School's out! Yes! Freedom at last!

Well, this is the new story that I'm pretty psyched about. It took a LOT of research, but I think that I did a pretty good job getting all of the fact straight. It's a bit of a deviation from what I normally do, but I was pretty proud when I finished the prologue. Part of the credit goes to my co-writer, Mini Tank, for helping me work out the contingencies. There's not much more to say, other than that I hope you enjoy this first installment.

Arigato!

I had to close down everything,
I had to close down my mind.
Too many things to cover me
Too much can make me blind.
I've seen so much in so many places,
So many heartaches, so many faces,
So many dirty things
You couldn't even believe.
-Moby, "Extreme Ways"

The patter of heavy, rapid footsteps splashing in the puddles of muddy water echoed off the brick walls. Dark, foreboding eyes watched as the figure of a man ran down the deserted street and into the dank alleyway, gasping for breath as he leaned against one of the crumbling walls of an abandoned building, his hand clutching his chest. The man looked frantically around the small enclosure, half coughing and sobbing as the storm overhead growled ferociously, a bolt of lightning illuminating the dark sky.

Another figure stepped out from his position in the shadows, rain-drenched hair falling over his brow, hiding a set of empty, dull eyes. A face as equally impassive emerged from the dark, followed by a lean, intimidating body that slowly began to limber towards the visibly frightened man. The silhouette of a pistol was clenched in his hand, his index finger wrapping around the trigger as the man looked at him, eyes wide with fearful panic.

The gunman's face remained expressionless as the target turned to run, his foot catching on a fallen brick from one of the buildings. He stumbled to the ground, falling onto his stomach, cursing under his breath as he attempted to quickly crawl away from the aggressor. Blood was spat from his mouth as a small fragment of a shattered tooth fell from his lips. He looked back quickly, and his heart nearly stopped as his eyes made contact with suddenly murderous ones, their owner's face contorted into a disgraced snarl. Swiftly, the firearm was raised, the muzzle pointed directly at the frenzied escapee.

There was a long, terrible moment of silence, where it seemed as if the rain itself stopped falling, though he could feel the water continuing to drench his clothes. The only noise the gunman could hear was the beating of his own heart, the brisk pounding within his own ears that drowned out all other noise. With one final breath, he pulled the trigger, eliciting a monstrous explosion from the weapon and a pained scream from his victim as crimson liquid splattered over his face, the target slumping to the ground as fragments of bone and blood leaked out onto the ground from a jagged hole in his skull.

January 10th, 2008
Tokyo, Japan
9:28 PM, Local Time

"Hey, hey! Earth to Kurosaki! You there, buddy?"

Amber irises focused in on a hand waving before his face as the loud voice violently pulled him back into reality. The scowl quickly replaced the absent expression he had previously been adorning, his eyes narrowing as his antagonist continued to bellow into his ear. A low, throaty growl erupted from his mouth as he looked at the hand's owner, visibly displeased at the annoying manner in which he had been summoned from his inattentive state of mind. With a gruff sigh, Kurosaki Ichigo rose from his chair and grabbed his coat, gazing angrily at the man standing next to him. "Yeah, I'm right here, idiot. What do you want, Keigo?"

The brown-haired man drew up his hands in a defensive position, a nervous chuckle accompanying his voice. "Calm down, buddy. You just spaced out for a while. Besides, it's 9:28; we're off in two minutes."

Ichigo looked up at the clock hanging upon the far wall, the long black hand only a few millimeters from the large six at the bottom of its face. It was indeed nearly time for him and a few select doctors to depart from one of Tokyo's busiest hospitals for the evening venture back to there respective homes and apartments scattered throughout the bustling Taito district and communities surrounding it. After a quick-paced day of mending injuries and stitching shut bloody cuts and scrapes, it was finally time to emerge from the bland, ridiculously sanitized structure and into the thriving, pulsating metropolis.

"Hey, you up for bar-hopping tonight?" Keigo piped up yet again, much to Ichigo's disdain.

