So sorry for the initial post of this chapter guys. Apparently my copy in did some kind of code? IDK, but it should be all fixed up now. If I missed a spot, then please forgive me. Normal disclaimer: Don't own, here's to Tite Kubo, blah blah blah. I know this was a quick chapter turnaround for this one but I already had it written so why not. The next update may take a bit longer, but i wanted some real reading material up for some reviews. Please let me know what you think.
_

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

"GOD make it STOP!"

"Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

""Ugh, fine. I'm comin'…", Mara muttered to the automated machines scattered around her bedroom as she slowly eased up, using her leg for leverage to sit. Taking off the oxygen tube that wrapped around to her nose, she rolled her head around to stretch her neck and shoulders, wincing at the myriad of small pops and cracks that accompanied the movement. Grabbing the handle of her ever-present walker, she hauled herself up and hobbled to the IV machine, hitting the button to turn off the incessant drone of its alarm.

Once the IV machine had ceased singing her the song of its people, she gingerly reached up and disconnected the tube attached the PICC line in her upper arm. After carefully taping down the tubes so they wouldn't snag on her clothing, she put on her glasses and looked at the clock.

4:37. Go figure the overnight infusion doesn't actually last the night. You would think I would be used to it by now. It's been half a year.

Had it really been so long? It seemed like just yesterday that her neurologist at Duke had called her about coming in to meet with her and her care team. She had seemed so urgent. And so hopeful. Mara had immediately gotten her mom to drive the 2-hour distance so she could meet.

~~~~~

They had all sat around the table with her, her neurologist, osteologist, rheumatologist, and varied therapists, smiles plastered on their faces. She hadn't seen a single one of them smile with hope in so long…

"Mara!", her rheumatologist led off, "We have news about an experimental treatment coming out of Japan! It may just be a cure!"

She looked askance at her doctor, a clearly boisterous man in his fifties whom, she now believed, must live with rose-colored glasses permanently affixed to his face. "What do you mean a cure? We don't even fully know what I have. Its either something completely new or, like, 7 diseases layered into one. You can't cure something unknown, Doc."

The rheumatologist's smile never wavered as he opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by her neurologist. She was a highly respected doctor at only 40. Her kind but tired eyes betrayed the fact that being one of the best means you get worn down by stacks of hard and hopeless cases. "I understand your doubt, Mara."

Do you now?

"But the results of the trials in Japan are extremely promising. You are right, we don't know for sure what you have, but we know it is autoimmune. You have marks for everything from Myasthenia Gravis to Hashimoto's to MS! And this trial targets those affected by multiple autoimmune disorders and basically does a factory reset on the body's immune system. It's a hard treatment, akin to chemotherapy, but so far every person that has gone through the infusion cycle has improved, if not been… well… cured. No blood markers present anymore."

Mara's face must have betrayed how unconvinced she still was because her osteologist, a wizened old man only a few years from retirement jumped in next.

"My dear, I know it seems too good to hope for at this point, but even if it doesn't cure but helps some... then isn't it worth a shot? My- our- only goal is to help you. I would like for you to live past my retirement, child. You know as well as we do that that won't happen without something major. You need a miracle."

"And this may just be it!" her rheumatologist piped up.

Mara squeezed her mom's hand, needing the strength as she fought back tears in her eyes, hearing her future doom laid out so plainly. She new her prognosis wasn't good. After a massive myasthenic crisis 5 years ago, she new the countdown on her life had begun. She had never regained her full ability to breathe or walk since then and accrued more symptoms along the way, but that wasn't how she new the end was coming. Its because she had begun seeing Them.

The faded people with chains on their chests. At first, she thought it was a reaction to the drugs. Shadow people and all that from uppers, downers, and too little sleep. They would flicker just in her peripheral at first. A hint of movement that wasn't there when she looked. But slowly, oh so slowly, they came in more focused, more defined. She didn't know when she realized that they were actually dead or started seeing them in full but she did remember when she first saw the monsters.

It had been mid-Fall and her day of sitting at a restaurant and admiring leaves had been interrupted by an earth-shattering shriek. The ground seemed to quake with the force of the noise and the trees shook around her. The man with the chain had torn out of the woods like the devil himself was on his heels - and it was. The monster had a- a HOLE through it and left turned down trees in its wake before grabbing the man from the ground and shoving him into his mouth and disappearing.

Of course, she didn't tell her doctors any of that as it replayed through her head. The last thing she needed was a psych case added to her long list of ailments. But she knew, come hell or high water, that she did not want to be like that, chased by monsters and just a shadow with a chain.

Casting a glance at her mom, who waited patiently for an answer, she turned her eyes to her care team, "Okay. What do I have to do?"

You just have to move to Japan, Mara. Learn the language, Mara. Take the meds, Mara. Ignore the writhing amounts of pain, Mara. Be alone as you suffer, Mara. Never sleep a full night, MARA. She grumbled to herself as she turned off the oxygen, fan, and air purifier. She grabbed a stack of clothes and went back to the bed to sit to get dressed. With her limited movement and daily infusion schedule requiring access to the PICC line, her clothing had become as mundane as her schedule. Super stretchy black leggings, a loose sleeveless tunic, and her oversized black hoodie with sleeves long enough to cover the horrendous green, black and purple bruises on her wrists.

