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rays-of-fire-and-ice · 5 months ago

Text

To You in Darkness

Rating: T/Teen for themes

Setting: the day after chapter 238, when the Shinigami team are ordered to return to the Soul Society.

Synopsis: After being ordered to return to the World of the Living, Toshiro is alerted that Momo has gone missing. As he and her Division search for her, Momo reflects on everything that’s transpired. But if Toshiro finds her, what will he say?

AN: the winner of the second poll! Prepare for angst, angst, and more angst. This is not a typical fic for me, in that it’s more messy and involves Toshiro and Momo being a little upset with each other. It was a little hard to write for this reason, but I felt it was realistic given the scenario. However, I didn’t want to end this one be completely sour, so expect a smidge of fluff near the end. Also, some out of character moments too; I think given the situation, no one is going to completely act like themselves.

On a side note, I made one shocking discovery while writing this fic. I wanted to see how much time I had to work with in terms of when could I set this event between Toshiro and co. returning to the World of the Living and the Gotei 13’s arrival at the Fake Karakura Town to confront Aizen. I thought there was at least a week between these two events. Turns out, not even two days passed before the Fake Karakura Town arc began (see here)! So the pacing of this one might be a bit strange, but I chose to stick with canon rather than make up that it was a whole week before the confrontation against Aizen^^;

In terms of song recommendations to listen to as you read:

Soundscape to Ardor from BLEACH

Nothing Can Be Explained Instrumental 2008 Version from BLEACH

Compassion from BLEACH

Diamond Dust from BLEACH

Reaper by SennaRin

Is it Real? by Seatbelts

Numb by My Head is Empty

Shouting into Darkness by Imxone

Liminal Space by Imxone

October by Antent

You Are the Moonlight by Endless Melancholy

La Promesse by Passage

Tsukiyo No Yukara by Tokyo Ethmusica

If I have to recommend an order to listen to these, it would be as I listed them above.

_____________________________

It had started as a gentle rain in the morning, and gradually built across the afternoon. The drops pelt down, big and harsh, breaking some leaves from their branches and stalks, and causing a haze to fall over the Soul Society.

Somewhere, surrounded by trees and other foliage, one plant is shaded by a bigger one, arching over it except for an opening that allow a few of the smaller plant’s branches to reach out and almost come over the dirt path it borders. With the protection from overhead, the rain that pelts the leaves above only gently cascades down to the protected plant, making it merely sway and bob when drops land on it.

Another drop rolls down from the above plant’s branch, stopping and wobbling briefly at the edge. When it falls, however, it does not drop down on to one of the leaves furthest from the below plant’s stalk. It’s instead swept away into the sleeve of Momo’s shihakusho when she rushes by.

She only hears the rain and her own panting mixed with quiet, distressed noises arising from her throat. She both does and doesn’t know where she is, disorientating her. Still she runs, the slick mud making her strides wider and unstable, and her skin burns from the cold of the rain. The ribbon tied up in her hair is coming loose, as is her lieutenant’s badge from her arm.

Even as she becomes a speck in the distance, the protected plant continues sway with each gentle raindrops that tumbles down on it as the larger one loses more and more leaves.

_____________________________

“That completes my report on our mission in the World of the Living.” Toshiro bows to the Captain-Commander. “If you require further details, I will send them to you promptly.”

“That won’t be necessary, Captain Hitsugaya,” Yamamoto says. “Thank you for your report.”

With his part done, Toshiro returns to his place in the hall standing between Kyoraku and Mayuri. Behind him, Rangiku continues to stare ahead, but her posture is too stiff, uneasy in a way that it's obvious she's pretending. He can almost feel himself do the same, but is certain his stance is more convincing. It’d been less than twenty-four hours since they left the World of the Living, and what had happened hadn’t sat right with either of them.

As Mayuri is called forward, Toshiro briefly recalls the moment they stepped back into the Soul Society. Rukia and Renji had gone ahead of them, shoulder’s slumping and expression pensive, led by Byakuya and Kenpachi.

Neither he or his lieutenant said anything. They simply looked at each other, and likely reflected the same expression. A sombreness, mixed with confusion and resignation. They’d been given their orders, they had to do their duties as Shinigami, but neither truly thought Orihime was capable or even willing to betrayal her friends. Rangiku was adamant about it, muttering her disbelief much later when they’d reached Tenth Division’s barracks.

Now she looks ahead, seemingly focused on Mayuri as he explains the plan to undermine Aizen’s attempt to take Karakura Town, but likely still ruminating on what had happened. He doesn’t have to look down the row of lieutenants on his side to know Renji is the same, perhaps looking more sullen.

Without meaning to, Toshiro briefly focuses on Genji, standing in the line behind the captains on the opposite side of the hall. He’d been invited only to hear the report and the plan created by the Captain General and Mayuri. Despite the stoicism he displays, there’s faint, dark rings beneath his eyes. His throat tightens , and swallowing against it, Toshiro doesn't ponder on the cause of his sudden reaction, knowing it would send his mind away from this hall.

He returns his attention to Captain-Commander and Twelfth Division captain. The plan to use Tenkai Kecchu to replace Karakura Town with a copy was already underway. He’d been vaguely aware of such a plan before he’d been sent to the World of the Living, but it’d now come into full fruition.

He wants to believe this would upset Aizen’s plans, but the skeptic in him already knows Aizen has likely foreseen this and has a move to counteract their efforts. He would know, he’d battle him and lost to such tactics before.

He clenches his fist at his side. The very thought of the traitor makes his blood boil. He breathes in deeply and out quietly, trying to calm his reiatsu. This won’t do, especially when he’s on the battlefield. He needs to focus, to show his standing as a captain of the Gotei Thirteen.

Several minutes later Mayuri’s briefing comes to an end, and all the captains and lieutenants understand the plan. After being dismissed, everyone begins towards the meeting’s halls doors.

He can sense a few gazes on his back. He ignores them. There's too many distractions, he needs to focus on the battle ahead. On how to bring Aizen down as a Captain of the Gotei Thirteen.

_____________________________

As her surroundings become more unrecognizable, Momo considers turning back. She vaguely knows where she is, had been in this area many years ago. It had changed over the years, and if she’s not careful, she’ll get herself lost.

Yet her legs have a mind of their own, carrying her further and further away.

This is a good thing, she convinces herself. Get away from everything that’s familiar and known, to somewhere that doesn’t remind her of everything that happened, and of him.

_____________________________

Toshiro and Rangiku are the last to leave the hall. Ahead of them are the captains, some talking to each other or their lieutenants. Twelfth Division, Second Division, and Genji had flash stepped away by the time they reached the end of the walkway. The remaining officers continue on their way back to their division, a determination and urgency in their steps. They don’t notice as Toshiro comes to a stop outside of First Division’s main barracks. He doesn’t quiet realise he’s caught up in the rain surrounding them until several heartbeats later. They’re sheltered by the walkway’s roof, with rain collecting along the edges and falling on the banister.

He’d always felt a calm when the rain came, even as a child before discovering his potential. He suspects he has something to do with his zanpakuto abilities, with the very elements he’s able to wield.

He finds no peace today, unable to quell the tension hardened in his limbs, and the slight clenching in his heart. It wasn’t just what happened before they were forced to leave Karakura Town. It’s not just the impending war against the Arrancars and Aizen.

He inwardly shakes his head, trying the snap out of it. He begins to think of what he’ll tell his officers when they return to the barracks, but even as he does this, he’s searching for her reiatsu. It’s like an unconscious reflex, done without knowing and only realising it’s happening mid movement.

His frown deepens. Her reiatsu should be faint due to the distance, but he can’t detect it at all.

“Captain?”

Toshiro blinks. They’re the only ones left, their fellow captains and lieutenants gone from sight. He looks to Rangiku. “Sorry, just thinking of our next steps.” He continues walking down the walkway. “Let’s head back.”

Rangiku raises a brow at the uncharacteristic apology, but matches his quick pace back to the Tenth Division. “You mentioned before the emergency meeting we'd need to produce a written copy of the report. I suppose we won’t be needing that now.”

He shakes his head. “It’d be useless to the Captain-Commander. We need to make plans for our battle in the fake Karakura Town.”

Rangiku gives a firm nod. “It’ll be just captains and lieutenants. We’ll need to leave Minagawa in charge while we’re gone.”

“We’ll brief the division on what’s happening first. Afterwards, you can take Minagawa and Hanae aside.”

“Hanae-kun, sir?”

“Minagawa will need help.”

Rangiku considers it. By the time she speaks again, they’re halfway back to the Tenth Division. “It’ll depend on how much work Minagawa has done while we were away. I’m sure he can --“

“Captain Hitsugaya! Lieutenant Matsumoto!”

Toshiro and Rangiku stop. Both of their eyes had widened at the distressed call, and the hurried footsteps coming up behind them. They turn, and find Genji sprinting towards them.

“Isawa,” Toshiro murmurs. Then, louder. “What’s wrong?”

The Fifth’s Division Third Seat comes to a jarring stop in front of them, panting. “C-Captain Hitsugaya! L-Lieutenant…” He bows his head, unable to can’t continue, so out of breath.

Rangiku rests a hand on his hunched shoulder. “Take your time,” she says, measured. “Just breathe.”

The paleness of the Third Seat’s face alarms Toshiro enough for his eyes to widen further. There can only be one reason Genji looks like this.

“What’s happened to Hinamori?” Toshiro asks.

Rangiku gives a surprised grunt as Genji abruptly rises. “She’s gone, Captain! She’s not in the Fifth Division barracks!”

For a moment, all sound ceases. Gone is the pattering of rain, and Genji’s panting, and Rangiku’s alarmed questioning to Genji. The world around him briefly shifts, as though the axis had been tipped to one side and everything should be tilting and falling over. Was it happening again? Why is she gone?

Eventually, as sound returns, Toshiro can make out pieces of what Genji says in response to Rangiku’s questions.

“Higuchi-san went to check on her…found her nowhere…we’re looking…I was on my way to tell the Captain-Commander!”

“Does anyone else know?” Rangiku asks.

Genji shakes his head. “It’s why I have to get to the First Division, but then I saw you and Captain Hitsugaya, and…” He turns back to Toshiro, still frozen by the news. “I know you and Lieutenant Hinamori have a history together. We only know so many places she would go to, but you might know more.”

_____________________________

Momo can’t go any further.

She falls to her knees, and winces at the pain that radiates up her legs. She manages to crawl under the shelter, and when she looks back, decides this is far enough.

There’s water running next to her. A brook turned into a stream from the rain. She watches it, half wishing she could drift as it does. Far, far away. For a moment she imagines she is part of the stream, letting it take her thoughts, flushing them out and sweeping them down to a bigger body of water, where they can be lost and vanish forever.

_____________________________

The Hellbutterfly on Toshiro's shoulder barely moves as he searches Momo’s room. With the exception of her bed sheets being thrown to the side and her window being open, everything is in order. It’s as Genji said: there’s no sign of a kidnapping or of anyone except Higuchi and Genji having come into her room. And just as he’d noted, her hair cloth, ribbon, and lieutenant’s badge are missing too. He can’t feel relieved, it meant she’d done this of her own accord. What possessed her to run away?

He can't ignore what had confused him and everyone else anymore -- like, as some of the humans had put it, 'addressing the an elephant in the room'.

Tobiume remains next to the dresser, leaning against the wall. Momo is without her weapon, and he couldn't hide the fear that invoked. Her kido skills are without par for someone of her rank, but they wouldn't be enough against a larger threat she might encounter.

He'd never admit it to anyone, but he'd imagined scenarios where if she'd had Tobiume with her when she'd gone with Gin to see Aizen again. Would she have been safer? Would she have struck him? No, he knows. The shock of that moment was enough to render her vulnerable, and then paralyzed. And Aizen would never have allowed her weapon to be on her in the first place.

“I want to close that window.”

Rangiku comes up from behind him, frowning at the fluttering, damp curtains. Several stray raindrops hit her bed and the side of a tipped over vase.

“We can’t,” Toshiro says, “the Captain-Commander may want to see it for himself.”

