A/N: Continuation of 'Where the Heart Is'. Not much to say beyond that.

Enjoy the sap!

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The world swam around Kurosaki Ichigo as a flurry of sight and sound and smell bombarded his mind in a chaotic concoction. It was bright, unnaturally so, and there were indistinct yet somehow distantly familiar voices speaking in hushed tones. His lungs were filled with sterile, tasteless air that felt suffocating and startlingly foreign.

He blinked.

Once . Twice, accompanied by a twitch of his right foot. On the third blink twitch of the other foot, which prompted a grunt of discomfort, the motion grabbed a nearby someone's attention. That particular someone promptly dropped the armful of clean robes, bandages, and bottles that had been bundled in his small arms.

"Kurosaki-san! You're awake! Oh thank goodness, I was beginning to think—well, actually that is to say, we all were so worried because—"

The substitute only understood about half of the rambling monologue the individual was excitedly spewing out. His eyebrows furrowed in frustration and his jaw clenched; he recognized the voice, but his vision was still fuzzy and unfocused, so he couldn't even distinguish who was chattering beside him.

"…Kurosaki-san?"

"Hmm? Yes?" His voice croaked when he tried to speak, as if atrophied from lack of use. "Where am I?"

"You're with Squad Four," the speaker's voice fell with obvious disappointment. "Do you know who's talking to you?"

"I—I'm not sure…Hanatarou?"

The young shinigami beamed, leaning over the lanky substitute's body so that Ichigo could now see the boy's exhilarated expression. "Oh, Kurosaki-san! Good, I'm so glad! We were all starting to think you'd never wake up!"
"Wait." Ichigo took a breath and flinched at the spear of pain in his side when he did so. "How did I get here? I thought that I…" He trailed off, hoping Hanatarou would understand what he was getting at. He wasn't up for much conversation at the moment.

"That you what?" Apparently not. Ichigo chuckled to himself quietly; That's right, this is Hanatarou here, not Rukia…can't expect too much of him… "Abarai-san and Ishida-san found you; I believe Inoue-san was there too, but she only stayed here for a little bit before Unohana-taicho sent them all away to let you rest."

He blinked. "H-how long have I been…here?"

"Oh, I don't remember, Kurosaki-san…five or six days?" he whined, beginning to pick up the menagerie of objects he had dropped earlier. "Maybe more like a week? It's been so busy around here, I can't even keep track of time, I'm so sorry—"

"Forget it," the orange-headed teen interrupted crossly. Five or six days? He shook his head violently, causing the world to spin for a moment. Another thought now pulled on his mind: with his reiatsu now no longer near-nonexistent, he could finally make out the spiritual pressures of other shinigami within the barracks, but there was one in particular that he couldn't locate.

"Wh-where is she?" he inquired falteringly. His knuckles turned a bright shade of white.

"Umm…who?" Hanatarou looked genuinely confused, tilting his head to the side.

"My nakama, who else?!" A growl rumbled threateningly from deep within the substitute's chest, his eyes flashing a golden yellow. "Where is she, where's Rukia?" he demanded.

"Oh, Kuchiki-san…she…"

"She what?!" Ichigo now had sat up and reached over to grasp the small boy's collar. He had no patience for rambling, his entire body was screaming at him from every slash and bruise he had suffered. He didn't care.

"She hasn't woken up yet, Kurosaki-san." The boy's eyes were wide and his voice even smaller than his diminutive stature. "She's here too; your friends brought her back here along with you…but she hasn't been recovering as quickly as you have…"

"Let me see her."

"No!" Hanatarou's gaze took on a shocked but firm glare, hard as flint. "You can't be moving around yet, it's too dangerous! And I have orders to ensure that you stay put in this room!"

Ichigo held his friend's stare for several long moments before heaving a resigned sigh. He had never seen the boy so stubborn, and as he gradually recalled more of his condition and his mind cleared, he began to calm himself. "Fine," he muttered curtly, "I don't want to have to fight you, or get you in any trouble. Just tell me when she wakes up, alright?"

Hanatarou stepped back, his body tense with surprise; he had never seen Kurosaki so…compliant.

"O-okay, then. I-I'll just change the bandages on your wounds, and then I have other patients to check in on. I'll keep you informed, Kurosaki-san."

The soul reaper in question remained silent, uncharacteristically submissive as he was hurriedly tended to.

