Soi Fon couldn't decide who she was most angry at. Leaning against the thin gray-white wall of a joint hospital room the captain scowled at the scene in front of her. After that disastrous excuse of a captain's meeting-she scoffed at the mere memory-she had somehow found herself here. An odd sanctuary to be sure, if one was to call it that.

She certainly wasn't.

No, she was simply here so as to more accurately gauge who deserved most of her anger. As usual the list was long, but the anger in question had never been quite this intense.

She continued to glower.

The young captain briefly considered sending a glare at those blasted machines, the beeping and humming was annoying, but refrained from doing so. The machines could have a portion of her bad temper too, liars that they were. They continued to intone that the ones they were attached to were alive; but they weren't, not really. If they monitored anything it was their own vital signs, she thought dourly. The machines pumped their blood, breathed their breath, beat their hearts.

They weren't alive

Her fist clenched, and her expression fought to remain in its normal cold glare. They wouldn't awaken, those bastards. Fools, idiotic fools, the both of them. Why limit it to the two she currently observed? Soi Fon reminded herself; why not include all the other idiots who had gotten themselves killed. Because really she might as well start speaking of them in the past tense, may as well get used to it now. They aren't going to wake up, will never breath on their own let alone crack open their eyes again.

That damn feeling that had coiled somewhere behind her sternum tightened again, and she clenched her jaw-hard-to offset the feeling. She wouldn't hold on to false illusions, wouldn't engage in that foolish notion that others called 'hope.' It was only postponing the eventual reality, only pushing it away until later, and it was a pointless thing to do. Unless a miracle happened the two in front of her had little hope, maybe if they were lucky one of them would live.

Soi Fon didn't believe in miracles, and she was never one to be on the good side of luck.

She tsked at herself. It didn't matter either way, she didn't care. She only cared that their numbers had taken such a blow, only about the negative affect it had on their ability to repel their enemies. Then why did you scream? A voice in her mind whispered, and she wasn't sure if it was her zanpakutou or her own thoughts. Shut up! She mentally shot back, anger boiling.

Frustrated with her internally focused thoughts Soi Fon forcibly turned them elsewhere. Naturally an unimaginative person she couldn't help but renew her attention on her surroundings, the room came back into stark clarity. She was surprised, and horrified, to realize that the depressingly dead atmosphere unsettled her, only the slightest bit. Or she thought it did. At the very least, it dislodged the coil until its tendrils had readjusted its grip to somewhere near the emotion of uneasiness.

Ignoring the troubling sensation she used her keen observation skills to analyze the room, deciding to ignore any of the details (like the two prone bodies) that may lead her thoughts back to their original state. With a small grunt-it wasn't as if the occupants of the room could hear-she removed herself from the wall and walked on light feet towards the other end of the room. Against said wall was the heads of both hospital beds, which she promptly ignored; instead deciding to focus on the two small bedside tables that lay between the two. There were two chairs, one facing each bed; no doubt for use by hapless visitors. The two beds each rested about a foot away from the walls on opposite sides of the room, she noted idly. The space between the walls and the beds reserved for the noisy machines.

On her left was a beast of a man, large and muscular, long hair splayed underneath him in an unusually calm manner. The one on the right was a tall, slim but well built man, onyx hair off to the side of his head, disappearing from her sight, his sharp featured face appearing ghostly.

Both tables were light grey-Soi Fon found herself thoroughly sick with the colors grey and white-and their table tops were nearly bare, there was a space between the two tabletops.

Nearly bare.

She recognized the items immediately, her rather sharp and quick mind wasted no time in placing them. The second division captain nearly regretted her decision to ever enter the damned room, but that would mean admitting her uneasiness, would mean acknowledging the damn knot in her chest, so she didn't regret it.

Hesitatingly she brought up a slim hand to examine the item on the left table, the one next to the larger of the two bodies. Her hand was trembling; swiftly snatching back the offending limb she forced it to stop. With an irritated huff she repeated the action, quickly this time. Her fingers met the unmistakable hard sleek surface of the very familiar hairclip. She had seen it many times against obnoxiously bright pink hair, often times blurring out of sight as the one wearing it whizzed about hyperactively. She shouldn't be surprised to find it here, and after a moment the captain found that she wasn't.

Onyx eyes glared at the item thoughtfully for a time, before briefly bringing up her gaze to finally bring one of the prone figures into her line of sight. The item was no doubt left by the lieutenant of division eleven, perhaps a sentimental message if the man in the adjoining bed was to awaken. An impossible thought, the gesture was practically useless. She set down the familiar clip, it landed on the table with an audible click.

Kenpachi Zaraki, Captain of division eleven was in a coma, maybe never to awake again.

