The Sidelines

Hisana's brain will not shut up. So, there she is, sitting on the couch in the Kurosaki living room at some ungodly hour. Wrapped tightly around her shoulders is a dark blue blanket. But, nothing can stop the chill rattling in her bones.

Worse of all, her head throbs, keeping time with each squeeze of her heart. Her eyes clench shut when the pain becomes unbearable. It feels like someone is simultaneously beating her head in with a hammer while strangling her.

The moment she remembers to breathe, the wave of agony relents.

Crumpled over her legs and gripping her knees with both hands, Hisana feels the cords of muscles—once pulled as taut as steel cables—release, and she gulps down another breath.

As much as she would love to attribute the ills that plague her—insomnia, exhaustion, the constant headache—to pregnancy, she can't.

She hasn't felt right since the first night. But, the source of this wrongness is a strange one. Or, at least, it is an ineffable one. The best she's got is that it started with a snapping sensation, as if someone had physically tried to wrest a part of her very soul away, only for it to snap back, loose, thready, but still there.

Still there, but aching.

'I'm going crazy.'

"Here," enters a voice that Hisana doesn't want to hear right then, but, when she feels the cool press of what she suspects to be a juice box against the back of her shoulder, she is relieved.

Sort of.

"Isshin," she says, glancing askance to find that, yes, he has indeed brought her a juice box. "I—"

He raises a hand and shakes his head. "I thought about grabbing you a beer, but—" His gaze falls to her swollen belly. "I'd be remiss as a doctor to offer even though—" He gestures vaguely to Hisana with the beer he keeps for himself.

Yeah, who knows how this thing works? If the candy-peddling bastard had been a kind person, he could've created a gigai that didn't experience pain. But, knowing him, it probably approximates the biology and physical properties of a living body with uncanny fidelity because… he was bored… and it was a challenge… and….

"Urahara says it's impossible for me to give birth here." She frowns. The taste of false comfort coats her tongue.

"Yeah, well…." Isshin sighs and drops down into the worn green chair opposite her. "Consider the source."

Just as she thought. 'That bucket-hat-wearing bastard.' He probably would see this as an opportunity for experimentation….

Hisana stabs at the silvery seal of the juice box with extra frustration.

"Here," says Isshin, leaning forward, palm open, "give me."

Hisana hands it over.

"Rukia was never good with these either. But, boy, did she love them."

"Is that right?" Hisana grins.

"Yeah. Ichigo would fix them for her."

Hisana scoots to the edge of the couch, fingers curling into the seams of the cushion. Rukia's face always lit up at the merest suggestion of Ichigo in any of her stories. "That was very kind of him."

"Yeah. That's my boy. Slayer of juice boxes far and wide." Punching the straw through the seal on the first try, Isshin flashes a boyish grin and hands it back.

Hisana chuckles. "Sounds like he does a little more than slay juice boxes."

Isshin's grin fades. With a sigh, he sinks into the back of the chair and rubs his palms against his thighs. His fingers stop at the tops of his knees. Their weight wrinkles the black fabric of his pants.

Hisana knows that look. Worry. It courses through her like a second blood. Especially, now.

"Dinner was pretty good from the woman who just a few days ago cowered at a microwave." Isshin digresses.

Hisana pulls a sip of juice through the straw and grins. "I did not cower."

"Or was it the toaster?" He scratches his chin for effect.

"Dinner was all Yuzu," she says.

"Yuzu is a pretty good cook. I'll give her that. But, this was really good."

"You say that like you're surprised."

His brows rise. "Oh, excuse me, for assuming the lady with a house full of servants doesn't know how to cook."

"I had that little farm near Kaien's place for years," she teases back.

Isshin chokes on his beer. "That was you?"

Hisana blinks. "Yes, Isshin. That was me."

"I thought Kaien and Kūkaku were just jerking me around." He pauses, eyes trailing to the kitchen, as if he is only now putting two and two together. When realization strikes, he turns back to her, eyes glittering with glee. "Does that mean Byakuya actually barbequed with Kaien, Miyako, and Kūkaku all those years ago?"

"Byakuya didn't throw on an apron and chef's hat if that's what you're asking, Isshin," she chides him. "But, we did dine with them on occasion."

Very rare occasions. With a great number of reservations aired and noted. And so many frowns. Maybe just as many frowns?

"And Byakuya didn't explode?"

