[There is no such hesitation from Shunsui. He has believed her dead so many times - believed that she was gone and that he would never see her again; never feel her reiatsu slip inito place beside his own; never touch her, smell her hair or taste her skin.

He throws his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and turning his head to bury his face in her hair. It's not really an attempt to hide the tears that he can feel burning behind his own eyelids. Trying to do so in the face of the oppressive chill and pressure of her reiatsu would be a wasted effort and besides, there's no shame in them and nor is it anything that Jyuushiko has not seen before. It's more that he wants - no, needs - to remind himself that she is alive. That they are both alive.

His other arm slips lightly round her waist, and he can feel the bandages under her gown that are wrapped as tightly as his own. His fingers trace over them gently.]

We both should.

I'm sorry, Ukitake.