My very first Bleach fic! Please read, enjoy and review. I did some editing (Thanks to Alaena for pointing out some unclear parts). I checked 'em and saw some spelling errors and stuff. , Anyways that's that.

Standard disclaimers apply. I mean, can you imagine what a bloke Bleach would be if I owned it? Kubo Tite rocks!

Moonlight Serenades

Moonlight pooled into the room through the opened shutters. The night was cooler—much cooler than other nights; one must wonder if the past weeks had left Soul Society in such numbing chillness. Any normal being would have locked himself (or herself) in, closed the windows and dove under mountains of blankets—all to ward the unpleasant cold. Unfortunately, the room's only occupant was much indisposed to do much of these things; there was not even an indication that she could feel the cold, much less do anything about it. She lay there in a bed which was positioned oddly in the middle of the room, probably lost in memories which greatly contrasted reality's nightmare.

There was a discreet sound of a door sliding. A tanned boy stepped in, captain robes swishing lightly with every movement. His hair were bright white embers; the moonlight even gave it a touch of evanescent glow. His expression was constricted into a thoughtful frown which was both too mature and unbecoming for his young and boyish features. Naturally, no less could be expected from a person whose best friend was trapped between life and death.

The idea made him smirk in irony; a death god trapped between life and death. Death trapped by death.

What a joke.

The boy, none other than Hitsugaya Toushiro, captain of the tenth division and wielder of the most powerful ice and water soul slayer, was frozen by the sight of his friend. A chill seemed to reach out, pushing through the thick layers of his robes, to clench his heart, to soufflé his insides. That person lying under the thin sheets was so different from the one he had known. This one was pale, haunted lines under her closed eyes that only fatigue and too many tears could create. The IV drip was still connected to her one arm, as she could not sufficiently feed herself. The breathing mask had been removed, though, but her breathing was too weak, too slow, that one would wonder if she ever did. The bandages were still wrapped around her torso. She looked so broken, so weak. Where was Hinamori Momo? Who was this lifeless girl before him?

Disturbing thoughts ravaged his mind:

Will he still hear her laugh?

Will he still see her smile?

Will she tease him, and joke with him, and call him Hitsugaya-kun over and over despite his own protests?

And most importantly:

Will she ever wake up?

Aizen! He raged internally. It was his fault. That man deceived all of Seiretei—deceived the cheerful girl. Even without saying, he knew how his friend respected and loved her captain, as a superior and even much more. And what had he done with that loyalty, that love? He used Hinamori, played her, tore her apart. He destroyed her. It made the young captain wonder. Despite it all, does Hinamori still love the traitor? The idea hurt his head, caused a dull pain in his chest, and he clenched fingers until his skin bled. I swear I'll kill him! I'll kill that traitorous bastard!

Hitsugaya stared at her face. Even in coma, there seemed to be no peace in her features. He wondered where her mind must be wandering, which memories she would be jumping to and fro, just to find escape. Could she be basking under the sun with a younger version of himself, enjoying their watermelons between her chatters and his scowls?

Or, he thought angrily again, would she prefer to stay by the side of her beloved captain, reliving the olden days spent with him?

The cold seemed much more unbearable.

He didn't want to be a shinigami when he was younger. But Hinamori's stories about Aizen's wisdom, kindness and valor, intrigued him. He always used to wonder why she wanted such a dangerous and grim job; she was cheerful and hopelessly naïve most of the time. He also wanted to know why his friend wanted to devote herself to a person other than himself…

"Stop calling me Whitey-chan!"

"Mou! I told you I'd only stop calling you Whitey-chan when you become a shinigami!" she whined.

"Boriiing!" he yawned before spitting a spray of seeds on the soil.

"You only say that now! But you know, Aizen-taichou did something really amazing again today and—"

"Aizen again!" he said, annoyed.

"But Whitey-chan! He's really so great! And intelligent, and wise, and—"

"Hmph."

"It's true! It really makes me happy that he took me, Kira-kun, and Abarai-kun into his squad."

"You've told me that at least a hundred times, Bed-wetter Momo."

"But I just can't help it. I'm so happy! I will do my best to make him proud!" A dreamy expression lingered on her face.

True to her intuition, he had become captain. He understood what she was talking about when he met Aizen and came to respect the man. He then knew what it meant to be a captain: the privilege, the honor, the responsibility, the paperwork. He had seen how great captains were; but the past few days shattered that perception like crumbled concrete. Three captain betrayed Seiretei. The Aizen Hinamori revered turned out to be a scheming traitor. All that greatness seemed like a big façade. Many captains had been hurt, injured, and lost battles. Captains really weren't that much.

This captain even failed to avenge you, Hinamori.

The pale haired captain wanted to touch her but he daren't. He knew it would break him up again/ What was there to break anyway? Not much; everything was pretty much broken. Still, he could not bring himself to touch her. Instead, he remembered Unohana's advice. He cleared his throat and advanced until he was on her bedside. His voice came raspy and dry.

"Oi. Bed wetter. You better wake up soon. Tch. You're really annoying, making me worry like this." He fell silent again. Then, the words that were aching to break free fell from his lips in a faint whisper.

"I'm sorry, Hinamori."

A slight breeze passed through the room, ruffling her sheets slightly. A cloak of cirrus glided gently, obstructing the fierce moonlight, leaving Seiretei a bit dimmer if not colder. The young captain's face was hidden from view as he stared down at his feet in repentance that he wasn't sure he could see or hear.

He reached out to adjust the ruffled sheets, and—barely, just barely—felt his skin against hers. It was unbearably cool, and he made a mental note of bringing something thicker on his next visit.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I couldn't protect you. I was weak—too weak. I fought for you, tried to avenge you, but I lost. It seems what I am now is not enough. But, I'll get stronger. Forgive me."

Hitsugaya licked his dry lips and clenched her white sheets. "If—you promise to wake up soon, I'll make it up to you, neh, Momo?" he murmured with a sad smile. His voice held a somewhat pleading edge now. "I'll take care of you better. I'll make sure no one hurts you ever again. Not a scratch, not one drop of blood. So wake up soon. Or…or I'll call you a bed-wetter forever, got that?"

Of course, there was no answer to his tirade. He really didn't expect her to miraculously awaken. It was like talking to a very cold stone wall. He felt that he deserved to be named the most pathetic individual in Seiretei.

Another pang in his chest heaved and surged.

"Damn it! I need you to wake up!" he said, through gritted teeth. I need you to wake up…

Without another word, he turned and walked away. If she wakes up—when she wakes up, he would keep his promise.

Not a scratch. Not a drop of blood.

The clouds passed, and the moon shone and waned.

The next day, Hitsugaya and the others were sent to Karakura to assess the arrancar issue.

The comatose lieutenant opened her eyes to blazen sunlight and wondered if the soft voice she had been hearing was all a dream.

Please, tell me what you think. The review button is a just a teeny click away.