Year Four: Winter
The winds lash hard and fast, cutting through layers of thick padding, silks, skin, muscle, sinew, and bone. When they pick up, it becomes hard to breathe; its current is too sharp, too suffocating. Byakuya isn't sure whether it is the fatigue of hard practice or the fatigue of existing in these severe conditions that has him beaten.
Such a pity, too. Before last night's winter storm, an early spring seemed imminent. The buds of several peach trees are now coated in a thick layer of ice, condemning the flowers to an early grave before they ever had the chance to unfurl.
Breath smokes in a long trail as Byakuya tests his right hand. Pain. The cold numbs it, but he feels a dull sizzle with each squeeze.
Flexing his hand into a tight fist, several drops of blood land in the snow. The heat turns the crystals to pink slush. Carefully, Byakuya inspects his gloved hand. The fabric is split across the middle of his palm. Unable to see much beyond the padding, he strips off the material to find that Senbonzakura has slit the meat of his hand wide open. The gash spans from just beneath his index finger to his wrist.
'Train in inclement conditions, Byakuya,' his mentor's voice sing-songs in his head.
Well, here he is, training in the middle of a figurative wind tunnel. He wasn't daft enough to think he could out-maneuver his nascent bankai in these conditions, but hubris, perhaps, convinced him that his shikai would behave. Senbonzakura, however, appeared to have other ideas. Always more lessons left to teach him.
Staring into the wound, Byakuya's heart clenches tight as the fist that he's making for a beat. Then, it skips. The dead space between two heartbeats unsettles him. Perhaps he was unsettled before now. The injury is starting to look less like a wound and more like an indictment of a lapse in resolve.
Even in these conditions, he hasn't struggled to control his shikai in a very long while. Something must be awry. But, what?
Frowning, Byakuya inhales a long breath and stares into the frosted pines that surround him. What is different?
His family is as they always are: scheming. Their schemes—though he can feel them begin to coalesce and take shape—have been fleeting things like shadows that flicker in the corner of your eye but that scatter as soon as you turn to gaze at them head-on. Grandfather has been preoccupied as of late with squad duties. Apparently, there has been some dissident activity in the far-flung reaches of the Rukon, which has caused a swirl. There is always some form of danger lurking here or in the World of the Living. Souls are restless creatures.
Then, there is Hisana….
As punishment for the illicit card game, the Academy has placed her on probation. The terms of this probation restrict her ability to move freely around or outside of campus. The last time he saw her was the night that she shared his bed. Since then, they've only spoken via written correspondence.
They exchange letters daily. Beautiful, effusive letters. At least, that's how they started. Her last few missives, however, have been laconic, limited only to clippings of articles or lines of poetry. He wants to pin his unhappiness on her sudden iciness, but that wouldn't be fair. No, it's something else. Something in the air. Something ineffable.
A vague sense of dread now clings to him.
If he had to explain this feeling to a peer, they would think him mad. He isn't mad, though. At least, he's no madder than the animals that scurry from oncoming storms. They, too, likely have no idea of what instinct drives them to seek safety as unseen calamity chases them.
Safe harbor, however, likely will deny Byakuya purchase here. No, the dread feels imminent and infinite in its possibilities.
A heavy breath mists the air in front of him as he sinks to his knees. His good hand tears at the binds of his bag in search of a bandage and unguent. The laceration is deep. He probably should have it examined by a medical professional, but….
He doesn't particularly care about scars, and the bandage, ointment, and his poor ability at kaidou will suffice. The wound isn't particularly concerning, and he has a concoction of analgesics and salves at the manor to keep himself free from infection and to help soothe the discomfort.
After fumbling with the top of the metal tin for a moment, Byakuya slathers the unguent on thick. He pauses to observe the solution work its magic, his flesh stitching together to close the wound. Then, he wraps his hand, wincing at each rotation. Pain crackles and burns like a wildfire branching up his arm, but he manages to breathe through it.
After, he slings his bag over his shoulder and begins his way back to Seireitei. Habit forces him to the bridge even though there are more expedient routes. He likes the agony of denial, he thinks, even though he knows Hisana's intention isn't to refuse him. No, this denial is one of his own making. If he weren't banned from the Academy, he could see her. Over the last few months, reckless desire has led him to consider ignoring the ban, but caution has won out every time.
Years ago, he thinks his recklessness would have warped and buckled this caution until it snapped in half. But, now, caution takes a different form. It's less a prickle and more a sword hanging over a neck, threatening to drop if he does something untoward. Worse yet, he worries the neck that the sword will choose won't be his own.
And then….
He couldn't live with himself if he brought her harm.
With this disheartening realization ringing in his heart, Byakuya reaches the bridge. Twilight paints the firmament in vibrant shades of pink and violet. Absently, he pauses to watch clouds race across the sky. It only takes him a few seconds, but a few seconds is all that is required for someone to reach him with a quiet voice.
"Byakuya."
He flinches, gaze shooting sidelong over his shoulder to find Kyōraku standing a few paces away, looking uncharacteristically withdrawn and serious. "Captain," he greets.
Kyōraku averts his eyes to the boards and lowers his head.
Byakuya knows that look. Knows it too well. His heart stills in his chest, and he swallows hard. The dread that hung over him in the wood grips him once more, and he girds himself.
"Is something the matter, Captain?"
The muscles in Kyōraku's jaw clench. "It's Hisana…."
Byakuya lifts his head, brows furrowed, and body temperature plummeting. Before he can say a word in response, the captain continues, "She's in critical condition at the Fourth."
At this moment, breath turns to air, and Byakuya spirals, wordless.
"She's in the ICU so she can't have—"
The sound of his name is the last sound that Byakuya hears before making haste. Indeed, the din of blood eclipses all else until he reaches the Fourth. Only here, do his surroundings return as distorted and blunted versions of themselves.
Byakuya has never been particularly skillful at pretending, at being the person others want him to be in moments when his mind is so singularly focused. He's certain that he left the registration personnel mortified when he stepped past them as if they were vapor. No one dares to stop him as he follows the call to her. Although, perhaps they tried and he failed to notice.
When he finally finds her, the chill that blows through him turns into tundra. The electrostatic of nerves hums under his skin at the sight of the tethers keeping her chained, monitored, and alive. Hisana's skin has a ghastly pallor. Her chest moves with ragged breaths, breaths that are assisted by a ventilator.
Byakuya doesn't understand the language of the numbers and words that flash across the various screens. He only knows that the machines scream their alarm when a vital sign plummets or skyrockets to dangerous levels. None of the machines are screaming right now, which seems promising.
"Lord Kuchiki," calls a familiar voice, "are you lost?"
He turns to find Captain Unohana approaching him from his left. Her gaze shifts to the patient behind the large pane of glass. She then raises her head as if to brace against the swell of realization.
"Your good friend, I see," she observes.
Byakuya stares at her, wordless and sinking fast and deep into the depths of an internal panic, the waves of which are as sharp as any of Senbonzakura's blades and twice as heavy. He doesn't know what to say, what to do. All he can manage is a silent imploring look.
Captain Unohana draws to his side. There is a warmth to her gaze that he does not wish to countenance for long, and, so, he turns away, back to Hisana, back to her small figure in the expanse of white laid out before him. Tubes of varying sizes and thickness tie her down, and he strangles at their sight.
