A/N: Hey peeps, it's been a while (Little Miss Leaf-Chaser's family members kept having ship events/I got nailed with a bout of imposter syndrome). Thankfully a while is over, so here is the penultimate (and longest |D) chapter of The Heiress! I can't believe it's almost over!

CW: This chapter contains descriptions of blood, bodily injury, and injury aftercare

It was not the morning he had anticipated, but neither had he expected the last few months to play out as they did. But in spite of the all of four hours of sleep and desperate prayer to Hisana keeping him upright, he was more than prepared for the confrontation awaiting him after drills. He'd checked, rechecked, then triple-checked the schedule, and if Tsukiko was as punctual as he'd been led to believe, she was due to clean the bathrooms after drills. He'd find her standing there, sleeves and hair tied back as she scrubbed a sink or mopped the floors. He'd excuse her to his office, where he'd present her the transfer request form, retrieved just the night before, and demand she listen to him. She would, because it would be different this time, and by the end of the conversation they'd remember they were father and daughter somewhere in the grand mess of it all, and that would be the last of it.

He supposed that at some point in the afternoon he should also order Renji a bonsai tree as thanks for his horrendous kanji. Who would have believed that this smallest of details would bar Tsukiko's transfer request from leaving the mailroom? The unlikely hero, his lieutenant was.

Byakuya rapidly blinked into the dregs of his morning tea. Another thing: right after ordering the bonsai, he would retire straight to bed before he called Renji a hero again.

With progress just around the corner, Byakuya left his teacup and rose from the table. He glanced at the wall panel that separated the sitting room from his bedroom, but it was easy enough to visualize the room beyond it, the wardrobe against the far wall, its topmost shelf, the portrait he meticulously dusted himself each week.

"I'm leaving, Hisana," he said, only to start when his voice mutely ricocheted off the wall panel instead of fell into the depths of the wardrobe. Yes, sleep, though only once his work was done. "I ask not for your strength, but for your love. I—we—both need it."

He let his prayer hover, then turned from the wall panel toward the entryway.

But moments later, he stopped after setting but one foot on the stone path leading from his quarters. The crisp morning bit at his hands, but the sensation was not so great as it thought, and even the gray clouds above were a still, harmless mass. No, it was not the weather, but something deeper. A mild humming that for all its quiet did not go unheard. It buzzed away at the fringe, but in Senbonzakura's silence, he only had greater attunement.

The squad, Byakuya said to himself as he read the humming. The specifics were beyond him, but there wasn't a great force in the air. It was contained, if not within headquarters than only to the immediate surrounding areas.

So it would be dealt with swiftly. He had a morning to plow through.

The humming steadily grew as Byakuya approached the training field, finally becoming audible once he drew close enough to hear the chatter of the squad members. For the most part they were reserved, tired and shivering in the cold, but there was mild activity from a circle of Shinigami gathered near the barracks. Byakuya eyed one squad member gesturing to her foot, those around her rapt with attention. Had he considered his own attention worth expending on the display, he might have rolled his eyes. Already he could imagine the story: an animal had somehow made it onto the grounds, did as animals are bound to do, and someone had stepped in it. Was this really how his squad members amused themselves these days? Was life just that boring that they resorted to crudities for a cheap thrill?

Just as he was about to disperse the circle, a burst of Shinigami came from the barracks, looking distinctly disgruntled but bringing even more of that humming into the frigid morning. From them ran a lone shape, which after a moment Byakuya realized was heading right for him.

"Captain," Honda panted as he approached. He bowed low. "As you might have heard, there was a disturbance this morning in the barracks."

Byakuya narrowed his eyes. That would do it, a "disturbance." "I regret to inform you I have yet to hear of anything of the sort, Honda," he said coolly. "Is it worth my interference?"

"It's already being dealt with, sir, but—"

"Then you are dismissed." As he thought: but the hyperactive imaginations of idle soldiers.

