A/N: Thank you to all who reviewed!

Guest: Thank you!

Sunev.31: Omg, thank you so much for your sweet reviews! You're so sweet, thank you so much for your compliments! And haha, thank you for staying around to see what happens next! And yes, Hisana is very lucky :-)

leafpool5: I agree, they shouldn't have sex under external influences.

xjasmin3x: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! You are very sweet!

Ana: Thanks for reviewing all my chapters again! And haha, I wasn't expecting so many reviewers to be waiting for Odalisque, Is She? to be updated. You guys rock, thank you for supporting the fic! But yes, I have written out something for the upcoming chapter, I just need my momentum back to finish it!

Sweet Dumplings: Updated! Thanks for review!

VioTanequil: Thanks for reading, and for giving me some ideas and suggestions of your own! I appreciate it!

Xanoka: Updated! And thank you for reading and following!

Hylla: You are a darling, reviewing since chapter 1! Thank you!

nighttempes: Hoshi is, without doubt, a butthole.

Gianella: Thank you for reviewing!

deathgod10: Thanks for the compliment! There are also other great reincarnated!Hisana fics out there too, I've read and picked up quite a few!

PS: I've noticed that I missed out responding to some reviewers earlier! I'm so sorry about that, I want to make it clear that it wasn't intentional! I've been so busy lately that I've truly become so muddle-headed! Sorry about that!

Loneliness was such a tremendous factor.

Rukia sighed as she tightened her hand over her small, half-filled teacup. Having just bathed, and changed to her night robes, she felt more relaxed, though some of the tension seemed to remain in her shoulders. The mansion was very quiet at night, and even more so without her brother's presence. The Kuchiki Manor was most certainly not the same without its Head.

Often, during the occasions when he was home, she would awaken in the middle of many nights, look through her windows, and spot him taking his night walks in the gardens of the manor. Always a serene yet intimidating figure, he would move along the bridge directly overhead the ponds, and continue his quiet walk on the vast grounds.

Rukia had wondered – more times than she would admit - if her brother was unable to sleep. Despite being in the same family, a lot of his lifestyle remained private to him and unknown to her. He didn't seem the kind of person who needed much, despite having more than what most did, and perhaps sleep was simply redundant to him. Kuchiki Byakuya was always such a solitary creature. What did he think about whenever he was alone?

She had a good idea of rather who he could be thinking about.

"Rukia-sama."

Rukia looked up, and she smiled wanly at the old caretaker. Dressed in white robes, he held a golden lamp that glowed in the darkness of the night within the manor, and she could see his heavily lined face peering down at her in concern. He took a tentative step forward, socked feet moving stiffly.

"It is rather late, Rukia-sama," he croaked. "If I may ask, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Rukia said, from where she was seated by a small table in the lounge. She looked back absently to her teacup. "I've just been thinking… about her."

"Ah." Understanding crossed the old man's bespectacled face. "I see."

There was a long pause.

"When I first joined the family," Rukia said softly, "it caused quite a bit of negative stir in the Kuchiki House because of… well, because of where I came from. Did she… did she have to face the same thing as well?"

"I believe she did," the old man said quietly. The light from the lamp in his hand seemed to play with the wrinkles on his aged face, making them more visible and making him look more haggard. "However, Hisana-sama, perhaps, was more consumed by her own troubles."

"Her troubles… which were about me?" Rukia said slowly, her voice dropping to almost a whisper. She stared back up at the caretaker, feeling the taste of bitter tea in her mouth.

"It is not my place to say," the manservant answered softly. "But yes… I believe so."

She searched her whole life for you.

Daffodil was in quite a predicament, and vaguely she knew it.

The only problem was that she couldn't seem to summon the willpower in her to coherently make out the gravity of her situation. She couldn't think straight at all. All she was aware of, and all she cared about, was the heat between her legs that was growing rapidly at an almost painful intensity. The strong arm wrapped around her waist was not alleviating the increasingly uncomfortable throb in her body, and if anything else, the sensation of the long fingers curled securely against her back sent electric sparks ricocheting through her sensitized nerves. She whimpered.

