Handfuls of Dust [2/2]
Handfuls of Dust
Author: Kel
Fandom/Characters: Bleach/ Toushirou + Momo
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Separated by years and lies, two friends find each other again. Alternate Universe. (Infected 'verse)
Disclaimer/Notes: Recognizable characters are not mine, but Kubo Tite's. T.S Eliot's The Wasteland provided both the title and quote at the beginning.
Written for au_bigbang
The news came the next morning and it was Izuru who hand-delivered the memo to them both, in their respective offices. (Renji's office wasn't really an office, per se. In charge of multiple squads and the training of said squads, he didn't actually find a lot of time to sit down and work on anything resembling paperwork. He had a corner full of file cabinets in another person's office. He called it a storage shelf; Izuru thought the more appropriate name would be trespassing upon another person's space.)
Renji had taken the news as expected, with a frown and a few moments of silence before beginning to mutter about better training for his squads. No one would be caught out like Tohtsoni had, by Threat or Infected. No way in hell. Not any one of the squads he trained. They'd be better than that. Izuru left him to his muttering and his planning, after a quick promise to meet up for a few minutes after the (official) workday and talk through some of those plans.
Momo, deep in rearranging her new office to her standards and fretting over getting everything just right, looked about ready to burst into tears. Izuru hadn't wanted to tell her the news, not when her friend's death had left her so raw, but she would have found out sooner or later and he wasn't going to stand accused of keeping things from her. She took the datapad with a trembling hand and read it carefully, then handed it back with a sad sigh. “I've a lot of work to do,” she said.
Izuru's shoulders slumped. “Momo...”
She reached up and rubbed her eyes. “What do you want me to say? Yes, I knew him. Yes, he was one of Toushirou's. We get squads taken out every week. We can't treat this one any differently.”
“This one was so close, though.” Close, Izuru thought. How fitting. Close in distance - only a few miles from the base - and close to home, especially so for Momo.
“I can't do this right now.” Her eyes were bright and wide, pleading with him to just drop the subject. “I have too much to do.” She tried to force a little smile, just for his sake. It didn't work very well. “Besides, Renji bought me so many drinks I can hardly see straight.”
Izuru didn't smile, but his tone was lighter. “You did go home pretty tipsy.”
She waved her hands at him. “Shush, you. The last thing I need is my new bosses to her that, okay?”
His chuckle was forced and short. “Okay, okay. I'll hold it over your head later. Look, Renji wants to meet up at six; he's going to have some new training methods for his squads and wants feedback.”
She nodded. “I'll be there. Usual place?”
“Cafeteria,” Izuru confirmed.
Her nod was quick and decisive.
He hesitated. “Are you sure you're all right?”
“Of course.” Her tone belied her words, but there wasn't much Izuru could do about it. She'd asked him to drop it and so he would not pursue. “I'll see you this evening.”
He left with a quick, soft goodbye and Momo sighed when he closed her door. She pinched the bridge of her nose, then sat at the desk, slowly resting her forehead in her hand. She couldn't think so personally about this one. Like she'd told Izuru, entire squads were killed sometimes. It wasn't that irregular an occurrence. It always - always - struck them hard though. It was one hell of a reminder that nothing they did was quite good enough and all they were doing was just surviving. They tried though. Kept trying. Someone had to.
But knowing it was Toushirou's old squad that had been ripped apart so brutally... That hit Momo harder than she ever thought it would. She hadn't even known them that well.
She sighed and sat back in her chair, then grabbed the closest datapad. Maybe it would be nice to write Granny a nice long letter. All these thoughts about Toushirou needed purged somehow. She would have liked to actually write the letter - longhand and on her stash of paper hidden away in her desk drawer - but that would require a hand-delivery. Maybe she'd do that later, when she knew she was going out to Granny's. Until then, a datapad transmission would have to do.
Starting these things were always hard. Momo didn't have it in herself to come out and say that she'd been missing Toushirou and Granny, or directly say that she was wishing things would go back the way they were, way back when. Before the Threat and before the collapse. Before the Army. Before the Infected. Toushirou would have, maybe. He would have been that blunt, of that she was sure, but he was never one to go on about emotion. Momo was, though; she always had been.
At least she had some sort of excuse to start the letter. The new job would help with that and from there, it was a smooth segue into talking about her day. Momo was muttering the words to herself as she typed them out on the pad, so completely engrossed in the letter that she never noticed the man in her doorway. When he cleared his throat, she jumped, the datapad sliding from her fingers, and squeaked.
“Lieutenant Hinamori, I take it?”
Momo nodded dumbly. Oh, dear Lord, he had general's stars. He had general's stars and she'd ignored him completely. Mortified, she snapped to attention, and managed to hit her knee on the side of her desk. She squeaked again and snapped off a perfect salute. At least she had that. It was the only part of this meeting that had gone right so far and she'd be damned if she didn't at least salute well.
He was silent for a moment and Momo waited for the inevitable dressing-down. She winced when he opened his mouth and then gaped when he laughed.
He laughed.
At her.
“At ease, Lieutenant.” He held out his hand. “General Aizen, at your service. I just wanted to come meet my new assistant in person on her first day.”
“Ah.” She was being so eloquent. Momo swallowed once and reached out to shake his hand. “Lieutenant Momo Hinamori, yes. It's good to meet you.” He was so tall, with tousled brown hair and warm eyes; she hadn't expect a general to look so handsome. She'd heard rumor, of course, of General Aizen's look and disposition, but she'd never expected a handsome man laughing (at her) in her office.
“I didn't mean to startle you.” He had the grace to look sheepish and Momo started to relax a little. “I wasn't even sure about disturbing you.”
She waved her hands. “No, no. It's fine.” In all honesty, she shouldn't have been writing the letter. She could do that after her day was over.
Aizen took a few steps forward and stooped to pick up the discarded datapad, then held it out to her. “What were you working on?”
He would ask. Momo sighed, unwilling to lie, even if it was to save face. “I'm sorry, sir. It's a letter to my grandmother. I...” She trailed off and shrugged in the face of his indulgent smile. “I heard the latest news and wanted to write her.”
Aizen furrowed his brow slightly. “Tohtsoni's squad? That's the only news I can think of.”
She nodded. “I had a friend who used to serve with Sergeant Tohtsoni.” She took the pad carefully and hugged it to her chest without even really thinking about it.
Aizen's thoughtful look melted into one of understanding. “Have at it, then. If Gin is to be believed, you were here early, were you not?” On Momo's nod, he continued. “You've earned a break.” He held up a finger. “Fifteen minutes is all we officially allow around here.”
Momo nodded sharply. “Yes, sir. Fifteen minutes.”
Aizen turned for the door and paused just as he was about to step out. “Oh, Hinamori?”
“Yes, sir?”
He turned, then dug in his pocket. “I have something for you... Ah, here.” He held out a small blue bottle, then shook it slightly. “Gin told me you'd been having some trouble with a persistent cold. I had the infirmary write you up a prescription for these. They're better than anything you get over the counter.”
Blinking, Momo took the bottle. “How...?”
Aizen laughed again. “My dear, I have my sources. Simply trust me when I say I know.” He held up a hand in a simple wave. “I will meet with you more formally in the morning. We can discuss what I expect from you then. In the meantime,” he said as he disappeared from her office, “do start to feel better.”
With one hand holding the datapad and the other the small bottle of pills, Momo blinked at the suddenly empty door. “I will, sir,” she called, hoping he heard her acknowledge his comments. (It wouldn't look well otherwise.) She sat, putting the pad and the bottle both on the desk, stared at the bottle for a few moments before shrugging and opening it.
Couldn't hurt to try, at the very least.
She downed one pill, set her water aside, and picked up the interrupted letter to Granny. Now she had even more to tell her. Maybe this day wouldn't be so bad after all, and maybe she'd be able to join the guys and help Renji with his training schedules without feeling like so much baggage. The last thing she wanted to do was be there with a promise to help and not be able to focus.
- -
If it weren't for the fact that Rangiku had actually saved his life, Toushirou might have kicked her to the curb by now. It was like she went out of her way to find out what annoyed him and then did it anyway, just to see how he'd react. Right now, she was working to get him to drink some of the hooch she'd managed to make. That stuff - which he'd tasted before, thanks - was better used as paint thinner than refreshment. He wasn't sure he'd had a throat left if he gave in to her and downed whatever she sat in front of him.
She told him he needed to relax. He told her that he'd relax when they got camp moved. She pouted. He scowled. With the exception of why he wouldn't relax, it was the same conversation they had at least twice a week. Rangiku seemed to think he was wound up too tightly. He might agree with that, but he had every reason to be. It was like she didn't understand that both the military and the Threat were closing in on them. But then, she would set to work and actually get a few things done and Toushirou found himself never quite sure of her. He should be; he'd known her long enough to get a good read on her but he found that he was still trying to convince himself that he could trust her.
She'd probably be hurt if she knew that. (And, strangely enough, that had him leaning toward trusting her a little more.) As it was, she was pouting at him, and he take the pouting over a genuine hurt look.
“Toushirou. You really need to just sit out for a little while.”
Then again, it depended on how long she pouted at him. “There's no time for it.”
She sighed and fell into step beside him as he crossed the small center square of the tent village. He stopped, nearly sliding in the mud, as Kiyone scampered across the square in front of him, arms laden with pots and pans. Rangiku slid to a stop, huffing as her hands came down on his shoulders to steady herself. “She needs to watch where she's going.”
“That might help,” Toushirou said dryly.
“Sorry.” The call came from the entrance of the large tent, where Kiyone was currently trying not to drop her load as she pushed the flap open. Toushirou took one step forward to help before she suddenly seemed to get everything under control and disappeared inside the tent.
