She never said his name anymore, never even thought it. Too afraid that she might flinch, and attract unwanted pity. Too afraid she wouldn't, and that the syllables would still be as rolling and mystical and precious as they had been the first time she uttered them, an astonished little girl reaching with hands outstretched to grab fruitlessly for his coattails.
She used to think he had a wife.
It wasn't that he'd said anything, and of course, back then, she could never have asked him such a personal question, but at one point the assumption had seemed only natural. There was just something about him, his neatly-pressed robes each morning, the scent of clean linens and silks, even the way he took his tea, held it gingerly with just three fingers and inhaled the steam, that had once made her think: he must be married.
And it had been so perfect. So romantic. She had closed her eyes and imagined him heading home, after a long day's work. His footsteps would be slow and measured, but he was smiling; anticipating. When he came to his front door, it slid open to receive him, and a beautiful woman, her features as delicate as an ink painting, was waiting there. She had something warm on the stove for him, and after he ate, she would have knelt to offer him her lap, so that he could rest his head there and feel her fingers gently, gently in his hair. Coaxing out his troubles and letting them float away on the evening breeze.
Something like that; something lit by candles, and warm, and lovely.
Later, when she had been his lieutenant for quite some time, ventured into his office on more than one occasion and still seen no photographs, heard no mention, Momo remained convinced -- perhaps even stubbornly so. Surely he had a wife. Surely there was someone at home to love him. He deserved it. He was wonderful. How could he be alone?
But the evidence weighed down on her, piece by subtle piece, and eventually she was forced to admit that he was not married, nor even engaged. It was not as happy an idea, but there was still something romantic there. In her mind he still went home with his small smile, but he had to turn the lights on himself, cook for himself, and then settle somewhere cozy with a good book. He had no lap in which to rest his head, and that was lonely, but she fancied that she could imagine him pouring over papers from his special class at the Academy, and his photo album would be full to brimming with friends and students and former students. He would be one of those men who had married his career, for good or ill.
Something like that. Still lit by candles, still warm. Still lovely, in a tragic sort of way.
But even after she came to accept it, Momo never quite pictured herself filling the empty space in his life. That would have been too embarrassing, even in private fantasy, and she flushed and giggled nervously whenever anyone else seemed to think otherwise. No no no, they were mistaken. She never thought of him that way. He was her captain, and -- this part she always hesitated to say, because she could feel Hitsugaya-kun's glare, and she knew what his response would be if he somehow overheard the words -- he was much too good for her. Far above, and every bit as out of her reach as the sun.
She was happy that way, she told herself, pretending not to ache a little; and however unworthy she might have been, she did hope he would find someone, someday. A good woman -- a kind woman. Someone strong, and patient (although she couldn't imagine her captain would require much patience), and as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside. Perhaps with long, elegant hair spilling over one shoulder, or styled carefully with hair ornaments and the like. A noblewoman, or a princess. Someone as perfect and proper as an antique doll.
Nanao-san had been her first imagined candidate, and already she had known (painfully, reluctantly) that they would be much better suited to one another. Under someone more responsible than Captain Kyouraku, Nanao-san would have blossomed like an eager flower. She was educated, and she would have known the books on his shelves without needing to borrow them like a child. With her hair down, perhaps teased gently loose at the end o the day so that it curled around her face in waves, her severity would have melted graciously.
Or if her captain preferred Cinderella, a lovely poor girl from a distant Rukongai district just waiting for some handsome prince to come and sweep her off her feet, surely Rangiku-san would have been perfect. She was a little wild, but like Nanao-san, Momo thought she would appreciate and respect an older man more -- well -- normally entitled to Hitsugaya-kun's rank and self-confidence. If she could be persuaded to give up alcohol for the sake of the children, and if only she weren't already involved with--
But she tried not to say his name either.
Neither woman was exactly the type to stay quietly at home, but that was more thought than she had really given her matchmaking back then. The important thing was that they weren't her, would have done better in her place, would have been -- womanly enough or wonderful enough or both to attract her captain's attention, the way that she... never had.
(Even now, she couldn't quite say the way she had never wanted to. It would have to be enough that she didn't want to anymore.)
Once, she had thought he had a wife. She used to think he needed one.
She used to think he needed anyone.
Would another woman in her place have been such a fool? Such a bright-eyed little girl, so -- naive. And other, kinder words for stupid. If they had walked beside him every day (well, no, not quite beside, for an obedient lieutenant was always careful to keep two steps back and one to the right), would their hearts have fluttered eagerly at his gentle praise, would they have stolen glimpses of his eyes and his face and thought themselves so lucky? Would they have known him so well, and yet not at all?
Would they now hesitate, the way that she did, to speak his hallowed name?
Would they, at least, have dared to ask him whether he had ever been married?
"Captain Aizen," Momo whispered, and drew the blankets tight around her. Somehow it was these little uncertainties (oh god, she didn't even know what flavor of ice cream he liked) that really twisted in her belly. As if she had learned nothing, and part of her still wanted, selfishly, to snatch the sun from the sky and wrap it in her arms.