"Daffodil-san!" A waitress had dashed up from the side of the restaurant, a tray tucked under her arm. She peered at the singer and her unexpected male companion rather curiously - and she was not the only one. Several diners were watching from their tables. "Are you alright? You look rather ill."

A second set of footsteps followed, and Daffodil looked up with some effort through the disheveled dark locks of hair on her face, and peered rather hazily as a tall, heavily tattooed redhead dressed in a scarlet kinagashi appeared into view. He looked startled, his black eyes wide under the length of his green headband.

"She will be fine," a voice spoke. Daffodil stiffened; the masculine baritone was deep, silky smooth and unruffled. She stiffened further, her muscles taut – for something about the rich voice made her heart stir… as if she had heard the sound before.

Heard it before in her life, and had once loved it.

Quickly she dismissed the nonsensical thought. It was just the drug's side effects, she told herself.

It was just the drug.

"You may return to your duties." the voice continued quietly.

"Maybe I should call Naruki-san-" The waitress began hesitantly, but was immediately cut off.

"No!" Daffodil cried breathlessly. The last thing she needed was for the vice-manager to make her appearance and see her in her current state. Damn it. What she needed right now was to get to her room as soon as possible, so that she could resolve her current issue at hand within her own privacy. The main problem was that she wasn't sure if she could make it back in time – the thought of the mere walk back to her suite felt like ages; she was urgent, the pressing heat was unbearable, she needed relief now-….

Shoving the man away with a strong force uncharacteristic of her, she stumbled along the marble floor of the restaurant, her sandaled feet unstable. She panted raggedly, wondering why the obi of her kimono was so tight around her waist suddenly.

"Hey-" The redhead, who was near her, looked alarmed. "Are you okay-"

Her soft legs, weakened by the persistently smothering arousal in her lower abdomen, seemed to have turned to jelly, and without the support of the dark-haired man, they gave out, causing her to crumple like a broken doll. A cry fell from her lips. Before she ended up falling onto the floor, however, the redhead had quickly caught her, and after swiftly steadying her, he scooped her tiny kimono-clad form up.

The dark-haired man swiftly approached him, to which a silent authority seemed to gleam in his cat-like silver gaze. Both he and his partner – who was still carrying Daffodil – then made their way out of the restaurant, despite the waitress's –and diners'- open curiosity. After all, the audience probably all recognized the famous songstress Daffodil, and it was evident to all that she was not in her normal state at the moment.

The waitress watched the two men go, and then clutched her tray tighter in shock as a sudden thought came to her. Where was Lord Hoshi? Had Daffodil not been serving him upstairs? Why had Daffodil returned to the first floor without him, looking worse for wear?

Spinning around, she ran up the staircase without ado, her small apron fluttering above her knees.

Renji wasn't sure what was going on.

Just a while ago he and Kuchiki-Taichou had gone to the restaurant, made their orders promptly from the lavish menu and paid the bill before dining together, quietly discussing their discoveries so far regarding their Current World assignment while planning their next move, and then in the next instant he found himself unexpectedly face-to-face with Daffodil, the famous hotel singer, who was looking and behaving oddly. He would be lying if he said it wasn't rather uncomfortable for him, having to face a woman who appeared almost exactly like Rukia – a woman who also had a connection with Kuchiki-Taichou, even if she herself did not know it. And yet she was a stranger to him as he was to her, and it was by instinct that he had caught her the moment he saw her on the verge of collapse.

And now here they were, standing inside the elevator of the Sakura Resort, along with the little songstress. Renji, who was currently given a close-up view of her delicate face from where she lay in his arms, had to admit more than ever that her resemblance to Hisana Kuchiki – or at least, the portraits of the late Lady which Renji had witnessed back in the Kuchiki Manor and Sixth Division – was uncanny.