“I know…but this isn’t a crime scene. She ran away. There’s nothing here to show where to, so we wouldn't be tampering with evidence.”

She hides her frustration well, Toshiro mutely notes. Her mind is not just here on what's happened; if anything, it would only make her think more on what happened in Karakura Town. At least Momo is getting an investigation and not just being condemned without evidence.

Although his lieutenant is right, but he has to follow to protocol. The last time he didn’t…

He shakes his head and listens to the voices echoing from outside. Fifth Division groups searching the whole division and calling out orders or saying they’d seen no sign of their lieutenant.

First Division had sent out a warning to the other captains and lieutenants, but only asked for Tenth, Eighth, and Thirteenth to search for her in the Soul Society – Eighth investigated the south and west districts, Thirteenth the north and east districts, and Tenth the Junrinan and the Soul Society. Ninth and half of Fifth were on standby to search for her in the World of the Living if no traces of her could be found in the Soul Society. Everyone else was told to prepare for the war against the Arrancar. After Genji had run to First Division, and he and Rangiku made their way to Fifth, Toshiro half expected the Captain-Commander to order his division to stay out of this, but given his history with Momo, perhaps Genji had made a convincing case. If he'd been given such an order, would he have obeyed?

Protocol, he reminds himself.

He takes another moment to look around her room, appraising it differently. He hasn’t been here in years, but it’d barely changed. She has more books on the small bookcase in the corner, and she’d moved her dresser to the opposite side of the room. On top of it is her hairbrush, and absent from their usual place next to it are her ribbon and haircloth.

Finally, his gaze lands back on Tobiume. He can feel the heat radiating from the blade, pulsing in worry and anger. He goes towards the zanpakuto, approaching it as though it were a frightened animal with it's hackles raised.

Rangiku follows behind. “Is that wise, sir?”

“Likely not,” he says, not looking away from the zanpakuto.

He kneels down in front of the sword. This fury, burning so bright he can almost feel the tips of his fingers get singed, did Momo feel it right now as well?

Over his shoulder, Hyrouinamu’s hilt gleams in the dull light. His cold permeates Toshiro’s back, and a small curl of it slides down to floor and swirls out near Tobiume, both protect of his wielder but also acting like a hand reaching out.

“We’re searching for her," Toshiro says. “I don’t know where she’s gone to. You may know, but you can’t tell me.”

There’s a flicker, a pause in the fury.

“We’re not going to stop until she’s found. We’re going to return her to you, to her room.”

To his surprise, Tobiume flares. He leans back in the wake of the waves of arid heat that hits him. He can sense Hyourinmaru get defensive, but he doesn’t otherwise react.

Rangiku joins him on the floor, her brows furrowing in confusion. "We mean her no harm, if that's what you're worried about. I know you two have a close bond, and that she confides in you. You have to know we'd never...." The rest fades from her lips.

She blinks as something dawns on her. “Unless, she doesn’t want to be here.” At Toshiro’s widened eyes, she clarifies. “It’s why she ran away, she doesn’t want to be here...maybe even because of something we did.”

And by 'we' she meant the Gotei Thirteen. Given Tobiume’s reaction, he can almost see it making sense. Toshiro hates that he hadn’t come to that conclusion himself. Yet, it doesn’t feel like a complete answer.

“We’ll find her," he says to Tobiume. "We’ll…ask her what she wants to do. No further harm will come to her." the words feels like a vow seared into his being; he made a similar promise to himself decades ago, and now he had to make it again after he'd allowed it to be broken. "If what Matsumoto has said is true, or even if it's not...I’m sorry.”

Hyourinmaru’s cold drifts thinner, falling back to the blade on Toshiro’s back as the heat dies down, becoming a smaller pulse; but there’s a sullenness to it. He can’t blame her, given what he’d failed to do a month ago. His apology had been for more than just what had happened to Momo afterwards. it had been for everything before, but it was a weak act of contrition. He needs to do more.

He ignores Rangiku's sympathetic gaze as he stands and leaves the room.

______________________________

What am I doing here?

Her eyes flutter open, and her head slowly bows. She doesn’t know the answer, until she remembers how she’d been before. That feverish need to run and be away for a while.

It had been a silly thing, really. Because now all she can do is sit and think about everything that has happened, and there's no way for it to slip into the running water.

______________________________

Toshiro darts behind a house across from his Granny's. When he looks around the corner, he doesn’t see or sense the older woman in the house; she must be running an errand. He doesn’t sense any trace of Momo’s reiatsu either, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t visited or wasn’t already in the house, concealing herself from all senses.

He could quickly investigate, but what if Granny came back? What if he couldn’t leave things as they were in the house and make her think someone had broken in?

His brows furrow deeper at the thought of causing her distress. Taking one last look at his childhood home, he pivots and runs back towards the main street of the district.

Several of his subordinates are in the area, searching for Momo in and between buildings, mostly ignoring the residents unless it’s necessary to interact with them. The officers are still in uniform, and the unease their presence brings is evident in some Souls looking on in fear or suspicion from within buildings or beneath their parasols.

Toshiro finds Rangiku further up the street, speaking with a resident in front of a shop.

“…ad she has black hair,” he hears her say as he approaches, “probably tied back in a bun.”

The resident, a bearded middle-aged man, contemplates for a moment, before shaking his head. “Can’t say I have. Sorry, Lieutenant.”

Rangiku nods. “It’s no trouble. Thank you.”

As the Soul returns back inside his shop, Rangiku turns to Toshiro when he nears.

They move away, walking speedily away down the main street.

“How much did you tell him?” he asks.

Keeping her voice quiet as she replies, “I kept it vague, and I didn’t say her name.”

He’d given the same instructions to his subordinates if they felt they had to question residents. For those that had been friends with Momo, however it was a different story.

“Did you question Tatsukichi and Ayumi?” he then asks.

“Yes, they haven’t seen her either. I said I was meeting up with her in the Rukongai for lunch.”

“Good.”

“Did you ask Jidanbo?”

“He hasn’t seen her either.”

"And your Obaa-san?"

He doesn't mean for their to be a pause. "I'll only approach her if we exhaust all other options."

Rangiku ponders on his words for a moment. "It might be best for time being." She let’s out a breath that makes her shoulders fall. “Where could she have gone? There’s not many places she can hide here. She can’t go to the World of Living either, not without some sort of trace of it.”

“There’s ways, and she's likely hidden her presence with kido as is.”

They come to a stop at the border of the first and second districts. In the distance between the crowds of Second District, he spots one of his officers, her back facing him, racing down the street. Passersby are briefly distracted by her, with a few turning to each other and whispering, eyes still glued to her. While not entirely her fault, she’s meant to keep a low profile.

“Hanae hasn’t heard back from any of our officers searching the other districts,” Rangiku says, sensing Toshiro's question before he speaks it. “No one’s reported back to me, either.”

Toshiro is about to suggest a different search strategy, but he’s stops at the expression on his lieutenant’s face. Her brows are furrowed, and beneath them, there’s a weight behind her half-lidded eyes. Much like what he’d sense in the meeting hall, she’s solemn, but there’s more to it. She’s thinking, searching her mind for something.

“What’re you thinking?” he asks.

A strange sadness flickers across her face for a second. He gets a strange feeling it’s directed at him rather than at the situation Momo is currently in. He resists the urge to ask her to ‘Spit it out’, not wanting to let his growing frustration get the better of him.

“You said before she's likely concealing her presence, but what if she isn't?” Rangiku eventually answers. “I’m just trying to think what she might’ve had on her mind.”

He only gives a curt nod.

“Given that, she could be experiencing a range of emotions right now. Ones she feels she can’t deal with here, or didn’t want others to know about.” Rangiku’s lips briefly fall into a tight line. She casts her gaze to the tops of the trees that line the eastern side of the First and Second Districts, then she finishes. “Maybe she’s not in a populated area hiding her reiatsu from us. Maybe wanted to be as far away as possible.”

A sting lances across Toshiro's chest. He’s taken back to that day, jumping and flash-stepping back to Central Forty-Six, and the thought crosses his mind, Of all people, I should have realized that, yet I…

How many times had he seen her cover up her sadness with a smile, only telling him later about what happened when he didn’t badger her to tell him at the time? Or when she'd wondered off after a childish argument and returned later, somber but wanting to apologize or talk to him?

Toshiro withholds a cringe. This isn’t the time to feel sorry for himself. He considers Rangiku’s words, trying to think of where he hasn’t looked yet. Places that didn’t have Souls nearby, that were isolated and quiet.

He can’t imagine any locations she would’ve gone to recently, not since their childhood. Still…

“I may know a few places,” he murmurs.

Rangiku's usual determination in moments of crisis such as this arises, casting the solemnness away. “Then go to them.”

“I’ll take Narita and – ”

“I meant you should go to them.”

He freezes. “What are you suggesting?”

She gives an exasperated sigh. “You should go to them, alone, sir.”

“Why would I do that? We’d need to search the whole area.”

“And we will, but you need to get there first. If Hinamori is going to respond to anyone right now, it’ll be you.”

He recalls Genji’s last words to Toshiro before they left to search the Rukongai. “If you find her, tell her we're here for her, to support her as she always has for us. She trusts you, Captain Hitsugaya, and I know you’ve always tried to do right by her.”

For what little good it’s done, he thinks bitterly. “Protocol states –”

“And we can still follow that.” Rangiku smiles, and he realises in the back of his mind it’s the first time she’s done so since they returned from the World of Living. “It’s just you’ll be getting a head start on us.”

His eyes widen at her implication. He almost wavers, but the sicken sense of déjà vu stops him. “What makes you so sure?”

Rangiku's gaze softens, sensing the weight behind the question. She considers her answer, deciding on the best words to say. She knows of he and Momo's childhood together, her teasing habit of bringing up one of the many tales she’d heard from Momo made him aware of that fact. It’s also likely she knows just how deeply he cares for Momo. She has always been good at reading people, and the connections they have with others.

Eventually, she speaks quietly. “Because of what happened in the World of the Living.”

When he'd spoken through the monitor to Momo. Even if he hadn’t done anything intentionally, he still feels he failed her at that time too. He'd later recounted, albeit vaguely, what happened to Rangiku. But if she had been there in the room that day, would she still have told him he alone could bring Momo back? What did she expect to happen if he does find her?

Looking back to Rangiku, it’s obvious she won’t let this go unless he strictly ordered her to forget the idea and continue their current operation. Even so, a part of him had wanted to find her by himself from the start. Whether it’s for atonement or simply because he just wants to find her, he isn’t sure.

It doesn’t matter. No, what truly matters is what he does now. It’s easier for Momo to evade a group of Shinigami, but if he went alone, maybe he can coax her to come back. Surely she wouldn’t hide from him.

She’d ran away, didn’t she? Not to you.

He withholds a wince. He shouldn't -- didn’t -- expect her to come to him whenever she was troubled, especially after what had happened in the last few months. Even so, the fact she didn’t go to anyone, let alone tell anyone, both stung and worried him more.

"This is a risk," he cautions.

Her smile returns. "Isn't everything we do? I have feeling this one will pay off, though."

You can do this, he hears in her tone. Can he? No, it's not matter of if can he or not. He must.

“I’ll leave a trail for you to follow.” He shrugs his shoulder, where the Hellbutterfly is still perched. “Otherwise, I’ll send you message saying where I am.”

Rangiku nods. “I’ll wait until all the teams report back to me before we follow you. I’ll say you’re following a hunch.”

“I’ll leave it to you, then. If you find her or find any evidence, use tenteikura to contact everyone.” He tries to think of another parting order to give her, or some authoritative words. Instead, he bows his head. “Thank you.”

Before she can reply, he spins on his heel and runs down a nearby alleyway, heading towards the forests lining the east side of the Junrinan. There’s not as many residents out in these streets, and the ones that are mostly ignore him.

_________________________

For all of the misgivings Momo is starting to have about coming out here, she can admit the quiet is a nice change. She recalls hearing her subordinates out in the courtyard over the last few days while she lay or sat in bed. She'd hear their chattering and laughter, sometimes their cries as they practice zanjutsu, and a few times their chanting when they practiced kido. For the latter, she'd find herself shaking her head like a school teacher when she heard them get it wrong and the consequences blow up in their faces. If she were down there, she'd show them the correct technique and recite the correct chant, and give them tips she's learnt from experience.

