Chapter 14: The Serpent

The smell of her perfume permeated his senses. Eagerly, too eagerly, he pulled it deeper into the lungs. Her fragrance infused his essence—unbinding his muscles and picking the locks that shackled his restraint.

He pushed her down in a rare moment of pure unbridled want.

He had tried so hard and for so long to ignore it, to conceal it, to push it down, but his yearning was a stubborn thing. It buoyed up, floating to the top of his poor conscious mind before demanding its proper forum. Tacenda overwhelmed him. The darkness of his desires had become bloated and effusive, and his need finally had beaten him down.

With a demure glance and a tender caress, she shattered the remaining link binding him to propriety. The link turned to ash under the fire of his longing, now untethered. He pushed her against the soft cushion of the futon.

She did not struggle. She did not make a sound. She stared up at him with dark eyes, and her fingers curled and tangled in his hair. Sweetly, she urged him to her. Her body arched up against his, and she massaged his scalp as his palms, coarse and callused from years of wielding a sword, slipped under her kimono and traveled the length of her soft milky thighs. Tracing the curve of her leg to her inner thigh, he heard her breath catch, and he felt her pulse quicken.

She watched him under thick ebon eyelashes. Her lips parted and quivered, but she could not muster a sound in protest. Fear, desire, and hunger swirled in her gaze, dilating her pupils and darkening her cerulean irises.

He felt her muscles shift against his mouth, and the sensation—the gentle trembling and fast tightening—sent a wave of euphoria through him. Greedily, he continued his exploration of her body, and, with each advancement, her body responded with tense apprehension. She had conquered him with a glance and a touch. Now, it was his turn to unfasten the tethers that kept her bound and gagged.

Kissing the sensitive skin of her inner knee, he watched her transform. The worriment in her face bled away. Every drop was gone. She inhaled a deep breath, and sank deep into the futon. She capitulated against the heat of his body, blossoming before him.

When he reached the point of her hip, he teased her skin, and she responded with a soft moan. He watched her intently, heart strumming in his throat. She squeezed her eyes shut, and her fingers clenched in his hair. The assuaging gaze that she brandished like a weapon broke as she succumbed to the pleasure that pooled deep inside her. She relished the responsiveness of his mouth lapping against her. It was a rare moment. She was so prone to giving and generosity—as if she was repaying some unknowable debt to the universe. But, then, under his care, she took the pleasure he offered without question or argument.

"Byakuya," she murmured in a ragged breath. No honorifics, no titles—just his name, naked and stark, sounded from her pink lips when she felt him stop. The utterance was pleading—seemingly, a command urging him to continue. This realization, however, horrified her. Her head snapped up from the pillow, and her eyes widened. She had never referred to him so intimately and in such a moment of lust. Red marks splotched her pale cheeks, and her heart stammered a few painfully loud beats. Without batting an eyelash, she readied an apology.

He knew that look well. She was always apologizing to him (and to others). She wore her guilt like other men wore their bravado. Like he wore his indifference. Before she had the chance, he intercepted her words with a deep kiss. His tongue gently nudged into her mouth, and he eased her back down.

The tension fell from her bones.

He felt every drop of anxiety bleed away with that kiss.

A loud crash, however, cut through the intensity, revealing their tenderness to be nothing more than an illusion.

Forcing back his tired and heavy eyelids, Byakuya's blurry gaze had only the Cimmerian nightfall to comfort his aching body. Every muscle cried out for the warmth of her skin, for her scent, for her taste, for her nearness. Each and every muscle was denied. In retaliation, some strange primal yearning crashed over him, bathing his brain in a strange chemical cocktail.

Fighting the realization that began to crumble around him, he reached out his arm. Only the empty rustling of fabric filled his ears. Only the chill of pristine bed linens nipped at his warm flesh. She did not share his bed. She had never shared his bed. He was alone. Their passion was only a phantom. A phantom that visited his dreams with increasing frequency.

He inhaled a deep breath, remembering where he was: a dilapidated shanty-cum-inn. They had traveled from Seireitei to the Fifth District, where they sought comfort for the night. Hisana had been keen to continue for another district or two, but both he and Kaien had been quick to foreclose such discussions. The journey through the forest and through the small rolling foothills of the Third and Fourth had proved exhausting for them; there was no telling how poorly her small, failing body was handling the stress, and Hisana was an unreliable source of information where it concerned her own health. He had no doubt that she would lie through her teeth until she fell, thoroughly spent.

Wearily, he turned his head to the window. It was time for him to relieve Kaien from his guard duties. It was time for him to sit quiet and restrained at the door of the woman that he wanted so badly to possess. The prospect elicited a heavy sense of dread, making his limbs feel leaden and unwieldy.

He peeled himself from the blankets, stiff with sweat. He shrugged on his black kosode, and arranged his uniform neatly, pressing the wrinkles out of the fabric. The rhythmic motion of his hand running down the length of his hakama roused his tired nerves, and he mustered enough energy to stare out the window.

