Chapter 27: Winter
Sleep did not fall lightly or at all over the pair. A few gentle moments passed in lieu of rest before duty pulled them from the warmth of the estate and into the brutal winter. Dressed in layers of thick fabric, Hisana waddled through the ice and snow.
"Fine time for a snow storm," she groused to herself. Her wiry legs lengthened their stride, contending with both the deep white powder and her tightly wrapped robes. Snow fell in heavy blankets, reducing her field of vision to only a few meters in front of her. Lucky that her feet knew the path well. Even luckier that her companion proved to be an effective crutch.
"Are you sure you feel well enough?" Byakuya asked. His gaze was soft and probing.
'The snow affords us some privacy,' she noted to herself. Instinct, however, was a stubborn force, and she surveyed the area for prying eyes. None could be seen. Likely, no one was roaming so far into the wild that surrounded the estate.
"I am," she responded belatedly. She was tired. Her muscles creaked, and a thin patina of snow dusted her hair. She elevated her gaze, and tilted her head to the side. Bright eyes greeted his more somber look. "It is cold," she teased.
A small half-smile tugged at the side of his lips. "It is."
"I hate the snow," she murmured, shifting deeper into her robes for warmth.
Byakuya's brows lifted. "A fire wielder dislikes the cold?" The question was purely rhetorical, and it provoked a small giggle from her.
"Who would've thought?" she retorted, winking at him. "And you?" Hisana's gaze flicked up into the sheets of snow fluttering down on them. It was beautiful—she could not help but think. But beauty only went so far…
Byakuya followed her look. His eyes narrowed as he considered her question. Whether he realized it or not, the corners of his mouth dipped into a frown, and the lines of face hardened. "It is…" he began, not quite finding the appropriate word to capture his ambivalence.
"Pretty awful?" she said slyly, glimpsing him out of the corner of her eye. His eyes widened, but he seemed unconvinced. "First," she began, inhaling a deep breath as she prepared her argument, "it is cold and wet and sort of solid, which is a particularly dangerous combination: It gets everywhere, biting your flesh and marking your skin. And then it dampens your clothes and hair, which makes you even more cold. Second, it is messy. So very messy! Third, when it melts, it gets even messier! Fourth, in large amounts, it gets hard to navigate. Fifth, it can be used as a weapon." She was about to continue with her 50-reasons-I-hate-snow-and-you-should-too thesis when she descried his expression. He was watching her intently—half-amused and half-mortified that she had put so much thought into rationalizing her hatred of snow—and he smiled. A pure, genuine smile. The kind of smile that elicits a companion smile. So, with chapped lips ready to belt out another 45 reasons, Hisana shut her mouth and smiled in kind.
"That was a compelling argument," he stated deadpan, but she knew he was teasing her. He played the compliment too straight.
"I wrote a haiku once," she said, grinning.
His brows snapped up in response. "About snow?" He was equal parts confused and impressed that her dislike ran so deep.
"No, about all of the things that I could be doing if it were not cold and snowing."
"I will have to read it sometime."
Her lips split into a toothy grin. "It isn't very good."
He shook his head. "Inconceivable," he said drolly before looking up to see the surroundings change suddenly and drastically. Silence fell heavy over the two of them as they evaluated the damage dealt to the city.
"I cannot believe it," she whispered more so to herself than to Byakuya.
It looked ghostly.
The once vibrant marketplace was gone. Simply demolished. Only debris—wood, nails, scraps of metal—served as solemn reminders of what once was. Remnants blackened the snow and the grimy cobblestone. Hisana's footfalls became more tentative as she noted the slick glisten of the stones. The Fourth had salted the streets, and, while the salt melted the snow, the water made the cobblestones slippery and treacherous to navigate.
"Careful," Byakuya murmured as he caught Hisana's arm before she slid across a wet patch of ice.
Embarrassed, she glanced up at him with large bashful eyes. "Another thing that I hate about snow."
He responded with a sympathetic nod of his head. "Naturally."
"Vice Captain pro tempore," a loud booming voice crashed over them, drawing both sets of eyes toward the man's frantic intonations.
Byakuya tilted his head up and to the side as he regarded the Shinigami standing before them. He was a young man with sandy-colored hair and bright red cheeks. In his excitement, he heaved a few breaths before bowing several times. "Your skills are requested at the Sixth," the man said with clipped but eager words.
Byakuya nodded in reply. "Is the matter dire?"
The youthful Shinigami rose. His eyes widened, and his expression fell flat. Confusion was the likely culprit. "Ugh," he muttered, staring up and to the left. "I don't recall." He paused, thoughtfully. "I think so?"
Byakuya watched the man's labored intellect with a blank stare. Hisana could tell that the subordinate's lack of insight wore on Byakuya's nerves. "Ten thousand years," she said sweetly, bowing.
