A/N: Sequel is up! If you like, please check out Unwinding once you finish reading this.

(By the way... does Karakura even have a Cartoon Network? :s)

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Disclaimer: Not mine.

Say Your Goodbyes

This time, it was different.

She swung in through his bedroom window, landed on his bed, and commandeered his dark chocolate, just like usual. The first thing she told him after not having seen him for eight weeks was that he smelled like dry rot and had better shower if he ever hoped to survive in his own fumes.

She barreled past him to watch bunny cartoons at eight p.m. on primetime Cartoon Network, she stole the shower at quarter after four (in the morning, mind you), forcing him out of bed to guard the bathroom door, while he mumbled incoherent curses about how he was going to Zangetsu this-or-that, she drank all of the guava juice in the fridge.

He worked on calculus, she left to hunt a rogue Hollow.

She didn't need to stay overnight—she hadn't for seven months now. Her trips back to Karakura town grew more and more infrequent, her stays shorter and shorter until she barely had time to tell Ichigo that he was out of juice before she was called away again.

But this time, it really might be their last.

She wiped off Sode no Shirayuki on the grass. That Hollow was far too easy—not enough for her to truly unleash her pent-up anger against.

What was her brother thinking? Telling her not to come back? Did he realize how much Karakura town and it's residents meant to her?

(She hadn't even realized how much she cared about Karakura until the thought that she might have to leave it forever was breached. There was that saying about not appreciating anything until it was gone, wasn't there?)

She refused to reflect on the exact words, because remembering the latter half of their conversation could only result in her getting herself so riled up she'd probably freeze over all of Karakura in her accidental fury.

Unfortunately, it was already floating to the surface of her mind, unbidden as it was, as she tried unsuccessfully to stuff it back down into the furthest dusty reaches of her memory.

"…will not be returning…"

"…don't understand why, it's where I…"

"…you are no fool…"

"…taicho, just tell me why I…"

And then the kicker that made Sode no Shirayuki twitch in her hand, begging to slash something open with her pure agony. That part was as crystalline in her memory as the salty droplets speckling her face, the ones she refused to acknowledge as anything other than selective raindrops.

"You're in love with him, Rukia. Denial is useless at this point. It is apparent to all shinigami in the Gotei 13, all of which know that it will never work out. A human, shinigami, vizard cross with you, a shinigami? You are only hurting him if you keep this up, because in the end you won't let yourself be with him. You know that as well as I do. If you truly love him, you will end this now. It is better this way- I am only making it easier by forbidding you from ever entering Karakura again."

Silence.

"…You may return to Karakura to take care of the Hollow that is currently on the loose there. Say your goodbyes then. You will return to the Seireitei in no more than twenty-four hours. Understood?"

His words echoed in her mind, the endlessly looping track that replayed his voice over and over, a neverending chorus that spelled out only despair.

When had she grown to love Karakura so much?

Yes, it was Karakura she loved. Who was her brother to say those things about her? Who was he to tell her how she felt? To assume that she loved him? He isn't one to tell me, she thought viciously.

It was stupid. Stupid and crazy and ridiculous. She didn't love him—at best, it was tolerance. He called her a hobbit and a shrimp, a wisp of a woman and artistically lacking to boot. She told him he reeked and was a mess, that he had terrible cooking skills and his spells were worse than his hygiene.

He ruffled her hair like she was six. She kidoued circles around him.

When had that line crossed into something that anybody would consider love?

So maybe at best it was more friendship than simply tolerance. He refused to let her handle any incoming Hollows when they were together, he never seemed to be bothered by her pilfering his chocolate, he grudgingly guarded her bathroom door, he poked the holes in her juicebox, he used to sneak into his little sister's room on a regular basis to fetch her clothes, his rare smile made her feel like it was reserved for her and her alone, like she was the singular girl in his world.

She told him to stop being such a sexist pig and let her handle some Hollows once in awhile, she bought him candies from the eclectic shopkeeper, she drew him diagrams and explained everything he wanted to know about the society, she gave him the roughest and most encouraging pep talks, she risked her life to help him save his family, she kept him on his toes.