She'd smile at the thought of being with her subordinates, sharing in comradery that characterized her division, even if it was at a distance. Her lips would fall, however, at the heaviness swirling in her mind; never far, always there. It made certain things an effort, like trying to find enjoyment in her books or think of what the future held.

It amplified at the pitying looks she got from some of her visiting subordinates. It was in the way they set a tray of food down for her, never once looking away from her with eyes that didn't match their too broad smiles. It was in their hushed discussions when they wondered about the wellbeing of their lieutenant as they stood just beneath her window, thinking she couldn't hear them. Sometimes it was there when they dropped off fresh clothes for her, making sure to lay them within reach and say how well she was looking that day.

Some were honest with her, wishing her well but also confiding in her that morale was low and that they hoped she would get better soon. Normally, it's followed by an apology and bowing, but she would dismiss it with a smile and wave.

Maybe she should've been more honest with them.

If she had, maybe Genji and all of her seated officers wouldn't try to dodge questions about the progress of reports and training. Maybe they'd ask more questions about how to do certain things, like setting up schedules and outposts in the World of the Living. She could help them, and they could tell her to her face what the battle plan for the Arrancars was.

I have to get better. It's a mantra she kept telling herself.

I have to get better. Her division was on unstable ground, without leadership. I have to get better. She didn't want to be stuck in her room anymore.

_________________________

Three Souls run through the forest back to Junrinan, carrying baskets filled to the brim with fruits or vegetables on their backs.

Toshiro circles around, avoiding them as he flash-steps towards the watermelon patch. It’s five minutes from the Junrinan and had served as his primary source of the fruit when he was a child. When he doesn’t see or sense any sign of Momo, he moves further into the forest. The patch is the only distinct place he can think of, the other locations were more vaguely defined. He recalls a ridge they’d gone to a few times, sitting there to watch the sunset after gathering various fruits and vegetables to take back. There was also a river they’d gone to on summer days, cooling off with a swim or getting in knees deep to try and catch fish.

A sting punctuates the usual nostalgia he gets from such memories, one that makes him cringe up at the trees bowing over him.

Is this just a fool’s errand? Is she really here or back in the Soul Society somewhere?

He ends up rushing out of the vegetation and on to a dirt path. He stops, taking in several breaths as he extends his senses out, casting them out like a net. His eyes hood as he concentrates, checking every inch of the surrounding forest. There’s tiny flickers of reiatsu scattered around, likely from Souls who’d been here in the last few hours before the rain got heavier. Most traces are faint, barely reaching his senses due to the time that had passed or the distance they are at.

Still he checks, even as the rain gets thicker and a gust begins to blow through. Leaves fall around him, and the Hellbutterfly flutters it's wings on his shoulder. Vaguely, he thinks to shelter the creature, cupping his hand above it’s wings. He doesn’t know why he does it, the creatures are impervious to harm and the elements. Maybe it’s because it’s something Momo would do...

Come on, he wills. Please be here.

His senses come to the path he’s on, reaching from one horizon to the other. He jolts at the faintest flicker, just beyond his range. It's too far the judge the qualities of it, but it's stronger than the others.

He slowly strides further along the path, his footsteps squelching in the mud.

Then, it hits him. The reiatsu is warm, like the first flames in the fire pit of a house.

At the same time the trace of reiatsu becomes clearer, he thinks to look down. Many tracks have been made in this path, but what if…?

He bolts down the path towards the trace. It’s grown fainter by the time he reaches it a few minutes later. A brush of Momo’s reiatsu clings to a bush along the left side of the path. And sure enough, he spies a small indent three feet away. It’s not like softened cart wheel tracks, and it’s too big to be the track of any animals that lives in this forest. It’s outline had become wobbly and misshapen due to the mud sliding in, but it must he her step. There's another like it ahead, and other, and another, all the same approximate distance a runnign stride would be for a Soul.

He doesn’t have to cast his sense out far to detect another trace of reitasu further down the path. He lets a staggered breath as a vice is released from around his heart. She’s here.

He stifles his relief. It’s not over yet. He has to see her first. I’m coming for, Hinamori. Wait for me.

He jogs down the path following the faint trails and patches of her reiatsu. They cling to all sort of things – tree trunks, rocks and stones, flowers, a rickety bridge over a furiously flowing river, and even to the branch of a plant that almost reached the middle of the path.

_____________________________

Momo can't tell how long she's been here. Despite the sun being obscured by thick clouds, it seems to have gotten darker. She didn't think she'd closed her eyes, but she must've dozed off at some point.

When she tries to move, she can't. She's too cold and her joints are stiff. Maybe she'll end up frozen here, watching many sunrises and sunsets. She'd witness the trees swaying too and fro, maybe even fall over from the strength of the wind or be burnt down by a lightning strike. She'd witness the rising building of Seireitei, maybe even the Rukongai. Maybe she'd also witness their fall, crumbling away gradually as time went on, as new era came and went, and everything came to an end.

But there is no end of death. It takes on different forms across the worlds. As long as there's life, there is death. It had been one of the first things she'd learned coming to the Soul Society, and some distant part of her is certain it's one of the last things she learned when she was a human.

Would it be so bad to simply sit here and watch the world go by? It was better to be here than in her room, were everything outside of it changed and everything inside remained.

Either way, she wouldn't last. She wants to be alone, but she's also lonely.

_____________________________

Toshiro can’t tell how much time has passed, nor if the growing darkness is due to the sun moving closer to the horizon behind the clouds or to the growing density of trees creating a canopy over him.

The path had ended five minutes ago at a clearing, but Momo had continued on, her steps still in the mud and veered off into the foliage. Judging from the depth of them and the clearer shape of waraji, these tracks are fresher.

So he wends through the forest, following the steps in the mud and the traces of reiatsu clinging to the flora.

He's certain this is furthest he’s ever gone from the Soul Society. He recalls Granny telling him decades ago to venture no more then ten minutes into the trees, saying all kinds of mysterious or dangerous creatures and spirits roam deeper within. Even as he’d gotten older and stopped believing in her tales, he never thought to run more than ten minutes away from the Junrinan.

He hadn’t encountered any animals out of the norm. He’d heard the occasional bird call out, and thought he may have seen a fox dashing off through the shrubs to take shelter in a hollowed out log.

He looks down at the invisible brush of her reiatsu. It clings to a trodden-on flower, it’s blue petals crushed in her footprint. He frowns when he senses the next trace is further than the last several. Maybe she’d realised she was giving off traces and tried to confine her reiatsu to her being.

It’s a minute later when the land begins to tilt upward. She’d run up an incline, probably the beginnings of a mountain. His lungs are beginning to burn, and his mouth is drying up. Still, the rain pelting down between the gaps in the canopy doesn’t bother him, nor the cold on his skin and his drenched uniform.

Remarkably, the Hellbutterfly is still clinging on to his shoulder, gently fluttering it’s wings and antennae as if he were taking a calm stroll rather than battling his way through rain and mud up an incline.

Around him the foliage becomes denser; he has to push branches and bushes aside to continue following her tracks, and jump over rocks and fallen logs in his way.

It's a long while later when Toshiro sees a some kind of structure in the far distance. When he closer, he realises it's a torii gate. Its vibrant red had long faded, and what little pale and chipped colour that manages to peak through is surrounded by vines and moss that cling and twist around the poles. The stones steps that once went through it and further up to a shrine are buried beneath shrubs and weeds.

He continues past it, heading left and further up the incline. How she’d made it out this far confuses him. The terrain is more unpredictable, with no natural or artificial paths leading in between the thickening vegetation, and the mud making each stride harder than the next.

Still, he follows her footsteps. They’re clearer, the freshest one’s he’s seen yet. His heart buzzes at the thought that he’s close now. He reaches his senses out, but can still barely feel her reiatsu.

Along the way he encounters other overgrown structures, such as a small, chipped statue of Mimigai amongst a crumbling shrine, a moss-covered wooden street sign that’s writing had long faded, the edge of an abandoned wagon buried deep in the ground, and the outlines of stone and wood where houses used to be. He can only guess this was once a village, but had been abandoned centuries ago. He’d heard from Granny that such places existed, but it could never be confirmed by most Souls and everyone had different accounts about why these buildings were left behind.

It’s a few minutes later when he loses sight of her footsteps, the shrubbery too thick for him to see the ground anymore. He scans the area of any physical signs, but none come.

______________________________

She senses his reiatsu approaching. She at once feels relief and dread.

______________________________

Toshiro again puts out his senses, and can only detect a shred of her reiatsu on a tree trunk to his right, a yard away through a clearing. He goes to it, ending up in a field of tall grass, but sees nothing there to show where she went.

Something in him drops like a stone, and he ends up leaning his side against the trunk. He hadn’t realized he’d been panting until now, his mouth dry and his throat parched.

He has the sudden urge to punch the tree and curse, but he shakes his head. He can't let his irritation get the better of him, especially now that he has no clue where he is.

He has to keep going, but in which direction? Would he even know how to get out of here?

It doesn’t matter until he finds her. If they have each other, they can make it out of this.

With his senses still reaching out, he closes his eyes and bows his head, concentrating on every speck of reiatsu and spirit energy around him. A bird caws in the distance, and a fresh gust of wind is picking up through the trees, rustling the leaves and tall grass around him, and blowing the rain to hit his back. Faintly, so far away one could mistake it for being a part of the wind, there’s running water burbling somewhere.

Please…

As if she heard his plea, there’s a flicker of reiatsu a minute later. His eyes snap open. He clings to that trace like a tether. After several heartbeats, it becomes stronger, allowing him to gauge exactly where it’s coming from. He turns to his left and rushes through the grass and back into the trees. He almost trips over a log in his way, the grass gets a few inches taller, and the vegetation around him becomes more packed in than before, but it doesn’t deter him.

The closer he gets, the more the reiatsu fades. Had she flared it to make her presence known? Did she want to be found? Did she regret her actions?

He shakes his head against the many questions racing through his mind. There will be time to speak with her before they head back.

He runs past another outline of where a house used to be, now mostly buried beneath bushes and grass. Then, after he careens to avoid hitting the rock face of the beginnings of a mountain, he stumbles to a stop at the dilapidated structures on either side of a path faintly cutting through the tall grass. They are spaced out on either side, some in worse condition than others. They almost resemble the same architecture as the Junrinan’s buildings, but are clearly from another time. They all appear to be houses, small and quaint, in varying stages of decay and ruin. He doesn’t ponder on why they are in better condition compared to the others he’d seen and continues running in the direction of Momo's reiatsu.

Along the way, he notices buildings far away from the path too, so distant they’re almost lost amongst the surrounding nature.

Her reiatsu disappears, but he knows where he’s going. She’s ahead, just a little further. The running water gets louder, coming over the wind and leaves. The tall grass gradually thins out, and it’s two minutes later when he sees her sandals’ prints in the mud again. They guide him when comes to a fork in the faint path, taking the left that leads to an area where there less trees.

The, he’s out of the forest, with a few old houses clustered together on the decline of a hill next to a thrashing stream. The view is of the tops of trees for as far as the eye can see, but in the distance, almost a tiny speck through the faint mist and thick sheets of rain, the Seireitei stands tall. He's certain the stream is normally a gently rolling creek when the weather is calmer.

Without the shelter of the canopy, the rain pelts down on him in full force, but he comes to a stop before the house Momo is in. It’s raised almost half a meter off the ground, with four broken steps leading to a tiny veranda. The front is caved in and half of the roof had collapsed in, their remains scattered on the rotting floorboards. The wall to a main area is still intact, as is the half opened sliding door, but they’re thick with moss and the paneling has holes in various places. Beyond the main area, the back door is also open. Though faint, a stench roils off the house, one that is moldy but also earthy.

Her reiatsu drifts out from it, stable and familiar, but there’s no visible sign of her.

