Title: One Night
Universe: Bleach
Theme/Topic: Forgotten
Rating: PG-15
Character/Pairing/s: Tetsuzaemon+Yumichika, mentions of ShuuheixYumichika, guest appearances by Ikkaku and Komamura
Warnings/Spoilers: None I can imagine
Word Count: 2,280
Summary: Everyone else forgets, but Iba can't.
Dedication: Requested by electify on my holiday request meme!
A/N: So yeah, this is one of my favorite second-string pairings, so it's going to be both fun and a challenge to try and write it, I think. I hope I don't fail miserably!
Disclaimer: Not mine, though I wish constantly.
Distribution: Just lemme know.

---

In the eleventh division there was an unspoken rule that all of its members stood by, one that, in its simplest form, said that they would not hold against one another, the things they might have said or done when they were drunk. It was because they all understood each other so instinctively that even without having to explain it or communicate it verbally to one another, all eleventh division shinigami knew implicitly that every single one of them had it in him to get drunk on any given night and say idiotic things or do stuff they'd regret and that their friends would also regret. As such, the gentleman's agreement (of sorts) was established, and in the end, no matter how heinous the crime, they always forgave each other completely upon the dawning of the next day.

Sometimes, they would even go so far as to forget that some things ever happened in the first place.

All in the interest of division dynamics. Because every single one of the men knew it could have been him doing those stupid ass things, that it might still be him one day, not too far down the line. Forgiveness was crucial.

It was how they lived.

So the night Iba got drunk and slept with Yumichika, no one held it against him. Either of them.

It wasn't that surprising a thing to happen really, they'd both been inebriated, out of their right mindsets. Yumichika became even more flirtatious when just the right amount of alcohol was introduced into his system, and had a reputation for being famously solicitous on nights like those.

Tetsuzaemon on the other hand, became bold when he got drunk, according to Ikkaku. Thought he could take on the world. Madarame said he became less of a pussy and more of a dumbass and no one could tell which was better.

Iba knew it also meant he acted on long suppressed desires, things he'd previously feared doing when he was self-aware and sane, when he had reason and the knowledge that consequences existed in the world. It was like all his self-doubt and inhibitions disappeared when he was drunk, and someone much more idiotic took over the helm of his mind. For example, one time he'd gotten completely hammered and as such, decided it would finally be his night to go ahead and grab Rangiku's ass. He suffered a broken nose for his efforts that evening, but at the time he'd been doing it, he'd been pretty damned convinced that he was invincible.

He reckoned that those would be about the same types of circumstances he'd need to gather up the confidence to make any sort of pass at Yumichika, and it just so happened that on the night he'd gotten just that drunk and confident, the fifth seat had also gotten drunk and willing.

So after a few minutes of mutually flirtatious looks from across the bar that night, he'd grabbed the other man and tossed him up over his shoulder, hoisted him off with a big fuck you to the rest of the world and carried him back to his quarters without another word. He'd been on top of the world right then.

And none of the guys said anything about it—drunk was drunk, and that could have been them on any given night too. In the morning, they forgot it ever happened.

They weren't the only ones.

In the morning, Yumichika was gone.

During dawn conditioning, the pretty fifth seat smiled at Iba just the same as he'd smiled at him every day before, and made sure Tetsuzaemon ran his thirty laps despite the migraine that came with being hung over and the uncertainty that came with waking up alone.

When Iba asked Ikkaku what he should do about it some days later, the bald third seat scoffed and said, "do what everybody does. Use the get outta jail free card and forget the whole thing ever happened. Nobody's gonna give you shit for doin' a guy… Yumi's prettier'n half the girls we get stumblin' into the bars. Sides, as you get drunker, he only gets prettier. Was an honest mistake, man."

Iba sighed and said, "Yeah," even though his reputation as a skirt-chaser hadn't been exactly the issue he'd been worried about.

But he didn't pursue the subject after that, because in the long run he knew that Ikkaku was right, knew that when he was sober that drunken confidence practically evaporated and in this reality, a dime-a-dozen type guy like him wouldn't be able to hold a guy like Yumichika's interest for very long anyway.

So he moved on, pretended just like everyone else did, that the things that happened when they were drunk didn't matter. And if at night, he dreamed about long pale legs wrapped around his waist and the soft, breathless moans of another person panting desperately in his ear, he told himself when he woke, that it was Rangiku he'd dreamed of in his sleep, or even Nemu or Nanao, on the nights he caught a glimpse of dark hair in his fantasies.

In the daytime he did his best to do his job and treat Yumichika like the respected officer he was, bore the other man's usual flirtatious teasing as best he could and when Ayasegawa touched him, managed to hold back the shudder that ran through his body when the memories of those lips ghosting his skin and those short, even fingernails leaving little crescent-moon dents in his back all came flashing back to him. He couldn't forget completely, how he'd felt that night, but he could pretend he did, and that was how it was between them for a long time after.

When he was invited to join the seventh division as the vice-captain, he jumped at the chance. Not because he'd desperately wanted to be a vice-captain (though that was part of it), but because having to see the face of someone he was supposed to forget day in an day out didn't make it easy, and the fact that he found himself often contemplating what might happen if he got drunk again—that is, if he got drunk and got Yumichika drunk again— was a sign to him that he needed the distance.

And the distance did him good. He actually did manage to forget for a while, to be a shinigami and do his job and fight his fights and not shiver every time flirtatious laughter rang in his ear, to keep from turning red whenever the familiar scent of wisteria shampoo floated up around him.

