A.N: Okay, it's been a while since my last update... College has been keeping me pretty busy lately. But I'm on break and the Christmas craze is over so I should be able to get some writing done before my second semester. Also, not sure if I mentioned this but I have a new role reversal IR fic Yugakimasu up with one chapter. Give it a read if you're feeling nostalgic. As for the new canon Bleach material, I have no comments. We're basically kicking into plot with this chapter and hopefully it won't be long until I update. It revolves a lot around the incidents in Aizen's letter, and for those of you who do read/watch Black Butler, please forgive my character placements. So, enjoy!

The first fragments of light had yet to filter through the curtains, yet there was already chaos ensuing.

Well, perhaps that was a bit of an exaggeration, but no one could blame the irate Kuchiki for thinking along those lines as Renji (yes, the cook) made desperate attempts to prevent Ikkaku and Kenpachi from destroying god-knows-what from her house.

The shattering of a vase was when tipped over the iceberg, prompting the young noblewoman to massage her temples, releasing a much-required sigh.

And to think her morning had started off so wonderfully.

Much, much earlier that morning:

The last vestiges of darkness fled the sky as streams of light pierced through the foggy breadth of cloud cover. Rukia had long since exhausted her bountiful plethora of complaints given the early hour, and had finally conceded to a bath.

At least, that was how the day had begun.

Somewhere within the task of getting dressed, the growing. . . tension between both the brunette girl and her butler had finally reached the limit, one of which neither was willing to ignore.

So, in short, that was how Rukia's scandalously short undergarments had ended up halfway past her smooth thighs, expert digits pumping flawlessly into her warmth. A moan resonated from the back of her throat, reaching the verge of his ears as a sound both melodious and sensual, evoking every carnal urge and instinct embedded into his being as the flames of arousal licked and licked, with the deft strokes of long fingers buried deep inside her heated centre. In tandem to his ministrations, Ichigo's mouth melded against the soft skin of her neck in a clash of lips, teeth and tongue, relishing in the sweet, fragrant flavour of lavender against her skin.

"Ichigo," she keened his name low, the pitch of her voice reduced in a soft whine as he mercilessly nipped into a particularly sensitive patch of skin, a condensed growl forming at the base of his throat as her fingers curled inwards and grasped onto orange locks for dear life.

Her skin was slick with perspiration as his tongue flattened to soothe the sting, the lethargic and downright lascivious pace of his fingers working between her folds finally picking up. Before the demon's teeth could close over a nipple, the petite girl worked slender digits into his tangerine mass of hair and dragged him back to surface, their lips meeting in a fervent kiss.

"I've missed you," Rukia gasped, resurfacing from the heated union of their mouths, her modest chest heaving with heavy intakes of breath. "So much," she murmured additionally as his lips traced down the length of her collarbone, littered with bites and welts, and a soft gasp pulled from her throat.

Chestnut irises flickered upwards, and as his head shifted — still, in a heady off the assurances of pleasure and the seismic effect of his touch, Rukia found herself appreciating the subtle swell of Ichigo's lips, the raw emotion of desire expressed so profoundly by the fire within hazel depths, and the rumpled condition of his shirt – half-unbuttoned, vest tossed aside. Something about the demon's current appearance seemed so inherently human, and the girl could barely contain the flutter in her chest.

"It was your choice to cease our…" The man's gaze inadvertently drifted to her breasts, and Rukia was unsure whether to feel appalled or flattered.

"…Activites," Ichigo finished (rather hoarsely, at that), acutely aware that her walls clenched tight around his fingers, plunged deep inside her.

"That isn't what you're supposed to say," she snapped almost instantaneously, a delicate sheen of sweat forming against her skin, and the struggle of resolve was a short-lived battle as Rukia let loose another soul-shattering moan, shamelessly rotation her hips against his palm.

Ichigo's head dipped low, his free hand kneading into a breast as his mouth sought a rosy peak, swallowing the hardening pebble whole with smooth strokes of his tongue, relishing the sensation of the woman's quivering form beneath him. His palm massaged the neglected breast dutifully, the tip of his tongue circling the hard nub, engulfed in the wet warmth of his mouth.

Ding!

Ding!

Ding!

