Ukitake Jyuushiro was afraid.
It was more than a little unfamiliar to him, this emotion. There were only a few times in his life he could recall being seriously frightened of anything. Never had it occurred to him to be frightened in battle. He'd long ago cast off any fear or doubt in regards to his life. Life was more fragile than most shinigami realized, it could be snatched away by your next breath. And there was no need to fear pain, it would happen whether or not you were scared of it.
He saved his worry for others, he feared only for his friends.
It had never occurred to him that one day he would find himself fearing one of them.
The delicate china felt suddenly cheap and ceramic between his fingertips, and he took a careful, shallow breath, pulling his eyes away from the terribly changed face in front of him to look down at himself.
The teacup was gone, its pieces finishing their tumble down his folded legs to the woven matt beneath his knees. Only the handle remained, still perfectly shaped and held in a hand that seemed frozen in place. His breath caught very high in his throat, a sure sign of damage to his lungs. The blade had already come and gone, faster than he could blink. Even if he had been expecting the attack he was not certain he would have seen it.
The wound in his chest began to burn, as though he were pouring hot tea into it. Seconds passed, and still all he could do was look at the quickly spreading stain across the white winter kimono, the dark blood mingling with the light tea. Evening had settled in as only pre-spring evenings did, with a swiftness and coldness that indicated it would remain as stubbornly as possible. The lack of light had turned everything to greys and whites and blacks, and hid their movement. Only one breath and yet both stains were already mingling, a tide trying to drown the white of his kimono.
Jyuushiro found his gaze returning to the figure before him. With his breathing so shallow, he wasn't certain he could speak loudly enough to be heard. He wasn't sure the ears of the man before him would even hear his words.
Nothing about Byakuya was recognizable. His reiatsu didn't seem to belong to him. Usually it steady and collected and the strength of a grove of thousand-year-old sakura trees. Now it was hidden, was the air that preceded a violent wind. His young face, usually his arrogant Clan-mask trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile, was fractured, and his mouth no more than a gash across grey skin. Even his eyes, normally the deep purple of plums, were as black and flat as the locks of hair clinging to his face.
His kenseikan and ginpaku kazahana no uzuginu were noticeably absent, further shadowing his features, and his sword was sheathed. Jyuushiro had barely had time to register his presence before it was over.
He took another breath, experimentally, glad that he had been kneeling before the low table taking his tea. His subordinates knew he liked to spend this time alone, in personal reflection, and Kaien-san would have seen to it that he would not be disturbed. But when his reiatsu dipped too low, it would be Kaien-fukataichou that came, and he was no match for Kuchiki Byakuya.
Would the lawful head of the Kuchiki Clan attack him as well?
Yes, Jyuushiro decided, and closed his eyes. He reached out, searching for that tiny piece of spirit pressure that had been steadily decreasing, flickering and fighting the cold of winter –
"Hisana is dead."
Jyuushiro kept his eyes closed. He shouldn't be surprised – it was amazing the woman from Rukongai had held on as long as she had. There had been a great sadness in her the last time he had visited, and a hopelessness in her eyes that told him she had stopped fighting. He had known, as soon as he saw her, that his once-kohai had seen it as well.
Was that what this was about . . . ?
"I am truly sorry, Byakuya." His voice was just above a whisper, but the room was as silent as a tomb.
"The time for apologies has long passed, senpai." The voice was colder than the night air, thick and hollow at the same time.
The pain in his chest grew worse, and Jyuushiro fought the urge to vomit. How could Byakuya have found out? And if he had, why would he attack only after she had died? He would have known that Jyuushiro had no more a cure for Hisana than he had for himself – had Byakuya already slaughtered his own clan? His eyes flew open of their own accord, slightly shocked to see that Byakuya was kneeling in front of him, on the other side of the low table, settled as though they were about to enjoy a pot of tea together. If anyone should look into the room from a distance, they would notice nothing out of the ordinary.
He's going to stay and watch me die, the thought flitted across his mind. Perhaps ensure it if it looked as though they'd be disturbed.
"And . . . you chose to honor her death by playing the assassin?"
A strangled noise came from across the table, but Byakuya didn't answer.
