Characters: Hisana, Byakuya
Pairings: Byakuya x Hisana
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Soul Society arc.
Timeline: Pre-manga.
Author's Note: Nothing to report, really.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.

She has little to do anymore but stare directly up at the ceiling, a pale, bland affair of unadorned light-colored wooden planks, cut evenly and smoothly, as her body grows more and more cold and the soft scent of spring flowers wafts in through the open window. She wants to see the garden in all its blossoming glory, but can not rise.

All the things that Hisana can not say and can not see are just her punishments, she thinks.

Hisana wants to pull the blankets up closer over her small body, and can not find the strength in her arms. She is in no danger anyway; past harm, past healing, and silk is good for retaining heat anyway, the soft, glistening lavender folds draping her small white arms as Hisana tucks one hand into her sleeve and leaves the other exposed.

Draped under thick, soft blankets and layers of silk, Hisana knows that she will never see Rukia again. Knows, but can not resign herself to it.

Again, maybe it's just another punishment. Her fruitless, frantic searching through Inuzuri retribution for leaving a baby underneath a tree to cry alone so many years ago, while Hisana flees and never looks back, trying to find a better life. Her unanswered cries, justice and vengeance for all the things that Rukia never got to hear from her sister, and will never hear now.

She can't even picture what Rukia may have grown to look like, and the sister of Hisana's misty dreams is just a shade, a shadow who never turns to face her, never gives Hisana the satisfaction of seeing her face and looking her in the eye.

There are words that need to be said, but never will.

Hisana's exposed hand is now encased in another, much larger one, after a few moments of hearing the swish-swish of soft but firm cloth and deep but light footsteps, and she bites her lip, keeping her eyes resolutely fixed on the ceiling.

Byakuya doesn't understand. Or maybe he does, and he just doesn't want to accept the truth, that his wife willingly abandoned her sister as a baby and left her to die, just so she could survive. And even the third option, that he knows, accepts and simply doesn't care, still burns Hisana so badly that, sick and dying, she still can not look him in the eye.

And even, brought low as she has been, Hisana still can't say that she loves him. It's not on the tip of her tongue; it's not even something she's always wanted to say. It feels almost like a secret, something that must stay where it is, languishing in the gutters and all the dark places where Hisana locks her secrets deep inside, to never be unearthed again.

He'll never hear it, just like Rukia will never hear it.

But Hisana realizes that maybe that's alright.

Her fingers entwined with his tighten as Hisana does what she has not done since she was struck down with illness. She turns her head, meets Byakuya's tired, worried, grief-stricken eyes, and smiles.

Sometimes, words aren't necessary to communicate.