To Kuchiki Byakuya's great surprise and extreme irritation, his recovery languished out over several weeks. Not one to take anything lying down, Byakuya woke up every morning too weak to get onto his own two feet or even sit upright without pain. Despite the undeniably good care he was receiving from the most skilled healers in Soul Society, improvements came in imperceptible increments and for someone who was used to healing overnight it was beyond galling.
For any injuries to take more than a few days was thoroughly unacceptable, in Byakuya's esteemed opinion, and he daily grated at the glacial progress, making every effort to heal himself by force of will alone and refusing to accept anything less than near-instant recovery.
Unfortunately, no one seemed to agree with him. Unohana was summoned on more than one occasion, but she simply smiled and offered him her usual placating - and almost painfully exhausted - smile, attempting to soothe him and urging him to be patient. Because it would be unseemly to question her professional expertise, and because even the Kuchiki heir was pained to see the incomparable Retsu strained to the frayed edges of her strength, he kept his arguments in check and resorted to moderately successful efforts at hiding his frustrations during her visits.
Not that anyone else was nearly so lucky. Fourth squad very quickly learned that any task calling them into the Kuchiki room was a fate on par with bloody-death-by-Hollow. He harranged every attendant with the thorugh brutality of an interrogator regarding his care, plying them for any possible modification in treatment or medication that would see him more swiftly back to health. On more than one occasion, he directly overrode his medical orders and changed his treatments, certain it would hasten his recovery. The fact that his changes were, without fail, countermanded during his sleep hardly slowed him down; as each reversal was signed by Unohana herself, eventually and with great reluctance Byakuya stopped directly altering his orders out of respect for her...
But that didn't stop him from heckling the staff on every single facet of his care that wasn't actually written down. He had the latest attendant, a girl barely out of the Academy, in miserable tears and looking rather desperate for an escape before anyone made a serious attempt to shut him down.
"You can't possibly tell me you are unable to lower the analgesics," he growled at the sniffling girl, restraining a wince - not at the girl's plight, but at the fact that he was already at the threshold of pain he could reasonable tolerate. Still if a few more aches would ensure a swifter departure... "I insist the dosage be reviewed by a competant medical professional..."
"Go on, child. No review will be necessary." The woman's voice cut across the room with that infuriating blend of command and passive irony; he might have admired the tone if he hadn't already come to hate it so much. "He's half-delirious from pain already and I can assure you he hardly knows what he is saying right now." Taking from the girl the bowl she had been sent to bring in, Kazumi sighed. "Go on, back to your duties." With huge eyes, a loud gulp and a final sniffle, the novice seized on the dismissal as if it were a liferaft and retreated like a live Hollow was after her.
Shifting his attention, Byakuya managed to keep his ire just this side of hateful. "I am perfectly cogent," he stated flatly, addressing the slight against his coherence in favor of the comment on his pain level, which was frighteningly accurate and utterly beside the point. "I will not be undermined in front of subordinates, even those of another captain's squad."
Kazumi was unimpressed, a near perpetual state of being as far as he could tell. "You lied about your comfort level, my Lord Husband," she returned without budging an iota. "And while you may be perfectly intelligible, you were all but asking the child to disobey orders from her direct superior by changing medical orders - again - which was clearly inappropriate." She met his dark gaze with an air of someone trying to protect him from embarrassing himself, an impression he found, well, oddly enough, embarrassing.
For long moments he stared at the woman who was his wife and tried to figure out why he had so much trouble finding anything to say to her that wasn't downright acerbic. Granted, their presence in each other's lives was far from ordinary or desireable but such animosity was not rational. If only she would stop being so damned obdurate...
"Ridiculous," he snorted. "I have been consigned to this bed for over a month..."
"You're lucky you didn't leave it within the hour, and feet first," Rukia snapped. One of the other two specters to haunt his room all hours of the day and night, she was getting pretty ragged with the stress of waiting as well. Not inclined to have any natural maternal instincts, Rukia's particular form of attentiveness was by turns abrasive and sickly-sweet; clearly she was on the more agressive end of the scale at the moment. On the other side of the room, Renji shifted uncomfortably; he looked torn between jumping to his leader's defense and an impatience for his recovery that was shared with everyone.
Calmly and with frightening detail, Kazumi started to rattle of the list of injuries that had landed him here in the first place. "You are recovering from a crushed pelvis, a nearly-severed left arm, a concussion that just barely missed caving in your skull, more broken bones than whole ones and a host of decimated organs. You heart had detatched from your chest and was found in the right side of your rib-cage..."