"But sir—"

"To your position, Honda," Byakuya ordered, turning his back to the man. "Do not make me repeat myself."

Byakuya did not wait for the man's confirmation and moved to the edge of the field. Some Shinigami were already in their assigned spots on the frozen grass, waiting for drills to begin, but the majority were still in those forsaken groups. Was he really expected to break up gossip? Where was Renji to do it? He was lower—oh, fine, closer—to the squad by far.

And come to think of it, where was Tsukiko?

"Assemble!" Byakuya fired out to the squad. Reluctantly they began to pull from their groups and fall into their assigned spots around the field. Still that incessant humming buzzed through the air. This was getting ridiculous, and of all mornings for it to happen.

"Cease your pathetic chatter," Byakuya ordered. "Whatever occurred this morning cannot possibly be of such concern. The petty matters of the barracks are just that, petty. I will not have my squad falling to pieces during a patrol or invasion thanks to some nonsensical gossip floating about." He narrowed his eyes at the squad members before him. At last the field went silent, but the humming had not abated in the least; their sudden silence was fraught with what could only be the anticipation of the lecture's end and the return to whatever nonsense had them so enraptured.

Ridiculous, Byakuya repeated to himself. "Any more distractions, and you will receive laps, one each for all those involved," he warned. "Am I cl—"

"Tai chi, now!" Renji shouted, suddenly appearing beside him. Byakuya turned to his lieutenant in disbelief, but there was a spark in Renji's eyes that stopped him from putting him in his place too.

Byakuya turned back to the squad; at his gaze, they at once fell from their own surprise into an assortment of stretches.

"Explain yourself this instant," Byakuya said in a low voice.

"Sorry, Captain." Renji sighed heavily. "Turned out they needed a little more 'motivation' in the barracks—"

"Did a garganta open atop someone's bunk?" Byakuya said. "I see no reason why anything shy of that should drag even you down into whatever idiocy has gripped the squad."

Renji blinked rapidly, and it was all Byakuya could do not to declare laps right then and there. "Captain," Renji said quietly, not at all helping his case, "Honda didn't tell you?"

"He informed me that some nonsense was being taken care of and I sent him away. I haven't the patience for the details."

"Oh, sir," Renji said, his voice suddenly—was that pity? Actual pity? As if he was the fool?

"Abarai, give me one reason not to send your right back to your office for the next three weeks," Byakuya warned. "What happened this morning?"

Renji sighed deeply before bowing his head, his hands held stiff at his sides as if delivering the news of the century. Honestly now—

"Sir, Tsu—Hokutan was injured by her Zanpaku-to spirit overnight," Renji said quietly.

Byakuya jerked back as if pushed, but something like habit had him straighten just as quickly.

"I'm sorry, sir," Renji continued. "I couldn't get a good look at her injuries, but she was alert and insisted she take herself to the Fourth. I sent everyone out save the ones who're cleaning the barracks. I told them they were excused—"

"What do you mean, 'cleaning'?" Byakuya looked out at the field. "Where is Tsukiko now? Why didn't you see to her injuries?"

Renji waited until Byakuya met his gaze. "Hokutan is at the Fourth, sir," he said, even more quietly than before. "There...there was a lot of blood."

Something pierced his heart, but he forced himself to push the sensation away. "Blood?"

"Yes, but like I said, she was alert and should be—"

"But she needed the Fourth."

"Yes." Renji furrowed his brow. "Captain, do you need me to take over?"

Byakuya inhaled sharply. "Unnecessary." He turned away from Renji. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, but as he stretched out a thin sheet of reiatsu, it could be the only possible thing that had happened, because Tsukiko wasn't on the field or anywhere else. Moreover, the squad was still gossiping away, thinking themselves safe from further warning now that they were warming up and supposedly on task. Now that he knew what to listen for, it was easy to pull in snippets of detail, about how tense Tsukiko had been, that she had refused help, that there was blood all over the floor, her bed, her limbs.

What had her Zanpaku-to done? How had she even managed to bring herself to the Fourth in such a state?