It lasted up until the moment he stood across from his old division mates with his new captain, looking at Ikkaku and Yumichika like enemies while Shuuhei, Komamura, and Tousen stood beside him.

His former division all traitors. He couldn't believe it. And yet, he still ached whenever he looked at Yumichika.

When they'd split apart he'd instantly gone for Ikkaku because a part of him was still trying to forget that ache.

Maybe that split second, cowardly decision was what had set Shuuhei's fate in motion, but afterwards, when enemies had become friends again and friends had become new enemies, Iba's best friend and his captain both sat in devastation at his side, trying to make sense of what had been lost to them.

Iba thought that was as good an excuse as any to show them how to forget, and when he took them out one night to drink, familiar faces were already there as well.

Fate in motion.

Ikkaku bought him a round like he'd never left, and the rest of the eleventh division plied Hisagi and Komamura with alcohol until they both, momentarily, forgot their sorrows.

That was when Iba discovered Shuuhei was the same kind of drunk he was, that the other vice-captain became indestructible in his own mind, maybe even reckless.

And as fate would have it Yumichika was just a little bit drunk too, warm and pliable and when Shuuhei challenged him to a rematch outside, he smiled and went without a word of protest, making Ikkaku roll his eyes at the fifth seat and pay his tab for him as he left with Hisagi.

No one saw them again for the rest of the night, and while Iba helped Zaraki support a bleary-eyed Komamura back to the seventh division headquarters some hours later, he hoped his best friend wouldn't fall victim to the same trap he had. That Yumichika hadn't…

He sighed and tried not to think about it. He was supposed to have forgotten by now, after all, and the fact that the thought still unsettled him as much as it did after all this time meant that he needed that distance again, needed to wait until he was clearheaded so he could remind himself that he wasn't in love with Yumichika and that he never had been.

He told himself that when he was drunk, he got stupid, and that was that.

He was sure that Shuuhei wasn't as dumb as he was.

And that Shuuhei wasn't in love like he'd been, and wouldn't have to learn how to forget, but would do it willingly, easily.

He collapsed into his bed that night and dreamed of dark-hair and long, white legs, soft lips whispering his name.

When he woke up come sunrise he went to work like always, and made it through the morning at least, without having to think about things too much. However, when Shuuhei trudged up to the seventh division headquarters and met him come lunch time, he knew something was very, very different.

And then the thinking began.

"Did you win?" he asked the ninth division vice-captain, warily.

Shuuhei groaned. "Yeah. I mean, no. Not exactly. We didn't fight…I think." Shuuhei frowned at his inability to form coherent thoughts, and after a moment, looked at Iba in defeat and sighed. "He was gone when I woke up."

For a second, Iba's heart stopped. "What?"

The other man blushed slightly. "I mean we…"

Iba's throat felt dry. "Er…yeah. But uh… you were drunk?"

Shuuhei looked ashamed of himself. "Yeah, I know. But I don't just want to leave it at that. It's a terrible excuse." He ran a hand through his hair. "I mean, that would be pretty cowardly, right?"

The other vice-captain swallowed. "Er…y-yeah. You uh, you should talk to him about it," he said, quietly. "Or it'll bug you for the rest of your life."

"Right," Shuuhei breathed, and sat up a little straighter upon hearing his friend's good advice. "Right. Yeah. I'll go see him after work."

"Good," Iba murmured weakly, and suddenly wished he was drunk again.

Then maybe he would have said what he really felt.

But that was the difference between him and Shuuhei in the long run, he supposed—he tried to forget about his problems while Shuuhei was in the habit of dwelling on them, sometimes too much.

And after that night, Hisagi never stopped thinking about Yumichika for a moment.

Which Yumichika clearly wasn't expecting after his familiar string of love-em-and-leave-ems, the unspoken law of the eleventh division.

Iba suspected no one had ever gotten drunk, had sex with Yumi, and then came back the next day with flowers and the most confused—but kind of hopeful— look on his face.

Someone who hadn't tried to forget and in the process, made it impossible for Yumi to do so himself.

Shuuhei had never been in the eleventh, after all. He didn't know the rules.

And so Iba watched his best friend unwittingly break those rules, and in the end, win Yumichika's love for his efforts.

Because Shuuhei never let himself forget, the whole world became his.

The cheater.

And in the background, Iba felt like an idiot. If he'd known it was that simple, it could have been him. He'd wanted it to be him.

The worst part was—the absolute worst part of it was-- that even though he knew everything he'd done wrong back then, he couldn't try and fix it. It was too late.

Because when he saw them together, when he saw Yumichika's smiles and heard Shuuhei's laughter, when he watched them look into each other's eyes and know that at those moments, the world around them ceased to exist, he couldn't bring himself to wonder what it would be like if it Yumichika was looking at him like that instead.

It was a little painful, thinking about how easily Yumichika had forgotten him, when after all these years of trying, Iba still remembered everything.

Funny thing was, he couldn't even go get drunk to drown his sorrows because he was too scared of what might happen if he got hammered enough, if the booze bolstered his courage enough.

The things he might say, the things he might do. The people he might hurt.

Those prospects staid his hand, and in the end, all he could really do was go back to what he knew best.

Trying to forget.

It was an unspoken rule of the eleventh, after all. They always forgave each other for the things they did when they were drunk, because any other day of the week, it could have been them doing and saying those stupid things. They forgave and forgot and never spoke of certain incidents again. It was a trick of the trade, necessary for survival in a division like that.

Because on any other night, it could have been them.

Iba told himself this over and over and over again, and deep down, wondered if he'd ever figure out the trick behind forgiving himself.

END