Title: Old King Mouse
Author: Lys
Characters/Pairing: Kon, Kurosaki Isshin
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 (consumption of alcohol), Gen, spoilers to anime current.
bleach_15 Theme: #6, To Protect
Status: One-shot, complete, word count 1001



Kurosaki Isshin sat quietly on his porch, thankful for the breeze in the balmy summer weather. It tousled his white lab-coat slightly, bringing the heady, musky scent of wisteria that were slowly weighing down the spruce in the neighbor's yard. It was eleven p.m on a Friday night. His daughters were fed, showered and put to bed with a kiss (in Yuzu's case). The clinic was closed to non-emergency patients.

Sighing, index and middle fingers of his right hand twitching for the familiar weight of Mild Sevens between them, like a ghost limb, Isshin occupied them by sliding his lab and suit-coats off, folding them over the porch railing. He slipped the buttons of his shirt open until he was halfway down, shaking the fabric to cool himself down.

He could feel the sweetly synthetic reiatsu headed his way before it even started traveling down his stairs, emotion and intent just as obvious in this new background noise as it had been in his son's. The refrigerator opened and closed with a soft noise. Moments later, Kon padded out the open front door, feet quiet as a stray tomcat. Kon gave Isshin a meek, awestruck look, the one he usually gave the doctor whenever he chose to initiate a conversation with him. Glancing at the boy's hands as he gestured with them, Isshin noticed a bottle of his True Blue Pale Ale alongside a can of Grape Fanta.

"I brought you a drink."

Isshin gladly accepted the cold beer from the boy, popping the metal cap off and enjoying the way the cool foam slid across his knuckles. He took a long swig, waiting for Kon to join him.

Kon had been off around him ever since Isshin had revealed that he'd known about Kon's not being his son all along. 'I never once called you Ichigo,' Isshin said to him, and Kon had at first been slightly worried it meant that Isshin would never accept the mod-soul. 'No,' Isshin told the boy, 'I never once called you Ichigo, because my son is my son, and you're whoever you'd like to be.' Kon had apologized for his doubts and bowed low to Isshin, leaving the room with a stilted walk. Later that night, when Isshin passed the family room on his way up the stairs, Kon pretending that he wasn't avoiding Isshin's stare. Kon's eyes were slightly red. He was watching Yuzu dress the stuffed lion up in doll dresses from the couch, his face a mostly-accurate impersonation of his son's perpetual scowl. Kon was very good at his job; Isshin was proud of the boy.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Not much," Isshin said, smiling placidly. He took another slow draw of his True Blue. Eventually, Kon leaned against the clinic's aluminum siding, snapping his soda open and sipping it, staring at Isshin out of the corner of cinnamon-brown eyes. Isshin's smile grew.

The eyes that Masaki had said, when Ichigo was born, were just like Isshin's. They were warm and brown and, one day, Ichigo would meet a girl who thought he looked very handsome while doing something incredibly stupid, and he would make a good husband for her. Masaki always liked that kind of sappy generational bullshit.

It was Kon who looked through Isshin's second pair of eyes now, making a good older brother for Isshin's daughters. The two men stood on the porch in silence, until the last of the cicadas stopped their 'miiin miiin.' Kon slid down the wall behind him, splaying Isshin's son's lanky legs, fingering the sticky can of Fanta with his son's strong fingers. Kon stared at his feet, expression obscured a fringe of lengthening orange hair. Ichigo would have had his hair trimmed a week ago.

Isshin knew that Kon liked the way the extra length looked on him.

"Talk," he finally rumbled at Kon, deep voice inviting. He waited for the boy to start getting off his chest whatever it was that he obviously needed to get off his chest, moving over to the exterior wall Kon was sitting against and leaning back, shimmying low.

"I hope Ichigo's okay," Kon said wistfully. He took another sip of his soda, swallowing heavily.

Isshin nodded his head in agreement. "I know."

"I'm sorry." Kon set the can down suddenly, a pink blush rising across his face. "That was rude. He's your kid, after all."

"You're his friend, you know" Isshin stated plainly. He tipped the beer bottle up to his mouth, running his tongue along the slick glass, enjoying the way the alcohol bit at the back of his throat.

"But I'm not supposed to be Ichigo's friend," Kon held his head in his hand, flat of his palm supporting his forehead. "I'm supposed to be Ichigo. Sometimes I feel like I'm walking on eggshells. When I talk with his schoolmates. When Karin wants me to play catch."

Isshin reached across the small distance to the boy, cupping his pale-haired head with one wide, soft physician's hand. He gave it a soft jiggle, a small stroke. Kon turned to look at Isshin, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

"I only asked you to take care of what's his and what's mine. Never said you had to walk on water. Hell knows I never could." As did Kisuke and Ishida, of course. Kon appeared to be deeply considering Isshin's words, eyes far-away, holding himself against his pointy knees and looking small.

"Will you have Urahara-san turn me in, when this is over? When Ichigo gets back from Hueco Mundo?" The boy's voice quavered openly, breath catching on suppressed emotion.

"Hell, no," Isshin declared roughly, reaching over and dragging the overwhelmed boy into his chest. Kon shook his head violently, but didn't resist. He began to cry slowly, working up to a few loud sobs before working himself raw and dry, leaving Isshin with a damp front. Isshin finished his beer off, tossing the bottle aside and resting his chin on the top of Kon's head, rubbing back and forth.

The orange hair tickled his dark whiskers.

"We'll call it a return favor."