Nightfall still lingered on the horizon. No sign of dawn. Not a single trace of light in that cloudy sky.

He drew back the door to the room and stepped gingerly into the hallway. The floorboards were in need of repair. A deep dark soot had settled into the grain. No amount of cleaning would undo the damage.

Lightly, he crossed the corridor to Hisana's room.

Kaien sat dutifully at her door. His chin was tucked to his neck, and his eyes were closed. He had the appearance of being asleep without the relief of actually sleeping. Feeling Byakuya's presence looming over him, he opened an eye and squinted into the long shadow that veiled him. "Good evening," he murmured, somewhat drowsily, somewhat respectfully.

Byakuya stood humorless. Not a scintilla of emotion colored his visage. He was empty. Empty and weary and aching. He had not quite shaken the baser stirrings of his dreams and feeling her reiatsu flickering a few feet away was not helping his recovery.

Kaien, however, was blissfully benighted to his strange proclivities.

"Here for duty?" Kaien muttered.

Byakuya frowned at the man. His eyelids drooped, and he exhaled a heavy breath. Kaien was stalling. It was clear from the man's body language that he did not want to be disturbed. Why? Byakuya could only speculate, but, if he had to guess, it was because Kaien could not find his motivation. Traversing over unleveled terrain had taken its toll on all of them. The lack of rest, too, had begun to weigh on their bodies—stiffening their muscles and testing their commitment.

"I see," Kaien murmured, stretching his legs. The fibers of his quadriceps cried in anguish, burning and threatening to stop him dead if he tried any more fancy footwork, and Kaien was in no mood to try his body's limited patience. "Behave yourself," he said darkly upon reaching Byakuya's side.

What did that mean? Byakuya's brows furrowed, and he shot the Vice Captain a heated stare. His umbrage was written clearly on his face, but he did not scold Kaien. Not for lack of words, however. Merely, he could not order them quite right.

"She needs her rest," Kaien muttered when he reached the half-way point in the hallway. He did not bother to look back as he continued toward the door to their quarters. He did not bow and offer a pleasantry as he pulled back the door. He merely disappeared into the darkness of the room. Only his strange, seemingly penetrating, order lingered between them.

Byakuya exhaled a sigh before taking to the sitting mat stationed in front of her door. The mat still retained the warmth from Kaien's body, which irritated Byakuya. He shifted until he had arranged his clothing in such a way as to protect his flesh from the remnants of Kaien's heat.

Miserable, he crossed his arms protectively in front of his chest and bowed his head. 'Impertinent knave,' a captious inner voice rang inside his head. 'How dare he presume what my intentions are?' his fuming continued. 'It's not like he would know.'

But, Kaien would know. He was the only one who actually had experience in that domain, being a married man, himself. Surely, some persistent feeling—some strange madness—had prompted Kaien to marry? Kaien wasn't the type to marry out of a sense of duty or to preserve the Shiba name. That rationale would have been quite antithetical to the Shiba family, who seemed to prefer the spirit of the law to its letter.

"Lord Kuchiki?"

Byakuya's head snapped up, and he turned. His eyes went wide, and he silently rebuked himself for his inattentiveness. The door had clacked back, and he, so consumed in the cloud of his thoughts, had failed to notice it. "Yes?" the question tumbled out of his mouth in an inelegant intonation. Immediately, he stood. "Is there something the matter?"

Hisana's brows lifted as she observed him. He appeared frantic as if she had caught him in the midst of some compromising act. "I heard voices," she murmured softly. "I wanted to make sure everything was well."

Caught in her gaze, Byakuya stared at her for a beat longer than intended. "Yes," he said, studying her with a soft look, "you were not resting?" He had intended his words to form a question. The result, however, sounded like a rebuke.

Hisana smiled and lowered her head. Her eyes fell to the floor, and she shook her head. A silent confession. "I am afraid that I cannot," she murmured. Shyly, her eyes flickered to him, and her lips stretched into a coy grin. "Would you mind keeping me company?" her voice trembled as she made the inquiry. It felt bold in her mind, and the question sounded even bolder coming from her lips.

Byakuya, however, did not let the invitation fester above them. Without a second thought, he nodded his response.

Her features brightened, and she bowed sweetly. "Thank you, Lord Kuchiki. I mean," she stammered, "Vice Captain." She was clearly uncomfortable with his many titles, tripping over them in her mind. "Forgive me." She bowed again before stepping deeper inside the room.

Byakuya lingered outside her door for a breath. His muscles tightened at the prospect of crossing her threshold. Had that not been how all his dreams began? Had he not crossed the threshold? Sat politely, waiting with baited breath as knots formed in his stomach. Waiting. Wanting. Wishing. She would touch her face, shoot him a well-intentioned glance, but somewhere, somehow, it changed.

It couldn't change. Not then. Not in the world beyond his dreams.

