Soul Society had descended into disarray.

Everywhere you went, you would catch a whole spectre of different emotions; everything from anger and grief to happiness and hope. Another battle with the Arrancar was over, (though not the whole war) and the casualties were in the process of being counted, the injured were getting their treatment and damages were being repaired.

Everything was a huge mess.

While captains had been sent into Hueco Mundo to fight there, the Gotei 13 had become messy. Some of the squads, like the trigger happy 11th division, and Byakuya's trustful 6th, had next to none casualties, while some had lost entire squads, and had to be assigned temporary assistance from other divisions.

The only great relief was that, by normal definition, all captains and vice captains returned, and things were slowly getting back to normal.

But one of them still didn't fully make it back.

Though his body had been brought back, the genius mind of the 10th division captain, Hitsugaya Toshiro, had yet to return.


One of the places where happiness was displayed at its finest was in the real world, at a certain substitute shinigami's house. The rest of his family was out, and he'd invited the shinigami (and Quincy and humans,) he knew to celebrate a war well overcome, live the lives of those who made it through and honour the memories of those who were lost.

Everyone who could afford to get a day off were there.

But the mysterious captain just sat there in silence with half lidded eyes that displayed his now dull and fading will, as if it had been stolen, back there in Hueco Mundo.

Unlike himself, the self-proclaimed hater of everything hot, the prodigy wore a discreet gray turtleneck, which had arms way too long for his lithe form, black cotton sweatpants that rested upon his blue-gray socks, and a matching black hoodie that he constantly kept pulling up to hide the rest of his exposed neck and part of his cheeks as well as his lips. The only glimpse of paled skin that did not belong to his upper face Ichigo could get, was when shaking fingers reached up to ensure that the zipper was zipped up all the way, before they retreated into the unusually long sleeves.

In any other case, the substitute shinigami would have gotten a cold glare and a sharp warning, to which he would respond with a not-so-innocent grin and teasingly unserious reply, but even if Ichigo was sure he'd been staring for several minutes already, there was no response. It didn't even seem like he'd been noticed yet.

What could have happened? What could possibly have caused Hitsugaya to suddenly become so distant?

His line of thought was interrupted by a goofy looking Renji, waving a hand in front of his seemingly unfocused eyes and asking what the matter was. Nothing, he explained to the man with braided, red hair as both of them smiled, because nothing was the matter.

With him, anyway.


It hurt. Every step he took was a huge strain to his aching body. It wasn't a stabbing pain; it was a gnawing one, one that lurked deep within him. It sat in his bones; it sat in his flesh, his skin, his heart. Every second he spent awake, all he wanted was to go to sleep, but when he gave in to the crave, horrible nightmares woke him up, and he would swear to himself he never would never again touch that bed.

His life had become a circle, and nothing but that. No, his existence had become a circle; his life was no more. He had never before felt so much like an empty shell. He was just a shadow of himself.

Everything he did as of late wasn't his own conscious actions. Things like yelling at Matsumoto, merely forcing up enough anger, seemed impossible. He didn't want it, any of it. The world was just… Too much. It was overwhelming, noisy, intruding into his personal space.

It was all too close. He just wanted to distance himself from it all, and even though people said he'd done it well—he'd heard all the rumours going on—he didn't feel that way.

Even now that he sat still, enclosed in his dark, little world of thoughts, memories and nightmares, knees pulled up to his chest and arms enveloping them, everything around him was too close.

"Matsumoto," he called softly to his vice-captain, bringing himself back to the world of the living, and the woman's head turned, her smile staying a second as she had forgotten all about her superior's condition. It was only a second, though; it faded away, replaced by a quite grim look over the too soft, too low voice that had requested her attention.

"Yes, Captain?"

"We're heading back."

The woman's jaws tensed up visibly, but she nodded in undiluted respect, knowing she was never to doubt the man who gave her orders. She would disobey him now and then, but his words were always final.

Too bad the words now were very seldom and very few.

"Yes, Captain."

Matsumoto got up immediately, noticing how the eyes of a certain substitute shinigami didn't follow her movements, his lips didn't form any words that went against the prodigy's orders of leaving, and how his whole being spoke of the sudden change in the icy boy, unlike the others of the room. She couldn't teach him about it yet, though, but nudged his elbow with the tip of her toes, encouraging him to look up at her.

Ichigo did, and for a moment, he seemed just as distant as Hitsugaya did—as if he had been visiting the very depth of her superior's mind— making the woman shiver.

'Come visit me,' her lips spoke out, soundlessly, and no one but the one supposed to receive the message seemed to notice.

The strawberry had never given a nod more important than the one he gave to her.

Hands in his pockets, back hunched like another fifty years had been put on his shoulders and knees straightened out like he was prepared to run away from reality every second, the captain left out through the door, leaving it open, not waiting for Matsumoto to join him, but expecting her to do so without further encouragement. She did, and regretfully looked back at her joyful comrades, the exception being a pair of deep brown eyes that shone with both understanding and confusion.

Her heart clenched. I see it too, Ichigo, she wanted to tell him. Something is wrong, and not even I know what.

"Matsumoto…" Hitsugaya spoke once again, this time even softer than the first. Something in the lingering undertone he'd put to her name, though, kept her from speaking up just yet. There was more to it, and she could not help but to get her hopes up.

"You will not be able to visit this world for some time from now on," he whispered hoarsely, and her heart sunk again.

"Captain… What—"

"Also," he quickly continued, breaking her off, "nothing is wrong. Don't ask questions, either."

The woman inhaled sharply, but without a sound, and found herself walking further and further behind her colleague, partner, the man that sometimes even was considerable as a friend.

