Verse: 'Half-Canon'.
She opened her eyes.
Her vision was fuzzy, and she felt hot and cold at the same time. Her head hurt; a mild but persistent band of tension throbbed in her temples. The first thing that registered were slate grey eyes, and she stared dully into them, still dazed from sleep and fatigue.
Recognition dawned. She felt confused; her husband was not lying beside her on the futon, but rather sitting by her bedside, watching her. She vaguely remembered falling asleep in his arms into the night—it wasn't daytime already, was it? Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and she tried to grasp how long she'd been out. Had it been minutes? Hours?
But if it were morning, why would her husband still be here? He ought to have left for the Sixth Division at the break of dawn. There was no reason for him to sit by her bedside, her hand in his much larger, warmer one.
There was light in the room, she realised. Only it wasn't sunlight—it was too dim for that, and she recognised the tangerine glow of the cedar floor lamps in the bedroom. They were only switched on at night, so it definitely wasn't morning yet.
A sense of foreboding pooled her stomach, and with great effort, she tore herself away from those dark grey eyes. Turning her head slightly on the pillow, her blood went cold at the familiar sight of the elderly physician sitting on the other side of her bed, Akari standing behind him.
This couldn't be right. The physician wasn't scheduled to examine her again until next week. Why was he here?
Her gut tightened further, and suddenly, she didn't dare to look at her husband. There was only one explanation: he must have found her bruises. After all her attempts to conceal them, she had only wasted her time, and she felt both hopeless and terrified. Did he know she had tried to hide them from him?
More importantly, what about her search for her sister? Was she no longer allowed to visit Hanging Dog again?
The throb in her temples intensified, and she closed her eyes. But that wasn't all—amidst her discomfort and torpor came the pang of a certain need calling at her. She tried to move her limbs but they felt unbearably heavy, and the fog in her brain refused to dissipate. Her chronic fatigue seemed to have taken on a whole new level, leaving her helpless.
As much as she longed to drift back into slumber, she couldn't. The need was still there, stronger than ever, and she feared humiliating herself if she fell back asleep.
Her eyelids lifted, and her head shifted sideways to meet calm slate grey eyes again. Desperation clawed at her throat, and she couldn't believe what she was about to say. About to call for him, she changed her mind at the last moment, torn whether to call for her handmaid instead.
"I," Hisana forced out. "I…" Her miniature fingers curled into a fist under her comforter. "I need…"
She couldn't bring herself to say it. Frustrated, she tried to sit up, but her muscles remained leaden, dragging her down like deadweight.
What was going on? Why did she feel so exhausted? Even though her lethargy had been worse as of late, it had never gotten to a point where she'd been unable to sit up, let alone stand. Her mind went to the strange bruises that had marked her flesh earlier today, and an invisible fist choked her throat.
A soft rustle resounded from her bedside, and then the comforter was peeled away from her body, wringing her from her trance. She blinked, confused, and the heady notes of her lover's rich scent steeped her lungs before his arms—one under her knees, the other on her petite back—lifted her from the futon.
He rose to his feet, and the room spun gently all around her.
"Byakuya-sama," Akari began worriedly, "may I know what's—"
She felt the deep reverberation of her husband's quiet voice run up his chest from where she was pressed to him, and her sluggish brain struggled to keep up with their brief exchange. It ended before she could, however, and no one uttered another word as he withdrew from the futon.
Hisana heard the papery whisper of the shoji door to the bathroom opening, and her cheeks heated slightly. So her husband had understood what she'd been trying to say. The door drew shut behind them, and he knelt down, his hand cradling her back.
She couldn't believe this was happening, and she tried to tell him that she could manage it herself, but her head swam the moment she raised it. She collapsed back against him, giving a faint moan, and she heard the door open again, followed by scurried footfalls that she suspected were Akari's. The male physician, aged as he was, would have known better than to enter without her husband's explicit permission.