"Taichou," he said, lifting his head to look at his superior. "There seems to be something wrong with her." He cringed at his choice of words almost immediately. Obvious much?"What – what I mean is, what do you think is wrong with her?"

He peered back down at the woman. Her pretty oval face was flushed red, and she was panting breathlessly within his hold, as if she had just run a marathon. Beads of sweat were forming on her soft, smooth forehead, and her large heavily made-up violet eyes – which did not seem to register her surroundings – were glazed. She shifted in his arms, and he was shocked when he saw that her little hands were fumbling almost desperately at the obi of her kimono. Her sandaled feet, which happened to be dangling over the side of his arms in mid-air, were kicking lightly.

"Hey- hey!" Renji said in alarm. The woman didn't seem to hear him. She didn't seem capable of hearing anything at the moment, he realized. His alarm and discomfort only grew when he saw that she was still tugging at her obi. The pink silk pooled his hands. "Please don't…"

A sudden movement alerted him, and his spiky head jerked as Kuchiki Byakuya stepped right before him. The sharp, wordless look in the man's slate grey eyes instantly told Renji what he needed to know. With that he let out a small grunt of effort as he carefully re-positioned the woman in his arms, adjusting his hold on her slender frame, before bending down slightly and lowering her trembling body into Byakuya's awaiting, gracefully outstretched arms.

With a shift of petal silk from her kimono and gentle swirl of her dark hair, Daffodil's body was now securely cradled in Kuchiki Byakuya's embrace. She writhed weakly, her fists still clamped tightly over the front of her obi.

Renji wondered how Kuchiki Byakuya, as unreadable as he always was, must feel, holding his wife – or at least, the reborn replica of his deceased wife - after half a century of her absence in his life.

Half a century was a very long time.

"Taichou," Renji said again, looking at his partner. The astute noble was not looking at him, but rather was intently observing the petite female currently curled up against him with narrowed darkened eyes. It was hard to tell what the captain was thinking, as always, but Renji needed some light shed as to what was going on. "What's wrong with her? Is she sick? Should we get a doctor?"

"Renji." Byakuya spoke simply. He had not looked up from the woman. "You recall the man whom you spoke to me of earlier?"

His mind clicked. "The Lord Hoshi guy?" he demanded curiously. "What of him?"

Byakuya did not answer him immediately, and it was within the short silence that Renji finally grasped what his captain was trying to convey.

"He did this to her?" Renji said at last, shocked. "The Hoshi brute? But why? And what exactly did he do?"

There was a soft ding, and the lift came to a stop. The golden doors slid open smoothly, and a disbelieving Renji followed his superior out along the deserted, coldly luxurious corridors of the hotel, the hems of their robes fluttering behind them. Rows of suite doors lined the looming walls, and soft melodious music played in the background, no doubt from electronic speakers situated all around the stretch of ceiling. The woman's whimpers filled the air.

Renji watched as Byakuya turned fluidly towards his own private suite. He was about to follow, only to halt in his tracks on the lushly carpeted floor when the other male turned his raven head slightly, giving him a cool side-glance.

"Investigate this man," he stated evenly. "I want a report regarding his background, family history and lifestyle as soon as you can give it."

"Yes, Taichou," Renji said immediately, bending slightly in a respectful bow. His black eyes darted to the diminutive woman in his superior's arms. She was gasping heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly, and her harsh, breathy pants indicated no signs of subsiding. Her skinny hands were still tugging at her obi, seemingly eager to tear it off. As Renji watched, Byakuya lifted his robed arm slightly – the one supporting her thin shoulders and tussled head - and gently pressed a large masculine hand over her small agitated one, as if to soothe her.

"Should we get a doctor first?" Renji said. "I can call one now. Are you bringing her to your room, Taichou? I'll go get-"

The sensors on the peephole, detecting Byakuya's features, whirred with a barely audible noise, and the tall timber door leading to his suite automatically unlocked.

