For several minutes, neither of them spoke. The silence's weight pushed on Tsukiko's shoulders, almost loosening her tongue just enough to ask the most basic question of why, but unwillingness to hear what he had to say stilled her. Opening up conversation would only threaten more verbal evidence of the stoicism she'd all too easily stepped into, that she just couldn't hate herself for loving. It was a shield she didn't have to explain, for it simply was. To beat against it would only harden its resistance.

Though he bore his own shield, her captain was the one to break their silence. He moved to the desk that bound them and lay the book in his hands on its surface. Beneath the soft pattering of the now lazy raindrops, the rubbing of his wet clothes was cacophonous, the setting down of the book a clap of thunder.

"I-I—" He cleared his throat, his hoarse words catching. "I am sure you would like an explanation," he said.

Tsukiko inhaled just loud enough to let him know she was listening.

He bowed his head, gathering his thoughts like a bouquet of dead flowers. "Regardless of what you might think or how the circumstances present themselves, know that everything I did was in your best interest. Letting you go—"

Abandoning me, Tsukiko corrected.

"—was not an easy decision by any means. I wanted more than anything to keep you here, but I, too—"

"Captain, am I dismissed?" Tsukiko said, her tone cool.

He dared meet her eyes, and the smallest touch of steel lit his gaze. "I would rather we have this conversation today, Tsukiko-san," he said. "I have just admitted a truth—"

"Captain, am I dismissed?" Tsukiko repeated. She was no longer asking. "I have to get to my shift soon."

So many potential responses crossed his face, but in the end, he chose the one she both most and least wanted to hear: "Fine."

Tsukiko nodded.

"But I ask…" her captain began, pausing for Tsukiko to turn back to him. "I ask that if you have any questions, I be the one to answer them."

She blinked once. "We shall see."

She left the office.

Returning to headquarters held little appeal, but her soaked shihakusho was heavy and cold, so it was reluctantly that Tsukiko came back to the barracks. The rain, even as it calmed, had driven everyone not on duty indoors, so the space was lightly active with squad members waiting before their shift or relaxing on their day off. Without engaging the room's energy but appreciative of its white noise, Tsukiko changed out of her shihakusho; she tried not to think about if she was still expected to launder it and countless others for the next two weeks.

As she lifted her Asauchi from her bunk and tied it to her obi, the barracks' inner doors burst open. "All of you, out!" a sharp voice barked.

A pang pulsed in Tsukiko's chest, right in her heart. Not today. Why did it have to be today and not tomorrow, or never?

But their personal relationship aside, Tsukiko was obliged to obey her lieutenant, and she made for the door as requested. She felt Renji's eyes filter her out from the group, and instantly her new shield straightened her spine and smoothed over her face. However, the one thing it couldn't do was convince Renji to let her leave, and directed without instruction, she moved to the side of the door, letting the last of her squad fellows leave the barracks.

Once they were alone, Renji shut the doors. She at last let her eyes roam over his figure, and it was then she noticed her new sword-cleaning kit under his arm. Another pang hit her chest, but for the life of her she couldn't read this one; the emotion was out of reach, driven away by apathy.

Renji turned to her, but kept a respectful pace between them. He proffered the sword-cleaning kit without looking at her. "I thought it might do you better here than sitting in my office," he said quietly. His eyes never rose to hers.

Tsukiko took the gift. "Thank you," she managed to say.

"Tsukiko, I'm…" Renji said, but he trailed off. He shook his head and backed up further, only to slowly drop down onto his knees, set his hands before him, and bow his head to her in complete prostration. "I am apologize for the trouble and hurt I have caused you," he said. "I acted rashly and hope that one day you can forgive me what I have done."

Before her shield could block it, Tsukiko's eyes widened. It was not the place for it, but flattery filled her stomach at the demonstration of respect and apology—only to sharply fall as something else came to mind. There was no denying Renji had opened up a door that would never again close, but to lower himself before her in a complete kowtow, then beg her forgiveness with language too stiff for his commoner's tongue…. It was a display for someone else. Someone whose face, but not station, she shared.

