The Obvious Solution

The fourth division is still. It's also quiet, although the silence is newfound and not that of relief. It's the void left after the groans and screams of pain of new arrivals have faded; after the sedatives have been administered; after all that can be done has been done; after those whose loved ones will never awake have been unwillingly sent away to grieve. It doesn't seem right, to disrupt this silence. In some ways, it still maintains the illusion that it is the face of healing and regeneration. But the air says different. It's sterile. It's stagnant. It's heavy. Healing never felt like this. Neither did hope.

A tall figure moves within. His slow steps would have once been a swagger, in leisurely meandering, but now they are slow with exhaustion. As he passes fourth division members in the corridor, he tries to meet their eyes; they purposely avoid his. He wishes he had the energy to apologise, to tell them it isn't their fault, but this wish is empty and goes unfulfilled.

He approaches one room in particular. Outside lies a small figure, asleep, on the floor beside the door. Someone has thrown a blanket over him; it does nothing to stem the shivering that comes with his dreams, however. The tall figure reaches out and shakes the small shinigami's shoulders.

"You should go home and sleep," he says, although gentle, giving an order.

The sleeping shinigami stirs. "I can't," he mumbles. "Kyouraku-taichou said to stay..."

He manages to pry his eyelids apart and take in the figure in front of him – the pink-clad, long-haired figure.

"Kyoraku-taichou!" he exclaims, with as much sharpness that he can manage. It isn't much in his tired state. "I-I-I'm so sorry, sir! I didn't mean to..."

Kyoraku Shunsui holds up a hand and shakes his head. "Thank you for your diligence, Hanatarou-san. I truly appreciate all you have done. Please go home and rest now."

Hanatarou opens his mouth to protest, but his shoulders soon slump as he knows he cannot make a convincing argument. "Yes, sir," he says finally. "Thank you." Gathering the blanket into his arms, he shuffles away.

Shunsui doesn't watch him go, but neither does he immediately enter the room before him. Part of him doesn't want to: he doesn't know how many more times he can survey the scene that will lay before him until his heart shatters. But the other part wants to install himself in that room permanently, foregoing food and drink and rest and all those other things that people would call 'necessities'. He wants to watch and wait, hoping for a change that'll be in their favour for once. Such a sentiment may be unfounded and ill-conceived, but at this stage, he doesn't care beyond the tiniest sliver. There's only one thing he truly needs, and she's lying unconscious in the room beyond.

And so, the internal argument takes its usual, well-worn path and doesn't last long. It never does. And the same side, as always, emerges victorious.

The shouji door grates lightly as he opens it. There's someone already standing at the bedside – another captain. They greet each other with their eyes, but say nothing. That is, until his curiosity can no longer be restrained.

"Has there been any change, Unohana-san?" he asks, his voice barely audible. His heart starts to beat frantically (irrationally, with hope) as he waits for her reply.

She shakes her head sadly. "I'm afraid not, Kyoraku-san," she apologises. "I fear there may not be any change to come, either."

He swallows, hard, but his heavy chest fights the gesture fervently. "I know you said there wouldn't be, but I just thought..." He goes to reach for something, hesitates, and lets his hand drop by his side; Unohana urges him to continue with her soft frown of confusion. He smiles sadly. "Never mind," he dismisses.

Unohana mirrors his smile. She places a hand on his arm, a small gesture of comfort that Shunsui can only appreciate with his head in his current state. His heart ignores it callously. "I'm sorry, Kyoraku-san." Unohana takes her leave, closing the door in her wake.

He is left again with silence, but he figures that it's better that way. Sound might make him feel something sharper than numb despair, and he's having a hard enough time coping with that at the moment. He doesn't know if he could stand any more. Futile, redundant, he watches the person on the bed for a few moments. He sighs and turns his head away; his eyes, however, remained locked on their target; he can't look away. "Oh, Nanao," he breathes, all his effort channelled into not choking on his words. "You look terrible, beautiful one."

And she truly does. Her characteristic pale skin is now pasty; her lips are dry and cracked like old paint, and are almost lost against the pallor of her face. Her hair has been pulled back into a loose ponytail; it's still as straight as usual, but it lacks its usual lustre, its life, its discipline and confidence. Its nothing like the Nanao-chan he knows, Shunsui thinks. A nasal canister feeds her oxygen, the tubes tucked neatly behind each ear; there's a machine measuring the beating of her heart, peaks appearing steadily across its screen but weakly. Her glasses rest on the bedside table atop her tome; Kyouraku has long since fixed the arms so they no longer sit lopsided, but the lenses remain scratched and cracked and broken beyond repair.

