Author's Note:

Simply because the Author believes the world to be a superior place when a bit of Byakuya is thrown into the mix. So please step right into the mind of the Kuchiki as he rushes to the rescue of his adopted little sister.

Any and all constructive comments, thoughts and ideas are most appreciated and guaranteed to be treasured for a long, long time.

Disclaimer:

I don't own Bleach, m'kay?

Nine Hundred and Five

-#-

At the height of her power, the former Commander of the Special Forces was rumoured to have been capable of exactly nine hundred flash steps before her body finally reminded her of the limitations and mortality placed even upon Shinigami. But no-one had known the true limit to her formidable potential. Not even he.

Nine hundred flash steps.

Of course, she had not needed fully nine hundred then, back in the days of his boyhood: despite his best efforts, the student never could quite outdo his teacher. She had been the unquestioned victor of each and every one of their many games of tag, and not even after one hundred years of her self-imposed exile to the World of the Living had he managed to defeat her. Granted that he had improved significantly in her absence, but she had showed him that even that had not been enough; the difference between them was still too great, they were still master and pupil, and time had not done enough to reverse their roles.

Because while it was true that she may have abandoned her other titles, all those years ago, he knew that there was one name for herself that she would keep until the end. Indeed, at that moment, even with the dead weight in her arms to slow her down considerably, it had seemed as if the celebrated Goddess of Flash was and would remain unchallenged.

But much had happened since that encounter.

It was only after lieutenant Kotetsu's unexpected transmission, which had him hasten towards Soukyoku Hill with immediate effect, that he had sensed it – a faraway, unrelenting force threatening to crush what little that still remained of a familiar, but wildly fluctuating spiritual pressure – and he had understood with chilling clarity, what was about to happen.

Nine hundred flash steps.

Once upon a different life, one from centuries ago, he had trained long and hard in hope of equalling her feat; he had regarded it as a stepping stone of sorts in his naive quest to someday surpass her. But he had not succeeded then, and now, in his moment of need, he knew that not even that would be enough.

Not even with nine hundred flash steps would he reach her in time.

And yet he was urging every fibre of his battered body and every drop of his tremendous willpower to propel him forward faster, faster, faster, reducing the whole world to an indistinguishable blur as he left it in his wake. Because even if nine hundred flash steps were not enough, he was determined to save her. He was determined to reach her in time.

He would not tolerate this treatment of her; would not allow for her fragile life force to be forever extinguished by Aizen's soiled hands.

Once upon a different life, a happier life, he had sworn an oath to find and forevermore protect her – the lost sister – as a member of his distinguished family, and he would now honour that solemn promise with all of his remaining strength.

But it was not Hisana's voice that urged him on, demanding that he ignore his muscles and tendons groaning with pain and exhaustion as his mind coaxed them of yet a little bit more speed. It was his own. He would reach her in time, because he refused to stand aside and watch her die a second time.

As the Head of this family, it falls on you to support all those who lean on you for strength. Do you understand, Byakuya, my boy?

Yes, Grandfather. I understand.

But he had not understood what the great Kuchiki Ginrei, Captain of the Sixth Division, Twenty-Seventh Head of the greatest of Seireitei's Four Noble Families, teacher, mentor and grandfather, had meant all those years ago. It was not until that insolent, disrespectful ryoka boy overwhelmed Senbonzakura with a truly monstrous power that he had finally grasped the full meaning of those words.

He would reach her, because she was no longer an abandoned stray accepted into the household only to respect the last wishes of his beloved wife. He would reach her, because he could no longer remain indifferent to her existence. He would reach her, because somehow she had ceased to be just Rukia.

The limp, pathetic form dangling helplessly from one of Aizen's cruel hands was not just Rukia, former street urchin from Rukongai's lowly Seventy-Eighth District. But neither was she just Rukia, unranked, undistinguished Shinigami; Rukia, Shiba Kaien's last protégé; or even Rukia, Hisana's beloved sister. She was Rukia, princess of the revered Kuchiki clan and the pride of the powerful Captain of Squad Six.

I understand now, Grandfather.

I apologize that it took me almost fifty years to finally see her, Hisana.

Yes. It had taken him nearly a half a century to understand that above all else, Rukia was a Kuchiki, and Kuchiki Byakuya would protect his own.

Nine hundred flash steps. Almost. Only a—

"Shoot to kill, Shinsou."

Blood.

Fresh, red stains slowly bleeding out on his once white haori.

Pain.

The released form of Ichimaru Gin's zanpakutou punctured his skin and tore through his flesh in a truly merciless assault. The pain was maddening, and his whole body trembled with the aftershock of the violent impact, but he accepted it without even a single word of complaint; neither a whisper nor a cry escaped from his pursed lips. He would not yield to the likes of them, traitorous murderers, who had so carelessly cast aside their honour, duty and pride, and who had committed the unforgivable crime of threatening the life of a Kuchiki. As long as he still possessed the strength to breathe, Kuchiki Byakuya would never bow in submission to the likes of them.

A Kuchiki does not bow, Byakuya.

Yes, Grandfather.

A Kuchiki does not bow, Rukia.

Yes, Brother.

When the zanpakutou was finally recalled by its master, it slid out of his body painstakingly slowly – almost lazily – and he willed himself to remain standing. But while his body felt wondrously light, his legs refused to support him any longer, and as he finally sank to his knees to the sounds of Rukia's distant wails, he sent her a brief thought:

Nine hundred and five flash steps.

I know you were watching, Shihouin Yoruichi, Goddess of Flash.