Author's Note: Uploaded 14th January 2011 – Happy Birthday, Rukia! Here, have some angst. I'll try and get you a bunny next year.

We are going to live together and we are going to die together.

Standing at the narrow window in the Shrine of Penitence, Rukia watched the ice crystals melt on her fingers.

"I know," she whispered: "I'm here." And she closed her eyes.

That world had changed.

She stood in the branches of one of the tallest firs, her figure black against a tumultuous moon. Its light glittered on the pine needles, but the slightest movement on Rukia's part made those same needles shatter and fall. The tree, Rukia realised, was dead. All of them were dead. Only ice now decorated the arctic forest. Where once she had been able to trip from branch to branch beneath these gloating stars, now her progress was clumsy. The branches snapped. The needles fell, chasing her on their precipitous journey to the forest floor.

She had only ever been taught to enter this other world through communion with her sword spirit. Since her zanpakuto had vanished along with her powers when she had transferred them to Ichigo, she had half-expected this place to be gone too. And, in many respects, it was fading. It had fallen into decay. Yet, somewhere in her soul, it remained so strong a memory that even the loss of her powers could not destroy it completely.

She crept carefully across the new snow, relishing its soft crunch beneath her feet.

Suddenly, she was not afraid.

There were no more tomorrows to be afraid of. And she was not alone anymore because she never had been.

The spirit spoke from behind her:

"Did you come to tell me that you forgive me?" asked Sode no Shirayuki. Rukia found herself smiling slyly at her words:

"No. If that were necessary, you would never have called me back in the first place."

Sode no Shirayuki gave a long, contented sigh:

"You are right, of course. Then why did you come, Child? Why, after all this time?"

"I came to say good-bye," said Rukia, and turned to face her zanpakuto.

The sword spirit seemed gaunter, older somehow, or perhaps it was just that the drift of snowflakes in the air was thinner now, so that the pale woman seemed less substantial than ever. She reached out, but the radiant white hand paused a little before Rukia's face and an expression of exquisite sadness lit on her features:

"But we deserved better, didn't we?"

"Better?"

"You would have grown strong and fearless if only we'd had the time."

"I'm not afraid." The hand pulled away: "Truly, I'm not. I've lived well" -

"Child, you face the enemies that you can see head on and because you defeat them, you believe that you are strong. Yet, the ones in your heart, you cannot see. I would give you eyes, but" - A wind whipered through the forest, chasing loose pine needles from the trees. The strength of it whipped at Rukia's clothes and nearly shattered the image of the spirit before her, so that her outline swirled and blurred and she seemed to gather her robes tight about her. She looked down, her face falling into shadow: "I am growing tired, Rukia."

"I won't let you down, I promise. I won't let them see" –

"That you are scared? But you are not scared." The spirit glanced up. Rukia found herself gazing unblinking into ice blue eyes that, at last, squeezed something of the truth from her:

"I don't know. I always thought that death would be fast, that I wouldn't have the time to think or remember. It's not dying that scares me. I've lived long enough. We've lived long enough," she corrected: "So, I think it will be alright: the Sokyoku. Pain doesn't frighten me. Silence doesn't frighten me. I just have to go forward."Her eyes searched Sode no Shirayuki's face for a hint of agreement, but the spirit only stared back, as if she was waiting, and, eventually, Rukia swallowed: "It's just" –

"You always go forward," the spirit finished for her. The wind blew again, breaking apart her face.

There was something in Rukia's throat now: hard, bitter, making it impossible for her to swallow. Sode no Shirayuki's image reformed. Yet here was less snow in the air now; the breeze had taken some and cast it into the shadows. All that remained in the moonlight now were thin lines of dust, so insubstantial that Rukia had to concentrate to resolve them into the shape of her zapakuto's face: "Did you ever find what you were looking for?" Sode no Shirayuki whispered. Rukia said nothing; she didn't think she would be able to speak if she tried. "I'm sorry for that," the zanpakuto said: "I wanted you to do well. I always believed that if you became the best that you could be, then that might be enough. To keep going, to keep improving; it seemed to make you happy. But I was wrong, wasn't I?"

Another gust of wind. The hard stone in Rukia's throat bubbled up and, surprising herself, she started to cry, arms wrapped around herself as if she might hold it back. She could barely see the sword spirit now.

She could beg her not to leave; she could weep and drop to her knees. She could tell her that she'd been wrong to wait, that she should have come back to this world long years ago. But none of that held any meaning now.

"Keep going forward if you will, Rukia. I cannot go on past this point." Her voice was barely audible: " But, since I cannot walk ahead of you, look behind sometimes. I will be there. And before they take our life, I pray you might find some reason to stop. Not every answer is ahead of us." She reached out and the hand that brushed Rukia's cheek was soft. The tears on her face froze, like streaks of cold fire across her skin, as she reached up and closed her hands around all that was left of the spirit's own. Though she could no longer see Sode no Shirayuki, she could feel her. She was fading; crumbling even as Rukia held her.

"I won't let you down," she said again.

Her answer came on the next gust of wind:

"You never have."