"Get up, Lieutenant," Tsukiko said, her tone direct.

Moving slowly to complete his apology, Renji rose as instructed.

"You and I both know my parentage now," she said, eyeing him carefully, "but that does not change the fact that I am nobody. Don't offend yourself or me by thinking I'm anything else."

Renji frowned. "Tsukiko, I—"

"Lieutenant, please just stop," she said, heading back to her bunk and stowing the sword-cleaning kit beneath it. "I need to get to my patrol anyway."

"Tsukiko, please hear me out."

"Renji, please." She dared meet his jasper eyes, imploring him to see just how much she could not, would not, change.

A length of hesitancy, and Renji finally stood straight, finding his authority as lieutenant again. "I won't keep you—Hokutan," he said. "But if you can't perform your duties today, I'll take care of it. It's…it's your birthday after all."

Something cracked inside her, though not her shield. Not pausing long enough to find out what it was, Tsukiko nodded once at Renji before pushing out to the engawa.

It was halfway along the familiar route to South Rukongai that Tsukiko jerked hard to the right mid-shunpo. Yelping no matter her newfound shield, she landed hard on her feet, only for the force of the maneuver to knock her into the damp soil. She withheld a bitter sigh and pushed herself up from the ground, trying not to glare at her Asauchi.

I would appreciate it if you didn't get involved in this too, she told it.

Before she could set off, her Zanpaku-to shoved her, and once more she toppled to the ground.

What the hell are you doing? Tsukiko said. She scoffed at the dirt that now covered her once-clean shihakusho. I don't have time for— She cut off the thought as she again was shoved to the right, and she instinctively looked to the ground as her hands caught her fall. It was then she saw her shadow, its slight push to the right, nearly invisible in the weak November sunshine.

Looking up to the gray-white sky for confirmation, Tsukiko found the bright sun doing its best to break through the remaining cloud coverage: it was nearly at its zenith.

She gripped her sword's hilt. She'd never abandoned a post before, but she had a lieutenant's permission to do so, and surely it would be the least her captain could do to forgive her this infraction.

Tightening her grip on her Asauchi, Tsukiko did as directed: she went west.

It was not the homecoming she thought it would be. As soon as she crossed into Hokutan, whatever relief Tsukiko desired was denied her. There was no shedding of the layers that now encased her, returning her to the happy, ignorant girl she was prior to entering the Academy. The Seireitei had hammered into her too much knowledge and the power to question everything, not to mention fight it, as the weight at her hip so kindly reminded her.

The weight only grew as she walked the familiar path to the home she was raised in, her Zanpaku-to not having provided further direction. The wooden planks on the road sank into the earth as she moved down the street, their ends occasionally splashing into puddles that spattered the legs of her uniform with muddy water. Despite the weather, inhabitants and tradespeople splashed their own way through the slippery dirt. They kept their eyes on the road to avoid the worst of the puddles, but the second they noticed the waraji on Tsukiko's feet and the black shihakusho draping the rest of her, it was with a polite bow of the head and a whispered "Shinigami-san" that they moved out of her way.

Yes, it was an impossible task to return to where she'd been, like trying to remove certain rings of a tree without scarring the rest.

Tsukiko's hand grasped the hilt of her Asauchi, and she squeezed it tight for comfort. Why should she even bother hurting herself thinking she was the same person she was almost seven years ago, when she'd entered the Academy? She wasn't even the same person she was two hours ago. The thought was almost enough to threaten her brand new shield, and hating herself for her dependency, Tsukiko leaned heavily on the stoicism that kept her features level and clear. Only the hand on her Asauchi was free of the shield, and she continued to clench it tight around her sword's hilt.

Her Zanpaku-to spirit pushed her to the left in response, though this time it was less of a shove and more like a friend guiding her into another room by the shoulder.