"She will pull through, Lord Kuchiki." The captain places a conciliatory hand on his shoulder. "She is strong enough."
"Isn't that what you said about my father?" Byakuya shrugs the warmth of her touch away before it can melt the potent bleakness numbing him.
"No," says the captain softly, "your friend is receiving the treatments well. We expect to move her to the intermediate care unit in the next day. Then, she can start receiving proper visitors."
"May I not see her n—"
"No, Lord Kuchiki, you may not. We want her to heal as fast as possible, and she's still too fragile to receive friends."
"When—"
"Tomorrow night. Come, then. She'll probably be sleeping, but she'll sense you were there when she wakes."
Byakuya doesn't want to go just yet. He wants to stay there with her until she's no longer bound and gagged by machines. Most of all, he wants to take her home, where he can ensure she is safe from further harm.
"What happened?" he asks, heart waking long enough to break into pieces.
Captain Unohana tilts her head to the side and her brows knit. "Her class was attacked in the World of the Living. By all accounts, she was a very brave student and tried to defend her classmates."
Byakuya tears his attention from the captain. "Is there a report?"
The captain shakes her head. "The Second has demanded all information be sent to the squad directly."
"The Second?" he repeats, not understanding.
"Internal Affairs," she says quietly.
Drawing a blank, Byakuya stares at her, unblinking. "There's an Internal Affairs?"
Captain Unohana smiles politely. "Yes. Allegedly, there was an allegation of friendly fire that the Second now must investigate. I'm afraid not much else was allowed to be reviewed by our team."
"Friendly fire from whom?"
"Unclear, Lord Kuchiki."
Byakuya hears the lie in the captain's voice and takes a small step back. "Thank you, Captain Unohana."
She dips her head and moves to the side. "Tomorrow night, Lord Kuchiki."
He nods and leaves.
When Byakuya returns to the manor that night, he immediately takes a seat in front of his writing desk and begins drafting a letter to an old friend.
An old Shihōin friend.
Once he affixes his family seal to the envelope, Byakuya calls upon Maejima, who is quick to respond with an effusive, "Yes, milord!"
"Send this to Yorumi Shihōin posthaste," he directs.
"At once, milord." Maejima then gives a low bow and is off.
The next day, Grandfather calls upon Byakuya to join him and Auntie for tea shortly after his return to the manor after his kidou lesson. He hasn't been given a reason. Likely, there is no real reason beyond Auntie exerting her power as the most senior relative able to grasp at the mantle of Lady Kuchiki. Her neediness has increased since Father's death, and Byakuya isn't sure what to make of it.
Perhaps Father or his standing shielded Byakuya from her attempts at cultivating favor before now. Or perhaps, she perceives him to hold a weakened position in the family and wishes to use this as some sort of advantage for her children. Either way, Byakuya is deeply uninterested in the political machinations of this woman, a fact that he brazenly demonstrates by ignoring her entirely upon entering the room.
Byakuya's thoughts are too full of concern to concentrate on her vanity. Instead, his gaze lingers on the sliver of corridor that exists through the crack in the door. Every time he senses a new presence or sees the swing of robes or hears the light tread of socked feet, his lungs tighten, clasping onto breath like it is his last. The rumble of Grandfather's voice in the back of his mind carries with it notes of disapproval, but Byakuya's attention does not bend. He waits on the edge of his sitting mat, his fingers curling into the slack of his hakama. His eyes do not budge from the gap of hallway and the promise it holds.
"Byakuya!" barks Aunt Haruko.
He merely lifts his chin up as an indication that he heard her.
"Eyes on me and your grandfather!" she snaps before adding, "I swear the youths today are impudent, Father."
Byakuya grants her a fleeting glance before returning to his fixation on the door.
"Father?" she sighs.
"Byakuya, Haruko has something to tell you," says Grandfather.
"I can hear Auntie just fine," Byakuya answers quietly.
"It is only polite, Byakuya, to look at the person speaking to you," Auntie chides him. "My word, what has the boy so distracted?"
"Correspondence, I presume," answers Grandfather.
"When has Byakuya ever cared to receive and respond to correspondence?" she scoffs under her breath. "It took him nearly two months to reply to Lord Shimazu's invitation for tea last season."
"In the fashion of many errant young men, when the sender of such correspondence inspires a great infatuation," says Grandfather darkly.
Auntie gasps. "And what is that supposed to mean, Father?"
"I have no 'great infatuation' with the sender in this instance," protests Byakuya. Perhaps he once did. Long ago. No longer is such the case.
"Upon whose word does the young lord wait with such rapt attention?" demands Auntie.
"A good question," Grandfather murmurs under his breath. "My first and only guess is currently indisposed at the present moment."
"Oh, dear," Auntie chuckles, "shall I throw a party, then? I promise to make it a very reserved, very restrained affair."
"A revel, then?" teases Grandfather.
"Just because I am not looking at you doesn't mean I can't hear you," grumbles Byakuya, eyelids falling a little at their gleeful ribbing.
As soon as the words leave his mouth, Maejima's form eclipses the sliver of hallway, and Byakuya meets him in a flash to receive the letter, quick to tuck it into his sleeve pocket so as to avoid prying eyes.
"Who is it?" asks Auntie.
Byakuya returns to his seat, pretending not to have heard her question.
"Byakuya," she says warningly. "Who sent the letter you just received?"
"It's of no importance to you," he responds, chin up and refusing her gaze.
"Your grandson could use a lesson on comportment," she huffs, turning to Grandfather.
"Perhaps his new tutor will oblige you on this front," Grandfather replies and then issues Byakuya a stern look.
"New tutor?" asks Byakuya.
"Your news, Haruko?" Grandfather prompts Auntie, his tone edging toward exasperation.
"Oh, yes, with all the intrigue, I nearly forgot." Auntie grins, her gaze falling heated and heavy over Byakuya like a sun-drenched blanket. "We have received word from Master Shimazu regarding your itinerary and schedule beginning this summer."
Byakuya draws in a long breath but holds his tongue.
Reading from a cream-colored page, Auntie continues, "You will leave when great rains come and you will return when the cool winds blow. We will send you with provisions and several attendants. Master Shimazu is unlikely to keep the attendants in residence, but he demands that you make the journey by foot as part of your training, and, well, we can't have you roaming the Rukon wilderness alone. You will remain in the mountains at his cabin, where you will train, and, once you return, we will discuss your marriage prospects."
"There will be no marriage prospects," Byakuya states firmly.
"A very real possibility given your previous conduct," says Grandfather with a clever look.
Auntie loosens a sigh. "Why are you this impossible, Byakuya? Tell me. I demand to hear from your mouth why you are so adamant about ruining our family?"
"Ruin our family?" Byakuya parrots back at her, nonplussed. "I wasn't aware I possessed such ability."
"You know very well that you are being exceedingly obstinate." Auntie issues him a cross look. "While the family may excuse your brio and verve as youthful indiscretion, scaring away ladies of proper birth and good breeding is where we draw the line, Byakuya."