"Enough." Byakuya couldn't decide if it was shock or revulsion that made him shudder, ever so slightly. "That is not even possible-"
"Kuchiki Byakuya, I left my husband's body still cooling to assess your situation myself." Kazumi's eyes lazered him as a shot of something hot and bitter and distasteful filled his mouth. It took him a moment to realize it was shame. "I can assure you, I am not exaggerting your injuries." She watched him for long moments while Rukia and Renji imitated each other's studious attempts to disappear into the floorboards.
The silence was suffocating as Byakuya struggled to assimilate this information. He was forced, in some quiet and thoroughly private portion of his consciousness, to confront the extent of his near-fatal injuries. Much as he hated to admit it, that it took someone of his breeding and power so long to heal did support this woman's horriffic assessment. Which spoke, if nothing else, to the truth of the gravity of the situation that had led to their frustratingly binding nuptuals. A realization that only increased his overwhelming sense of entrapment. The identical look of misery clouding her own glare reminded him that she was hardly to blame, although the desire to be furious at something lingered.
He also felt, inexplicably, the tiniest bit sad. The woman only married you because she thought you were dying. She never expected to find herself stuck married to you...A terrible irony at that; of all the women in Soul Society who would give their souls to be his spouse, he ended up with the one woman who found his very existence loathesome, as she was busy mourning the death of her real husband. The one she chose.
The one she loved... A grimace twisted his lips; surely just the wounds flaring in a flash of pain, nothing more. What did he care if this woman had any regard for his life? She was duty-bound, nothing more.
Never anything but duty...
Sensing the shift in mood as Byakuya slid back into his scathing introspection, Kazumi spoke into the miserable atmosphere. "Now, if it pleases the good lieutenants, I would ask that they leave us as it is time for your spongebath."
Kuchikia Byakuya, a man of legendary restraint and composure, very nearly swallowed his own tongue. "I am perfectly capable of washing myself..."
Ignoring not only of Byakuya's flushing face but of Rukia and Renji's as well, Kazumi set down the bowl of warm, fragrant water she'd aquired a little more forcefully than necessary, sloshing the steaming water onto the table. "That is quite enough dishonesty for one day, I think. You can barely move, you are in too much pain to even sit properly, and I doubt you've gotten a proper scrubbing since your arrival. And since you've been so kind as to put the fear of all the gods into the staff, this delightful duty falls to your dutiful wife. Unless you'd rather have your sister do it?" One delicate eyebrow quirked while Rukia flushed crimson and choked noisily in the corner.
Byakuya stared at Kazumi with a blank expression that was the Kuchiki equivalent of gaping like a fish. Dammit. Whether by design or coincidence, she'd once again made this about duty, which even a scandalized and hastily married Byakuya could neither refuse nor deny her. Shifting his expression the minute hair from blankness into infuriated acquiescence, he glared at Kazumi and addressed the red-faced witnesses to his humiliation. "Rukia, Renji. Leave."
Even accustomed as he was to instantaneous obedience, the speed with which his order was carried out nearly made him cock an eyebrow. It would have been amusing, if their disappearance didn't leave him in a situation he would trade in a heartbeat for the death that had been denied him. Letting his gaze linger on the empty air where the leuitenants and only just stood, he addressed his wife without looking at her.
"Carry on."
He had several moments of quiet, punctuted by soft rustlings and the gentle wringing out of water from a soft cloth, to regret giving into this indignity. A regret which magnified the instant she began. Brushing the long (and, it must be admitted, somewhat tangled) bangs off his forehead, he nearly flinched; it had been decades since he'd been touched in anything approaching a caring manner, by anyone much less by a woman, and the reminder stung so sweetly it actually hurt. He very nearly called a halt, and damned if it wsa a matter of duty or otherwise, but some parched part of his soul stilled his tongue. She washed his hair first, her tiny fingertips kneading his scalp in a way that was annoyingly luxuriant. She took somewhat longer than necessary, but he refused to entertain the possibility that she enjoyed handling the midnight locks. He had to fight to keep his eyes from sliding shut when she finally ran her fingers through his refreshingly clean hair, pulling it up and pinning it loosely out of her way before starting on his face. There was some soothing fragrance in the water, and the silken feel of the warm cloth lulled him; it took him long moments to realize he was actually leaning into the cleansing carresses, and as she deftly slid an arm around his shoulders and leaned him forward slightly so she gout get his back, he took advantage of the hunch to consternate himself.