Why wasn't he with her right now?

Byakuya stopped at the edge of the field, slowly turning to face his squad. Other than that incessant humming, everything was still in place. His squad's over-productive rumor mill could be tamed. It didn't have to build up the panic that he most certainly did not feel. He could always just wait for Tsukiko to return, pick up the plan right where it had been left in tatters on the ground. But in the meantime...

Hisana watch over her please I beseech you—he cut himself off. Tsukiko would make it, especially if she was capable of bringing herself. Unless she was collapsed on a street somewhere, or bleeding out just feet from the Fourth—

He shook his head. No, Tsukiko was fine. She had to be. She was not Hisana.

"Captain."

Byakuya turned to face Renji. Stability emanated from the man in lifelines, and Byakuya grabbed at them. When had that happened, this reversal of roles? No, never mind. Let one of them have some semblance of control this morning.

Renji moved closer. "If you need to go, I can hold the fort," he said quietly. "Parents should be there for their kids."

That was crossing a line, but he didn't lunge. Because that's what this came down to, the truth Senbonzakura had been dancing around in the only language he knew how to express—and whose fault had that been?

"She would not appreciate it," Byakuya said at last, only to start at the simplicity of his words. They fell out not in a jumble, but smooth, as if practiced. It took him a moment more to realize they were, for his heart was still racing and his stomach roiling. But he'd spoken, and his words were true.

Byakuya waved Renji into the field, and they moved out in opposite directions to monitor the squad. Or so Byakuya told himself he was doing, much as he was overseeing without comprehending the practice around him. The squad's movement was enough, no matter the nature of the training itself. Because that's what it was all about, wasn't it? The goal. The here on out. Something even vaguely resembling success.

Besides, he was Tsukiko's father, and as such he was honoring her wish for distance. She'd return once discharged from the Fourth, and at that point he'd hear the truth or whatever iteration of it she chose to give. She owed him that as his underling.

But he didn't want a captain's knowledge, did he? And certainly he didn't want to hear half-truths or lies, right? He wanted to hear it from the horse's mouth what had sent Tsukiko to the Fourth. And he'd chase that horse down until it spoke.

Beside him, a squad member's outstretched arm cut into his line of vision.

Steeling himself, he reluctantly returned to the edge of the training field.

The opening calisthenics morphed into clashing swords, but the blows remained background noise. Yes, chase her, but what about what he'd already spoken aloud? That desire to give her space? The exact opposite of his original plan, the one set in place over his morning tea and even earlier than that, when he'd finally felt that spike of triumph after hours of sifting through the mail. One plan was guaranteed to bring Tsukiko even some sense of happiness, but the other was too, even if it wasn't as easy to relay. She just didn't know how to see it because she didn't see him as a father.

But she would. That was the entire point of forcing her to listen. He was making this better, she'd see.

The ringing metal morphed into Kido blasts. The sound tore at his eardrums, causing his eyes to blink in reflex, but he forced himself to listen. Yes, he could do it, and so would she. If he—he—could change, then she could too. It would be better this time.

Something steadfast grew in Byakuya's chest, a mighty tree too experienced to bow to the wind. So it would be. He caught Renji's eye across the field, noted the firm nod that marked the transfer of authority.

Seconds later, the cacophony of the field relented to the bite of winter, made all the more fierce for the speed of his shunpo.

For a place that saw more death and bloodshed than even the Eleventh, Squad Four's main hospital carried an unshakeable sense of peace. To be expected, with all the healing conducted within its walls, but not once had the place thought to crumble under the weight of so much hope. It was impervious to such a thing.

The hospital, a large white building that spread out rather than rose up, did not even shudder as Byakuya came into view before it. It was a squat mother opening her arms to those in need of an extra bandage, an emergency appendectomy, a tender kiss atop a fresh bruise. Always there, no matter how many times the members of Squad Eleven ruined themselves or those from Squad Twelve tested the untestable. Really, there were no tall buildings at Squad Four, with only the distant office building daring to stretch another two stories above the ground floor, and even then with the uttermost humility. Anything more imposing was reserved for places beyond, those that didn't consider so much as the possibility of a gentle touch.