"Bar…what?" He cocked an eyebrow, looking back over his shoulder at the hyperactive young man who continued to trail behind him.

A pseudo-gasp was emitted as he proceeded to explain, "Bar-hopping! You mean to tell me that you don't know what it is? Me and Mizuiro and some of the guys are doing it tonight. It's where we go from bar to bar all over the city until we have to come back here to be treated for alcohol poiso-"

"No thanks," he blandly turned down the offer, packing a bulging manila folder into his black computer bag. It had been a basic routine for the past three years; wake up before the sun dared to lift itself over the horizon, take a shower, eat a rushed breakfast, work for eleven-plus hours, and return to his moderate-sized apartment. Though it seemed rather boring and customary to most, the regimen was just calm and mundane enough to ensure himself that he could see several days ahead. No surprises, no violent uprooting. "I don't think Rukia would be all that happy if I came home drunk. Especially since I'm having to work so many extra hours that I'm not getting home until after ten."

"You've become such a bore since you got married!" he wailed dramatically, sulking after the irritated doctor into the dim parking garage. Though Ichigo had managed to send several signals that, with each passing second, his patience with the energetic medical assistant was becoming increasingly thinner, he continued to be followed, up until he unlocked his car and slid into the drivers seat, only to turn and see the object of his infuriation sprawled across his once clean windshield. Growling, the orange-haired man slammed his fist against the horn on the steering wheel, the sudden loud blare sending Keigo onto the concrete pavement.

Going against the very tempting idea of rolling over the bothersome pest and being freed from having to spend six days of his week in a cloud of pointless conversation and chatter, he waited until the young man was far enough away from his car before he pulled out of the yellow-lined space and slowly eased the automobile out of the dark enclosure and into the brightly lit streets of Japan's largest city. The array of architectural marvels, the old Meiji and Edo period structures mixed with the modern glass high-rises, were the only things that made the slow trip back to his apartment somewhat bearable.

It was a shame, and quite a bothersome one, that the only hospital that would accept a physician with a degree as fresh as his was near the far north side of the sector on the border with Sumida district, while he lived just south of the downtown area in Taito. There were really only some thirty-odd kilometers that he had to journey, but with dysfunctional streetlights and morning traffic, it ended up seeming like sixty or seventy kilometers. Though, there was one positive side to having a shift that ended later than most, and that was the fact that the traffic was nowhere as near as terrible as it was at night.

He slowly pressed his foot down on the break pedal as the streetlight turned to yellow, then to red just as his car reached the intersection. His eyes scanned the ledges of the rooftops surrounding the street, but quickly shot back to the road as he caught his meaningless actions, silently scolding himself as the usual scowl instantly reappeared on his face. There's no one up there, idiot, he laughed tiredly at the odd habit he had picked up from his younger years, the calloused fingers of his left hand rubbing his shut eyes. It had been a rough day, he decided; he just needed to go home and rest.

As a great many pedestrians wearing all manner of clothing crossed before the growing line of cars, he spared a quick glance at his watch, his weary mind trying to recollect the date, which, only ten minutes ago, would have been easy to recount. January tenth--the beginning of a new year, a new chapter in his ever predictable life. He could see virtually everything ahead of him, what nearly every month would hold, what the year would be like. Simple and sweet, with little or no contingencies; exactly the way he wanted it to be.

As the last of the weary citizens crossed the black asphalt walkway, Ichigo returned his foot to the acceleration pedal and continued to drive down the avenue, already knowing that the dark circles under his eyes had grown more prominent, a physical sign of just how taxing the extra time that he had to spend at work was. There were some days when he didn't even return to his apartment until nearly two in the morning, collapsing onto his bed only to have to rise again a mere few hours later.

Though he wanted to forget about the entirety of the time span of his twenties, there were times when he couldn't help but to long for how easy late hours had been for him. He was only thirty-one, and he could already feel his body slowing down, his mind becoming far more lax than he wished it to be. When once he could remain awake and vigilant for days on end, he now found himself downing cup after cup of coffee to simply make it through a single workday.

