Chapter Text
Urahara paced, cane tapping lightly on the floor. From beyond the entrance into the eighth level of the Central Underground prison, he heard singing. Ah. Isshin had succeeded, then.
Kurosaki Isshin, semi-exiled shinigami and formerly a captain of the Gotei Thirteen, and Kyōraku Shunsui, Captain-Commander of that military body, swayed arm-in-arm along the pathway, off-key humming echoing in the narrow hall.
Kyōraku was drunk. Good.
“Yare yare, first Isshin and now you, Kisuke,” Kyōraku drawled when they reached him. “All sorts of old friends have turned up for the wedding.” He leaned more heavily on Isshin. “What are we doing all the way down here? The ceremony’s tomorrow and I have a – hic – present to give little Kuchiki.”
Isshin swayed into his old colleague. “Visiting another old friend!” he proclaimed and belched loudly. “Before my precious third daughter gets married, we want to say hello!” When Kyoraku’s hat dipped to hide his eyes, Isshin gave Kisuke a nod.
“Old friend, eh? Only one down here’s Aizen,” Kyoraku said, a touch of suspicion in his drawling speech. “Did you come to rub it in his face?”
“Something like that,” Urahara said lightly.
The door opened, and the trio of men stepped inside.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Aizen drawled. In the darkness he looked at them with his one uncovered eye, seals chaining him to the tall wooden chair in which he sat. “Urahara Kisuke, Captain-Commander, and… Shiba Isshin? What a trio.”
“Can’t we stop by to see an old friend?” Urahara asked, eyes shadowed by his striped hat.
“Ah, but one does not simply walk into Muken, Kisuke,” Aizen corrected. “The last time anyone came to visit, you needed my help to win a war with the Quincy.”
“We need you to stop a wedding,” Isshin said, no longer sounding drunk at all.
“A wedding?” Aizen smirked.
“They’re making a big mistake,” the former captain added.
“Huge,” Urahara put in. “It will ruin everything!”
Kyōraku blinked and swayed on his feet. “Ma, ma. You came down here to whine about the wedding?”
“Shiba, the wedding between your son and the Kuchiki girl is an inevitability.” Aizen chuckled, shrugging despite the seals piercing and binding him to the chair. “I would send them a gift, but my shopping choices are limited here in Muken.”
“You don’t understand. Kuchiki Rukia isn’t marrying Kurosaki,” Urahara corrected him.
Aizen blinked. “She isn’t?”
“She’s marrying Abarai Renji.” Isshin’s lip curled with barely veiled contempt as he spoke.
Silence reigned in Muken for several minutes as three former captains of the Gotei – and one very drunk Captain-Commander – stared at one another.
The chair creaked. “Get me out of this chair,” Aizen ordered. “I need thirty mod souls, a garganta into Hueco Mundo ready in the next five hours, and a detailed itinerary of the wedding day. Have they already been to the records office?”
“Their visit has been unavoidably delayed,” Urahara said. “Due to a flooding issue.”
“…You’re not seriously proposing I free a traitor to Soul Society in order to stop a – hic – wedding,” Kyōraku drawled.
“We’ve already tried everything else. I won’t have my third daughter marrying that overgrown radish!”
Kyōraku sighed. “I need more sake.”
The next morning…
“Oh, Kuchiki-san, you look so beautiful!”
Rukia stood before a full-length mirror that had been brought into her bedroom in the Kuchiki manor for the occasion. Tall geta gave her more height than usual, elongating her frame as she looked at herself in the reflective glass. White silk swathed her in layers from neck to toe. The white kimono was a gift from her brother; in fact, he’d picked out the entire ensemble she now wore, save for the veil that covered her short, black hair. Inoue Orihime had showed up with it an hour ago, beaming with pride at how each of Rukia’s friends had embroidered strawberry flowers on the gauzy white silk.
Strawberry flowers were Orihime’s favorites.
“Thank you,” she said solemnly. She barely recognized the tired woman in the mirror, silken-haired but with dark smudges beneath her eyes and lines of tension around her mouth.
“Perhaps a little more concealer,” one of her maids whispered to the other. The veil lifted from Rukia’s face, and she stood silently as the pale, sticky makeup was dotted and patted beneath her eyes. “And some lipstick, it will bring some color to your face.” Waxy red lip color was swiped over her lips and blotted.
