Chapter Text
“Umi, your hot weirdo is in again.”
Umi doesn’t even bother to look up. She’s concentrating on the till, trying to make sure she doesn’t miss anyone’s drinks. The table in the corner has been ordering nonstop all evening, and she knows that if she isn’t careful, they’ll take advantage of the chaos and use her distraction as a means to slip away with a couple of free drinks. “He’s hot, but he’s not my weirdo,” she mumbles.
Hitoka nudges her shoulder. “This is your bar,” she states. “And he has come in three nights in a row now.”
“So he likes the drinks,” Umi shrugs. She points to herself with a thumb. “Top shelf mixologist, remember?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s interested in your shelf,” Hitoka snarks, wiggling her eyebrows and shooting a pointed glance at Umi’s tight white tee. “Just not the one with the drinks on it.”
“If you’re lacking work to do,” Umi laughs, “I can give you something to keep you busy.”
“Changing the subject again, I see.”
Umi doesn’t deign to answer her. Instead, she makes her way over to the end of the bar. The man’s eyes aren’t on her, yet she gets the feeling he can see her coming anyway. “Can I get you another drink?” She asks him politely, offering him her friendly boss-of-the-house smile.
He trains those pretty, bright blue eyes of his on her face. “This is your place,” he surmises.
“Yes,” Umi confirms. “I’m the owner of this bar.” She doesn’t think his intention is to make trouble, but she puts herself on guard just in case. A quick appraisal of him, and she’s mentally catalogued his height, weight, and build. He’s a big guy, she thinks, but if I needed to throw him out quickly, I could probably manage it myself.
Blue Eyes is studying her. She wants to ask him about it - that section of the right side of his jaw that’s partially covered with what looks like half of a skeletal mask. She doesn’t, though; after all, he’s not a regular, and she’s sure he must be holding back his curiosity about the way her face is painted.
“So can I get you another?” She asks it again, softening her voice.
“Yeah,” he answers. His voice is deep and rough, his tone that of a man who isn’t used to being denied anything. She turns to get his drink, but her movement is stilled when he reaches out to encircle her wrist with his hand. His grip isn’t particularly tight, but Umi can feel the power in it all the same. It’s raw strength, and there is something else beneath it - something she hasn’t felt in a long time.
Spiritual pressure… Almost like he’s suppressing this immense amount of spiritual pressure. The thought is faint, and she tries not to let her surprise show on her face as she turns toward him again. “Excuse me—”
“When you bring my drink back,” he says, his voice low and quiet, “you can help me with something else.”
“And what would that be?” She hardens her voice. She isn’t snatching her wrist away just yet; she doesn’t want to cause a scene. But she flashes him a warning look.
It only makes him laugh. “I’m looking for someone,” he grins. “And I think the quickest way to find him is through you.” His thumb is on her pulse, pressing into the steady beat of blood there.
“You must be mistaken.” Umi twists her wrist in his grasp, successfully freeing it. “I believe I would have remembered if you and I were in the same social circle.” She backs up a few inches, squaring her shoulders and looking him directly in the eye. “So I can get you that drink if you still want it. If not, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
One pale blue eyebrow goes up. He grins again, and Umi once more feels that unmistakable spike in spiritual pressure.
“Listen,” she starts, making her voice low and harsh as she leans over. “This is my bar. I don’t know who you are or who you’re looking for, and frankly I don’t give two shits. But know this: I will not hesitate to throw you out on your ass if you try anything funny.”
Her words don’t seem to surprise him. “Kurosaki Ichigo,” he says quietly, those bright blue eyes piercing her steely gaze. “Where is he?”
Umi feels like the wind has been knocked out of her. “What the fuck do you want with him?”
He flashes her a self-satisfied smile. “Thought so.” He stands up, leaning forward and dragging a finger along her collarbone. “I’ll come back at closing time so we can discuss this more,” he says. Those bright, sharp eyes slide over to the other end of the bar, where Hitoka is trying to be inconspicuous about watching them. His voice drops in tone and volume when he speaks again. “This stays between you and me.”