Jyuushiro forced his face up, surprised at how heavy his head had become. It was difficult to remain kneeling at all. He felt himself drop the handle of the teacup, unable to hold his arm out any longer. It clinked mutedly against his fragmented brothers, and as his shoulder dropped the torn muscles crawled beneath his chest, sending a wave of agony radiating down his spine, tightening his voice.
"I thought it would be a mercy-"
"What?" The voice was low and rough and unsteady, not recognizable as a noble's measured tones. Byakuya leaned forward and a stray beam of starlight played across his face, glowing along the tracks his tears had made. His hands braced themselves on the table, unmindful of the shattered pieces of china there. "Death is your concept of mercy?"
Jyuushiro choked, though from the injury, his illness, or his surprise, he couldn't tell. Even as he struggled for breath, Byakuya continued.
"At first I thought it merely an unlucky coincidence, but your continued visits –" His voice broke. "I could not turn them away. She grew weaker, and still you came."
"Byakuya-"
"I believed it was to support us as you had done before, but then Izumari . . ." It trailed into a whisper. "Hisana found it odd, but she did not dare to question my otouto-" The next words caught in his throat, and it took him a moment to gain control of himself again.
"You supported our marriage, senpai. You told me to follow my heart." It was soft. It was vulnerable. It was betrayed.
Jyuushiro tried to stifle a wet cough, and was more than a little shocked by the sensation of it bubbling through his blood out of the wound itself. Bitter blood was pushed up the back of his throat, and when he had partial control of the spasms he found that he had bent double, and his head lay on the tea table, almost between Byakuya's hands. They had curled into fists and pushed hard into the table, he could see them white and trembling with the desire to reach out to him.
But to kill him or to aid him? Never had he seen Byakuya so indecisive, nor seen him display such raw emotion. Anyone else would be bellowing, brandishing their zanpaktou. They might not have let him speak at all. But for Byakuya-sama to kneel before him was so much worse. He meant the gesture to mock the relationship they'd once had rather than honor it. For him to repeatedly use the term senpai. For his voice to break, for tears to glitter openly on his face. For his eyes to so openly express such confusion, such loss, and above all, such hatred –
He leaned into the table as though torn between hauling his senpai over the small wooden slab to him or helping him to lie back.
And now it was painfully clear that Byakuya didn't know. He'd begun to piece it together, but only shattered fragments like the ones that ground into his left temple, cracked pieces of delicate china that could never be reassembled into a whole.
It had never occurred to the head of the Kuchiki clan that they could betray him so completely.
With effort, Jyuushiro tried to lean up, arms shaking with the strain of pushing himself away from the floor. The pain blazed white-hot and he could hear only his own ragged, choking gasps. He was surprised he was still conscious. He was surprised Byakuya hadn't gone for the soul chain, was still allowing him to use spirit pressure. His options were quickly disappearing. Running was out of the question – only Shunsui, Yoruichi and sensei could really keep up with Byakuya at shun-po, and while he could still use the technique, it would buy him nothing. Perhaps threaten more lives. If Byakuya was ready to kill in his pain and loss, there was no telling how far he would go.
He pressed a hand hard to his wound, hoping to get a deeper breath.
Byakuya did not reach for him, but held his gaze with those burning, melting black eyes. "Why, senpai."
Why indeed? He'd already answered that question a thousand times – he could no more cure Hisana than he could cure himself. He wasn't sure how they'd found it, he wasn't even sure it was the same illness. He had no doubt it would have killed him long ago if not for his spiritual pressure and refusal to yield, and the continued treatments he received from the best in the healing arts that Soul Society had to offer. He also expected, as the healing arts drew on the spirit of the one to be healed as well as the healer, that Hisana's treatments were not as beneficial as his were.
Byakuya had gotten her the best treatments that were available, but she simply hadn't the will to fight. It wasn't her nature to fight for things, even things she loved. It was why he had taken Byakuya aside in the first place. If he had not so enthusiastically encouraged Byakuya, almost strong-arming his kohai, the marriage would never have taken place. Byakuya would never have fought his clan so hard for her hand, and had she a fighting will, she never would have let him.
And it was true she would never have challenged Kuchiki Izumari, even if she realized he was giving her the contaminated food. Jyuushiro hadn't known until the damage was done. Until her collapse, she had kept her illness hidden even from Byakuya. It was Kaien-san that had really uncovered the truth, and at that point confronting Byakuya's younger brother would have only resulted in tearing the Clan apart.