You are being an imbecile and an idot, Kuchiki, he told himself firmly. She is doing her duty, as was thrust upon her, and nothing more. You have no right to enjoy her attentions. Even if her hands are as soft as the lavender water...he cut that thought off ruthlessly as Kazumi finished with his shoulders and settled him back on the pillows.
Noticing his grimace, Kazumi's forehead wrinkled. "Did that hurt? I can be more gentle..."
Gods, no. "I am fine," he responded stiffly, still refusing to look at her. A pause while she gauged the truth of his statement but she decided not to make an issue of it. Dipping the cloth again and humming faintly under her breath, she began delicately scrubbing his lacerated chest.
It felt so good it was nearly intolerable. She seemed to know exactly which wounds still pulled and stung, just which bruises still ached, and not only avoided exacerbating the discomfort but seemed to pull out aches and stiffness with each stroke. Somewhat desperately seeking a distraction for the relief, Byakuya forced himself to look anywhere but her as he did something he was rarely wont to do - tried to make small talk.
"Your family is Shihouin." Not exactly charming, and more of a statement then an opening, but he prayed to the gods she was granted more social graces than some Shihouins and would take the hint to break the awkwardness.
She did. "Yes," she replied calmly, with an odd sort of neutrality that made him wonder if she was amused by him. "I am not of the purest lines, but my lineage is predominantly Shihouin, so I was allowed to grow up in the complex." She smirked, continuing with a sooft chuckle. "It was quite an uproar, actually, although it was kept striclty within family walls - appearantly, my grandfather indulged in something of a dalliance with a Rukongian shoemaker's daughter, whom he favored and kept as his concubine well into his marriage to a lower cousin. Against all odds they produced an offspring - the shoemaker's daughter, not the cousin - a true-birth if not a purebred one. That child married into the family and produced me, and so despite themselves they were forced to accept and raise me." Glancing at Byakuya's incredulous expression, she grimaced somewhat ruefully. "Yes, true-births seem to run in my lineage." Her look sharpened, wary. "You should know it was one of the considerations that led your elders to approach me in the first place. When you were dying." Her midnight eyes were locked on his, waiting for the explosion.
For the second time in the last hour, Byakuya felt as if he was choking. "You...you were to be a brood mare, should I survive?" For the millionth time he considered slaughtering his entire councilling staff. Had he been thinking more clearly, he might of noticed that he was almost more angry for her sake than for his own.
Her expression turned withering. "Well put, Lord husband." she replied drolly, producing a slight fllush to his cheeks that had nothing to do with her hands moving down across his abdomen. Seeing his chagrin, she relented with a sigh. "It was a consideration, as I said. The Kuchiki clan needed a magnate at the least, an heir at best. As with so many other things, I seemed to fit the bill." Running warm hands and cloth over the muscles rippling across his stomach, her voice tightened as she glanced at him. "You're a noble. Don't pretend to be surpised as such calculated manipulations." Another sigh. "We are little more than glorified chess-pieces, are we not?"
"I am not," he grated, his jaw tightening. Feeling exposed in more ways than one, Byakuya turned his head stubbornly to look out the window. "I have spent half my life accepting such strategies without question, and the other half determined to defeat them."
Her hands stopped moving. Horrified at his unintentional admission, Byakuya clamped his mouth shut and dropped into a stillness that he had long ago perfected as an armor against embarrasment. It barely worked. What is it about this woman that makes me lose focus? he asked himself furiously. Senbonzakura shifted, minutely, deep inside him - the zanpaktou was weak, barely sensate, but it was the first stirring of his soul manifestation he had felt since his fall in the war. It didn't speak - Senbonzakura rarely ever expressed himself with words - but it was a taste of something normal and reliable in the midst of this gods-forsaken nightmare, and Byakuya found a measure of relief. Taking a deep breath and feeling somewhat restored - more centered at least - he retuned to his senses.
Just in time to realize that Kazumi had every intention of giving him a perfectly thorough spongebath. As her beclothed hands drifted industriously south of his abdomen, it took every iota of his self control not to grab her wrists and stop her. Or react in...other ways for that matter. For his part, the only impetus behind the motive not to stop her was that he had a feeling she was expecting him to protest, which was certain to make him appear childish and quite possibly cowardly. He was damned if he would shame himself thus. Still, even his near-perfect self control failed to prevent color from rising to his cheeks at her ministrations. Almost unconsciously, he reached for a lifeline.
"If I were reinstated back to my home, you would not have to do this..." He instantly flushed as she glanced at him, eyebrow lifted and a knowing quirk on her lips. "That is, there are servants..."