“Is Kuchiki-san ready? Kuchiki-sama is waiting to escort her to the shrine,” a third maid called from the doorway. Clad in Sakura-patterned kimono, all three had been assigned to her for the day. They were to help her dress and see to her every need.
Between them and the terribly high zori, Rukia was pretty sure they were actually meant to keep her from running away. Not that they could have caught up to her in shunpo, if she’d been willing to leave her zanpakutō – taken away, allegedly for a blessing ahead of the ceremony – behind.
“Come along, Kuchiki-san,” the tall, dark-haired maid who’d done her makeup said as she lowered the veil back into place. “It’s nearly time for the ceremony, how exciting!”
She allowed herself to be guided to the engawa, where Byakuya was waiting in his own finery, dark patterned hakama and kimono with a thick silk haori on top. He carried a walking stick in one hand.
“Rukia,” he said quietly when she stood before him. “You look exceptional.” Byakuya gestured, a signal for her to walk beside him.
“Thank you,” she murmured. Rukia focused on keeping her back straight, on walking forward.
“You will sign the formal marriage registration papers in the morning,” Byakuya explained as they covered the distance to the front gates of the manor. “It is most unfortunate that the registration office was flooded yesterday.”
“Yes,” she agreed tonelessly. Rukia took in a slow, silent breath and reminded herself that she had agreed to this. Renji had asked for her hand in marriage, anxious and stumbling over his words, and she had agreed to bind herself to him. Byakuya had made all of the arrangements for this day, selecting the shrine, her shiromuku, and even providing garments for the groom.
Rukia-chan, doesn’t Kurosaki-kun deserve a peaceful life now? I’m so glad Soul Society doesn’t need his help anymore. Now there’s nothing stopping him from confessing to me!
She had agreed.
I will find you in your happiest moment and kill you.
Kurosaki will not move on if you do not force him.
Even if it was under duress.
She remembered visiting Karakura with Renji at her side to share the news, remembered telling a shocked Orihime and a confused Chad. Chad had said little, but he hadn’t congratulated them, even when Orihime had gotten over her shock and cried with happiness. He’d only looked at her steadily, censure in his eyes. The gates opened before them, and Rukia took a slow breath.
The rest of the trip to the shrine passed in a blur, and then it was time. Byakuya cast a look down at her, but Rukia stared straight ahead, her veil giving the world around her a soft, blurred effect. She passed shinigami from the other divisions: Kiyone, blubbering into a handkerchief. Hanatarō, looking more puzzled than happy.
From her own division, Sentarō stood at Kiyone’s side looking stern and solemn. He didn’t smile as she passed. She stepped forward, and bright orange caught her eye.
Ichigo stood in an ill-fitting suit, camera in hand. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt, and she mustered a smile for him that she knew didn’t reach her eyes. Orihime was beside him, beaming despite her tears. Rukia looked away.
At the front of the shrine Renji stood in the finery Byakuya had purchased for him, hair combed loose and a striped bandana wrapped around his head, concealing his tattoos and receding hairline. He stared at her solemnly.
He looked ridiculous.
I want it to stop, she thought suddenly. I wish it would stop.
Rukia didn’t think that she’d get her wish – certainly not in the next instant – but the ground shook beneath her, and an explosion nearly rocked her off her feet. She would have fallen except for Byakuya’s hand beneath her arm. Shocked cries echoed through the air as the skies darkened with smoke and dark shapes flitted through the air.
“What is the meaning of this?” Byakuya demanded beside her.
A dark shape landed in front of her and Rukia jerked back reflexively, unbalanced on her too-tall shoes. Shock unsteadied her long enough for the creature to grab her and leap into the air. “Let go of me!” she demanded. “Hado numb—mph!” A hand slapped over her mouth.
“Rukia!” Ichigo’s voice echoed from below.
Rukia bit at the fleshy palm against her lips, and her captor swore with pain. “Time to sleep,” it – he? – hissed, and a strange, too-sweet scent filled her nose. The world went dark.