That man now left frost in his steps, which chilled her as she could only walk upon them, more and more frost separating them as he drove forward, step by step, and the fluttering of the haori he wasn't wearing at the moment fanned icy winds that drove her away. It didn't matter that she had by now become resistant, if not immune to the cold shoulder given to her daily. This wasn't that kind of cold. It was a new one, and neither did it matter that Hitsugaya wielded the strongest ice-type zanpakuto of their world.

She wasn't sure if he could survive this new ice age that was threatening to finish off his world.

And she wasn't sure if the frosty captain cared anymore.


It wasn't long before they had returned to Seireitei, delivered an immediate report to the captain-commander, ordered some tea to be prepared for them, and finally retreated to their office, to the well worn chairs that by now seemed to remember their shape, and embraced them as they grabbed their brushes, dipped them in the ink wells and got to work on the endless masses of forms, reports, receipts and whatever the world needed them to take care of.

Normally, Matsumoto would finish a tiny mountain, but only a fraction of the great Alps of Paperwork, before she excused herself with something and escaped with her name ringing pleasurably in her ears, the feeling of having annoyed her captain giving her a sense of self accomplishment, but this time, she did no such thing—in fact, she didn't even consider it.

For some reason, she had a strong feeling that it made no difference whether she was there or not. Hitsugaya had always been cold, but that had never meant that he was void of emotions. Now, it looked like they had abandoned him completely, on an even greater scale than Byakuya. No, there was something in his eyes, in the deep cleave between his eyebrows, in the stiff way he hid himself from everything. It was pain; not a will to die, but a will to not live.

A will to pull himself out of reality and into his own mind.

Her grip on the brush in her hand tightened, and it could very well snap any moment. She was drowning in worry, choking on the questions, led astray by the uneven signals given to her. It couldn't continue; something had changed in Hitsugaya, but something had also changed him. She needed to know why. She needed to fix it.

"Captain."

Her superior didn't, unsurprisingly, lift his head the slightest, and if she didn't know better, she would think that the brush that kept scribbling out words was a sign of his not paying attention, but if anyone was the master at multi-tasking, at least when it came to paperwork, it was him.

"What is it, Matsumoto?"

The fact that his voice sounded quieter and fainter than usual brought tears to her eyes, and she had to gather herself again before she could let out another line of words.

Hitsugaya waited, uncharacteristically, patiently.

"Captain, I know you have already warned me about it, but I can't stand it anymore. I need to know what happened there. I need to know what has taken my captain away."

She could hear the brush stop for a moment, and she actually believed that she was getting an answer this time, until it started a new sentence, and she realized it had just been dipped in the inkwell once again.

"Like I told you before, it is none of your business."

Something snapped inside of the woman, the seal that had reigned in her anger, confusion, pain, guilt, hopelessness and fear, broke and let it all out. She stood from her chair, which fell to the floor behind her, raising up dust from the not yet cleaned office, threw her pencil across the room, leaving a splatter of ink behind it, and clenched her fists, a couple of unshed tears hanging on her fine eyelashes.

"Captain!"

The white haired prodigy finally looked up at the broken tone in his subordinate's voice. She drew her breath underneath the tears that stained her words.

"Tell me, Captain! Am I not your vice-captain, your number one partner in war? Something's breaking you down, stealing you away from me, and I feel like I've lost you, like you never returned! I have no clue what's the matter with you, but still, you've pulled away, and you're hindering me in saving you! Your men are starting to worry as well; I've heard them whisper, seen their swords waver, felt the change in atmosphere of pure worry for their captain. So why not say it again, Hitsugaya Toshiro? Just try to say it to me, to the woman whose bond to you is woven so tightly we could be of the same blood, and to them, to the men who exist only to serve under your image, only to die for you and you alone, that it isn't our business!"

Her lower lip was trembling, and never before had she struggled harder to keep the tears away. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears as she awaited a response, any response.

The green eyes that had grown wide at the words of his partner looked away, something in them now changed, maybe for the better, maybe not. They were not as distant anymore, and had a speck of reality in them, a tiny shimmer that could be confused for overflowing tears.

The man drew his breath like an inverted sigh, letting his mouth dwell open as he found the words he was looking for. This time, she knew no reply would come, but something had been started in the prodigy's mind, and she knew it would slowly grow into a flower, and that the flower eventually would open up to reveal the withered petals inside, and the shadows that ripped it of its sun.

Though, that was in due time.

"You're excused now," he whispered, collecting the now dried paper, eyes moving all over, unable to decide where to put themselves. Eyelashes were lashing against his cheek as they blinked, and she realized they were tears, the shimmering emotion she'd read in them; the dewdrops that slowly inched down a pale cheek. He sat up straighter, collecting himself after speaking the words he hadn't spoken to her since she became his vice captain.

"But Captain—"

"I need to be alone, Matsumoto. Leave."

The woman's eyes saddened, and she turned, running out and closing the door behind her, gently.

Hitsugaya cleared the desk of what was in front of him, and buried his head in his hands, letting the unshed tears flow silently, even though he knew even that it wouldn't relieve the pressure weighing him down.


A/N: I've been told by people that I use a pretty formal english when I write stories ('specially dialogue,) but I tried to tone it down quite a bit. . I'm not good at not neglecting stories, so I probably won't be updating in a while (even though I do have 11 more pages written up already.) I really hope I'll be able to finish this one, though!

I've drawn a doshinji-page from a part of it, and it's to be found on my deviant art (whose name also is SillyWQ,) if you want to look. :D

Please give me constructive critisism, or if you don't want to, just tell me what you think about Fading Light!