She snorted. "Anyone raised to serve the Kuchiki's would rather fall on their swords than wash your privates, don't you think?" Her quirk turned into an all-out grin as he tried to think of an answer to that one. "And it's not like I haven't washed a bum or two in my time-"
"How do you mean?" Byakuya snapped, thrown by her ribaldry. Her jaw clacked shut, a strange look crossing her face and his own wrinkled in confusion. In a flash of insight, he grated. "True births run in your line and you were married for some decades," he stated, rather harsher than he intended, everything coming into focus. "Do you have a child?" It was out of his mouth before he realized how cold his voice was.
Her hands stilled, in a place he would rather they had not. For a long moment the two of them were frozen in an awkward tableau. Finally her hands moved - drawing breath, he realized he'd been holding it - much more perfunctory than before. He risked a look, but her eyes did not meet his. Slightly paled and working swiftly, she rubbed the cloth down his legs.
"Had. A son." Her voice was tight and she continued to refuse his gaze. "He died in infancy, some decades back."
The air lay heavy in the room.
A young intern, shivering, poked her head into the room. "Pardon, Kuchiki-sama, but it is time for your meds..." Turning white, she quickly averted her gaze and made to retreat.
"Don't run like a scared hen, silly child. If you are here to administer medication you'd better do it." Kazumi's voice was somewhat more harsh than necessary; as she pulled up the sheets and retrieved the bathing water, Byakuya caught a glimpse of abnormal sheen in her eyes. "I need to see about getting his lordship transferred out of here and back to his home, and Kuchiki-sama is in quite a bit of pain..." The rest was lost as the slender woman slipped out the door, clutching her bowl.
He almost called after her. Almost. Not being a monster at heart, Byakuya felt somewhat sickened at the result of his inquiry. The only thing that stopped him was that, had she turned back, he had no idea what to say to her, this woman - stranger - who was his wife.
By the time the needle jabbed into his arm, he rode thankfully away on the blissful waves of unconsciousness...
Stupid stupid STUPID Yoruichi - who the hell likes to play tag anyway?? It's a stupid game for stupid kids, not for captains like her, and certainly not for the heir to the Kuchiki throne...
Hair tossing loosely around his hunched shoulders, Byakuya stomped through his mansion home with his asauchi slung angrily over his shoulder. Feeling it bouncing against his collarbone, he glared at the unnamed, impotent sword. And YOU - why the hell don't you have a freaking name yet!? Am I expected to labor at everything...!?
Storming into his private suite, he glanced at the long beams of sunset streaming in the large windows, his glare impossibly heating.
Godsdammit all, she made me frikkin miss dinner...!!
"Byakuya-sama-"
Halting mid-step, he whirled about to glare murder at the servant girl crouching in the doorway to his personal suite, noting as he did so that her posture was not quite deep enough to be properly respectful. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he scathed, indulging in an obscenity. "These are my personal rooms..."
He ground to a halt as she produced a tray of steaming rice and meat. Gaping at the proffered dinner, Byakuya found himself at a loss of words.
"How-?"
"Shihouin-taicho asked that this be brought to your rooms." The girl's face looked flushed, for what reason he couldn't fathom.
"Yoruichi!?" he gaped.
"Yes, my lord," replied the girl. What was her name? Hisana? "She was here a few hours ago, informing your parents that you were on an errand for her and you would be late." Glancing upwards, the girl's eyes met his mischievously. "She said that as far out as she'd left you, you would be home right around now..."
"Shut up!" he snapped, furious. Snatching the tray from the girl, he noted that her small smile didn't budge, neither did she flinch. Scooping a handful rice into his mouth, he regarded her iciliy. "You are not afraid of me?"
Her eyes twitched, as if she was prepared to answer the expected affirmative. But something in the deep-sea color hardened, and she answered honestly instead. "No." Her head tilted, inquisitive. "Do you wish me to be?"
He was as irritated by the frankness as he was oddly exhilirated. "No," he snapped, trying to regain the upper hand. He glared at her. "Do not be afraid of me. That is an order." There - that should do it.
Her feline lips curled upwards a hair higher. "As you wish, my Lord..."
He half-woke, once, while they were moving him. His wounds were such that even as sedated as he was, a particularly sharp jarr dragged him out of his feverish dreams long enough to pray, to every god he could name, that he would not fall back asleep.
Memories were hard enough to leave behind when one wasn't forced to sleep deeply enough to relive them.