'BLACKBIRD'

Rating: M, because I love explicitly inappropriate stories.

Warning: Very, very dirty language in this chapter, and it only gets dirtier. Have soap ready.

Pairings: Ichigo/Rukia, and some more~

Disclaimer: I wish I could marry Bleach and have its babies, but alas...

Author's notes: I apologize for the sudden emergence of this story, but it's something I've wanted to try for a long time, and I want to see how it goes. The ideas were simply screaming and tugging at my hair every single day that I finally succumbed; after all, I'm a whore for mafia-centric fics. So, here is Black Champagne.

June 14th
Yokohama, Japan

The building smelled like shit. More specifically, the burned-down, blackened warehouse building that was devoured by a monstrous conflagration just the other night--caused by a supposed "accident"--smelled like shit. But, it wasn't simply any shit; it was the shit stench of charred, roasted bodies buried under masses of rubble, debris, and black ash.

That "shit" was death, and Kurosaki Ichigo was surrounded by it.

"Jesus Christ..." he sighed, standing over a corpse while grimacing at the malodorous odor that rose from every inch of the building--or, rather, remains of the building.

His partner Abarai Renji was accompanying him, and in the moonlight Renji's crimson-colored hair seemed to glisten richly, his russet Porsche Design sunglasses glowing, and tanned skin marked with black tattoos gleaming with sweat.

The sweltering summer heat had drained the two men, and they both loosened their ties and unbuttoned their suits to make work easier. Though, trying to find cargos of drugs under piles of burned wreckage remained far from simple.

"Fuck..." Renji groaned. "It's fuckin' hot in here, like a fuckin' bitch..."

"Shut up and keep looking," Ichigo interrupted, wiping his chin. "If I'm gonna work effectively I need to go on without listening to your baboon-like voice every single minute."

"Hey, fuck you," The red-head growled. "If you didn't piss off that wrinkly, old fucker Barragan by killing one of his underlings, this shit never would have happened, and I wouldn't be stuck with you trying to find our fuckin' drugs."

Ichigo did not respond at first; his eyes were kept riveted on the various bodies lying around which were outlined with white chalk, as well the yellow barricade tape that exhibited the words "do not cross" swaying wildly in the warm breeze.

Blocking out Renji's thunderous voice--something he learned to do quite successfully--Ichigo focused himself on that peculiar sway of the tape that flapped and flapped so briskly. It had reminded him of that certain Italian/Spanish mafia leader: old man Barragan Luisenbarn, one of the Yakuza gang's archrivals, and without a doubt a dangerous man notorious for unhesitantly murdering masses of people in multiple drug wars.

But, it wasn't simply Barragan; it was one of his followers to be exact, and how that pitiful youngster had cowered under Kurosaki Ichigo's grasp after attempting to attack the ginger-head with a dagger. Ichigo had been in Pescara, Italy for business when the two clashed, and it would be a fatal error for the teen hoodlum.

After crushing the boy's hand, Ichigo easily disposed of him, sending the lad down into the depths of the Adriatic Sea where he struggled wildly to survive before drowing.
Although Ichigo was not one to kill without reluctancy, he displayed no mercy to his victims if the dignity and reputation of the Yakuza were being shamed.

"Tch," Ichigo grumbled in response to his red-headed companion's remark. "He had it coming."

"Well, you brought a shit-load of hell on us all, asshole." Renji spat. "I'm never goin' back to Italy with you again."

"Fuck off."

"Aww fuck, it's hot..." The red-head groaned, shifting his eyes back and forth in the dark while wiping the droplets of sweat off his forehead every now and then. Renji looked back at Ichigo, who was busy examining a separate area of the warehouse.

'That asshole,' he thought to himself. 'Boss had a fuckin' heart attack when he found out ginger-head killed Barragan's little pet.' Renji quickly plucked the cigarette from his mouth and tossed it to the floor, crushing it with his heavy Mezlan shoes.

He was a brash one--the red-head, that is--and definitely not one to be happy while performing an underling's dirty work, such as sneaking into a demolished warehouse one evening trying to locate the gang's drugs--if there were any left.

Even more infuriating to the red-head was none other than Kurosaki Ichigo, a carrot-haired man who was roughly four years his junior, yet managed to become Renji Abarai's near-equal in a matter of months, and now even had the audacity to call the latter's voice "baboon-like."