Down below, Ichigo screamed her name. Most of the shinigami present had left their zanpakutō in the barracks; around him he heard only a few blades unsheathing, heard voices shouting binding kido. At the front of the shrine Renji struggled in his heavy wedding finery, bound up in layers of silk.
He watched in horror as one of the creatures dropped down in front of Renji and took advantage of his discombobulation to stab him through the gut.
Above him, Rukia screamed, and the camera dropped from Ichigo’s hand, crashing to the ground and breaking open to expose the film inside. He needed to get out of this damned suit and get to Rukia! He didn’t even have Zangetsu, it was back at the Kuchiki manor, but Ichigo leapt into the air and chased after her anyway as chaos reigned on the ground below. He was still shit at kido but Ichigo called an incantation anyway, reiatsu spiraling out of control around him and paralyzing half of the black-clad men in the air around him. But not the one carrying Rukia – that one flickered into shunpo and disappeared as Ichigo screamed her name again.
He was racing to the manor before he’d even thought of moving, faster even than the so-called goddess of flash herself. Zangetsu called to him and Ichigo had his hand around the blades of his zanpakutō – still never sealed – in less than a minute.
(Byakuya would just have to send a bill for his broken roof.)
His suit ripped apart around him, revealing his shihakusho.
Get Shirayuki! Zangetsu ordered, and Ossan echoed his agreement. Ichigo swore under his breath. Where?
Shrine.
“Couldn’t have told me that before I ran in the opposite direction?” he grumbled. But zanpakutō in hand, Ichigo leapt back into the air above the Seireitei. The battle at the shrine – it was more of a rout – continued, shinigami forced to use only kido and shunko to try and detain their attackers. He dove back into the fray, blades swinging and blue power clearing away all in his path.
On the ground, Inoue was healing Renji. Byakuya was using kido after kido spell to keep the attackers at bay. They looked like the members of the damned stealth force, but they were attacking Soifon, too. Ichigo swore; he had to get Shirayuki and get to Rukia!
Where? he demanded again, and didn’t question why his zanpakutō knew where Rukia’s was.
Something pulled at him, and he swept a getsuga through the air, knocking back two of the black-clad men and landing in front of the shrine. Inoue had a healing shield around Renji, but not much seemed to be happening and there was a lot of blood pooling beneath Renji’s body. Renji’s zanpakutō and Rukia’s lay next to one another, and Ichigo grabbed for the one that called to him. A white ribbon wrapped around his wrist as he shoved the sheathed katana into his obi.
Soothing ice shot through his veins, and he thought he heard a murmured thank goodness.
“It’s a garganta!” Kisuke called as Ichigo raced back out of the shrine, ignoring Inoue’s tearful shout. “They must be taking her to Hueco Mundo.”
“But they aren’t hollows!” Yoruichi yelled as she shed her wedding finery and joined the fray.
“Kurosaki Ichigo!”
Ichigo stopped long enough to stare at Byakuya. “I’m going to save Rukia,” he growled, and raced for the garganta in the distance, putting on a burst of speed as he spotted the enemy carrying Rukia over one shoulder. She was so small, vulnerable in her white finery. Ichigo roared as he followed, but the garganta snapped shut in front of him and he flew through empty air, swearing a blue streak.
He was back at the shrine – and amidst the chaos – minutes later, and he’d barely sheathed his zanpakutō before he had his hands fisted in Urahara’s fancy haori. “Open a new garganta,” he demanded. “I need to get to Rukia.” Around him, weaker shinigami groaned beneath the pressure of his reiatsu, once again spiraling out of control.
Urahara pried Ichigo’s hands away from his haori. “I’ll do my best, Ichigo,” he promised. “But it’s going to take time.”
“We may not have time!” Ichigo shouted. “That bastard just snatched Rukia up and ran off! She’s unconscious, she doesn’t even have a weapon – who knows what they’re planning to do with her?”
“We caught one of them!” Ikkaku shouted triumphantly, and Ichigo spun away from Urahara as Ikkaku and Yumichika dragged one of their attackers forward. They dragged off the black mask on his face to reveal a young man with a totally nondescript appearance: brown hair, brown eyes, no unique features on his tan skin.
“Who the hell are you?” Ichigo demanded.