Of course, he didn't really intend on staying that way for long.

He waited until Hanatarou left the room, and lay patiently for nearly an hour, counting the threads in the sleeve of the white robe he now wore, until the hall outside was completely quiet, and the shifting of reiatsu nearby had stilled. It was then that he rose from the bed, shedding the white linens that covered him, and stumbled out the door and down the hall.

Dammit! He still couldn't sense Rukia anywhere, no matter how hard he tried, how far he reached…that panicked feeling began to return to his aching chest, and he pushed it back stubbornly. He slipped down to one knee, buckling in pain, next to the last door on the right end of the hallway. It was then that he felt a tiny glimmer of reiatsu, a flicker of something familiar.

Ichigo burst through the door with renewed vigor and impatience, huffing as he stood in the doorway before taking in the frail, petite form that barely made a bump in the sheets covering her. He halted, his racing thoughts frozen the moment he spotted her; he closed the door softly behind him and stumbled forward.

"Rukia?" he prompted gently, reaching her side. There was no response, even as he fell to his knees beside her bed, stroking her bruised cheekbones gingerly. They had turned a sickly purple, even darker than her eyes would have been, if they were open. He sighed, taking her hand in his own as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and felt cuts and scrapes even there. "Rukia, I'm so sorry…" He shook his head with a flicker of anger, refusing to be caught in tears again. There's no reason for that, he chastised himself, I mean…she's here after all…isn't she? He sighed heavily, and laid his head gently on her shoulder, shifting around for a moment until his cheek lay tenderly on her chest. Small assurance, perhaps, but he needed it.

I'll wait, Rukia, he thought, pushing back the desperation clutching his heart while a single tear escaped to moisten his other cheek. I'll be right here, waiting for you. Just like always. And you'll come back to me. After all, we promised…

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to the substitute, he felt her stir beneath him and heard her chest fluttering with panic for a brief moment. He didn't dare move a muscle, lest he should startle her further, but he did tighten his grip on her tiny hand in reassurance.

The first thing to come into focus for Rukia was a fluffy, unkempt mass of bright orange hair resting on her small chest, which at her slurred prompting lifted so that she could see the owner's face.

Her eyes stretched wide with recognition, glimmering with disbelief and yet tightly held hope. "I-Ichigo? Is that—is it really—"

He chuckled, relief washing over his entire being like a warm summer's breeze. "Yeah, of course it's me, midget." She laughed a little before coughing weakly. He gazed into her indigo depths, trying to lend as much comfort as he could muster. "Somehow, some way…we're both still here."

She blinked, attempted to sit up straight, and quickly aborted the effort with a huff and a noisy sigh. "How long…have I been out for? And…and when did you get here?" The question was tentative, and the darker-haired shinigami braced herself for the answer, already fearing the worst.

"All I could get out of Hanatarou was a little less than a week," he replied, slipping his free hand behind her head to stroke the back of her neck lightly. He paused for a moment as his fingertips brushed against yet another wound, which had caused her to flinch. He winced in apology, pulling his hand away awkwardly. "I only woke up sometime this morning; I mean, I've been here a little while I guess, I didn't really keep track…but before that I waited for an hour or so before sneaking out to—"

"You what!?" The near-shout shook Ichigo out from his absent-minded babbling. "Idiot! Why would you—"

"I had too, stupid!" he retorted with a hiss, trying to keep his voice low, dropping his face down closer to hers, so that their noses nearly touched. He ignored the immediate, surprised flush that brushed across Rukia's ashen-pale skin. "He said I couldn't leave my room, but told me that you hadn't woken up yet…He wouldn't tell me where exactly you were, or how you were doing…and I couldn't feel your reitsu at all." His gaze fell so she wouldn't see his fear, and his tone dropped as well, sinking from frustration to despondency. "I…I had to see that you were…really still here with me."

Rukia was silent for a long moment. "Ichigo…" Her eyes narrowed, brows furrowing in concern as she searched for appropriate words.

The carrot-top suddenly slumped his bright head down to rest on her chest once again, nuzzling her softly, letting out the terse breath he had been holding.

"I…I was afraid that maybe…if I had made it and…and you hadn't…that I wouldn't be able to keep my promise, and find you again."

The words were said with such palpable, tender emotion, so uncharacteristic of the substitute, that Rukia had no idea how to respond.