Renji still remembered that one particular day when he arrogantly strutted off to meet Ichigo, and proceeded to welcome the orange-haired lad with a blow to the ribs, making it clear that he was his superior--his wakagashira (first lieutenant). After all, the crimson-haired man was reputed for being the gang's muscle; unfortunately, he was pretty much all and only muscle. As it turned out, Ichigo's sharp intellect and resourcefulness impressed their oyabun (head boss), resulting in his new position as a second lieutenant.

God, that pissed him off.

"Oi, Ichi..." Renji yelled over to his partner. "Oi--"

"Call me that again..." Ichigo replied, walking over to the red-head. "...and I'll snap your balls off."

"I'd like to see yer puny hands try." Renji said with a smug smirk on his lips. "Anyway, there aren't any drugs left. Look over there; those crates are empty."

He pointed over to a mountain of blackened crates, all strewn into a massive heap of wood, and the lids gone. It was clear; Barragan and his crew--not only did they burn down Yakuza property and kill some underlings--had taken all of the Yakuza's drug loads.

That would certainly cost the gang a pretty fuckin' penny.

"Shit..." Ichigo sighed, feeling somewhat in grief over the loss. "Shit...Boss is gonna be furious."

"Yeah..." Renji mumbled, lighting a cigarette in the dark and sticking it into his mouth. "That's not all, Ichi, so save yer breath and take a look at this."

He ambled towards the pile of crates, and, with his feet, knocked one over. The force from his kick made the crate tumble loudly, and as it rolled, something fell out with a heavy thud.

Ichigo squinted his eyes--in addition to covering his nose from the foul stench that suddenly emerged--and inched closer to the obscure object. But, once he got close enough, horror instantaneously spread across his face, and rapid jolts of fear raced throughout his stiffened body. He flinched, backing away.

"Jesus fucking Christ...' Renji then murmured, as his eyes widened with trepidation after seeing what exactly had fallen out of the crate--it was nothing he had expected, certainly not some mere Yakuza underling; that "thing" was something even more chilling to the bone. He moved closer, slowly though, and peered down at the object: a tiny decaying body.

It was not simply any dead body, though; the object had been impaled with a dagger, and with four bullet holes through the chest. It was small--too small--dripping with blood, and with dried crimson caked all over its tiny face. Wisps of that familiar pink hair fell from the white school-girl cap fixed over the object's head, and its green, cherubic eyes were rolled back in an almost eerie manner.

"Fuck..." Renji grimaced, coughing from the putrid stench that rose from the body. "Fuck, fuck...that goddamn fucker Barragan...!"

"They actually killed her." Ichigo gasped silently, trembling, and his hand curling into a fist. "They killed Kenpachi's daughter...Yachiru-chan."

June 14th
Charleville-Mezieres, France

Clicking sounds of her typewriter echoed through the vacant parlour, accompanied by the tender taps of the light evening rainfall and Vivaldi's Winter playing on the radio. It was twelve o'clock, and most people were already tucked into their beds by then.

However, for Rukia--with her black-rimmed glasses on and pink lips sipping steamy, rich coffee--the day never ended. She flipped through her books, alternating between reading and typing, and occasionally took sips of her warm coffee to keep her awake.

Ringgg.....ringggg.

But that helped, too.

Pushing her glasses upward, Rukia quickly reached for the phone on her desk and answered it. Yawning, she said, "Bonjour, this is Rukia, may I ask--"

"Ahhh! Miss Rukia...!" The voice on the other line yelped. "You're still awake, thank goodness!"

She cocked her eyebrows. "Excuse me, but do I know you?"

"Miss Rukia..." The voice groaned, upset. "It's me, your editor: Shuuhei Hisagi."

"Oh..." Rukia yawned again. "Right, right...How are you this lovely evening?"

"Not good! Not good at all!" He suddenly started yelling, so loudly that Rukia had to hold the phone away from her ear. "Where are those documents?! And that article? Have you finished anything since last month?!"

"Hisagi-kun," Rukia smirked. "What's going on? You're usually so calm..."

"How can I be calm when you keep stressing me out by pushing back the deadline?! My god, it's already June. You have to turn something in...!"

"I will, trust me. I'm working on the article right now."

"Ohh, okay. Then can you send it to me by morning?"

"Oh, I don't know," Rukia replied, fingers tapping on her desk. "You see, I'm not on my laptop--"

"You mean to tell me you're still using that goddamn typewriter?! My god, this isn't the eighteen-hundreds! Use a goddamn computer!"