He doubles over, his hands landing on his bent knees as he catches his breath. He hadn’t noticed how much his legs hurt, nor how his lungs burned. He almost startles at the black in his peripheral, but sees it’s the Hell Butterfly, still somehow clutching to his uniform. It’s wings are still, even as a raindrop lands on them, but it’s antennae twitch. Behind it, rain runs down and drop from Hyourinmaru’s hilt. He hasn’t heard a peep from his zanpakuto, which is surprising. But then, with his attention solely on finding Momo, maybe he had unintentionally blocked the channel for Hyourinmaru to speak with him.

Returning his gaze back to the house, there’s still no sign of Momo. He does take his eyes away from the house, watching for any sudden movements. Can she hear him from in there? Even if she can’t, she must know he’s out here.

Toshiro straightens a long moment later, and although now physically recovered, he’s uncertain what he should do. What can he say to her? He’d only been focused on finding her, not on what would come next. He wants to slap himself. He hadn’t come out this far and gone against protocols again for this kind of uncertainty?

He should be a captain, starting off by lecture her about responsibilities and the consequences of her actions, then take her back to the Soul Society, even if she resisted. It’s harsh, but it would be expected of him. But maybe he could make a case, one which provoked sympathy from Yamamoto, and get her a lighter punishment for her actions. After all, the captain-commander had allowed Momo to speak with him when he was on his mission in the World of the Living. While Yamamoto isn’t without a heart, it's without question he's strict on things like this.

Toshiro can do everything as expected of him, but not drag her back. The thought of it turns his stomach. He’d alert the others of his location, and wait with her until they came. He dismisses the brief thought of her running away from him; she would have done so by now.

With all of this in mind, he takes weighty steps towards the house. She must be able to hear his sandals walk through the mud, climbing up to the veranda, and when coming to stand on the whining, creaking floorboards. He looks around the main area, taking in the decay and pungent smell, before moving on to the next room through the half opened door.

His chest tightens the closer he gets to the back, and he has to consciously breathe in and out. For all of his planning, it hasn’t eased his nerves. His steps get heavier and heavier with each one taken, haltingly carrying him to the veranda.

Her waraji and socks are the first thing he sees in the doorway. When he stops and leans out the door, looking to the left, the rest of her is sitting up against a wall, legs bent at the knees, her arms resting over each other in the crook of her abdomen and lap, and barely sheltered by the remains of the awning. Her hair is barely tied by in it’s bun, and her bangs to stick to her forehead and the sides of her face. She doesn’t look at him, but the frown in her brow and corner of her mouth dropping show she’s aware he’s of his presence.

Toshiro's mouth dries up again, but this time for a very different reason. A near-choking tenseness to run through his limbs and hit his chest. If it were not for that, he's almost certain he'd have fallen to his knees -- out of exhaustion, relief, or from seeing her in such a dire state he can't tell. Going against it all, he manages to rasp out, “Hinamori.”

Inwardly, he's shocked he can speak her name so neutrally. He’d thought his nerves would show or the relief that's slowly but surely tumbling through him.

He walks out on to the balcony, not once blinking. It’s then he notices the tremors running through her got worse. She must be freezing, and his reiatsu wouldn’t be helping matters. With a long exhale, he lowers it as much as he can. The thought of her freezing scares him more than he lets on. “What are you doing all the way out here?”

He was planning to then ask her if she even knows where she is, but at her lack of a response, decides against it.

He holds his hand up, and the Hellbutterfly flutters off from his shoulder to land on to his knuckles. He relays a message to it about their rough location from the Soul Society and his plan to come back to the Junrinan, and orders it to first go to the First Division, then Genji, and finally Rangiku.

He keeps his eyes on Momo as it takes off back the way he’d come. She didn’t react to anything he’d said, not even about returning with her to the Junrinan. She’d flared her reiatsu before; surely it meant she wanted to be found. What keeps her from talking to him? Or from showing any reaction at all to being found, for that matter.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

Her lips part, but she still refuses to look at him. Eventually, she shakes her head and forces her lips into a tight line.

It’s something, at least; he can work with gestures for now. Maybe it’ll make it easier for him to act as the captain he’s meant to be, and not the childhood friend he suddenly wants to be. The last time he’d done the latter, he’d ended up helping her for a few minutes at best, and not at all at worst.

He folds his arms into his sleeves. “Isawa came to us when Higuchi saw you weren’t in your room. He told the Captain-Commander, too, some hours ago. Your division is looking for you. So are other divisions, mine included.”

He tries to stamp out the rising frustration, but her lack of a response to anything he says is getting to him. He steps to her, his feet almost touching hers. “Whatever reason you have to be out here, this was reckless of you. It’s not befitting of a an officer of the Gotei Thirteen, let alone a Lieutenant.” Come on, say something.

Still nothing from her.

“You know what this means.” He doesn’t have to say it aloud, but he does anyway. “The Captain-Commander won't take this lightly. They’ll put security around your room. You might be suspended from what little Lieutenant’s duties they’ve allowed you to perform. Isawa and your Fourth seat already take on the bulk of the work as is. You’ll be scrutinised more, they might even set up a schedule for every day until they’ve deemed your reliable again. You won’t have as many freedoms as before. You won’t be --”

“I don’t as is.”

Her voice is so quiet and rough Toshiro isn’t even sure he heard her. Without realising, he unfolds his arms. “What?”

_______________________________

Toshiro’s relief had been palpable before he even appeared in her periphery. The way his reiatsu had been uncharacteristically unstable for several seconds, and then soothed into gentler, contained waves, it’s enough to make her eyes burn.

He cares. Momo never doubted he did, but she never thought he’d…

Her chest aches for a different reason, and she can’t look at him.

It's not because of the anger or concern she might find in his eyes, or from the shame of running away. She fears seeing confusion, that he won’t understand her situation at all. That he cares, but he that he has chosen to be a captain first. It's as he should do, but its not what she wants, even knowing it's selfish of her to think such things.

A part of her wonders if she should’ve run to Izuru or Hisagi. They had been betrayed too, had to come to terms with knowing their captain weren’t who they thought they were. Despite having once risked her life to save his, Momo isn’t close enough with Hisagi to seek advice from him. And Izuru…it’s sad to think the very experience they now shared can separate them like this. She wishes their friendship was as innocent as it used to be, mainly contained within the realms of books and poetry and supporting Renji after his blunders.

When Toshiro starts lecturing her, her worst fears are confirmed. Each of his points is a jab at her heart, at the hard work she’d put in over the years to become a lieutenant. She swallows back the righteous anger, but her reiatsu pops out of her control, giving it a similar simmering quality to the one appearing in his own.

When he mentions the potential of reduced freedoms, she can’t stay quiet anymore. And after his stunned response, she finally looks at him.

For a moment, her anger recedes. His eyes are wide, half imploring, half shocked. Like her, he’s soaked, his white spikes of hair drooping, and his haori almost transparent. Drops of water fall from the edges of his uniform and tips of his fingers. There’s a vulnerability to it, a sense of listlessness and uncertainty.

Her hands fist up in her lap. “I couldn’t be in there anymore. I’m confined to my room, for my own good, apparently.” Her uncharacteristic bitterness surprises even her. It’s obvious from the barest twitch of his eyes that he didn’t expect this from her. Did he think she’d burst into tears? Or seek pity from him? He knows she can have a temper, why is he surprised?

She presses on. “I haven’t been well, and I’m in bed most days, but when I do want to move around, I’m told I can’t go beyond the main courtyard. I can’t work on papers, I can’t oversee schedules. I can’t – haven’t been able to perform my duties."

"Your officers mightn't want to strain you," Toshiro offers, but there's uncertain edge in his tone. "I thought you were allowed some duties."

"None! All I can do is eat what’s given to me, lie in bed, and read. But I’ve read every book in my room, and I don’t enjoy it like I used to. I can't draw anymore, and all of my sketchbooks have Captain Aizen in them. No one tells me what's happening anymore. And then all I can do is think and remember everything I've done, and everything Captain Aizen did!”

Toshiro almost looks lost, adrift somewhere he doesn’t know, as if she were someone he hadn’t seen in a long time and didn’t completely recognize. It shouldn’t upset her. After everything that’s happened, they’re not the Souls they used to be.

No, even before all this, they hadn’t really seen each other. They’d be lucky if they shared a lunch break together once every six months, or even speak for more than five minutes if they bumped into each other in a corridor. It never used to bother her, because she thought their bond was different. That no matter where they went or what they did, they'd somehow remain close, perhaps even be the same Souls as they had been when they first met -- as unreasonable as that was.

Her anger cools. Where had all that time gone?

“Everyone’s working hard, more than they ever have, because I’m not better,” she laments. “It's hard on them. I don't want it to be that way. I don't want to be a burden, especially after what I did. Because of Captain Aizen’s…”

A sudden, violent sensation grips her, almost paralyzing her. It’s the same one, albeit not as strong, that had come to her this morning when she’d decided to run away.

She knows where that time went to. She only has a few memories of being away from Aizen ever since she became a Shinigami. She’d orbit around him as though he were the sun, and there was a time where he was just as warm and bright. She saw the man who inspired her, who she thought was the ideal Shinigami. A man who extended compassion to hopeless, who could rally a group of despairing officers to charge against a seemingly impossible threat, and who led the Division like no other captain, with kindness and understanding. She wanted to work by his side always, had never thought of a day where that wouldn’t be the case. He brought the best out in her, from her hard work ethic to her qualities as a leader. Admiration was a powerful emotion, one that blinded her to his true nature and kept her away from her other friends. She had come to terms with that now, though not fully it seems.

“I know Captain Aizen’s a traitor to the Soul Society,” she continues. “I-I know he is…it’s why I couldn’t be there anymore. I keep remember what he used to be like, when he was lying to all of us. But without him, we’re lost, and I don’t know what…” She tries and fails to swallow back a sob. “I was such a fool, Shiro-chan. I didn’t see any of it. What can I do? I have to get better, because what else can I do? Nothing. I can’t do anything. I have nothing but regrets now.” She lets out a choking laugh. “What if I can’t lead this Division? What if without him I can’t lead? What…?” What if he’s the reason I thought I could in the first place?

Momo tilts her head down to her left arm, where her lieutenant’s badge sags against her upper arm. She raises her hand, withholding a groan from how stiff her joints have become, and undoes the strap. The weight of it falls away, but there's no relief to it, only another ache in her chest.

With her arm trembling, she holds it out to Toshiro. “Given what’s happened, I shouldn’t have this right now.”

_______________________________

Toshiro barely conceals his flinch, turning it into a small shifting of weight from one foot to the other. He couldn’t, however, hide an audible gasp. Seeing Momo hold the badge up for him to take away feels wrong and otherworldly. He has to look away, twisting to face the wall.

Perhaps he should take it, to show the consequences of her actions. He’d have to hand it over the Captain-Commander, and from there, he’s not sure what would happen to it or to Momo’s standing. At best, she would get it back but have restrictions on what she can do until she’s deemed suitable to resume her post. At worst, it’s over for her. The idea of her not being a lieutenant, of everything she’d done to obtain the rank being taken away from her, horrifies him.

He grits his teeth and his hands become fists at his side, clenched so tightly his nails threaten to pierce his palms. That bastard.

Aizen had done this to her. He’d made her like this. He’d caused her so much pain, so undeserved and unthinkable. He’d gotten so far underneath her skin, to the point he’d made her doubt her own abilities and identity. He’d been able to contain this hatred in the meeting hall, but the exhaustion has lowered his guard, and he can feel it running hot and brittle through his bones.

“I understand.”

He grunts, coming out of his reverie at her quiet words. His expression had contorted into something angry. He can’t show her this face, it’d frighten her. He takes a long, deep breath in, and quietly exhales it through his nose. It does little to calm him.

Then, as if reciting from one of their Academy textbooks, Momo continues, “An officer of the Gotei Thirteen does not run away from battle or hardships, and Lieutenant does not abandon her Division. She stands by her subordinates, takes charge in trying times and leads them. It’s one of her duties along with a Captain’s.”

She'd misunderstood his reaction. He turns to her again, but still has no words to say.

“I know this is the right thing to do,” Momo continues. “It’s what the Captain-Commander will likely ask for.”