“So much activity around here,” Rangiku muttered.
“There's a reason for that.”
“I know.” She sighed and dropped one hand from his shoulder. “You sure I can't get you to not go out this time?”
He shook his head. “We have to keep track of what's close.” That meant going out and Toushirou wasn't about to send other people out. They were all exhausted, all having worked through the night to pack up. He wasn't going to send out someone who was about to fall over asleep on their feet. He'd pulled longer shifts than this not only back in the Army, but even during his days in this camp. He was better suited for this than most anyone else in camp and he had the training and experience to back it up; too bad Rangiku could not seem to grasp that.
Her hand tightened on his shoulder. “Other people can do that.”
Toushirou rolled his shoulder, effectively dislodging her hand, and gave her a flat look. (He hated that he had to look up at her and, judging by the that strange sparkle in her blue eyes, she knew that and reveled in it.) “Other people don't have the training I do.”
“Yes,” she conceded, “but they do have more sleep under their belts.”
“I've gone with no sleep before.”
She gave him a pointed look. (Very pointed, if he did say so himself.) “Yeah. Last night.”
He returned her look with a flat one of his own. “I'm fine, Rangiku.”
“You said you were fine the day you woke up, too, and I distinctly remember you collapsing no three steps from the cot.”
She probably thought she had him there. This was completely different: he wasn't sick right now. He was working. “I tripped.”
“On your own feet.” She pushed wayward strands of reddish-blonde hair out of her eyes.
“On a rock.” He glanced up at her before starting forward again. Her hand dropped from his shoulder and he heard her huff in annoyance as she followed.
“You shouldn't go out there right now.”
“I don't have a choice.” He stopped in the doorway of an abandoned building, a shell that had had once been a small family home. It wasn't really livable right now, but it made for good storage; the plan had been to start fixing up some of these buildings and start making homes out of abandoned shells. Couldn't do that with the Army hounding them, though. He rather wondered if it would ever be able to be done.
Rangiku stopped near him, leaning against the doorjamb and redoing her ponytail as he snagged his rifle and started rooting for bullets. “Why don't you let me come with you, at least?”
“There's too much that needs done here.” Toushirou didn't look up at her as he answered. He pulled out a box of bullets, frowning at the supply. It needed organized better. This was a mess. He wasn't even sure how many of this caliber they had left. “I need you here, making sure this stuff is taken care of.” He paused as he gave the storage shelves a scowl. “And get this packed up in some semblance of order, would you?”
“How about we do that when we unpack it?” Rangiku pushed off the doorjamb and followed him to the edge of the encampment. “You really don't even need that, you know. There's enough moisture in the air for you.”
“I know,” he conceded. She knew as well as he did why he carried the rifle. He just felt better with it. He'd been trained to fight with it. Better to go with what he knew than struggle with new power that he wasn't sure about. He didn't know how it worked, or what he could do most of the time. No sense in tempting fate and making something he knew nothing about a primary defense. (Or offense, as the case may be.) “It's back-up.”
“It is not,” she said with far more conviction than he liked to hear when she was contradicting him.
He snorted at her and slung the rifle over his shoulder. She reached out and grasped his shoulder, pulling at him until he half-turned in her direction. “What?” he snapped.
Rangiku raised a brow and sighed at him. “If you aren't back before nightfall, I'll send out a team.”
His eyes narrowed. “You are not letting anyone go out at night.” Not for him. Not for anything.
“Don't force it, then.”
“Rangiku.” His voice was hard. “No one goes out at night.”
“Even you?” she asked.
He hesitated. Well, no... Not even him. He'd go out in the darkness if he had to. It depended on the reason, but he would never let his own idiocy be the reason anyone went out courting the Threat. “I'll be back. You won't have to consider it.”
She nodded once, sharply, and dropped her hand from his shoulder. “I'll see you tonight then.”
He echoed her nod and turned away, intending to leave without another word. No sense in saying goodbye when he was coming back, or telling her to get to work when he knew she would. Why say it when it didn't need said.
“I'll save you some dinner,” she called to his retreating back.
He lifted a hand in small wave. Right, right. Dinner. Knowing her, she wouldn't be happy until he ate something anyway. She'd probably take it upon herself to force-feed him if she thought he wasn't eating enough.
“I've got just the thing to help you relax, Toushirou,” she called and he could hear the impish lilt in her voice. “You can look forward to that.”
He flinched. Oh, God... The whole camp was going to hear that and assume all the wrong things. She had no shame. None. Not at all, especially when it came to teasing him. He paused at the edge of the clearing and glanced over his shoulder at her. Sure enough, she was waving to him, grinning like some damned loon. “Get to work!”
She laughed - a little strained, even he could hear it from there - and walked back into the center of their small camp. Toushirou shook his head and continued on his way.
They both had some work to do.
- -
The sun had set. It had to have. Toushirou wasn't sure of the time, but the sun had been setting the last he knew. He remembered the fall and remembered seeing the dimming sun's rays peeking through the alleys and highlighting the debris. It had almost been pretty, almost soothing. Toushirou figured that that sort of stupid reaction to something as mundane as the sunset had to have been whatever drug was coursing through his system at the time.
He blamed the sedative - or whatever it had been - for seeing a smile plastered on that bastard's face. Toushirou had blacked out then, but not before seeing the leader of the military squad grinning at him. Judging by the soreness in his neck and the needle tracks on his arms - not to mention the restraints that kept him on what resembled a hospital bed - being unconscious may have been for the best.
Still didn't keep Toushirou from wondering, though. He felt lightheaded and nauseous. No telling what they gave him. And whatever had given him the welt across his temple was probably better off not remembered.
He half-turned - all he could manage right now - and shook the cuff, scowling as it rattled on the metal rail. Goddamn it, but what had he gotten himself into? Last he heard, the Army was simply exterminating the Infected and not giving a damn about them otherwise. Considering the way his head head, Toushirou was almost ready to believe that killing him outright may have been preferable. He grunted softly, tried to bring up his other hand to cradle his forehead, and then cursed when he realized he had both hands cuffed. Scowl firmly in place, he moved his foot and almost surprised when his ankles weren't similarly immobilized. They probably figured limiting the use of his hands was good enough.
It probably was because now his vision was swimming and he was this close to vomiting on the floor. (Because, honestly, he would never suffer the indignity of vomiting on himself while cuffed to a bed. He'd find a way to get on the floor. Where someone could step in it. Hopefully then they'd slip and fall on their ass and Toushirou would then feel entirely justified in throwing up on their damned spotless floor.) He'd never be able to kick anyone and make it useful. Kick someone and make it a little vengeful, sure. But not useful. Hardly even satisfying. First he needed someone to come in this spotless little hospital room.
Then again, it occurred to him that this was probably the furthest thing from a hospital. Looked more like a lab than anything and that set him on edge. It was the Threat's experiments with gene therapy and viral warfare that led to the Infected. He was already, in a way, a sort of lab rat. He'd rather not go through it again. Stretching, he barely managed to brush the fingers of his left hand on the IV inserted into his right elbow. He barely touched it and grunted, stretching just a little more, trying and failing to snag the damn needle. He didn't want whatever they were giving him. Frustration overwhelmed him and he cursed loudly and kicked the bed rail.
His vision swam and his head protested and he had to grab the railing to keep himself grounded. He focused on the rail, on the cool metal underneath his fingers, and let that one sensation fill his senses. Far better than letting the pain in his head and the general fuzziness of whatever sedative they'd filled him with take over. It was a trick he'd learned when he'd first heard the rain speaking to him. He had to listen solely to the water before it would respond. That ability, he'd discovered, had served him well in other, more practical, applications.
Gradually, he came back to himself. The grayness on the edges of his vision receded and the floor tiles stopped their swirling dance. The welt on his head went back to being a background ache he could ignore. He was breathing hard, hard enough that it took him a few moments to realize that his breathing wasn't the only sound in the room.
Her soft gasp shouldn't have been so immediately recognizable. Toushirou hadn't heard it for years. Not since that day a few months before he'd “died” when he sprained his wrist in her presence. She'd looked at him, eyes wide and hand covering her mouth, that same soft oh on her lips. He stilled and closed his eyes for a moment before he turned toward the door.
It was like he stopped breathing. His jaw went slack as he looked at her. Her eyes were too-wide, disbelieving. Tears were pooling, just spilling over her cheeks. Her hands were shaking, clasped together in front of her mouth. She'd be worrying her bottom lip behind those hands. He knew her well enough to know that much. Even two years of separation could not dull those memories.
She found her voice before he could speak. “What are you?”
She tried to sound commanding. She'd always failed when she spoke to him. “Hinamori...” What was he? He was her friend. He always had been, Infected or not.
She swallowed and took a step back. “Shut up.”
“Hinamori, don't...” He rattled the cuff again, hoping against hope that it would somehow miraculously let loose.
Momo turned on her heel and ran from the door, her footsteps echoing in the corridor.
He was left to stare at an empty doorway.
- -
Her office wasn't quite a safe haven yet. She'd only been there a few days. A week, at most, learning General Aizen's ways and settling it. It wasn't quite hers yet, even though Aizen had been nothing but thoughtful. It was the only place she had, though. Momo closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, and then fairly dove for her desk chair.
She'd heard the rumors: Colonel Ichimaru had captured one of their enemies, but whether it was one of the Infected or the Threat no one quite knew. It didn't matter. Neither were human. It was the second part of the rumor that had her heading down that long hallway to see what was in that room. They said it had looked like an officer who'd died a couple years ago. General Aizen had tried to keep it quiet; Ichimaru had hushed the rumors the second he'd heard them but it was too late. Momo had already heard. A few quiet questions to the right person and she had a vague description.