"Oh, there were definitely explosions, but all Kuchiki heirs in attendance remained perfectly intact." Hisana grins and averts her gaze to the rather large portrait of a beautiful strawberry blonde hanging slightly behind Isshin.

"Damn. I should've taken Kaien up on those invitations. I really thought they were fucking with me." Isshin leans forward in his seat with a wistful expression.

Silence slides between them. It is comfortable enough, but…. Hisana cannot shake the feeling that something is off and that's why neither of them can sleep. They can both sense the wrongness in the air. They both feel the jangle of nervous energy. The hum of doom snaps at them.

"Thank you, Isshin," says Hisana, breaking the quiet. "You have a beautiful family."

His brows fly up at this, and he pins her with a look. "You say that like you're surprised."

She chuckles and shakes her head. "Not surprised that you have lovely children. But…." She pauses and gives a little shrug of her shoulders. "When I last saw you, you were the most confirmed of bachelors."

"Well." It's his turn to shrug sheepishly and grasp for words. "When you meet the right person, everything else you sort of thought about yourself and your plans just go to hell. What can I say?"

Hisana's attention flickers back to the portrait of the woman, a portrait that has never been explained, but, maybe, one that doesn't require an explanation. "She's beautiful, too."

Reflexively, Isshin chases the line of her gaze. The loving look that crosses his face when he sees the portrait is all the confirmation that Hisana needs.

Isshin fell in love. He took a wife. They had three beautiful children. And she died.

"She is," says Isshin, eyes rooted to the portrait like it's the first time he's seen it. Slowly, but surely, the lines of his face shift from those of boyish adulation to that of somber want, and his gaze slips back to Hisana. "You have a beautiful family as well."

Hisana smiles graciously. "Thank you."

His chin jerks up, and, with a sly glint in his eye, he asks, "So, how many?"

"How many what?"

"Kids. How many you plan on having?"

Hisana chuckles under her breath. "We planned on having one."

"Oompf." Isshin laughs. "I got brochures in the clinic if you need some information on what causes-"

"Isshin." Hisana tosses a pillow his direction before he can complete the thought.

With little effort, he catches it and chuckles. "I deserved that," he teases.

"Indeed, you did." She takes a long sip of juice. It's sweet-cloyingly sweet—and it tastes like some chemically-engineered approximation of strawberries.

"Karin says you found work," he says.

Hisana's gaze dives to the floor, and she takes a long pull of juice through the straw.

"I thought when you said you were going to help out that you'd, you know, bake cookies or walk dogs or something."

She grins, lips still pursed around the straw.

"Imagine my surprise, then, when Karin said that you were helping manage the books at Urahara's shop."

Her gaze flicks back to him.

"You know his shop is a front, right?"

"Obviously."

"Those books are all cooked, right?"

"Naturally."

"You know that by helping them, you are implicated in a financial crime, right?"

"I mean technically," she says, "I'm not a legal person, seeing as I'm . . . well . . . dead . . . so there's not really anything they can do to me."

"I'll be sure to let Karakura's finest know that when they come knocking on my door with a warrant," he teases her.

"Oh, come now, Isshin. What's a little criminal activity between friends?" she says with a smile. "It's not my fault that math and white-collar crime are about the only things that work the same here as they do in Soul Society."

A sly grin betrays his seriousness for what it is—a feign. "Why are you really helping them, Hisana?"

She lifts a shoulder. "For the same reason you're asking: To know more about what is happening in Soul Society."

Her words sink like little anvils in the space between them. His face goes perfectly still.

"It's not good, Isshin," she says. "They're estimating that they lost a quarter of their men in the initial invasion."

"I know."

"The reports conflict on the whereabouts of—" Reflexively, her lips press together, sealing the words behind them just as a wave of emotion crashes over her. She can't say it. An irrational part of her thinks that saying the words might make it so, might crystalize the fates of her loved ones….

A warm touch to the shoulder brings her back-forces her to the surface-away from the endless bleakness that threatens to swallow her whole if she lets her thoughts wander too idly.

Isshin's expression is grave, but it isn't desolate. No, hope gleams dimly in his eyes, like the remnants of burning coals. "They're alive."

How can he be so sure?

She searches him for what feels like infinity in that dark room, hoping to find something that will convince her of his sureness. All she finds, however, are the cold shades of night and a heart that trembles when it beats.

"I can feel it," he says, finally. "They're still fighting. Their hearts are strong, Hisana. Trust me."

She sets her hand on top of his and gives it a good long squeeze.

Trusting Isshin is, perhaps, a little too easy.