As the questions and realizations flashed in his mind, he felt his cheeks burn from the warmth such thoughts elicited.

Hisana turned to see him standing as motionless as the wall behind him. "I was hoping to practice calligraphy," she said, trying to read his tangled thoughts. "I know you are very proficient at the art," she continued. In a graceful movement, she dropped to her knees in front of a small wooden writing desk. The soft cushion of the sitting mat spared her from the floor's hard coldness. "The materials aren't very good." Her lips pulled to the side as she examined the old ink stone, brittle brush, and stale thin paper.

She turned to give him a beckoning over-the-shoulder glance. "Lord Kuchiki?" she murmured in a throaty breath.

His tired, aching muscles enervated under her soulful gaze. Reflexively, he entered, closing the door just enough. Just enough to give them privacy, but not enough to accord him the intimacy that his heart demanded.

"These materials are unsuitable," he said, examining the ink and brush. "I don't know if a skillful calligrapher could salvage them."

She eyed him sweetly. "Well, it is good that I am not a skillful calligrapher. I doubt it will be such a loss in my case."

"Have you ever tried?" he asked, his eyes fluttered to the exposed skin of her neck. The line drew down before dipping at her clavicle. It was white—whiter than the paper set on the table. So white that it shimmered silver in the moonlight. With each inhalation or swallow, the dip between her collarbones deepened.

His jaw clenched at the sight, and his body felt like it had been doused in oil and set on fire. The feeling overwhelmed him, fracturing his resolve, but he held onto the shreds of his composure a moment longer. His fists balled in the loose fabric of his hakama, and he tore his eyes from her.

"I attended one of Captain Aizen's classes. It was brief, and I arrived late. The students were spilling into the hallway. It was not particularly informative at that point." She tilted her head to the side. He seemed so out of sorts. The lines of his face were taught, and he appeared to be deep in thought. Hoping to ease his mind, she placed her hand against his. "I have seen some of your work, though. It is beautiful."

He lifted his head, paying careful attention to her eyes and only her eyes. They were large and probing. The gentle lantern light did not reach their depths. "You have?"

Her smile widened, and she nodded. "It was hard not to. They were so lovely." In a blink of an eye, her smile diminished, and her eyes trailed to the floor. Biting her lip, she lowered her head. "Would you mind showing me?" Her color rose as she stumbled through the question. Her voice hesitated, dropping several key syllables, but he understood her.

"Of course," he murmured. Of course he would oblige her. Even if every sinew and bone throbbed in bitter unrequited desire, he would indulge her. "Relax your shoulders," he said, examining her posture.

Hisana shifted. The sleeve of her kimono brushed against his arm, and he tried his hardest to keep his eyes on the table. It didn't work. Her wiggling drew his attention, and the soft curves of her form kept it.

Inhaling a deep sweet breath, he closed his eyes. Her fragrance—petrichor and damp ylang ylang—perfumed the air. It was inescapable, intoxicating his poor tortured mind. "Your neck is tilted too far forward." He didn't have to see her to know she was hovering. She always hovered. It was likely a trait honed from her work at the Fourth. No doubt scrutiny was necessary for surgical operations, but not for calligraphy.

"You are too tense," he mumbled, opening his eyes.

Hisana inclined her head and shot him a tentative glance. "Better?"

He shut his eyes again. "No." He gave a slow shake of his head. She was a high-strung soul. He had never noticed it before. She hid it well during her lessons. But, it had always been there, hiding behind her stare. She was always bracing herself from some unknowable thought or some unperceived disaster lurking around the corner.

"Why don't you show me?" she asked gently.

The words stung him.

Touching her was inadvisable. Cruel ambivalence coiled in his heart. Part of him—the logical tactician—railed against such a proposition; it would surely tempt him, prove to be his undoing. The other piece of him—the reckless, willful adolescent that was quick to bubble up and defeat his better judgment—commanded him to touch her, to relish the warmth of her diminutive frame against him.

Tense and bent on removing any trace of pleasure, he tightened his muscles as he molded her into position. She was amazingly warm and pliant, and she smelled so inviting.

She was despicable woman if she knew her effect.

Satisfied with her posture, she glimpsed him in her peripheral vision. "How should my arms be?"

Slightly behind her, he molded her right arm into position, and placed her left arm down at the paper's edge. The shrill sound of metal scraping against wood was quickly eclipsed when she turned against him. Her head was close. Too close. Her hair, fragrant like a bouquet of flowers, tantalized him.

"Show me the motion," she murmured, lifting her head in an elegant arch. He was uncomfortable with her proximity, she noted to herself. The color drained from his face, and his body shivered under the heavy locks that he had fashioned to hold himself back. He was a perfect portrait of a noble—all regal lines, pale flesh, and indifference on the surface—but simmering just beneath the façade was something else.

She leaned into his chest. The pressure on her part was light, almost imperceptible, but it sent earthquakes through him. She smiled innocently at the subtle change in his face. His visage was guarded—that much had not changed—but it hardened.