Reluctantly, a disgruntled (and very, very sexually deprived) Ichigo withdrew, broad shoulders rippling with movement as the butler made to stand. "I should get that…"

"No," Rukia ground out, equally (if not more) frustrated, a myriad of colourful vocabulary circulating her mind toward the unwanted guest. Swiftly, creamy thighs hooked around the man's waist, forcing their bodies back together, the prominent protuberance threatening to burst from his trousers aligned against her swollen sex.

"Whoever it is will have to wait," the brunette reiterated seductively, lowering her lashes and arching her back; pert breasts, creamy skin, tousled ebony locks and every single curvature of her body proficiently displayed in a provocative manner that screamed sex appeal.

Of course, it was no surprise to either party when Ichigo immediately caged her in, their lips melded together in another desperate kiss as the ringing of the doorbell persisted, though remained unacknowledged by the demon and his lady.

That was, until a resounding crash boomed from the front of the manor, followed by the shattering of glass.

A simultaneous groan came from both lovers, the fairer of the pair falling back in defeat.

A moment of silence stretched, before the gravity of the situation finally occurred to Ichigo and Rukia.

"I'll oversee damage control," Ichigo said, effectively breaking the silence as he (attempted) to straighten, very much aware of her legs still wrapped around his waist.

"And I'll get dressed," the brunette replied with resignation, heaving a sigh.

End Flashback

Thankfully, the worst was over, placements for a new door was in order and all of the following debris left in Kenpachi and his unruly companions' wake was removed until further notice, all of the arriving party plus a very annoyed Kuchiki Rukia were seated in the tea room, being currently served by her 'impeccable' butler. When in reality, he was just as disgruntled as she, only Rukia didn't have the ability to generate that type of refreshing behavior on whim. Really, he was more or less projecting sparkles at this point.

It was incredible that she could formulate such a loaded judgment about a man who was about to ravish her less than fifteen minutes ago.

Now, after further thought, the young Kuchiki decided that he had done well to restore chaos (after a tornado such as Kenpachi and company) in such a short period of time, and still managed to be as charming as ever.

Bless his soul— or rather lack thereof, considering he was a demon.

"Now that the unsolicited demolition of my house is over," Rukia started, her hardened stare focused mainly on Ikkaku, Yumichika and Kenpachi. "Would you like to tell me which one of you planned this impromptu visit?"

Her voice remained strangely calm, but a murderous aura persisted, bordering her slight frame as the girl took a dainty sip of tea. Internally, Ichigo pitied some of them— others, like in the case of Mayuri Kurotsuchi (a renowned scientist with quite the penchant for illegal experiments, not to mention dangerous. Rumor has it he once created a monster out of corpse pieces and pure electricity), were already too far gone to feel the full experience of getting on Kuchiki Rukia's bad side. And in this case, attempted breaking-and-entering was a swift mode to end up there.

Everyone simultaneously shifted away from Rangiku, who offered a nervous laugh.

Rukia immediately abandoned her tea and pursed her lips; poised to receive whatever explanation (though, to be realistic, it was going to be an excuse) her aunt was going to offer.

"Heh', well…" the busty woman paused, determined to look anywhere but the direction of her expectant niece, "Since my darling niece was in London, I decided, why not pay a visit?" Rangiku expressed a nervous laugh, praying to whatever being that existed above would believe her.

She was not so lucky.

"Then why did you bring along everyone else then?" the brunette questioned innocently, raising her cup once more. Effortlessly, her gaze slanted.

"Perhaps an agenda?"

"Yare yare, all this conflict," Shunsui murmured good-naturedly, tipping his hat in thanks as Ichigo poured his tea. "Well, Mayuri and I received your letter—"

"And this brute overhead," the aforementioned scientist interjected, yellow irises flickering toward Kenpachi, Yumichika and Ikkaku. The former elegantly sipped at the tea freshly poured, while the latter sniffed cautiously at his own, almost burning his nose in the process.

"And insisted on tagging along. Isn't that right, Nemu?"

Rukia cringed as Mayuri's eyes fixed onto the dispassionate woman currently seated on his lap. She was quite beautiful, but lacked… personality. And it would make sense, seeing as there were still disconcerting rumours that he had actually created her. Not through procreation methods, but more along the lines of (criminal) scientific methods.

