[At her unexpected response there's a brief, surprised grin that dissolves almost as immediately as it appears when the laugh turns into a fit of staccato coughing.

After the fever-dreams, the sound of it rakes across his senses - he's never found Ukitake's bouts of illness less than nerve-wracking to deal with, despite the passage of time. And now, with the fresh memory of feeling her reiryoku flutter and fad to nothing, over and over again... Abruptly, the fear is as deep and painful as it had been the first time, back at the Academy, when he had watched with horror as his room-mate coughed up more blood than Shunsui had believed it was possible for a living soul to lose.

He shifts position again - enough that he can support her body with his - grunting at but otherwise disregarding the fresh pain as bandages rub against on burned skin and the jarring that comes with each cough.

There's no attempt to speak - he doesn't trust his voice to remain steady or his mind to form words that make any sense. And for the first time since he woke he's half-grateful for his depleted spiritual power - for the fact that neither his fear nor the relief when the fit subsides are obvious to Jyuushiko.

Lowering his eyes when she looks back at him, he conjures up the ghost of a smile, lifting a hand to brush a thumb softly against her cheek.]

I doubt that, Ukitake. I've never known Retsu to allow her healing to go to waste.