She inclined her head, lifting her chin. Her warm breath seemed to draw him from his quiet mortification. He opened his eyes, stunned at her nearness. "Which word shall we choose?" she asked. Her eyes were half-lidded, and she was dangerously close.

Reflexively, he leaned down. He couldn't help himself. Not then. When she did not retract from his boldness, he dipped his head down. His breath, hot and ragged, skated across her cheek, and she closed the gap willingly. He was so close to her mouth. He was so close to his breaking point.

The roar of the door moving back punctured the moment.

In a flash, the two were an appropriate length away for a calligraphy lesson. Byakuya's eyes were glued fast to the thin paper, and he inhaled a sharp deep breath, relishing the air's wintry grasp over his lungs. Anything to stem the tide of his sordid instincts.

"Calligraphy," Gin Ichimaru purred as he stood in the doorway. His cold gaze blanketed the room. Frost seemingly sprouted up in the wake of his look. "How intimate and warm it is in here."

Hisana acknowledged him with a small, forced grin and a canorous, "Good evening, Vice Captain Ichimaru." She was always so sanguine when she regarded Gin. Byakuya wondered if it was a self-defense mechanism. What horrible emotion did she feel she had to suppress and convert into its polar opposite? Byakuya wondered before feeling the chill of Gin's stare.

"Vice Captain," Byakuya murmured in a low voice.

"Vice Captain Shiba reminded me to relieve you." Gin's gaze swept over the room. "He was afraid I might forget."

Byakuya hesitated to give up his position as guard. Instead, he just stared into the pale man's perpetual smile. "If you wish to-," Byakuya began, but Gin was quick to interrupt him.

"No, no, no," Gin said, waving the thought away with a bat of his hand, "I insist." His Rukon drawl extended the word a beat longer than necessary. "Vice Captain Hisana is such an inviting host, how could I refuse?"

If looks could peel flesh, then Gin would have been flayed. Byakuya held his gaze for another minute before turning to Hisana. She nodded her head, answering his silent question, 'Are you sure?' "Thank you, Lord Kuchiki. I treasure your tutelage," she said, civilly.

He could tell the words left a bitter taste in her mouth.

They left a sharp ringing in his ears.

"Good evening, Vice Captain Hisana," he said. Upon standing, he gave her a bow befitting someone of her standing, a small nod of the head.

"Have a comfortable rest," Gin called to him once Byakuya had cleared the threshold to her room.

Byakuya paused in the middle of the floor, just where Kaien had stopped. He did not turn back. He did not offer a bow or a pleasantry. He stood still and horrible as he heard the door clack shut behind him. And, while his pause felt eternal in duration, it was barely noticeable.

His rest would not be a comfortable one.

. . . .

The next morning Hisana padded her way into the inn's dining room. Having been the first of their group to rouse, she made herself at home, carefully finishing her breakfast and chatting with a mother and child.

"Is that right?" she asked, bending her head down to the pair. "The Seventh is nothing but marsh?"

"Marsh?" the mother echoed. She then threw her head back and chuckled heartily. "It is swampland. Nothing but water and poisonous gases!"

Hisana's eyes widened, and she inhaled a quick breath. "Oh dear," she murmured.

Catching her breath from her laughter, the mother tilted her head to the side. "Oh, dear, what is that expression for? Don't tell me that you were planning on traveling to the Seventh?"

Hisana placed her index and middle fingers to her lips and gave a solemn nod.

"All by yourself?!" the woman exclaimed, clutching her child by her side instinctively. "That sounds wretched! Oh, you can't. A little thing like yourself would be mere fodder for the monsters that roam that land."

"Monsters?" Hisana repeated, not quite sure that she had heard correctly.

The woman nodded vigorously. "Yes. The poison has created a terrible atmosphere for survival. The animals that inhabit the swamp are all beastly."

"Goodness," Hisana murmured to herself. "What do these monsters do?"

"They possess poisonous breath and blood. The poison itself is so virulent and caustic that it seeps from them like sweat, except it burns the flesh and scalds the lungs."

"Has anyone traveled through that land successfully?" Hisana asked, pulling her haori tightly around her shoulders.

"Yes, one. He was very strong, though. Much stronger than you, dear." The woman leaned back and panned the small dining room. "More like him," she said, jerking her chin in the direction of a tall sinewy male.

Hisana's lips curled up as soon as she caught the man's gaze. "Perhaps I am in luck," she murmured as he crossed the floor toward the three.

"Oh, my," the woman quickly lowered her head and blushed. "Stop looking at him," she chastised Hisana. "You are inviting him over!"

Hisana shook her head. "It is alright. I know him."

"Good morning, Vice—err—Hisana," Kaien murmured in greeting.

She beamed up at him. "Good Morning, Sir Kaien. I was just speaking to Lerna and her lovely child, Hattori. Lerna tells me that the Seventh is nothing but wetlands."

