We laughed. We cried.

We fell. We got high

Even after we died.

But we never said goodbye.

Inspired by ß Written In (ø)

...xXx...

There is another moan that calls for attention on the other side of the makeshift tent, one of many. She wipes absent-mindedly at the sweat on her brow and can no longer tell where the tears begin and sweat ends. Her reiatsu is weak now, at the bottom of their reserves and knowing that, despite everything, she has one of the largest reserves in the entire division is not enough because it isn't. 

She turns around, hands still green and healing because she's afraid that if she stops, she won't be able to start again. 

"-ko!" she hears finally. She pauses, purple hair on the border of her vision, and she blinks slowly. "Shizuko!" 

It takes her a second too long.

"Kimiko," she recognizes finally, "are you hurt?"

She looks the girl from top to bottom - bruises, scratches, the traces of a nasty gash that's already been healed, but fine otherwise. She reaches up, putting her still glowing hand onto the small cut under Kimiko's eye.

"I'm fine," Kimiko grinds out, blue eyes sharp and forceful. Hands grip hers and gently pull away, the glow fading as her reiatsu gives out; the cut remains unhealed. "And as the clear-headed one, I'm ordering you to get your into a chair and rest."

"What? I can't-"

"Don't make me get a Captain," Kimiko threatens, the stern look in her eye admitting no bluff.

She stiffens on automatic, feeling her neck heat in reminder of the flattering but unworthy attention the Captains had given her once she had begun - and steadily succeeded - in increasing her reiatsu reserves every day. 

"I..." she trails off.

Her hesitation costs her.

"Unohana-taicho!" Kimiko calls loudly, attracting looks from everyone within the vicinity. 

"Kimiko," she hisses, taking a step and losing her balance. She yelps and Kimiko, despite all of her injuries, catches her with ease. The gazes don't disappear though she is literally clinging onto one of Kimiko's arms, Kimiko's other hand on her shoulders, and she burns red at the audience to her weakness.

"Ara," comes the soft remark from behind her and she recognizes the voice from hours and days - weeks and months - at work. "What is going on here?"

"Unohana-taicho, please tell Shizuko to rest," Kimiko requests dryly, hands steady and warm - kind despite the harsh worry and irritation of the purple-haired girl's tone. 

"I'm fine," she grinds out, releasing her grip on Kimiko's arm and straightening immediately. Except her body does not follow instructions and her balance immediately wavers. This time, a second pair of hands joins Kimiko in catching her and she takes a deep, shaky breath when the room spins. 

"Shizuko," Unohana-taicho calls in warning. 

"Taicho. Please," she reasons, closing her eyes when the few lights are too much for her vision to sort. "There's so much..."

She trails off because there's no way to fill in the blank with one word that encompasses all. 

To heal. Blood. Death. 

"I can't..." she continues only to falter once more. She opens her eyes, blinking rapidly to compensate.

Stop. Rest. Give up. 

"How about this?" Unohana-taicho offers. There's a quick exchange of whispers and she is guided onto a seat, her feet immediately throbbing now that her weight doesn't keep them steady against the ground. Unohana-taicho takes up all of her vision, eyes firm and knowing. "Close your eyes for thirty seconds."

She purses her lips.

"If you can do so, you can go back to work," Unohana-taicho promises, quieting Kimiko's protest with a sharp look. 

She takes in a breath and closes her eyes, whispering the numbers into the air. 

"30. 29. 28. 27..."

She is asleep before she murmurs 25. 

-oOo- 

She knows that it isn't their fault - that it isn't hers or his or any other but their enemies' - but it doesn't make the pain lessen. It doesn't stop the fact that-

"I'm tired of fighting a losing war," she admits, hands clasped in front of her. Her body quivers and she takes in a shaky breath, knuckles white where she's pressing her nails too hard into skin.

"Is that so?" the Quincy asks, his tone implying superiority. "Perhaps you may convince your kind to surrender."

"We have lost enough," she whispers softly, looking up and meeting his eyes - cold and hard - with courage, "and so have you. There is no winning in war for either side."

You're a medic. You're supposed to save lives.

"Spineless," the Quincy hisses, sneering at her. "You only say so out of loss. But we are willing to grant you amnesty."

