A/n: So terribly sorry for the hiatus. I have no excuse. It happens. This April I'm working on a graphic novel called, "Bachi." I kept promising myself that if I completed 50 script pages, I could post the infamous Komamura drabble that I have been trying to write for years. So, in celebration of my 50th page, here it is! Also, I know I kept saying "at the end, we'll know his name...," but I changed my mind. Thank you for your patience!
Oh, For the Love of Fur!
Since joining the Gotei 13, Kurosaki Ichigo could hardly find a day off. Between chasing after his flash-crawling son, and helping run an entire Division he could definitely say that he had his hands full. To cope, he took short walks to get away from his thoughts. It was during one of these walks that Ichigo reached on of the most horrifying conclusions of his afterlife.
The discovery began when Ichigo happened to pass by the cemetery, where he noticed Captain Komamura combing the headstones. His ears lay flat against his skull, paws clenched as he bent over, searching the burial grounds.
"Loose something?" Ichigo asked.
"No," he growled.
"Then what are you doing?"
He gave Ichigo a narrow look. His ear twitched. "I am being stalked."
"Yes." Komamura gave him another look, as if the trouble was Ichigo's fault. "It's been following me ever since I passed your Division."
Ichigo frowned. That was weird. He couldn't sense any Hollows nearby, but then again, he sucked at sensing energy.
Suddenly, a row of nearby bushes shudders.
"Quiet," Komamura whispered. "It comes."
Ichigo's hand dropped to Zengatsu's hilt. "Is it dangerous?" he whispered back as the bushes fell silent.
Then— and Ichigo could have smacked himself for this—the bushes giggled. The leaves shuddered again and there was an orange flash. A child appeared at Komamaru's feet.
"Hardly," replied Komamura while the boy tugged on the hem of his haori.
Ichigo wanted to kick himself. He had expected something stealthy, mean and flesh-eating to jump out of those bushes. Not his harmless toddling son. "Yuuichi? You stinker, your mother's probably worried sick!" He scowled. "The last time I ever buy a house with paper walls…"
But the child wasn't listening. He stood clutching the captain's hoari, staring up at Komamura with a look of pure and utter worship. Ichigo could almost see the stars in his eyes.
"Kurosaki," the captain said with a patient sigh. He laid a paw tenderly between his ears where a swollen bump pushed up against russet fur. "Please take your son home. I am afraid if that if I continue to trip, we will have a squished child on our hands."
"Sorry," he said, picking up the child. He had to resist the urge to ask his son what sound the doggy made. In fact, he'd bet an entire month's salary on whose division his boy would join in the years to come. "I can't promise it won't happen again. You know kids." And canines, he added silently.
"Kids," Komamura agreed.
"See you around."
When they were a few blocks away, Ichigo set his son down. Ichigo was hardly surprised. Call him crazy, but he had this theory about Ichi-chan's obsession for all critters cute and furry. It had to be a gene of some sort, some kind of weird twisted DNA thingy and it was all Rukia's fault. Well, her and that ridiculous Chappy. The fact was, the boy adored Yoruichi. He groveled before Komamura. His bedroom was overpopulated with shelves, nets, and mountains of fluffy stuffed animals. It was out of control; Ichi-chan's puppy collection could easily rival Rukia's bunny shrine—and that wasn't even including the boxes Ichigo had stashed in the attic.
"Hey, now," he said, grabbing the child's hand before it could vanish. "No more of that."
"Dad," Ichi-chan said, twisting around to Komamarua's direction. "There's a really big dog."
"His name is—hey! I'm talking to you." He flicked the boy's ear lightly. "You can't keep running off like that. It's dangerous."
"Ow!" The boy glared, holding his ear. He lifted a small hand and swatted Ichigo's shoulder.
Ichigo scoffed. "Please, that was weak." He ruffled the boy's hair roughly. "You've got a better punch than that."
It wasn't a wounding strike, having little fists and all, but the blow to his stomach was enough to make Ichigo double over gasping for air. The day his son learned to fight back. He should be so proud. And he was. But as Ichigo clutched his stomach, chocking on his breath— more out of shock than anything— a dreadful spell of déjà vou fell upon him.
Oh, holy and mighty thunder gods: not this. They were so not starting this. Anything but this!
I sound like my father, he thought a pang of cold horror. The one thing he had promised he would never do with his children, and there he was, initiating fights. Ichigo hung his head. Now, after all those years of brawling with his own pop, Ichigo finally understood. Crap. He felt so old.