Slowing his pace in lieu of bowing his head, Byakuya pushed open the doors to the hospital and proceeded to the front desk. It was manned by a Shinigami actively scribbling on the corner of a notebook page littered with older writing and stained with what looked like drops of dark tea. The bags under her eyes evidenced a graveyard shift, but Byakuya ignored whatever sympathy he might have felt.

"Is Hokutan Tsukiko still under your care?" he asked.

The receptionist flinched hard, and her pen skittered across her paper. "W-who asks?" she stammered, only to look up and yelp when she saw the captain looming over the desk.

"Hokutan Tsukiko, I repeat, is she still under your care?"

The receptionist rapidly blinked. "I-I can't share that unless—"

"Hokutan Tsukiko, Shinigami of the Gotei Thirteen, member of Squad Six, recent patient of Squad Four. I hardly have to tell you who I am in relation to her, do I?"

The receptionist audibly gulped, and as if of its own volition, her hand reached for the computer mouse atop the desk. Some taps at the keyboard, and after confirming the details, she looked back at Byakuya. "S-she is still here, sir."

"What room?

"I can't—"

"You can, and you will."

"R-room zero-seven-eight, Captain," the receptionist stammered. "L-light emergency wing. The second right down the hall."

With hardly a nod of approval, Byakuya pushed through the door to the side of the reception desk, walking into a brightly lit hallway that even at this early hour buzzed with Squad Four members in face masks and Shinigami in varying states of disrepair. Light emergency wing. That meant she'd either been moved there from high emergency or the stories of her bloodshed had been exaggerated. Byakuya wasn't sure which he thought more true.

He hastened past a particularly green Shinigami holding a bucket in front of him after consulting the map hanging on the wall behind him. Room 078 was a straight shot from here, at the very end of the wing. He almost extended his reiatsu to confirm his destination, but thought better of it. It would hardly be appropriate. He was chasing a horse, not hunting it.

At last he found room 078 and came to stand before the door. This was it then. The final stretch of distance. The last bit of space between him and his daughter.

He opened the door.

He came face to face with a Squad Four member's back, the man seated on a low stool as he healed his patient's—Tsukiko's—left foot. Laying out on a hospital bed, her right elbow rested on a tower of pillows that raised her hand above her head. Both she and the healer glanced at the door when Byakuya entered, though where the healer deferred his surprise to a humble bow, Tsukiko's shock was wrangled behind a familiar mask, and she found a spot on the floor to stare at.

"Captain Kuchiki, I'm still working on Hokutan-san," the healer began. "If you would like to wait outside, I will call you back in—"

"That won't be necessary," Byakuya said, cutting the man off. He had not looked away from Tsukiko—was she paler than usual, rendered white by blood loss? "I understand Hokutan came in at least an hour ago. Why is she only receiving treatment now?"

Tsukiko's brow raised ever so slightly as the healer responded. "There was a delay, sir, but I can assure you Hokutan-san's injuries are no longer life-threatening."

No longer life-threatening. No longer.

Tsukiko snorted, and for a moment her mask betrayed a sneer. It was just as rapidly hidden once more.

The healer looked between them, but Byakuya nodded firmly. "Carry on," he directed, moving to the only other chair in the room, a rickety wooden stool that may well have been in use for decades.

With another bow, the healer turned back to Tsukiko. He pulled his Kido away from her foot, revealing angry red slashes that crisscrossed soft skin and calluses alike beneath a layer of dried blood. The wounds were not bleeding, but finding some incompletion in his healing, the healer returned the Kido to Tsukiko's foot. Byakuya shifted his gaze up to Tsukiko's hand, the palm of which he now saw was similarly cut. Lines of dried blood stained her skin, having streamed down far enough that they disappeared beneath her sleeve. Among them, one line shone bright, slowly but actively bleeding from a large cut beneath her index finger. Clearly the healer had not yet attended to her hand, but that it bled so little now was at least some reassurance. No longer life-threatening, he repeated to himself. If Tsukiko had other injuries, she did not behave as if they were there.