That was enough. More than enough. She'd stared at him - at it, because there was nothing human there, not anymore. Maybe there never had been. Maybe it only took his form. That had to be it. It hadn't even got him quite right. His hair - its hair - was too light. Too white, instead of blond. The eyes had been too bright. Its voice had been a little too low and its mannerisms just a little off. All of it, just a little off. It wasn't him.
Momo cradled her forehead in her hands, desperately trying to hold back the tears. Just a few days ago, she'd been lost in nostalgia. She'd finally shook it off and some damned Infected took his form and ended up in her general's possession. How... ironic. She scrubbed at her cheeks and took as deep a breath as she could manage.
She tried to banish him - and it - from her thoughts but he stayed. Stubborn brat, just like always. As much as she could say everything else had been off, she couldn't rationalize away the haunted expression he wore. Couldn't forget the wide, haunted eyes. The way he'd rattled the cuff on the rail. The way he'd looked at her. Almost right through her. He'd always been able to tell what she was thinking.
No. He had. It never had. It had never met her. Toushirou had been able to know what she was thinking before she did. That thing in the lab had never known her. Had never set eyes on her before. It was caught in a lab, strapped to an uncomfortable bed. That was why it looked so haunted.
Except, a small part of her brain supplied, he had looked at her like he'd known her.
That part of her brain needed to shut up. Momo leaned back in her chair, hand still over her face, and swallowed hard. She never should have gone down there. Never. She knew General Aizen worked to find a vaccine against the Infection and she knew there might be some experimenting with trying to make it backfire on the Threat. She knew that and had no problem with it. She even knew it meant sometimes working with a live subject, though none had been brought in for some time. That was fine, too. The Infected weren't human anymore. They weren't even alive.
That wasn't him in that room. That wasn't him shackled to a bed. It wasn't him they were using as a live subject.
It wasn't him. All she had to do was believe that.
The knock at her door wasn't entirely unexpected. General Aizen said he'd be stopping by this afternoon and her headlong flight through the hallways hadn't exactly been stealthy. Momo rubbed her forehead for a moment before telling him that he could come in. He came into the office slowly, but not timidly, and carefully latched the door behind him.
Momo started to stand, her hands clutching at the edge of her desk, but Aizen waved her off. She sat again. She didn't really speak because she was waiting on him; she really couldn't say anything. Seeing that thing that looked like Toushirou had just drained her completely. She had no idea what to say, or how to start a conversation. That had never been a problem, in this week she'd known General Aizen.
“I saw you rushing down the hallway, Lieutenant.”
She nodded. “I'm sorry, sir.” She was such an idiot. General Aizen surely wanted to see decorum from his officers, whatever happened. “That wasn't-”
“Lieutenant.”
Momo pressed her lips together and looked up at Aizen. Despite her fears - she had pictured a disapproving look and a lecture coming her way - his eyes were kind and his mouth was set with a concerned frown. “Yes, sir?”
Aizen sat in the chair across from her and leaned forward, until his elbows rested on the edge of her desk. “I just wanted to check on you. I was concerned.”
She winced. “I'm sorry. That was... unprofessional of me.”
“What sent you running down the hallways, Lieutenant Hinamori?”
She shook her head. “It won't happen again, sir.” Maybe if she could evade the question altogether, he wouldn't press for an answer.
“Momo.”
Oh, she couldn't ignore that. An order wrapped up in concern was impossible to ignore. “I heard the rumors.”
“Rumors?” he asked as he scooted his chair closer to her desk.
“About the Infected that was captured,” she admitted. Momo peeled her fingers off the edge of the desk and went to gripping her thighs.
“Mm, yes.” Aizen sighed. “I had tried to squash those rumors before it got out of hand. We're concerned with finding a vaccine and don't often get live subjects. It's better to keep wild rumors from circulating when we do.”
“I didn't mean to make things difficult. I really didn't. I just had to go down there and see.” Momo looked up at him, lips pressed together as she brushed a stray strand of hair of her forehead. “I know I'm not technically supposed to be down there, sir. It was just...” She trailed off, swallowed and tried again. “I had to-”
“Lieutenant.” He reached across the desk and held his hand out to her palm up. Blinking, Momo hesitantly placed her hand in his. He squeezed her fingers. “It's quite all right. I can't blame you. I did a little digging when it was brought in and I have to apologize to you.”
“A-apologize?”
“Yes, Lieutenant. Apologize.” He squeezed her fingers again and then dropped her hand. “He was your friend, wasn't he?”
Unable to really speak, she nodded.
“He was, Hinamori. Remember that. The Infected are no more than a parasite - a virus - that manipulates the host's body. Your friend is dead. You saw how he changed. It wasn't him anymore, was it?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.” But there was that part of her that told her differently. That insisted that when she saw that look in his eye, she was looking at Toushirou, not some thing that looked like him.
Aizen sat back, expression kind. “Maybe it's best you don't go back down there.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, dipping her head toward him. He was right. There was no sense in pursuing sorrow.
He nodded once. “Good. It's for the best.” He paused and then sat back. “How have you been feeling lately?”
Momo blinked, jaw dropping a bit at the abrupt change in subject. “Oh. Uhm, all right, I suppose. I've had a few more headaches over the week.”
“Have the pills I've given you helped at all?”
She half-shrugged and gave him a sheepish little smile. “I guess it's just been a stubborn cold.”
“Or perhaps you haven't rested like you should, my dear.”
Momo had the grace to blush. “I just wanted to make sure I settled in well here.”
“Hinamori.”
“Yes, sir?”
“As your general and direct commanding officer, I am ordering you to get some rest.” When she began to protest, he held up a hand. “Take a few days off. You're been an exemplary officer in the week you've been here. Take the next few days off. Keep taking the medicine I gave you.”
“I will.”
“You'll go rest?”
“Yes, sir. This afternoon.” She nodded. “I need to finish up a couple things.” At his frown, she added hastily, “it won't take more than a couple hours and I really do feel up to it now. I promise, sir.”
He nodded once and stood. “Good. Don't bother with checking in with me before you leave. Just finish up and get some rest.” He paused just after he opened her door. “I'll check back here in a couple hours, just to make sure you've gone.”
She managed a bit of a watery smile for him as he left. He closed the door behind him and Momo sighed. He really was a kind man; she'd been lucky. For a few moments, she just sat there, then rubbed her cheek and swallowed. A kind man, yes, but she couldn't just take the answers he'd given at face value. It never entered her mind that he was lying to her; in fact, it was the contrary. Everyone knew that the Infected weren't the humans the virus took over anymore.
Momo just needed to have a bit of closure, she supposed. Toushirou at least deserved far more than simply being shunted aside, even if he was already too far gone to save. He was dead. She knew that. But there was something in Aizen's lab that looked enough like him that she felt obligated at least look again. Maybe it wasn't for the best - Aizen didn't seem to think so - but she had to.
She just had to.
Setting aside the few files she had to go through, she turned the computer toward her and signed onto the network. She had the clearance, as Aizen's personal assistant, that it wouldn't raise any eyebrows. Besides, she'd be on the network, digging through files, anyway. It was her job.
She started with Toushirou's personnel file. She simply perused it, taking note of any any tabs or links or other file numbers tucked away in it. He really had been talented, hadn't he? So many commendations. A couple official reprimands there, but Momo just shook her head at those. She knew the stories behind those; Toushirou had always been a little too blunt for his own good.
She scrubbed at her cheek. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. Taking another deep breath, she dove back into the file. There was a tab there, and she touched it. It brought up the death certificate and the reports surrounding his death. Her finger hovered over the reports tab for a moment and she finally sighed and pulled away from it. No sense reading Tohtsoni's report. She'd seen it before.
And there, on the death certificate was a link to the lab report and Colonel Ichimaru's report on the capture. Momo closed her eyes for a second, silently asking for permission and forgiveness for looking when her general had already said she shouldn't. He had her best interests at heart. She wholly believed that, and she knew he was trying to spare her pain.
She had to see for herself though.
Momo touched the link.
- -
She was going to throw up. Momo stared at the disc on her desk and the bottle of pills next to it, her hand covering her mouth. She wasn't sure if she was glad for the high security clearance and the computer know-how or not. She never would have found this, if not for those. If not for those, she'd be blissfully ignorant.
So very blissfully ignorant.
Her breath hitched. Her throat was closing. All she could see was that disk and that damned bottle and all she could hear were General Aizen's words and all she could seem to think about was the lab reports. Even the headings had hit her like a punch in the stomach. The Infected had a subject number.
And then a name.
Colonel Ichimaru was still calling him Toushirou.
Toushirou Hitsugaya, former captain. His service number was still there, identifying him.
Was he...? Did they believe he was still in there? When Momo had seen it, hope had welled up in her. Perhaps they were looking for a cure. Maybe - just maybe - they could bring Toushirou back. So what if he had to be restrained? Who cared if he had to be subjected to test upon test? If it brought him back, then who cared? She wanted him back. She had no doubt that he wanted to come back. She would stand beside Aizen and Ichimaru and help them bring him back.
But then she came across the file about her.
At first it had just been something a little strange. Of course Aizen had personnel files on his officers, but after she realized he had a file on her in the laboratory, she wasn't sure what to think. It was with a great trepidation that she'd opened it and read.
Opened it and read and nearly threw up, right then and there. And now, she was left staring at the copies she'd made of the files and the pills that were Infecting her. She blanched and took a few deep breaths, then glanced at her clock. Aizen would be here in a few minutes, if he was to be believed when he said he'd be by to check on her. Quickly palming the disk and the stuffing the bottle into her pocket, she scurried out of the office.