Kaien's brows furrowed. "This late in the season?" he questioned in disbelief.

"Always. The last dry spell was about 30 years ago," Lerna replied sheepishly.

"Please sit with us, Sir Kaien," Hisana stated in a breezy voice, but Kaien read her look of worry well enough.

"Yes, Miss Hisana," he murmured. "So the Seventh is a marsh?"

"Swamp," Lerna corrected.

"Poisonous and foul," Hisana added.

"A poisonous swamp?" Kaien repeated, still trying to get his mind around the new obstacle that stared their troupe in the face.

"Yes," Lerna said softly, refusing to meet Kaien's gaze, "the gases from the water could kill a man. Have killed men who ventured into the Seventh."

Kaien frowned at the news.

"But, there was a man who successfully navigated the swampland," Hisana noted cheerfully.

Lerna nodded to herself, a distant look caught in her eyes. "Yes. Cao did. His son was injured in the swamp while he was hunting a beast. When the villagers brought back his wounded son, Cao took sample of the poison, and he constructed a cloth that could shield one's body and lungs from the gases. Unfortunately, Cao died shortly after reaching the Eighth. His cloth protected him from the air, but not from the creatures that stalk that land."

"What types of creatures?" Kaien asked, his eyes fixing Lerna.

"I don't know. Something horrible. Serpents, I believe."

Hisana kept Hattori distracted with a small twig doll. The trick appeared to work because the boy did not heed their words. "Do you know where Cao's fine cloth might be?" Hisana asked sweetly, but she did not bother to avert her gaze from the child's game.

Lerna nodded. "If anyone has them, or knows what they were made of, it would be his wife, Baochai. She lives on the east bank of the stream."

"Thank you, Lerna," Hisana said, bowing her head. With a quiet resignation, she stood, bowed again, and stepped toward the door.

Kaien watched her for a fleeting moment before Lerna's voice drew his attention. "You, sir, carry a weapon at your hip," she said softly, shielding the child seated in her lap. "I take it that you can use it?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Good. The Seventh will require it."

Hisana crossed the floor toward the door, and, just as she was about to pull it back, it slid to the side. Stunned, she stepped away. "Sir Kuchiki," she greeted, smiling when her brain registered the face. "Would you mind escorting me?"

He blinked at her question, and, before he had the chance to process her request or to ask follow-up questions, she took his arm and pulled him out of the inn.

"Where are we going?" he asked, giving her a sidelong stare as they neared a roughly patched piece of road.

"To meet Baochai."

His brows furrowed. "The fictional character?"

She hid her smile behind a sleeve, and she shook her head. "No. An actual woman."

"Is she married?" he asked partly out of curiosity and partly to tease Hisana.

She grinned. "Was."

His stare deepened as he waited for her to explain fully their mission.

"The Seventh is apparently nothing but poisonous swampland. Baochai's husband crafted a cloth that can shield the wearer from the gases."

A few long steps later, and Byakuya quirked a brow. "If he is dead, then what makes you believe that the cloth protected him?"

"Monsters felled him."

"Monsters?" Byakuya echoed. Hisana was not ordinarily this stingy with information. It felt like he was pulling teeth.

"Monsters," she said, rounding a corner of the stream. "The house is supposed to be on the east bank," she murmured to herself.

Reading the landscape quicker than she could, he grabbed her hand. "This way," he said. As his stride lengthened, his gaze flitted back to Hisana to ensure that his pace did not fatigue her.

She caught his fleeting look, and she smiled to herself. A warm silence settled between them as they approached the small cottage. Hisana nimbly climbed the dilapidated staircase and knocked on the door. "Hello?" she called before stepping off the sliver of wood on which she had balanced her weight. Byakuya was careful to make sure her landing was soft, stabilizing her with a tender hand to her shoulder.

"Yes?" the door pulled back, revealing a rather attractive woman. Her dark locks were pulled into a loose bun, and she stared at Hisana with a magnetic gleam in her eyes.

"Ms. Baochai," Hisana said, bowing.

The woman gasped and cupped her lips before collapsing to her knees. In anguish, she reached her hand out. Her fingers went rigid when her grasp did not meet its intended.

Hisana straightened and followed the length of Baochai's arm. The woman was reaching for Byakuya. Confusion clouded Hisana's face as she turned to her companion. "Do you know one another?" she asked, turning her cheek away from the woman to shield her from the question.

Byakuya's eyes widened, underscoring his own bewilderment. He had never seen this woman before.

"Cao?" she cried, eyes filling with tears.

"No, Ms. Baochai," Hisana said soothingly. She kneeled down and placed a consolatory hand against Baochai's back. "This is not Mr. Cao. This is my friend, Sir Kuchiki." With each word, Hisana could feel the woman's trembling intensify. "It's alright," she said in an assuaging tenor.

"Forgive me," she sobbed, burying her face against Hisana's chest. "I just miss him, and your friend looks so similar."