Byakuya returned her gesture. "Ten thousand," he repeated upon straightening, but he hesitated, waiting for her gaze to meet his before he departed.
Hisana obliged with a small smile, and she gave a slight, almost imperceptible, bow of her head. He was gone in a flash. Only the smell of burnt earth and sakura lingered on the icy breeze in his wake.
She snorted a breath through her nose, which quickly transformed into a small vapor trail when it hit the arctic air. Her gaze lingered on the white wisp as she tucked a stray tress of hair behind her ear. She hated goodbyes in times of woe. While she was confident in Byakuya's skill, she was ever wary that they were mere children quarreling on a thin line.
Somberly, she traced the path to the Thirteenth. With each bend, her heart deflated at the terrain. Landmarks that she once loved to peer inside of as she passed were leveled. Splinters of wood and iron marked their graves. When she passed red snow, she paused and gave a short prayer before continuing. She had spared many prayers and much heartache before she reached her division. Seemingly untouched, the Thirteenth stood its usual self. Hardly a tile was cracked.
Hisana shook her head in disbelief. Amid the devastation, at least one of the divisions weathered the storm. She bowed her head out of gratitude before slipping through the gates. No guard manned the ingress. There was no time for such a luxury. Instead, the Thirteenth's doors stood wide open, embracing those who wished to enter.
"Miss Hisana!" The voice unmistakably belonged to Kotetsu.
"Good morning," Hisana responded, bowing politely.
"We need help!" Before Hisana had a chance to respond, Kotetsu stuffed the handle of a snow shovel into her hands. "The Fourth is sending over some supplies, but as you can see there are mounds of snow. We need to clear it!"
Hisana glanced around to see that she was indeed dangerously close to stepping into a bank of snow. Apparently, the street cleaners had plowed the main streets and threw down a generous application of salt. The Thirteenth (and likely other divisions) had not been given the same treatment.
"The Fourth?" Hisana asked softly. She knew the division had set up some units in the Fifth, but the Thirteenth seemed like a long trek from the Fourth.
"The Fourth was destroyed during last night's events. The Fifth, Ninth, and Thirteenth are the only divisions that remain fully functional, and there are a lot of wounded. More are discovered each hour."
"And the Sixth?" Hisana asked. Her voice broke, betraying her concern.
Kotetsu's expression softened upon realizing why Hisana seemed worried. "Power outage."
Hisana exhaled a sigh of relief. "Oh, good."
"The First has become the War Room, and the Second is keeping all suspects."
Hisana shook her head—a quiet appeal that she did not need to know the status of all the divisions. "Thank you, Kotetsu." She bowed her head before plunging the shovel's blade into the powdery snow. "Clear the path to the front?" she asked, discarding the snow into what was once green grass.
"Clear the entire walkway."
Hisana forced a small smile and lowered her head dutifully. 'I hate winter.'
The repetitive labor, however, warmed her. An hour into clearing the path, she wiped sweat from her brow. Staring into the sky, she relished the sweet flecks of snow that collected against her cheeks. Once the chill became biting, she glanced down to find a thin dusting of white begin to cover over her hard work. Her heart sank a little, and she pursed her lips in dismay. Kotetsu had been dilatory with the salt.
"The future Lady of the House of Kuchiki shoveling snow? How delightful!"
The words broke her string of silent curses. Her head snapped up. Judging by the ironic inflection, she was half-expecting Gin Ichimaru to materialize in front of her. But, the voice was too warm, too casual, too inviting for it to be Ichimaru. Then, it hit her like a ton of bricks. Wide-eyed and filled with shock, she stared with mouth agape. Words, however, failed her.
"Such a humanitarian," he said with a friendly grin.
"Captain Kyōraku," she said softly mid-bow, "it is my pleasure."
He nodded his head in her direction before turning to a small retinue of his subordinates. A few of his men carried wounded comrades up the path on stretchers. Hisana watched, praying that they did not slip on the ice that she had not yet managed to clear. "My condolences," she murmured solemnly.
"They aren't dead yet," he said drily.
Her eyes widened. "My apologies."
A small wry smile creased his face. "Ah, those boys will be fine." He was confident in his appraisal.
Out of great admiration, she glimpsed him with fleeting looks. She nodded her head slightly. Quietly, she hoped that she would not say anything clumsy or stupid. He was one of the most tenured captains in the ranks, and he was a dear friend to Ukitake.
"I saw you praying for the fallen outside the Eighth," he stated soberly.
Hisana elevated her head. Her troubled stare met his. Silence, heavy and abject, slipped between them. Politely, she bowed, having perceived that his reason for traveling to the Thirteenth was to confer with her captain.