It had been a rough week, though; for two nights he had been forced to spend the night at a fellow surgeon's condominium due to the late ending and early starting periods of his drastically elongated shift. He hadn't even had time to stop by his own apartment and check in on Rukia, who he knew was going give him an earful on how ridiculous it was for the management to extend the work period of all the other medical personnel while the hospital was understaffed instead of hiring temporary replacements from neighboring infirmaries. And, though it was expressed in the form of a tirade, he could tell that she was truly only concerned with the toll that it was taking on his body.

His eyes snapped shut and quickly reopened, the dim lighting of the overpass tunnel that was strangely clogged with traffic beginning to make his eyes droop tiredly. He reached over to the radio on the dashboard of his car and mulled through several stations and expanses of static before leaving it on a popular rock station, hoping that the blaring music would rouse his senses enough so that he could complete the venture to his apartment without being the cause of a potential accident.

Several long minutes passed before the traffic slowly began to flow through the tunnel and back into the urban landscape that had become so familiar to him. He hastily rolled down the driver's side window and tilted his head at an angle, the chilled breeze sending a stimulating shockwave through his body that immediately sprang him into a sense of acute awareness, the remedy for his grogginess working much better than he had anticipated.

The tedious drive back to his apartment in the western end of the Taito district had become almost like a routine voyage that had become embedded into his mind where he probably could have continued in the sleep that he so desired. Across the Sumida River on the Azuma Bridge heading northbound, hanging a sharp left once the steel and concrete viaduct connected to the river's western front, and headed straight down the Kaminarimon Dori. He could see every intersection and road sign clearly, even though he was just boarding onto the bridge.

He spared a glance over the inky black waters surrounding the suspended bypass and at the towering buildings of his domain, the countless lights sparkling on the river like diamonds on a piece of flawless ebony silk. Almost there, he thought tiredly as the bridge gave way to asphalt pavement and solid land. For what it would be worth, he would manage to gain a few hours of sleep before waking himself for another normal day at an overcrowded hospital in the Sumida district. Perhaps, he thought as he turned onto Chiniyoko Dori, the approaching weekend would bring a slight reprieve from the grueling hours.

He pulled into a freshly-marked parking space in front of a large skyscraper, only one or two of the windows on the street side face were lit, residences of tenants who lived in the bliss of lenient workdays and late starts. Briefly consulting his wristwatch before exiting from the vehicle, Ichigo gave a half-scowl as he saw the late hour at which he had arrived at his apartment. Sixteen minutes past ten o'clock was much too late for any man to return home, especially considering the fact that he was obligated to wake up as soon as the sun did.

He put the car in park and grabbed his coat from the passenger seat, running a hand through his disheveled hair as he slowly opened the metal door and trudged across the lavish foyer, a drawn-out yawn escaping his mouth as he pressed one of the many buttons on the metal plate slightly protruding from the marble walls. He was quite certain that Rukia would not be the one complaining about his extended shift; he would, and it would not be in a quiet or polite manner, either. Something loud and rough, a tirade that would attract attention and make the naive personnel realize that they were being worked like dogs. Yes, he smiled as the elevator gave a quiet ding and the metal doors opened. That would do just fine. Push them to where they can't ignore one of their best, but not far enough to where they can cut him loose and leave him on the street without a job.

After several seconds, the elevator lurched to a stop at the twentieth floor of the sky-rise complex. He walked down the long, dimly-lit corridor, cursing as he realized that he had forgotten his patient's files in his car. There was no need to go back down to ground level to retrieve them; all of the records had been reviewed and evaluated and, unless someone planned on stealing his car, would be perfectly safe in the glove compartment of his black automobile. And, considering that fact that he was too tired to even give a damn, he concluded that they would be fine.

He shoved his hand into the front pocket of his pants, fumbling through layers of yellow memo notes and spare change that had accumulated throughout the day in search of the spare apartment key, which he had so idiotically removed from the ring where his office and car keys were. Finally managing to locate the small piece of cool metal, he gave, for what seemed like the hundredth time that day, a groggy sigh and pulled it out of the recesses of his pocket and unlocked the door to his apartment.

