A/N: Oh dear, it's been a while, and this is so short. I'm working on some more, as well as that epilogue thing for the Frost People...
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6. Hill
"Here," she said, extending a hand, offering to pull him up. "C'mon."
Their fingers locked. Up, a little jerkily, he rose and stood, aided by her hand. They would pull each other up in turns; they alternated to keep it equal. He had pulled her up at her execution on the Soukyoku Hill. She had pulled him up when his hollow had threatened to swallow him. He had saved her. She had saved him. They had pulled each other out of darkness, and when one stumbled, the other was there to catch and support.
Now there was a unspoken agreement to always alternate, to always keep it equal. Today, Rukia knew it was her turn. She pulled him up, fingers weaving through his, and he let her without protest.
So far, the score, though countless, was equal. They tried to keep it that way.
"This hill," started Rukia. She was gazing out, out, out at the tiny, sprawling houses of Rukongai, the neat buildings of Seireitei, and distant forests and mountains and clouds and spiraling birds...
Ichigo looked at her quizzically, for she had stopped, and hadn't continued.
He had an idea of what she wanted to say. He left it at that.
Her shinigami robes were fluttering in the wind. Her hair, too. Above, the leaves of an old gnarled birch told whispered tales of Spring.
The moment stretched. All that passed between them were their hands, still intertwined, and the faintest of smiles that graced their faces.
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