Series Title: Surrender the Mind
Chapter Title: Redemption Denied (Chapter 4 of 9, plus an Epilogue)
Author: creepy_crawly
Characters/Pairings: ByakuyaxUryuu, UraharaxRyuuken.
Rating: For this chapter? R. For entire series? NC-17
Warnings: Yaoi
Disclaimer: No own. No money. No shame.
Summary: Two years after Surrender the Body, Ishida Uryuu is forced to go back on his vow once more, and face Byakuya once again.

As soon as he had formally greeted and welcomed the group to Seireitei, Yamamoto-soutaichou led the ragtag band through the empty streets to his formal audience hall. He said nothing to them, but he knew that they were all looking around, noting how different things were since their last visit to the Court of Pure Souls.

And what a difference there was. The streets were empty, silent. Here and there, faces peeked out from behind windows, only to disappear the instant they were seen. All of the doors were shut; gates were locked. Several had vibrantly-colored seals plastered across the gates. These, Ishida noticed as he passed, were labeled as, “QUARANTINED UNDER THE ORDERS OF THE FOURTH DIVISION.” Each seal was signed with Unohana’s flowing signature.

He cast a look across at her. “Quarantine, Taichou?”

She nodded gravely. “Entire sections of Rukongai,” she replied. “Here, at least, it’s just until we can find a better way of protecting one another.” Her eyes darkened briefly. “But, then, you will hear more about this, soon.”

Accepting her dismissal, Ishida nodded.

Chad, beside him, was silent. As a child, he had seen quarantine enacted in his hometown. It had been horrible, and he had spent nights screaming in terror that they would lock him in his house, never to release him. Even now, years later, he shivered, just seeing the signs of death and disease. Seireitei was just as silent as his home had been.

Rukia shivered, passing under a low-hanging branch. She watched Ukitake’s back as he walked in front of her. Like many in the 13th Division, she harboured great worry for her captain. She knew him to be strong, really, she did, but something about the willowy man inspired tender love and worry.

As if hearing her thoughts—a habit of his—Ukitake turned and smiled at her. “I’m fine, Kuchiki-chan,” he assured her. His eyes slanted quickly towards Byakuya, and his smile grew. “Better so than Kuchiki-san,” he added.

Only one of his adjutants would recognize the scheming in that smile, Rukia decided, but it looked like Byakuya had an inkling, if his dark look was anything to go by. “You are not well, Nii-sama?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” Byakuya said shortly, his voice sour. “As Ukitake-san well knows.”

Behind the both of them, Ishida bit on his lip to stifle a laugh. The sarcastic tone of Byakuya’s voice was so subtle that, had he not been bedding him for almost a year, he would not have recognized it. It was the first time he had seen both captains interact, and it was, for lack of a better word, hysterical.

Rukia, too, seemed to see it. She, however, also seemed to be more used to it. The same could be said for Unohana, who merely rolled her eyes (discreetly, of course,) and hastened her step to catch up with the other two. She placed a gentling hand on both men’s arms. “I’m certainly glad that the pair of you are still healthy,” she said calmly. “Just think of the work I would have to do if you were not!”

At that, Ukitake laughed. Byakuya merely smiled, slightly, the expression not making it quite as far as his lips, though it lit up his eyes.

Leading the back of the procession, Shunsui watched the tension in the Ishida boy’s shoulders grow, and contemplated the meaning of that.

----

Byakuya watched closely as Ishida settled into a comfortable seiza. Looking at him, ignoring his clothing, one could almost see him as any member of the Four Great Clans. He was graceful and elegant, and it appeared to be completely effortless.

And, it seemed, he knew the trick to sitting seiza for hours without fidgeting.

Took us long enough, Senbonzakura observed, an edge of amusement in her voice.

Us? Byakuya shot back sharply. I seem to recall you merely laughing through several meetings, Dearheart.

The Zanpakutou just laughed. Her tone was mocking, but not cruelly so. It was the tone of a long, intimate friendship, and Byakuya did not begrudge it in the slightest. Soullove, she whispered, it is how one grows strong. That which does not kill us— Byakuya answered, his eyes fixed on the way Ishida’s shoulders rose and fell with his breathing. The boy had grown his hair out; it was long enough now that he had started to keep it pulled back in a tight queue. He had gotten new glasses; the frames on these were slightly darker, the lenses a little larger. They still flashed in the light, though.

Merely makes us wish it had,

The shining light attracted Byakuya’s eyes downward, and he mentally categorized the changes that had occurred over the past two years. Ishida had filled out some; his shoulders and chest were wider than the last time Byakuya had seen him. His face was thinner, and he had a new scar on his left wrist. It was thick and ropy; it looked like it had hurt.

Byakuya wondered if one of Ishida Ryuuken’s arrows had caused it. He had heard that, after their break-up, Ishida had gone back to his father and started training with him once more. It certainly helped his fighting, if the reports coming out of Tokyo were true.