With as much stealth as his half-asleep body could muster, he stepped off his shoes and treaded through the carpeted living space, maneuvering around the weak spots in the flooring that would surely creak if he walked across them. He placed his coat on the back of the coffee-colored sofa on the middle of the room and continued silently down a small hallway, gradually letting his movements become less strained in his attempt to make as little noise as possible. Quite positive that he had cleared all danger spots on the flooring, he let the full weight of his body shift back into the soles of his feet as he slowly opened the door to a small bedroom.

His amber eyes strayed to the sleeping figure on the bed, giving a small smile as he lazily walked to the other side and began removing the miscellaneous items that had somehow managed to build up within his pockets, placing them onto the bedside table. He could tell that Rukia had stayed up waiting for him, even though he had sternly told her not to. Her breathing wasn't as deep as it should have been for someone who should have gone to bed at around nine o'clock, as per the usual weeknight schedule. As far as he could tell, she had probably drifted off only a few minutes before he had arrived, which wasn't healthy for someone who insisted on waking up at the same time he did, if not earlier.

Without even bothering to remove the bland combination of a white button-up shirt and a pair black pants, the doctor collapsed onto the warm mattress, relishing the rare opportunity to relax his aching muscles and be free from the normal erratic events of the stressful days that seemed to constantly harass him. And in just a few hours, he would have to rise again and repeat the daunting task until the weekend, where he received only a single day off each week. He shut his eyes, not really wishing to bother himself with the schedule he had been given, and quickly fell asleep.

Keep walking, get the hell off this street. Don't stop, don't look around, at least not up at the rooftops. Keep an eye on them before they're right next to you. Light reflecting off of steel, off of the metal of a weapon. Slow down, idiot! Don't look like you're running from someone, just trying to get out of the street quickly. Nice, brisk strides, not that track-team sprinting shit. Keep your eyes in front of you, just look straight ahead. Stay in the crowd; blend in with these people. Stay hidden, don't go into the middle of the street. Look for a flash, the light reflection...there! The third building to your right, on the left edge of the roof! Get behind a building, something, for Christ's sake!

"Ichigo!"

The said man's eyes snapped open as he bolted upward, turning frantically in the bed, his legs becoming tangled in the sheets as his eyes fought to see through the abysmal darkness surrounding him. He turned from side to side, grabbing the headboard as suddenly alert yet anxious eyes scanned the fleeting shadows being cast across the white walls by lights from outside the window. He felt a pair of small, cool hands frame his face, his body ceasing its erratic movements as his mind recognized the familiar touch. His eyes were redirected to the petite raven-haired woman sitting up next to him, her own violet orbs shining with worry as she stared up at his face. Choking back a cough, Ichigo slowly leaned back against the headboard, taking deep breaths to try and slow the rapid pounding of his racing heart. "Shit."

"Ichigo, are you alright?" Rukia's question received no reply, which served only to frighten her more. She gently ran her fingers over his scalp as his ragged breathing evened out, his eyes shutting as the adrenaline left his body and replaced it with newfound exhaustion. She repeated the question softly, only slightly convinced when he gave a quick nod as he used the back of his hand to wipe the perspiration from his brow. Her hands latched onto his shoulders as he tried to sit up and completely erect, a painful grunt escaping his lips as a result of the effort. As far as she could tell, he had probably pulled a muscle during the thrashing fit he had been in only moments before. "What happened, Ichigo? What's wrong?"

"N...nothing. Just a dream." He gave a deep, winded breath as an accompaniment to the unconvincing reply. That had been...what had that been? Never before in his life had he had any sort of unconscious vision that vivid, that terribly real, where it would cause him that much discomfort. A fatigue-induced hallucination? That was the only thing he could think of, for that was the only plausible answer. No way could that have been some kind of post-traumatic stress replay of past events; he had never been briskly striding down a crowded street that he had never been to before, let alone with people on rooftops being a concern. "Too weird," he whispered, pulling at the suffocating collar of his shirt. "Too damn weird."