"Idiot" she hissed at him, just in case he could hear her. And he really was an idiot. He was an idiot for going after the invasion's leader with absolutely no backup plan other than to fight, as was his nature. He could have done much more good, Soi Fon thought irritably, if he had continued going around defeating the other Quincy. As much as she loathed admitting it, he had taken out the most of their enemies besides the head captain. Simple logic-with an emphasis on simple-dictated that one should go for the leader, but that was the stupidest thing one could do when the enemy was so damn adept at taking their own power and using it against them. If he had been smart, or capable of thinking at all, he would have continued to kill the other invaders. Instead he had gone and done this to himself. Soi Fon took a moment to seethe, anger roaring back at the thought.

Her glare intensified. His large broad chest was hardly moving, quiet a difference from his usual heaving breaths, his rough voice was absent from his throat, replaced by breathing tubes. Modified eye patch removed and both eyes closed, his scarred face was not peaceful-she doubted it had ever worn such an expression-but rather it was sunken and sickly. His scars making him appear old rather than fierce. His tan skin was paler than what should be possible; she could see the faint blue of veins under the thin skin of his eyelids. If she looked closely-hidden, whether purposely or not, behind the breathing tubes-she could catch glimpses of the ugly blue, yellow, purple patches of the bruising around his neck. It was in the unmistakable shape of a large hand. Idly, Soi Fon decided that, if given the chance, she would cut off the hand that did it.

Tearing her gaze from the large comatose captain she turned her attention to the other bedside table, the one that sat next to the other bed in the room. Identical to the first, except for the item placed on top. Or rather, items, she realized as she stood next to it.

A small green vase, no more than a tube, rested upon the small table. Inside were flowers. She nearly rolled her eyes at the display. It was something that many did, give flowers to the ill. Which was pointless, what use were flowers? Inside a vase meant they withered quickly, any well-meaning cheerful reminders turned into dead weeds. If one brought a potted plant it could easily be a depressing memento of how long one truly had to recover, she thought cynically. In both instances the plants were a constant reminder of the outside that the injured or sick were not allowed to see. It could even be considered a more redundant gesture than the hairclip on the other table top. At least the clip was clearly a message from the lieutenant of eleventh; flowers were so general that even if the unconscious captain awoke we would have little idea as to who they were from. Soi Fon crossed her arms. Pointless, she repeated to herself.

Upon closer inspection she was able to discern the flowers, a snowdrop-were they even in season?- and a white camellia. She continued to examine the flowers, thoughts slowly gathering themselves in her head through all the turmoil. Her slate eyes narrowed as she bent over to closer observe the plants.

Yes, she thought, those were the flower symbols for the thirteenth and sixth divisions.

A snowdrop for the thirteenth and camellia for the sixth.

She straightened, eyes still on the flowers contemplatively. It didn't take much thinking to guess as to who left them there, though Soi Fon was surprised that she was walking. Last that she heard her injuries had left her bedridden. Though, upon further thought the lieutenant of the thirteenth was rather well known for cleverly toeing the line between obedience and defiance.

Still, she felt as if she was missing something, and as head of the second division that did not sit well with her under any circumstance. It hit her suddenly, and Soi Fon felt irritated of not having caught it earlier.

The snowdrop, in the language of flowers meant 'hope' the very thing she had been dismissing as foolish a few moments earlier. And the white camellia- she paused, having to think longer to recollect the exact meaning but, eventually, her (quickly waning) patience was rewarded. That particular flower, she recalled, in the color white meant something akin to 'waiting.'

Hope and waiting, both spoken in the language of flowers, the very ones that represented their divisions.

How ironic.

Soi Fon supposed the flower choice could be considered clever, she thought with a scoff.

She brought a hand closer to the offending flora. It was foolish of the lieutenant to bring them in a vase; she should very well know that the man they were meant for would not be awakening any time in the near future, if at all. Bringing gifts with such a short lifespan was bordering on stupidly optimistic or just plain thoughtless. Soi Fon wasn't sure which explanation she found more appalling; she had supported the girl's promotion and did not like either implication. Let no one say she helped promote a fool, Omaeda notwithstanding.

As a finger brushed the white petal of the snowdrop she felt it. Eyebrows drawn downwards in confusion she extended her senses, carefully. Yes, there was residue reiatsu in both of the plants, most probably meant to maintain their life. If they were not tampered with they would probably last quite a while. Internally she gave a satisfactory huff. Good, the girl wasn't a fool after all. The reiatsu was nearly undetectable, especially since one was forced to keep their reiatsu, and by extension their sensing abilities, tightly under wraps in the room for fear of comprising the fragile condition of either patient.

Still, Soi Fon noted with a frown, she should have sensed it straight away. Scolding herself for getting so unsettled by the current situation that she wouldn't notice, she returned to crossing her arms. Sighing, the captain closed her eyes for a moment, digging to find the anger that had initially brought her here.

Her gaze was smoldering before she even fully opened her eyes, though the steely look wavered at the sight of the unconscious captain. He was a mess. That was one of the simplest ways to put it. She had heard that he had been found as a smudge of flesh and blood snuggled into the crater of a wall and she completely believed it. That reality hadn't seemed as real as it did at this moment.