Beside him, Unohana shifted slightly. Though she had her eyes fixed firmly on Yamamoto-soutaichou, she was paying more attention to the man seated next to her. She could feel the tiny eddies of reiatsu that said that Byakuya was in contact with Senbonzakura, and was glad. He had the nasty habit of retreating from everyone when he was feeling hurt, and, if her theories regarding Byakuya and Ishida Uryuu were true, he should have been feeling pretty damn hurt right about then.

Satisfied with watching Byakuya, for the moment, Unohana turned her attentions to the other half of the pair. Ishida Uryuu looked as tightly-laced as ever, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, the stick up his ass had grown. He had the distinct feel of someone who was hurting, but she dared not say anything to him about it. She had her theories, and, for Unohana, they were enough.

The meeting seemed to drag on forever. Yamamoto-soutaichou had to be sure to impress upon the ryoka the severity of the situation, and he also had to ensure that some plan was worked out to aid Soul Society. It was very much a political affair, and so Urahara took control of the conversation, for the most part.

Everyone seemed surprised when Ishida finally spoke up, taking advantage of a slight break in the negotiations between the two Shinigami.

“There’s a better way,” he offered quietly. Despite how gentle his voice sounded, after Yamamoto-soutaichou’s rumbling thunder and Urahara’s rapid, strident tones, there was no mistaking the power and self-assurance that lurked in his words. His back was ramrod straight, but not nervously so. He looked…controlled. Powerful.

“Another way?” Yamamoto-soutaichou grumbled, raising an eyebrow at the slender young man. “On what do you base this theory?”

Ishida refused to back down. Meeting the older man’s eyes squarely, he replied, “on the fact that you are both underestimating the abilities of this group. Kurosaki-kun is much more powerful than either of you assume.”

Yamamoto-soutaichou’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?”

“Oh,” Ishida agreed, a hint of warning in his tone. “As is Kuchiki-san. And…though I will probably regret saying this…Urahara-taichou. And no one can—or will—contest Yoruichi-taichou’s abilities. You will get much further by using them to the extent of their abilities.”

“How would you have us do that, Ishida-san?” Urahara asked, a curious look on his face as he watched the young man.

“You, Urahara-san, are still captain-level. Your workload should reflect this, yes, but you were also the head of Soul Society’s research division. This situation needs research. Divide yourself between the two. Return Yoruichi-san to her duties, albeit temporarily. Kurosaki-kun is easily captain-level as well—and, more than that, he’s reckless. Send him out to cover a captain’s patrol. He can do it.”

“Young man, how do you know about captains’ patrols?” Yamamoto-soutaichou demanded.

Ishida glared frostily at him, his glasses shining dangerously in the light. He shoved them up on his nose with one slim finger. “I am a Quincy. Since I was six, my life has depended on me knowing what you don’t want me to.”

Ooh, Senzonbakura trilled, practically glowing with a sense of wicked amusement. The little bird is getting dangerous, I see.

He’s always been dangerous, love, Byakuya replied, swallowing the smirk that threatened. He just let us play tough with him.

Seeing the stunned look on Yamamoto-soutaichou’s face, Urahara quickly pushed the advantage. “And yourself, Ishida-san? And Sado-san? Inoue-san?”

“Inoue-san would best be able to help by healing the injured. Her skills, while admirable, do not extend to healing illnesses. And she is not a born fighter; much like Unohana-taichou, she is much happier helping. Sado-san should be sent out with short-shifted divisions; his strength will more than cover for several missing men. And myself…I can help Unohana-taichou and the Fourth Division; I have training as a healer. I can also help cover short-shifted patrols.”

At that, Unohana perked up. “Training as a soul-healer, Ishida-kun?” she asked brightly.

He nodded swiftly. “As well as a more basic human healer, yes.”

“It’s settled, then!” Urahara said cheerfully, clapping his hands. “Meeting over!”

That drew him into another deep discussion with Yamamoto-soutaichou, but everyone knew that the situation was basically settled already. Byakuya kept an eye on Ishida’s thin frame, and he knew that Unohana was watching them both. Ishida was determinedly looking away, as if interested in what the older men had to say, but the glazed look in his eyes gave him away.

Seeing the hurt that flashed oh-so-briefly across Byakuya’s face, Unohana sighed to herself.

----

“You’ve been learning soul-healing?” Unohana asked gently.

Kneeling across from her, Ishida nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It…Quincy powers are not simply limited to violence. We can…with practice, we can heal. Or so it seems.”

Unohana watched him quietly, reading between the lines to understand the things he wasn’t saying. Everything she was not hearing was leading her straight to one conclusion. “Quincy powers can be used to purify souls?”