Tsukiko let it lead her toward one of the buildings along the street, and she peered up at it. But the sight clawed at her heart: it was the brown, wooden home in which she'd grown up. If not for the handwritten sign at the door indicating the names of the house's new inhabitants, Baa-san could still be inside, waiting for Tsukiko to come back from whatever errand she'd been on or preparing tea they'd enjoy as Tsukiko recounted her day out with Emi. Maybe even now there was someone upstairs in her old room, lying in the same corner where Tsukiko used to unroll her futon at night. Or maybe they were looking out the window, disregarding the Shinigami in the street as they squinted into the distance at Mount Koifushi's mist-covered form.

Tsukiko's throat began to constrict, but her Zanpaku-to pushed her once more, this time away from the house and in the direction of that hazy mountain.

Why? she said, tiredly observing the sword's handguard; it was still a round oval, classic to all Shinigami without a true Zanpaku-to.

Her only answer was renewed shoving.

Mount Koifushi shone in the slowly strengthening sun, though the leaves that just weeks earlier made it a chest of autumn-colored jewels were long gone, leaving the mountain tinted in shades of gray and a white dusting of snow at its peak. In an effort not to fall in the ever-increasing mud puddles, Tsukiko glanced infrequently at the mountain. Besides, there was no sign marking the trails ahead, making it near impossible to distinguish the paths that led into the forested foothills from those that led right to the mountain's peak. Regrettably, she didn't have any memories that could direct her either: Baa-san's age had never brought them to Mount Koifushi, nor had Tsukiko ever been the mountaineering kind.

The same didn't apply to her Zanpaku-to, however. Onward it drove her until Tsukiko stopped for a breather somewhere at the edge of Mount Koifushi's deeper forests. Her Zanpaku-to spirit again pushed her, this time with more urgency, but she shook her head. I need a minute, she told it. Why are you even doing this?

Her Zanpaku-to only continued to push her until she at last headed further up the trail.

As she walked on, the late morning sunlight finally filtered through the lace of tree branches overhead, most of their leaves having shed in the weeks prior. The leaves that remained were little more than gray husks in the dying autumn. The only exceptions were the bright green boughs of the occasional evergreen. A wet path of shed twigs, acorns, and pine needles covered the trail, and the place smelled of mulch, the cold weather staving off the stench of proper rot. The occasional splash of rain dripped from the branches onto Tsukiko's head, stinging her scalp with frigid water. Among the trees, no breeze could touch her.

At one point, as if at random, her Zanpaku-to pushed her straight off the trail. Don't get me lost, Tsukiko told it, though she couldn't help but feel that getting lost in Mount Koifushi's forest couldn't be so bad; it would certainly make it less likely for her to encounter anyone else ever again. She pressed further into the forest, and something secretive began to make her skin prickle. Despite her pounding heart, there wasn't anything suspicious or untrustworthy about the sensation. If anything, the eerie setting felt familiar somehow, though that was impossible. How could she know what she'd never seen or experienced?

Her Zanpaku-to offered no explanation, moving her into the forest until the trees were growing so close together that only the occasional burst of light broke through their branches. The mulch scent intensified, and Tsukiko gripped the sword's hilt once more, asking, this time out loud, "When will we stop?"

As if it had been waiting for her to ask, three steps later a strong sensation not at all her own urged her to stop. Obediently Tsukiko stood still, right in the middle of a clearing just big enough for her to extend her arms without touching anything.

Tsukiko quietly observed the clearing. "What do you want to show me?" she asked.

Her Zanpaku-to remained silent.

An idea slowly came to her: if her Zanpaku-to could no longer interact with her, maybe she could still interact with it, especially if it had gone through all the trouble of leading her out here. "I see a…pine tree," Tsukiko said looking to her left at a tall evergreen. "I can't see the top of it, it's so tall."

No reaction.

She moved to the next tree. "This one's also a pine," she said, eyeing the tree's needles. "It's not nearly as tall as the other, but it's healthy—"

Her Zanpaku-to shoved her once away from the tree.