"Calm down, sweetheart, it'll take me a day to send it to you. You're still in Belgium, right?"

"I'm in Japan!"

"Oh..." Rukia then bit her lip and held up her mug. "Then, it'll take more than a day..."

"Miss Rukiaaaa..." Hisagi's voice seemed to slur into a sob.

"I'm sorry, Hisagi. Just wait a bit longer, okay?"

"How can you do this to me?! Oh--god, you are just like Rangiku-san!"

"Have a lovely evening, Hisagi dear."

"Rukia--!"

"Au revoir."

Click.

And that is Rukia Kuchiki: headstrong, sardonic, and--quite frankly--doesn't give a shit about anyone or anything. Her world is governed by work, consisting of writing, reading, and pissing off a whole lot of people, mostly poor Shuuhei Hisagi and the local French authority.

From the time she opened her glistening, lavender eyes to view the world above, Rukia Kuchiki was raised in a realm of books. She flipped through the pages of Wuthering Heights at age 7, scanned the minute text of The Scarlet Letter while her peers learned basic arithmetic, and carried a copy of Nabokov's Lolita wherever she walked. And, being as intelligent as she was, Rukia entered one of the most celebrated universities in the United Kingdom, while the deans of Yale and Princeton fumed over their loss of such an inquisitive, bright young lady.

Although her future shimmered brilliantly overhead, her past remained a murky mystery. Rewinding back two decades ago, Rukia was not addressed as a "Kuchiki", but rather as an "Urahara", after the man who raised her in his modest shop the moment she was born. She did not know who her parents were, nor did she care; all her life Rukia would devote herself to literature and writing. Fortunately, her dedication would take her to higher ground, for she blossomed into a prolific writer, albeit mostly known for her caustic, sometimes crude humor and insight. Nicknamed "Merle"--or Blackbird--by her college peers, she audaciously attacked the government, religious institutions, and various officers of authority. Despite her age, no one dared to undermine little Miss Rukia, for her quick wit and persuasive style of writing dragged supporters and fanatics of "Merle" right into the palm of her hand.

Though feared, she was nevertheless threatened by school officials to either halt her production of such poisonous material, or be tossed out the gates. Finally, the Ivy League schools were sighing in relief. "Thank goodness she stayed in Europe," the dean of Dartmouth laughed.

But, Rukia always got the last laugh. Always.

Though she stood a little under five feet, the Cambridge University graduate made up for her height with quick wit and a charm that was almost painful to bear; her personality was simply fiery, and with that she was able to rake in many adoring fans, and--at the same time--plenty of enemies, as well.

It was a typical night of typing and hot coffee for the 'Blackbird.' Every now and then, of course, she would pick up the phone and answer to a couple of angry colleagues or psychopaths who threatened to rape and kill her. But, as stated before, Rukia always got the last laugh.

This certain night, however, no one would be laughing.

After her shower and a cup of creme brulee, Rukia sat back at her desk, much more relaxed, and peered over at the picture frames neatly lined on her shelf. She took time to gaze warmly at a picture of a red-haired boy standing adjacent next to a girl wearing pig-tails, and a blonde, messy-haired man embracing the two children. Slipping her glasses off, she smiled tenderly.

"Father Kisuke," Rukia quietly whispered, touching the frame. "Maybe I'll come back to England to see you."

Ringgg...ringgg

Grumbling in irritation, Rukia sauntered over to her desk and picked up the phone. Holding it to her ear, she sighed, "I'm sorry, but office hours are from nine to nine, so please call back when I'm not sleepy as hell and about to about to collapse. Thank you--"

"Rukia?" A husky, low voice emerged from the other line, with a foreign accent that seemed to clash with his French articulation. "Rukia, is that you?"

Noticing that it was most definitely a male's voice, Rukia frowned and replied, "Yes, my name is Rukia. If you're that same pervert who called me last weekend, then cut the bullshit and go pick up a French street-whore. Goodbye--"

"You mistake me, Rukia." The voice interjected sternly. "I apologize for this so late in the evening."

"Who are you?"

"You don't know me, Rukia, but you will." The voice replied.

"I don't think so, mister."

"Please listen to me--"

"What the hell do you want?" She grew angry, occasionally looking over at the empty space of the paper she had yet to type up.

"Nothing from you, Rukia. Just spare some time to hear what I have to say."