"Correct," the expressionless brunette responded, causing Ikkaku to jump. "Mayuri-sama had no control over the matter."

Ichigo stifled a laugh at the whole process of explanation as he poured Mayuri's tea, and his master glared daggers at his back for finding the situation so amusing.

"And what does all of this have to do with you again?" Rukia inquired, barely able to constrain her exasperation as indigo optics flittered back to her aunt, who had remained suspiciously quiet throughout the entire exchange. "I don't even recall contacting you."

Once again, all the attention shifted to the voluptuous blonde, and for once, it was unwelcome.

"See, Kira-kun here," she turned to gesture to her awkward butler at her side, shifting from foot to foot, "was present and since it concerned my darling Rukia, I simply couldn't pass up another opportunity to spend time with you," Matsumoto bubbled, earning you-are-unbelievably-transparent looks from all around.

"And I'm supposed to believe—"

"This aroma is simply marvelous," her aunt interposed quickly, flashing a brilliant smile toward Ichigo. So it did run in the family. "What a unique way of steeping."

The butler smiled modestly and set the teapot at the very center of the table.

"Today's tea is a Jackson's 'Earl Grey'," Ichigo responded graciously, gloved hands clasping behind his back almost automatically.

"Ah, the same type of tea, but the way you make it produces quite a difference," Rangiku murmured appreciatively, so convincingly that one would almost believe this despair was genuine and not simply an articulate diversion to evade Rukia's wrath.

She turned to her own fair-haired butler, tutting lightly. "You should follow his example, Kira."

The blonde jumped, and Rukia became fairly certain that he was quite skittish. "Y-Yes, my lady."

"And you! No matter what, every time I see you, you're still so gorgeous!" Rangiku tittered, and surprised everyone by delivering a hard smack to Ichigo's... rear, who jumped in surprise. "Why don't you simply stop working here and serve me?"

Thankfully, everyone else was too distracted by Matsumoto's blatant molestation of the household's butler to notice that Rukia had dropped her cup right into its saucer.

"He is rather beautiful," Yumichika agreed wistfully, and a vein throbbed against the brunette's temple.

Ikakku, who had prior been too busy stuffing himself with complementary crumpets, stared at his colleague with wide eyes. "Did you just call a man 'beautiful'?"

"Beauty has no gender," Yumichiki countered haughtily.

"Knock it off, both of ya!" Kenpachi snapped, patience wearing thin.

The same could be said for Rukia. Although this man was the single-handed force behind the destruction of her living room, she found herself internally thankful for at least one other rational soul.

"I honestly came here to see if Kuchiki found out anything about this 'Jack the Ripper' madman, 'fraid I can't speak for the rest of ya'," the eyepatched man elucidated gruffly, folding his beefy arms across his chest and staring down at his own tea as though it had deeply wronged him.

Kurotsuchi's eyes narrowed. "As did I."

"I second," floated over Shunsui's merry tone.

Upon this response, the diminutive female sighed, and steepled digits against her temple, as though an attempt to dissuade a rather insistent migraine. To be quite fair, with this dreadful blend of company, who could blame her? Ichigo could certainly sympathize after being fondled by her eccentric aunt, and silently returned to his master's side.

"I haven't the chance to uncover anything pertaining to the Jack the Ripper phenomenon yet," Rukia admitted slowly, toying with the ceramic handle of her cup lightly. "I meant to contact you all and arrange a meeting once I had made some progress, but seeing as we're all here, I won't waste any of our time."

The girl's gaze shifted towards her butler swiftly, and amethyst locked with amber.

"Ichigo, prepare the carriage," she commanded softly, rising to her feet. "We'll be visiting an old friend. And you're all welcome to accompany me."

"… What is this place?" Mayuri asked, his outlandish features wrinkling in distaste the more he stared at the building they were currently standing before.

Out of the considerably large party, only Mayuri, Shunsui, Rangiku, Izuru, Ichigo and Rukia remained. Kenpachi, Ikakku and Yumichika had found the excursion tedious and decided to leave, while Nemu remained in the care of the rest of the Kuchiki Manor's servants.

