Disclaimer: Neither Bleach nor its characters belong to me

A/N: I really enjoyed writing the first part of this story and, while bored in trig this week, I decided to rewrite it in Ichigo's perspective. I've sort of done it before but both Ichigo and Rukia are such emotionally deep characters, it's interesting to see/write about their contrasting views and opinions. Hope it's not too similar to part one that it's boring.

Enjoy!

I told her to sleep in my sisters' room. Against my better judgement, I attempted to be somewhat nice and I prepared her dinner on a tray, so she wouldn't have to pathetically limp down the stairs to dinner. Then I mentally kicked myself. It was my fault she was injured: I had allowed someone to harm her. She was in pain because I had failed to protect her. Again.

I carried the tray upstairs, preparing my act of nonchalant succor--but she wasn't even there. I felt at least two distinct emotions begin to flow through my veins: anger and panic. Where the hell was she?

I slammed the tray down hard on one of my sister's desk, causing soup to slosh onto the tabletop. She could be so infuriating sometimes! Why couldn't she just listen?

Pent up frustration beginning to boil over, I stormed down the hall, uncontrolled, to my room. When I focused really really hard--which took too much effort for me to try to do all the tine--I could feel her spiritual pressure steadily pervading in my room. My fury subsided, if only a little--I let out a slight sigh of relief, knowing she was here...still here with me.

But she wasn't off the hook that easy. I stomped--dramatically thunderous--over to my closet, her room, and threw the door open wide.

"What are you doing, you freak?" I shouted. At first, she looked like a deer caught in headlights. Her violet orbs widened in surprise, and she clutched at the sheets tucked tight under her chin with white knuckles. Then she looked infuriated, but too tired to yell back at me like she normally did. That kind of threw me for a minute. "You're injured. You can't sleep in this cramped space! And don't argue with me. You're sleeping in my sisters' room, got it?"

With that I, unceremoniously, threw her over my shoulder.

She was feather light, but I heard her grunt in pain. My eyes slid shut. How could I forget about her injuries?

She yelled at me as I carried her out into the hallway, but my thoughts meshed with her words in my head and I wasn't really listening. A tiny fist struck my back, but it felt lick a tap and I struggled to contain my laughter: her attempt to injure me was humorous.

A trickle of blood ran down my shoulder. I stopped, looking for my injury, but I knew I wasn't cut. It was her blood! My rough carelessness had caused her wounds to reopen.

Without thinking, images of her bleeding running through my head, making me physically ill, I dropped her, which, of course, only made matters worse.

"Ouch! That really hurt!" she whined. She rubbed her butt, and, had I not been the one to cause the pain she was feeling, I would have made some smart-ass remark about her not being ladylike. But I didn't. She looked up at me, her eyes pained, revealing her hurt. "Are trying to make me feel worse?"

I looked at her as she sat on the floor at my feet. She was so frail-looking. Though I knew, firsthand, that she was tough, knew she could take care of herself, I had this overwhelming desire to protect her with everything I had, with my very being. It consumed me, especially lately. How could I ever let someone harm her? The fact that I had let someone harm her pissed me off so bad, and anger started flowing through my veins, making my blood hot. I clenched my jaw, trying to control my emotions.

She tugged at my pant leg. "Hey I'm okay, really; just help me back to your room," she tried to assure me, her eyes now slightly softer.

I swallowed. She was not okay, despite what she tried to downplay.

I guess I took too long to respond because she struggled up on her own, tried limping past me. She didn't--couldn't?--look me in the eye as she did. But I swiftly took hold of her waist and helped her too my room; discretely, to be sure she didn't notice, I used a trick Hanataro had taught me to quickly reseal her would, and I made sure she stopped bleeding. She hobbled, slowly, over to my bed, where I sat her down. She panted quietly, and her face had paled.

"You okay?" I asked, a little unsure.

She nodded she was.

"You need anything?" I tried.

She shook her head, not making eye contact.

I merely swallowed and sat at my desk in response, not quite sure what to say. I opened my Trig book and tried to focus, but I couldn't. I kept glancing at her out of the corner of my eyes; she was leaning against the wall, with her head tilted back and her eyes closed. The sun set in the window behind her, casting an orange glow over her silhouette. She peaked an eye open every couple of minutes, but every time she did, I looked down at my textbooks.

It grew darker, and I flipped my desk lamp on, though I didn't really need the light: I wasn't getting any studying done.

She sighed and I quickly glanced up at her. Before I could breathe, she was getting up and heading for the door.

I jumped out of my chair. "Where are you going?" I nearly shouted.

Now she scowled. "To take a bath. Do you have an objection you'd like to voice about this too?" she bit out harshly.

I quickly turned away from her as I felt the heat rush to my face. I would not be escorting her to the bathroom. Hell no.

I sat back down and said, "Call me if you get hurt or something and I'll get Yuzu," casually scratching my head.

