn't go to either for help.
“I believe so.” She tenderly extracts one of Ukitake-san's arms from his silk cocoon. “Though this will confirm my suspicions. Tell me, Kyouraku-san, did he seem unusually clean when you found him?”
The brunet clears his throat. “If you mean aside from the almost anal-like cleanliness that Jyuu-chan usually insists upon, then yes. He doesn't normally bathe before bed. It takes too long to dry his hair.”
“And his clothes. Were they neatly folded?” She gently pricks Ukitake-san's forefinger, drawing free several drops of blood, which she then guides onto the small strip of absorbent paper of her own design.
There's a moment of quiet before Kyouraku-san shifts closer, eyes watching her. “Retsu, why am I getting the feeling that this situation isn’t entirely unfamiliar to you? Does this have to do with what you said at the meeting last month?”
Her hands carefully guide the bloodied strip into another small vial, this one containing a colorless liquid. As the paper sinks into the chemical and a bright orange blossoms into being, Retsu's heart sinks lower. All the way to her ankles and through to the floor.
“A little too familiar, Kyouraku-san,” she answers as she swallows by the bile in her mouth and shows him the results of her test. “I can confirm this better at the fourth, but it’s around ninety percent accurate. Ukitake-san has definitely been drugged. I'm afraid that come tomorrow, he probably won't even remember this conversation or my presence here tonight.”
Kyouraku-san exhales in a bluster. “Someone drugged him,” he repeats, voice flat, though the rage coiling in his reiatsu is a testament to his true reaction. “How? How did this happen?”
“That is what I’d like to know.”
Retsu leans toward Ukitake-san again, one hand cupping his cheek. She uses a soft pulse of power, warm and soothing. Hoping that might chase away the effects of the drug, even if only temporarily.
“Ukitake-san?” she calls. “Are you awake?”
He stirs. “If you want me to be,” he mutters drowsily, eyes still closed. It would be cute, if not for the situation.
“What happened, Jyuu?” Kyouraku-san asks before Retsu can get a word in edgewise.
“I don't know,” the other man replies with words slurring together as he fights off the need to sleep. “I don't remember, Shun. Ask me tomorrow.”
Retsu winces. “Tomorrow will be too late. I need you to remember now. Can you do that?”
His eyes flutter but don’t open.
“Can you do that, Jyuushiro?” she repeats and sends out another pulse.
His eyes crack open, but his pupils are largely unfocused. Not for the first time does Retsu lament that such a powerful drug was ever invented. Sure, it has proven quite useful to her a number of times. Particularly on the eleventh division. But to see it used in such a manner…
Ukitake-san makes a face, like a child denied a treat. “I can try,” he allows grudgingly, and his brow furrows, tongue emerging to slide briefly across his lips. “I was at Abarai-kun's celebration. I’m very proud of him. He deserves this, you know. He really does. Such a nice boy. I remember--”
“What time did you leave?” Retsu prompts to get him back on track. “Who did you leave with?”
“I was alone... wasn't I?” he asks. Then his face contorts again, as though the strain of trying to remember is too much for him. “I left early. I was tired. I’m tired now. So sleepy.”
Was he tired because of an actual fatigue or because of something else?
Retsu wishes she knew. But it will take more blood work than what she can do here. She needs to get him to the fourth. At least, they can use the rumor that he had another fit related to his illness and be able to keep this quiet.
Retsu turns toward Kyouraku-san. “You were there, weren't you?”
“Yes.” He sighs heavily, and guilt washes over his features. “But I was drinking with the usual crew. I knew Jyuu had left early, but I didn't see him go with anyone. He seemed fine.” He pauses, hands sliding down his thighs as though trying to wipe his sweaty palms. “I should’ve paid closer attention.”
“This is not your fault,” Retsu insists, fixing him an unwavering stare. “If anything, it’s mine for not solving this sooner.”
He tilts his head to the side, too intelligent to miss her meaning. “There were others?”
“Four that we know of,” Retsu admits with a slump of her shoulders. “All with similar if not exact circumstances.”
Her hand goes from Ukitake-san's cheek to his hair. There, her fingers thread through the long, pale strands until they wander upon a portion that’s noticeably shorter than the rest. If he wears his hair down as usual and brushes it just so, it is likely very few will notice. But Retsu knows, and so does Kyouraku-san. And they will not forget.
Something within her trembles with a righteous fury and an indignant resolution.
“That's what you were warning of in the meeting then,” Kyouraku-san inserts with sudden understanding. “I can see why you were so circumspect. Though I don't think there’s anything you could’ve said to prevent this. Even after Aizen's betrayal, we’re still too trusting.”
“Trust is not such a bad thing,” Retsu returns softly.
She hates that it has come to this once again. That they should all watch each other with wary eyes, waiting for the knife in the back. What Aizen's deeds have shaken, this new crime is threatening to destroy all over again.
The brunet inclines his head. “No, it isn't. But it can be used to their advantage.” He bites his lip until it nearly bleeds. “If only I'd come back sooner...”
She reaches for him. “There's a lot of room for blame, Shunsui. But I think he’d be better helped worrying about what to do from now on, don't you?”
“You're right. Of course,” Kyouraku-san admits, and his eyes fall fondly back to his best friend, who’s slipped into sleep during their conversation. “What now?”
Retsu rises to her feet, brushing down the wrinkles in her haori. “For now, I'll ask that you help me take him to the fourth where I can run some more tests. But first, I'd like to have a look at his room. Perhaps there are some clues that will lead me to the criminal. I suspect that your arrival interrupted them.”
“You know where it is.” Kyouraku-san stands as well, looking all the more relieved for having something to do rather than sitting in anxious worry. “Thank you, Retsu.”
