Recovering

CHAPTER 1

Zaraki slowly shifted the light, slender body on his back. He must be careful not to cause her any more harm. He'd noticed she'd been growing weaker and more unresponsive the longer, or faster he ran. Luckily, she hadn't resisted him, but he suspected that was because she hadn't been exactly in the state to do anything.

At first, he wanted to hoist her over his shoulder – one arm would remain free, very important – but the end of her hair touched the ground. Zaraki wasn't bothered by this, but he suspected she would become quite pissed at him. Glancing at the long tresses covering her face, she must be taking very good care of it, or at least loved the way it looked, otherwise she would've hacked a long portion away a long time ago. The length had remained similar...no, perhaps it had even grown a few centimetres.

Surely it bothered her in battle, long hair flowing around and blocking her view. She had to pay attention to not accidentally cut her own hair too, or allow her opponent to purposefully cut away the ends.

A different and difficult experience this. He always loved Yachiru clinging on him and yelling happily in his ear, but this dead silence, not feeling arms wrapping around his neck...it made him uncomfortable

Yes, she would become more pissed off than she would already become when she would wake up and notice she was healed, or at least healing. Zaraki had noticed his final blow was totally unfair. She hadn't blocked it. And he wasn't sure whether she was still using her Bankai. She also hadn't used that healing thing, nor called that giant manta fish to swallow her. She did nothing, as if she wanted to give up without showing all of her strength, as if she wanted to die without explaining to him why, leaving him all alone in this world.

Again.

He wouldn't accept it this time. When he was little, he had been too weak and pathetic to chase and catch what he desired, but not now.

Zaraki listened to the shallow breathing close to his ear. The blood pouring from the largest wound warmed the back of his haori. She was growing weaker, more unresponsive. She hadn't resisted him when he gently rested her against his back, but didn't assist him, either. He lost valuable time adjusting her limbs and glancing back many times to assure himself she was still there, and not his imagination.

His first impulse was to go to the Fourth, but he didn't know how much that Division knew about this side of their beloved taichou. He didn't want to leak out this carefully kept secret. He swiftly, but gently carried her to the remaining place he could think of with this time pressure.

He took abandoned alleys and sheltered paths. The sun had barely risen, indicating it was very early in the morning. Most were still fast asleep, but he couldn't risk them being seen, not in this state. He didn't know what he would do then to the witnesses.

His sword had talked to him, but he didn't really care. He was yapping about 'I can help her' and 'mastering bankai', but he wasn't interested in the second one, and he was sure he needed some training before he could help her. And how could a sword help him with this situation in the first place? He wasn't like her, he wasn't good at healing, hell, he was better at finding the way than stopping a wound from bleeding!

If he stopped to listen, it would take valuable time away, time Zaraki didn't have. Luckily, he stopped nagging about it. The Zanpakutou occasionally whispered to him, directing him where to go. It was odd, hearing another voice and he almost felt another being clinging very close to him, and suspected he couldn't shake them off, even if he wanted to. When he'd quickly grabbed the hilt and snugged it between the sash, it felt differently. But Zaraki didn't have time to think about this: he would do all this later. This, his Zanpakutou seemed to understand, and he didn't repeat his offers any more.

He rolled his eyes: finally, something that went the way he hoped for.

His eyes saw his destination and he quickened his pace. No one of the First was making their rounds here. He burst through the door, eyes immediately drawn to the figure sitting behind his office desk, glad that he wasn't resting in his personal quarters – he had absolutely no idea where that was. His eyes didn't notice one of his fukutaichous, they had their own, separated offices.

The soutaichou didn't look surprised to see Zaraki barging in at this early hour. He had sensed his presence, as most shinigami his rank probably did. He hadn't exactly been sneaking around, well, at least not his reiatsu.

He wasn't doing paperwork – something the old, wrinkled man loved to do. All was neatly set aside. His hands were clasped in front of him and resting on the table, the laziness in his eyes were nowhere to be seen, but he wasn't surprised. He did look a bit tired, though. Strange for someone that a while ago would take several naps a day.

The silence was pierced by the shallow, ragged breathing.