"Be careful drawing lines that can be so easily crossed, Auntie," warns Byakuya. "Especially by someone with the capacity to bring the entire family into ruin with a refusal."
"Byakuya, Haruko," Grandfather intervenes, iron ringing in his voice. "I demand that you both come to a meeting of the minds before Byakuya sets off this summer."
"Or?" asks Byakuya.
"Or else," answers Grandfather.
"Father!" protests Auntie. "Byakuya is impossible. His recalcitrance to the practices of our family is unassailable. If you don't intervene and order him—"
"Order Byakuya to do what, exactly?"
"To comply."
"He has complied with the family's wishes thus far."
"Malicious compliance doesn't count."
"Byakuya, comply with your aunt's wishes."
"No," Byakuya replies.
"Perhaps this is a discussion better suited for a family meeting," concludes Auntie.
"Why, Haruko? Do you think a larger audience will make hearing Byakuya's refusal repeated more palatable?"
"Then, Father, I request that you sign the first available marriage contract."
"Very well. Find me a peer family that will consent to such a contract, given Byakuya's history, and I will sign it."
Auntie's eyes narrow. "Father." The air's current snaps as if electrified.
"I can't force the boy to attach the level of importance that you believe befitting an heir, Haruko. If I could, I would have years ago."
"You could forbid him from seeing that girl, the one who has been distracting him from his duty to our family," she argues.
"Byakuya," Grandfather begins and turns to him with a worn expression, "you are forbidden from seeing whatever girl your aunt suspects to be distracting you from your duties to the family."
"I will not abide such command," Byakuya says flatly.
"He will not abide, Haruko. Now, what would you have me do? Exile him? Remove him? Commission an execution?" Grandfather stares at Auntie blankly as he waits for her reply.
When one does not come, Grandfather continues, "If any of those are your desired punishment for his indifference, I warn you now that I have no interest in involving myself in bringing them to fruition, and I doubt the rest of the family has much appetite to do so, either, given Byakuya's strength and promise. Furthermore, refusing to be married is not a sanctionable offense so there is no relief afforded to us by bringing this issue before the Central Chambers for resolution."
"A man choosing to remain single is a crime!" cries Auntie.
"Of moral duty perhaps, but not of law," says Grandfather.
An uneasy silence comes between them, and Auntie's scowl deepens. "So, we're at an impasse is what you're saying, Father?"
"That appears to be the case."
"The family reserves the right to deny Byakuya the right to Sōjun's seat at the Sixth if he does not submit," she says bitterly.
"The law states that the captain of the squad may choose who may serve as his lieutenant. In recent years, the Sixth's senior leadership positions have been inherited by members of our family, but that has not always been the case. Nor is there a requirement that the family appoints the senior leadership of the division. That responsibility belongs to me and me alone."
"What are you suggesting, Father? That you will allow Byakuya's flouting of our family's wishes?"
"What I am saying, Haruko, is that I will make my decision based on the results of Byakuya's year-long training. Once he returns, I will test his ability and determine whether he is capable enough to assume the position of my lieutenant."
"The family demands that the line of succession be secured before we send an heir into the field," says Auntie.
"This obsession with securing the line of succession is a ridiculous diversion for those with too little to do, and I'm being generous in this characterization, Haruko. This is a vast family with many branches and almost as many members who are capable of assuming the role of heir or leader. It will not collapse upon either my or Byakuya's untimely demise, I assure you. Before Byakuya takes a role at the Sixth, the next in line after him will be named under the assumption that he dies without issue."
Auntie gives a long, slow shake of her head. "You're being far too lenient, Father. You would've never—"
"I would've never, what?" he interrupts, his gaze sharpening once it meets hers. "Choose your words carefully, Haruko."
She purses her lips. "You do this, Father, and prepare yourself for the fallout as the branches cannibalize each other for the spot as Byakuya's successor."
Grandfather stares grimly ahead. "It must be done regardless of Byakuya's marital status. Even if he were happily married, there is no guarantee when or if the marriage would produce a viable heir, and I cannot leave the lieutenant position open indefinitely."
Auntie balls her hands into fists. "If Byakuya had only listened when we—"
"Enough, Haruko." Grandfather then looks to Byakuya, his expression grave. "Both of you are dismissed."
Byakuya bows his head low to Grandfather. The only parting gesture that he spares his aunt is a glower before leaving.
Once safely inside his own chambers, Byakuya fishes the letter from his pocket. The Shihōin crest adorns the flap of the envelope, and he peels it back to pluck the message held within. Reading the response, a dim pang of hope pelts his heart.
That night, Byakuya makes his way to the Fourth. As promised, Hisana has been moved from the intensive care unit to the intermediate care unit on floor five. The ward is relatively quiet when he slips into her room.
Seeing her lying there broken and bandaged hits him with the force of a concussive blast. She looks so pale, so small, so impossibly fragile. Inky black hair halos her head. All color has drained from her cheeks.
The rhythmic beeping and mechanical hissing recede into the back of Byakuya's mind as he drags a chair to her bedside. His first instinct is to take her hand, but the moment his fingers hover over hers, he hesitates. Even her hand looks to be as thin and as breakable as glass. So, he goes slow, easy. His touch is featherlight at first, and he monitors her face for any trace of discomfort before applying further pressure.
A still quiet freezes her features in a peaceful expression. It's the same peaceful expression that she wore when convalescing in his room after her mission in the Rukon with Lieutenant Ise. He had been so worried then. He had been a fool. That was nothing compared to this.
The mask that once covered her mouth is gone. The ventilation system is also gone. Now, there are only a few monitors that surround her, keeping track of her vital signs.
Captain Unohana said that Hisana had roused for a few minutes that day before fading. She said that was typical for patients who have fallen unconscious for a spell. She said that Hisana would recover.
She said….
Byakuya squeezes Hisana's hand, heart heavy and aching.
This was not the reunion he had envisioned after so many long months spent apart, but he is happy to finally be near her, to feel her presence even if he cannot reach her company. He stays by her side until a nurse shoos him away, informing him at length of the intricacies of their visiting policy, including the ward's hours, and arguing that, yes, this policy applies to him, too. Briefly, he considers the possible ramifications of ignoring her. He doesn't think that she possesses the strength of will or constitution to actually force him away. He also doesn't think she has the institutional support to do such a thing.
But, tonight, he resists this urge, reminding himself that he has a meeting to prepare for.
An important meeting.
One at the Shihōin compound.
And, so he leaves, giving Hisana one long final look before he steps out of her room.
It has been a long while since Byakuya last entered the Shihōin compound through its front gate. Usually, whenever he had need to call upon a member of that family, it was informally. Or, he would somehow wind up there after losing all sense of directionality during a particularly heated game of chase.
Even then, when he was on familiar terms with the prior clan head, Byakuya never cared to visit. Especially, at night. From what he recalls, the compound is a labyrinth, one that he swears shifts every season. Due to this feature, he never truly learned the grounds. Despite his best attempts, the steps from one wall to the next were never quite the same. The angles, too, he never mastered, which cost him many a bout with the House's former leader. It was as if these grounds possessed the capacity to corrupt one's internal compass. Due north was always slightly askew, never truly knowable within these walls.
