Byakuya pulled his cloak more closely around himself; the wind was harsh this evening. Rukia had been venturing further and further into the most lawless districts: tonight it was Kusajishi, and he recalled the pink-haired child always clinging to that monster Zaraki's shoulder. It was not pleasant to think of her living here. The whole district was locked down, doors and windows barred, bony guard dogs barking behind battered walls.
He had not been able to reach a decision about Rukia. If he had simply instructed her to stop, it was possible that she would have continued to come here secretly, making it more difficult for him to protect her. If he ceased to follow her, she would again be in danger. So he found himself helpless, with no other course but to continue to shadow her under a veil of kido, as he had been.
His attention was drawn by an increase in Rukia's reiatsu—she was frightened.
A pack of men was approaching her.
Sensibly, she was backing against a wall, so that at least her back was covered. "I'm a shinigami, fools," she said loudly, putting her hand on the hilt of her zanpakuto.
"Sure you are," one of the men said, circling closer. "We get shinigami visiting here all the time, don't we, guys?"
"Probably just stole the uniform."
"Even know how to use that sword, little girl?"
Rukia drew Sode no Shirayuki: "Dance—"
And a storm of petal-like blades swirled around her, leaving each of her attackers on the ground, screaming into the dirt. Although Byakuya knew Rukia was almost certainly powerful enough to face them all at once, he didn't feel inclined to test the idea.
"Nii-sama," Rukia whispered.
Byakuya dropped the concealment and stepped out of the shadows, sheathing Senbonzakura as he did so. "Rukia," he said. "Let us leave this place."
"Yes, Nii-sama," she said, stepping over the bodies to follow him.
His flash steps had felt painfully slow moderated to what he thought were her abilities; still, when they finally reached the Kuchiki manor gardens, he looked back and there was sweat on her forehead, although of course she hadn't said anything. And you are her older brother, said Senbonzakura.
"Rukia," he said.
"I am sorry, Nii-sama," she said, remaining where she had stopped, several feet away from him. In the moonlight, with her shoulders hunched, her outline seemed even slighter than usual, her sword large in proportion to her body.
"Rukia," he said again, stepping closer. "Who is the man for whom you are searching?"
They had landed close to the river; its rushing was ringing out into the night, and the air was damp.
Rukia folded her arms around herself. "It is . . . not important, Nii-sama. I'm sorry for wasting—"
"You will tell me who this man is," Byakuya said. He shook off the cloak, letting his pale scarf and kenseikan catch the moonlight filtering through the clouds.
"He was . . . someone who withdrew from the Gotei 13," she said at last. "I don't know what his reasons were."
"This man was originally from Rukongai. And he returned after his withdrawal?"
"I . . . I don't know, Nii-sama," Rukia said, in barely more than a whisper. "He was from Rukongai, but he left quickly, he . . . he didn't say where he was going."
"I see," said Byakuya. It was a breach of duty to withdraw from one's division except in cases of illness—and this man had not even cared to tell Rukia where he was going? Byakuya would not have thought Rukia capable of such foolishness, in endangering herself searching for such a worthless person. Perhaps he had forgotten how young she was; he had failed as her older brother in allowing it to go so far.
He had given Hisana his promise to protect Rukia, and he would not see another of his family destroy herself wandering in Rukongai—even less for the sake of an unworthy man who had abandoned his division and, seemingly, his friend.
"You will no longer pursue this person," Byakuya said. "And you will no longer enter Rukongai after nightfall."
"Yes, Nii-sama," said Rukia. She was shivering. "I am sorry."
"Please go inside," said Byakuya. His hand rested on Senbonzakura's hilt; he should have killed those men, he thought. Better that than tomorrow hearing the story of Kuchiki Byakuya brawling in the streets of Kusajishi. It seemed he could not cease tarnishing his family's reputation.
When she had gone, he headed straight for the archives.
He had not liked the story she'd told. He didn't doubt that it was true at least insofar as Rukia was aware, but what reason could a man have for escaping Rukongai, working his way through the academy and into the Gotei 13, and then choosing to withdraw back into indigence?