Damn arterial sticks, she mumbled to herself as she ran her fingers over the tender skin. She remembered holding her mom's hand as she was told about moving to Karakura Town, living basically on her own in the boarding house. How mom held her hand and cried when she left. She wished her mom had been around to hold her hand yesterday when Dr. Ishida had delivered the news.

The treatment wasn't working.

This was not her miracle, apparently. Dr. Ishida had been sad, confused- and she could see his frustration in admitting his cure-all would, in fact, not cure all. Unwilling to admit defeat, however, he stated they were going to continue with her treatment for another 6 months. If it didn't work, however, then she would be sent home. He didn't bother adding that she was being sent home to die with her family. They both already knew that.

So, Mara just kept on going through the daily struggle. By the time she got dressed and ran a brush through her mid-length blue hair, she was already gasping and needing to rest.

Keep up with exercise, Mara. Yeah, well, screw you.

The last stop on the way out of her room in the boarding house was at the door where a full-length mirror was mounted. It seemed to her a cruel joke; she had to look at the mirror to leave the room and face the emaciated shell that she had become. Once upon a time, she had been strong and active and… pretty. It seemed so long ago that she ran races for charities, could strut in heels like a model, or throw an opponent over her shoulder in jiu-jitsu training. Now, she just seemed frail and thin and gaunt. Weak.

Maybe the worry of being a faded ghost isn't that far away. I practically am one already.

She shook her head at herself, seeing her hair bob around her face, which drew a small smile. She carried a hair tie in her pocket for when the wind picked up but preferred her hair down now. She had dyed it 2 days after coming to Karakura Town, after Dr. Ishida told her that the chemo-ish drug could cause hair loss. Why not if it was going to fall out anyway? When she didn't lose her beautiful hair, modeled after the colors of a galaxy, she saw it as a success. She was winning. Turns out, that should have been the first hint the drugs weren't working.

Her smile fading, Mara left the room and worked her way to the sitting room and kitchen. She could hear Mrs. Yamaya -the owner- humming an old tune to herself as she prepped breakfast for the boarders. Mara pushed her walker into the room, cursing the messed-up wheel for disturbing the silence, and sat on the seat in it to wait. The familiar scent of burning incense drew her eyes to the miniature shrine set up in the common room on which pictures of a young man and a young Mrs. Yamaya smiled happily out. If only Mrs. Yamaya knew that Mr. Yamaya wasn't as gone as she believed.

She looked to the kitchen to see the faded old man that waited off to the side. You couldn't see the severed chain from this angle but it was there. He was, as far as Mara knew, the only ghost in Karakura Town, though she was unsure as to why the town seemed devoid of the supernatural when her own hometown had seemed overrun. He lingered near his wife, with a small smile, followed her movements with a look of devotion. When he noticed Mara in the sitting area, he moved towards her and settled on the cushion at the foot of his alter, studying her forlorn expression.

Mr. Yamaya was not a man to speak much, if at all. He simply waited for her to talk to him if there was going to be any conversation that day. Mara couldn't help the sudden urge to question him now that death was imminent and forward in her mind. She took in his kindly face, wondering what he had done to get stuck here as a shadow of himself.

"Yamaya-Sama… why are you still here? Do we not go anywhere when we die?" she asked in barely a whisper so as not to let Mrs. Yamaya hear her.

Mr. Yamaya did not answer immediately, turning instead to gaze at his wife as she worked. After a long moment, he turned back to Mara and replied, "There is a place we go after death, but I have chosen not to go."

"But why?" Mara pleaded, "And where? What is it like?"

"I choose to wait. For her. Much of what is to come is still a mystery, but we will face it together." Mr. Yamaya then floated up from the cushion and back to the corner of the kitchen to watch his wife.

That was sweet. But utterly unhelpful.

Mara's head jerked up as Mrs. Yamaya padded over the traditional tatami floor with barely a whisper of sound and handed her a sealed bento box along with the bowl of rice and tomago. She looked questioningly at the kindly old lady.

"You are too thin Mara-chan. You do not eat when you are too tired after coming home from your infusions. This you can eat right there after."

The sweet gesture made Mara threaten waterworks again. It had been so long since someone had cared for her, or even cared. "Thank you, Yamaya-Misesu. This means so much."

The old woman placed her hand comfortingly on her shoulder. "Do not worry, child, better days will come."

The thunderclouds in Mara's mind began to roll again, shrouding her expression in sorrow. There is nothing to come.

"The walk to the café was a short one, but beautiful in the dawn light. She came the first time because she was anxious to not be late for her first appointment, but still desperately needed coffee. Being limited in mobility, there were only a couple of places close that were still near enough to the street to catch the bus. When she walked this path the first time and saw the dawn break over the river, she had literally halted in her tracks. The purple hue was breathtaking, and surely so rare… It sealed the deal that she would make this her café. A slice of home away from home to frequent every morning, just like her corner coffee shop in North Carolina.