They were just… something else, that was all.

And something else was the extent of it. She didn't love him—that was an absurd thought. They had a relationship not exactly conventional—certainly they trusted each other explicitly and she had a feeling he knew her better than anyone else and she him, but love? That belonged on the screens of movies or between the pages of novels she didn't like to admit she read, love was something surreal and unattainable, especially by the likes of her. Something that couldn't really exist in real life because it was just too easy, too perfect, too simple to have something so right in your life.

Years of fighting off the monsters that were reborn in a neverending cycle thanks to the sins and the malice of this world had planted seeds of a cynicism in her heart that didn't align well with her youthful appearance.

And now, thanks to the nonexistent love (she resisted the urge the cut down a lamppost) that apparently all of the Gotei 13 saw, she'd never get to see her nakama again.

What, am I crying now? The wind had kicked up and was carrying away the droplets as fast as they leaked out—it gave her a sense of security knowing that maybe this way nobody would be able to tell.

And then she felt the salt water running down her face and she was furious and miserable and trembling and cold, and she refused to cry, this was stupid, that'd mean she was actually sad and that there was an inkling of truth to her brother's words, that maybe she did…

No.

She'd never admit to that.

And all of a sudden there were warm arms bundling her up and lifting her away from the cement (when had she ended up on her knees?) and a rough voice demanding to know what's going on, why's she crying, and who exactly to beat the shit out of.

His palms were calloused and rough, molded to fit the hilt of Zangetsu perfectly, and though they usually felt like silk against her skin, today they were rough with the constant reminder that she'd never feel them again, that this might be the last time his warm hands rub her arms or her back or her shoulders or or or…

She couldn't tell him, she couldn't. What if he thought that she loved him too? That'd be a disaster, considering she did not did not did not. It'd be far to complicated, it'd be so awkward to be around him…

Not that you ever will again or anything.

That thought occurred to her at the same time her mouth opened and words fell out, tumbling over each other in a rush of emotion, the stream of words matching her stream of tears and she could not believe she was sobbing this hard in front of the guy who she had spent eighteen months trying to convince she was just as tough as.

She didn't tell the story right, her details and nuances were wrong, but it didn't matter, because he understood. He understood, and for a second, he thought about it. But only for a second, because then he clutched her tightly to his well-defined chest, squeezing her like it was the last time—

Oh yeah, it was, wasn't it?

Did he understand what he was doing to her right now? Did he realize that it was only making her cry harder, knowing that she'd never feel this kind of protection and security again? (Because, okay, even if she did talk tough every girl needed a knight in shining armor.) And his arms, they made her feel so safe but now she hated that feeling, she was selfish and she didn't care if he wanted to hold her for the last time, she just wanted to get away from him to make this endless circle of pain come to an end. Just to make it stop.

"I can't leave, I can't… I mean…" she hiccupped slightly. "Idon'tloveyouIdon'tloveyouIdon'tloveyou. So I can't just leave!" and for a second his grip on her slackened, and without looking she could register the hurt on his face (God, did he want to kill her with the guilt and grief?) before he pulled her in even closer, he was crushing her against him but it was okay because if she died right here, right now, in a messy, salty little puddle in his arms, she'd be okay with it.

And then he bent towards her ears and whispered softly "But…" followed by three magical words that had never sounded more beautiful or more excruciating in all of her past lifetimes. Three words that sewed up her cracking world before shattering it all over again. Three words that healed her wounds just to slice them open. Three words that warmed her too-hopeful heart before tearing it right out of her rib cage. She couldn't figure out which side to take, she couldn't figure out if she should be in bliss or pain, she just couldn't.

She registered on a vague, faraway scale that it really had begun to rain, and that he despised the rain.

She figured after today she probably wouldn't like it very much either.

The streets were deserted and he was carrying her back home now (home, which wasn't the 13th Division quarters at all), and they were the only two people in their world, where he was walking her home in the downpour and she was buried in his arms, shielded from the outside world.

In a different universe, it might even have seemed romantic.

In this one, it was only tragic.