A large, crooked sign emboldened the words 'UNDERTAKER' coupled with a spectral skull across the very front of the decrepit building. Rats and moles scurried across the doorway, where frayed cobwebs streamed from every corner. The most startling aspect of the establishment's appearance was the various coffins leaned against the walls, gaping open to reveal scuttling spiders and intricate webs. A dark aura seemed to emanate from the building itself, eerie and unnerving in a manner that did not instil danger, but unease.

"WHY ARE YOU FAMILIAR WITH A PLACE LIKE THIS?!" Rangiku burst out, pointing an accusing finger at her niece, who was one of the only two from their group who seemed unconcerned.

However, it was Ichigo who answered.

"Because the young master's acquaintance works as an 'undertaker'."

As the demon pushed the door open, the rusty hinges elicited a prolonged, vitriolic groan, inciting a unanimous cringe from each person as the sound ebbed into slight squeak. Rukia stepped in soon after, and so followed, though hesitantly, in the case of Matsumoto. Since Izuru was easily alarmed, everyone thought it best for him to tend to the carriages instead of entering.

"Are you here, Urahara?" Rukia called out, and her lavender gaze swept the area cautiously. He did have a nasty tendency of popping in and out of places unexpectedly, and she was well-versed with his antics.

"Yare yare, I knew you would come…" An amused voice drifted across the room. Rangiku and Shunsui simultaneously looked around, Kurotsuchi managed to keep his expression free of any signs of restlessness, even though everything else suggested otherwise.

"Welcome, Kuchiki-san~."

The tapered shoulder of a nearby shoulder creaked open, revealing a man with a head of unruly, golden hair and a striped hat that cast an uncanny shadow across his eyes.

Everyone (excluding Ichigo and Rukia, of course) immediately jumped away, and an expression of pure horror remained etched upon the busty blonde's face.

Urahara Kisuke stepped out in the dim glow of the pseudo-morgue, his trademark fan held high over his mouth to conceal his delight.

"I don't have the time for your games, Urahara," the tiny lord expressed through a sigh, arms folding over her chest.

"You needn't tell me, Kuchiki-san, I know why you're here," the bizarre undertaker hummed under the protection of his fan, covertly disguising a wide grin. "Since you went out of your way to visit my humble abode, I'll certainly do my best to assist you."

Rukia didn't particularly like the sound of that, but offered a nod in return. "How much do you know about Jack the Ripper?" she asked, lips pursing into each other.

His grin widened. "More than you'll ever believe. But first, all of you, do take a seat." The dishevelled man gestured around to the array of closed coffins surrounding them.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rukia observed visible unease within her aunt and a flicker of dubiousness from Mayuri and Shunsui. Given the fact that most of those caskets presumably did contain corpses, she couldn't exactly blame them either.

She took a prim seat at the edge of a particularly broad one and crossed her legs. In the flutter of a dark tailcoat, her butler was at her side in the fraction of a second.

Once everyone was (rather reluctantly) seated, Urahara made himself at home with a brewed cup of tea. He offered them the same luxury, but was met with a unanimous rejection. Seeing as the man had freshly emerged from a casket, no one could blame them for being so quick to refuse. Though, Rukia was surprised Shunsui was lumped together with the rest. Though, considering the fact that tea contained no traces of alcohol, perhaps his reasoning was entirely different from the other two. Her aunt was afraid of her own shadow and Mayuri seemed one indiscretion away from detonating. Literally.

Herself? She just didn't trust Urahara. At all.

"So, you want to know about Jack the Ripper? Such a frightening thought seems to be the cause of disturbance to many of us here," the fair-haired man chuckled, the base of his cup clinking against its saucer.

Under the shadow of his hat, eyes of a cool grey flickered toward the petite lord.

"But not to worry, as this isn't the first time I've dealt with something like this!" He finished brightly, and such a statement evoked quite a reaction.

Shunsui leaned closer to murmur to Kurotsuchi. Rukia's head snapped forward so fast it was incredible her neck was still in place. For once, Rangiku was actually the calm one. Her niece wondered why.

"This isn't the first time? What do you mean?" the blonde asked, a tint of worry colouring her tone.

"It's happened before, a case where prostitutes were being killed off," Urahara replied conversationally, a dog biscuit in his mouth.

He offered the tin to Rukia, whose gaze slanted as she moved in to whack the container away.