"Forgive us," Hisana said diplomatically, "we did not mean to cause you any mental anguish." Bracing Baochai by her shoulders, Hisana pulled out a small handkerchief from her breast pocket, and she dabbed it against the woman's moist cheeks. "Here," she said, letting Baochai keep the linen.

Helping Baochai to her feet, Hisana guided the woman into the cottage. "We mean no harm, really," she said softly as Baochai sat, half-dazed. The woman's suffering was immense.

"I lost him only a few months ago. I apologize for being out of sorts. The pain. No one prepares you for the pain," she choked on her sobs as she spoke.

Byakuya quietly stepped across the threshold and pulled the door shut behind him. Only then did Hisana realize how dark the cottage was. Not a single light had been lit. She wondered if the woman was too grief-stricken to perform the basic functions. "My condolences," Hisana said, placing a tender hand against the woman's arm. "I understand your loss. I, too, have lost someone very important to me, and the pain always lingers, but its intensity diminishes with time."

Blotting her eyes with the handkerchief, Baochai nodded. It was a complacent sort of gesture; one that reached the ears but did not quite touch the heart. "Who did you lose?" she hiccupped.

Hisana tilted her head to the side, and her gaze trailed to the dirt floor. "My sister."

"The loss of a sibling is great," Baochai murmured softly.

"As is the loss of a husband."

"I buried my son only a few weeks before my husband," she heaved, "but my husband's death has crushed me. I don't know what to do."

Hisana nodded sympathetically. "I have some medicine that can help you cope while time works its magic."

Baochai dropped her head. "I would take anything that would ease this feeling. Death, even."

"I will return with the elixir if I could make one request."

Baochai nodded.

"Do you have any of the cloth your husband used to veil himself when he went to the Seventh?"

She nodded. "Why?" Her eyes darkened at the request. "Please don't tell me that you wish to travel into those lands."

Hisana inhaled a breath and fixed Baochai with her gaze. "We must."

Baochai's eyes drifted to Byakuya. His countenance proved too painful to glimpse for longer than a few seconds. "Reconsider," she said through gritted teeth before leaving to fetch the garments.

"I will bring your medicines as quickly as possible," Hisana said, taking the thin soft fabric when the woman returned.

"This will protect you from the poisonous gases, but be careful not to linger too long. There is only so much even this can do."

"Thank you," Hisana bowed low before she and Byakuya departed.

When they returned to the inn, they found Kaien and Gin lingering in the dining room. Gin was tormenting the children, but the little ones seemed rather fond of his brand of torture, and Kaien was sighing over a missive.

"Is all well, Sir Kaien?" Hisana asked, placing the bolt of fabric on the table.

"You got the material?"

"I hope so," she sighed to herself. "I don't suppose we have time to have the Twelfth analyze it?"

Kaien gave a long shake of his head before scooting the letter forward toward her. Before she had the chance to pluck it off the tabletop, Byakuya had it in his hands.

Hisana gaped at him, but she swallowed her chastising words.

"The squad sent into the West has fallen," he murmured, setting the letter down.

"So far that means two teams of the Second have been felled, and we are not two days in," Kaien muttered under his breath.

"We will have to be careful." Hisana smiled, hoping it would ease her companions' minds.

It did not.

She grimaced. The air became thick and hard to breathe. "We should prepare to leave," she said matter-of-factly. Standing, she nearly stepped back into Gin. A small cry escaped her, but she managed to muffle its sharpness with her hand.

Running a thin finger over the bolt of fabric, Gin's brow quirked up. "Monkey lilies," he observed, intrigued. "Must be a swamp nearby."

Hisana gave him a sidelong glance. "Have you been to the Seventh District?" she asked, curious.

Gin lifted his head, and, donning his most innocent of looks, he said, "Nah. Just heard stories is all."

"What kinds of stories?" she urged politely.

He shrugged. "Bad ones. Only stories that people seem to tell."

She nodded. An incredulous look sparked in her eyes. Only Gin caught the spark, and his smile widened.

"I will fetch our things and take Baochai the elixir."

Hisana was quick to complete her errands, and, when she returned, Kaien greeted her with four haphazardly sewn together cloaks. She smiled as she inspected the garment. "It looks functional," she said wryly.

Kaien lifted a brow and cracked a boyish smile. "Best they could do they said."

Her smile widened. "I am sure they did." How quickly the civility melts away when one leaves Seireitei, she noted to herself.

The trek through the Fifth and into the Sixth was taken in intermittent silence. Gin was eager to puncture whatever tranquility fell across the group. Usually, his banter was meant to put one of the companions on edge. He asked Kaien about his wife and about how she would handle his duties during his prolonged absence. He asked Byakuya about the pending nuptials. He asked Hisana about her successor. Kaien and Hisana took his probing in stride. Byakuya, however, just poured on the patented Kuchiki frost, refusing to even acknowledge Gin if he found the question impertinent enough.