When the guards wave him onward, Byakuya doesn't miss the dark exchange of glances that pass between the two men. He frowns, but he doesn't say a word. Their suspicions are wrong; however, perhaps this misdirection serves him better than the truth.
Indeed, there are few sterling reasons to request access to Yorumi Shihōin given her current role in the Shihōin breeding program. A fact of which he is reminded for a second time that night when he reaches her apartment and is greeted by two armed guards. The moment they see him, one of the men calls to Yorumi through the door. When she consents to Byakuya's entry, the guard slides open the door and steps to the side.
Byakuya gives each man a quiet look before crossing the threshold. The door clicks shut once he is a few paces inside. Sweet scents of jasmine and honey perfume the air and nearly choke him with their thickness. Stifling the reflex to cough, Byakuya surveys the large sitting area, which is opulently adorned in brightly painted tapestries, heavy brocades, and gilded furnishings. The maximalism on display feels oppressive. He isn't sure where, exactly, his eyes should land, where he should look first, on what, exactly, he is even seeing, or how to cut through the noise of so many different textiles, textures, and gemstone colors.
"You brought me flowers?" comes a voice that sounds distinctly low in direction, but not in register.
Immediately, his gaze drops to the floor, where he finds Yorumi staring up at him from the middle of the room. She sits on her knees. Scattered around her is an assortment of files. Her glossy midnight blue robes hang loosely over her shoulders, revealing more than us appropriate for a formal call, but he's not entirely surprised. It is late, and she is a Shihōin.
She stretches her arm out, leaning hard in his direction, to take the bouquet that he holds in a tentative grasp. Her fingers coil around the stems, and she eagerly draws them to her face. A wide grin splits her lips, and she throws her head back in uproarious laughter. "Rue, Byakuya? Really?" She considers him slyly for a long moment, peering over the yellow petals. "You always were a bastard."
He pauses to examine one of the files, nudging the cover back just enough to confirm what he suspected: Dossiers on potential suitors. The corners of his mouth turn down.
"Really, though, my bigger question is why would the Kuchiki grow these out of season?" she says with an air of scandal. Upon meeting his gaze, the playful gleam in her eyes scatter and her lips pull into a tight compact line. "You know, my family still hates you a little for what you did."
Byakuya is not surprised. "You don't?" he asks, hope seizing on the precision of her words.
"How could I? I'm the reason you did it. You were trying to help me. It's not your fault we were two stupid kids."
"I should have—"
Yorumi shakes her head, her long black hair fluttering with the force of the movement. Then, she puts a point on the action by tossing the bouquet into the trash. "What could you do? Come see me in the hospital? I was better guarded after that than the Soul King, I swear. My father would have killed you on sight."
"I'm surprised they allowed me entry tonight," he says without a shred of irony.
She lifts a shoulder. "Hope springs eternal, I suppose."
Byakuya clenches his jaw at the insinuation.
Yes, he supposes the Shihōin would consider any issue that arose from a tryst between their prized broodmare and a member of the main Kuchiki family to be good fortune. He wishes their plot as children had succeeded and Yorumi had been spared this lot.
"But, you brought me rue, and you haven't removed your coat," she says, wistfully. "Plus, it seems that you found another woman in need of saving." With that, Yorumi plucks a file and hands it to him. "I doubt the elders would be pleased to learn the true nature of your visit."
Byakuya nods his agreement before flipping through the pages, shoulders deflating and chest sinking at what he finds. "It's all redacted."
"That tends to happen when an open investigation involves two captains, a lieutenant, and Academy students."
"Is there—"
"I heard through the grapevine," she begins and quirks a brow as if to declare that not only is the information that she's about to divulge entirely off the record, it is also potentially incorrect, "that there was a skirmish between one of the Academy students and Lieutenant Ichimaru. There are conflicting details on who engaged first, with Captain Shiba reporting it being Ichimaru and Captain Aizen reporting it being the student."
"Why were both Captains Shiba and Aizen there?"
"Allegedly, two captains were called because there were simultaneous attacks on two classes. One of the classes was successful in subduing the hollows, but this was not timely communicated to one of the captains, which likely led to the confusion."
Byakuya returns the file to her. "When will the investigation be concluded?"
"They are allegedly completing the draft report along with recommendations tonight. It should be submitted to Squads Five and Ten by the end of day tomorrow for their review and opportunity to include any additional addenda before being submitted to the First and the Academy for consideration and potential adjudication."
"No Chambers involvement?"
Yorumi shakes her head. "None that's been mentioned to me, but the First and the Academy can always refer it over to the Central Forty-Six if they want."
"Was there any inciting reason for the skirmish?"
Again, Yorumi shakes her head. "Unknown. The case is more of a curiosity from the men who mentioned it to me. I suppose they're all a little amused that an Academy student would have the balls to duel a lieutenant and then possess the audacity to survive."
"Perhaps that should suggest that bravado wasn't the motivating factor," murmurs Byakuya.
Yorumi's grin returns.
"What?" he snaps, finding her quiet amusement suddenly very irritating.
"Nothing. It's just…." She tilts her head to the side, grin lengthening. "You definitely have a type."
He isn't particularly keen on learning more of Yorumi's thoughts on the type of woman he prefers. He has spent many long years trying to deter himself from making this very sort of inquiry. And, the last thing he wishes is for her to hold up any kind of mirror into which he may gaze. Not right now, at least. Likely, never.
"Thank you for sharing that thought," he says, voice bladed.
She chuckles. "I thought you'd say something like that." Her fingers glide over a few other folders, pushing them to the side as she searches for something in her pile. "Here," she says, offering him a thick file. There are no "Confidential" or "Top Secret" markers emblazoned on the front. "I had some intel pulled on the girl. Her history is a real page-turner." There is a sharpness to the line of Yorumi's mouth that immediately causes Byakuya's fingers, once unfurled, to curl into his palm.
He averts his gaze. "I'm not interested," he says, heart sinking fast.
"You sure?" The folder flutters in her hand as her arm stretches out a little more, closing the sliver of distance between their hands. "I bet there are details you don't yet know about her. The ones I've read are pretty juicy. Did you know that she was a—"
"I am uninterested," he says, recoiling mentally and physically from the temptation.
Hisana's past is something he wants to know, but this is knowledge that he wants because he desires the intimacy that comes from her trusting him with this information. There's no trust if he steals her history from her, and he would feel terrible at cheapening a heartfelt confession because of this theft.
Yorumi laughs. "I would've never taken you for a romantic, Byakuya Kuchiki."
"Romantic?" he scoffs.
"Unspooling a lover's secrets yourself," she says with raised brows, "that's romance if you ask me."
"Unsurprising that a Shihōin would find the allowance of mystery in a relationship to be the height of romance."
Her laughter grows fuller, filling the room with its silvery sound.
Byakuya watches her, deeply unamused, but unable to launch a full-throated rebuttal. Yorumi is correct. Love binds him. Had he held only a thin sort of inclination or even a passionate infatuation for Hisana, he would have torn through the report without hesitation or remorse.
Her clever amber-colored eyes flash as the laughter dies, and she considers him with a long look. "You always were a bastard, Byakuya," she says for the second time that night.
On this count, he does not disagree.