The cold flint in his eyes is an easy indication that he is likely very much capable of killing someone, and won’t hesitate to do so if provoked. Still, she doesn’t think it would help her cause to let him think he’s completely snatched the upper hand from her. She nods, flashing him a cold smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t take this to mean I’m tacitly complying with whatever you’re after,” she starts, her own voice hard. “But I’ll be goddamned if you cause a scene here. So come back at closing time, and you’d better be ready to tell me exactly what the fuck is going on,” she continues. “Or else we’ll see who’ll be killing who.”
“Heh,” he chuckles, leaning back and looking at her appraisingly. “You’re mouthy as fuck - I like you. I think when I’m finished with my business here, I’m gonna come back here and play with you.”
She watches him go, breathing deeply in an effort to calm herself. Hitoka is at her side in an instant.
“What the hell was that?” Hitoka’s eyes are on his retreating form. “The two of you looked downright cozy for a second there.”
Umi turns to her friend with a smile. “Flirting,” she shrugs. “He asked me out.”
“...and you said yes?” The younger woman shakes her head. “I’m dubious. You never date patrons. What did he say?”
Dismissively, she waves an arm. “He said he liked my face paint.”
“Lame,” Hitoka laughs. “I mean, yes, your face paint is awesome. But I thought you’d make him work a little harder than that.”
“He’s hot,” Umi shrugs again. “Anyway,” she goes on, clapping a hand on Hitoka’s shoulder, “less talking, more pouring.”
“Okay, okay,” Hitoka grumbles. “You’re the boss.”
***
As she goes about the business of closing up, questions keep swimming around Umi’s thoughts. Who is he, and what does he want with Ichigo? It puzzles her - she hasn’t had contact with Ichigo in years. She’s kept tabs on him, sure - she wasn’t invited to the wedding, but she knows that September 20th will be his and Orihime’s second anniversary; she knows that he took over running the family clinic when his father left Karakura; she even knows that they named their son Kazui, and that he should be celebrating his first birthday this summer.
Whoever he is, Umi thinks, his information is outdated if he thinks I’m the one who can lead him to Ichigo. That old, familiar bitterness lays its icy hands on her heart, and she curses herself for giving into it, even momentarily.
“You should be more careful about locking your doors, you know.”
She whirls around at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t heard his footsteps. “I somehow get the feeling a locked door would not deter you,” she remarks dryly.
“You’re not wrong,” he chuckles. He motions to the empty bar around them. “Where’s your nosy underling?”
Underling? Who the fuck calls it that? “I sent her - and everyone else - home,” Umi replies. “I don’t know what you want, but it’s obvious there’s no need to involve anyone other than me.”
He walks toward her, his steps slow and measured. “I told you,” he starts, maneuvering himself into the space behind the bar. “I’m looking for Kurosaki.”
He’s much too close to her. Taller than he looked at first, he towers over her, invading her personal space. Umi knows he’s using his size to try and intimidate her. She refuses to let him. “And what makes you think you can find him through me?” She asks, looking up into his face challengingly, not budging an inch from her position.
“I don’t think either of us wants me to waste time answering that question.” The words are followed with a chuckle. “I know who you are, Yamaya Umi, and you know what you are to him.”
“What I was to him,” she snaps, forgetting herself for a second. “I’m nothing to him now. I haven’t seen or spoken to Ichigo in years.” She pushes past him. “So I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”
He studies her for a moment. “Aren’t you even the slightest bit curious why I’m looking for him?”
“No,” Umi says flatly. “Because I can’t help you.”
The sudden rush of air around her disorients her for a moment. It’s a familiar sound, a familiar feeling, but somehow slightly different from the way she knew it before, years ago. Flash Step is what the Shinigami called it. Ishida said the Quincies called it Hirenkyaku.
She wonders what it’s called where he’s from.
When he appears in front of her, she sighs. “Who are you?” She would be lying if she said she isn’t at least a little curious.
“Former Seis Espada,” he grins, his blue eyes sharp. “Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.”
“That’s quite a name,” Umi manages, trying to ignore the wild thumping of her heart against her rib cage. An Espada?
Grimmjow is watching her closely. “You know what an Espada is.” It’s not a question. “But my name isn’t familiar to you.”
