It had been coming for days; she'd felt it like a presence standing behind her shoulder, stepping closer and closer again until it merged with her backbone and unstrung her. She didn't know why it was now, why this hadn't happened when she was locked away or about to die or at some other time that made sense. She just knew she couldn't hold it back any more, and a few hot tears spilled over as her breath rasped harshly in her lungs.

Kuchiki was her House, just as Rukongai was her past. And neither a survivor of Inuzuri nor a daughter of Kuchiki needed anyone holding open doors for her. She'd open her own damn door.

But however much of a pain parts of it had been, it all came down to this. To he and Rukia, having escaped from the layers of their formal robes and elaborate hair ornaments, down to a yukata apiece, in a dim bedroom that belonged to them.

Rukia sank back, arrested by the phrase marry out of the house. She remembered the conversation she and her brother had had in the garden one evening, about regrets and stubbornness, and spouses and honor. Her heart couldn't decide whether to stop beating or to race.

For a long time, Renji had walked at his heels, as if tame, always watching but never challenging.

He was no longer tame, and thus became worthy of consideration.

"Tell me about Hisana."

Renji collapsed into his desk chair with a groan. "Who knew I'd ever appreciate paperwork?" he muttered, slumping over. Paperwork, at least, didn't explode or kill anyone or change into weird, unpredictable hybrids.

Rukia drew some odd looks, marching through the main offices of Sixth Division with a tray of tea.

Renji liked to think that he stayed alert for anything, even when he was at home.

Anything, however, didn't usually include a tiny brat of a fellow vice-captain landing on his shoulders and pounding him on the head with a small but very hard fist.

"Nii-sama?" she asked, a bit cautiously just in case this was a symptom of madness, or some strange family ritual she'd never heard of.