I don't own Bleach, it and its characters belong to Tite Kubo. I'm only borrowing.

WARNING: Spoilers ahead!

Title in reference to William Shakespeare's King Henry the Sixth.

OoOo

He didn't cry.

Rangiku Matsumoto stood quietly in the doorway to his room, watching as the cold moonlight illuminated his equally pale hair and shone in his teal eyes. Toshiro Hitsugaya stared at the hands curled in his lap, face still as that of a marble statue. His wounds had only recently been healed, the missing arm and leg he'd lost to Aizen replaced by Orihime as if nothing ever happened.

For long moments, Rangiku simply looked at him. There was a soft edge of frost in the air, breaths leaving her lips in whirling clouds of mist. Her captain had been sitting that way since he'd awoke, only the rise and fall of his chest indicating he was alive.

The same could not be said of Hinamori Momo. By the illusion created by Aizen's Kyōka Suigetsu, they had all been fooled into thinking it was he Hitsugaya had run through with his sword. The ghastly truth had been revealed moments later; it had happened so quickly, but those moments were the slowest minutes Rangiku had ever experienced. Watching her bloodied body fall to the ground. Unable to do anything as her captain, enraged and so incredibly hurt, flew at the man and was promptly struck down like some discarded toy.

The rest was all colorless blurs of motion and suddenly she was outside his hospital room. She forgot how long it had been. She forgot why she was here in the first place, the only hint a wilted bunch of flowers still clutched in Rangiku's hand. The sight of Hitsugaya in such a state had stunned her motionless, breathless.

He didn't cry. And that somehow made it so much worse.