Byakuya’s hand on his arm stopped him from throwing a punch. “Where is my sister?” he demanded, leaning heavily on his walking stick.
“I serve only our lord,” the unmasked man recited.
“What do you want with Rukia?” Ichigo asked, nearly on top of Byakuya’s voice.
“She will be our lord’s bride.”
“Like hell,” Ichigo swore. “Where are your people taking her?”
Before the man could answer he exploded, throwing Ichigo and Byakuya back and knocking over half a dozen of the other wedding guests.
Ichigo swore again as he scrambled to his feet. “Urahara, I need that damned garganta!” he roared. He couldn’t let this lord make Rukia his bride, he had to get to her and save her, he had to…!
Even if she’ll be Renji’s bride instead? a voice asked. He wasn’t sure if it was Zangetsu, the old man, or just his conscience.
“We need to get to the Twelfth Division,” Urahara said solemnly. “Kurotsuchi has the equipment to create a garganta.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
Rukia swam back into consciousness gradually. She’d had the most awful dream that it was her wedding day.
Her eyes snapped open. Gray walls surrounded her; high-ceilinged but empty except for the thin futon on which she lay. She was still wearing the white shiromuku, though her geta were gone. It hadn’t been a dream. She got to her feet slowly, too-long kimono pooling on the floor around her.
“Ah, you’re awake,” a soft voice said.
Rukia spun in place. “Where am I? Why have I been brought here? And who are you?” she asked.
“All excellent questions,” the arrancar in front of her said. She was pretty, as far as arrancar went; not quite as petite as Rukia but close to, with close-cropped deep purple hair and gray eyes. The remains of her mask spilled around her throat like a choker. She wore close-fitting leggings in white and – of all things – a surprisingly cute lavender wrap dress. “You’re in Las Noches, as a guest of the lord.”
“The lord? You don’t mean Tier Hallibel or Nel,” Rukia guessed. “They would have gone through official channels if they wanted to see someone.”
“No,” the espada agreed. “They are not our lord. Though I am sure Nelliel would love to see you, Kuchiki-san. I am Sefirina, espada number seventy.”
Seventy. She’d killed the ninth espada; she could take on the seventieth. Rukia raised her hands.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Sefirina said calmly. “There is a reiatsu seal on you and I’m told it’s quite strong.”
Rukia looked down at her wrists; sure enough, one was covered entirely by a band of white metal.
“I’ll bring you something to eat,” Sefirina offered. She stood gracefully and swept toward one side of the room. “Try to get some rest, Kuchiki-san. It will be a few hours, yet.”
“Wait, but why am I here?” Rukia demanded.
“You’re going to be the lord’s new bride,” the other woman said, and slipped through a door that opened before her and slid shut, leaving not even a seam for Rukia to pry at.
“When I said I wanted it to stop, I didn’t mean I wanted to be married off to someone else,” Rukia muttered into her hands. She pried at the band on her wrist but – not surprisingly – it wouldn’t come off. She felt within her kimono for anything she could use, but her kaikan and fan were gone. They’d even removed her hakoseko purse.
Rukia reached up to her hair, but the pins that had held her veil on were gone as well. She had little power and no weapon. Her hand brushed across her obijime.
Well. She had one weapon, even if it wasn’t a very good one.
“Lieutenant Abarai will make a full recovery,” Byakuya announced a few hours later. Kisuke and Captain Kurotsuchi were working feverishly on a machine, bickering back and forth all the while. Ichigo paced behind them, bright hair standing on end from being combed through and tugged too many times.
“Great,” Ichigo muttered.
“Ah! There, it’s finally charging,” Urahara announced. “We’ll be able to send a team through the garganta in two more hours, Captain Kuchiki.”
“Good. Abarai will want to go, and I am sure that I do not need to inquire as to your intentions, Kurosaki Ichigo,” Byakuya said.
“You don’t. Send whatever team you want along with me, but I’m going to save Rukia,” Ichigo said stubbornly.
“How nice that some things never change,” Urahara said, and hid his face behind his fan when Ichigo swung around to glare at him.
The two hours passed quickly, and soon Ichigo, Renji, Hanatarō, and Kenpachi assembled at the entrance to a garganta.