"You better make it quick," Rukia snapped. "I have work to finish, and this better not be some useless bullshit."

"It is not, I swear it. Listen--"

"Then stop wasting my time and tell me who you are and exactly what you want."

She heard a sigh from the man and there was silence for a while, but he then answered, "I am your brother-in-law."

...

Rukia scoffed, shaking her head. "Sorry, but I don't have one. I don't even have siblings. I'm afraid you've mistaken me for another Rukia."

"I haven't."

"You have. Like I said, I'm an only child."

"Of course, that's what you think."

Rukia replied, "I beg pardon, mister?"

"Have you received the mail from me, yet? I believe it is in a green envelope."

As much as she wanted to hang up and return to her work, Rukia's curiosity took over; she decided to play along with whoever it was on the other line, just to spice up her evening a bit with some excitement.

"...Well."

Rukia paused and glanced over at a stack of unread mail on her dresser. Flipping through the clusters of envelopes, she finally was able to locate the light-green one he described, and quickly plucked it out from under the clutter. Staring down at the lettering, her eyes suddenly began to widen in bewilderment.

The mail was sent from Japan.

...

'Wait a moment.'

Japan?

"Where are you calling me from, mister?" Rukia quickly asked.

"I am currently in Tokyo, Rukia. Have you opened the letter, yet?"

As she slit open the envelope, a small slip of blue-red paper fell out. Picking it up, Rukia examined the slip; it was, to her astonishment, an airplane ticket to Tokyo.

She then gasped, face flushing with rage; everything was becoming too weird for her to understand, and angrily asked the man, "What the hell is your problem? If you think I'm going to fly all the way over to Tokyo so you can kidnap and rape me, then I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm not some desperate, sex-crazed slut who's gonna mindlessly come over there just because--"

"You mistake me once again, Rukia." The man coldly replied. "Listen to me, I pray you. In a few days, I shall be dead, and I only wish to see you before I go."

Rukia frowned. "I expect a final answer from you, mister, and no more of this freaky stuff. Who the hell are you?"

"..."

"Well?"

"..."

"Answer me, mister."

"...My name..." The man reluctantly replied, with a hint of sorrow diluting the austerity in his voice. "...my name is Kuchiki Byakuya."

June 16th
Tokyo, Japan

Yellow beams of light burst through the thick fog one dawn as a silver Cadillac approached the front of the mansion. While the vehicle pulled up to the grand entrance, a tall mustached man with black shades and donned in a black suit walked out to welcome the two lieutenants back. After parking the Cadillac, Ichigo and Renji emerged, both clearly doused in sheer exhaustion.

"Ah, Kurosaki, Abarai, you two look like shit." The man remarked, chuckling.

"Save it, Iba." the ginger-head snapped. "I'm gonna visit Boss now."

"He's gonna be pretty angry with the two of you, especially you, Kurosaki, for starting this whole drug war again."

"I didn't start it, now fuck off." He shifted his russet eyes to look at Renji. "Are you coming, Abarai?"

"Yeah, yeah..." The red-head groaned as he watched Ichigo amble into the mansion. Pulling Iba aside, Renji then asked him, "How's Boss?"

"Not good," Iba answered. "He's been coughing up a shit-load of blood, and all this stress is really killin' him. I don't think he's gonna last very long."

"What about the big guy?"

"You mean Zaraki?"

"Yeah. How is he faring after the report?"

"Ahh..." Iba mumbled, scratching his head awkwardly. "...furious. I've never seen a man so angry before, and some pretty fucked up things have happened to him in the past, but nothing has ever made him so enraged. Even Boss doesn't want to talk to him."

"Shit." Renji sighed. "That was the most fucked up thing Barragan and his cronies could ever do--kill a child. Jesus..."

"I'd rather not go bother Zaraki now. You don't know what sick things he might do to you if you disturb him."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Renji said, walking into the entrance. "But, that old Italian is gonna pay. Someone will; you know how Zaraki is when is comes to revenge."

"I'm well aware, Abarai." Iba replied. "Don't remind me of how caught up he gets with bloodshed."

"Heh..."

As Renji ambled down the dimly-lit halls of the mansion, he met up with Ichigo at the room's entrance towards the back of the corridor. The gang's personal medic, Isane, had just emerged from the room and nodded, signaling that it was okay to visit the boss.