Byakuya went to the archives of the thirteenth division—his first guess at the origin of the man Rukia had known—and found their records of withdrawals between the time Rukia had entered the Gotei 13 squads and ten years ago.
He was tired; the fight had hardly been exhausting, but he had been working with barely any sleep for countless days now. His shoulders ached . . . and yet here he was. Perhaps, he thought, he was simply too afraid to walk past a door that would again not muffle the sound of crying.
Byakuya frowned, and looked again at the numbers. He had noticed something of a high number of withdrawals in his own division, but the difference in the records was more stark than he had thought.
In the past eighty years or so, each division had suffered on average one withdrawal a year.
A hundred and fifty years ago, only one division member had withdrawn about every twenty years, and it was the same for two hundred years ago, and three hundred, too.
It was . . . unsettling. The great majority of shinigami died in office or retired from old age, and being separated from one's division was considered a punishment, not something to be sought. That was how it had always been. That was how his grandfather had described it.
It was especially disturbing in the light of what had happened with Ise Nanao fifteen years ago. It had been known that she was had been close to the traitor Yadomaru Lisa, but nobody had thought that she would try to continue with their plan after the conspirators had been discovered. A vice-captain, trying to break into the Central 46's Assembly Hall . . . she had waited eighty-five years to do it.
If Yadomaru's treachery had survived until then, there was always the question: where else might it have spread? These days, the Central 46 chambers were more closed off to the outside world than ever, and the Onmitsukido was careful and thorough.
The lamp flickered.
It was nearly lunchtime, and Byakuya realized that he had hardly even made a start in his work for the day. He reprimanded himself; it was unlike him to fall behind, and he could hardly rely on Kotetsu to pull up his slack.
He left his desk neatly arranged and went to find Ukitake. At least he could ask Rukia's captain if he might know what had happened, although it appeared recently that Ukitake was hardly even involved in the running of his own division. He did recall that Ukitake had been kind to him when he had been a child, had given him sweets and . . . yes, that was right, a toy carp that could be put in water and made to float, although he hadn't found it very entertaining. But it had been given with good intentions.
A few flame-colored leaves were still visible here and there on the way to the Thirteenth Division barracks, gathered in corners between buildings or on paths that the Fourth Division hadn't recently swept. The trees themselves, however, were bare. They looked thirsty this time of year; the branches were reaching out for water, and the ground was dry.
Byakuya ran into Hinamori, Ukitake's vice-captain, on his way into their barracks, and she led him the rest of the way, sending him nervous glances all the while. He had to repress his irritation at this: even if she found him intimidating, she was a vice-captain, after all.
At last, she showed him into her captain's office. Ukitake had his hands folded over the blanket on his lap and his long white hair spread out over his shoulders; today, his age was showing on his face, and his smile for his vice-captain was strained. There was a sickly scent of medicine in the room—it was too sweet, thought Byakuya. Why didn't they open a window? Because it was too cold?
"Thank you, Momo," said Ukitake, with a trace of his old warmth. "Please don't let us be disturbed unless it's something very important."
"Yes, Captain," she said, with another nervous glance, and left.
Byakuya found himself stirring uneasily in his chair. He was about to inquire into Ukitake's health, as always, when Ukitake said, "I suppose that we should speak about your younger sister."
"That was, indeed, the matter I came to discuss," said Byakuya.
"I owe you my apologies," said Ukitake quietly. The skin on his hands was translucent; the veins were visible, blue and green.
"To what are you referring?" said Byakuya.
"Could it be that—" said Ukitake, and then he saw Byakuya's confusion and said, "You aren't aware yet, then." His hands unfolded. "This morning your sister came to me and offered her resignation. She has left my division."
Author's Note: Augh, this was so hard to write! Poor Byakuya is always making the worst decisions for the best of reasons. And poor Ukitake is not very well at all.
Please review!
Also: I'm going to be aiming for a roughly weekly update schedule.