His eye travelled to the body behind him, then to his bloodied back and shoulder. Hands swiftly moved to the handrests, as if to raise himself, but he changed his mind and relaxed again and chose to pierce Zaraki with a deep, neutral stare. A long moment of silence passed, Zaraki's determined glare clashing against the soutaichou's searching gaze.

The one eye looked away as he stood. Heavy steps marched towards the window, one hand opened it. Fingers gently caught a hell butterfly. He murmured softly.

"Search for Kotetsu-fukutaichou and bring her to my office, if you please." His arm moved up, as if to free him, but he stopped himself. "And please tell her to bring her emergency supplies." With a flick of his wrist, he finally released it and watched it fluttering away, before returning to his desk. He leaned on the edge, crossed his arms and glanced at Zaraki, and then at her. He remained silent.

Zaraki unconsciously pivoted a bit, using his body to shield hers more from his knowledgeable eye. The other man smiled slightly and rested his hands on the wood. Zaraki eyed him when he heard the rustling.

Someone knocked the door hastily but firmly.

"Come in."

The fukutaichou in question entered, her shoulder carrying a heavy bag, one hand clutching the handle of a wide suitcase. Large eyes darted around the room, searching for her taichou. She quickly marched towards Zaraki when she spotted her and silently asked for his permission. Her eyes showed a hint of fear, but mostly worry for her taichou. He complimented her a bit – he always thought she was one of those fearful, useless pussies of the Fourth. But then again, this was the fukutaichou...

Zaraki reluctantly turned around and let the tall – though not as tall as he was – fukutaichou grasp her body. This need to protect her returned, just as she had protected him many times with her healing and hidden strength and passion and knowledge. She gently rested her on a stretch bed she had hastily laid down. He was a bit disappointed: he rather liked the sensation of her pressed against his back without smart comments or gentle pushes.

He carefully watched her focusing on the largest wound and barely ignored the relaxed man in that ridiculous haori, as if nothing special was happening. The woman looked even more pale now with her face glowing faintly in green light, and Zaraki noticed how tired she looked, how bloodied her clothes were, but barely torn. This was all because of him – killing and healing him countless time would weaken everyone. She looked so fragile now, as if she could float away every moment now. Away from him. Zaraki suppressed the urge to push the fukutaichou away and carry her on his back again.

The soutaichou stepped closer now, and aided the fukutaichou, giving equipment to her, accepting used tools.

Only professional requests and curt orders from the fukutaichou pierced the silence.

Blood stopped flowing, breathing became more deeper and less raspier. A bit of colour slowly returned to that pale face, but it was still not enough colour – she might still vanish the next moment.

The fukutaichou sighed. "She isn't in immediate danger any more, thankfully." She left hanging that she would still require a lot of medical attention, at least that was what Zaraki suspected.

"Thank you, Kotetsu-fukutaichou. And I apologise for this abrupt call."

She quickly moved a hand, as if waving his words away. "No, not at all, soutaichou. I was prepared for this to happen for a while now."

For a while...it made him wonder again how long they were in that deep hole...

Kenpachi didn't gaze at either of them, but only focused on the fukutaichou subtly touching the loose, black hair, almost caressing it.

"And now, soutaichou?"

"She will not be resting at your Division. They will go somewhere else to heal."

The fukutaichou's eyes glanced at Zaraki. She stood, and frowned, as if she had forgotten something and needed all her attention and strength to remember it. "Zaraki-taichou, do you need medical attention?"

Zaraki roughly shook his head. The few, shallow cuts were nothing. Most were already healed. And none were bleeding. They should be focusing on the other, much more wounded body.

She nodded and stared at her taichou again, the sad expression appearing again.

The soutaichou sighed slightly and walked towards the door. "I need to arrange a few things. It would be better for you two to remain here until I return."

He paused, one hand gripping the handle of the door and his gaze rested on Zaraki. Zaraki nodded once – he wouldn't cause a ruckus. Yet.

The fukutaichou knelt beside her again. Her hand glowed green and fingers moved towards other wounds Zaraki had caused. His body relaxed. He noticed how clenched most of his muscles had become and perched on the ground, his back barely touching the wall and his weapon positioned in such a way he could easily slice any opponent he saw. His gaze fixated themselves on the woman lying on the made bed. He was determined not to let her glide away from his gaze any longer.

Ever.