The bottle she kept, but the disk - embedded with the files she'd read and a note to Renji explaining them all - she slipped into Renji's inbox, just under a datapads and files. He'd find it soon; there was no way she was just leaving the disk on top and handing it to him personally came with questions and explanations she did not want to give.
That done, Momo found herself back in the corridors she'd ran headlong through just a few short hours earlier. She swallowed hard, refusing to think of anything else besides what she was doing right now. There would be time later to try to pick up the pieces. Right now, she just had to do what needed done.
She walked into its room. (His room, maybe. She didn't know anymore.) The Infected was still there, hands still cuffed to the bed rail. If... if it was him... Momo swallowed. If this was really him, then she had a lot to apologize for. She'd left him there, at Ichimaru's mercy. The needle tracks on his arms were plain and Momo suddenly wasn't sure if that IV carried nutrients or drugs.
After all, she'd been given pills laced with the Infection. She closed her eyes, pushing that thought away right now. She couldn't deal with that. Not now. When she opened her eyes, the thing that looked like Toushirou was staring at her, eyes tired and not quite focusing on her. She hadn't really noticed the welt on his temple before, and a quick glance to his hands proved that he'd been messing with the cuffs. His wrists were red and raw. “You look awful.” It slipped out before she could think about it.
He looked at her sharply, weary gaze sharpening into something else. She held his gaze for a few moments, trembling in the face of some immutable truth she couldn't escape. She had to ask now. She absolutely had to. Silence ruled for a few more moments, before she swallowed hard and forced the words past her dry throat. “Are you you?”
“Yes.” His voice was rough and soft, but there was no hesitation.
“Can you prove it?”
His eyes closed. “Momo...” He trailed off. “Ask what you want.”
“And you'll answer?”
“I always have.”
Momo took one step forward and stilled completely. Part of her wanted to run now and disappear. Forget this had ever happened and just find a place out in the middle of nowhere. Let the Threat take her or the Army kill her. Maybe she'd succumb to the Infection.
Maybe she'd live, and that scared her more than it should.
But, honestly, what would happen if she let him go? They'd lose one subject, but they apparently had many more among the troops, herself included.
Well, not for much longer. She steeled herself and stepped forward again, pulling a small key from her pocket. He was absolutely still while she undid one cuff.
“Hinamori?”
“You've said enough.” And he had. The files said enough. He said enough. She couldn't deny it. She really couldn't. His hair was a little off, his eyes too bright, but it was him in there. Had always been. She reached across the bed and uncuffed his other hand then stepped back. “If you go right when you leave the door, you can slip out through the galley. There's a supply closet just past the first set of double doors. You can find an overcoat in there. Keep your head down.”
He sat up slowly, rubbing his wrists. “You're sticking your neck out pretty far.”
Momo shook her head. “No. I'm not.” She wouldn't be around here for much longer anyway. There was no way they could catch her and punish her. Besides, she had a few days off. “I'm leaving.”
He looked at her, eyes narrowed as he swung his feet to the floor and stood, wobbling on his feet. Momo half-reached for him but pulled her hands back. “Come with me,” he said.
She shook her head. “I'll meet you.”
“Hinamori, come with me.”
If there was ever proof that it was him, that was it. “I promise.” She hesitated. “Toushirou, I promise. I'll meet you. Please go now. I have to take care of some things here.”
Toushirou took a few steps toward the door, stumbling once before he caught himself. “I'll come back for you if I don't see you.”
“I know you will.”
He just looked at her for a few moments before he ducked out of the room. Momo stepped through the door and watched him move as quickly as he could down the hallway. He was stumbling a bit and he sometimes pressed his hand against his head. He was stubborn, though, and he'd make it. There shouldn't be anyone in the direction she sent him.
Momo squared her shoulders and turned away, then jogged down the hallway in the opposite direction. One more thing to do. Just one more. One short message. Granny should know that she wasn't alone completely.
- -
Slipping out had been easier than Toushirou had thought it would be. Despite Momo's direction and her assurance that he wouldn't run into anyone, he couldn't help but be paranoid. He was an Infected in an Army installation, completely unsure of Momo's motives. That alone was enough to set him ill at ease, but he wasn't about to not walk out of that damned room. He had every reason to be paranoid.
She'd seemed so confused when he'd first seen her and then simply overwhelmed and upset the second time that he wasn't sure what was going through her mind. He'd been like her, before getting sick: the Infected were the enemy. They weren't people anymore. It had been evident she'd been thinking it, that first time she'd walked into his room. He wouldn't put it past the general - Aizen, he thought, if he remembered right - to test him somehow. See how far he got or something. That bastard who kept coming into the room, taking sample after sample, was sadistic enough for it, of that he was sure.
Toushirou let his head fall back against the tree he was tucked up against and sighed softly. That self-same pink-haired bastard had never stopped talking. That damned voice was imprinted in his mind. Probably would have nightmares laced with that smooth voice, and peppered with Colonel's Ichimaru's wide smiles. He's spent his time sneaking through the base, looking over his shoulder and hoping against hope that Momo wasn't actually in on some sort of test. Testing his intelligence or resolve or what, he didn't know. Maybe just messing with him. Maybe they would set him up just so he'd take a fall and see how much he could take.
But Momo had sent him a way that he knew would be sparsely populated and, true to her word, there had been an overcoat in the supply closet waiting for him. She said she'd follow and she had better. Toushirou would go back in there and drag her out if she didn't show up soon, too.
He had found a place out of sight, after doing his level best not to stagger too obviously on his way out, and rested there, in small ravine off the main road only a handful of kilometers from the base. It was a forest area and not anywhere he should stay after dark. Unless the drugs - and likely concussion - had really messed with his head, he had several hours until the sun started to set, and that meant he could settle on the forest floor. Carpeted by pine needles and hidden from sight by the slope and a large down log, Toushirou felt fairly secure in his position. He had tucked himself against a tree, where the log rested against the wide trunk. If anyone came by, they'd do so on the road and hopefully not look down here. He needed the time to rest, and he needed more time to think.
Whether he was waiting for Momo to follow or biding his time until he went back and dragged her out, he didn't know. She'd promised him that she would be behind him, but how far behind him she didn't say. After what she'd done for him, there was no way in hell that he'd leave her to rot in an Army installation. Not after she committed treason.
It was overcast now. Normally, Toushirou wouldn't have cared in the least. Sometimes water in the atmosphere was an advantage, but he never counted on it. Now, though, was a different story. He couldn't very well stay on the road and keep watch, for a variety of reasons. He didn't want to be anywhere within eyesight of anything on that road (unless it was Momo). There was no way he'd be able to defend himself, either from the Army or from the Threat. His only consolation was that the Threat normally stayed away from areas with a high concentration of soldiers.
That wasn't much of a consolation, all things considered.
He wasn't sure if he could even keep his eyes open. His head still hurt. He wasn't sure he was thinking straight. Nothing was quite right; his vision was still gray on the edges and he wasn't certain that he wasn't going to throw up any time now. He shifted, wincing, and planted a hand on the damp ground, fingers pushing through the thick carpet of pine needles to curl into the wet soil beneath, seeking out the water flowing just out of his reach.
The water made this easier. Toushirou leaned back against the log he'd found, eyes closed, and sighed softly at the first droplets of rain that hit his face. He hadn't realized how much he missed the rain until he was back outside. That dry, closed room had stifled his senses and left every detail dull and unrefined. He let himself focus solely on the water; didn't need his other senses now. The rain would tell him what was coming and the cool water would soothe the ache that seemed to settle too deeply for him to ignore.
He relaxed, reluctantly, as the rain became heavier and steadier. He wasn't sure how long he had been there, only that it hadn't been too terribly long, when the rain whispered of a figure moving down the road. It was a slight figure, moving quickly and skirting the edge of the road. An image formed in his mind's eye, of Momo looking over her shoulder as she scurried down the road.
She'd really come.
Toushirou pushed himself to his feet and climbed slowly up the ravine. Hands pressed against a tree and leaning heavily against it, he pulled himself from the rain and peered down the roadway. Momo was wrapped in a heavy overcoat, arms wrapped around herself as she half-jogged down the road. She looked as paranoid as Toushirou had felt. He pushed off the tree, unsteady on his feet, and took a few steps from the edge of the road.
She stopped when she saw him then jogged forward. He'd expected questions, both times he'd seen her. She'd even implied she would ask questions during the second visit. He wasn't sure what he'd said or done that convinced her that it really was him, but he didn't want to question it. Toushirou almost expected those questions now but all she did was wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him into a tight embrace.
He expected words and questions. He got shuddering shoulders and soft sobs instead. He curled his fingers over her shoulders. She didn't need to cry; they'd figure this all out. Momo pulled back, furiously scrubbing at her face, and then looked up at him.
She didn't say a word. She just looked at him, her expression completely lost and confused.
He knew that feeling. There was a moment where neither moved, and then he turned, put his arm over her shoulder, and started in the direction of his camp. With a little luck, they would still be around; knowing Rangiku, she wouldn't leave without him, the idiot woman. He leaned on her as they walked. Momo hadn't said anything yet. He wasn't sure if she could speak now; she seemed too overwhelmed. He couldn't blame her.
Toushirou couldn't blame her at all.
He was tired and sore and he wasn't sure how far they'd get before he had to stop and rest. That's when he'd make her talk. Until then, they simply walked together.
It was raining and Toushirou found himself listening to the steady, gentle whisper.