Upon crossing the Sixth's marketplace, the group separated briefly to purchase some food from the carts and to replenish their water supplies. Hisana smiled politely as she took the change for her roasted sweet potato. Happily, she began to nibble the treat. The sweet starchy flavor filled her mouth, and she inhaled a deep fragrant. It was a rare pleasure. A pleasure that was quickly interrupted when an adolescent boy grabbed her by the wrist and whisked her away.

Panicked, Hisana let out a small scream at the roughness of the boy's grip. But, before she could struggle against him, he stuffed her into a dark damp room filled with armed men.

"You're the doc, right?" the boy asked, running a nervous hand through his hair. He looked petrified. His skin was pale and sweat soaked. Large grey circles hung under his bloodshot eyes, and he paced as the words fell off his tongue.

Hisana nodded. Her gaze went from the boy to each of his five friends. All of them were young, younger than she, at least. Not having quite grown into their long gangly limbs. "I am," she said, unsure if they were waiting for her to speak.

"Good," he said, taking her hand in his and pulling her deeper into the makeshift shelter. Lifting a large wooden beam, he held it for her as she passed through the corridor.

"What is the matter?" she asked, scanning her surroundings.

"A friend. He is ill."

"I don't have my medical kit," she murmured, feeling a cold wave of panic crash over her.

"Where is your kit?" he turned suddenly. His eyes were wide and animalistic. Surely, he questioned her intentions.

She lowered her head. "It is with a friend in the marketplace."

"Describe him."

"If I describe him, are you going to bring him here?"

"If he comes."

"If he refuses?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"We kill him and take his things."

She shook her head. That wouldn't work. Byakuya would slaughter the boys if they tried anything. "Let me go. I will return. I promise." Her gaze trailed to one of the larger boys, who, after appraising her sincerity, nodded.

"I will go with you," the original boy stated firmly.

Hisana clenched her jaw before turning further into the room. The stench of dying tissue and infection was thick, stinging her throat and drawing the bile of her stomach. Fearlessly, she crossed the floor to the small futon that held the boy. He was young, likely the youngest one there. Nine deep puncture wounds clustered around his chest. The wounds seeped blood and infection.

Her lips sloped into a frown as she pulled the sheet down to get a better look at the boy's limbs. His arms and legs were badly burned. The skin bubbled, likely filled with both the body's own fluids and toxins. "He has been to the swamps of the Seventh?" she asked, turning to the boys.

The leader nodded. "He was chasing a stag, and a monster attacked him."

Hisana replaced the sheet. Instinctively, her hand reached under her sleeve. Her fingertips skimmed the cold metal of the bracer that Byakuya had fixed to her upper arm. It did not budge against her elbow. She winced as she twisted her arm and turned the bracer. It was too tight. She could not escape its grip. For now.

Damn it!

"Come," she said, defeated.

. . . .

"So, where is Hisana?" Kaien asked, taking a swig of water and scanning the throng of souls gathered in the town's center.

Byakuya and Gin exchanged glances.

Kaien's lips parted and his eyes flicked up to the sky. "Unbelievable." Suddenly, it was becoming clear why members of various divisions did not team together. Cohesiveness had never been the Gotei 13's strongest suit, he supposed.

Byakuya closed his eyes for a moment. He could sense her, a few kilometers away. She was approaching. Opening his eyes, he located her with ease among the men and women in the crowd. She was being followed by an unsightly gang of adolescent street rats. Had they taken her prisoner? The young men appeared to be of that opinion, he noted to himself.

"Sir Kuchiki," Hisana began absently as she untangled her medical chest from the many parcels hanging from his strong back, "please, excuse me," she whispered, gazing slyly up at him. "I had the unfortunate luck of being taken hostage."

She seemed very serene for a hostage, Byakuya observed. In fact, she seemed to find the adolescents' bravado rather amusing. Either way, Byakuya stepped to her front and gripped the hilt of his sword. A bored stare belied his motives as he gave the boys an impassive onceover. None of them possessed enough spiritual energy to conquer a flea.

"She's ours," the leader cried, reaching for Hisana's arm. A blade to his throat, however, stopped his greedy hands short.

"One of their friends was attacked in the Seventh. Perhaps examining the wounds and analyzing the poison would be beneficial for our purposes?" Hisana explained as she checked her supplies.

Byakuya, however, did not lower his blade until the boy had dropped his arm.

"Do you mind if my friends come?" Hisana asked, turning her head just enough to glimpse the leader out of the corner of her eye.

The leader's lips trembled as if he was of a mind to refuse, but cold looks from the swordsmen silenced him. "Fine. Just don't break anything," he moaned. Haughtily, he turned on his heels and led the way back to the "home."

"How did you know I was a doctor?" Hisana asked as the group threaded through the market.

"Rumor spreads when you start healing people in the districts."

She lifted her head. "You mean you learned of this from someone in the Third?"