"I wanted - to tell you, Byakuya." He tried to keep eye contact as another fit seized him. "But . . . I discovered . . . too late –"
Finally the trembling hands, so long glued to the table, moved. The manicured fingertips ran through Jyuushiro's hair only to catch suddenly, wrenching his face towards the sky. He didn't fight Byakuya, not even when he realized they had moved, somehow, and the young leader of the Kuchiki Clan was somehow above him, looming over him and hiding what he could see of the stars.
"What?"
If only Byakuya had spoken before he attacked. If only he, Jyuushiro, had been paying closer attention. But there was no help for it now. His death would seal the loss. He could see only one way for Byakuya to keep his position as fukataichou and leader of the Kuchiki Clan.
"They – were afraid you would . . . have a child."
He named no names. He offered no more information. He tried his best to still the next wave of spasms as they trembled across his body, and he watched what was left of Kuchiki Byakuya crumble into ashes.
Byakuya seemed to choke on his next breath, his eyes wide and staring without seeing. The hands that held Jyuushiro down so powerfully faltered away like shattered ice as the enormity of what that simple sentence meant slowly sunk in. For a brief moment Jyuushiro thought Byakuya might be shocked enough to simply collapse.
But the reiatsu, which had been hidden so craftily, exploded outwards, accompanied by a cry that he would never have recognized if he hadn't seen the face that released it. Never in his life had he heard such a sound, never had he heard expressed such loss, such betrayal. He was not certain he could even grasp the enormity of the pain Byakuya was in.
It wasn't just to blame only Izumari; the decision had likely been made by the same contingent of the clan that had fought so bitterly against the marriage. Too many for Byakuya to seek revenge upon. Too many that had held him on their knee when he was a boy, too many that had put a comforting hand on his shoulder when he stood at his parents' newly-etched graves. It was why he and Kaien-san had uneasily agreed to remain silent. If Hisana had not mentioned Izumari, if Byakuya had only blamed him for causing his wife's illness -
Kaien-fukataichou was coming.
Jyuushiro reached up then, grabbing the front of Byakuya's ebony robes, resolve strengthening his weakening body. He had lost a lot of blood, the strike had been meant to kill and Byakuya never missed. He pulled the shattered younger man towards him.
"End it here, Byakuya."
Sobs wracked the body in that kimono, and the hands that had lost their strength now coiled around him even tighter, holding on to him rather than holding him down.
"What . . . have I done?"
Jyuushiro couldn't help the next fit, and he turned his face away to avoid coughing his blood onto Byakuya. There was still time, but he wasn't sure Byakuya would be capable of keeping up the façade. He needed to stay conscious, wait for Kaien –
"Tai . . .chou?"
He felt the chest underneath his fingertips stiffen, and he clung even tighter to Byakuya. The pain swelled again, and he retched blood, but he did not slacken his grip. He would die a thousand of these deaths if he could prevent the fall of Kuchiki Byakuya.
"Ukitake-taichou!"
"No, Kaien!" It was rasped and more air across his tongue than his voice itself. Byakuya was struggling with him, somehow both trying to face Kaien and not release his senpai. He simply clung to the front of Byakuya's robes and blinked his clouded eyes.
"It was – my fault, Kaien. My fault," he repeated, swallowing a cough. "Tell him – it was an assassin. Tell . . . him Kuchiki-fukataichou found me – and called you."
Somehow he got a breath, somehow his vision cleared for just an instant. Clear enough to make out Kaien-san's figure at the door, braced in a combat position, his zanpaktou drawn though it was clear Byakuya's was still sheathed. It was too dark to make out his fukataichou's face, too dark for Kaien to even see their eyes.
Kaien-san could not see Byakuya's face. But he had heard the cry. He would understand. He would make the excuses. Sensei would disbelieve him, but Shunsui would convince sensei to respect his wishes.
"No." It was low, and quiet, and fierce. It had not come from his lieutenant.
"K-Kuchiki-fukataichou!"
The figure of Kaien became blurred, either by the speed at which Kaien joined them or the tears that were involuntarily stinging his eyes. He clamped his eyelids tightly to hide them and bowed his head.
"Byakuya . . . please."