"I was informed that this was the work of your Zanpaku-to," Byakuya said evenly.

Still staring at the floor, Tsukiko mumbled, "Yes sir."

His heart sank. Even if it wasn't the nature of a Zanpaku-to spirit to be vicious and cruel, some abilities were inherently more dangerous. He knew which Senbonzakura had been, and he could only hope the blade resting beside Tsukiko's bed was forged from gentler steel.

"I won't ask you to share specifics," Byakuya said, "but I would inquire if you have learned your Zanpaku-to's name."

Tsukiko pursed her lips. "He hasn't changed form, sir," she said quietly.

"He?" Byakuya scrutinized the sword more close; indeed, it was still the shape of an average Asauchi.

"He," Tsukiko confirmed. She did not elaborate.

The healer pulled back his Kido again, and Tsukiko's foot appeared significantly more pink than red this time, dried blood aside. Satisfied, the healer rose from his stool to pick through a cabinet positioned against the wall. He pulled out sterile cloths and a sufficient length of bandages, and after wetting one of the cloths in the sink, he returned to Tsukiko's foot.

Byakuya closed his eyes when Tsukiko winced during the washing away of the blood. "She will recover?" he said, as if it would make a difference.

"Yes sir," the healer said. There was a confident, reassuring smile in his tone. "All of your injuries should heal quickly, Hokutan-san, but your foot especially will be rather tender for the next few weeks."

"Thank you," Tsukiko said not unkindly, even through her clenched teeth. "Although I'm sure Captain Kuchiki has better things to do than listen to the prospect of my discomfort."

"I am not bored," Byakuya said. "How long will she be away from work?"

"No longer than two weeks," the healer said as he finished bandaging Tsukiko's foot. "I understand that may seem long, but if possible, Captain Kuchiki, it would be best if Hokutan-san walked around as little as possible in that time. No patrols, no Hakuda or Hoho practice, and perhaps—"

"And perhaps I don't need any other special treatment," Tsukiko said, her tone polite but rushed. "Nothing that happens in my life should be any reason to interrupt Captain Kuchiki's status quo."

Byakuya closed his eyes again. She was still running, but he'd catch up with her. He'd already come so far in just the last few hours, even if she refused to look behind her.

The healer did not speak again as he moved from Tsukiko's foot to her hand. The healing went much faster, with the healer commenting on the shallower cuts. By the time he was finished, Tsukiko's palm looked almost normal save for the overly pink glow about it. With expertise the healer cleaned and bandaged her hand, but no sooner had he pulled away than Tsukiko swung both legs over the bed and ducked down to the floor to grab the tabi sock and waraji she'd removed for the healing.

"Wait, Hokutan-san, not yet," the healer said as he rose from his stool. He set a tentative hand on Tsukiko's arm. For the first time, Byakuya sensed she might have a bit of Rukia in her, too: the air instantly froze, and Tsukiko herself went completely still.

The healer steeled himself into the kind of authority known only to medical professionals. "I need to have you sign a few papers before clearing you," he said. "One of them outlines how best to care for your wounds—that includes not rushing out of rooms." He glanced back at Byakuya. "Captain Kuchiki, if you wish to leave—"

"I do not."

The healer paused as if considering something, but said nothing more and bowed from the room. Even when the door clicked shut, Tsukiko did not move from her position, her long hair cascading before her face like a thick black curtain.

But where the clicking of the door merely bounced off Tsukiko, Byakuya found it echoing in his ears. Pulsing down his veins. Sending his heart to beat double time. He had to be quick. Now or never.

"I know how it must seem," he began in a low voice, "but I am not cornering you."