"She does not require a doctor," Byakuya spoke levelly, already moving into the now opened door of his suite. His voice revealed nothing of what lay behind those impenetrable dark eyes. "At least, that is not her immediate need at the moment. Return to your duties, Renji."

"But, Taichou, I don't understand what you-"

"Exploiting a woman," Byakuya begun quietly, the rich tone of his baritone dangerously flat and emotionless. His grip tightened calmly around Daffodil's tiny body. The pink silk of her kimono hung from his arms in a gentle cascade. "That is the lowest thing a man can do, Renji."

And then the door of the suite had closed, leaving the stunned lieutenant alone outside.

He blinked, and his tattooed face reddened as he, at last, understood what was wrong with Daffodil. Cursing his own stupidity, he headed back to the lift lobby, his footsteps hurried and rushed with embarrassment. Why did he have to be so dense? The signs had been there from the very beginning, he had just been too obtuse to piece them together. Daffodil's breathlessness, her flushed features, the way she had kept trying to remove her kimono…

Blood gushed to his face. Why was he soignorant? Damn, he must have sounded like some lame pussy virgin to his captain, judging by the way he had kept asking and asking what was going on like a blathering fool.

It was no wonder that Kuchiki-Taichou didn't seem keen to let him into his suite. Renji gulped, his ears turning as red as his ponytail. He didn't want to know what was going to ensue inside the suite, even though he had a pretty good idea. Most likely Kuchiki-Taichou was going to administer the, well, cure…

His expression turned grim.

Hoshi. That man was truly lowly indeed, if Kuchiki-Taichou was right about him being the culprit behind Daffodil's current condition. An aphrodisiac, most possibly, was what he had given the helpless girl. Force-fed her, or something. Renji's opinion of the man, which had already been pretty poor, dropped several notches further down. He was utterly disgusted.

Some humans were worse than even Hollows.

The door closed with a click behind them, and Daffodil, through the thick fog permeating her mind, vaguely realized that her savior was gliding through the corridors of the suite; the clean mahogany surface of the walls fleeted past the edges of her blurred vision as they moved. She, however, was too caught up in her drugged-up state to care. She didn't even care that she was in a mysterious man's suite. She didn't care. If anything, the sensation of the hard planes of the male's chest pressing against the side of her shoulders as support was only causing her to spiral further into a frenzied state of sexual delirium.

With his large hand gently but firmly clamped over hers atop her obi, effectively halting her attempt for relief, she was now more aggrieved than ever at the prospect of having her needs denied. With her other – free - hand, she clawed at the opening of his pale blue robes. The rainy, masculine scent of his warmth enveloped her senses, teasing her arousal. She tugged harder, unabashedly, at the material and the silk of his attire had now loosened so that the sleek, marble hardness beneath his chiseled collarbone was exposed. Silky strands of his long ebony mane fell across the smooth expanse of his slender neck. The sight made the insides of her belly clench, and her fingers pulled even more persistently at his haori, eager to tear it off.

Daffodil let out a breathy whine of agitated protest when she suddenly felt her body being carefully lowered onto the soft surface of what felt like a futon. He removed her sandals, freeing her feet. Her annoyance, though, was quickly nulled when she realized that both her hands were now free from his hold… free to satiate herself. She didn't even hesitate.

She removed her vice-like grasp from the crumpled length of his haori, letting him go. He watched through dark, unfathomable eyes as the female turned away from him on the futon. She instantly reached behind for her back, trying to undo her obi with frustrated, clumsy fingers. She felt weak, and the heat throbbing inside her womb like an internal furnace was so verydistracting that, much to her anger, the obi simply refused to budge, no matter how much she strained blindly at it. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she needed to calm down if she wished to successfully undo it, but she was too flustered and impatient to pay any attention to said rationale.