“Remember, we won’t be able to open another garganta for twelve hours,” Urahara warned. “You’ll need to be at the rendezvous point by then.”
“Fine,” Ichigo agreed impatiently. “Let’s go already!”
Renji gave him a suspicious look. Kenpachi grinned and slung his zanpakutō over his shoulders. “Hope I’ll get a good fight out of this,” he said, and grabbed a protesting Hanatarō, holding him under one arm like a sack of flour.
Slow and creaky, the garganta opened before them. Ichigo didn’t hesitate; he leapt through and didn’t wait for the others to follow him. Behind him, Hanatarō whined about being carried and Kenpachi threatened to drop him.
The path between Soul Society and Hueco Mundo seemed like a long one, but in reality, it only took a few minutes to land in the lifeless desert. Las Noches rose before them, not nearly so far in the distance as the last time Ichigo had been here. He heard Renji and the others land behind him.
He’d never tried to locate someone in Hueco Mundo, but Ichigo stood still for a long moment, seeking out Rukia’s spirit ribbon as his feet sank into the sand. Like a beacon it shone out of the darkness, and he grabbed on. “Let’s go,” he ordered.
“Wait! How do you even know where she is?” Renji demanded. He wasn’t fully recovered the way Byakuya had claimed; bandages emerged from his shihakusho, and he was paler than usual.
“Spirit ribbon,” Ichigo grunted.
“Wow, Ichigo! You shouldn’t even be able to sense spirit ribbons here!” Hanatarō exclaimed from his place under Kenpachi’s arm. “It’s amazing that you can find Rukia’s!”
“Yeah,” Renji said flatly. “Amazing.” But he set off for the tall, white compound in the distance.
Ichigo and Kenpachi followed, and in short order they’d reached the white wall that wrapped around the espadas’ stronghold. “Doesn’t Soul Society have a treaty with the espada?” Ichigo asked.
“Yeah,” Renji said with a shrug. “And they broke it if they took Rukia.”
“Fine.” Ichigo pulled Zangetsu off his back; a quick getsuga opened a ragged hole into the wall and revealed a tunnel. “Guess it’s this nonsense again.”
With a sense of where Rukia was, they didn’t split up this time; Ichigo followed the spirit ribbon and they followed him.
Until a hole opened up in the floor beneath Ichigo and sent him careening into the darkness with an aborted scream. The hole above closed up before Renji or Kenpachi could leap in after him. He landed, hard, on his ass, and then slid, careening down a ramp and emerging into a high-ceilinged atrium.
“Niño! I didn’t think I’d ever see you again!” a familiar voice called. “But what are you doing here?”
Ichigo groaned and sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “Huh? Dordoni?” he asked stupidly. The privaron espada stood before him, tall and imposing in his white uniform. He’d changed little, except for having a more luxuriant mustache.
“Dordoni Alessandro Del Socaccio,” the espada in question reminded imperiously. “You’ve gotten taller, niño!”
“Yeah, yeah. Listen, I’m in a hurry,” Ichigo said, waving him off. “Someone took Rukia and stashed her here.”
“Ah, the little niña, yes,” Dordoni agreed. “She will be a beautiful bride.”
Something monstrous rose up in Ichigo at those words. It felt like the hollow, like the old days when Zangetsu and he had fought for dominance of his body. “Let me pass,” Ichigo ordered.
“Ahh, you’ve come for the little shinigami, then? But you are almost too late, niño. She is to be the bride for our lord and the wedding is to be held in only an hour.”
Zangetsu seethed beneath his skin. Still bound in his obi, Sode no Shirayuki turned ice cold until Ichigo yelped, “Damnit, I’m trying to save her, don’t freeze me!” and the zanpakutō subsided. “Rukia’s not marrying anyone unless she wants to,” Ichigo said as he returned his attention to Dordoni, and drew both of his blades.
“Oh is that so? I heard she was marrying the tattooed man,” Dordoni commented. “A strange match.”
“Yeah, well. If it’s her choice, it’s her choice,” Ichigo grumbled. “I don’t want to fight you again, Dordoni. Let me pass.”
“I know you have gotten stronger, I won’t hold back,” Dordoni warned.
Reiatsu spilled around Ichigo, deep blue and angry. “Fine with me.”