Tsukiko didn't react. Her arm still hung down, her fingers not touching the medically pristine floor.

"I will begin by saying I won't stop you from leaving or cutting off contact, but before you go, I insist we have one last conversation."

Tsukiko's head curved inward as she withdrew further into her hair.

"An actual conversation, Tsukiko. In which both parties speak."

A pause, when finally she said, "I have nothing to say to you."

Byakuya sat straighter. "But I have something to say to you."

The curtain of hair rose and then fell as she sighed. "Save yourself the effort, Captain," she said. "For your sake."

"I apologize for making you feel less than," he pressed on. "Especially in our latest interactions, I have let my emotions get the best of me. Even when I thought I was doing the right thing, nothing I did was fair to you. Not in the least. That is why just last night I stopped your transfer request from going through—so we can replace it with one that better reflects your qualities."

The curtain halted its swaying, then fell away as Tsukiko sat upright. "What do you want, Captain?" she said evenly.

He shook his head. "I want nothing but to give you something, if you would take it."

"Why would I take it?"

"Because it's something you want—answers."

"I have them already. And if I don't, I don't need them."

"So you think." He exhaled slowly. "It came as a tremendous shock, you know. When between the visits from Squad Four and the family elders—"

"Captain—"

"—we learned that it wasn't an advancement in your mother's illness—"

"I don't want to hear it—"

"—but that she was expecting."

Tsukiko closed her eyes. "Captain, don't. Please just...don't."

"If I am honest, I don't recall how it even happened—"

"Stop, just stop," Tsukiko growled, bits of the Kuchiki mask falling from her features. "Do you understand that learning more only makes it worse?"

Byakuya frowned. "I'm giving shape to your past, Tsukiko," he said.

"I don't want you to." Her eyes met his at last, and there was something crackling behind them.

"You need to hear it," Byakuya insisted. You need to hear me. "It's your history, and there is no reason for me to hoard it. Just after you—"

"Captain, I don't want it," Tsukiko repeated, yet more of her mask falling away as her jaw clenched around her words. "You're embarrassing yourself."

"I don't care."

"Of course you don't." Tsukiko rolled her eyes, and the last bits of her mask were shed. "What have I done that makes you think fighting harder will work? Again, Captain Kuchiki, since you so clearly need to hear it a thousand times over, what you have done has never been about anyone but you. You couldn't handle the responsibility of a child, and now you're here forcing me back to make yourself feel better. You don't care about me in the least, and I don't care about what you have to say. Nothing will make me think otherwise."

He narrowed his eyes. "And you don't think that is selfish as well?"

"I'm protecting myself from what comes next!" Tsukiko shouted, slamming her uninjured fist on the bed. Her eyes flashed as Byakuya opened his mouth to respond. "You're a powerful Shinigami but a weak and hurtful man, and I have been on the receiving end of your cruelty too many times for me to fall into any false sense of security. You might have wrapped your words up nice and pretty, but you don't give me anything but a bomb that's going to blow up in my face and make it even worse."

"I—"

"No, just stop! I don't want to know anything about you, or what was going through your head, or anything about my supposedly precious roots. Absolutely nothing—"

And like someone had pressed pause in the middle of her life, Tsukiko went stiff and utterly, completely silent.

Byakuya's brow slowly fell in concern. "Tsukiko?" he said quietly.

His inquiry she did not receive. Rather, her eyes began to widen in some sort of surprise, though the looseness of her mouth conveyed more of a bewilderment. She raised her right hand, staring at the bandages.

"Tsukiko," Byakuya repeated, "what is it?"

She didn't respond. The only motion was her eyes falling down her leg to her injured foot, her lips moving through voiceless syllables.

"Answer me, Tsukiko," Byakuya said, rising from the rickety stool and moving to Tsukiko's side. "Are you hurt?"

Slowly, she shook her head, then snapped her head back up: the Kuchiki mask had returned in full force. Her eyes were more subdued, but no matter her renewed resolve, the radiant, angry light behind them had not gone out entirely. Before he could stop himself, the thought that she would one day learn to hide it came to mind.