And then a large graceful hand had descended above her obi, gently brushing aside her small trembling palm, and she twisted her neck hastily to look behind at him, her heartbeat racing. Luscious locks of his lengthy black hair fell across her vision, and she arched against his form unconsciously as long dexterous fingers effortlessly moved against the knot of her obi. Eventually, in a few seconds, the pink sash gave way, and she felt the pressure around her waist loosen.

She didn't even bother to remove the rest of her kimono. The tight silk she wore slackened immediately, so that the neckline of the traditional ensemble fell apart from atop her chest, and the width of the cloth was now lowered loosely around her bare creamy shoulders. Daffodil's shaky hands instantly dived desperately for the junction between her legs, swiftly parting the curtains of pink fabric beneath her hips.

She didn't care what the stranger thought of her. Her dignity and pride were crumbling all around her, and the loss made the taste in her mouth strangely bitter. Hoshi had robbed her of that – he had ruined a part of her life that she couldn't ever resuscitate.

She fumbled around, ripping her panties away so that they ended up somewhere along the end of her slender thighs, near where her knees were. The cotton of her undergarment was already sticky and damp with her arousal, and the liquid smeared at her legs as she shoved them down.

Kuchiki Byakuya watched the woman silently. It had been long, over fifty years of solitary nights, since he had seen his delicate wife in the flesh and had had her next to him - and for him to stand before her right now after such a drawn-out stretch of time, watching her breathe, feeling the pulse of her erratic heartbeat when he had held her less than a minute ago, taking in the pink flush of her familiar heart-shaped face, listening to the flustered timbre of her soft voice, seeing her filled with life-

How long had it been since he last held her, let alone bedded her?

He recognized her all too well. She was no doubt the reincarnation of Hisana.

Death had not altered much of Hisana's physical appearance, and fifty years, long and dreary as they had been, had done little to mar his photographic memory of her body. In fact, from where she now sat by him on the futon, his sharp vision easily captured the exposed swells of her small heaving breasts, from where the neckline of her kimono had dipped so far down her lovely chest that the beginnings of the darker shade of her areolas peeked out visibly from beneath the silk. He easily recognized the little birthmark situated right above her nipple, shaped like a tiny cherry blossom petal. Many decades ago, when she had been his, he had traced it with his long fingers often a time during their lovemaking sessions or intimate moments.

But she was not his right now. She did not recognize him.

Daffodil, shaking, was already in the midst of desperately relieving herself; she explored her already moist inner walls, her fingers violently plunging through the thatch of dark curls below and through the opening of her womanhood. It was not as easy to touch herself as it normally was, for her mind was so clouded by lust that she could not focus on her task. Her hand was trembling so much that she was facing difficulty in locating her clit; before long all the fruitless probing only made the muscles of her wrist ache.

And then Kuchiki Byakuya moved.

His slender, adroit hand calmly parted the silk of her open kimono, and she stiffened as she felt his other arm wrap itself around her waist, pulling her securely to him. The sinuous wall of his sleek muscles pressed to the nude flesh of her back, making her shiver,

"Calm yourself," the husky-deep, rich murmur drifted to the sensitive shell of her ear. It sounded like crushed velvet, and she felt her skin tingling. "You will only hurt yourself at this rate."

Daffodil whimpered. His touch felt, oddly enough, assuring and safe, and she knew it was not completely due to the effects of the drug that she was feeling this strangely relenting around him. As a whole, Daffodil generally did not trust men. Her experience with Hoshi so far had sullied her expectations of the opposite sex – security was the last thing she felt around them. And yet she felt like a little child again right now, so vulnerable and so pliant before this entrancing masculine figure.

And so she did not stop him when he quietly slid his large hand down south below the slant of her small abdomen, where the sash of her fallen obi lay in disarray like fluid petals around her outstretched legs. His movements were languid and unhurried, and she panted harder as he approached the darkness of her pubic curls, fingertips skilled and gentle. He stroked her labia, almost teasingly.