“I’ve… heard about the Espada, and the arrancar, and Hueco Mundo,” she admits. “I don’t know anything other than the little bit I was told, years ago.”
“From Kurosaki.”
“Why are you looking for him?”
“I thought you said you didn’t care.”
Umi hesitates; he has her there. “I don’t,” she says after a moment. “And I can’t help you. Sorry.” She turns away again.
“He mentioned you,” Grimmjow starts. “During the last big fight I had with him. He told me all about you.” He chuckles. “I fucked him up, badly, and he just kept getting up. Said you were waiting for him in the living world and he’d promised he’d come back to you.”
The words are like a knife; they slide between her ribs to puncture her heart, and she finds herself gasping for breath. That old, familiar bitterness rises up to greet her again. It tastes like bile, and for a moment Umi worries that she might vomit in front of him. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply, trying to re-center herself. After a moment, the urge to vomit passes, and she fixes her gaze on Grimmjow again.
“He’s hiding his spiritual pressure from me somehow,” Grimmjow goes on. “I don’t know how, but I know I haven’t been able to sense him since I came to the living world.” He grins at her. “You, on the other hand… you’re like a fucking lighthouse.”
“Like I told you before,” she starts slowly, turning away from him, “I haven’t seen or spoken to Ichigo in years. I don’t know where he is.”
“One of those things is true,” Grimmjow muses. “But I think it’s pointless to lie about the other.”
“What makes you think I know where he is?”
“That look on your face,” he says simply. “Is that why you cover your face in paint? Because you do a shit job of hiding what you’re feeling?” He laughs at her, and to Umi’s ears, it sounds derisive.
“Fuck you,” she snaps.
He’s appraising her again. “Yeah,” he grins casually. “I can see why he liked you. Matching tempers, hm?”
Umi doesn’t answer him.
“Look,” he starts. “All you have to do is tell me where he is, and I promise you’ll never have to see me again if you don’t want to.”
“Why don’t you go ask one of Ichigo’s friends?” Umi shrugs. “There are other people in his life, you know.”
“Alternatively, I could force it out of you.” She looks at him sharply, catching the sadistic gleam in his eye. “Asking nicely doesn’t seem to be working, so maybe it’s time I moved on to more… persuasive methods.”
He uses his Flash Step again - Sonido, she remembers. Ichigo said the Espada called it Sonido - this time pinning her between himself and the edge of the bar. “It’s a pity Kurosaki never told you about me,” he muses thoughtfully, his eyes on his right hand as he brings it up and curls his fingers around her throat.
“Stop,” she manages, struggling against his grasp. His fingers dig into her skin, cutting off her air supply. Umi claws at his arm, her eyes flashing. His fingers curl tighter, and her eyes start to water. She puts her hand over his, summoning some of her Reiatsu, feeling a jolt of satisfaction when his eyes widen in surprise as the cloth covering his arm bursts into blue flames.
“Bastard,” he hisses through gritted teeth, releasing her throat and shoving her away.
It doesn’t take him long to put the flames out, but in the time that he is preoccupied with doing so, Umi has brought her palms together and uttered a short incantation under her breath. When Grimmjow looks up at her again, he is met with the sight of her pointing a ball of blue flame at his head.
“I’d really prefer not to destroy the bar that I love so much,” she starts, her eyes cold. “But if you try anything like that again, I’ll burn this whole damned building down to kill you.”
He looks impressed, but not - to Umi’s dismay - frightened. She gets the feeling he really is only toying with her - not even using a fraction of the power at his disposal. The thought frightens her a bit. “Seems I underestimated you,” he grins. “Although I should have expected nothing less.” He shrugs. “I’ll tell you this: I’m looking for Kurosaki because he and I have some unfinished business.”
Umi eyes him warily. “What kind of unfinished business?”
“You said you didn’t care.”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Too bad,” he laughs. “My unfinished business stays between me and Kurosaki. All I need you to do is tell me where I can find him.”
She keeps her mouth closed.
“Suit yourself,” he replies nonchalantly, looking her up and down. “I’ll be here every night from now on, until you change your mind.” He starts toward the door, then pauses and turns to face her again. “Maybe we can play some more later.” And with another grin, he’s gone.