He hates that there’s a certain confidence to her tone, as if she truly thinks this is the right decision. Rather than the rage that threatened to rise and boil over before, his heart aches terribly at her crestfallen smile. He can’t take it anymore. “Don’t be a fool!”

That stuns her, and she nearly lets the badge slip from her fingers. She quavers out sounds, trying to say something, but nothing coherent comes out, and she mutely stares at him.

He cringes at his choice of words. He’s always been out of his depth in situations like this. In a way, her adeptness to comforting others and his pragmatism balanced them out, complemented each other, but now it’s as though the reverse happened and each struggles with the quality they try to enact.

He’s as cold as the element he wields, after all. Who is he to comfort her? He should’ve been there earlier for her that day. He should’ve been faster, stronger, wiser. She wouldn’t have been dying on the floor, staring ahead into nothing. He didn’t even have any words to say to her on his many visits to Fourth Division while she was in a coma.

It wasn’t he who had thought she would be in the forest, or that she ran away because of something the Gotei Thirteen had done. He should’ve thought of those things without a second thought.

Despite his perceived shortcomings, it doesn’t stop him from wanting to show compassion, or from caring about her as deeply as he does. Because at her core, even when acting like this, she’s still the girl he knows. In all her doubts of herself and belief in the Gotei Thirteen’s ways. In her reflections on her Division and wish to get better for them rather than herself. In her willingness to let go of something so precious to her for a perceived greater good. It makes her paradoxically selfless and sorrowful to him. But then maybe those two things could go in hand, somehow.

He briefly thinks to do what he’d done last time, to take her mind off of her burdens by teasing her, but that had only last for a few minutes before she she’d asked him to save Aizen. He’ll have to go into this stumbling, cumbersome in his words and gestures, but hoping his concern and care can somehow be conveyed.

He gingerly pushes against her lieutenant’s badge. “You don’t need to hand it over. Put it back on.”

Momo frowns. “But –”

“You’re still a Lieutenant," he interjects, forcing an authoritative tone, "and I doubt the Captain-Commander will revoke your rank. You would've had to commit a far worse grievance for that to happen.”

They both remain still, as if they'd turned to stone and become statues. Several heartbeats later, Toshiro relaxes a fraction when Momo withdraws her badge. She doesn’t put it back on, instead gazing down at it, ruminating over it.

He lowers himself to sit down at her feet. He stares out at the rain, allowing a moment of quiet, to let her think over whatever is going through her mind.

“What makes you so sure?” she asks without raising her head.

He thinks back to her room, how orderly it had mostly been. How unchanged it was except for a few things. “You were feeling trapped in your room. You needed space to breathe and get away from things that reminded you of…what happened.” He recalls his visits again, how he’d watched over her and hadn’t said a single word. “You should’ve said something…but given the circumstances, perhaps you felt you couldn’t?”

She purses her lips. “It’s hard to explain, but yes.”

You could've come to me. A selfish thought, one born from concern but also a hurt, childish part of him. He dismisses as quickly as it had come.

“It doesn’t mean you have lost your training and experience," he says. "You’ve always had the qualities of a lieutenant.”

“A lieutenant doesn’t act like this,” Momo rebukes, shaking her head. “If not for Captain Aizen, I would never have aspired to become a lieutenant. If not for him -- ”

“You never needed him. You would’ve become a lieutenant sooner or later.”

“How can you know that?” There’s a pinch of annoyance in her voice. Good, get her away from the melancholy, but don't let her stray into anger either.

“Because you’ve always been who you are, Hinamori.” He wants to leave it at that, but judging from the confused tilted of her head – normally endearing gesture of hers – he needs to elaborate. “Do you remember that night we were out in the forest in the middle of the storm in the Junrinan?”

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm making a point. Do you remember or not?"

Her brows furrow deeper as she tries to recall. "I think so…it was a long time ago. Not long after we met.”

Toshiro nods. “You tried to get me involved with your group of friends. We were playing a game, but then a storm came. Everyone was scared, including you, but you still took charge led everyone back to the Junrinan.”

She sighs. “That hardly counts as an example of leadership, Shiro-chan. Especially not on the level of the Gotei Thirteen.”

“You want more examples then.” He settles himself in, shifting his crossed legs until he fully faces her. “On your first training mission while enrolled in the Academy, you saved Hisagi’s life until backup arrived. Again, you were afraid, but made a decision, perhaps a reckless one in some officials' eyes, but it was one that saved the life of a future Lieutenant. A year later, you…”

He proceeds to list off every instance she demonstrated leadership qualities, from their days in the Academy all the way to her first days as a Lieutenant. With each one, she loses the slump in her shoulders, and she leans forward, in awe of how many moments he recalls.

He doesn’t make it to end of his list when Momo holds up a hand with a chuckle. “I-I get the idea, you've made your point.” Then, with a small, playful smile, “Why were you keeping track of all these?”

Toshiro stutters, and the warmth threatening to color his cheeks burns particularly strong against the cold of the rain. “I wasn’t! These just happen to be moments where I saw – w-where you demonstrated the qualities of a lieutenant!”

She laughs, and despite his embarrassment, Toshiro is glad to hear it. He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear it until now. While he grumbles to himself, her laughter gradually fades away.

Her smile becomes smaller and wistful as she bows her head. “That was in the past though, Shiro-chan. I don’t think I can be like that again…not without –”

“You can, and you will.” He straightens. “Remember it wasn’t him who ultimately gave you the rank of lieutenant. You completed the tests, and the Captain Commander deemed you worthy of it. He hasn’t revoked your rank after you woke up. Surely that means he wants you to recover so you could return to your duties.” Then, more gently, “In hindsight, perhaps more consideration should’ve been taken about the conditions of your recovery.”

She raises her eyes to his, tears quivering in the corners. “I couldn’t be there anymore. I know what I should’ve done, but I felt… It became too much, I couldn’t burden anyone with it. I just wanted to get away from everything.” He waits as she wipes her eyes, not letting the tears fall from them. “I’m sick of feeling useless, but what can I do? I still haven’t…No, I did. I am accepting what Captain Aizen did."

He can't let this new revelation sink in. Her eyes are wide with hope, and he knows he’s on the verge of convincing her to return and know how valued she truly is. One more push, but what can he say? What hadn’t he addressed?

"I don't know what to do, Shiro-chan," she continues. "How do I stop thinking about the past?”

As if he knew the answer. He too has the same affliction, though not severely as she does.

Again he tries to put himself in her position and imagine her decision to run away from her room and then through the forest. She’d wanted to escape from everything that reminded her of Aizen. She’d gone away, not to anyone, because she feared being a burden. Was that the only reason?

Gradually, the words form on his tongue, but it’s for s sentiment personal it threatens to tear at his heart. It wouldn’t hurt him really, but what if it didn’t work? He’d have revealed something that would show how deep her influence runs in him. Would she see how he feels? He didn’t even fully understand his feelings for her. They’d morphed and changed over the years, and ever since Aizen’s betrayal ever since he’d lost her, they’d become more pronounced. He had once seen her as only a friend, but it's more now.

He swallows thickly, and the act is enough to push those words back down. He can reflect on his cowardice later. Ever the pragmatist, he notices how dark the sky has gotten; he predicts the sun is edging closer towards the horizon behind the clouds.

Toshiro stands. “We can discuss this further on the way back.”

Momo only blinks.

“We have to head back,” he reiterates. “It'll be nightfall if we don't go now. Also, Matsumoto is probably on her way here. We should meet her halfway.”

Momo stares out into the mist and rain, pensive. It dawns on her what's about to happen.

“Let’s come up with points,” he adds, “to convince the Captain-Commander to change things for you.” He thinks it a pathetic offer, but there isn’t much else he can do.

He’s not surprised when a full minute later she gives him a wan smile. “We don't have to. I know the chances are he won't change things."

Toshiro wants to argue back, but he can only look ruefully at the floorboards.

"You won’t be able to go in there with me, will you?”

The fact she wants him there by her side makes his heart clench. “I doubt he’ll allow it.”

The corners of her mouth rise a fraction higher. Then, she sighs quietly. “All right.”

He thinks to hold his hand out, but she starts to get up on her own. When her unsteady legs give way and she yelps, he rushes forward to grab her arms. With a wince, she falls back against the wall and tries again. He doesn’t let go until she’s standing.

“Thank you,” she murmurs. Then, he can’t take it as a sign that she’s feeling better, but a small rush of relief fills him briefly when she ties her lieutenant’s badge back around her upper arm.

Next, she tugs on her hair ribbon, and it gives little resistance. She tucks her hair cloth into her sleeve, and styles her hair into a ponytail that rests on her shoulder, tying it off with her ribbon. She nods to him, ready to go.

She’s slow to walk, clutching the door frames and walls as they make their way out. She pauses in the doorway of the main room. “When do you think the rain will stop?”

Toshiro, who had been eyeing her wearily this whole time, slowly peals himself away from her and comes out from the shelter of the caved in roof. Fresh rain hits the crown his head and the shoulders of his haori. If not for the situation at hand, he would find nothing but peace and calm in being here. The rain pelts down on him, but there is only quiet surrounding him.

He understands her concern; this weather will hinder them, especially as it gets darker.

When he looks to the clouds, an idea crosses his mind. It makes him wince and his brows furrow deeper. In his mind, it’d be an interference with the natural way of the world and be an abuse of his powers. He shouldn’t, had nearly sworn to himself he would never use his abilities in such ways beyond combat. He reasons that it will make the journey back easier, and that this would be the only time he does this.

With Momo watching him curiously, sodden from head to toe and shaking, he feels the scale tip in favor of the idea even more.

With a quivering breath, he briskly walks to the edge of the veranda and suddenly unsheathes Hyourinmaru, causing Momo to grunt in confusion.

“What’re you…?” Her question dies on her lips when he quietly chants the release for his Shikai. Hyourinmaru’s chain clinks as the crescent blade hits the broken floorboards. Toshiro keeps his gaze on the skies, looking through the sheets of rain and mist.

He takes a deep breath in, letting it expand his chest and raise his shoulders. He takes hold of the chain in his left hand, and raises the zanpakuto towards the sky with his right. Closing his eyes, he meditates on the chill that permeates his skin, from the one emanating from Hyrourinmaru and from the rain drenched into his uniform. From those currents, he can feel the sways and swirls of the air. Then, way the rain falls, the moisture that lingers in the air beneath the slowly moving clouds.

And somewhere in between all of this, he senses the flow of it all. As he breathes out, he bows his head and a ring of Hyourinmaru’s reiatsu disperses around them. The clouds thin out, the thin mist vanishes completely, and the rain lessens. Gradually, it eases away to nothing but a few light drops.

He lowers Hyourinmaru and drops the chain. When he opens his eyes and turns to Momo, he’s surprised by her look of muted awe. He tries to ignore the discomfort it brings, returning Hyourinmaru to his sealed form and sheathing him across his back as he drops off the edge and lands on to the dirt. “Come on, we should get going.”

Momo is slow to move; he can’t tell if it’s from hesitation or from coming out of her awed stupor or both. Eventually, she lowers herself over to the edge of the veranda and, with a wince, she stands.

At his alarmed expression, she holds up one hand and uses the other to rub her lower back. “I’m okay, I was just sitting down for too long.”

He gives her a moment to adjust, looking around them to remember which direction he’d come from. When he turns back to her, she’s staring at Hyourinmaru’s hilt.

“Tobiume must be furious with me,” she muses. “I’ve left her behind again.”

Toshiro knows she’s referring to when she’d been led to Aizen. When he’d recovered, he’d learned from his officer that Momo had left Tobiume behind in the room he’d sealed off with . It had shown her disconnect from everything, even her own zanpakuto.

“She’s been comforting me this whole time,” Momo continues. “She’s always encouraged me and tried to help me remembering the positives. Recently, though, I think she’s been frustrated with me.”

Toshiro purses his lips into a tight line. “Judging from how your zanpakuto was before I came here, I doubt that’s the case.” At her confused grunt, he adds. “As is, that’s matter for you and Tobiume to discuss yourselves.” He starts back the way he came. “We need to get going.”