Mara cast her eyes down, realizing that she would probably never get to curl up in her favorite booth again there. Dark thoughts swirled as she walked, almost drowning out the beautiful edge of sunlight that made this walk so special. She was only yanked out from her morbid musings by the loud clamor of her walker, the wheel twisted the wrong way again.

Click-Squeak-click-SQUEEEEAAAK

Mara pushed the walker, which was limping as bad as she by this point, next to her spot alone at the usual table. She had been planning to replace it but, what was the point now, really? Everyone had looked up at her very loud entrance and so she motioned upward to the waiter, indicating her umbrella. He smiled and went to go get it for her.

Mara took off her glasses and set them on the small table, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She glanced in the direction of the weak, morning sun, trying to catch the rest of the quickly fading pastel colors when she heard a slight gasp. She looked up and locked eyes with Him.

She had seen him at the café every morning, posted like a silent sentry as he crouched on the small brick jut out at the bottom of the rail protecting the walkway from the hill to the river. He wasn't like any of the other people she had seen around, that was for sure. His bright red hair was up in an unruly ponytail that hung nearly halfway down his back. Tattoos sat across his brow line, over his hands, and on the bit of skin at his collar bones that were exposed by his outfit. She could also tell, despite his crouch that he was tall. Even sitting at it's base he was nearly as tall as the fence behind him.

His clothing set him apart too. Beyond Mrs. Yamaya, who seemed to prefer traditional kimono style outfits, almost everyone she met wore modern, western style clothing. This man however wore an outfit more resembling the gi she used to wear in martial arts training. Damn, what's it called? A hakama maybe? She could swear she could even see the hint of a sword at his waist too. The others around didn't seem to care about his state of dress and weaponry, however, so she tried to ignore it.

But she couldn't ignore him. She could feel her eyes drawn to him daily- like moths to flame. Maybe it was the strangeness and how he seemed to stand out. More likely, she begrudgingly admitted to herself, it's because he's fucking gorgeous. While not much of him was visible beneath the loose-fitting garb, she could tell he was lean and strong in how he carried himself, the effortless ability to stay in his crouched position. The glimpses of his body were nothing compared to the face on full view. His eyes were piercing and dark, brooding and sad. A bad boy look if there ever was one, only highlighted by the bold stripes of his tribal tattoos. His chiseled jaw led to full lips and high cheekbones. The morning sun casting him in hi-def lighting, making the chiseled planes of him even more apparent.

She had wondered if others could see him. Surely he couldn't just exist in all his glory with no one stopping to look at him. But no, they had to see him too, right? She had seen people in the past look like they recognized him. A chesty girl with orange hair in a nurse's uniform waved most often. She recognized her from the ICU ward in the hospital. She would seem to smile at him, but he never seemed to respond that she could see. The girl's face would often seem to fall into sadness or frustration as she kept walking. There was also a very tall man in workers clothing. He never smiled or said anything either, but he would often nod at the red-head in acknowledgement, never breaking his stride. But he had never seemed to acknowledge them, or anyone at all.

Now though, she had all of his attention on her and she could feel the weight of it as he looked her up and down, appearing… annoyed?

Really? REALLY?! That is it! I have had some hella bad days and this guy has to look at me like I shit on his breakfast taco?

Mara opened her mouth to ask him what his problem was but she was cut off by a loud rumble. She looked down to see the liquid in her glass rippling. She had heard that Karakura Town had an oddly high proportion of earthquakes but she had yet to experience more than a tremor. This was no tremor. The rumbling got louder and the shaking more violent as people started to run, streaming out from the café.

Why run? She wondered. Aren't we safest out here in a park? Plus, I can't run anyways...

She looked up to see that Mr. Tall Dark and Moody hadn't moved a muscle, except to pull out what appeared to be an old-school flip phone that he was studying intently. His eyes narrowed as he locked his gaze to the sky.

What the-? Its an earthquake not a- Her thought was cut off by the sounds of loud crashes. The sky seemed to rip and tear, black holes opening up in the pristine blue to drop down… Oh God NO! Not the monsters.

She had been seeing them more often lately, but not this close and not this huge. The size of buildings, the monsters with gaping holes through their chests landed, shaking the ground violently. People still ran and screamed, oblivious to what was causing the ground to nearly explode beneath their feet. In the insanity, Mara sat rooted to her spot. She couldn't help the scream that ripped from her throat as one landed only 20 feet away, right next to Him.

HIM! She couldn't tear her eyes away as the red-headed man finally stood up with a sigh while rolling his eyes. Glancing her way at her scream, his look was laced with clear annoyance again. What was he doing? He turned to face the nearest monster head on and pulled out the sword at his side in a lazy stroke.

"You really haven't learned yet, huh? Tch… fine. I've been itching to kill something lately," he practically growled at them.

What the hell is he doing? He's going to get himself killed facing those monsters! Wait, he can see them, which means he can face them, and I was right! They can't see him because he's… no, he can't be a ghost, there's no chain. So, then what-

Mara's thoughts came to a screeching halt as the monster lunged because, despite the uproar around her, she could only hear one thing. The singular high cry of a small child.