"Something like that." He huffed. "They said you could heal someone with your hands, with magic."

Hisana lowered her head. "I could."

"But you can't now?"

She shook her head. "Not now," she replied evenly.

"Because he isn't rich or Shinigami?"

Her gaze fixed him. "No."

"Then why not?"

"Because I am prevented from doing so at the moment."

"Whatever, Lady. Just save Basho, and I won't kill you."

She smiled knowingly, but she did not say a word to the contrary. Upon arriving at the small shanty, Hisana asked the boys to build a fire and heat one of their swords. She then went to the injured child's deathbed. She dropped to her knees, snapped on a fresh pair of gloves, and she began to sterilize the instruments and the boy's skin. Once she had thoroughly cleaned the nine puncture wounds, she asked for the heated steel. "To seal the wounds," she said gently.

The leader quickly brought her the sword, and she cauterized each wound with precision. "I am so sorry," she whispered to the slumbering boy, knowing that, even in his fever dreams, he felt the burning kiss of steel against flesh. Afterward, she injected medicines, painkillers and analgesics, using an IV push method of administration.

Pulling back the blanket that covered the boy's limbs, she took a quick sample of the fluid contained in one of the blisters. Transferring the sample to a few vials of liquid, she shook the bottles. "The substance appears to eat through the flesh with persistent contact," she noted as she examined the damage. "It is acidic," she observed, reading one of the tests. "It doesn't appear to trigger any of the poison tests that I brought with me. Although," she mumbled as she turned her attention to the chest injuries, "that doesn't rule it out."

Byakuya, Gin, and Kaien had been staring at the strange puncture wounds for the duration of her treatment. "Whatever did that was either quick or has a burst attack," Kaien said before turning to the boys. "Did any of you see what kind of monster attacked your friend?"

The leader stepped forward. "It was a strange black and white monster. It was large and serpent-like. I didn't see it very well because it lurked in the swamp."

Kaien turned to Byakuya. "Perhaps we should clear the swamp of that thing before we escort Hisana?"

Byakuya nodded.

"Gin, do you mind?"

Gin glanced up; his eldritch smile had not slipped an inch. "I will keep a close eye on her," he said, leveling a devious look Byakuya's direction. "Please," he continued, waving his hand, "go."

With quiet and swift footfalls, Kaien and Byakuya crossed into the Seventh District, and, as described, the land was all bubbling swamp. The air was thick and humid, so thick and so humid that it was hard to breathe, and the odor was pungent, smelling of sulfur and rot.

Kaien and Byakuya pulled the monkey lily cloaks tightly against their faces as they moved forward. Still and ever sensitive to the energy swirling around them, they paused. Something strong lurked nearby in the water.

Feeling for the hilts of their swords, the two stood poised to attack. Each muscle slid into place. Their breathing slowed and their heartbeats grew faint. Only the gargling of the swamp water and the rustling of the flora filled their ears as the wind picked up. It was a stale wind. The type of wind generated by spiritual pressure.

In a flash, the hollow revealed itself. A hideous serpent with nine heads that swung about like whips. Kaien was the first to strike. Releasing his Zanpakutō, he severed three heads with lightening precision. Landing on the bank across from Byakuya, he turned to see his handiwork.

His heart sank right into the pit of his stomach. "Damn it," he hissed.

The three severed heads grew back, and, with them, they brought friends. Now, instead of nine heads, there were twelve.

"Any ideas?" Kaien called to Byakuya.

The two adroitly dodged a few winding attacks as Byakuya considered a possibility. "Try your attack again," he replied, darting away from one of the monster's attacks.

Byakuya did not know why, but he had a strange feeling. A feeling that had been spurned by Hisana's procedure back at the shanty.

To seal the wounds.

Kaien scowled at Byakuya, but he obliged the young noble. "Alright," he growled, and, again, he decapitated three heads. And, again, the heads fell to ground, like the heads of freshly sheered daisies.

Kaien landed and turned just in time to watch as Byakuya fired a quick round of fire kido, cauterizing the flesh and preventing another head from emerging. Kaien considered their teamwork with vague satisfaction. Perhaps the divisions of the Gotei 13 weren't as incapable of working together as he had previously thought. "Well, that was easier than expected," he mumbled under his breath.

Without much delay or hardship, the pair finished off the beast.

"Do you suppose it is the only one?" Byakuya inquired, adjusting his cloak when they finished.

Kaien and he waited a moment longer. "I think we should be able to pass unhindered now."

Author's Notes: Thanks again for reading!

Nosono Takako: Aw, thanks so much! Your words are too kind!

Rose Attack: I really struggle to combine the two characterizations of Byakuya (young and reckless with mature and arrogant). I imagine, though, if there were many children roaming around with the sort of potential for devastation that there would be some interesting mishaps. As for Daiyu, it is more a preference and a passing reference to the literary character.

Sunev.31: Aw, thanks!