Author's Note: Thank you Huan05, Icyangel (I'm sorry – blame Kubo!), Hapezibah, Splitheart and Shadow Pain, for the reviews.

The majority of this story would not exist were it not for "Crumbling Edges" by Ianithanai on DeviantArt. It's an amazing picture and worth checking out.

It was the most selfish she had ever been and yet it was the only way she knew to survive. Do not weep, do not give in, do not give up, and do not feel unless I give you permission to do so. What she could not stand was to see him grieve before she was even dead. That seemed like too much of a travesty and, to stay sane, she needed him to be strong, as he had always been in her eyes. So that when she cried, he held her, and when she lost hope, he was still there, making promises, at the end of everything. Their world was crumbling at the edges and instead of pulling it back together, she was forcing him to hold it for her, never once daring to ask what it cost him.

On the few occasions that the surface of their reality was rubbed away, the core beneath was capable of burning them both. Like the time she found him in the writing room, going through page after page of her hand-written manuscripts.

"These aren't diaries," he said, and she knew that he was angry because she had lied again. "These are descriptions of things. Of Rukongai. Of people."

"I came to tell you that I'm going to bed."

"Hisana, what is this?"

She took a deep breath. He'd not looked up; his eyes were following the lines of her words, disbelieving.

"It's everything. It's everything I've found so far so that, when I'm gone, you can carry on searching."

"No." There was barely a hesitation in his denial, and that hurt her.

"Byaku" –

"This is your world, Hisana. Your obsession. Think about who I am! How can I keep looking?"

"You have men!"

"I command soldiers! There is a difference." Getting up, he gestured with the notebook, taking in the sweep of the room: "This is enough! You've done enough. More than enough to atone for one life!"

"I ha – Byaku" – Damn it, how could she argue when a single breath induced spasms of coughing? She turned aside, trying to breathe again before the tightness in her chest could get the better of her. Byakuya had approached, of course, as he always did, one hand reaching out. This time, instead of hesitating though, he took hold of her wrist, drawing her hand back from her face. "You said – she was your sister too," she gasped. His grip only tightened until he was hurting her:

"I won't forgive her for this"

"Byakuya-sama, please!" She turned frightened eyes towards him. It was the first time he had spoken this way.

"She did this to you!"

"No, Byakuya."

"Every day you insisted on searching for her. Every day when you were ill. Every day when I should have stopped you."

"Byakuya" –

"And why did I have to share you?" he snarled: "You were my wife!"

"I am your wife!" Another violent fit of coughing took her and he released her hand, leaving her to stagger past him, out into the anteroom and towards the screen door. He caught her from behind as her legs gave way, encircling her completely. Perhaps a little too tightly. He didn't know it, but he hurt her sometimes that way. Beneath all the beauty and all the elegance, there was a savagery in him. No doubt it was this that made him a more than capable warrior; it was this and not his compassion that commanded respect. It was this, she thought miserably, and not his gentleness, that would survive when she was gone.

"We were meant to have eternity together," he said, more quietly but with no less anger. She struggled, but gave in, no longer a party to this conversation, but an onlooker, only watching him fall apart: "It's not fair," he whispered: "I forbid you from leaving me."

"One soul dies so that another may live," she whispered in return, his words coming back to her from years past: "What could be more fair than that?" He fell silent.

It was raining outside. The screen door was open and she could see dark water stains on the wooden floor. After a long time, she tried to pry his hands from her again, but he wasn't letting go: "Byakuya-sama," she said softly, resorting to covering his hands with her own: "Find her for me."

"Enough."

"She's going to need someone. If I'm not here, then who's going to find her when she needs to be found? Who's going to take care of her?"

"If I were to take her in, I would break the law for you. Again." He rested his head on her shoulder: "Central Forty-six knew, when they blessed our marriage, when they gave us permission to wed, they knew that this would happen."

"How could they know?"

"They knew. Losing you is my punishment."

She hung her head. His grip on her had loosened a little, but she kept hold of his hands:

"You are not being punished, Byakuya-sama." His misery scared her. It was too much like resignation. She had preferred it when he was angry. "When I was young, before you came into my life and for a long time after too, I thought that it was possible for people to be alone. Completely alone. I thought I could go through life without touching anything or anyone. But it's not possible. You taught me that, Byakuya-sama. We all leave footprints. We all leave evidence that we've lived. The trick is knowing where they should fall, knowing where they're needed. I've made plenty of mistakes, but I think I know now. Turning away has never taken me in the right direction." She sighed. The rain was easing. The room smelled sweet and damp and she sensed that Byakuya was calmer now. She loved the calm in him. She loved the anger in him. Like the ebb and swell of a storm. "So please understand," she said: "Rukia. She's something that I left behind. She's the proof that I lived. That's why you have to find her."

"If she still lives," he said softly.

"With every day that passes, I grow more sure. But she won't be like me, Byakuya-sama. She'll be stronger. To have survived this long, she'd have to be. She'll have more courage too." She hesitated, then added softly: "But she won't want to be alone any more than you will."