Byakuya swallowed once. "Are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded once, silent and definitive.

He exhaled. And he would learn to accept her anger. He had to. Long before she'd raced down the halls of Squad Six headquarters, black hair flying behind her as she chased that friend of hers, she'd become her own person, free from him and all he would not do for her. He had no authority here, no pride to claim when it was Tsukiko's alone. Perhaps Ichigo and Ichika had found their breakthrough, but that didn't mean he and Tsukiko would find theirs. Never see her again, Hisana had told him. Because it was only a dream.

Now it was his turn for his eyes to widen. That was it. Hisana's words weren't a premonition or warning, but a fantasy, a nightmare he'd made true when he found a fitting coincidence. And firmly awake, Tsukiko was desperately trying to course-correct him back into consciousness.

A break inside his chest. A catharsis as he finally saw the plan, whatever that was anymore, for what it actually was: letting go of the night, giving in to the sunrise.

"I see I've exhausted all efforts," he said quietly, defeatedly.

She did not respond.

With a sense of finality, Byakuya nodded to his daughter. "You're angry, and I won't try to take that or anything else from you again," he murmured. "I promise you."

She did not react, only stared at him with that near impeccable mask.

Behind him, a soft knock announced the healer's return. It wasn't until the door had swung open that Tsukiko looked away, but still he did not move his eyes from the pale skin of her face, or the black sheen of her hair that fell carefree in an elegant cascade. She'd been born utterly bald. Now her hair was an undeniable feature. Just like her gray eyes and the straight descent of her nose, her horrendous snoring, her desire to become a well-rounded Shinigami. Even the bandage wrapped around her right hand, concealing the efforts of her Zanpaku-to to communicate and, just maybe, her attempts to listen.

"Alright, Hokutan-san, you're all set," the healer said, his overly chipper tone cutting through what he knew better than to acknowledge. He handed Tsukiko a small folder, and she took it with her uninjured hand as he set about easing her foot back into its sock. "That contains all the details about how to properly clean and dress your wounds, as well as all activities that you should avoid." At this, he looked over his shoulder at Byakuya and bowed his head. "The folder also contains a formal medical leave slip, sir. As I said, two weeks away from vigorous activity and preferably any tasks that require excessive standing or writing. My apologies, sir, but it is best for the patient."

"It will be done." Byakuya said.

The healer cleared his throat. "Hokutan-san will also need help back to Squad Six, sir. I wouldn't ask you to take her, so I can call someone else to do it."

Nonsense was the word that came to mind, but Byakuya knew better than to trust it or any other word now. He simply nodded his affirmation.

This healer deserved an award for his smarts, for the man's only response was to bow, offer Tsukiko a final warning to mind her wounds, and leave the room.

Byakuya turned back to Tsukiko; her waraji, too tight for her injured foot, was dangling from her uninjured left hand. "Once you return to headquarters," he said, "we will sign the necessary documents, and then you are free." He let his gaze hover for her confirmation, but she was staring straight ahead. Her mask was still up, but if it were even possible, more of the anger in her eyes had pulled back—though only just. The prospect of leaving the hospital's shelter diverting her attention, then, especially with the chill awaiting outside. It couldn't be anything else, because telling himself it could be would only make the return of the truth harder to swallow.

Just as he turned toward the hall, he heard a mumble, and he looked back upon realizing it was Tsukiko.

"Captain," she repeated, spurred on without his inquiry.

He felt himself tense, pushed the reaction away. "Yes?"

There was a shift in Tsukiko's features, a movement that drew close to her lips as if forming words. Many of them. But as Tsukiko opened her mouth, the would-be speech fell away. "Thank you" was all she said.

Words, thousands of them, came to mind, pressed against his tongue and lips, but he held them inside. All of them were right, just as they were all wrong. He and Tsukiko were beyond them now.

He left the room.