She’s quick to join his side. Searching the thick forest ahead of them, she says, “I went out really far. I don’t know how I managed to get all the way out here.”

In the hesitating silence, he can sense an apology on her next breath. He speaks before she can voice it. “We’ll find our way back. If nothing else, we can send a kido to alert the others.”

She nods after a beat. “I know a good one.”

Without another word, he leads the way. Their journey is mostly silent, disturbed only by the plodding of their feet in the mud and brushing of leaves whenever Toshiro parts a shrub aside or pulls a branch back, allowing Momo to cross. Promisingly, they pass the same landmarks he’d encountered in his rush to get to her, from the outlines of where houses once stood to the crumbling statue of Mimihagi.

He notices Momo slowing to take in each of these things. She likely hadn’t noticed any of them in her haste. For a few brief moments, she seems to forget about their current situation, her eyes coming alight with curiosity at the ruins around them, before exhaustion weighs them down.

When they carefully stumble down the incline and spot the torii gate in the distance, Momo gasps. “Oh! I remember seeing that.”

"A piece of your reiatsu clung to something here." Toshiro then points to the prints of her sandals, now more faded than before. “It’s how I found you.”

He continues ahead, but Momo stares at the tracks for a long beat. He looks over his shoulder when he hears her rushing to catch up to him. When she raises her head, there’s something tremulous in her gaze.

“You came a long way,” she says, voice shaky.

“So did you,” he says, more matter of fact than he intended.

“You came looking for me,” she continues as if he hadn’t spoke, and as if his actions only now just dawned on her, “even after everything.”

We’ve been over this, he thinks with a sigh. “Hinamori --”

“I know, there’s no need for forgiveness…” She bows her head. “I felt better after you said that, but now I’ve caused trouble for you and everyone else again.”

“It’s more trouble for yourself, really.”

She nods with a wince. “What was I thinking? I was such a fool. I did nothing back there but feel sorry for myself. What did I think doing this would accomplish? I just ran away from the truth again.”

“Stop it.”

At the sternness in his tone, she looks up. Toshiro gets a sense of déjà vu, only she isn’t behind a screen this time. She’s here, right in front of him. He can do more for her now.

“You didn’t run away to cause trouble,” he says, “you’ve said it yourself. You felt trapped, and you didn’t know what to do.” He frowns at the ground. “You could’ve come to me.”

_____________________________

From the way his eyes widen and his shoulders stiffen, Momo realizes Toshiro hadn't intended to say that. She shouldn't be stunned, but perhaps she has gotten to know him more as the stoic captain than as the childhood friend she's known for decades.

Her surprise gives way to pity. “Shiro…”

“But then…I suppose I can’t blame for not.”

She frowns, picking up on the implication. “That’s not…” She purses her lips. “I didn’t go to you because of anything that happened before. You did nothing wrong. You were trying to reason with me and stop me from doing something regrettable.”

He'd gone to such lengths for her. When she'd woken up in Fourth Division, it was one of the first things on her mind. She remembered how Toshiro had been willing to fight Gin for her, how he'd sill taken care of her after she'd tried to cut him down, and she later learned it was he who found her after Aizen stabbed her beneath Central Forty Six. It's why she felt a pressing need to apologise to him, even braving the Captain-Commander with her request to speak with him.

He cares, much more than he should given what she'd done.

He stares at her now, waiting for her to continue, his eyes practically asking, Then why? Why didn't you?

After everything she's put him through, she owes him this much. "Do you remember the last time we spoke?"

It's futile to ask, because of course he'd remember. Still, he nods.

"Back then, I begged you to save Captain Aizen's life." She winces at the tightness that takes over Toshiro's expression. The simmering sensation returns to his reiatsu, but she presses on. "I should never have asked that of you, but I still did, after everything that happened."

"Hinamori, you were still coming to terms with what happened."

"It's no excuse. I knew even back then, but I tried to deny it." She presses her lips together when a pang runs through her chest. "It's made worse because Captain Unohana told me you came to visit me while I was unconscious.”

At his shocked grunt, she raises a hand.

“She only told me when I asked who came to see me,” she adds. “She mentioned several officers visited, and I wanted to know who exactly.”

“Why would you want to know that?”

She hesitates. “I wronged a lot of people. My friends, my own officers…If they’d come to see me, I wanted to thank them for coming, and to tell them I’ll get better. If they didn't, I still wanted to apologize to them."

She steps closer to Toshiro. His eyes are wide, almost the same size as when he was a child. Remembering him like that, and knowing the kindness he always hides had been present even back then, almost makes her weep.

She can't understand why, but seeing her disappearing footsteps next to his fresher ones in the mud brought forth that guilt she felt upon waking up in Fourth Division again, compounding the remorse she already feels for her actions today. It's if she realizing all over again what he'd done to help her.

Maybe, ironically, the fact he’d come looking for her, even if he didn’t fully understand why she had run away or what she felt, means more than if he did understand.

Toshiro may not give her the words to comfort her or guide her on what she should do. But he’s here. After everything she’d done, he’s still here. And it's enough.

"When I found out you visited me, I was shocked," she continues, swallowing against the rising urge to sob. "I thought after everything I put you through, and everything that happened outside of your control, you wouldn't want to see me. I never even thanked you for coming to see me, but I can now." She offers a wobbly smile. "I promise I will get better, and if I do lose my rank, I'm still grateful for everything you did for me."

____________________________________

Guilt strikes through Toshiro like a blade. She's thankful he visited her, and yet he hadn’t said a word to her. He couldn’t find any to say, no matter how many times he visited.

He shakes his head to himself. This isn’t about him, and he can only hope his next words, the ones he’d pushed back out of fear, would give her the strength and comfort she’s always given him. The words he should’ve said while she was unconscious to, in some naive attempt, bring her back sooner.

She only makes a startled grunt when his hand envelops one of hers. There’s little he can do to warm his hands, but the constant chill emanating from there never bothered her in the past.

“You once told me to ‘believe in everyone’.” His heart hammers and a lump forms in his throat. “I don’t know if I can, but you, Hinamori…I can believe in you. I still believe in you.” He briefly squeezes her hand. I always have.

She’s too shocked to wipe the tears that rapidly form and fall from her widened eyes. Eventually, she uses her free hand to do so. “S-Shiro-chan.”

“And I’m not the only one,” he quickly adds, trying to cover up the discomfort that comes with admitting something so personal. “Matsumoto, Kira, Abarai and all the other Lieutenant’s do."

She sniffs with a wobbly smile. “You think so?”

“Yeah, I do.”

He lets his hand loosen and drift away from hers. “Your abilities are not tied to Aizen, they're your own. I don't know how you can stop thinking about the past, but you have keep moving forward. You don't owe anyone an apology, you just need to get better, and you will.”

Something unease shifts across her face, something that makes his gut twist, but it's gone so quickly he almost questions if he saw anything. Before he can speak, she strides forward and wraps her arms around him. His words turn into a startled, weak sound.

"Thank you," she whispers into his shoulder. "Thank you so much."

It's several seconds later when his arms come around her in return, and that expression from before is forgotten.

_________________________________

It's sunset by the time they find the clearer paths. They don't walk far down them when they spot Rangiku in the distances, flanked by several officers.

Without warning, she flash steps up to them. "Hinamori! Captain!"

Toshiro doesn't have to look over at Momo to know she can't contain her emotions. She falls into a hug, sobbing into Rangiku's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for making you worry."

Rangiku sighs. "You needed some time away. I can understand."

"That doesn't excuse my actions."

"Maybe not, but for me, I understand."

They stand there for a whole minute, not saying another word. Toshiro can't help but look at the scene. The two have known each other since Momo happened to visit the Tenth Division while Rangiku was briefing Toshiro on a mission when he was a seated officer, but they' only been friends ever since Momo became a Lieutenant. Like Momo, Rangiku naturally knew how to console another. He should've sent her to the forest instead. Maybe they would've come back sooner. Maybe Momo would be more at ease.

When they break apart, Rangiku gives Momo a reassuring smile. "It'll take a while, but you're an officer of the Gotei Thirteen. You have the strength and courage to see this through."

Momo nods back weakly. "Thank you." She turns to Toshiro. "I better go see the Captain-Commander and explain myself."

Despite her weak smile, her tone isn't one of resignation. It reminds him of when she's on duty, after clarifying a mistake she made and the measures she will take to correct it. Truly a seated officer of Gotei Thirteen.

He takes a few steps in the direction of the Seireitei. "We better get going." Then, to Rangiku. "Let our subordinates in the Rukongai know what has happened and direct them back to the barracks. I will go to Fifth Division after seeing Hinamori to the First Division."

Rangiku nods stiffly, but her eyes are soft with relief. "Yes, sir."

She rushes back into the Junrinan while they head off to the right, gradually leaving the forest until they're in front of the Western Gate. Jidanbo is startled to see them. He begins to speak, but Toshiro shakes his head once, and he remains silent as he lets them pass through.

They barely speak a word to each other on their way to the First Division. Shinigami that had been searching for Momo or just happened to be passing by stop and stare, a few even having the gall to turn to each other and whisper. Toshiro levels them a look that makes them go ridged and look away.

It doesn't stop Momo from cringing. "I've really caused a mess, haven't I?" she whispers to him.

"It'll be fine," is all Toshiro can offer.

When they pass the main entrance of Tenth Division, Toshiro comes to a stop.

"What's wrong?" Momo asks from behind him.

Despite the steadiness in her voice, she'd been shivering this whole time. The tremors are worse now that they aren't running. At this rate, she'll get a cold.

He enters his Division's entrance. "Come on."

He senses her apprehension, but follows. His officers notice him approaching the main barracks, starting to come up to him but then seeing Momo. Unlike the others they'd encountered before, they leave the two alone. He gives appreciative nods in their direction.

He takes her around the outside of the barracks, avoiding most of his subordinates, and brings her inside to room with spare uniforms and towels.

"Find a uniform in your size" he instructs. "I'll let Isawa know your uniform is here, he can come collect it later. You can't e freezing when you're in front of the Captain-Commander."

Her eyes soften with a tenderness that makes his heart skip a beat. "It'd be hard not to though, considering what element he wields."

He could almost laugh from shock at the return of her teasing, but remains focused on the task at hand. "It's not a time to be light-hearted. Come on, he'll be wondering where you are."

She hurriedly pulls the cloest door aside and rummages through. He's glad his sternness doesn't diminish her small smile at least. "Thank you, Shiro-chan. I promise I'll wash and return this in the next few days...or someone will, anyway."

He wants to say if she follows whatever the Captain Commander sets out and pleads her case, she might be able to get her freedoms back sooner, but he remains silent as he leaves the room to let her get changed. She emerges eight minutes later in a fresh uniform and with slightly drier hair, now tied back into a bun with a cloth.

They resume their walk to First Division with hast.

“I meant what I said before,” Momo says. “I’m going to get better. I’ll make sure of it, no matter what.”

“I know you will.” Then, because a part of his heart stirred as the insigna of First Division loomed over the horizon. “Don't strain yourself, though. You need to take as much time as you need. I’ll be here, when you’re ready.”

Her eyes become glassy. “I know.”

Chojiro is already waiting for them at the First Division’s main entrance. He briefly looks at Momo, his eyes softening for a fraction of a second before resolutely turning and bowing to Toshiro. “Thank you, Captain Hitsugaya. I will lead Lieutenant Hinamori to the Captain-Commander.”

“Thank you.” Then, to Momo. "I will inform Isawa of where you are."

She bows deeply to him. “Thank you, Hitsugaya-kun. I'm sorry for all of the trouble I have caused you.”

“ Don't be, and it's ‘Captain Hitsugaya’, Hinamori.” Back to business as usual. It has to be this way, especially if she’s to keep her rank.

She only nods and turns to leave with Chojiro. Toshiro does stay to watch them go, quickly spinning around to run back to his division. His chest feel lighter, the weights that had gripped him lifted. He still has much work to do, and he needs to atone for what he failed to do, but Momo is safe, and she will recover. He takes what comfrt he can from that, and lock it away when he faces Aizen in battle.