"Please," Daffodil whimpered.

He did not make her wait any longer. He curled a long finger, and ever so carefully, slid against her soft opening, and entered her.

She moaned out loud as he, after pausing momentarily to see if she was suffering discomfort and sensing none, added another finger, stretching her. She clutched at his broad shoulder, moaning uncontrollably into him as the talented fingers explored the warm cavern of her channel, thrusting lightly against the tight nether walls. Traces of her saliva were coating his haori, but she was too aroused to care. He most certainly did not show any indication of minding.

It was impossible. It was ridiculous, and yet from the way he was expertly handling her, reaching for her exact spots, it was as if he knew her body better than she did. She banished this notion immediately; he was simply experienced with handling female lovers, she was sure of it. A male of his caliber most certainly had had his share of ex-lovers.

And then his fingers pressed casually right against her clit, and those less than pleasant thoughts vanished from her head; stars seemed to dazzle her eyes at the resulting sensation. It was divine.

Daffodil let out a high-pitched loud moan, almost to the point of a scream. By this point of time she was uncontrollably emitting wanton sounds into his shoulder every now and then, to which she was only half-aware of. The molten pleasure was spiraling and rising in her womb – this was far better than ever touching herself, for his talented fingers effortlessly reached areas she could never access below. Again and again he tapped against her swollen jewel, and she grinded herself hungrily against his fingers.

He stared at her, and she met his piercing silver-grey eyes, darkened with what she was certain was masculine desire and want, hooded by a row of sooty lashes. She continued gazing into him, feeling dazed, both by the rapture brought on by his unfaltering ministrations and by the intensity of his gaze. He was so beautiful, and somewhere in the recesses of her mind she wondered why he looked so familiar…

Byakuya-sama.

She came undone then, and the name, fleeting in her mind, filled her heart at that moment. Her tight channel constricted around his fingers, and she cried out as she spasmed unstoppably, her compressing passage squeezing and clamping down on him. Her little features screwed together, overwhelmed by the staggering peak of her arousal.

And then the ripples of her mind-shattering orgasm began to subside, but he was not done. He gently moved her away from his shoulder, lowered her helpless form fully onto the pillows of the futon, and then bent his raven head between her fiercely quivering legs, stripping her fully of her underwear with slender nimble digits, before tossing the wet fabric somewhere carelessly behind him. With that out of the way, he lowered his dark head and promptly lapped at her nectar with his sculpted lips and sleek, hot tongue. The flexible heat of his feline tongue caressed the fluttering petals of her moist entrance, and then licked unapologetically at the sensitized, blood-filled nub of her throbbing clit amongst her wet walls.

Daffodil screamed again as her orgasm renewed back in full force, and her scream caught at her throat as her body was wracked by blissful contractions, her core pulsating powerfully.

He watched her, his tacit, dark gaze never wavering. Fifty years, and now he was watching her come undone before him.

By the time her second climax faded once more she was reaching blindly for him from where she lay on his bed, eager for him, eager for his masculinity; eager for his manhood. Her tiny hands fumbled at his perfect, smooth hard jawline, and she moved downwards along the elegant neck, wanting to strip him of his clothing. She wanted all of him.

She froze when his large hands closed over her slender wrists gently.

"No," he spoke simply, though his voice had most certainly become huskier. "I will not have you when you are intoxicated."

Daffodil stared at him.

"Please," she whispered.

He gazed at her, his sculpted lips brushing against her fingers. She could feel the moist hint of her juices from the curved slant of his mouth.

And then his large hand closed over her temple, and the last thing she remembered was the glow of mellow light before darkness greeted her consciousness.

"Sleep, little one."

A/N: The Lucky Ones by Lana Del Rey was the soundtrack I listened to while I wrote this chapter, or more specifically, the last scene. I really recommend you guys to listen to it if you would like to get some of my perspective and emotional state when I wrote this. =) It's a beautiful song.