Even though Isshin neglected to have it framed, the poster on the wall adjoining the kitchen to the living room is in perfect condition. Masaki's smiling face and affectionate eyes are just as brilliant as the day they were put on display. Beneath it, Karin has abandoned her shoes—a practice that arouses Yuzu's temper like nothing else. “Karin doesn't spend any time looking at the poster,” Ichigo muses absently. “She just leaves it smelly love-gifts so she can ignore it without feeling guilty.”

“Why should she feel guilty? She's not mocking your mother's memory, is she?” Rukia sits in the only chair at the table which directly faces the poster—Yuzu's chair.

Ichigo shifts his stance and digs his hands in his pockets, still staring at the makeshift shrine. “Who knows what goes on in that brat's head.” But he knows better than anyone else.

The day he reopened his eyes, some nine months after their mother had gone, it was late at night. He felt the weight at his side and listened intently to the whimpering coming from the lump nestled into his stomach. His nightshirt was already soaked. “Karin,” he whispered, because the lump was too heavy to be Yuzu, “go back to bed.” Then he grimaced. He had no right to be irritated. None at all.

She began to shake, his hard words hitting her in ways he never anticipated and causing a reaction he never expected. Sure, she had been a crybaby in the past. But this was different. Karin had always been a shade more stoic than her twin. When she scraped her knees, she would only cry if someone acted as if something was wrong. And something was definitely wrong here. “Karin. Karin,” the ten-year old tried to shift, failed, and raised his hand under the blanket, putting it on her head. The child continued to sob. “I'm sorry,” he murmured.

“Why?” Her voice was muffled.

“Because I hurt you. Come up here and look at me, will you?”

She quieted for a second, snuffling and heaving as if suddenly she wanted to stop but couldn't. She maneuvered her small body so her head was at his shoulder, and his armpits were quickly soaked with the tears she was now fighting. “You didn't hurt me.”

He blinked at her in the dark. Her eyes were dark and shiny, much like their father's. Ichigo twitched a little; he should not have been reminded of that. Isshin's tears were always fake in front of his children. Of the set, Karin was most like him in looks. Perhaps she was always aware of that, when people would stop them as a family and marvel at Ichigo's bright hair and Yuzu's soft eyes. Karin looked nothing like her mother. Ichigo found it strange to be thinking such a thing at such a time. Poor Karin. His arm moved to pull her closer. She didn't understand what he had done. He'd caused the death of their mother. That's why she was saying she was unhurt. She sniffed again. “She's not coming back, is she.”

“No,” he said, stroking her hair.

“It's not fair.”

“No,” he agreed.

“Did I make her leave?”

He wanted to sit upright at this. His chest tightened. “No,” he blurted. “She would never leave us if she didn't have to.”

“Then why?” It was half a sob, half an entreaty. She trusted him to tell her the truth. She trusted him to make things right. Even above the father presumably asleep in the next room.

“Everything that lives dies,” he said, recounting the words his father had said to him at the funeral. “It's because things die that we are allowed to live. It's why life is precious.”

Karin was silent for a moment, as if allowing the words to slowly sink in. “How can something be precious if it can be taken away like that?” she demanded.

“Because that's the way it is,” he said, praying she'd accept the answer. She didn't. But what she said next twisted his stomach.

“Then I can't trade with her?”

“Karin—why would you do that?”

She took a deep breath. “Then you and Daddy and Yuzu could stop being sad.”

He let his thoughts snake around the idea, guiltily at first. To have his mother back. . .to hold her hand, hear her voice. . .but. . . without Karin? The bile rose to his throat when he realized he would make that trade without a second thought. But no. “Don't ever say that. Don't ever say that. Ever again. Never.”

She was adamant. “I'd do it. I'd do it so she'd know I loved her best.”

“I wouldn't let you.”

“You can't boss me.”

“Yes I can, 'cause she left me in charge. I'm here because she wanted me to stay and watch you. Because your life is precious to her, it's precious to me. You can't trade it. Not for anything.” It sounded right, even if he didn't really believe it. But these words at last silenced his sister on the subject. After that night, Karin stopped crying and with his open eyes, he guarded his sisters.

“She's still mad because Mom left us, even after all this time,” he murmured.

“That's a long time to hold a grudge,” Rukia said calmly. “She was her mother.”

“She's not mad at Mom. She's mad at me.”

Rukia blinked at him. “I don't get it.”

“I doubt Karin gets it, either,” Ichigo replied with a rueful smile. Karin loved their mother enough to want to take her place. Ichigo loved their mother enough not to let their family die with her. The day never came when Karin forgave him for loving their mother more than she did. But he was okay with that. Keeping their family together was the least he could do, seeing as if it had not been for him, Masaki would never have left in the first place.