"He wishes to see you two now." The lavender-haired woman whispered, and turned her heel to leave.

"Boss." Ichigo said, facing the door. "It's us, Kurosaki and Abarai."

"Enter." A faint, low-pitch voice answered back. The two lieutenants complied and slid open the door, bowing slightly before walking inside.

Their boss, Kuchiki Byakuya, a gray-eyed man with fine ebony locks that delicately cascaded down his pale complexion, was seated on his bed, and flipping through reports--like always. Though he was young, claiming the title of Oyabun when he was a mere twenty-eight years of age and graced with the physical attributes that were more appropriate for a woman, he was well-upheld within the Yakuza community.

However, after his health began to deteriorate, Byakuya's authoritativeness seemed to wane, and control over the drug wars were gradually slipping from his grasp. The stress had caused his cheeks to hollow, and his face to pale; impending death cast a permanent shadow over his solemn face.

"Kurosaki." The black-haired man called his lieutenant over, still reading through the reports. "The cargos have been stolen, correct?"

"Yes, Kuchiki-san." Ichigo replied. "Without a doubt our building was set on fire by Barragan's crew after he discovered that it was owned by the Yakuza."

"I see. And there is not a single drop of the substance left?"

"There isn't."

"And, what else did you find, Kurosaki, that caused such an uproar within my dwelling?" Byakuya demanded to know, his silver eyes glistening.

Ichigo lowered his gaze, and, though hesitant, answered, "We discovered Kenpachi-san's daughter in one of the crates. It was an accident; we did not expect to find the girl in the building, but she was there."

"Who killed the child?"

"It was most likely Barragan's doing, sir."

"Hm, unfortunate." The man sighed defeatedly, turned his eyes to face his lieutenants and continued, saying, "You are all aware that I won't live past this week. Once I am gone, my wife will take my place, and I expect all of you to show her the utmost of reverence. Understood?"

"Yes, boss." Renji answered.

Byakuya coughed into his handkerchief before saying, "And, lastly, before I am gone, I want to ask you something, Kurosaki."

The ginger-head tilted his head downwards. "Yes?"

The black-haired man set his papers down and presented his lieutenant with a single photograph of a young, lavender-eyed girl sipping tea while settled in a cafe. Ichigo held it in his hand, and before examining it, asked, "Who is this young lady?"

Byakuya was silent for a moment, some hint of sorrow glimmering in his silver eyes. "I have never mentioned her before, but the girl's name is Rukia. She is my sister-in-law, the younger sister of my first wife."

Renji's eyes instantly widened and he asked, "Hisana nee-san had a sister?"

The red-head's sudden intrusion elicited an angry glare from Ichigo, but nevertheless Byakuya continued. "I have never met her before, this young lady. I sent one of the senior bosses to France to find her exact whereabouts and obtain a photo of her. It's strange; she resembles Hisana so much, yet I know that her personality is nothing like my first wife's."

Ichigo peered down at the photo in his grasp, riveting his attention on the black-haired girl. From what he could tell, the lady was of petite, slim stature, and harbored a sharp, piercing gaze that accentuated her loveliness. It was astonishing, indeed; this Miss Rukia was a splitting image of Hisana nee-san, though there was an air of austerity about her that was evident to even Ichigo.

"Sir..." the ginger-head began.

"Rukia will arrive in a couple of days." Byakuya whispered before holding his bloodied handkerchief up to his lips. "I have made arrangements. Although Rukia is an adult, I worry about dragging her all the way from France to here: the center of the Yakuza administration. That is why I appoint you, Kurosaki..."

The ginger-head man stiffened, suddenly understanding that he was about to obtain a hefty task that was impossible to refuse. "Is there something you need from me, sir?"

Byakuya nodded.

"...Once Rukia-san arrives, I want you to watch over her. I give permission to you as her guardian as long as she stays in Japan. Don't disappoint me, Kurosaki."

TO BE CONTINUED...

Ah, I think some feedback would be lovely, so please review :)
I'd love to hear what you all have to say.

And, just a few more notes...

1) Oyabun--head boss of Yakuza
2) Wakagashira--first lieutenant
3) Yes, I did make Rukia to be a bit bitchy, but I still love her.
4) And, finally, Yachiru is dead :( I read an article about this one rape of an eight year-old in Korea, and it really pissed me off, but I couldn't get that darn story out of my head, so this is evidence of its impact on me.

Thanks for reading, loves!