"The very same way, too," the mortician hummed, swiftly shifting the biscuit tin away before tucking it under his arm. "What happened back then and what's happening right now bear one common factor."

Urahara leaned in, fastening the container close. "That commonality, I'm sure the lovely Earl has already chanced upon it. Isn't that right, Rukia-san?" he inquired cheerfully, lowering his hat a notch.

Rukia folded her arms across her chest, heaving a sigh while gracing her company with a small nod.

"Missing internal organs," she murmured, her violet gaze flickering toward the golden-haired male, grinning away gleefully under the shade of his fan. "Am I wrong?"

"Correct, but only to an extent, my dear," Urahara chortled, sheltered eyes glinting with mischief. "What was missing is the real question you should be asking yourself."

"Well? Would anyone like to chance a guess? No? Yare yare, well in that case…" With a flick of his fan, the undertaker rose from his seat, circling the room, only to end up leaning against a dummy (and almost losing balance as a result).

"Internal organs, yes, but something very specific," The dim lighting cast flickering shadows across the mortician's visage, a suiting effect given the topic at hand.

"These prostitutes, when they arrived here, were not whole women anymore, you see. Because their wombs were missing."

Slinging an arm around the mannequin-like figure, the light-haired man's gaze flickered toward the diminutive female. Her brows crested together, and through the troubled expression marring her features, Urahara could tell that the young lord hadn't been able to deduce anything this far, and were now considering the possibility.

Shunsui was the first to react; Rangiku remained with a troubled expression as the conversation advanced, and Kurotsuchi seemed mostly fascinated by Urahara. Well, not fascination, to be precise, but conducted careful observation of the eccentric male, in a manner that was frankly perturbing.

"Given that not many people would be walking the streets late at night…" the nobleman uttered, removing his own strawhat before looking Urahara dead in the eye.

"Still, working that efficiently out in the open surely couldn't be easy for the average man, such as you and myself." Out of everyone, (even Rukia herself; and excluding Ichigo) Shunsui appeared most at ease in the current vicinity.

Either way, the fact that he classed Urahara as an 'average man' (considering the fact that said man popped out of a coffin just for laughs, and was currently embracing a dummy) was a bit too much for one day.

"Exactly my point," the mortician replied cheerfully, and once more, his dark eyes glinted in Rukia's direction. "I would be quite surprised if Kuchiki-san didn't figure this much out~."

The girl in question scowled and folded her arms over her chest.

"Of course," she said briskly, a brow arching, "The person behind these attacks would have to possess certain surgical skills."

Urahara let loose a pitched bout of laughter, and everyone except Ichigo and Rukia (who were far too used to his antics) covered their ears promptly.

"Correct, my dear! Now if only we had any leads as to who this mysterious person could be…" As if on cue, Urahara placed a finger on his chin, pretending to think.

"Oh wait, I do!" he cried jovially from behind another wooden coffin, creaking under his weight, fluttering his fan innocently.

"… But this will come with a price."

Rangiku and Shunsui exchanged worried looks.

Mayuri leaned in.

Ichigo wore an amused look.

Rukia rolled her eyes.

"… And all you have to do is show me a first rate laugh!" Urahara cackled, hiding behind his fan.

This brought about various reactions. Mayuri completely refused to comply, while Rangiku and Shunsui jumped at the chance to showcase their most suggestive. Rukia heard none of which, because her butler had covered her ears, an action that made her shoot daggers at him, given the blatant hypocrisy.

However, none of this mattered, because they all found themselves right where they had been before; in front of Urahara's grotesque morgue. Even Rukia had been kicked out, much to her dismay, as it was Ichigo's turn and he had requested 'privacy'. The noblewoman had a sneaking suspicion that whatever was about to be said involved her.

Within seconds, the mortuary shook as Urahara's unmistakable, raucous laughter echoed loud. The door burst open, the man himself still convulsed in hysterics as clung to the doorframe.

One by one, the strange group shuffled in, with Rangiku quite ruffled and indignant. Clearly, it was her opinion that whatever Ichigo had said to the mortician couldn't have been funnier than anything she could have come with herself.