Slashes, big and small, and all deep, were carved into his flesh. Some half healed, others not. Most of them were wrapped, whether it be under gauze or kido induced scar tissue. Some still managed to bleed through their white confines, staining the outside with crimson. She could barely see any of his skin with all the bandages.

One of the biggest wounds, that was no longer gaping but it still had the ring of hollowness, was the hole that had been put straight through his torso. Even with the layers of gauze, stitches, and who knows what, it still trembled with every artificial breath forced into his lungs. Paper trembling in the wind, if one tried they could probably poke a finger through to his innards. Soi Fon swallowed thickly at the thought, steely expression crumbling into anger.

He was one of the strongest captains, acceptably adept at all areas of shinigami arts. Yet here he lay. He shouldn't be so close to death, Zaraki had rushed straight into the maws of death but Kuchiki had no such excuse. He was not a lieutenant, nor had he been fighting the leader that had defeated even the head captain. His opponent had been one of the most gruesome, or she would guess. Still, she found herself angry at him; did he simply stand still and wait for death? It was the only possibility she could think to explain his current pitiful state.

"Fool" she said simply, the word ringing loudly around her. Soi Fon did not make it a habit to insult the incapacitated, but she did find herself doing it quite often as of late. She let out a breath between a sigh and growl, running a critical eye over his form.

She had never seen him in such an awkward position, mouth forced open, tube shoved down his throat, Adam's apple bulging but hardly moving. His fingers lay stiff and pale; except for the tips which were still irritated pink and blood red, for most of his nails had been shredded off. Bones shattered, innards spilling out, sword destroyed…a pitiful state for such a prideful man. And-the iron taste filled her lungs, her mouth, and nose -despite the fourth's best efforts, and damn if they didn't try, he still reeked of blood.

Zaraki, she pondered, looked dead, like an unhealing , timeless, and unmoving corpse. But Byakuya looked like something that had never been alive to begin with.

She had known him since they were children; it would be hard for her to forget their first meeting. Yoruichi had thought they needed to meet and what better way than to tie them together, back-to-back, hanging from a tree branch? The memory was from a different world, a different boy than the man – corpse- she stared down at now.

Without her permission her thoughts wandered away from their strict confinements of bitter anger and duties. She would be lying if she said that she had not considered the sixth division captain a close colleague, hell some (not her or him) may even call them friends. And, as much as she loathed admitting it, while Zaraki's methods were pretentious and barbaric but he was strong and never found her sharp demeanor as something to patronize her about, and he was always willing to spar. And, she added, he kept his division much more under control than the previous captain of the eleventh had. Soi Fon sat down at one of the offered chairs, the one near Byakuya Kuchiki's bed, idly she wondered how long ago it had been Rukia Kuchiki-his beloved sister-that had sat in the very same seat, if she was even able. She finally allowed a sigh to leave her lips. In an uncharacteristic show of exhaustion she rested her head on her palms, pressing them against her eyes until she was seeing colors behind her eyelids. Keeping her eyes closed she rubbed her fingers against her temples, hard.

It was selfish and irresponsible of them, leaving their divisions without captains. Already she knew that the more passionate division members would threaten to riot, protesting against the very reality, the very possibility of their captains never waking. A futile effort, but they wouldn't see it that way. She stole one last look at the gifts that adorned the tabletops; both lieutenant Kusajishi and Lieutenant Kuchiki would be absolutely devastated if the two captains were to never wake up. Weak, both of them. If the loss of a comrade could affect them so much. Her hands began to shake, she sat up straight and settled them on her lap, ignoring their wretched trembling. They were relatively strong shinigami, and yet they would be brought to their knees by the loss. A twinge of something, something that felt alarmingly like sympathy underneath the flame of anger stirred in her chest. The coil of sensations creaking with the effort to not burst. Soi Fon clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge anything.

They should be angry at them, not mourning them. Angry that they acted so recklessly, were too weak to defeat their opponents or at least survive. She certainly was.

She didn't want to hear any of this, didn't want to know that they would never wake up.

In the end the three of them Kuchiki, Zaraki, and herself, were captains, they all fought for the same cause.

She was simply angry at them for falling while doing so.

A/N: Okay I loved Soi Fon's freak out. So I couldn't help but write something. I really feel like her and Byakuya are kinda friends, not that either of them would admit it. And I feel like Soi Fon is one of those people who hides everything under anger. After her getting reprimanded by Kommumora I felt bad for her and wanted to write her. This fic takes place after that meeting.

Honestly I feel like I didn't get her right, this is the first time I've written her in depth. I think it's not too far of a stretch to think she may have some sympathy or grief for her comrades. I wrote this right after the chapter of the captain's meeting came out, but I forgot about it until now. So I cleaned it up and decided to publish it. I know that, considering what we know now, she seems strangely hopeless about their conditions but (maybe I was reading bad translations?) at the time I swear that it seemed like Byakuya and Zaraki weren't going to make it. But looking back that would be a pointless thing for Kubo to do-why comas and not just kill them if you're not going to do anything with a character right?

I think I already made this a/n too long so if you have any questions just ask!

Please review and tell me what you thought!