He points to the side and she follows the gesture. Another Quincy, a female with long hair that reminds her of her comrades, drags an injured Shinigami from the shadows. She doesn't know his name but she knows he's in the Tenth Division, the same Division she has lost. 

"Kill him as proof of your loyalty." 

She looks back to him in surprise but there is no sympathy and no promise. She takes a breath, long and careful, and gathers her resolve.

I know, Kimiko. But there's no use for a medic if there are no lives left to save. 

"Utau, Sei no Seikyo," she whispers, her blade shifting into blunt metal and bending into the vague outline of a violin. Her tsuba and hilt morph into the bow and she wants to laugh at how even her shikai - her zanpakuto - honors her wish to heal, to better, but also knows the meaning of sacrifice. 

She slips into position and she notes at least two Quincy within the large room who draw their weapons on her. 

But she does not hesitate. 

She draws her bow mid-air across the invisible mid-string on top of the violin shape and a single note appears mid-air. It is a sharp green - like his eyes - and it flies into the Shinigami's belly. The female Quincy sneers and releases the male, stepping back and out of the way. 

She continues the movement, drawing her bow across the strings as the melody forms and more notes also appear, surrounding the Shinigami with rough movements and painful jabs until it finally forms a bubble of an opaque silvery-white.

Several Quincy move towards her, noticing something amiss, but it is too late. 

The melody shifts into something lackadaisical and immediately, the Quincies start to sway. She lays down quickly before her balance gives out. 

Ironic, she muses, that her powers affect herself - a retribution paid only a moment or so after her victims. 

She moves on with the melody, turning it into something cacophonous and haunting. The Quincy around her begin to shout and groan. She undoes the balance sub-melody and can only watch as the Quincy turn against each other, yelling nonsense that only is sane in the illusions of their worst nightmare. She wishes to close her eyes but she finds there is no illusion for her; this is already her nightmare.

Cruel that their nightmares remain unrealized.

She drifts, watching their number whittle down and the arrows in the air dwindle.

Which is why she barely dodges the arrow aimed straight for her, rolling to her feet clumsily. She continues playing the melody, fortunately, as she had already predicted that some - those with reiatsu stronger and / or larger than hers - would break free; in fact, they took longer than she expected. 

"You-" one Quincy shouts, his insult giving her clear opportunity to dodge.

She changes the melody once again, drawing upon her already-dying reiatsu to support her more deadly attack-

But she slips, reiatsu gone too quickly with the large amount of Quincy to overcome, and his arrow is flying true. 

She closes her eyes but prays for no miracle; she has already met and lost hers. 

Except what pains her is dull rather than sharp and what comes around her torso, though warm, is not her blood. 

Her eyes fly open and-

"Reckless," he chides, lips turned into the disapproving slant she's come to know so familiarly despite the relief in his eyes. 

And his eyes-

"What?" she manages to choke out, surroundings completely lost because he's here. She reaches a hand out, fingers trembling, but his cheek is warm against her hand and-

Oh.

"I'm dead," she reasons aloud, because she's with him and he is-

His lips quiver before pulling into something she can't quite recognize.

"Not even close," he says finally, eyes darting away from her momentarily before he curls around her as something explodes in the background.

And they're still on the battlefield. She's where she was before, mid-Quincy Palace and he's here with her, which means he's alive but-

She shakes her head, pushing aside her - relief, confusion, miracle - personal situation for later.

"Who's here?" she demands to know instead, pulling away despite the cries to not in her own head. She straightens as he gives a quick summary of the members of the makeshift rescue team. 

"In two minutes, we're leaving," he states in the tone she's long since recognized as the something-is-going-to-happen-so-don't-be-surprised-and-take-the-opportunity voice. 

"I'm out of reiatsu," she warns, blocking what arrows she can with her blade. His back is warm against hers and when he huffs, she can feel the movement acutely, feels electricity tingle down her spine. 

"What do you think I'm here for?" he asks, parting from her just long enough to wrap an arm around her waist and draw her back; the swing of his sword unleashes an icy dragon, sweeping the enemies - and arrows - back. "Lean on me. Idiot." 

And she stiffens at the implication because she has to do everything on her own, has to be self-sufficient - independent - has to-

But this is him. 

And she can trust him.

So she slowly relaxes, allows herself to cling to him - to trust in him - even as the ground beneath her feet crumbles.