Because I Wasn't Insane Enough Already

Chapter 3

Triple upload! OMG, what does it mean? It's like a triple upload, all the way across the screen! On a more serious note, Hannah wrote me some incredible, amazing fluff, but it's really long, I've only typed out part of it, and nobody's had any time to work on it :( I'll break it into reasonable sections for chapters and alternate it with Storme's chapps. (I'm writing Storme, she's writing Tsukiko.) Also, you meet the character she's paired with in this chapp! *fangirl squeal*

Enjoy!

~Emo-san

TSUKIKO'S POV

Splitting, mind-numbing, bone-shattering pain. Blood leaked from my body as water leaks through the broken hull of a sinking ship. Yes, that's a good word, I mused, thoughts fogged by blood loss. Broken. He broke me... The thought seemed ridiculous, and I began to giggle, but it turned to a cough as blood clogged my throat and tickled down my chin, the rivulet adding to a steadily spreading crimson pool.

"I'll die here," I found myself whispering. "I'll die here in the one place I dreamed of, yet no one here seems to give a damn..." My thoughts trailed off. I closed my eyes, cleared my mind. Something broke inside me then, something let go. I no longer had the will to live.

There was little anyone could do now, even if anyone did want to save me. Blood flowed, unchecked, from wounds too numerous to count; sword thrusts through flesh, bone, muscle and soul. It pooled by my head, drenching my hair and turning it brown. It crusted on my eyes and dried, stiffening my clothes. The pain had dimmed from shock to fact.

Black crept at the edges of my vision, and I could feel my heart slow down and my thoughts fog, but I embraced death, welcomed it. And Storme will die like this too, and I won't be able to save her...

"Oh, shit," said a voice. A familiar, comforting voice, a loved voice. Feet slapped stone, their vibrations much too loud, too painful. I groaned feebly. "She's alive? But she's lost more blood than she has left..." The voice held a note of hopelessness, despair.

"Someone, help!" The voice called. "The ryoka's injured! Get 4th squad!" There was no answer. "Damn," the voice murmured, desolate. He knelt, and long hair swept my blood-soaked skin. Gentle hands brushed a strand of hair out of my face, and somewhere, I found the energy to groan. "Don't move," he whispered. "You'll only lose more blood." Strong hands lifted me, calloused and capable, cradling my head and knees. The shear pain of movement was overwhelming, and I went limp in his arms. He swore sharply, as I passed into unconsciousness, gently picking me up. He pressed me to his chest, supporting my light frame. With little hesitation, he leapt to his feet, and a steady shunpo carried shinigami and konpaku to the 4th squad, a dark puddle of blood the only reminder that anyone had ever been there.

When I woke, the first thing to strike me was the strong beating of a heart not my own. Soft, silky cloth cooled my fevered body. Strong arms cradled my legs and back, and my head rested on a broad shoulder. The sharp corners of a wooden badge pressed into my back, but not so much as to hurt. Wind whipped my hair into an unearthly bluish halo around my head, the result of moving so quickly. It almost feels like flying, I thought. Groggily, I cracked open a blood-encrusted eye. I was just able to make out long, red hair bound in a high ponytail; red as in really red, more apple than orange. Black tattoos snaked across the neck and shoulder of my savior.

'Renji' was my last conscious thought before slipping into the black.