Her heart began to pound. "Okay, um, this next one's a beech, I think. It's wide—"

Again her Zanpaku-to shoved her, as it did for another pine, a pair of tall firs, and a hop hornbeam.

"This isn't working," Tsukiko said. Letting out a sharp exhale, she sat on the ground before another beech, resting her Asauchi beside her. "I can't have you shoving me so much…."

She breathed in the piney, wet smell of the forest and closed her eyes, pushing away the frustration of interacting with her Zanpaku-to. She was onto something, but it was still just out of reach, like her arm wasn't long enough to grasp what she needed.

The captain will know—

She immediately cut off the thought and the pair of gray eyes on the other end of it. She was focusing on her Zanpaku-to and nothing else, especially not today.

…Except the thought brought on a memory from her first meditation session: Remind yourself only once to think about the sword on your lap. If you do remind yourself again, acknowledge the thought and move on. It is not your primary focus.

Hating herself for taking that man's advice, especially now, Tsukiko unsheathed her Asauchi and laid it across her lap. "Be gentle…" she said as she closed her eyes.

You and I are one, she said to her Zanpaku-to. I see what you see and you see what I see. We live together and dwell together, in this forest as anywhere else.

Her heart began to pound again with each word as it came to her. Her thoughts flowed from one to the other, passing the torch of focus from the cold ground pushing through her shihakusho, to her heartbeat, to the calming scent of the forest. With each detail, more and more grew a sense of familiarity she couldn't shake, like there was something on the tip of her tongue she wanted to say but didn't have the words for because the words weren't hers to begin with. In an effort to find them, she spoke again to her Zanpaku-to, giving them prompt after prompt to find each other.

And it began to work.

You led me to the forest but I was the one to carry you here. In that we are one.

Her heart pounded harder.

You must love the trees so I will love the trees. I do not know your reasons to love them but I have my own and so we are united.

Her hands began to dig at her knees.

This is our forest and our journey. We will learn together. I want to teach you as you teach me. We are teachers and students.

An image began to form in her mind's eye, little more than a metallic glowing.

You shine. Let me shine too.

The glowing brightened.

What is your name? Please let me hear you.

There was no refining the glow into a shape or form; it only became something blindingly bright.

I will listen to anything you say because I am you. What is your name?

Something began to push up from her very toes.

What is your name?

It pushed up from her toes, through her stomach, up her throat—

What is your name!

Out her mouth—

"KI!" Tsukiko shouted, the word heaving from her as if the act was near Sisyphean. As she heard her own voice say the word aloud, simultaneously a young, masculine voice yelled it within her. Like they were one.

Immediately Tsukiko's eyes shot open, and a force whipped her head and body to the left. She threw her hands out to catch herself, planting them firmly on the wet soil. As she drew in deep breaths, Tsukiko pulled to her the sight before her, but…this couldn't be right. Not because of what had happened, but because of the tree her Zanpaku-to had pointed her to. It wasn't even really a tree, but a craggy, half-dead trunk with shaggy bark—a black birch. The remnants of rhombic leaves curled into themselves along the trunk's branches, whose peeling bark would have revealed bright yellow and cream had the tree still been alive. Along the lower branches and within the hollows that had decayed themselves into the trunk grew clumps of golden mushrooms, their caps marked in the center by brown spots that resembled burnt sugar.

Ki, her Zanpaku-to repeated, his voice sounding just as winded as she felt.

Tree, it meant. Apt, considering she was staring at a tree, but the issue was that this wasn't a tree. It was one that was dying—no, rotting.

…A rotting tree.

"W-why…" Tsukiko said aloud, tears she didn't remember developing breaking their dam of focus. "You…oh, hell, you knew too…."

The reality of her life going forward brought more tears that cruelly softened into weeping. She curled her into herself like the leaves of the dying tree, her Zanpaku-to left forgotten, even as he repeated the word ki over and over again in pure apology. No matter how much she called Hokutan home, she was not a Rukon rat and never had been. She was a rotting tree.

She was a Kuchiki.