"Hey," she murmured, soothingly kneading the tense knots of muscle in his back. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" She decided to let the subject rest momentarily when he rapidly nodded and pulled on the edge of his shirt, which, much to her surprise, had become drenched with sweat. With his help, she managed to remove the clinging button-up shirt and the equally soaked tee-shirt he wore underneath, the crisp air of the room cooling his heated skin. She waited a few moments, debating upon whether or not to get a cloth with cold water for his burning neck, but knew that he would never admit that he needed it. If there had been one thing that she had learned about Kurosaki Ichigo in the seven years that she had known him, it was that he never accepted any kind of help from anyone unless it was forcefully given to him, and even then there was a fair chance that he would simply scowl and refuse it.

Deciding that forcefully calming him would be the only way to handle the situation, she gave his shoulder a comforting rub before exiting the bedroom, grabbing a small washcloth on her way to the kitchen. In all the time that she had known him, never once had she seen him tossing and mumbling in his sleep to such a severe degree. He was normally very composed and calm, even when he was unconscious, and the most dramatic actions he had ever taken in his sleep were to whisper something and turn over on the mattress. But what had been going on five minutes ago was something akin to a mixture of night terrors and nocturnal myoclonus, though she knew that neither effected him. As a student teacher at one of Japan's most prominent medical universities, she could easily recognize the signs of both, and the panicked man just fifteen feet away had exhibited only a few of them.

She walked back into the bedroom, switching on the fan as she approached the bed. The cool washcloth was quickly placed on his forehead, residue from the drastic difference in temperature almost immediately forming along the edge of the small towel. She felt him shudder against her leg as his hand covered hers, holding the damp cloth against his brow as his breaths slowly began to even out. She heard him whisper a quiet "Thanks" as he pulled his body back into a sitting position, his hands once again beginning to rub his bloodshot eyes.

Her slender fingers held onto his wrists and pulled his hands away from his face and studied the thin red lines that laced intricate patterns over the whites of his eyes. She put her other hand against his face, the muscles along his jaw flinching instinctively before relaxing into the soft touch. "Are you sure you're alright?"

"Yeah, it…God, it was just really weird. Like it was real, you know? It just kind of…shook me up a bit." He pulled his body off of the mattress and began to walk out of the room, muttering in a hoarse voice, "I'm going to get a glass of water."

"You need to lie back down, Ichigo. I'll get it." She began to get up, but stopped when his hand rose to silence her.

"No. I'm fine." He plodded into the living area, a note on the wood coffee table at the end of the sofa catching his attention. It was printed in his wife's impeccable handwriting, obviously written while she was still fully awake.

'Keigo called. He said that most of the doctors would be coming back tomorrow, so the shifts would go back to normal. He also wants to know when you plan on loosening up and having some fun with your co-workers. And, quite frankly, I'm wondering the same thing.'

"Ha, ha," he rolled his eyes and walked up to the counter, removing a cup from the cabinet and turning on the faucet. The water ran through the tap for several seconds before he muttered "Screw it," and walked over to the polished mahogany wet bar, pulling a wine glass and bottle of Red Côtes de Bordeaux from the rack. With little elegancy, he yanked the cork from the opening and poured the red beverage into the glass, not stopping until it was nearly filled to the brim. At that moment, his state of mind when he awoke the next morning didn't matter much to him. He'd have to wake up, so it might as well be with a hangover. It might even serve an excuse to take the Friday off, since most of the medical personnel would be returning and the hospital would no longer be understaffed.

"I thought you said you were going to get some water."

Ichigo turned his head and gave a half-smile, taking a gulp of the rich liquid before replying, "I plan on having a massive headache tomorrow with a touch of nausea. I don't think I'll be able to go to work." He ducked his head as she crumpled up the note that had been on the table and chucked it at him. "Don't be sore. Besides, the docs are coming back and we won't be short-staffed anymore. There's no harm in taking the day off. That'll give me two days, since I get Saturday via contract agreement. Maybe we can go out and get some dinner instead of having takeout every night."