The next day passes painfully slow. Byakuya can barely concentrate during his lessons, a fact that several of his tutors observe in tones ranging from neutral to chastising. When the light of day dims, he rushes out of his zanjutsu lesson with his zanpakutō still threaded through his sash.
The roads of Seireitei lead Byakuya to the Tenth, where his presence sends some of the junior members scattering toward the captain's office in a hurry, likely to alert Isshin of his presence. To the extent any of those alerts find their target, Byakuya's imminent arrival doesn't give the captain much time to prepare.
Not that Isshin would do much to prepare. His demeanor has always struck Byakuya as that of a man who flies by the seat of his pants. On purpose. Perhaps even for effect.
It's unsettling. But, what more could he expect from a Shiba? The whole family is unsettling.
However, when Byakuya crosses the threshold to the office, Isshin isn't the only soul occupying the space nor is he even the only captain.
"Well, well, look who the cat drug in," greets Captain Kyōraku with the authority of someone who belongs here. Standing at his side is Lieutenant Ise, who stares straight ahead, expression blank.
"A Shihōin cat, no doubt," teases Isshin.
"The report," says Byakuya and extends his hand palm-side up expectantly.
Isshin cocks a brow. "And your standing to receive this report is what, again?"
Byakuya narrows his eyes.
"That's what I thought," he laughs.
"What does the report say?" asks Kyōraku.
Isshin sucks in his cheeks, his gaze sliding to the side, where Matsumoto stands. "Read it."
Without missing a beat, Matsumoto hands the report to Kyōraku. It looks to be only a few pages, which is longer than most reports from the Second that Byakuya has encountered, but not concerningly long. The captain leafs through the sheets at a quick pace, likely already familiar with some of the events documented therein. When he reaches what appears to be the last two pages, his thick brows draw together, his easy grin dies on his lips, and his gaze sharpens as if the words he reads defy all expectation and reason.
"Is this not concerning conduct?" asks Kyōraku, who perfunctorily hands the report to Lieutenant Ise.
With brows raised, Isshin presses his lips together and shrugs. "Is it?" He then gives Kyōraku a meaningful look, one that Byakuya is uncertain of how to interpret. "If the past is prologue, then it's a Tuesday at the Gotei 13."
"Is that what you witnessed?"
"I didn't see the whole thing, Shunsui," replies Isshin, the corners of his mouth turning down. "But, of what I did see, some of the details reported come as a surprise."
"Well, did she say what happened?"
Isshin's lips twitch as if he means to respond, but, the moment his gaze flits to Byakuya, they snap shut.
Byakuya knows that technically he's not privy to such matters on the authority of his nobility alone. Being an officer of the Sixth also would not cure this deficit, either. But, to that end, Kyōraku technically has no privilege or standing to inquire after confidential information concerning Squads Five and Ten, either. Outside Five and Ten, only Squads Two, which is investigating the claims, and One, which will take part in reviewing the report, have been granted access to these details.
"Don't worry about Byakuya," Kyōraku grumbles under his breath. "Our interests run in parallel, not in conflict."
"It's not good, Shunsui," says Isshin and then shoves his weight into the back of his chair. "But, I'm not shocked by the findings given the incentives."
"How can the report be complete when a key witness is unconscious?" asks Matsumoto.
Her question is rhetorical. Matsumoto likely already knows or intuits the answer. Byakuya assumes her inquiry is meant to lay bare the actual problem of rot. This problem has persisted for ages and is not unique to the Gotei 13 or the iron triangle that rules Seireitei with an equally iron fist. Rot, however, is one that will not be solved today or with this investigation. Perhaps it is a problem with no solution.
Knowing this, however, doesn't make it better or more palatable, especially when it concerns Byakuya's interests and loyalty.
"Well," sighs Isshin, "does the Fourth expect her to survive?"
"Yes," Byakuya answers swiftly. "They do."
Isshin folds his arms in front of his chest and gives another shrug. "I don't know what to say. I saw Gin lash out first. She parried his attack, then readied her own. He got her, unsurprisingly, but she pulled him down after the blow connected."
"How?" asks Kyōraku.
Another shrug. "Can't say. She appeared to have a shikai, but its ability to me wasn't apparent."
Kyōraku's attention shifts to Lieutenant Ise, who immediately stiffens. "Nanao, care to enlighten us?"
Byakuya inhales a sharp breath. How would the lieutenant know such a thing? Had she witnessed the release during the mission that took place over a year ago?
"Persuasion," she answers with a shaky breath. "Her zanpakutō weaves a persuasion spell through her opponent."
"Through?" repeats Kyōraku.
Lieutenant Ise nods. "It appears to mimic the opponent's reishi frequency, allowing it to take hold unnoticed, then overrides it."
"So, she compelled Gin to his knees, was prepared to strike, and that's when Sōsuke stopped her," says Isshin, "and then I stepped in."
"What was Sōsuke's view?" asks Kyōraku.
"He was convinced that the girl instigated the fight. I think he was just upset that a student interfered and almost landed a blow to his lieutenant. Then, the conversation dissolved into the typical territorial pissing match over which class each of us was sent to extricate."
"You had Class B?"
"Yeah." Isshin's brows jump up. "But, my class handled their attack so I went to where there was an active fight not knowing Squad Five had been called to handle the other hollow attack."
"What caused the fight between Gin and Hisana?" asks Matsumoto. "I can't imagine an Academy student would be delusional enough to take on a lieutenant without good reason."
Isshin shakes his head. "I wasn't there to hear."
"Did she say anything?" Matsumoto presses him. "She was still conscious when I found you. She must've said something."
"She did." Isshin leans back and pins the four of them with a glare that practically dares someone to try to convince him to say more. "And that's all I will say."
Byakuya exhales a low sigh and glances away.
"Isshin," warns Kyōraku.
Isshin shakes his head. "It doesn't matter," he says, gesturing to the report held loosely between Lieutenant Ise's fingers. "Truth paves the road to a pyrrhic victory in this instance, I'm afraid."
Seeing Lieutenant Ise's tenuous hold on the documents, Byakuya slips the report from her grasp with ease and proceeds to read it undeterred by either the lieutenant's gasping disapproval or the captains' glaring. The report proceeds according to the events laid out by Isshin until the end.
Witnesses reported that Student 004 from Class B had been struck by a hollow and appeared to have been infected by a mind-altering poison when she refused to leave the field through the Senkaimon despite multiple attempts to retrieve her by Student 003. Class B witnesses reported that Student 004 appeared to be traveling in the direction of the Class A field before the Senkaimon closed. Upon arrival at the Class A training field, Student 004 reportedly attacked Lieutenant 001, who resorted to the use of force to subdue the student. Captain 001, Captain 002, and Lieutenant 002 reportedly arrived on the scene shortly after Lieutenant 001 subdued Student 004. Students 004, 005, 006, and 007 are currently receiving treatment at Squad Four due to wounds sustained from the five hollows. Students 004 and 007 are expected to make a full recovery. Students 005 and 006 remain in critical condition with prognoses reported as "poor" by the students' respective healthcare teams. Students 008, 009, 010, 011, 012, 013, and 014 are believed to have perished due to injuries sustained during the Class A attack. Recommendations for corrective action(s): (i) Quicker response times from Squad Leadership once hostile opponents have been encountered during Academy practical training classes; (ii) better coordination between Academy and Squad Leadership with respect to World of the Living excursions to ensure availability of appropriate relief personnel; and (iii) training on non-lethal measures of subduing compromised students. Recommendations for retributive action(s): None. Findings of liability or wrong-doing: None. Completion status of investigation: No further actions required.Byakuya returns the report to Isshin with a frown.