He bit his lip, his eyes flickering down and away from her. His fingers tightened on his legs, curling into half-fists. “After…after a fashion, yes. I… While living in Tokyo, I’ve had an opportunity to observe Shinigami going about their duties…” His voice dwindled off, and he kept his eyes away from her.

Unohana’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You’ve learned konsou,” she said. Despite her best attempts, there was a hint of accusation in her voice. Konsou was a Shinigami act; Quincy were murderers who unbalanced the world. Konsou was unique to Zanpakutou. That was what they had all been taught. That was the only reason that the Purges had been even slightly acceptable in the public mind, because Quincy were destroying the world and would never—could never—stop.

But Ishida Uryuu knew none of this. “You could call it that,” he agreed. “I can’t purify Hollows, mind. But the occasional wandering soul…” He shrugged. “There’s a lot of those near where I live.”

“And how are you with treating disease?” Unohana asked, shaken by his revelation, but determined to press on. She needed all the help she could, and she was not ashamed to admit it.

Noting her change in topic, Ishida easily took it. He didn’t want to discuss his forays into Shinigami-like territory any more than she did. “Disease of the reiatsu, quite talented. Disease of the flesh, even better.”

Unohana laughed. “Arrogant?”

He shook his head. “Not at all. Confident. And I’ve been learning to heal since I was young. My father, Unohana-taichou, is a doctor.”

“Very well, then,” Unohana said, her smile warm. “Let’s get started.” She pushed herself to her feet, gliding upright quickly.

“Let’s,” Ishida agreed solemnly as he, too, moved to his feet. He rose in one slim, easy line; it was evident that the motion was second nature to him.

Unohana briefly imagined his mother training it into him as a child. She did not know much about the young Quincy; what she did know suggested that his father would not have been the one to teach him that kind of social grace. Ishida Naomi had come from much higher status than her husband, though, a fact Unohana had found in the (admittedly short) file Seireitei kept on the last Quincy child. It was likely that she had taught him that little art.

As she thought this, Unohana led the young man down the dark hallway. As they neared the glittering barrier, she pointed out rooms to either side of it. “Changing stations,” she explained. “You must decontaminate yourself before coming in or out of the barrier; appropriate garments are located inside.”

She was just beginning to explain the rest of decontamination procedure when the sounds of a very loud, very unpleasant confrontation became audible. Snapping her mouth shut, Unohana whirled on her heel, her hair swinging, as she stared down the hall. Seeing a nurse come racing by, Unohana yelled out, “what is going on? This is a hospital!”

The nurse skidded to a stop. “Unohana-taichou! One of the combined squads brought in Abarai-fukutaichou!”

Unohana immediately tore to the end of the hallway. “What condition is he in?” she demanded.

After a moment’s brief hesitation, Ishida raced down the hallway after her. While he tended to consider Abarai a little…insane…he didn’t wish the man any harm, and he was fairly certain that every spare pair of hands was appreciated around the Fourth Division. He had trauma training; at the very least, he couldn’t do Abarai any harm.

The nurse led them down the hall to a trauma room, rapidly telling the dark-haired captain about the condition Abarai had been in when the combined squad had carried him in. It was not a good discussion; Ishida knew that, in the hospitals in Tokyo, Abarai would have been considered on his way out if he came in in that kind of condition. But here in Seireitei, the outlook was much more positive, as kidou and other gifts—such as Unohana’s bankai—enabled the Fourth Division to heal the types of things that would have been fatal anywhere else.

Which was good, Ishida realized, his stomach twisting as he saw the redheaded man’s broken body. Otherwise, there was no hope of this man surviving. Blood, sweat, some sickly, stringy goo that might have been venom—it all puddled on the floor beneath him, oozed through his hair, clung to his body.

The worst part was that Abarai was conscious.

His eyes were wide open, glazed with agony, but still bright with consciousness. His lips were moving; he was struggling to talk. His fingers twitched, as if he was trying to grab for the trailing sleeve of one of the people working to save his life.

“Calm down, Abarai-fukutaichou,” Unohana said gently, gliding in to a gap in the press of bodies. “We’re doing everything we can for you.” She placed a glowing hand just below his throat.

The damage began to seal itself rapidly, veins closing once more before muscle and skin began to pull shut over them. Unohana pressed more power into healing the wound, gratified by the sight of the injury vanishing beneath her touch.

Abarai gasped roughly, pulling in a sharp breath before coughing roughly, sending a fine spray of blood into the air. “He-elp,” he choked. “You…ha-ave to…he-elp.”

“We’re trying to, fukutaichou,” one of the nurses said warmly, pumping reiatsu in through his wrist.

“No-ot me,” he groaned. “Ma-atsu…Matsu!”

“Calm down, Abarai!” Unohana asked kindly, holding down his thrashing limbs. “What’s this about Matsumoto-fukutaichou?”

“She…on pa-pa-trol…with…me,” he moaned, agonized. “Ho-oll-ow…got her!”

TBC...