Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach!

Cracky oneshot about Byakuya's #1 fan.

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When she sits on the rooftop across from the Sixth Division headquarters in just the right place, she can see into the window of his office. She watches him for hours on end as he signs off on his mountain of paperwork, always so dignified and beautiful. His handwriting is magnificent; it could be nothing less, given his upbringing.

After he leaves, she waits for the little wimp from the Fourth to come and empty his garbage, then goes through it meticulously and salvages whatever she can. She will add the scraps and notes to her shrine.

Sometimes, if she times it just right, she can just happen to be passing by the Kuchiki front gates when he leaves for work. When particularly lucky, she can even follow him all the way to work. Those days are the best days of her life, watching him float gracefully down the road, his silver-white windflower light silk scarf fluttering elegantly behind him.

But always she must go home to her empty little quarters, take off her shinigami uniform, spend hours trying to learn the name of her zanpakutou. Her ambition is to become the Sixth Division fukutaichou, or maybe even the taichou of another division. Then, surely, he will notice her. Unfortunately her lack of talent is limiting her in this pursuit, but she believes ambition and determination will overcome all odds.

When the Shinigami Women's Association finally released the long-anticipated photo book of him, she bought fifteen copies. The wall of her bedroom is covered in pictures carefully cut and pasted in a collage of her glorious, mesmerizing Kuchiki-sama. After she is frustrated with her zanpakutou and gives up, she goes in there and looks at the pictures, saying a little prayer to each one. Then she lies awake for hours, imagining him with her, how wonderful it will be.

When he is hospitalized after the Aizen incident, she sees her opportunity clearly. It's easy to knock out a Fourth Division weakling and steal their hospital staff pass. She sneaks into his room; he is asleep. Her plan is going perfectly. She cannot suppress the frenzied giggle that erupts from her lips, but he does not stir. She draws closer.

His face is a study of perfection, his hair so perfect even then, even without the kenseikan. Carefully, so as not to disturb him, she lifts a gleaming ebony lock. She must have it. If she does not have it, have this little authentic genuine piece of him, she will surely perish. She draws her zanpakutou, slices off the lock, cradles it in her palm√

There is a flurry of chaos as they come streaming in, holding her down, pulling her away from her beloved. Later, she sits in her cell, thinking with pleasure of the shock in his eyes when he woke. He had definitely noticed her. It was a good first step in developing their relationship, even if the jail time would be inconvenient. But doesn't absence make the heart grow fonder? And eventually, she would be freed, and then...

A restraining order is just a piece of paper, after all.