"Why are you out here?" he said, taking a few long strides forward. "Aren't you skilled in kido?"
Hisana's countenance turned pallor, and her jaw dropped as did her heart. Reading her dumbstruck expression, he shot her a knowing sidelong glance. "Your secrets are no longer yours to know," he said with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Come." He gave a small wave of his arm. "You shouldn't be out here clearing snow—especially these dreadful wandering paths."
"Yes, Captain," she said obediently.
Upon entering the warm halls of the Thirteenth, Hisana railed against the strong odor of infection. Bodies were everywhere. There was not enough space. Frantic, she surveyed the rooms. Vexation flashed across her features. "Is something the matter?" he asked, somewhat amused by her expression.
"Captain, are the Fifth and Ninth this full?"
He nodded his head and waited patiently for her next response. If she had not rejected the idea at first blush, she could have sworn that he was anticipating what came next, perhaps planning for it: "I have an idea," she said with a buoyant smile.
. . . .
Byakuya returned to the manner late that night. While he had been called away on duty for the entire day, he knew what awaited him at his manor. Messages of various types littered his desk at the Sixth. Some of the missives were pleading; others were angry. He had read them with a passing gaze. "Hisana," he murmured under his breath as he entered the front gate.
A frenzy of activity greeted him at the door. Nurses, physicians, Shinigami, servants, and private medical workers scurried every which way. For once in his life, he entered the manor, and no one regarded his presence. In fact, he was perfectly ignored.
Quietly, he wound his way to where his wife was sitting with a small child. The child sat propped up on several overstuffed cushions. A large white bandage wrapped the child's head, covering one of his eyes. He grasped Hisana's hand, and he watched her with a pained expression. Hisana's eyes flickered across the room to Byakuya. She acknowledged him with a small nod before returning to the storybook balanced on her lap.
The boy followed her look with his one good eye. The reaction was instant. His face went white, and he immediately tried to bow. "Lord Kuchiki," he rasped out.
"Shh," Hisana shushed, pressing the boy back against the cushions. Gently, she examined the tubes tethering him to the monitoring devices. Sure that the sudden movement had not disturbed the medical equipment, she glanced up at Byakuya.
"It is such an honor, Lord Kuchiki. My family," he began, but a coughing fit stole his words.
Quietly, Byakuya took a seat next to his wife. He strained his head to get a glimpse of the title of the book resting in her lap. Hisana, however, instinctively handed Byakuya the book as she leaned over to soothe the sick boy.
"Hanasakajijii," he noted softly as he scanned the page. He leafed through a few pages, marking where Hisana had left off. Slowly but surely, he recalled the story. A maid of some stripe had read it to him as a boy. He was never fond of the story; although, he had little love for fiction generally.
"Are you feeling a little better?" Hisana asked softly.
Calming, the boy nodded his head before turning his attention back to Byakuya. A look of awe and amazement painted his small face. Hisana watched him with a knowing glance. "If it would not be too much trouble, Lord Kuchiki, would you finish the story?"
Byakuya felt somewhat taken aback by the request. He had never read a story to a child before. Did that require some special skill? If it did, he certainly did not possess it for he had been spared the company of children as the only child. Perplexed, he glanced down at Hisana. She watched him wide-eyed and with a pleasant look on her face. She would truly be his undoing, he complained to himself. He responded, however, by reciting a line from the story.
Hisana's smile lengthened.
The boy watched Byakuya for as long as his tired eyes would allow. A deep slumber smoothed out the pain from his face. It was not long after that the machines began to simultaneously crash. Hisana stood. A quiet resolve came over her as she waited for the boy to flatline. A look of sorrow marked her face as she noted the time of death before shutting the machines off. She paused for a moment with head bent as she gave a silent prayer.
"You knew he was dying?" Byakuya asked impassively.
She opened her eyes. A deep sadness resided within the depths of her as she met his gaze. He could almost feel her immense melancholy. "Yes," she whispered, reaching for the privacy curtain. With a sharp tug, she pulled the cloth back. Before stepping forward, she turned and reached for his hand.
Inhaling a deep breath, he closed the book and placed it in her seat before taking her hand. Her touch was cool. She had been anxious, waiting with the boy. He could not blame her. Watching someone die, even someone whose ties were tenuous, was an undertaking.
"The elders are quite unhappy with me," she said, swallowing her grief.
"I am aware," he said, staring down at her somewhat amused.
Hisana pressed her lips together, and her large eyes glanced up at him. She held back her tears well, he noted. In fact, had he not been in the room, he would not have detected her deep melancholy on first glance. This observation, however, troubled him.
"I could not care less," he said with a conciliatory look. Turning his ancestral manor into a temporary infirmary was a bold move, but it was not one without precedence…
AN: Likely taking a break from this story for a while. Thanks to all who read!