Author: Kel
Fandom/Characters: Bleach/ Toushirou + Momo
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Separated by years and lies, two friends find each other again. Alternate Universe. (Infected 'verse)
Disclaimer/Notes: Recognizable characters are not mine, but Kubo Tite's. T.S Eliot's The Wasteland provided both the title and quote at the beginning.
Written for au_bigbang
The news came the next morning and it was Izuru who hand-delivered the memo to them both, in their respective offices. (Renji's office wasn't really an office, per se. In charge of multiple squads and the training of said squads, he didn't actually find a lot of time to sit down and work on anything resembling paperwork. He had a corner full of file cabinets in another person's office. He called it a storage shelf; Izuru thought the more appropriate name would be trespassing upon another person's space.)
Renji had taken the news as expected, with a frown and a few moments of silence before beginning to mutter about better training for his squads. No one would be caught out like Tohtsoni had, by Threat or Infected. No way in hell. Not any one of the squads he trained. They'd be better than that. Izuru left him to his muttering and his planning, after a quick promise to meet up for a few minutes after the (official) workday and talk through some of those plans.
Momo, deep in rearranging her new office to her standards and fretting over getting everything just right, looked about ready to burst into tears. Izuru hadn't wanted to tell her the news, not when her friend's death had left her so raw, but she would have found out sooner or later and he wasn't going to stand accused of keeping things from her. She took the datapad with a trembling hand and read it carefully, then handed it back with a sad sigh. “I've a lot of work to do,” she said.
Izuru's shoulders slumped. “Momo...”
She reached up and rubbed her eyes. “What do you want me to say? Yes, I knew him. Yes, he was one of Toushirou's. We get squads taken out every week. We can't treat this one any differently.”
“This one was so close, though.” Close, Izuru thought. How fitting. Close in distance - only a few miles from the base - and close to home, especially so for Momo.
“I can't do this right now.” Her eyes were bright and wide, pleading with him to just drop the subject. “I have too much to do.” She tried to force a little smile, just for his sake. It didn't work very well. “Besides, Renji bought me so many drinks I can hardly see straight.”
Izuru didn't smile, but his tone was lighter. “You did go home pretty tipsy.”
She waved her hands at him. “Shush, you. The last thing I need is my new bosses to her that, okay?”
His chuckle was forced and short. “Okay, okay. I'll hold it over your head later. Look, Renji wants to meet up at six; he's going to have some new training methods for his squads and wants feedback.”
She nodded. “I'll be there. Usual place?”
“Cafeteria,” Izuru confirmed.
Her nod was quick and decisive.
He hesitated. “Are you sure you're all right?”
“Of course.” Her tone belied her words, but there wasn't much Izuru could do about it. She'd asked him to drop it and so he would not pursue. “I'll see you this evening.”
He left with a quick, soft goodbye and Momo sighed when he closed her door. She pinched the bridge of her nose, then sat at the desk, slowly resting her forehead in her hand. She couldn't think so personally about this one. Like she'd told Izuru, entire squads were killed sometimes. It wasn't that irregular an occurrence. It always - always - struck them hard though. It was one hell of a reminder that nothing they did was quite good enough and all they were doing was just surviving. They tried though. Kept trying. Someone had to.
But knowing it was Toushirou's old squad that had been ripped apart so brutally... That hit Momo harder than she ever thought it would. She hadn't even known them that well.
She sighed and sat back in her chair, then grabbed the closest datapad. Maybe it would be nice to write Granny a nice long letter. All these thoughts about Toushirou needed purged somehow. She would have liked to actually write the letter - longhand and on her stash of paper hidden away in her desk drawer - but that would require a hand-delivery. Maybe she'd do that later, when she knew she was going out to Granny's. Until then, a datapad transmission would have to do.
Starting these things were always hard. Momo didn't have it in herself to come out and say that she'd been missing Toushirou and Granny, or directly say that she was wishing things would go back the way they were, way back when. Before the Threat and before the collapse. Before the Army. Before the Infected. Toushirou would have, maybe. He would have been that blunt, of that she was sure, but he was never one to go on about emotion. Momo was, though; she always had been.
At least she had some sort of excuse to start the letter. The new job would help with that and from there, it was a smooth segue into talking about her day. Momo was muttering the words to herself as she typed them out on the pad, so completely engrossed in the letter that she never noticed the man in her doorway. When he cleared his throat, she jumped, the datapad sliding from her fingers, and squeaked.
“Lieutenant Hinamori, I take it?”
Momo nodded dumbly. Oh, dear Lord, he had general's stars. He had general's stars and she'd ignored him completely. Mortified, she snapped to attention, and managed to hit her knee on the side of her desk. She squeaked again and snapped off a perfect salute. At least she had that. It was the only part of this meeting that had gone right so far and she'd be damned if she didn't at least salute well.
He was silent for a moment and Momo waited for the inevitable dressing-down. She winced when he opened his mouth and then gaped when he laughed.
He laughed.
At her.
“At ease, Lieutenant.” He held out his hand. “General Aizen, at your service. I just wanted to come meet my new assistant in person on her first day.”
“Ah.” She was being so eloquent. Momo swallowed once and reached out to shake his hand. “Lieutenant Momo Hinamori, yes. It's good to meet you.” He was so tall, with tousled brown hair and warm eyes; she hadn't expect a general to look so handsome. She'd heard rumor, of course, of General Aizen's look and disposition, but she'd never expected a handsome man laughing (at her) in her office.
“I didn't mean to startle you.” He had the grace to look sheepish and Momo started to relax a little. “I wasn't even sure about disturbing you.”
She waved her hands. “No, no. It's fine.” In all honesty, she shouldn't have been writing the letter. She could do that after her day was over.
Aizen took a few steps forward and stooped to pick up the discarded datapad, then held it out to her. “What were you working on?”
He would ask. Momo sighed, unwilling to lie, even if it was to save face. “I'm sorry, sir. It's a letter to my grandmother. I...” She trailed off and shrugged in the face of his indulgent smile. “I heard the latest news and wanted to write her.”
Aizen furrowed his brow slightly. “Tohtsoni's squad? That's the only news I can think of.”
She nodded. “I had a friend who used to serve with Sergeant Tohtsoni.” She took the pad carefully and hugged it to her chest without even really thinking about it.
Aizen's thoughtful look melted into one of understanding. “Have at it, then. If Gin is to be believed, you were here early, were you not?” On Momo's nod, he continued. “You've earned a break.” He held up a finger. “Fifteen minutes is all we officially allow around here.”
Momo nodded sharply. “Yes, sir. Fifteen minutes.”
Aizen turned for the door and paused just as he was about to step out. “Oh, Hinamori?”
“Yes, sir?”
He turned, then dug in his pocket. “I have something for you... Ah, here.” He held out a small blue bottle, then shook it slightly. “Gin told me you'd been having some trouble with a persistent cold. I had the infirmary write you up a prescription for these. They're better than anything you get over the counter.”
Blinking, Momo took the bottle. “How...?”
Aizen laughed again. “My dear, I have my sources. Simply trust me when I say I know.” He held up a hand in a simple wave. “I will meet with you more formally in the morning. We can discuss what I expect from you then. In the meantime,” he said as he disappeared from her office, “do start to feel better.”
With one hand holding the datapad and the other the small bottle of pills, Momo blinked at the suddenly empty door. “I will, sir,” she called, hoping he heard her acknowledge his comments. (It wouldn't look well otherwise.) She sat, putting the pad and the bottle both on the desk, stared at the bottle for a few moments before shrugging and opening it.
Couldn't hurt to try, at the very least.
She downed one pill, set her water aside, and picked up the interrupted letter to Granny. Now she had even more to tell her. Maybe this day wouldn't be so bad after all, and maybe she'd be able to join the guys and help Renji with his training schedules without feeling like so much baggage. The last thing she wanted to do was be there with a promise to help and not be able to focus.
- -
If it weren't for the fact that Rangiku had actually saved his life, Toushirou might have kicked her to the curb by now. It was like she went out of her way to find out what annoyed him and then did it anyway, just to see how he'd react. Right now, she was working to get him to drink some of the hooch she'd managed to make. That stuff - which he'd tasted before, thanks - was better used as paint thinner than refreshment. He wasn't sure he'd had a throat left if he gave in to her and downed whatever she sat in front of him.
She told him he needed to relax. He told her that he'd relax when they got camp moved. She pouted. He scowled. With the exception of why he wouldn't relax, it was the same conversation they had at least twice a week. Rangiku seemed to think he was wound up too tightly. He might agree with that, but he had every reason to be. It was like she didn't understand that both the military and the Threat were closing in on them. But then, she would set to work and actually get a few things done and Toushirou found himself never quite sure of her. He should be; he'd known her long enough to get a good read on her but he found that he was still trying to convince himself that he could trust her.
She'd probably be hurt if she knew that. (And, strangely enough, that had him leaning toward trusting her a little more.) As it was, she was pouting at him, and he take the pouting over a genuine hurt look.
“Toushirou. You really need to just sit out for a little while.”
Then again, it depended on how long she pouted at him. “There's no time for it.”
She sighed and fell into step beside him as he crossed the small center square of the tent village. He stopped, nearly sliding in the mud, as Kiyone scampered across the square in front of him, arms laden with pots and pans. Rangiku slid to a stop, huffing as her hands came down on his shoulders to steady herself. “She needs to watch where she's going.”
“That might help,” Toushirou said dryly.
“Sorry.” The call came from the entrance of the large tent, where Kiyone was currently trying not to drop her load as she pushed the flap open. Toushirou took one step forward to help before she suddenly seemed to get everything under control and disappeared inside the tent.