He always assumed the Second's external reporting mechanism took certain artistic license with the truth, but this glimpse of the squad's standard operating procedure proves quite the disappointment. He wishes he could convince himself that the same was not true across the board, but he knows better. He knows that he could just as easily falsify a record to protect someone who mattered to him, even as such insight pains him to admit.
"As I said, pyrrhic victory. And, it's not like there aren't plenty of less qualified officers with the same characteristics of Gin," reasons Isshin.
"I take it you don't want me to draw up a formal amendment restating our accounts to send to the Second?" asks Matsumoto drily.
"No." Isshin sets the report on his desk. "Best to move on."
"You have my gratitude for your candor, Captain Shiba," Byakuya says quietly before leaving.
Nothing good comes from knowing half-spoken truths—a realization that strikes Byakuya as soon as he takes Hisana's limp hand in his own. There is no protection he can offer her from the past. No sanctuary even now. He is powerless, another realization that unsettles him.
Did she even want this life? he wonders, having long suspected his family foisted this fate onto her. He detects no joy on the rare occasion that she speaks of the Academy. Even her successes he usually has to pry from her after learning about them through other means, such as seeing her name on the invitation list for his family's annual cherry blossom viewing event.
He, on the other hand, plies her with stories from his training lessons. He imagines these stories to be far less entertaining as he is rarely joined by peers. Some days, when they meet at the bridge, he sees how the unmistakable shades of misery cling to her, but she rarely confesses the source. Even when the source is obvious.
Perhaps she is tight-lipped because she perceives him as wishing that he could have had the opportunity to attend the Academy, to connect with others who aren't his family or their closest allies. Or perhaps it is her nature to tread the follies of all her past with great wariness, keenly aware that their experiences are vastly different in a thousand different ways.
He wishes she would confide these follies, but he knows she's not wrong to be guarded. Her life now and then sounds so alien to him at times, so distant from the reality that he understands, that he has lived, that he knows. He isn't always very empathetic or forgiving, not at first. and strangeness always seems to draw his disgust before any other reaction even when it shouldn't. Even when experience cautions him to probe and reevaluate before giving in to the laziness of prejudice.
"You're here, again, Lord Kuchiki?" sighs the nurse. "And you're openly carrying your zanpakutō, now?" She gives a frustrated shake of her head. "If I wasn't so kind-hearted, I would toss you out and file a formal complaint against you for such behavior."
Byakuya glances down to find Senbonzakura at his side. "A mistake," he murmurs under his breath before sliding his zanpakutō from his obi and bracing it against the wall in front of Hisana's bed.
"Wonderful," the nurse grouses. "You've set out a hazard for me to stumble over." She then reaches out her hand expectantly. "Give it here."
Byakuya blinks, unwilling to submit to such a command. If he weren't so tired or so morose from the day's events, he'd have half a mind to—
"C'mon," she says, snapping her hand open and close impatiently, "I'll set it over here next to the patient's. That way the team won't break their necks if an emergency arises."
Again, Byakuya blinks, somewhat alarmed and somewhat appalled that he missed seeing Hisana's zanpakutō tucked in the corner behind a panel of machines. But, there it is. Its sheath is dark gray, and its hilt is the color of dried blood.
Before the nurse can ask again, he hands his zanpakutō to her and watches with bated breath as she sets it beside Hisana's.
"You really shouldn't be here, though," the nurse grumbles to herself. "The patient needs her rest."
Byakuya thinks the nurse means that she prefers respite from his silent judgment. Although, he makes no judgment. Inexperience prevents him. The series of tasks that occupy the nurse carries no meaning to him. She could be performing them ably or very poorly. As long as the machines do not sound, he suspects competency.
Perhaps his presence compels her to take greater precautions, to provide better care than she otherwise would for a student with no means, no family, not even a surname. Part of him suspects this may be what is fueling the nurse's indignation. Perhaps this is why he feels no compunction about his cold disregard for her.
"Did she wake today?" he asks, pinning the nurse with a look.
With a heavy breath, she answers, "If she did, it would be documented on her chart." She jerks her chin in the direction of the cart that she dragged into the room.
"I take it you've not seen her awake," he says, pointedly.
"Yesterday. She regained consciousness yesterday for a bit."
Taking the chart in hand, Byakuya flips through the daily notes. Hisana fared a while longer today than yesterday. A drowsy ten minutes is noted in the daily summary of observations.
"Visiting hours will end shortly. I expect the room to be empty when I return," says the nurse.
"Oh, don't worry about visiting hours, Lord Kuchiki," calls a soft, motherly voice.
Byakuya doesn't need to look to the door to know it is Captain Unohana who stands slightly behind the room's threshold.
The nurse clucks her tongue. "Captain Unohana, we shouldn't bend protocol just because—"
"It's no trouble, Miss Maeda," the captain continues, voice unwavering in its calmness. "Lord Kuchiki is a good friend of the patient. I'm sure her recovery will hasten by sensing that she is being looked after well."
Frowning, the nurse returns to her cart. "On your orders, Captain."
"I take it the patient's wounds are healing nicely?" asks Captain Unohana.
The nurse gives a sharp nod. "No need to concern yourself over a student, Captain."
Captain Unohana waits politely for the nurse to leave before stepping into the room. "May I inquire as to how Lord Kuchiki is faring?"
Byakuya stares distantly at the figures recorded in Hisana's chart. He's not entirely surprised by Captain Unohana's visit. His antics at the Tenth have likely made the rounds by now. Nothing he does ever seems to go unnoticed.
"Well enough," he murmurs. "How is she?"
The captain nods. "Improving."
"How long until—"
"A while yet. Probably a few more weeks."
"Weeks?"
"The Academy isn't well outfitted for convalescent care." Her head falls slightly to the side. "This must be hard for you given your own recent stay and loss," she says, her voice soft and low.
Reflexively, Byakuya tenses as he shoves those memories and thoughts down. Only when he feels the teeth of grief relent does he meet the captain's gaze. "This is different."
Her brows rise. "Oh?"
"I'm here, and she's there."
Captain Unohana smiles wanly at this observation. "True. Sometimes, it's harder sitting where you are."
He never got the chance to sit at his father's bedside before he passed. It's something he dearly wishes he had done, but fate prevented it. Fate, however, does not steal him away now.
"Stay as long as you wish, Lord Kuchiki, but do make sure you take care of yourself as well. I think she would be very saddened to learn if you did not," says the captain by way of goodbye.
Byakuya's brows draw together as he turns back to Hisana. His hand finds hers. It's gone cold. Too cold.
"Please," he says, voice a rasp, "don't leave me, yet."
He stays by her side all night, and she never wakes. Never stirs. He hopes she knows he was here when morning drives him to his feet.