"One problem with that." She pointed at the now nearly-empty wine glass before stating, "I don't think you'll be in the mood to go anywhere with the hangover that you'll be having tomorrow, at least if you keep that up."

He shrugged, pouring himself another generous portion of liquor. "You want some?"

"No, thanks," she replied, walking up next to him and leaning against the bar. "I'm staying clean. Someone's going to have to have a clear head tomorrow and make you your aspirin and coffee remedy. Just do me a favor and don't vomit all over the place."

"Eh, don't get your panties in a twist. I can hold my alcohol better than you think."

"Don't push it. You're Japanese, not Irish. Besides, your breath's starting to stink." She took the glass from his hand and poured its contents into the sink, a frown removing her flawless smile as she glanced at Ichigo. His brow was furrowed in a type of frustrated concentration, his lips turned downwards into a sharp scowl. For a brief moment, his face scrunched up into a disgruntled expression that seemed more comical than serious, but immediately changed back into an even more quizzical frown. "Is it about the dream?" she asked quietly, her violet eyes meeting with his surprised amber ones.

"Yeah," he answered after a long period of uncomfortable silence. He set his glass down and stared at the floor, his arms folded over his bare chest.

She had known him for nearly eight years, and found that it was clearly visible when he was confused or frustrated. But the only drawback was that he never told anyone specifically what it was that was upsetting him. All she could truly do was throw around random guesses until he replied with a "Sure" or a "Yeah" or a simple grunt. He wouldn't ever sit down and talk about his problems or concerns, though he openly encouraged her to talk with him about hers. Then he would actively do all that he could to resolve them, and pay no regard to his troubles, no matter how grave they may be. Nevertheless, she felt that it was her duty as his confidante and spouse to pursue the matter; "What was it about?"

He was silent for a moment, eyes not moving from their random target on the floor. Then the traditional reply came. "Nothing. It was just a dream. A weird dream."

"You know what my sister would say about keeping your problems locked in?"

Ichigo bit his lip, but then looked toward his wife; her sister was a touchy subject, and he knew that if she were to bring her into this that his lack of communicating his problems was staring to become a major concern. "What?"

"That keeping them to yourself just makes them worse. I've told you that I'm here to listen if you want to talk."

He offered her a small smile and crossed over towards the sink, putting an arm around her waist. "Yeah, I know," he replied quietly. "Thanks."

"So," she turned around in the embrace to face him and rested back against the counter. "Are you going to talk about it?"

"Nope," he replied, shaking his head.

"What? Why not?"

"Hey, just because I agreed with you doesn't mean I'm actually going to do it." He shied away when she threw a dishtowel at him, muttering something about how "impossible" he was.

He gave a deep, long yawn and pointed to the clock. "It's two in the morning, Rukia. We should probably get back to bed."

"Especially if you're going to work tomorrow."

"I'm not."

"You're going to call and see if they need you, and if they don't, then you won't have to go."

"Fine, fine," he waved his hands, putting and arm around her shoulders and guiding her to the bedroom. "Let's just get some sleep, okay? I know for a fact I'm going to be as tired as hell tomorrow morning, and if I do have to go to work, I won't want to fall asleep during an operation."

"And you're sure you're alright? That nightmare seemed to have you pretty shaken up."

"I'm fine," he sighed, stumbling as she took hold of his hand and dragged him to the bed. "It was just a stupid dream."

"Whatever you say, tough guy," she snickered.

"Ha ha," he retorted dryly, waiting until she had gotten situated under the sheets before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her back against his chest. "Goodnight. Or, good morning, really."

"Just get some sleep, Ichigo," she murmured, rubbing his arm.

The minutes ticked my, the digital alarm clock on the nightstand reading 3:24 by the time he finally shut his eyes. He wanted to forget about the dream, to just dismiss it as his mind working overtime, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Everything about it seemed so real, too real, that he couldn't dismiss it. He could actually feel the sweat rolling down his face and hear his heart beating rapidly.

It's nothing, he told himself as he finally dosed off. Just a dream. Just a weird dream.