“So much activity around here,” Rangiku muttered.
“There's a reason for that.”
“I know.” She sighed and dropped one hand from his shoulder. “You sure I can't get you to not go out this time?”
He shook his head. “We have to keep track of what's close.” That meant going out and Toushirou wasn't about to send other people out. They were all exhausted, all having worked through the night to pack up. He wasn't going to send out someone who was about to fall over asleep on their feet. He'd pulled longer shifts than this not only back in the Army, but even during his days in this camp. He was better suited for this than most anyone else in camp and he had the training and experience to back it up; too bad Rangiku could not seem to grasp that.
Her hand tightened on his shoulder. “Other people can do that.”
Toushirou rolled his shoulder, effectively dislodging her hand, and gave her a flat look. (He hated that he had to look up at her and, judging by the that strange sparkle in her blue eyes, she knew that and reveled in it.) “Other people don't have the training I do.”
“Yes,” she conceded, “but they do have more sleep under their belts.”
“I've gone with no sleep before.”
She gave him a pointed look. (Very pointed, if he did say so himself.) “Yeah. Last night.”
He returned her look with a flat one of his own. “I'm fine, Rangiku.”
“You said you were fine the day you woke up, too, and I distinctly remember you collapsing no three steps from the cot.”
She probably thought she had him there. This was completely different: he wasn't sick right now. He was working. “I tripped.”
“On your own feet.” She pushed wayward strands of reddish-blonde hair out of her eyes.
“On a rock.” He glanced up at her before starting forward again. Her hand dropped from his shoulder and he heard her huff in annoyance as she followed.
“You shouldn't go out there right now.”
“I don't have a choice.” He stopped in the doorway of an abandoned building, a shell that had had once been a small family home. It wasn't really livable right now, but it made for good storage; the plan had been to start fixing up some of these buildings and start making homes out of abandoned shells. Couldn't do that with the Army hounding them, though. He rather wondered if it would ever be able to be done.
Rangiku stopped near him, leaning against the doorjamb and redoing her ponytail as he snagged his rifle and started rooting for bullets. “Why don't you let me come with you, at least?”
“There's too much that needs done here.” Toushirou didn't look up at her as he answered. He pulled out a box of bullets, frowning at the supply. It needed organized better. This was a mess. He wasn't even sure how many of this caliber they had left. “I need you here, making sure this stuff is taken care of.” He paused as he gave the storage shelves a scowl. “And get this packed up in some semblance of order, would you?”
“How about we do that when we unpack it?” Rangiku pushed off the doorjamb and followed him to the edge of the encampment. “You really don't even need that, you know. There's enough moisture in the air for you.”
“I know,” he conceded. She knew as well as he did why he carried the rifle. He just felt better with it. He'd been trained to fight with it. Better to go with what he knew than struggle with new power that he wasn't sure about. He didn't know how it worked, or what he could do most of the time. No sense in tempting fate and making something he knew nothing about a primary defense. (Or offense, as the case may be.) “It's back-up.”
“It is not,” she said with far more conviction than he liked to hear when she was contradicting him.
He snorted at her and slung the rifle over his shoulder. She reached out and grasped his shoulder, pulling at him until he half-turned in her direction. “What?” he snapped.
Rangiku raised a brow and sighed at him. “If you aren't back before nightfall, I'll send out a team.”
His eyes narrowed. “You are not letting anyone go out at night.” Not for him. Not for anything.
“Don't force it, then.”
“Rangiku.” His voice was hard. “No one goes out at night.”
“Even you?” she asked.
He hesitated. Well, no... Not even him. He'd go out in the darkness if he had to. It depended on the reason, but he would never let his own idiocy be the reason anyone went out courting the Threat. “I'll be back. You won't have to consider it.”
She nodded once, sharply, and dropped her hand from his shoulder. “I'll see you tonight then.”
He echoed her nod and turned away, intending to leave without another word. No sense in saying goodbye when he was coming back, or telling her to get to work when he knew she would. Why say it when it didn't need said.
“I'll save you some dinner,” she called to his retreating back.
He lifted a hand in small wave. Right, right. Dinner. Knowing her, she wouldn't be happy until he ate something anyway. She'd probably take it upon herself to force-feed him if she thought he wasn't eating enough.
“I've got just the thing to help you relax, Toushirou,” she called and he could hear the impish lilt in her voice. “You can look forward to that.”
He flinched. Oh, God... The whole camp was going to hear that and assume all the wrong things. She had no shame. None. Not at all, especially when it came to teasing him. He paused at the edge of the clearing and glanced over his shoulder at her. Sure enough, she was waving to him, grinning like some damned loon. “Get to work!”
She laughed - a little strained, even he could hear it from there - and walked back into the center of their small camp. Toushirou shook his head and continued on his way.
They both had some work to do.
- -
The sun had set. It had to have. Toushirou wasn't sure of the time, but the sun had been setting the last he knew. He remembered the fall and remembered seeing the dimming sun's rays peeking through the alleys and highlighting the debris. It had almost been pretty, almost soothing. Toushirou figured that that sort of stupid reaction to something as mundane as the sunset had to have been whatever drug was coursing through his system at the time.
He blamed the sedative - or whatever it had been - for seeing a smile plastered on that bastard's face. Toushirou had blacked out then, but not before seeing the leader of the military squad grinning at him. Judging by the soreness in his neck and the needle tracks on his arms - not to mention the restraints that kept him on what resembled a hospital bed - being unconscious may have been for the best.
Still didn't keep Toushirou from wondering, though. He felt lightheaded and nauseous. No telling what they gave him. And whatever had given him the welt across his temple was probably better off not remembered.
He half-turned - all he could manage right now - and shook the cuff, scowling as it rattled on the metal rail. Goddamn it, but what had he gotten himself into? Last he heard, the Army was simply exterminating the Infected and not giving a damn about them otherwise. Considering the way his head head, Toushirou was almost ready to believe that killing him outright may have been preferable. He grunted softly, tried to bring up his other hand to cradle his forehead, and then cursed when he realized he had both hands cuffed. Scowl firmly in place, he moved his foot and almost surprised when his ankles weren't similarly immobilized. They probably figured limiting the use of his hands was good enough.
It probably was because now his vision was swimming and he was this close to vomiting on the floor. (Because, honestly, he would never suffer the indignity of vomiting on himself while cuffed to a bed. He'd find a way to get on the floor. Where someone could step in it. Hopefully then they'd slip and fall on their ass and Toushirou would then feel entirely justified in throwing up on their damned spotless floor.) He'd never be able to kick anyone and make it useful. Kick someone and make it a little vengeful, sure. But not useful. Hardly even satisfying. First he needed someone to come in this spotless little hospital room.
Then again, it occurred to him that this was probably the furthest thing from a hospital. Looked more like a lab than anything and that set him on edge. It was the Threat's experiments with gene therapy and viral warfare that led to the Infected. He was already, in a way, a sort of lab rat. He'd rather not go through it again. Stretching, he barely managed to brush the fingers of his left hand on the IV inserted into his right elbow. He barely touched it and grunted, stretching just a little more, trying and failing to snag the damn needle. He didn't want whatever they were giving him. Frustration overwhelmed him and he cursed loudly and kicked the bed rail.
His vision swam and his head protested and he had to grab the railing to keep himself grounded. He focused on the rail, on the cool metal underneath his fingers, and let that one sensation fill his senses. Far better than letting the pain in his head and the general fuzziness of whatever sedative they'd filled him with take over. It was a trick he'd learned when he'd first heard the rain speaking to him. He had to listen solely to the water before it would respond. That ability, he'd discovered, had served him well in other, more practical, applications.
Gradually, he came back to himself. The grayness on the edges of his vision receded and the floor tiles stopped their swirling dance. The welt on his head went back to being a background ache he could ignore. He was breathing hard, hard enough that it took him a few moments to realize that his breathing wasn't the only sound in the room.
Her soft gasp shouldn't have been so immediately recognizable. Toushirou hadn't heard it for years. Not since that day a few months before he'd “died” when he sprained his wrist in her presence. She'd looked at him, eyes wide and hand covering her mouth, that same soft oh on her lips. He stilled and closed his eyes for a moment before he turned toward the door.
It was like he stopped breathing. His jaw went slack as he looked at her. Her eyes were too-wide, disbelieving. Tears were pooling, just spilling over her cheeks. Her hands were shaking, clasped together in front of her mouth. She'd be worrying her bottom lip behind those hands. He knew her well enough to know that much. Even two years of separation could not dull those memories.
She found her voice before he could speak. “What are you?”
She tried to sound commanding. She'd always failed when she spoke to him. “Hinamori...” What was he? He was her friend. He always had been, Infected or not.
She swallowed and took a step back. “Shut up.”
“Hinamori, don't...” He rattled the cuff again, hoping against hope that it would somehow miraculously let loose.
Momo turned on her heel and ran from the door, her footsteps echoing in the corridor.
He was left to stare at an empty doorway.
- -
Her office wasn't quite a safe haven yet. She'd only been there a few days. A week, at most, learning General Aizen's ways and settling it. It wasn't quite hers yet, even though Aizen had been nothing but thoughtful. It was the only place she had, though. Momo closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a moment, and then fairly dove for her desk chair.
She'd heard the rumors: Colonel Ichimaru had captured one of their enemies, but whether it was one of the Infected or the Threat no one quite knew. It didn't matter. Neither were human. It was the second part of the rumor that had her heading down that long hallway to see what was in that room. They said it had looked like an officer who'd died a couple years ago. General Aizen had tried to keep it quiet; Ichimaru had hushed the rumors the second he'd heard them but it was too late. Momo had already heard. A few quiet questions to the right person and she had a vague description.