Tired, he takes his zanpakutō and slips it through his obi, but, before he pulls back, he pauses. Curiosity urges his hand to her sword, wraps his fingers around the sheath and the hilt, and brings it closer for him to observe. It is much like his own, which, in turn, is like every other zanpakutō that has existed for centuries past. "Take care of her," he whispers before returning it to the corner, behind the machines, out of sight, away from feet that may be careless.
Byakuya returns the next night, then the next, and the next, and the next until he loses count. Winter's grip is loosening. The frost still clings to the vines, but the heat comes sooner and stays longer with each passing day.
When he returns after his lessons or after his meetings or after the events hosted by his family, he finds her lying pale and alone in a quiet room and wrapped in sheets only a shade whiter than her own. She is always asleep when he arrives. She is always asleep when he leaves. He wonders if she ever wakes. He wonders if the nurses merely ply him with lies to keep his hope fed.
By the third week, worry fills him fuller than hope. As has become custom over the last two weeks, he has forgotten to leave his zanpakutō behind at the manor. It's not really forgetting at this point, he thinks. Perhaps it's a small retaliation. Or perhaps it's the remaining shred of childhood whimsy left in him to think that his zanpakutō and hers may connect more easily than he can connect with Hisana.
Somewhere between setting Senbonzakura in the corner behind the machines and the dread rising up to gnaw at his nerves, he rouses from a restless slumber to find her fingers raking across his scalp. He thinks he's still dreaming when he meets her gaze. Her eyes are bluer than he remembers. Dreams do that, he thinks. They make the blues more vibrant, the caresses more sensuous, and the heartbeats harder to ignore.
Hisana smiles down at him like it hurts. "My lord," she says, her voice creaking like steps of an abandoned house, "you should rest."
"I am," he murmurs.
Her smile widens and reaches her eyes. "Good rest, then."
Byakuya sits up. The muscles in his neck and shoulder pull taut and tight. He couldn't have been sleeping for much longer than an hour or so judging by the darkness of the night. He studies Hisana for a long while, not entirely convinced this isn't a dream or an illusion.
She squeezes his hand. "My nurses tell me that you've bothered them every day," she teases.
"I wouldn't call ensuring they did their jobs a bother," he teases back, earning him a chuckle.
"You're too kind to me."
He kisses her wrist, right at the pulse point. The acidic scent of astringents has overpowered her natural fragrance of wild blossoms. "I wish I could do more."
"Your presence is more than enough." Her eyelids fall heavy, and her face becomes still. "Go to bed, my lord," she says softly before fading.
"I will," he promises as he strokes her head, knowing that he won't.
The next evening when Byakuya arrives, Hisana is awake and sits propped up in the bed. A tray of food is set in front of her, and the nurse's voice in the background sounds soothing and gentle. Well, that is, until the nurse follows Hisana's gaze to find him darkening the doorway. She then lets out a long breath and frowns. "Are you sure you know each other?" she asks Hisana.
Hisana grins, her eyes on him. "We do."
Frowning, the nurse folds her arms in front of her chest. "Are you sure you want him here? He's trouble, you know."
"Trouble?" Hisana echoes.
"The sheer protocols we have to follow whenever there is a high noble on the floor would make your hair fall out from stress!"
Byakuya lifts a brow. "I've seen no such following of protocol."
"That's because I refuse. I've been here too long for that. But the other guys and gals, oompf. It's a distraction," continues the nurse.
Hisana appears unswayed by such reasoning. "I'm sure," she says.
"Just look at him!" protests the nurse.
Byakuya bristles at this. His brows lower and pinch together. If he could flay the skin from her muscle with a look, he would. A thousand times, he would.
"At what?" giggles Hisana. "I see nothing wrong. Nothing wrong at all."
"He's carrying his zanpakutō at his waist like some sort of thug."
"A mistake—"
"It may have been a mistake the first time you forgot about it. Not the nineteenth time."
Choosing to ignore the woman's idle prattle, Byakuya takes his usual seat at Hisana's bedside and holds her hand. "I can recommend moving you to a better ward," he says quietly.
"A better ward?" the nurse roars in offense.
Hisana chuckles. "I like it fine here, my lord."
"You're dismissed, Nurse," says Byakuya without breaking the gaze he shares with Hisana.
"Dismissed?" the nurse parrots and then bursts into laughter. "I'm not your employee!"
"Are you feeling better?" he asks Hisana.
She nods and squeezes his hand. "Much better, thank you."
"Are you sure he's not bothering you?" asks the nurse, iron in her voice. "I've been itching to call the guards to have him thrown out into the cold."
Hisana quiets the nurse with a gentle look. "He's no bother, really."
"If he becomes a bother—and I swear even just a little bothersome—I will get the guards. Just ring the bell, dear," says the nurse before leaving.
Hisana peers at him from the corner of her eye and grins. "What did you do to her?"
"Me?" he protests.
"Yes, you."
"Nothing," he answers primly.
Her grin lengthens, and a knowing look stretches across her face. "Umm hmm."
Hisana needn't know that he filed complaints almost daily for the last two weeks that documented in extensive detail all the faults that he observed with the sole purpose of having the nurse reassigned. To no avail. She remains. Somehow. Byakuya blames Captain Unohana's apparent tendency to overvalue a collegial work environment to the detriment of all else. His comfort included.
"Thank you," Hisana rasps, voice weak.
Before she can say another word, he interrupts her with a firm, "Eat." Her tray of food appears to be virtually untouched.
She nods politely and says, "Of course," before picking up her spoon with a grim look. She takes a few bites of the rice porridge before setting the food aside.
"It's terrible," he admits, remembering all too well the numerous deficiencies of even a simple bowl of rice porridge at the Fourth. "I could bring better food tomorrow."
Hisana smiles and her hand tightens against his. "My lord needn't trouble himself."
"It's no trouble," he replies and then presses a kiss to her knuckle.
She considers him for a long while. The light in her eyes darkens, and she runs her fingers through his hair. "You look tired," she says, keeping her touch light as if she intends to coax a shiver from him.
Byakuya is tired. Exhausted. And useless with worry.
"When was the last time you had a good night's rest?" she asks
He would rather be boiled alive than admit to her that he hasn't been sleeping. Even on the nights when he returns to the manor, sleep either never comes or never lasts for long. Instead of honesty, he shakes his head and replies, "I'm well-rested enough."
"You'll injure yourself in your training if you don't sleep." When she rakes her fingers through his hair this time, he feels the magic imbued in her touch.
"Hisana," he says, pointedly.
"My lord, go home to rest," she argues. "You look unwell."
"I won't rest there."
"Why?"
Worry. It's the obvious answer. But, it's not an answer that he can provide. Not to her. He doesn't want her to feel responsible for him. She has enough with which to contend.
"Lie with me, then," she says softly.
He straightens at the directness of the request.
"Come," she insists, tugging on his hand. "There is enough room, and it's more comfortable than the chair. And, we're way past concerns regarding propriety with you here every night."
When he doesn't immediately capitulate, she yanks at his arm and adds, "I would like you closer."
Byakuya blames the exhaustion for bending to her request. The truth, however, is his own desire to be close likely played a larger role in his submission. And so, languidly, he obliges her, drawing to the opposite side of the bed, where he slips off his zanpakutō and places it in the usual place beside hers.