The next few minutes were among the most mortifying ones of her life. Her underwear now around her thighs, she sat on the toilet seat, leaning into him with his arms around her. Her muscles were taut, and she breathed him in, her tiny hands fisting his white silk haori. A dull ache blossomed in her bruised right arm, and she loosened her grip, biting her lip. Stroking her hair, he said nothing to hurry her up even as the seconds ticked by, and soon enough, her body began to relax into the placid silence.
Softly, she told herself, as the pressure in her bladder started to give way. Quietly…
It was not to be.
Her face burned. She was making a racket as she relieved herself, the splatter against porcelain echoing loudly into the bathroom. She was so spent, however, that all she could do was slump into him and continue to relieve herself.
This was what her health had reduced her to. She couldn't remember any instance where he—Akari, yes, but never Byakuya—had been present with her while she relieved herself this way. Desperate to drown out the cacophony, she parted her lips and pushed her inert vocal chords to work.
"Byakuya-sama…" Her high-pitched voice was ragged, cracked—and so pathetically soft she knew she was foolish to think she could stifle the racket. She tried again, a shard of pain flaring in her throat with her efforts. "I…"
"Quiet."
The reverberations of his velvety deep voice took her by her surprise, and she felt his strong, large hand press gently on her thin back. It moved down her spine in a tender but protective caress, and she realised her torso was shaking from her attempt to speak. Very softly, he kissed her sweaty forehead.
This wasn't just about trying to mask the sounds anymore. It occurred to her that she had something to say—to ask, and she fought through the fear of what the answer might be.
No matter what, she had to know.
"The Rukon District," Hisana choked out. "Am I still allowed—"
The pain sharpened like a hot knife up her throat, and her chest clenched up. The next thing she knew, she was shuddering as a violent paroxysm of coughing seized her midriff. His warm hand slid up her quivering back at once, rubbing it in tender, rhythmic circles as she gasped and hacked into his robe. She wanted to apologise for sullying his haori, but couldn't with her convulsing throat. The influenza had ruined her lungs for good, and she felt hot tears prick her lids.
"Hisana-sama?" Akari sounded worried.
Damn it. Damn it. Why did her chronic cough have to act up now? It was ridiculous and frustrating—the other servants had caught the same virus months back, but none suffered any residual side-effects to this day. It only went to show how heinously weak her constitution was, and if she could, she'd have screamed aloud.
She couldn't just let her question slide. Her husband's lack of response was telling, and her coughing fit couldn't have come at a worst time. She had to show him she was fine. She had to—
"Enough, Hisana."
Byakuya's baritone voice was as sharp as a dagger, and it froze the blood in her veins. She couldn't see his face, but for once, she was almost glad not to. She knew what she'd see: the cool, piercing look in his narrowed slate grey eyes that never failed to silence her.
It was a tacit warning, and she understood that the further she pushed, the less likely she would obtain permission. A minuscule part of her wanted to continue to resist, but as another harsh cough wracked her slender form, the futility of it sank into her brain. What was the point? Without permission, she could not leave the estate. Moreover, she didn't have the physical strength to make any attempt in the first place.
She could only barely stand as it was.
The expensive silk of his haori was damp. She hadn't even registered that her tears had escaped, and she squeezed her eyes shut, defeated and stricken. She had finished relieving herself seconds ago, and he gently lifted her from the seat.
"We'll discuss this later."
Her wet lids flew open at his calm deep murmur, just as she saw Akari scuttling forward with a folded piece of tissue. Mortified yet helpless as her husband wiped her between her legs, Hisana sucked in a deep breath against his broad shoulder, her gut twisting. No matter how often he tended to her while she was ill, she could never get used to her proud, powerful lover—Captain of the Sixth Division, and the noble Head of the House—playing her caregiver. Shutting down the usual wave of self-loathing, she focused instead on the warm sensation blooming in her chest.
Hope.
What on earth was her mistress thinking?
Even in her current state, it seemed all she cared about was being able to return to the Rukon District. Akari couldn't think of anything more ill-advised. Hisana's health had deteriorated at an alarming pace this year, and even Lord Kuchiki, steadfast as he had always been about his duties, had begun to devote less days to the Sixth Division.