A minute later, the gentle rain turns back into a downpour.

______________________

Despite the anxiety thrumming through her, Momo keeps her head held high. Chojiro is silent next to her, but his occasional glance tells her he wants to say something.

“Is the Captain-Commander furious with me?” she says, feeling silly and childish.

“He will have words,” Chojiro says. “What those words are, I cannot say.”

“I understand.”

Momo remains silent for the rest of tway to the meeting hall. She’s tired, the most exhausted she’s ever been. She may even fall asleep while standing in front of the Captain Commander. She can’t hide the brief smirk at the thought. As Toshiro said before, she shouldn’t be like this. She should be reverent and scared, afraid of what punishment or lecture she’s about to receive. And she will be in the moment, but between now and then, she basks in the small bit of unprecedented happiness she has.

She sobers at the sight of the meeting doors at the other end of the walkway. Everyone is working hard and planning for a confrontation. She thinks of Izuru and Hisagi, even reaches her senses out to detect their reiatsu in the distance. They’ll have to confront their captains. I wonder if they feel the same way I do?

She’d overheard about the planned confrontation. It had been in bits and pieces over the last few days, between Genji and her Fourth Seat, once outside of her room, and other times outside late into the night. She’d imagine the scenario, the battles unfolding between the Gotei Thirteen and the Arrancars. She tried to imagine standing before him on the battlefield, but it sent her into a panic. If he’s there, she couldn’t run away anymore. She’d have to fully accept he’s a traitor, and that everything before with him was a lie.

But not your skills, and not who you are. It was as if another voice spoke in her mind. It belonged to Toshiro, and Rangiku, and her other friends. Is that what she wanted to hear them say? Toshiro had spoken something to that effect before.

Above her, the rain thrums against the roof.

Hitsugaya-kun believes I can lead my Division. The main doors open, leading her into the waiting area. Rather than fear, a fierce determination begins to bubble up from the pit of her stomach. I need to show him and everyone else I can still be the lieutenant of the Fifth Divison. I’ll get better. I won’t run away from the truth anymore.

How these thoughts inspired a plan that formed while speaking with Yamamoto, one she had tried to harshly dismiss when she got back to her division but eventually saw through with a determination and conviction she’d never experienced before, is something she will think of ad nauseam during her first days of recovery in Fourth Division after Aizen’s defeat.

For now, she approaches the meeting halls doors fighting off a smile. Thank you, Hitsugaya-kun.

#hitsuhina #toshiro hitsugaya #momo hinamori #rangiku matsumoto #isawa genji #bleach #fanfiction #angst #as for that ending...well I DID say it was going to be angst XD #I hope it had the intended impact #...or maybe it was just corny #At the time I unintentionally made Toshiro's discussion with her similar to the one she would go on to have with Shinji #but while editing that section #I wanted to make a less 'refined' version of it #Shinji has gone down the same path as Momo and is further down in his journey to recovering from the trauma and rage of Aizen's betrayal #while Toshiro is younger and hasn't got that same wisdom and experience so his words and advice is can only help Momo so far I feel #anyway I hope you liked this one overall!#it was a hard one to write #but also a good experience #and yes before you ask #I did consider having Toshiro use his bankai to just fly them back #but where's the fun in that? ;D

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adelaidedrubman · 4 months ago

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[ CLEANSE ] our muses have sex in the bathtub from this prompt list + faith/jenna

notes: *scrambles in on the literal last day of pride month with the faithjen fic i swore i would post before its end* omg hiiiiiiiii hi hii. requested so long ago i won’t leave anyone on the hook for it even by my timeliness standards but. it’s here wordcount: 4k (almost) even warnings: NSFW, naturally. soapy boobs and thigh riding and all. bliss and cult stuff mentioned in passing. undertones of passive aggressiveness, less than healthy relationship dynamics, and emotional repression. local woman won’t just tell her girlfriend she smells like shit and she misses her but needs her alone time after work. faith smells like shit trutherism implied. (maybe to the point of unsanitary warning, but not really.) probably chemistry inaccuracies even with the intentional vagueness. prose over dialogue heavy. editing is not my strong suit, nor is conciseness

Jenna didn’t mind the smell of bliss, really.

At any stage in the production process.

A floral perfume heavied by its own decay, as the leaves dried. Fruit rotting and baking beneath unforgiving sunlight.

Antiseptic saturated air that stung Jenna’s nostrils with its chemical burn on the most gentle, tentative inhale as plant matter dissolved. A bite deepened by the dry, earthy crackle of burning leaves, the heavy stench of gas coughed and spit from bunsen burners ignited by unsure, newly trained hands.

A subtle brine beneath it all as the product was poured and stirred into vats of preservatives to be stowed away, like sea air that had soured.

She didn’t mind the smell. She really didn’t. If anything she liked it.

It meant things were rolling along successfully, after all. She particularly liked when she could pick up a note of each individual scent at once. Smoothly blending together, yet as distinct upon inspection as the stages of the process itself. A sign her lab was becoming a well oiled machine.

No, she didn’t mind the smell of bliss.

She did, just a bit, mind that it clung.

That it settled heavy into every fiber of her hair and clothing to follow her. That it managed to find her nose no matter how tightly sealed her mask, the creeping knowledge lurking in the back of her mind that it surely seeped into the soft pink tissue of her lungs as well.

She sighed at the thought, peeling off the last of her clothing and dropping it into the hamper — one built just for her, and bearing an uncanny resemblance to a biohazard container, with its plastic lining and sealed lid.

And it might as well be, she thought, soles of her feet adjusting to the lightly glossed grain of the hardwood as she slipped out of her shoes and stepped towards the bathtub.

Not that she minded that either.

The mere fact that she had a proper, safety proofed bin to dump her potentially contaminated clothing in was a stark improvement from her former research lab days. As was the fact her laundry would ultimately be left to someone else at the conclusion of her long work day, taken care of by one of the Project members assigned to do their part by washing and returning her clothes. (And far be it for her as a neutral observer to question the group’s organization of labor.)

Jenna rolled and cracked her neck as she tugged at elastic band and allowed her hair to fall freely, trailing fingers along ends dried and frayed from exposure to the harsh chemical smoke. Another reminder of the unavoidable damage Bliss production did to her body. (But what kind of scientist would she be, if she wasn’t willing to put her own body on the line as readily as anyone else’s?)

She brushed a hand through her curls, then brought the fingers to her nose, inhaling the lingering scent of latex and disinfectant. She glanced down at her palm, tracing eyes along the powdery residue settled in its creases.

Very much like her old research lab days, in the way it wore on her body.

But better in every other sense, really.

Better in that she was making real progress with her work, not jammed up with red tape. In that her journey from work to home was a short stroll down the hall of the Conversatory’s manor rather than just shy of an hour’s worth of bumper to bumper traffic to creep along all of ten miles. That her home had a deep clawfoot tub to soak the day away in, as opposed to the tiny shower stall of her old studio apartment.

Yes, superior by every measure she could conceive, she assured herself as she turned the knob of the faucet, mixing a blend of bath oils into the water as steam rose.

It was its own small bit of chemistry: mixing a concoction that would soothe and moisturize without settling into greasy film, building a sweet and potent perfume that didn’t too closely resemble the honeysuckle nectar of Bliss flowers.

And a particularly pleasant application of the science, warmth of the water melting the tension from her muscles as she slipped into the tub.

She sank down, dipped her head back to submerge, splashed water over her face before rising to sit again, droplets trickling down her back.

She rinsed, repeated the motion.

A creak of rusted hinges crying out in complaint cut through the soft sloshing of bath water to draw Jenna’s attention towards the opening door, joined by a gentle hum in a slow searching rise and fall, as if attempting to find harmony with the metallic screech.

Jenna tilted her head to better view her intruder, identity well known to her before her cheek ever pressed against cool porcelain.

Faith continued humming under her breath, smoothing out the tune with the settling of the door back into its frame at the gentle press of her fingertips, padding footsteps weaving left and right in something of a half dance on her path towards the tub.

It was Faith’s own way of slowly washing off the day, Jenna thought with an amused smile, the gradual easing out of the public persona into something more organic and relaxed — and no less captivating.

Faith’s song bubbled into a laugh (muted, not rising with the pitch it did around others) as she bent at the waist to hover over the tub. Jenna met her with a low, flat hum of her own and a wordless nod of acknowledgement.

Faith held the silence, reaching a hand out to drop dried flower petals to float atop the water. Not Bliss flowers — a collection from their private gardens. A smattering of primroses and poppies. She was well aware of Jenna’s stance on compartmentalizing. That Bliss, however pleasant, was business, the very business she was washing herself of at the end of her shift.

Basket emptied and set aside, Faith smoothed her skirt to prop herself seated at the edge of the tub. She leaned down to skim her fingers along the water — crowding Jenna’s senses with the syrupy perfume of Bliss that clung to her as she did. A more natural, softer version of the scent, lacking the sharp chemical notes, but familiar enough to wind the tension of work back into Jenna’s muscles nonetheless.

“You shouldn’t,” Jenna said plainly, gesturing with her eyes to the fingertips cutting ripples through bathwater. “Touch the water directly,” she clarified. “Because of the chemical residue, that is. Miniscule risk of harm, but not absent.”

Faith pulled back, blinked slowly. Then dropped her head with eyes closed, corners of her mouth stretching outward to allow a full and bright ringing laugh to spill from rosy lips.

A bit of residue, Jenna thought.

“From the Bliss, Jenna?”

A nod. “And every ingredient that goes into its production,” she answered, stretching her arms to rest along the sides of the tub. “It’s less dangerous than the sum of its parts, in ways.”

“There’s nothing I could possibly fear,” Faith dismissed, propping herself on her hands and lifting to spin on the porcelain ledge, draping her legs over the width of the tub with heels propped on the opposite side. “Not from the Bliss. Not from being near you.”

Jenna sighed, lifting her hand to trail damp, quickly pruning fingertips along the length of the woman’s leg in subtle acquiescence, feeling the small scrapes and caked dirt texturing the skin, signs she’d spent the day hard at work herself.

It was its own form of exposure risk Faith faced. Working with the end product. Being in the public eye. One Jenna couldn’t as easily mitigate with rigid safety protocol.

“It’s not about feeling fear or not,” Jenna countered, straightening her spine to sit more upright. Closer, she could smell past the perfume of Bliss to the subtle musk of sunbaked sweat. “It’s a… practical risk analysis. Strict probability.”

Faith giggled, softening again, but with a practiced dismissiveness all the same.

“Is that really all you can think about?” Faith questioned, now dipping a foot into the bathwater, flakes of dirt dissolving from the calloused skin to float alongside the petals as she rolled her ankle to stir. “Let’s be more practical by saving time and bathing together, then.”

“Practical doesn’t always mean efficient,” she answered plainly. “Again, the risk of —”

Her words were cut off by a sudden splash from Faith dropping her feet to the base of the tub, pulling her dress over her head in the same fluid motion.

Ah. So it was that kind of soft prodding suggestion, the kind Faith gave to signal a foregone conclusion — a particularly unavoidable one, it seemed, given she apparently hadn’t been wearing any underwear beneath her dress.

Jenna sighed.

“I don’t anticipate it will actually make things faster, either,” Jenna offered, affectionately placing hands at the backs of Faith’s legs to steady her nonetheless. “I think if anything it will lengthen the time we spend —”

“I hope it does,” Faith interrupted, settling atop Jenna’s lap. “I wish this moment could stretch on for eternity,” she said, wrapping arms around Jenna’s neck. “I wish it could last long enough to make up for every second that I’ve missed you.”

With that Faith leaned forward to close the remaining distance — a firm, steady pressure until she was seemingly satisfied Jenna’s lips would remain still, then melting into something more fluid and delicate.

“I have missed you, Jenna,” Faith parted ever so slightly to whisper against her lips. “I miss you, when we have to spend so much time apart.”

Well. As far as Jenna was concerned that was as good a qualitative factor for consideration as any, enough for her to stop bothering with explanations in favor of brushing aside the lightly misted curtain of blonde hair to kiss along Faith’s neck, subtle saltiness of dried and rewetted sweat clinging to her tongue.