That was enough. More than enough. She'd stared at him - at it, because there was nothing human there, not anymore. Maybe there never had been. Maybe it only took his form. That had to be it. It hadn't even got him quite right. His hair - its hair - was too light. Too white, instead of blond. The eyes had been too bright. Its voice had been a little too low and its mannerisms just a little off. All of it, just a little off. It wasn't him.
Momo cradled her forehead in her hands, desperately trying to hold back the tears. Just a few days ago, she'd been lost in nostalgia. She'd finally shook it off and some damned Infected took his form and ended up in her general's possession. How... ironic. She scrubbed at her cheeks and took as deep a breath as she could manage.
She tried to banish him - and it - from her thoughts but he stayed. Stubborn brat, just like always. As much as she could say everything else had been off, she couldn't rationalize away the haunted expression he wore. Couldn't forget the wide, haunted eyes. The way he'd rattled the cuff on the rail. The way he'd looked at her. Almost right through her. He'd always been able to tell what she was thinking.
No. He had. It never had. It had never met her. Toushirou had been able to know what she was thinking before she did. That thing in the lab had never known her. Had never set eyes on her before. It was caught in a lab, strapped to an uncomfortable bed. That was why it looked so haunted.
Except, a small part of her brain supplied, he had looked at her like he'd known her.
That part of her brain needed to shut up. Momo leaned back in her chair, hand still over her face, and swallowed hard. She never should have gone down there. Never. She knew General Aizen worked to find a vaccine against the Infection and she knew there might be some experimenting with trying to make it backfire on the Threat. She knew that and had no problem with it. She even knew it meant sometimes working with a live subject, though none had been brought in for some time. That was fine, too. The Infected weren't human anymore. They weren't even alive.
That wasn't him in that room. That wasn't him shackled to a bed. It wasn't him they were using as a live subject.
It wasn't him. All she had to do was believe that.
The knock at her door wasn't entirely unexpected. General Aizen said he'd be stopping by this afternoon and her headlong flight through the hallways hadn't exactly been stealthy. Momo rubbed her forehead for a moment before telling him that he could come in. He came into the office slowly, but not timidly, and carefully latched the door behind him.
Momo started to stand, her hands clutching at the edge of her desk, but Aizen waved her off. She sat again. She didn't really speak because she was waiting on him; she really couldn't say anything. Seeing that thing that looked like Toushirou had just drained her completely. She had no idea what to say, or how to start a conversation. That had never been a problem, in this week she'd known General Aizen.
“I saw you rushing down the hallway, Lieutenant.”
She nodded. “I'm sorry, sir.” She was such an idiot. General Aizen surely wanted to see decorum from his officers, whatever happened. “That wasn't-”
“Lieutenant.”
Momo pressed her lips together and looked up at Aizen. Despite her fears - she had pictured a disapproving look and a lecture coming her way - his eyes were kind and his mouth was set with a concerned frown. “Yes, sir?”
Aizen sat in the chair across from her and leaned forward, until his elbows rested on the edge of her desk. “I just wanted to check on you. I was concerned.”
She winced. “I'm sorry. That was... unprofessional of me.”
“What sent you running down the hallways, Lieutenant Hinamori?”
She shook her head. “It won't happen again, sir.” Maybe if she could evade the question altogether, he wouldn't press for an answer.
“Momo.”
Oh, she couldn't ignore that. An order wrapped up in concern was impossible to ignore. “I heard the rumors.”
“Rumors?” he asked as he scooted his chair closer to her desk.
“About the Infected that was captured,” she admitted. Momo peeled her fingers off the edge of the desk and went to gripping her thighs.
“Mm, yes.” Aizen sighed. “I had tried to squash those rumors before it got out of hand. We're concerned with finding a vaccine and don't often get live subjects. It's better to keep wild rumors from circulating when we do.”
“I didn't mean to make things difficult. I really didn't. I just had to go down there and see.” Momo looked up at him, lips pressed together as she brushed a stray strand of hair of her forehead. “I know I'm not technically supposed to be down there, sir. It was just...” She trailed off, swallowed and tried again. “I had to-”
“Lieutenant.” He reached across the desk and held his hand out to her palm up. Blinking, Momo hesitantly placed her hand in his. He squeezed her fingers. “It's quite all right. I can't blame you. I did a little digging when it was brought in and I have to apologize to you.”
“A-apologize?”
“Yes, Lieutenant. Apologize.” He squeezed her fingers again and then dropped her hand. “He was your friend, wasn't he?”
Unable to really speak, she nodded.
“He was, Hinamori. Remember that. The Infected are no more than a parasite - a virus - that manipulates the host's body. Your friend is dead. You saw how he changed. It wasn't him anymore, was it?”
She shook her head. “No, sir.” But there was that part of her that told her differently. That insisted that when she saw that look in his eye, she was looking at Toushirou, not some thing that looked like him.
Aizen sat back, expression kind. “Maybe it's best you don't go back down there.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, dipping her head toward him. He was right. There was no sense in pursuing sorrow.
He nodded once. “Good. It's for the best.” He paused and then sat back. “How have you been feeling lately?”
Momo blinked, jaw dropping a bit at the abrupt change in subject. “Oh. Uhm, all right, I suppose. I've had a few more headaches over the week.”
“Have the pills I've given you helped at all?”
She half-shrugged and gave him a sheepish little smile. “I guess it's just been a stubborn cold.”
“Or perhaps you haven't rested like you should, my dear.”
Momo had the grace to blush. “I just wanted to make sure I settled in well here.”
“Hinamori.”
“Yes, sir?”
“As your general and direct commanding officer, I am ordering you to get some rest.” When she began to protest, he held up a hand. “Take a few days off. You're been an exemplary officer in the week you've been here. Take the next few days off. Keep taking the medicine I gave you.”
“I will.”
“You'll go rest?”
“Yes, sir. This afternoon.” She nodded. “I need to finish up a couple things.” At his frown, she added hastily, “it won't take more than a couple hours and I really do feel up to it now. I promise, sir.”
He nodded once and stood. “Good. Don't bother with checking in with me before you leave. Just finish up and get some rest.” He paused just after he opened her door. “I'll check back here in a couple hours, just to make sure you've gone.”
She managed a bit of a watery smile for him as he left. He closed the door behind him and Momo sighed. He really was a kind man; she'd been lucky. For a few moments, she just sat there, then rubbed her cheek and swallowed. A kind man, yes, but she couldn't just take the answers he'd given at face value. It never entered her mind that he was lying to her; in fact, it was the contrary. Everyone knew that the Infected weren't the humans the virus took over anymore.
Momo just needed to have a bit of closure, she supposed. Toushirou at least deserved far more than simply being shunted aside, even if he was already too far gone to save. He was dead. She knew that. But there was something in Aizen's lab that looked enough like him that she felt obligated at least look again. Maybe it wasn't for the best - Aizen didn't seem to think so - but she had to.
She just had to.
Setting aside the few files she had to go through, she turned the computer toward her and signed onto the network. She had the clearance, as Aizen's personal assistant, that it wouldn't raise any eyebrows. Besides, she'd be on the network, digging through files, anyway. It was her job.
She started with Toushirou's personnel file. She simply perused it, taking note of any any tabs or links or other file numbers tucked away in it. He really had been talented, hadn't he? So many commendations. A couple official reprimands there, but Momo just shook her head at those. She knew the stories behind those; Toushirou had always been a little too blunt for his own good.
She scrubbed at her cheek. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't. Taking another deep breath, she dove back into the file. There was a tab there, and she touched it. It brought up the death certificate and the reports surrounding his death. Her finger hovered over the reports tab for a moment and she finally sighed and pulled away from it. No sense reading Tohtsoni's report. She'd seen it before.
And there, on the death certificate was a link to the lab report and Colonel Ichimaru's report on the capture. Momo closed her eyes for a second, silently asking for permission and forgiveness for looking when her general had already said she shouldn't. He had her best interests at heart. She wholly believed that, and she knew he was trying to spare her pain.
She had to see for herself though.
Momo touched the link.
- -
She was going to throw up. Momo stared at the disc on her desk and the bottle of pills next to it, her hand covering her mouth. She wasn't sure if she was glad for the high security clearance and the computer know-how or not. She never would have found this, if not for those. If not for those, she'd be blissfully ignorant.
So very blissfully ignorant.
Her breath hitched. Her throat was closing. All she could see was that disk and that damned bottle and all she could hear were General Aizen's words and all she could seem to think about was the lab reports. Even the headings had hit her like a punch in the stomach. The Infected had a subject number.
And then a name.
Colonel Ichimaru was still calling him Toushirou.
Toushirou Hitsugaya, former captain. His service number was still there, identifying him.
Was he...? Did they believe he was still in there? When Momo had seen it, hope had welled up in her. Perhaps they were looking for a cure. Maybe - just maybe - they could bring Toushirou back. So what if he had to be restrained? Who cared if he had to be subjected to test upon test? If it brought him back, then who cared? She wanted him back. She had no doubt that he wanted to come back. She would stand beside Aizen and Ichimaru and help them bring him back.
But then she came across the file about her.
At first it had just been something a little strange. Of course Aizen had personnel files on his officers, but after she realized he had a file on her in the laboratory, she wasn't sure what to think. It was with a great trepidation that she'd opened it and read.
Opened it and read and nearly threw up, right then and there. And now, she was left staring at the copies she'd made of the files and the pills that were Infecting her. She blanched and took a few deep breaths, then glanced at her clock. Aizen would be here in a few minutes, if he was to be believed when he said he'd be by to check on her. Quickly palming the disk and the stuffing the bottle into her pocket, she scurried out of the office.