"The lies have to end." The young noble's voice still shook, but there was some resolve behind it.
He was going to slaughter his clan.
"Taichou . . . I will summon Unohana-taichou!"
He tried to object, but the breath he took in preparation of speaking, and the angle of his throat, sent him into another coughing fit. He couldn't control it, knowing he was getting blood on Kuchiki's robes, knowing he was incriminating the man. Byakuya was crouching over him, cradling his head into his chest until the coughing subsided, and when Jyuushiro opened his eyes again, Kaien-san was gone.
"Do nothing, Byakuya."
Those purple eyes he knew so well were wet with a fresh set of tears, but the sobs were long gone, replaced with tense muscles. His teeth were bared in a grimace, and there was a splattering of blood across his face. My blood, the thought flickered. Her blood.
"They killed her!" Byakuya's reiatsu was settling quickly into a steady, furious desire to feel flesh cut beneath his Senbonzakura, and while the tears flowed freely down his face, his eyes were flat and cold.
"You – swore to protect them," Jyuushiro ground out. "When your father – died –"
Kuchiki Byakuya had lost everything dear to him. He had lost his beloved wife, Hisana. He had been betrayed by his family, by the very clan he had been born to lead, raised to lead. He had broken the laws he so respected, attacked and gravely wounded his senpai and a captain. His entire foundation was shattered. Jyuushiro would not see the man forsake the oath he had made at his father's deathbed. It was all Byakuya had left.
Jyuushiro forced Byakuya to look at him, even using some reiatsu to ensure he had the noble's attention. "It ends here, Byakuya. It – has to."
"Release him, Kuchiki-fukataichou."
He knew the voice; though young she had the same gentle authority he remembered from Yamamoto, the first time he had been asked to attack his sensei in class. It was the kind of authority one responded to instinctively, automatically, and it was one of the many talents that had helped his once-fellow-student gain the status of captain so quickly. In a battle, in agony, in fear, it was a voice that could force a man to accomplish something he felt he could not.
For his part, it forced him to take another breath, to blink away the film that clouded his vision. It forced locked fists to relax, to release Byakuya's kimono. And it forced the young noble to compose himself, and gently lower him to the mat.
The shift in his posture, no matter how careful, brought with it a flood of blood into his lungs. He refused to yield, trying to keep eye contact with the stunned young man even as Unohana-taichou knelt by his side, her hands glowing slightly blue with her reiatsu. By its light he could see how devastated Byakuya truly was. He had stumbled backwards to make room for the healer, his body moving automatically and without grace. There was blood on his face, on his hands, and in the blue light of the healing arts, it looked as though something deep within his eyes was retreating into oblivion.
Or perhaps that was merely a trick of his own eyes.
Which were somehow seeing only the back of his eyelids.
Jyuushiro jerked slightly, wrenching them back open. He had no memory of closing them. The small movement of his limbs had told him that he was laying on a slightly rough surface, and the gasp that had accompanied it tickled threateningly but did not trigger a coughing fit. Light burned into the back of his brain, but he felt his grasp on consciousness tenuous at best, and settled for narrowing his eyes rather than closing them again.
Someone – Kaien-san, probably – had found and lit the lamps. The chill of the air was muted, and a squint at the doorway revealed only paneled, sliding walls, hiding them from the early spring night. The yellow light of the flames made everything seem warmer, chased away the greys and blacks and dyed the whites ivory. Jyuushiro blinked cautiously, then focused on a somber pair of familiar brown eyes just above his own, with its accompanying eyebrows upside-down.
"Oi. He's awake."
The voice was more than a bit too low to be Unohana's, though a glance to his left found her where he had left her. There was no way to tell how much time had passed.
Enough time for Kyouraku Shunsui to arrive, at any rate.
More awareness seeped into his mind, and Jyuushiro half-leaned up, his eyes darting around the room. Too much time. He hadn't explained everything to Kaien-san, what –
Unohana put a gentle, restraining hand on his shoulder, but it was unnecessary. He had already frozen.
The somber brown eyes that had been above him were now beside him, the lanky man seated comfortably to his immediate right. His odd, common hat was nowhere to be seen, and he wore a simple white sleeping kimono. His long brown hair, usually pulled back and adorned with small red blooms, was loose and partially disguised his expression. It made him look much more at ease than his reiatsu might have indicated.