But her nose nudging against golden locks also jostled loose a fresh perfume of honeysuckle, thickened by dewdrops of bathwater splashed onto her hair.

A pleasant smell, but not conducive to the head space Jenna sought — one temporarily, clinically insulated from the Bliss.

Jenna reached past Faith to lift the handheld showerhead from its brass mount, raking fingers along Faith’s scalp and her head to tilt back with a dreamily defeated sigh, “Well, we should at least be productive about it then, shouldn’t we?”

Faith’s fingers did not seem particularly set on productivity as they stirred to trace the curves of Jenna’s body, brushing featherlight along the dip of her collarbone and down to caress her chest, then seeming to disappear and reappear to tease along her thighs.

It would be better, to not have to rush it, Jenna thought to herself as she willed her own hands to work lathering shampoo into blonde hair rather than reach towards the places she truly longed to touch.

She didn’t like to rush anything with Faith.

She liked to sit with the sensations, savor each unique ache and dizzying jolt of pleasure she stirred inside her. She wished she could do so then and there, forget anything else to spend the rest of the evening basking in her.

But with the lurking nuisance of a rigid schedule tugging demandingly at her attention, Jenna reluctantly kept her attention focused on bundling a bar of soap into a washcloth to methodically slide along Faith’s body, despite the shiver fingers brushing far too lightly along her inner thigh brought in turn.

Until delicate phantom touch congealed into a more solid pressure, fingers involuntarily squeezing down on the nipple they’d been teasing as Faith tensed and shuddered with Jenna bringing the showerhead’s stream evenly between her legs.

“Mm,” Jenna intoned in something between an observant hum and an aroused moan. “Enjoying that, are we?”

Jenna paused just a single heartbeat longer to savor Faith’s shaky sigh of affirmation before angling the showerhead away to rinse the suds clinging to splayed legs instead, then shift upward to continue washing away sticky sweet Bliss to dilute in pooling water.

Faith shot her an indignant look that in turn quickly faded into pleading, slant of her brow rising to soften its furrow.

“I was enjoying it,” she answered, an extra breathy huff accompanying the soft ring of her words that Jenna knew meant angry warning no matter how sweetly it was dressed up, the sharp chemical bite beneath the perfume.

Yes, she recognized it just as easily as she recognized the punishing intent buried in the teasing slide of her fingers, staying spaced at such distance so as to avoid pressing against the places she ached most.

It was what first attracted Jenna to Faith, that too gentle conniving, as candied as it was calculated. It would be ungrateful, hypocritical to allow herself to feel frustration — to feel anything but admiration — for it now.

“Well, I certainly don’t intend to keep you from enjoying yourself,” Jenna replied calmly, bending forward to just barely grind herself against Faith’s teasing hand as she set aside the showerhead and squeezed a glob of shampoo into her palm. “But unfortunately I can’t be of much assistance at the moment.”

“But don’t you want to make me feel good?” Faith questioned, pressing a line of kisses to the ridge of Jenna’s jaw, threading the fingers of her free hand into Jenna’s hair. “Don’t you want to —”

“If I only had the time,” Jenna answered, briefly intertwining their fingers in the tangle of her curls as she worked in shampoo. “But I certainly won’t be offended if you use the opportunity to take care of yourself, while we’re together. I’d quite welcome it.”

“I want you to make me feel good,” Faith amended in sing-song, finding something between arguing with Jenna and expanding on her own statement as she worked her fingers faster, still without allowing them to make proper contact. “I want —”

“A compromise, then?” Jenna replied, sliding her right leg beneath Faith’s so that she straddled the left. “Go ahead,” she said with a flex of her hips to grind upward, coaxing Faith to meet the pace. “Use me as you’d like.”

Faith gave a pouty humph of complaint, breaking into a sharp intake of breath as Jenna placed the hand not busied with working in conditioner at Faith’s hip to guide her along the length of her thigh, angling her knee upward so that the blonde slid down her leg.

“J-Jenna,” she gasped, loosening the hand in Jenna’s hair to grasp the ledge of the tub, other hand flexing to curl just barely inside Jenna with the same tense of her body.

Jenna answered with no more than a vague hum, leaning back against cool porcelain to sturdy herself as Faith rocked against her, admiring how drawn out, soft strides slowly exploring the friction offered by Jenna’s thigh gradually grew shorter, more forceful and snappy.

The rate of the heavy breaths falling against the crook of Jenna’s neck followed a similar pattern, and she indulged herself a moment to slide a thumb along the gentle dip beneath Faith’s lips to feel the heat as she lifted the washcloth to her neck.

And blessedly, the strokes of Faith’s hand kept pace, giving Jenna just enough stimulation for pleasure to crest in the backdrop as she dutifully continued the task of washing herself.

A task that was no longer completely unassisted — Faith’s spare hand reached to join Jenna’s as she dragged her washcloth down to her chest, idly caressing and rolling a nipple beneath the now deeply shriveled pads of her fingers, just enough teasing pressure to make warmth flush along Jenna’s skin, mirrored in the hot pitch of Faith’s cheek pressed against hers.

The water itself felt set to boil — logically, it should have long past grown tepid during their luxuriating soak, but as it sloshed and licked its way up Jenna’s ribs from the force of Faith’s movement it brought nothing but delicious heat she so desperately wanted to sink down into.

“How much — mm, how much longer, Jenna?” Faith panted out in a plea as melodic as it was breathless, as impatient as it was gentle. “Before you can pay attention to me?”

“There’s never a moment you don’t hold my attention,” Jenna cooed with a kiss to Faith’s shoulder. “I promise it will be undivided very soon.”

She punctuated the statement by submerging her washcloth to brush between her thighs, taking the opportunity to cover Faith’s hand with her own, guiding it to quicken, increase force.

Jenna allowed herself one more impractical indulgence — turning and craning her neck to brush her lips against Faith’s as she hiked her free leg to prop atop the tub’s ledge.

And she admittedly drew out the task of running the washcloth along the length of her leg for longer than was strictly necessary, savoring the gentle vibration of Faith’s eager moans against her mouth, the way the angle drew her tighter around lithe fingers, made her cling to the pleasure from their strokes.

And the warmth of the water soothed away any tension threatening to settle into her muscles as they clenched harder, the delicate, fluid movement of Faith’s fingers quickly conducting the symphony towards an inevitable crescendo.

Still, it took more effort than it should have to lower her leg back into the water, pull away from their kiss.

“I only have one part left to wash, love,” Jenna whispered, ragged and low. “Do you need me to finish things up for you, so I can have my leg back?”

There was an ‘mmhm’ hummed against Jenna’s jaw as lips kissed up towards the apples of her cheeks.

“Go on and say it, then. Tell me, in that lovely voice of yours,” Jenna used her last bit of calm patience to press, pulling back to admire the sight of her lover — face flushed to match the primroses petals floating in the water and clinging to her skin, bare chest heaving. “Tell me what you’d like from me.”

“I want you to touch me,” she said in layers of dreamy sighs like spun sugar melting in the water. She angled her hips towards Jenna as if to direct her attention, gentle suggestion finally sharpening itself into a proper demand. “I want you to make me cum. Now.”

It was all Jenna needed to appease, bringing her thumb to Faith’s clit without delay and brush aside damp, wispy blonde curls to stroke.

The perfectly calculated angle at perfectly calculated pressure, the familiar contours of swollen flesh she used to gauge just how near she was to the edge, the expected burn in the expected places of her flexing arm as muscle memory did its work.

Down to a science.

Pink flush painting itself in brighter blotches on Faith’s face before crawling down to spread along the slight curve of her chest, the damp glisten of her brow that was fresh beading of sweat rather than bathwater, the telltale ripple of muscles at her middle in racing buildup as the jerks of her hips grew more erratic, the increase of the subtle drumming of her pulse in the the wrists resting atop Jenna’s collarbones as nails dug into her shoulder.

And there it was — a last gentle coaxing of Jenna’s exacting touch, all it took for her lover to find that long sought release with a surrendering toss back of her head and drawn out gasp, faint twitches of her finish barely detectable reverberating against Jenna’s leg as she rode it out.

And with the rush of the accomplishment, Jenna felt the need she’d allowed to fall to the backdrop quickly reassert itself, snatching the reins of her rational senses to drive her to grind determinedly against the hand between her legs, the fingers inside her slowly returning to life to resume a light, unsteady stroke, climax weakened tremble only increasing the thrill.

A thrill so strong that pushing herself to her own finish was just as easily done — a well-timed snap forward and downward drag of her hips, the last spark she needed to saturate every hungry nerve ending into overload.

Her ears burned and whooshed with the sudden rush of blood, so full with pressure it felt as if she’d dipped her head back to submerge in water. It faded, slowly, the heat in her chest flaring to a cool rush of relief as she came down.

As Jenna began grounding herself back into her body, she found the tightness had eased from her muscles entirely, tension worked away more thoroughly than the longest and most relaxing of soaks in a hot tub could ever grant her.

Which was quite fortuitous, because with no more internal heat to dominate her senses, she could feel just how much the bathwater had chilled since they had abandoned the pretense of cleaning up.

A final pleased sigh fell past Jenna’s lips as she shifted the leg Faith straddled to slide beneath her so that she rested between them, giving her final unwashed limb a quick, lazy wipe with the washcloth tightly wadded in her fist, followed by a hurried splash to rinse before she stretched the leg forward and used a toe to pull the plug from the drain.

Then one last strain of her limbs to reach for the towel hung to the side, pulling Faith in closer as she wrapped it around them.

“Consider me thoroughly corrected,” Jenna broke the comfortable silence to muse as she pulled slightly back, pressing her forehead against Faith’s. “You proved your point about the value of bathing together.”

She trailed her gaze down to the subtle, satisfied smile curving along Faith’s lips as she brought the towel to drape over the blonde’s head.

“Oxytocin, dopamine, norepinephrine,” Jenna recited as she rubbed terry cloth against blonde locks. “And a steady stream of serotonin in the comedown,” she mused, sitting back to blot gently at her own curls. “All chemicals released in the body from orgasm. And that greatly benefit the human brain — improving mood, cognition, and productivity. An efficient use of time, in the end, all things considered.”

“And is that all?” Faith pressed, the furrow of her brow in would-be hurt betrayed by the delighted twinkle in green eyes. “What about the closeness it brings us? The human connection?” she offered. “Don’t you think there’s something more, something deeper to it than just chemicals?”

“I failed to state a crucial axiom,” Jenna replied apologetically, lifting Faith’s hand from atop her shoulder and holding it between them. “There’s nothing deeper in the world to me.”

She brought the hand to her lips, pressing a kiss just above the knuckles.

“And I don’t think anyone’s ever managed to raise my oxytocin levels as effectively as you.”

Faith shook her head as if in tired resignation, but Jenna caught the soft upward curve at the corners of her mouth in understanding, vanishing from her field of vision in the same heartbeat as she pulled Jenna back into her, tangling their limbs together and reclining.

Such a brilliant woman, so perceptive. Such a privilege, to catch those glimpses of incisive, profound understanding she would carefully dress up as she moved through the day with eyes on her, pretense slowly washed away as the world faded to nothing but they two.

Enough of a marvel that she felt justified in allowing herself to linger, to let the minutes tick away lazing with Faith snuggled at her side.

Because there really was no one who raised her oxytocin levels quite as effectively.

No one she’d rather have her brain rewired to facilitate enduring social bonding with, no one she’d rather anoint with every indication of adoring commitment in present sociocultural practice.

“I love you too, Jenna.”

More than anything, there was no one she’d rather wash the day off with.

#nsft #oc: jenna swann #otp: a neurochemical con job #writies and wordies #fun director’s commentary fact: i kept reading over jenna’s third to last line like this is so cringe i have to find a way to cut it.#it reads way too ‘guy who hasn’t had a science class in a decade trying to write a science guy’ unnatural #then dr. house said a nearly identical line in the episode playing in the background and i said. well. i guess that’s not a crime #sorry real science guys #i gave up on the title. probably something inspired will occur to me as soon as i hit post #anyways happy pride

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