A/N: This random plot came to me on a whim; I decided to let the thoughts out and write a pilot chapter. I've mapped out the rest of the story and predict it'll be about 10 chapters long, (maybe less). Please let me know what you think. To continue or abandon? .. That's my question today. =)

Kuchiki Byakuya leaned back in his leather chair, crossing one long leg over the other upon his mahogany office desk. With two fingers, he tugged at the knot of his silk tie to loosen its hold. It had been a long day to say the least. Swiveling around to look outside the floor to ceiling window, he surveyed the city lights that dotted the landscape below him. He sighed. Another day had come and gone; time no longer affected him. Bending down, he reached for his lower drawer to retrieve a bottle of Macallan, aged a quarter-century. To his dismay, it was empty. Just his luck.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

He turned his phone over to see his sister's text: Don't forget to call her. You promised!

Digging around his coat pocket, he fished out the business card. He stared at it, reading and rereading the four lines of information imprinted upon its surface. He had no desire to call the number listed. In fact, it was the last thing that he wanted to do at that precise moment. But, he had promised Rukia that he would. Groaning, he regretted having agreed to such a thing. However, at the time, Rukia had threatened him with abandoning her studies if he did not comply. He looked to his left, gazing wistfully at the framed picture of his late wife. His heart still ached for her. It had been six years since her passing. Their marriage had been brief due to her illness and she had left him without any children. In spite of their short time together, he cherished each and every one of their few memories. Life had become a blur for him after her death. He immersed himself with work and ignored all other facets of life. Some might even say that he stopped living without her. Then, it happened; two nights ago, he drove his car into a lamppost, totalling it. Nothing short of a miracle, he had emerged from the wreck completely unscathed, save for a few cuts and scrapes. The police had assumed that he had been driving under the influence, but in the end, it was discovered that he had been up for the past 38 hours, sustaining purely on coffee and Red Bull.

Bzzz. Bzzz.

Rukia: Did you call yet?

He sighed again. His sister was persistent, if nothing else. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, remembering their last conversation. Even though he had not notified her of his accident, she had found out on a gossip blog and rushed home to see him. He had been angry at her, scolding her for being irresponsible and impulsive, but she had retorted that he was now her last living family member. Rukia had already put her research on hold the year immediately after her sister's parting; she was so close to finishing her dissertation now. He had wanted her back at school, at any cost. Thus, when she had demanded that he see a shrink or she would indefinitely put her academic pursuits on hold, he had had no choice but to concede. However, he had not anticipated that she would actually follow up on that request. Before returning to her university, she had given him the business card of a psychiatrist that was known for her patience and discretion. Being a public figure, the latter was especially important to him. He glanced at the time: 11:54 p.m. Rukia had clearly forgotten to factor in the time difference between them. He picked up his phone to respond.

Byakuya: It's almost midnight here. I'll call tomorrow.

Rukia: You were supposed to call TODAY!

Byakuya: I was busy.

Rukia: I'm booking a flight home.

Byakuya: I promise to call tomorrow. Get back to work.

Rukia: You better! Good night.

He flipped his phone back over. What a pain. He did not understand the need to see a doctor. It was unnecessary for a total stranger to diagnose him; he knew exactly what was wrong with himself. Then again, maybe he could get a prescription for something strong to put him out. His insomnia had gotten worse, not better, after the crash. Before the accident, a glass of red wine had sufficed to ease him into a restless slumber, but nowadays, even Scotch was not doing the trick. Fine, he would call tomorrow.

"Good morning! Dr. Inoue's office," a cheerful voice sounded on the other line.

"I'd like to book an appointment." He wanted to hang up, but willed himself to make good on his promise.

"Are you an existing patient?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, but you need a referral to see Dr. Inoue. Please have your physician fax us. We will call you to set up an initial visit when we receive the proper paperwork."

Byakuya's jaw dropped. He really had not expected this. Who was this doctor and why was she so special? However, he was now intrigued. Growing up in one of the most powerful families of the city, he had been denied very little. Trying to quell his rising agitation with the situation, he reminded himself that the receptionist had had no idea who he was. But, that was the point, though. He did not actually want to be identified, not when he was going to see a quack. He picked up his phone again to reach his personal assistant.

"Renji, connect me to Dr. Unohana."

"Yes sir, right away."

Three months. Byakuya had waited three months to get a meeting with Dr. Inoue. He had not yet met her, but already, he was skeptical about her professionalism. How effective could she be if she was not accessible? Checking his watch again, he could feel his little patience fading. Five minutes. He was ready to give her a piece of his mind. There was no doubt that his time was more valuable than hers was. He was about to get up to leave when a redhead came to retrieve him.

"Mr. Kuchiki, is it?" She smiled at him and he had to admit, she was not unpleasant to look at.

He nodded, expressionless.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Inoue Orihime. You can call me whatever makes you comfortable."

"Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Inoue." He went for the least personal way to address her. After all, he had had no intentions of seeing her again.

"How are you today, Mr. Kuchiki?"

He blinked at her. Was she serious? He was getting billed per hour and she was asking him about his day? He suppressed a scoff and decided to get to the point.

"I'm having trouble sleeping. Can you include refills in the prescription? I don't have time to keep coming back. Your waiting list is quite ridiculous." His tone was not rude, but devoid of any emotion, it came across rather cold and condescending.

"Well, let's start there then. Why can't you sleep?" Completely ignoring his request, she continued on with a bright smile across her face.

"That's none of your business."

"You're right. It's not. It's yours. It's also keeping you from sleeping. So, let's talk about it. Maybe you won't need pills."

"I'd rather not talk about it." He gave her a stern look, signaling finality.

"Okay, so let's talk about something else. Anything else. You pick." Her smile had not faltered.

He had had enough. He stood up abruptly and crossed the room to the door.

"Mr. Kuchiki, our session isn't over yet." She rose to her feet, but did not follow him.

"I'll pay the full amount, don't worry." Without turning back, he walked out.

Orihime watched the door swing shut after the proud Kuchiki. Exhaling, she lowered herself back onto her plush armchair. Although trained and well-versed to handle different personalities, she found Byakuya's type the most taxing to deal with. As a psychiatrist, she focused on the reasons behind his attitude and actions, but now off the clock, she found him... Disagreeable. However, the doctor in her reminded her of his loss. She really could not fault a grieving man for his anti-social inclinations. The death of Kuchiki Hisana had been a very public event that was press-covered for an extended period of time. She sighed. As much as she would have liked to help him, there was no way that she could if he did not welcome it. She picked up his file from her desk and chucked it into the locked document shredding container. Their initial meeting had been a total failure and he had not signed the patient-doctor agreement; as far as she could tell, she would not see him again.