The place where she awakens is an empty place but not her cell. Above her the sky is blue-white, the sun watery and far-off. Bare trees are scattered across the field in which she lay, and the wind is light and passive. She sits up. She's seen this place, been here before. This is where the children hid out when she was younger. But she is too far gone now to be nostalgic and scans the horizon for any sign of a way out of this faded, useless dream. She stands, blinking, ignoring the rumbling in her stomach.

And then it lurches.

Not fifty yards from her is Renji. Not Renji. His bloody, lifeless body. It can't be. He can't be dead. He can't be dead! Not before she can—

Her legs give out under her before she can reach him. Three deep breaths are all she need to gather for one ragged shriek. Here is her nightmare. If he is dead—if he is dead—the others—and when she looks it is all she has ever feared. Ishida propped up against a tree, the red stain growing across his tunic. Chad, spread eagled in a patch of sunlight, eyes open and empty. His left arm is several feet away from him. Ichigo's orange head glinting in the sun, the only thing distinguishing him, as the rest of his still body is covered in crusted blood. The only sound she can hear now is her own scream.

"Stop crying."

She shakes her head, the tears are coming, she can't stop them now, can't stop anything, can't do anything.

"Stop crying."

"Shut up."

"You must stop."

"Shut up!"

"I cannot. I will not. It may be your wish to die here but it is not mine. Nor is it my wish to die connected to one so pathetic, so weak." The snow is beginning to fall. The spirit is close, her form white and blurred except for the face which is, as usual, too blinding to look at. Such a beauty Shirayuki is.

"I don't give a damn about your wishes," Rukia says. She wants to think she is rational, speaking like a normal person. But they both know she is screaming. "Your wishes can go fuck themselves."

"I would expect such language from one who has carnally known Ichimaru Gin," Shirayuki says. "Are you finished?"

On her hands and knees, Rukia sees the snowflakes land and melt on her still-warm fingers. They have already covered the ground and the bodies of her comrades are slowly being swallowed by Shirayuki's presence. It's always been like this with her. Shirayuki has nothing nice to say. She is a worse snob than the Byakuya crowd, and that's saying something. Rukia had come close to giving up on ever attaining shikai, with a zanpaktou so stubborn and unfriendly. That had been a battle within herself that took years.

And she has no energy to deal with such an attitude now. "I'm not done yet," she says coldly.

"Then what? Are we to wait for him to get bored and kill us?"

The words are on her tongue before Rukia can stop them. "I'm already dead," she says. "I was dead before I even came here."

"So you say. And yet you cling to the lives of your friends like a cold man clutching a blanket. You chose your own hell. I am not deceived."

"You are not deceived?" Rukia laughs. "One can only be deceived if they are looking for a different outcome than the present situation. You were never looking for anything, never cared what happened. You're not a part of this, never were. You pick and choose when you want to be involved with me."

"I choose when wish to be actively involved with you. You've only ever looked at me as a tool."

"You chose that, not me. I was never good enough. Never a kind word, never any encouragement. Look at you now. I die, you die. That's the only reason you're speaking to me now. Showing me my dead friends isn't going to get you what you want."

Shirayuki's eyes narrow. "You have no idea what I want, you selfish, self-absorbed woman."

"So now you say it," Rukia says.

"It's what you want to hear. But this will be the last time I indulge you. You will walk away from here. Not intact, but you will walk away. Gin has already lost to you."

Rukia can do nothing but gape at her. "How—" but she can't get the rest out. Shirayuki kneels and kisses her. The hands on her her shoulders, like the lips touching her own, are warm. Rukia knows in an instant what this is, what Shirayuki wants to convey but cannot speak aloud. You have yourself and you have me. This is all you need, for now. I trust you. Please trust me as well. You never gave up hope. You came close, but the spark in your soul, the spark that sustains us both, was yet—is yet—strong. He did everything to kill that light, but it could not be extinguished with cold words and unwanted advances. And it was not your faith in your friends that fed it. It was your will to live, to shake yourself free of your pain. You have always been fighting the darkness, ever seeking the light. He is your opposite, in that respect. He has turned away the one person who could lead him to his own light in favor of shallow pursuits and self-loathing. His wallowing will be his undoing.

"That's a lie," Rukia breathes. "You'll tell me anything to get what you want."

It's true I have nothing to lose. But neither do you. So then, will you deny what lies plainly in front or you, or will you base that remains of your life on the half-truth of your weakness? You are weak now, and you have been weak in the past. But that weakness is not a part of you. It is your will to punish yourself for that which you cannot change, nothing more. Will you not try to know yourself as well as I do? Can you not even do that, wade through this false, useless grief and let your feet touch solid land?

"But. . ." Rukia blinks. The kiss has stilled, but Shirayuki's lips are still on hers. Is this entire conversation in her head?

It is and it is not. This is the reality of a zanpaktou. This is your truth, and it shifts, it shimmers, just as I do, just as the snow moves at the will of the wind. Everything we are is what you have made or unmade. What can you gain from such self-destruction? You will be nothing but refuse, little more than dirt, if this is your will. I ask you to want differently, not just a halfhearted gesture to fend off guilt. Real, true hope and righteous strength are not merely your birthright. You have earned them. Your sins are far less than you believe. And yet you allow them to weigh you down, force yourself to crawl when you should run. Stop this. You must get up. We'll walk away from here and we will help our friends as we always have. And you will learn that your most precious possession has always been yourself. Stand now, Rukia. Stand on your own two feet. Stop leaning on your friends' strength. You have plenty of your own. Never forget that it is you who saved Ichigo first. You saved Kaien. You are still embedded in Renji's heart. You gave Inoue your hope and your faith, she still carries it with her. You brought light back to your brother by being who you are. And your sister loved you more than anything else in the world. Precious, precious. Your worth is without limits. Please believe.

Believe and you can save yourself. You may even save. . . him.

Rukia opens her eyes to the dark, empty cell where she's been all along. "Anything but that, Shirayuki," she murmurs. But she knows how this must end.

And is suddenly angry. "Is that it?" she demands. "Why not ask me to go fight Aizen? I'm sure that'll be much easier."

But Shirayuki has said what she wanted, and is not inclined to waste more words on her. Rukia sighs, rises, and picks up her zanpaktou. She gazes at it, the cold steel, the worn scabbard and hilt. Shirayuki is a diamond in the rough. But she believes Rukia to be one, too. Well then, she thinks, show me how.