The bottle she kept, but the disk - embedded with the files she'd read and a note to Renji explaining them all - she slipped into Renji's inbox, just under a datapads and files. He'd find it soon; there was no way she was just leaving the disk on top and handing it to him personally came with questions and explanations she did not want to give.
That done, Momo found herself back in the corridors she'd ran headlong through just a few short hours earlier. She swallowed hard, refusing to think of anything else besides what she was doing right now. There would be time later to try to pick up the pieces. Right now, she just had to do what needed done.
She walked into its room. (His room, maybe. She didn't know anymore.) The Infected was still there, hands still cuffed to the bed rail. If... if it was him... Momo swallowed. If this was really him, then she had a lot to apologize for. She'd left him there, at Ichimaru's mercy. The needle tracks on his arms were plain and Momo suddenly wasn't sure if that IV carried nutrients or drugs.
After all, she'd been given pills laced with the Infection. She closed her eyes, pushing that thought away right now. She couldn't deal with that. Not now. When she opened her eyes, the thing that looked like Toushirou was staring at her, eyes tired and not quite focusing on her. She hadn't really noticed the welt on his temple before, and a quick glance to his hands proved that he'd been messing with the cuffs. His wrists were red and raw. “You look awful.” It slipped out before she could think about it.
He looked at her sharply, weary gaze sharpening into something else. She held his gaze for a few moments, trembling in the face of some immutable truth she couldn't escape. She had to ask now. She absolutely had to. Silence ruled for a few more moments, before she swallowed hard and forced the words past her dry throat. “Are you you?”
“Yes.” His voice was rough and soft, but there was no hesitation.
“Can you prove it?”
His eyes closed. “Momo...” He trailed off. “Ask what you want.”
“And you'll answer?”
“I always have.”
Momo took one step forward and stilled completely. Part of her wanted to run now and disappear. Forget this had ever happened and just find a place out in the middle of nowhere. Let the Threat take her or the Army kill her. Maybe she'd succumb to the Infection.
Maybe she'd live, and that scared her more than it should.
But, honestly, what would happen if she let him go? They'd lose one subject, but they apparently had many more among the troops, herself included.
Well, not for much longer. She steeled herself and stepped forward again, pulling a small key from her pocket. He was absolutely still while she undid one cuff.
“Hinamori?”
“You've said enough.” And he had. The files said enough. He said enough. She couldn't deny it. She really couldn't. His hair was a little off, his eyes too bright, but it was him in there. Had always been. She reached across the bed and uncuffed his other hand then stepped back. “If you go right when you leave the door, you can slip out through the galley. There's a supply closet just past the first set of double doors. You can find an overcoat in there. Keep your head down.”
He sat up slowly, rubbing his wrists. “You're sticking your neck out pretty far.”
Momo shook her head. “No. I'm not.” She wouldn't be around here for much longer anyway. There was no way they could catch her and punish her. Besides, she had a few days off. “I'm leaving.”
He looked at her, eyes narrowed as he swung his feet to the floor and stood, wobbling on his feet. Momo half-reached for him but pulled her hands back. “Come with me,” he said.
She shook her head. “I'll meet you.”
“Hinamori, come with me.”
If there was ever proof that it was him, that was it. “I promise.” She hesitated. “Toushirou, I promise. I'll meet you. Please go now. I have to take care of some things here.”
Toushirou took a few steps toward the door, stumbling once before he caught himself. “I'll come back for you if I don't see you.”
“I know you will.”
He just looked at her for a few moments before he ducked out of the room. Momo stepped through the door and watched him move as quickly as he could down the hallway. He was stumbling a bit and he sometimes pressed his hand against his head. He was stubborn, though, and he'd make it. There shouldn't be anyone in the direction she sent him.
Momo squared her shoulders and turned away, then jogged down the hallway in the opposite direction. One more thing to do. Just one more. One short message. Granny should know that she wasn't alone completely.
- -
Slipping out had been easier than Toushirou had thought it would be. Despite Momo's direction and her assurance that he wouldn't run into anyone, he couldn't help but be paranoid. He was an Infected in an Army installation, completely unsure of Momo's motives. That alone was enough to set him ill at ease, but he wasn't about to not walk out of that damned room. He had every reason to be paranoid.
She'd seemed so confused when he'd first seen her and then simply overwhelmed and upset the second time that he wasn't sure what was going through her mind. He'd been like her, before getting sick: the Infected were the enemy. They weren't people anymore. It had been evident she'd been thinking it, that first time she'd walked into his room. He wouldn't put it past the general - Aizen, he thought, if he remembered right - to test him somehow. See how far he got or something. That bastard who kept coming into the room, taking sample after sample, was sadistic enough for it, of that he was sure.
Toushirou let his head fall back against the tree he was tucked up against and sighed softly. That self-same pink-haired bastard had never stopped talking. That damned voice was imprinted in his mind. Probably would have nightmares laced with that smooth voice, and peppered with Colonel's Ichimaru's wide smiles. He's spent his time sneaking through the base, looking over his shoulder and hoping against hope that Momo wasn't actually in on some sort of test. Testing his intelligence or resolve or what, he didn't know. Maybe just messing with him. Maybe they would set him up just so he'd take a fall and see how much he could take.
But Momo had sent him a way that he knew would be sparsely populated and, true to her word, there had been an overcoat in the supply closet waiting for him. She said she'd follow and she had better. Toushirou would go back in there and drag her out if she didn't show up soon, too.
He had found a place out of sight, after doing his level best not to stagger too obviously on his way out, and rested there, in small ravine off the main road only a handful of kilometers from the base. It was a forest area and not anywhere he should stay after dark. Unless the drugs - and likely concussion - had really messed with his head, he had several hours until the sun started to set, and that meant he could settle on the forest floor. Carpeted by pine needles and hidden from sight by the slope and a large down log, Toushirou felt fairly secure in his position. He had tucked himself against a tree, where the log rested against the wide trunk. If anyone came by, they'd do so on the road and hopefully not look down here. He needed the time to rest, and he needed more time to think.
Whether he was waiting for Momo to follow or biding his time until he went back and dragged her out, he didn't know. She'd promised him that she would be behind him, but how far behind him she didn't say. After what she'd done for him, there was no way in hell that he'd leave her to rot in an Army installation. Not after she committed treason.
It was overcast now. Normally, Toushirou wouldn't have cared in the least. Sometimes water in the atmosphere was an advantage, but he never counted on it. Now, though, was a different story. He couldn't very well stay on the road and keep watch, for a variety of reasons. He didn't want to be anywhere within eyesight of anything on that road (unless it was Momo). There was no way he'd be able to defend himself, either from the Army or from the Threat. His only consolation was that the Threat normally stayed away from areas with a high concentration of soldiers.
That wasn't much of a consolation, all things considered.
He wasn't sure if he could even keep his eyes open. His head still hurt. He wasn't sure he was thinking straight. Nothing was quite right; his vision was still gray on the edges and he wasn't certain that he wasn't going to throw up any time now. He shifted, wincing, and planted a hand on the damp ground, fingers pushing through the thick carpet of pine needles to curl into the wet soil beneath, seeking out the water flowing just out of his reach.
The water made this easier. Toushirou leaned back against the log he'd found, eyes closed, and sighed softly at the first droplets of rain that hit his face. He hadn't realized how much he missed the rain until he was back outside. That dry, closed room had stifled his senses and left every detail dull and unrefined. He let himself focus solely on the water; didn't need his other senses now. The rain would tell him what was coming and the cool water would soothe the ache that seemed to settle too deeply for him to ignore.
He relaxed, reluctantly, as the rain became heavier and steadier. He wasn't sure how long he had been there, only that it hadn't been too terribly long, when the rain whispered of a figure moving down the road. It was a slight figure, moving quickly and skirting the edge of the road. An image formed in his mind's eye, of Momo looking over her shoulder as she scurried down the road.
She'd really come.
Toushirou pushed himself to his feet and climbed slowly up the ravine. Hands pressed against a tree and leaning heavily against it, he pulled himself from the rain and peered down the roadway. Momo was wrapped in a heavy overcoat, arms wrapped around herself as she half-jogged down the road. She looked as paranoid as Toushirou had felt. He pushed off the tree, unsteady on his feet, and took a few steps from the edge of the road.
She stopped when she saw him then jogged forward. He'd expected questions, both times he'd seen her. She'd even implied she would ask questions during the second visit. He wasn't sure what he'd said or done that convinced her that it really was him, but he didn't want to question it. Toushirou almost expected those questions now but all she did was wrap her arms around his shoulders and pull him into a tight embrace.
He expected words and questions. He got shuddering shoulders and soft sobs instead. He curled his fingers over her shoulders. She didn't need to cry; they'd figure this all out. Momo pulled back, furiously scrubbing at her face, and then looked up at him.
She didn't say a word. She just looked at him, her expression completely lost and confused.
He knew that feeling. There was a moment where neither moved, and then he turned, put his arm over her shoulder, and started in the direction of his camp. With a little luck, they would still be around; knowing Rangiku, she wouldn't leave without him, the idiot woman. He leaned on her as they walked. Momo hadn't said anything yet. He wasn't sure if she could speak now; she seemed too overwhelmed. He couldn't blame her.
Toushirou couldn't blame her at all.
He was tired and sore and he wasn't sure how far they'd get before he had to stop and rest. That's when he'd make her talk. Until then, they simply walked together.
It was raining and Toushirou found himself listening to the steady, gentle whisper.