Disclaimer; I don't own Bleach. Nuff said.
How. Why came next. How again. When. What-
He stared.
W was the letter of the day. Why, screamed. Was he to blame? Was he the reason? What had she been thinking, awake - asleep? - laying there in bed, curled up at his side.
Because. Ice, creeping over the floor. You are too weak. A snarl.
Was last night nothing?
She'd snuck into his room - midnight, as ever. Lain down quietly, claimed his hand. Flushed, had run there was the assumption. (Later it was discovered that three patrols and ten officers had been attacked.) Unarmed.
The clock had ticked on. He'd woken when she'd entered, stared at the ceiling and sighed softly at the shift in positions. Smiled slightly when she edged closer. (Blushed a bit too, when she saw fit to press a kiss to his forehead sleepily before resting her head on his chest.) He hadn't fallen asleep again for a while, just enjoying the warmth of another person beside him.
She'd left briefly, he assumed the bathroom. (Hours had run on without him realizing, and when the report was filed it became clear that the death of Ise Nanao and two members of the fifth division had occurred in the span of time he'd waited for her return.)
He'd had a feeling, the desire to ask what she wanted on that night, why she'd curled up with his hand in hers, held tight against her chest. But breaking the silence with anything but soft sighs and slight rustles of fabric seemed like a sin, as if any word would be like crushing fragile eggshells.
When morning had come, he'd watched the light slowly settle over her sleeping form. And then he'd rushed to his division, late for once, leaving her resting.
Looking back there was a sense of finality, of closing doors that couldn't ever be opened again. He knew he should have said something, anything.
But there was no happy ending in any direction, just the two of them, and him screaming said words starting with w over and over as he parried, blocked, dodged. Flashes of steel in the darkness that was night and black and suffocating, a night in which the floodgates of hell had seemed to open. How many hollows, countless, arrancar, at least three, all to get to this moment. To see her finishing off her own fourth seat.
But he couldn't blame her. He had failed too many times, fallen under sword, under fist, all in her name. It wasn't anyone's fault.
He fought for his life - for hers? - struggling against the ghost of childhood memories, of promises. What do you think you'll gain? And she laughed. She'd already gotten it. He was the one struggling to catch up, releasing mere seconds after her. An explosion, an Espada, watching, smirking. Vice Captain, two minutes remain. A nod, another swing, another block, a glare, a growl, a kidou aimed at the arrancar.
Eggshells became fine dust as he fought, pushed her back, knocked her away for a moment and turned his attention to the observer, two strikes for his two minutes and he was down but it cost him. He was against the wall, sword heavy with the weight of her swings and everything he ever wished he'd said to her, throat constricted. Weak.
He'd had enough, enough of questioning when he knew the answers, of fighting when it was clear who would win. She would always follow her captain, he would always admit defeat. A clatter of swords hitting the floor. I thought I loved him, once. Shock. I had hoped it would save me. Pain - blood? The swiftest of movements, holding her tight as he leapt out of the way of a burning cero, hand reclaiming his sword in a second. You let him use you again. Anger, burning, twisting. Heat, ice, kidou, blade. He pushed her out of the way, turning to face the newest arrancar. His step faltered as she pulled him down, both tripping and tumbling, another cero narrowly missing them. Had she - He hoped silently.
A grunt as he found his footing, stared down his newest opponent. Do you honestly think you stand a chance? Laughter, a sweet sound from his childhood and even as he fought tooth and nail, sliced bone and mask and watched that eggshell dust float by he knew he was defeated. There had always been one flaw to his armor, to everyone's. How well she'd played the betrayed, and he still couldn't blame her. Why.
Finality.
He watched her turn her back on him for the man she still called captain. He let her take two steps away from him with the breaking of his heart - not hers, because she didn't even know how it was already shattered, in pieces, a mess of a thing. Those two steps were the last thing he granted her.
His shoulder tore open in the sight of a wicked smile, his sword held in shaky hands, hilt and a mere three inches visible. And he smiled a smile only she knew. Why.
Because. Tears, and a further breaking. Because I am weak. A flash of red, the screech of ice.
Then nothing.