Her mistress's condition was becoming increasingly unpredictable. Her menstrual flow, which was due a month ago, had mysteriously ceased, but the physician had confirmed that she was not expecting. The diagnosis was a relief to Akari; in Hisana's current state, pregnancy and childbirth would be fatal, and Lord Kuchiki had to be equally aware of it. Preoccupied with her health, he had grown reluctant to leave her side for protracted periods of time, particularly after her drawn-out battle with a mild influenza virus. It had taken months since her recovery—a loose term—before the Kuchiki Head had allowed her to revisit the Rukon District via a rickshaw and with Akari's constant companionship.
And yet scarcely a few weeks had passed before Hisana had relapsed here. Akari didn't quite believe that Lord Kuchiki was letting her go again. His words had been chosen with care, and the reaction had been immediate: Hisana's waxen face, originally etched with despair and panic, had relaxed. Akari could practically see the tension melting out of her diminutive frame.
Her concern about the Rukon District appeared to be the only thing keeping her awake, for her eyelids gradually fluttered shut. Her entire body sagged into her husband's arms, and Akari realised just how exhausted her mistress was despite slumbering for long hours today.
Minutes later, Lord Kuchiki had gently laid her on the futon, and a flurry of movement had broken out among the physician and his assistants to attend to her. The Head of the House was quiet as he stroked the dishevelled hair from his unmoving wife's forehead, and his cold grey eyes slid over to Akari, who dropped her head expectantly.
"Bring a bowl of cool water," he said calmly.
Akari bowed again, her heart rate picking up. Was Hisana running a fever?
"Right away, Byakuya-sama," she pushed out, and scurried towards the bathroom.
She moved as fast as she could, filling the dishpan from the running faucet. Wondering why her master had not instructed her to acquire a cloth, she started to hunt for one. It was only when the dishpan was full that she realised the physician had plenty of sterile white towels in his possession, and she hastily stowed the slip of cotton she'd found back to the cabinet under the sink.
Stepping out of the bathroom with the dishpan, Akari stiffened at the sight of Seike Nobutsune standing by the opened shoji doors of the dim room. He hadn't been present earlier—he must have just arrived. A silent Kuchiki Byakuya had joined his elderly steward, whose snow-white head was bowed. Faintly, Akari heard fragments of the bespectacled man's low throaty murmur.
"Akagi Kikyō… Time of death last night…"
Akari almost lost her grip on the bowl of water in her hands. Akagi Kikyō? That name—she swore she knew that name—
And then it hit.
Obā-chan.
That was the old lady Hisana had been dearly acquainted with back in Hanging Dog. Akari had heard her mistress talk about Kikyō—though she'd called her Obā-chan—often enough. This woman had passed away last night? Had it been from old age? The informants deployed by the Kuchiki House to hunt for Hisana's sister in Hanging Dog must have returned with the news.
Akari wasn't sure how long she stood there, trying to process Obā-chan's death and the foreboding sensation in her belly, but the patter of footsteps snapped her back to reality. One of the physician's white-capped attendants took the dishpan from her, and Akari blinked contritely, about to follow her in the direction of the futon.
"Itō Akari-san."
Her feet stopped, and she jerked around towards the croak of her name. Seike was looking at her through those owlish glasses, and she meekly dipped her head at the summons. She had no idea what was going on, and Lord Kuchiki said nothing as he brushed past her without a sound, the hem of his large haori fluttering gracefully behind him. She paused to bow deeply to him, then continued trotting towards Seike with her hands clasped. The manservant stepped out into the corridor on the other side of the shoji doors, beckoning her to follow him.
The moment she was within earshot, he spoke, his solemn rasp so low she had to crane her neck to hear him.
"Unless Byakuya-sama has instructed otherwise, you are not to divulge or even mention what you heard to anyone," he said, "especially Hisana-sama. Is that clear?"