"Kaien-sama thinks we should kill him," Shunsui began mildly, "because he doesn't trust the 46 to give a noble a fair trial. We managed to convince him to wait, to see what you thought about that."
His stomach clenched, and Jyuushiro felt Unohana move to his left.
"Please lay back, taichou."
But he couldn't. On the other side of the room, where his sleeping pallet would have been rolled out if not for his late visitor, kneeled Byakuya. His zanpaktou, Senbonzakura, was leaned in the corner of the room, well within shun-po distance. But there was no chance of him reaching for it, even if he wanted to. Nejibana lay gently across his throat, and Ukitake had never seen Shiba Kaien look so serious.
It was also readily apparent, from the way Kuchiki Byakuya was holding himself, that he would not have moved even if there wasn't a blade to prevent it. Jyuushiro wasn't sure the noble was even aware of the zanpaktou at all.
He looked back at Shunsui. "Sensei . . . ?"
His friend shook his head. "Not yet."
The hand on his chest became more firm, and without really meaning to, Jyuushiro found himself relaxing, dropping his head back to the pillow he didn't remember being there. The movement pulled across his chest and burned dully, reminding him how close to death he had come.
How had Unohana-taichou gotten there so quickly?
He looked at her questioningly, and her smile was wan. "You no doubt wonder why I was able to tend to your wound so quickly."
"Unohana-fukataichou happened to be in our division house," Kaien supplied, a little tight-lipped. "Isane-fukataichou was worried that Kiyone might be suffering from nightmares, so Unohana-taichou came to speak with her."
He watched her blue-grey eyes and saw something there he didn't like.
Her smile became sadder, but she said nothing.
Jyuushiro allowed his eyes to close briefly. While this was far more of a crowd than he would have preferred, he could trust these people. It wasn't as though Hisana's illness and death would have been a mystery to the Captain of the healing fourth division. Did she suspect, as Byakuya had, that he had inadvertently infected Hisana?
A new thought began to blossom, a disheartening one. Kaien-san might have made the same leap. He was the one that had reported overhearing a conversation between Kuchiki Izumari and Kuchiki Hunamoto. Had -?
No. He would not doubt his fukataichou's words. If Kaien-san had heard proof that the sickness had been inflicted intentionally, then it was truth.
"Release him, Kaien-san."
"Nn," the lieutenant responded, apparently before he could stop himself. "Taichou -!"
Jyuushiro opened his eyes, and turned his head, catching Kaien's gaze. "I told you, Kaien-san. It was my fault."
His lieutenant hesitated a moment more before reluctantly lowering and sheathing his zanpaktou. He kept one hand on the hilt of his Nejibana, and did not move away from the noble.
Kuchiki Byakuya said nothing. Jyuushiro wondered if he'd even said anything at all, and merely surrendered his zanpaktou the moment he had been asked to.
"He's been very quiet," Shunsui confirmed, eyes now fixed on the young noble. "I understand Byakuya-kun's had a very difficult day."
"More difficult than you know," he responded softly. "Byakuya."
No response. His eyes were purple again, quiet and serious and empty. Frighteningly empty. His reiatsu had returned to its normal, steady pulse, but it didn't have quite the same feel about it. His position wasn't submissive; it was the position a noble might take at a meeting amongst the Five Houses, aloof and patient. He was merely waiting.
He was resigned.
Jyuushiro spoke as gently as he could; his voice was rough and still a little weak. "You were right, to follow your heart."
The response was a long time in coming. "You're wrong, Ukitake."
It would have been a slap in the face, if he hadn't known Kuchiki Byakuya as well as he did. It wasn't meant to belittle their relationship – it was meant to distance it.
Shunsui and Unohana remained still and silent, but Kaien's gaze became sharper. Byakuya ignored all of them.
"That path was never open to me from the start."
"Byakuya-"
He finally raised his face, the Clan-mask somehow different. There was no smile fighting to shine through. He wondered if there ever would be again.
"My father told me there was an impassible chasm between those of the Noble families, and those from Rukongai. I had always thought he referred to power."
It seemed to Jyuushiro that everyone in the room was holding their breath.
"I attacked you like a coward, hiding my reiatsu and coming in the dark like an assassin," he continued tonelessly. "For these crimes I should be punished."