"Bakamono," she finally muttered, ruffling his hair as roughly as she could manage, with a low chortle. "Is your faith in us really that weak?" She startled him by suddenly stroking his brilliant locks with small, cold fingers, down to the nape of his neck. After a few long moments, he sat up again to look her in the eye.

"For the record," he said with a hint of his trademark smirk returning, "I'm not letting you out of my sight until you're well again."

"Psh," she rolled her eyes at him playfully, "I don't need a babysitter, idiot…besides, you can't stay here all day."

"Says who?" He straightened, squaring his shoulders and wincing inwardly from the motion, but refusing to let the unexpected irritation interfere with his proud show. "They'll have to drug me up and knock me out first, bind me with kidou, and then still drag me out of here kicking and screaming before I'll leave you again." His arrogant tone masked the uncertainty and hurt hidden within the words that he spoke, but the shinigami's eyes couldn't lie, not with his nakama gazing straight through his open tawny windows.

It was Rukia's turn to play around with hiding her emotions now—it was a well-practiced routine for them, after all. She pursed her lips together and blinked deliberately with exaggerated concern. "Well then, you can't expect me to let you stay on the floor like an idiot for long—not in your condition." More gently but practically, she added, "You're not in such great shape yourself, Ichigo."

His shoulders slumped a little with disappointment, getting the supposed message: 'if Squad Four doesn't kick you out of here, I will'. He turned his head to hide his desire to pout like a petulant five-year-old. "Yeah, I know…" His face took on a look of surprise when she fidgeted, cursing quietly to herself in pain at the movement, as she shifted over in the hospital bed—which looked like a wide ocean already, compared to her tiny figure. He realized she was making room for him, which was quite unnecessary, but the gesture symbolized an enormous show of trust. His gaze asked her the obvious question, and she nodded with a smirk and a roll of her dark eyes, settling back down beneath the sheets with a tiny squeal of discomfort.

Ichigo slipped into the sleek linens, wrapping his arm tentatively yet protectively around his partner's waist, turning her to the side so that she faced him. Her eyes fluttered closed as she burrowed into his larger, warmer form, quivering a little, until she was totally enveloped by her nakama. A genuine smile touched Ichigo's lips as he glanced down at the frail bundle tucked against his chest, and a familiar warmth spread through his bones.

"Ichigo?" she asked quietly, not looking up from her curled-up little ball.

"Yeah, Rukia?" He unconsciously pulled her tighter against himself, yet was still careful not to cause her any unnecessary discomfort. "What is it?"

"Thank-you…for staying with me…even though we survived."

Ichigo stiffened for a brief moment. "Dumb midget," he said after a few seconds of thought, "if I could be so sure about how much you mean to me when we where on the brink of death, why in the world would you suddenly be worth any less when we're alive and well? A promise is a promise."

If a shinigami could somehow purr, that would quite well describe the sound that fluttered out from the small bundle of Rukia that he held.

And there, he stayed.

"Ah, Unohana-taicho! I'm so sorry, I should've kept a closer eye on him, I should've known that he—"

Hanatarou's panicked flurry of excuses was put to a halt by the raised hand of his captain, who was glancing through the doorway of Rukia's room in the barracks with a warm glint in her eyes.

"Tell me, Hanatarou-san: do you think Kurosaki-san is really in such terrible shape if he could make it all the way here to see to his friend's well-being?" She smiled, closed-eyed, with a lilt of a threat in her voice. "He wants the company; would you really be the one to disturb an intimate moment? I highly doubt Kurosaki-san would do anything that would cause any further harm to Kuchiki-san."

"Ah, um, yes…I understand." Hanatarou stuttered hopelessly for another moment before giving up with a sigh. "My utmost apologies, Taicho; I'll head back to my other duties now!" With that, the small shinigami gave a deep, flustered bow, and darted off.

Unohana remained a moment longer, her gaze lingering on the pair: they lay wrapped up so comfortably in one-another's arms, tucked securely into a sea of white as the sun set, casting a warm glow through the small window above them. They appeared to be so content, at peace, and filled with such a near-tangible sense of belonging, that the captain couldn't help but hold back a genuine laugh. "Why couldn't they have figured themselves out sooner, instead of beating up on one another so often?" she muttered to herself as she slid the door shut behind her with a soft click, knowing that the two inside needed their privacy to keep from turning on each other. "Too bad it took such a near-tragedy: this sort of thing almost suits them, if they could only swallow their pride."