Lying there, she looks so fragile, Shunsui thinks – and he almost chuckles to himself: save for a few very rare occasions, the only thing that had ever been fragile when he was in the same room as Nanao was his fingers after she'd thwapped them with her fan for fiddling with something or other.

His chair is waiting for him. It's been empty too long. But when he sits in it, it's not for the usual long haul but on the very edge, his eyes locked on her unmoving face.

It's another moment (eternity) before he speaks again.

"I have a surprise for you, Nanao-chan," he says, reaching into his haori. He lays the items on the bed beside her. "They're done." The documents are crinkled and littered with specks of ink and great sections which have been crossed out and redone, but nonetheless... "All of them. They're done."

He waits, breath baited, for a response. Nothing. "See, Nanao-chan? The paperwork is all done!" His heart starts pounding again; his hope, present in miniscule portions to begin with, is dwindling. "You're supposed to hit me with something and yell at me for not doing them sooner!" he whispers. "Or you could be overwhelmed with joy that I've actually done some work!" Seconds pass. Nothing. "You're supposed to get angry at me for making such a mess of them!" His voice is breaking. His throat tightens. His arms feel like jelly, and his knees like they're made of the weakest of rubber."..Nanao?"

It's then that he realises – properly realises – something: this is it. There's absolutely nothing more he can do, but be a presence at her side. There are no more options. There is just waiting, and it's by far the worst part.

With a resigned whimper, he rests his head on the bed. He takes her cold hand in his. He's exhausted, deflated; the completed paperwork lies abandoned at the foot of the bed. Shunsui closes his eyes and allows the silence and the stillness to dissolve him. The only thing that remains of him in this world is the imaginary twitches of the fingers encompassed in his own.

Those imaginary movements become more insistent – weak, certainly, but present and repetitive. Shunsui leaps to his feet; his mouth falls open with a breath of surprise as he sees her eyes moving under her eyelids, trying desperately to open the stubborn shutters.

"Nanao?" he calls. He doesn't even have the hope to call her by the pet name she hates (so she says) so much, lest it be crushed once again.

The first time he sees those violet eyes, Shunsui thinks he could almost sing with joy. He stares into them; they're unfocused and uneven and confused and look like they're struggling, but they're there. Staying open with every inch the fighting spirit he has come to expect from his Nanao-chan.

He squeezes her hand. Dare he start to believe...? "Nanao?"

This time, her eyes find his. They hold steady.

"Hiya, Nanao-chan," he says simply, but his face breaks into a grin that he simply cannot stem. Tears clutch at the edge of his vision until he can no longer restrain them; they overflow onto his cheeks even as his heart sings with happiness – he doesn't bother to wipe them away. Relief hits him like a tidal wave; every single feeling he'd tried not to feel since the beginning crashed over him leaving him breathless. He holds her hand tighter as though it would act as her anchor to the land of the conscious.

The confusion in her eyes has grown twofold, and worry has begun to flourish there – for him, he fears.

"Ne, Nanao-chan," he says quietly, "why didn't I try doing the paperwork sooner?"

This does nothing to alleviate her confusion, but the worry lifts from her eyes. Paperwork. His laziness. Normality. A smile tugs at her own lips and she tries to tell him something, but the words are lost in her dry throat. Instead she squeezes his hand in comfort. Although he knows what she would have said anyway.

Time passes. Somewhere in the corners of his mind, he notices Unohana coming and going. He begins to talk – nothing of consequence, but the silence no longer fits the mood. His hand never leaves hers. For as long as she can keep them open, her eyes never leave his. When her eyelids begin to flutter closed, this time it's in healing sleep.

"Welcome back, Nanao," he says as he presses a kiss to her forehead. "May you never stay away that long again."

He doesn't know if she hears, but he'll be sure to tell her again. Of this, he is certain.

I dug this out the other day. I wrote it during exams while feeling exceptionally unmotivated for study - hence the melancholy note ^^;

My first Bleach fic - I'm pretty sure shinigami don't use the medical equipment I've described in here, but anyway~ Any feedback you can offer would be great!

Thanks for reading!