Akari's brows creased, her blood pounding her ears in stupefaction. Seike was obviously enforcing Lord Kuchiki's decree, and it took her a few milliseconds before she finally understood the need for secrecy.
Her mistress was far too ill right now to bear this loss. While there was no fortuitous timing when it came to death, there were certainly worse times than others, and this was one of them. There was no telling what impact the news would have on Hisana's sickly body.
But surely they didn't plan to hide it forever?
Everything felt wrong; ominous. Akari had never considered herself overly superstitious, but Akagi Kikyō's death felt like an ill omen, only she didn't know of what. She realised she wasn't the only one who felt that way—she could see the severe lines deepening in Seike's wizened face, though he didn't utter a word.
Tonight seemed to be the start of something dire, something hopeless. There had been signs pointing to it since the year commenced with the influenza, but Kikyō's death felt like an ugly mark portending what was to come. Akari couldn't pinpoint how she was so sure, but she knew. Hisana's ailments, lasting and painful as they had always been, would not heal and disappear the way they eventually had in the past.
Feeling her lungs shrink, Akari followed Seike back into the quarters with her head down. She desperately wished that she was wrong, that she could shake off the grim emotions clouding her heart.
But the horrible feeling stayed, and her pulse sped up at the sound of the physician's voice by her mistress's futon.
"—cannot be sure until the results from the blood test are out, but I believe—as we discussed prior, Byakuya-sama—the issue lies with Hisana-sama's iron deficiency. This must be why her cycles have stopped... If it has become this critical, Byakuya-sama, and the pills are no longer working, I will make the arrangements for a blood donor—"
Byakuya's rich voice—reminiscent of crushed velvet—was quiet.
"Will my blood type be compatible?"
Akari conjured a swift breath, her eyes darting over to the elegant raven-haired figure seated by his wife's bedside, his large hand over hers. A cooling pad lay across her forehead, and her slow breathing was the only thing Akari heard amidst the aghast silence in the dimly-lit quarters. The physician had gone rigid, his mouth parted in thinly veiled shock.
"Byakuya-sama," he said at last, dipping his grey head. "W–We would not dare to even—"
"I believe I asked a question." Lord Kuchiki sounded eerily flat.
The physician swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing upwards.
"According to Byakuya-sama's blood type… yes, it would be possible," he managed. "But of course we must consider—"
"Then proceed with the transfusion."
All the attendants, previously fussing over a sleeping Hisana, had gone stock-still. Akari listened to the physician's uneven intake of breath, her own throat clamping down. She understood the reaction from the others—it was unheard of for the Head of a Noble House to donate his prestigious blood freely, even if it were to members of his family.
"I understand, Byakuya-sama," the physician said, "but there will certainly be other donors available. So please, there is no need to worry. I will arrange for one tomorrow post-haste."
Lord Kuchiki's eyes cut across the flickering shadows to the elderly man opposite him, and Akari's belly roiled at the shark-like coldness in those dark irises.
"Did I ask you to find another donor, Nobunaga Sakurai?" he said softly. From the corner of her eye, Akari noticed his thumb circling Hisana's knuckles.
The physician's leathery hands whitened on his lap.
"No, Byakuya-sama," he croaked.
"And whose word do you heed: mine or yours?"
"Yours, Byakuya-sama."
"So why are you still seated?"
The physician lurched to his feet. Akari could make out the sheen of sweat glistening on his temples, and his attendants rose accordingly, their faces taut with unease and fear. The physician turned, then paused, and it was clear he was warring with himself. Akari knew what his biggest struggle was—Hisana, a lowborn originating from the Rukon District, receiving Kuchiki Byakuya's noble blood was sacrilegious to him. Even after years of their marriage, the outrage over the once-plebeian Lady of the House remained behind closed doors, and the physician, having served the family for nigh a century, was no exception.
He bent his back, his liver-spotted fingers curling together, and Akari saw his lips pull tight as he bowed deeply to the Head of the House.
"I understand, Byakuya-sama. I will proceed as you wish."
:tbc: