AN: I really have to thank all of my readers for this chapter even existing. I was in a rut - a deep and terrible rut. I couldn't write a goddamn thing for this chapter without it sounding like complete shit. But the amazing responses I got to this story finally shoved me off my ass and got me writing again. I am proud to say that Captive finally has a new installment, and it's thanks to all my reviewers. Seriously guys, give yourselves a hand. The rut has been breached, and I hope to begin writing regularly again for this story. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and those still to come.

He woke up later to the sound of Orihime's voice. For a moment, he forgot everything, soothed by the pleasant, relaxing qualities of her soft voice. But as he listened and his awareness returned, he could make out the words she was speaking – something about Las Noches – and then Rukia's voice chimed in.

He remembered.

Ichigo sat up to find himself in a spare room of Urahara's place. He could recognize the traditional stylings in a moment with all the time he'd spent there training, recovering, and learning from Hat-n-Clogs. He didn't know why Rukia had done what she'd done, or why she'd taken him here, but he could already feel the uncomfortable prickling of anxiety creeping over him.

Ignoring the pounding in his head from having Rukia's sword hilt smashed into it not too long ago, he stood, immediately looking for a window. There were none, probably an intentional move, and besides, Orihime was inside. He didn't want to face anyone, but he wasn't willing to leave without her, either. With a deep breath, he slid the door open and stepped into the hall.

It was quiet except for the soft clinks of china and even softer voices. He followed the sounds until he reached Urahara's dining room, and was confronted with Orihime and Rukia's stares. He instinctively moved toward Orihime's comforting image and away from Rukia's harshness.

"Orihime, what's going on?" he asked, trying his hardest to keep the note of panic out of his voice. He ignored Rukia.

"Ichigo-kun..." Orihime let her voice trail off. "I've been really worried about you. You won't talk to anyone but me, you haven't been eating as well as you should – you almost never leave your room." Her gray eyes met his, bright with unshed tears. "I thought you could get better on your own, but... you need help."

Immediately, he denied it.

"I'm doing fine, Orihime," he lied. "There was no need to get anyone else involved-"

A heavy, distinctly masculine hand landed hard on his shoulder.

Panic, white and dazzling, blossomed behind his eyes. Immediately, Ichigo turned and haphazardly flung a fist where the face of the hand's owner must be. A strangled cry began in his throat when his fist was effortlessly caught, but not to be deterred, he threw his other fist at them. Only when that one was caught too, and he could hear himself chanting "Don't, don't, don't!" over and over again, did he register who stood in front of him.

Urahara's intense, unusually serious blue eyes shone out from under the darkness of his hat. They stared at Ichigo until he couldn't stand the look he found there anymore and shut his eyes resignedly.

"No need?" the shopkeeper repeated quietly. "I think there was every need."

Urahara released his grasp on the boy's wrists as they began to tremble, stepping away from him to sit at the table.

"You need help, Ichigo." Rukia spoke quietly, but strongly.

"I don't want any help," he spat, "especially not from you."

A pause, then, "That may well be true, but even if you don't want help, you need it. And I don't care what you say, I'll be here to help you."

"Ichigo," Orihime's soft voice called out. He turned slightly at her voice, leaning into the light touch of her hand on his arm. Her soft fingers rubbed his bare arm soothingly. "Please. Please let us help you."

He swallowed harshly, Adam's apple bobbing under his skin. The seconds ticked by.

"Alright," he said hoarsely. "Alright." Ichigo closed his eyes again, and when he opened them they were hardened with determination.

"But I want you and Rukia to leave," he said, hardly able to force the words from his throat. He wanted her with him, but... he had obviously caused Orihime enough pain. He wouldn't force her to relive the horrors; she'd already seen enough after all. And Rukia... He didn't need to look at her to know where she was. She wasn't happy, but it wasn't as if he was very happy with her, either.

After a moment, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, Orihime," he said softly. "I'm sure."

"Well," said Urahara from his seat at the table. Ichigo flinched at his deep voice. "Kurosaki-kun will stay with me while he recovers. Rukia, you'll tell his family that Ichigo is going on a spur-of-the-moment beach retreat with his friends." The small, dark-haired shinigami left.

"Orihime." She looked at the shopkeeper. "I'll contact you."

"O-of course." With one last look at Ichigo's turned-away face, and a reassuring squeeze to his arm, she left too. Now he and the shopkeeper were alone. Ichigo couldn't sense Tessai or the kids in the house, or even Yoruichi. It was just him and Urahara.

"You can sit if you like," Urahara stated mildly. From the corner of his eye, Ichigo saw that the older man was focused intently on his tea, almost ignoring him.

"No, thanks," he ground out. Ichigo closed his eyes again, and took in a deep breath. His fists, which had been clenched at his sides, relaxed. He breathed in and out for a few minutes, feeling calmer for it.

The panic was receding somewhat, but he still didn't quite know what to do with himself. Urahara's presence was making him uncomfortable, and he felt stupid for feeling that way – it was Mr. Hat-n-Clogs – Ichigo shouldn't have been afraid of him. But he couldn't get past the fact that Urahara was nearly the same height as Grimmjow, couldn't see past the fact that Urahara was so blatantly male, no matter the differences between the two. He only felt safe next to small, feminine Orihime. And that made him feel stupid, too.

The minutes ticked by in silence. When Ichigo was about to leave, Urahara said, "The basement is available to you if you feel the need to practice with Zangetsu. If you want to spar with anyone, feel free to ask." He calmly went back to sipping his tea.

Ichigo hesitated for a moment, but kept walking. His feet led him back to the room he'd woken up in, and after shutting the door, he sat back down on the futon.

He dozed lightly for a few hours and only went back to the kitchen when he got hungry.

Urahara wasn't there.

Several days passed this way. Ichigo would attempt to sleep for once without nightmares about unwanted hands, blue hair, and reptilian green eyes – and fail. He walked around Urahara's shop like a ghost, haunting the halls simply for something to do. Urahara watched him once – the teen couldn't even round a corner without first checking to make sure nothing was there. He spent long amounts of time in the shower, and out of the clothes Rukia had delivered to Urahara from Ichigo's house, Ichigo chose the baggiest to wear.

In short, he was nothing like the Kurosaki-kun Urahara once knew.

He attempted to talk to him sometimes, always about innocuous topics like the weather or baseball, but Ichigo only gave short answers.

The blonde shopkeeper decided he would give him a little more time to adjust to life without Orihime always by his side.

One day, two weeks into his stay, Ichigo passed by the trapdoor to the basement training area. He slowed to look at it. On top of the wooden platform lay a piece of soul candy, obviously in case he wanted to discard his body for training. He wondered absently just how long it had been there, waiting for him to use it.

He eyed the small tablet for a moment before hurriedly picking it up and swallowing, almost to prevent himself from changing his mind. His soul departed from his body with no resistance.

"Go to sleep in my room," he ordered the generic soul. Without watching to see if it obeyed, Ichigo removed the trapdoor and descended to the grounds.

He clutched Zangetsu in his hands, the cool metal a comfort under his tense fingers. He had missed his old friend – he hadn't been in this form for months. Not since Las Noches.

Dismissing the unpleasant thought, Ichigo pointed his zanpakutou at an outcropping of rock.

"Alright," he growled, feeling the power grow under his fingertips. "Let's do this."

When Urahara woke the next morning, he found Ichigo's body in the kitchen eating some of the rice he'd prepared, the permanent scowl noticeably absent.

"Where is he?" he asked the mod soul quietly.

"Basement," it replied concisely.

"How long has he been down there?"

"Since last night."

Urahara was slightly alarmed. He had wanted Ichigo to get rid of some frustration, not exhaust himself. The shopkeeper made his way down the ladder and into the training area, testing the air for the teen's reiatsu. He found him about halfway into the room, decimated rock formations in his wake letting Urahara just how long he'd been at it. He sighed when he actually saw him.

Ichigo was sitting against one of the still-intact ledges of earth, knees raised, arms resting on them. His forehead was creased even more than it usually was, and he looked to be in the middle of brooding. A few yards away, Zangetsu was embedded in the ground. For once, Urahara wasn't sure what approach he should take.

"We got into a fight," Ichigo supplied unexpectedly. His fists clenched as he stared at nothing.

"What about?" Urahara asked lightly.

"Zangetsu doesn't think I should be ignoring what... happened," he said, the distaste obvious in his voice. "He thinks I should be talking to someone about it."

"I see." The blonde man stopped a few yards away from Ichigo and looked out at Zangetsu. "Do you think that maybe you might try his idea?"

Ichigo turned his sharp gaze on him.

"And who would I talk to?" he asked heatedly. "Orihime knows most of it already, and you saw how much she's upset about it. Renji would be just as uncomfortable, and Rukia..." He frowned again, looking away. "She wouldn't understand."

"What about me, Kurosaki-kun?" he asked seriously.

"You?" He looked surprised at the very suggestion. After a pause, he finally said, "No. I couldn't."

"And why not?"

"Because-" he broke off. He took another breath to try again. "Because if I do, you'll look down on me. You all will," he muttered, finally getting to the truth of it. "And I couldn't handle that."

"And you can handle it now?" the shopkeeper asked. Ichigo looked at him in confusion. "Kurosaki-kun, if you think your friends don't know that something happened, then you are seriously underestimating them. The longer you continue to act the way you are – skittish, antisocial, the all around not-Ichigo traits – you'll still lose. Maybe not their respect," Urahara corrected, "but maybe their friendship."

"And you think," Ichigo said falteringly, "that by- by talking about it-"

"You'll return to the old Kurosaki-kun," Urahara confirmed. "Besides," he said, going out on a limb, "you know that by acting this way you're letting them win."

"What?" The response was sharp and quick.

"Aizen and his army," he clarified, noting the slight flinch at the defector's name. "By pushing people away and becoming this recluse, you're letting whatever he did to you crush you. Do you want that? Do you want to let Aizen and his Espada destroy you?"

"No!" he burst out. "No, I don't, but I don't know what to do." He suddenly radiated energy, standing as the words rushed out of him. "Every night I dream that I'm back there; that I'm helpless because of that damned inhibitor! And then one of them- one of them comes in and, and it happens all over again! I'm exhausted! When I sleep I'm reminded of Las Noches, but if I don't it reminds me of the damned place all the same! I can't even walk around your house," he laughed bitterly, "without looking around the corners as if someone's going to jump out at me at any moment." He fell silent, glaring at the ground.

"It's pathetic. I'm pathetic."

Ichigo jumped at the sudden slithering sound of a sword clearing its sheath. He stared at Hat-n-Clogs questioningly. He received no answer.

Without warning, Urahara darted forward.

Ichigo barely made it out of the way of Benihime as she cut into the air where he'd just been standing.

"What the hell!-"

He stumbled and flash stepped again, but this time he didn't get away quite unscathed. A thin, red line appeared across his chest, a small amount of blood beading through the broken skin – but the blonde didn't let up. He jabbed, slashed, and sliced at the red haired teen until he was panting with the effort needed to stay out of harm's way. The fact that Urahara was so close to Ichigo didn't even phase him. His thoughts were all consumed with just getting out of the way.

Finally spotting an opening, Ichigo managed to grab Zangetsu and swing him around just in time to block a bone-shattering blow from Benihime. He gritted his teeth in effort, sweat dripping off his body as his muscles worked to keep him alive.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Ichigo hissed.

Urahara's intense blue eyes suddenly met his. Ichigo stilled.

"I am trying to kill you," Urahara stated quietly and simply. "Right now, I am your enemy. My goal is to dispose of you so that I can do whatever it is you are preventing me from doing. I don't care about your family, your nightmares, your troubled past – about anything. All that matters at the end of the day is that you are dead, and I am alive." He put more pressure into his block, sliding Benihime against Zangetsu with a soft screech. He asked Ichigo, "Do you understand?"

For a moment, Ichigo's face was still a blank. But then it filled with comprehension.

"In that case," Ichigo stated, pushing back at Urahara, "I guess I'd better forget about all that junk, too." With a shout, he threw Urahara off of him. The shopkeeper landed lightly some feet away and grinned.

"I guess so."