"Well done, Kurosaki-san~. I must say, I'll have quite the difficult time forgetting that one," Urahara chortled, and Rukia had a hard time trying not to pin her butler, who had settled down smugly at her side, with a murderous glare. After all, it was hard to miss that Urahara had glanced in her direction, if only fleetingly.

"Yare yare, don't keep us in suspense any longer, Urahara-san," Shunsui said pleasantly, pouring himself another cup of steaming tea. "Who is the culprit behind these gruesome murders?"

"Right, right, thank you for reminding me!" the sandy-haired man replied cheerfully, glancing at them behind his fan. It seemed like he was straining to amuse himself.

"I don't suppose any of you have heard of Charlotte Chuhlhourne?" Urahara said slyly.

"I have," said Kurotsuchi suddenly, his nose wrinkling in distaste. "What an insolent little man."

"He doesn't exactly fit the profile of a murderer," Rukia added thoughtfully, a finger resting against her chin. "But I have caught word that he might be involved in some illegal activities."

"He happens to be a renowned surgeon," said Shunsui, nodding as though all the pieces were coming together. "He hosts a gala every other month— I believe tomorrow evening is the next one."

It seemed as though everyone there either met, or at least knew of the man in question.

Everyone that is, except Matsumoto.

"Ooh… Then, I can seduce him at the gala!" the strawberry-blonde exclaimed excitedly, almost spilling the rest of her tea.

Everyone stared at her, and struggled not to laugh.

"I don't think that would work out so well," Rukia said slowly, the side of her mouth twitching.

Rangiku looked aghast. "And why not?!"

"Perhaps the fact that he happens to be a flaming homosexual?" Urahara suggested innocently, hiding behind his fan. "I'd suggest another course of action if I were you~."

Rukia stood up, and Ichigo did soon after. "If this is all, then we should be on our way. We won't inconvenience you any longer."

"You've never been an inconvenience to me, Kuchiki-san~," the eccentric man sang out, fanning himself. "Only a shame Yoruichi-san was out during your visit, she would have loved to see you both."

"I'm sure she would have," Ichigo mumbled through gritted teeth.

Rukia elbowed him, and plastered on a faux smile. "We appreciate the help, Urahara-san. We'll phone you if anything else happens."

The rest of the party said their goodbyes as well. Just as Rukia was about to leave as well, Ichigo caught her by the arm.

"I'll be there soon," he uttered quietly, and she nodded quickly, quickening her pace to catch up with her aunt. Ichigo lingered, leaning against one of the coffins with inborn ease.

"How can I help you now, Kurosaki-san? It must be mighty important, seeing as you usually never leave Kuchiki-san's side~."

A man who knew of the butler's true nature who have never been as relaxed, but Urahara was a whole different breed. He grinned from beneath the shade of his hat and leaned in expectantly.

However, it was apparent that Ichigo was in no mood to joke around. He exhaled a sigh, and folded his hands behind his back.

"You informed me that Hitsugaya Toshiro was dead, is that correct?" His amber gaze burned at Urahara, who merely fanned himself innocently, feigning a shocked expression.

"My, did I say that? I must have mistaken him for his father then."

Though Urahara seemed thoroughly sincere, Ichigo knew better than to believe his words. A tangerine brow ticked, and a sigh bloomed from within the orangette's chest.

"Did you really? Although you might intend for others to believe otherwise, you're not the type of person to make mistakes, Urahara," the demon pointed out lightly, his brows furrowed.

"And if Kuchiki-san knew that the man she was going to marry, her childhood friend was still alive, do you think she would have taken to you so easily?" the mortician said slyly, grinning knowingly behind his fan. "Attracted, yes, but Kuchiki-san is a person who abides by her promises. So, really, I was doing you a favor~. Yoruichi tells me that your relationship has gotten past its complications, anyway."

Urahara shrugged lightly and Ichigo's mouth dropped, looking horrified.

"H-how does she know —"

"Like I would ever tell you," he cackled, thoroughly enjoying watching the younger male fume. "We need to keep tabs somehow, you know. If only you hadn't left that window open—"

Before he could finish his sentence, a coffin was hurled his way and Ichigo was already out the door.

Chuckling to himself, Urahara straightened, fixing his hat back on his head. He gazed at the door, half-closed, a rare, wistful smile on his face.

"Ah, they grow up so fast, Isshin."

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