She squeezes his arm, hoping to provide even the smallest measure of comfort. He needs it now more than ever.
Ukitake-san's room is exceptionally neat, as always. The fragrance of tea is a lingering scent, but there is something underlying it as well, a musky odor that hints of sex. An odor that no doubt would’ve dissipated by the morning.
Retsu frowns, her jaw setting with revulsion. She hadn't needed the olfactory confirmation, but it’s there nonetheless.
Ukitake-san's bedcovers are disturbed, likely because Kyouraku-san had thrown them aside and paid little attention to where they fell afterward. His clothes, haori and all, are neatly folded on an end table. A careful stack that implies concern and tidiness. Something else to mark on a mental list of details that match the previous crimes.
This is her closest chance to find a real clue, and Retsu will be damned if she lets it slip past. She can't – and won't – allow another victim. Even if she has to swear off sleep until she finds the perpetrator.
She approaches the futon first, after thoroughly scanning the floor to make sure she won't step over any important piece of evidence. Retsu searches through the blanket and sheets, hoping to find a scrap of fabric or a single hair or something that might prove helpful. But either they somehow found time to clean the bedcovers or they had wisely removed the sheets beforehand.
Ukitake-san's clothes are much the same. The only hairs she finds belong to him. There is nothing absolutely unique about how they are folded either. Retsu doesn't have any other references to compare them to because she never had a chance to examine the clothes of the other victims.
She still can't decide if this action is intentional. Or if they don't even realize they are doing it and leaving behind an important clue to link all of the assaults together. Retsu knows that the criminal is smart, smart enough to get rid of all physical evidence, so it's hard to say why they’d choose to leave such an obvious link.
Then again, if they didn't want their victims to know what had happened, why let them wake nude? Why let them wake in unfamiliar places? Why leave them in such a way that they will always be marked by a nauseating dread of the unknown?
Retsu sighs and rises to her feet. She looks around the room once more. There doesn't seem to be anything here either. Not a single shred of evidence.
“Retsu?” Kyouraku-san fills the open doorway as he glances in on her.
“Is he ready to go?” she questions as she turns to him.
“He's still not really conscious, so I'll carry him,” Kyouraku-san replies, and he looks hopeful. “Any luck?”
“Not a damn thing,” Retsu says and knows that her curse is out of character, but she honestly can't imagine a better suited response. “It's like this is a ghost.”
The unintended pun is almost enough to curve Kyouraku-san's lips, but it fails halfway there.
“No way to track this at all?”
“They hid their reiatsu too well,” Retsu is forced to admit. “This is so frustrating. You’ve no idea how much energy I've put into finding them. How many hours I've spent staring at the facts, what little of them there are.”
“I have some clue,” Kyouraku-san says very quietly. “You look more exhausted now than you did cleaning up after Aizen's last attack.”
Another loathsome memory that Retsu would rather bury. Even if she must admit that Kyouraku-san is right.
She inclines her head. “At least then, I had an enemy I could see. A face that I could direct my anger.” Retsu bites back another sigh. “I'll be there in a moment, Kyouraku-san. I just want to check the window.”
“That'll give Jyuushiro a bit longer to sleep then.” The man nods. “We'll be waiting in my room.”
He turns away, padding down the hallway, and Retsu shifts toward the window. She pushes open the shutters and peers into a dull morning. The sun hasn’t yet begun to peek over the horizon, but the sky is lightening. It's approaching dawn on what should’ve been a beautiful day.
Shaking her head, Retsu peers down at the garden bed. But as she suspected, there are no footprints to be found. Not even in soil softened by the rain. Retsu draws back, closes the shutters, and tries to quell rising sensation of disappointment. She can't help feeling as if she has failed, and the weight of it settles on her shoulders.
She heads to the doorway, conceding defeat, when a desperate and hopeful thought floats to the forefront of her mind.
Kyouraku-san heard movement. Which meant that he had interrupted them. There is still a chance that something was forgotten. Kyouraku-san hadn't been able to sense their reiatsu, but maybe… maybe something was left behind. Maybe they weren’t able to be as thorough as in all their other victims.
Closing her eyes, Retsu concentrates, blanketing the room in a soft layer of her reiatsu, trying to trace the presence of others in immobile objects. Obviously, Ukitake-san's energy pulses from nearly every item in the room. It's a soft, subtle hum in the walls, floors, and bedding from centuries spent sleeping in the same room.
There's something else. A tiny speck of off-rhythm pulsing that's out of sync with Ukitake-san's reiatsu. An object that belongs to someone else and has since soaked up their energy.
Retsu's eyes pop open. She lets her senses guide her to the dresser and the gap beneath it, where there is an inch of space between the floor and the furniture. She kneels, sliding a hand under, until it brushes across an item that sits against the wall. Likely kicked there by accident. By someone not paying attention to their feet in their hurry to leave.
It's smooth, smaller than a marble, and when Retsu pulls it out, her eyes widen to ridiculous levels. Her heart stops for a beat, as though it’s forgotten how.
It's a small golden bead.
Retsu's fingers curl around it. The bead is oh-so-familiar to her, and she lets her eyes close for just a moment. Maybe there’s a rational explanation. Maybe she shouldn't jump to conclusions.
Maybe she's wrong.
By all the gods, Retsu dearly hopes she is.
Retsu tucks the bead into her pocket and staggers to her feet, trying to breathe normally. For now, she'll get Ukitake-san to the fourth and finish treating him. For now, she'll focus on Ukitake-san and ignore the infinitesimal weight of the bead in her pocket. For now, she’ll pray that she is wrong.
a/n: A clue, a clue! But still not all of the puzzle. Theories are always welcome! Next part, we have confrontation Also, your feedback is most welcome and appreciated. I hope you enjoyed!