A long moment paused in which the very air stilled.
"If that's your concern, think nothing more of it." Shunsui said it dismissively.
Byakuya's breathing caught, but otherwise there was no outward reaction.
It was Kaien that spoke, in confusion. "Kyouraku-taichou . . . ?"
"He has to go back," Shunsui continued simply. "Can you think of any greater restitution that returning to the Kuchiki manor?" His friend's expression was even more somber than usual, and his voice was hard. "He must uphold the oath he swore to the Kuchiki clan-leader before him. He must see those faces, respond to their greetings, share meals with those that have killed his wife. How many centuries do you think will pass before they have all finally disappeared from before his eyes?"
Jyuushiro watched his subordinate slowly grasp the true meaning of Shunsui's words. They were truth. Byakuya could not seek revenge upon his Clan. He could speak to them, indicate to them that he knew what they had done, but they were beyond his reach. There would be no point. He would have to go back, prepare Hisana's funeral arrangements, and bury her in a ceremony attended by her assassins. Then he would have to continue to put his life before theirs, protecting them from swords and words alike. In order to keep his oath, it was his duty to prevent this scandal from ever reaching other ears.
"Well, Kaien-dono?"
The young lieutenant shifted, then dropped his eyes. "I understand, Kyouraku-taichou."
Shunsui nodded to himself, gracefully taking his feet. "Then I don't see any reason to report this matter to Yama-jii or Byakuya-kun's taichou. You, Ukitake?"
He paused, then simply nodded assent.
Shunsui brushed a lock of his curly brown hair out of his eyes, his usual habit when attempting to charm the ladies. "And you, Unohana-chan?"
The matronly young woman smiled, a bit more sincerely this time. "I believe your technique works better with your hat."
Shunsui gaped at her, and Jyuushiro wasn't certain his friend was affecting it.
She turned from him to the silent Byakuya, and bowed her head low. "I am truly sorry that I could not save Hisana, Kuchiki Byakuya. Please accept my heartfelt apology and sympathies."
For a brief moment, something stirred within those eyes, and Byakuya inclined his head.
"Now," and her voice became a bit more stern, "I must ask that all of you leave. I must administer several more treatments and then Ukitake-taichou needs rest."
Kaien-san caught his gaze, and Jyuushiro nodded. "Please extend Kuchiki Byakuya the hospitalities of our division, Kaien-san. His night will be long, and he might appreciate a chance to refresh himself and rest." To wash off the worst of the blood before he returned to his sentence, to enjoy one final meal in peace.
If he could ever find peace again.
Kaien-san bowed his head with hesitation, and waited patiently as Byakuya stood, then strode across the room to where Senbonzakura rested against the wall. He took up his zanpaktou automatically, tucking it into place before turning and surveying the room.
"You are welcome here anytime, Byakuya-fukataichou," Jyuushiro said softly.
Dark purple eyes regarded him for a long moment, and that same something, that tiny piece that was all that was left of the young man he knew, stirred.
Then Byakuya blinked, and it was all but gone.
"You need to rest, Ukitake-taichou."
He walked without a sound across the rice mats, and after a brief, questioning glance at his captain, Kaien squared his shoulders and followed the noble towards the main division house.
Shunsui clucked his tongue. "Yare, yare. I think our friend Kuchiki-kun just became one of those boring, stifling nobles."
Jyuushiro relaxed under the light blue glow of Unohana's reiatsu, but his thoughts remained troubled.
"Unohana-sama," he began, then stopped. There was no point in asking her. There was no point in knowing.
Her eyes were very sad when she met his gaze.
"In truth, Isane-fukataichou was not overly concerned for Kiyone," she confessed softly.
"You suspected that Byakuya might seek retribution for Hisana's death." He didn't phrase it like a question, because it wasn't.
She nodded slowly. "Her illness was not yours, Jyuushiro-sama. If I had thought you might weaken her, I would have spoken to you."
Shunsui clucked his tongue again, and retook his seat on one of the floor cushions. Unohana didn't so much as glance at him, and after a moment he sighed softly and let his shoulders sag.
"Kaien-dono will make a good captain someday."
Jyuushiro turned his gaze to the ceiling, trying to ignore the odd sensation of someone else's reiatsu trying to reorganize his.