With a playful gleam in her eye, Hisana unwinds the tangle of cords to clear a place for him. The moment his weight is on the bed, she is curled against him, and her eyes are closed. It isn't comfortable by any means. But, she is small enough, and they fit well together.
"You brought Senbonzakura with you?" she observes with a note of amusement.
"I did. I thought he might enjoy the company."
He feels her lips stretch into a grin against his chest. Then, she nuzzles closer before going still. The only sounds are their breaths and the beating of their hearts… and the machines.
Sleep claims him in a matter of seconds. The nature of this sleep, however, is different. The tides of inky oblivion do not come and wash clean his memory or carry his senses someplace far, someplace remote. No, there are golden images that remind him that he is dreaming, but powerless to change the events that come next.
Daylight curtains the bank of a quiet stream. It is midday. The sun's heat is pleasantly warm, and its light is bright and clear. Hisana stands before him dressed in a light lavender kimono, and when she turns to acknowledge him, he is taken by how the sunlight reflects off her skin. It has been so long since he's beheld her in the day and not its remnants.
She reaches out a hand, beckoning him near, and he obliges. Her expression is a happy one, not the stillness of slumber or the pale look of recovery. She is alive and vibrant, and she is only an arm's length away.
When he offers his hand to her, a heavy cloud eclipses the sun, shading her in shadow. Her expression falls then dies. A deep crease appears between her brows as they bunch closer together. A flash of pain and then terror lights her face.
Byakuya reaches out to grab hold of her, but she's just beyond his gasp, and, with each of his attempts, she is pushed back. He nearly succeeds, his fingers grazing her shoulder.
Horror, however, intensifies the lines of her face, and her gaze drops down. Drops to her shoulder. Red, red, red.
The place where he touched has opened, and red strings unfurl from her shoulder. Their red is the color of fresh blood. He doesn't understand, but he grasps at the strings, thinking that maybe he can pull her to him. But, as soon as he touches them, they unspool, lengthening, and she teeters at the edge of the bank of what was once a stream, but is now a raging river.
Desperately, he reaches for her again. His hand finds the top of her shoulder, but, instead of urging her near, she is pushed back into the river. He grips the strings, hoping that at their end he will find tension, that they are tethered to her and he might drag her out. They are not tethers, but he uses them to follow her for what feels like miles, wading into the river, but its current will not have him.
Until….
Until they give way, dissolving into thick, red blood in his hands. He stares, heart hammering in his chest, pulse nearly cutting off the breath in his throat with its force. When he finally tears his gaze from his hands, he does not find the cold beating of water. He finds a mirror.
The scenery has shifted to that of a water mirror. The ground reflects the sky. He can see the fluffy white clouds pass both above and below. On the edges of the water mirror are blooming cherry blossom trees giving their petals to the wind.
What appears to be his inner world lies just beyond this water mirror. Byakuya glances back at his hand to find nothing. No strings. No blood.
The world around him has gone still. There is only silence. There is no one else but him as far as his eye can perceive.
Cautiously, Byakuya makes his way to the edge, gaze rooted to the ground. He thinks he can see the flow of water below; it feels as if he is merely perched on a thin sheet of glass that could break at any moment. Making it some distance, he halts at the sight of a fledgling lying on the mirror.
It reminds him of the dead bird in the garden that spring day all those years ago. Hisana had been his maid, then. She had come upon him locked in horror at the sight of death, and, after a teasing word, she comforted him and then saw to the bird's disposal.
He had used her same teasing words when he came upon her locked in horror at the sight of death, at the sight of the river. He, however, had not offered her comfort nor had he given any real thought as to what that moment meant to her. Hisana had told him, though. With tears streaming down her face, she had confided that drowning was how she died in her life before this one. Instead of appreciating the gravity of the situation and lending her his strength, he forced her further into the cold watery embrace of fear, of death.
The fledgling gathers itself. Ruffling its pale yellow and black feathers, the bird's size doubles in volume as it puffs out its fuzzy body to the size of a crabapple. One of its dark eyes slides his direction, and it chirps softly, at first, and then demandingly.
Byakuya steps around the creature and continues toward the bank of trees. He makes it three strides, and the bird's lively chirping turns to crying. Shrill, discordant cries. Immediately, he peers sidelong over his shoulder to see that the fledgling is struggling to hop after him.
He has no idea what to do. He's never cared for birds. They're messy, senseless creatures that make too much noise and seemingly have too little purpose to justify all their trouble.
But….
This creature is exceedingly pitiful with its damp fuzzy feathers, and its small size, and its determination. Most amusingly, the bird hobbles its way to him with a grandiose sense of importance, one that is reminiscent of that of a child who has not yet learned his role.
Like birds, Byakuya has never much cared for children, either. And yet, with a heavy sigh, he bends down and lets the fledgling hop into his hands. He supposes that its parents—to the extent that birds have such things—must have returned to their nest.
The burden of carrying the bird starts off as purely mental. Its weight is light, less than an ounce. But, as the steps collect, and the bank appears to be just as far away as when Byakuya began, he notices just how heavy the fledgling's weight increasingly becomes. Within the span of what feels like a few miles, the bird has seemingly grown to three times its size.
Byakuya's first instinct is to urge it to fly away, to let it go. The creature, however, has developed talons, and its claws hook into his flesh any time he attempts to release the bird. When the bird becomes too heavy to bear, Byakuya stops to try and free himself, but the more he tries, the heavier the bird becomes until….
Crack.
His gaze falls to the mirror to find a fracture. The line snakes under him. Then, another. Then, another. Then….
The mirror gives way to nothing. The ground rips from under his feet, and he falls into the water below. As his body plunges downward, the bird releases him and takes flight.
The depths of the water are dark blue and icy. He can feel the currents brush against his skin. Holding his breath, he looks up. The light from the pale blue sky above cuts through the waves in shafts, rippling and shimmering over him, reminding him of the way light cuts through tree limbs. The puncture in the water mirror, however, has seemingly repaired itself. He thinks he might be able to break it again if only the current dragging him down deeper into the black abyss below weren't so strong.
He fights. And fights. And fights. Until….
He strangles.
Waking with a start, Byakuya tries to muffle the gasp filling the back of his throat when the hospital room flies into view. At first, he panics, unsure of where he is, but this moment of primal instinct subsides once his gaze finds Hisana.
She's resting, her sleep blissfully uninterrupted by his startle.
Perhaps she was right. Perhaps he is unwell from exhaustion. Briefly, he looks down to find himself in more or less the same state as he was when he went to sleep. He's not soaked to the bone nor does his lungs retain fluid.
The visceral sensation of drowning, however, continues to thrum through him at a low but steady frequency. His heart races. The sound of blood pounds in his ears. But, he's otherwise well.
Well enough.
After checking himself, he looks to the small solitary window that hangs on the wall across from them. Thready rays of dawn's early light creeps through the wooden design over the window. It's time to go.
He doesn't want to go.
Glancing down at Hisana, his heart gives a tight thump.
He doesn't want to leave her.
But, he must.
And so, he does but not without first pressing a kiss to the top of her hand.