She, gingerly, continued to limp from my room. I then strained my ears until I heard the bathroom door close behind her, until I heard the faint running of water. Again, I tried to return my focus to studying, but at this point, why bother? My mind was so scrambled, I'd be lucky if I could remember how to tie my own shoes let alone remember basic trig functions.

After about ten minutes, I got it in my head that she was taking too long, and I started pacing around my room, my frustration growing.

But I was too chicken to check on her. What if, when I burst in on her, to "check on her," she was still...naked?

I tried to shake the thought out of my head.

Then I'd be the injured one.

She had already told me--though unconvincingly--she didn't have feelings for me, and I was trying--more like struggling--to respect her boundaries...at least until she came to her senses.

Finally, I heard the doorknob turn and I swiftly returned to my seat. She walked in slowly, retrieved a brush from the closet, and sat back down on the bed. This time, she faced the window.

With her hand that was not encumbered with a cast, she struggled to brush her hair. It was so knotty, I winced for her, but she never emitted a sound.

I sighed. Unable to watch any longer, I seized the brush from her grasp and sat down behind her. She turned, fire in her eyes, but I spoke first. "Let me." With that, I began to run the brush through her wet, raven strands of silk that smelled of cherry blossoms. I tried hard to make sure the brush didn't snag, and I finished in less time than it would have taken her.

It reminded me of when Yuzu and Karin were little, right after Mom died. Yuzu's hair had been long back then, nearly to her waist, and Mom had always brushed and braided it for her, told her how lovely it was. When Mom died, though, Yuzu had cried so much she didn't brush it for nearly two weeks; it wasn't anywhere near "lovely" then. One day, she'd been in the living room, crying, and I couldn't bear to see her like that any longer. I started brushing it for her every night, and every night she cried, missing Mom. The night she stopped crying was the night she cut all her hair off.

I stopped, but did not move. I could hear her quiet breathing; I could smell her clean skin; I could see the tiny goosebumps grazing her exposed neck.

She did not move either.

"Are...are you still in any pain?" I asked, clearing my throat.

She shrugged, then tried to hide her wince. "A little," was her reply. She was in pain, I could see it. Her irregular breaths, the way she sat: stiff and uncomfortable.

Damn...

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

She sighed. "Don't," she said firmly, turning to look at me.

I leaned back against the wall and ran my hand down my face, tired and exasperated. I couldn't look at her and, instead, looked at the ceiling. I shook my head as I confessed, "I should have protected you though. I should've been able to stop-"

But her touch on my jaw stopped me. All words and rational thoughts flew from my head at her touch. It sent a bolt of electricity through my entire body, and I hoped she couldn't see my heartbeat rapidly spiking at the pulse in my neck. I looked back at her, into the violet pools that both haunted and graced my dreams, and her eyes bored into mine. She shook her head adamantly. "Stop. Not tonight…please," she requested softly.

I stared at her for a minute before nodding my agreement. She removed her fingers from their place on my jaw and started to stand until, before I knew what I was doing--I just couldn't let go, not yet--I pulled her back against me and held her close, desperately needing her touch. I wrapped my arms around her and rested my forehead on her flanneled shoulder. "Just for a moment, please? I need to know you're…here…you're okay," I pleaded.

She didn't move and she didn't object. In fact, I could've sworn she relaxed into my unwarranted embrace. I closed my eyes as I held her, breathed her in, told myself over and over that she was here, she was fine, she was alive. Darkness flooded my soul and my spiritual pressure spiked just thinking about losing her...even if she'd told me we'd only ever be just friends. But I knew that's not what her heart wanted. I could feel it every time she looked at me.

I wanted her, so bad, more than I've ever wanted anything, ever.

But I wanted her to want me back. It was her decision to make, whether or not to follow her heart.

Without thinking, without giving myself the opportunity to talk myself out of it, I brushed her hair to the side and press a gentle kiss to the nape of her neck. Her skin was hot and alluring and I let my lips linger for a moment. It took all my strength to release her. But I did.

My arms felt weak and empty without her.

I got off the bed and, before she could object, I lifted her and tucked her under the covers in my bed.

"You can sleep here tonight," I told her quietly. Before I realized I was doing it, I brushed a stray strand of raven hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear, leaving my hand on her cheek. She didn't say anything.

Finally, I tore my gaze from hers and backed towards the closet. I said, "Get some rest," before climbing in. Once I was shut into the cramped, dark closet, I kicked myself. The couch would have been way more comfortable. Though the closet wasn't long enough for me, the shelf wasn't wide enough for me to sleep on my side, so I, grudgingly, settled for propping my heels one the wall. Even the sheet was too short.

I avoided her in my thoughts as I tried to go to sleep, to no avail. She consumed my every thought.

She was my every thought.

But the only thing I could do now was protect her. Protect her body, protect her heart. And fight. And hope.

I would die fighting to protect her.

And I would die hoping to love her.