"We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind
Until the night he put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory"

Whiskey Lullaby, Brad Paisley


Whiskey Lullaby


Hitsugaya Toushirou stood in the door frame, looking at the corpse-like body of his closest friend, limp and lifeless as it lay still in the Fourth Division infirmary. Slowly, he forced himself to walk forward, step by step, inch by inch, into the room and toward that bed that may as well have been empty. He looked down at the closed and peaceful eye lids hiding her melting chocolate orbs, the paleness apparent in her usually flushed cheeks, and the lips that could not find it in themselves to smile for him any longer.

Comatose, was how they described her. She might as well be dead.

He drew up a chair and sat next to the bed, mindful of the injuries that had yet to heal. For a long time, he could only continue to stare, nearly comatose himself for all the life his own eyes held in them. Haggard and world weary, the beautifully glinting irises were now dull and empty.

He was on the verge of tears, not that anyone would be able to tell.

Finally, he took in a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and steeled himself for what he was going to try to do. He really shouldn't have had to steel himself at all, not to do something as simple as this, but he was so tired, so sad, and so sick of everything that it seemed the hardest thing in the world to do.

He spoke.

"Hinamori?" he began, his rough voice hardly audible. "I … I don't know if you can hear me, but … I'm here."

He was quiet again for what seemed like an eternity, hands in his lap and eyes focused on her chest, watching it rise and fall as she breathed with help from the many machines surrounding her. After a time, he allowed himself another deep breath.

"Tousen, Ichimaru, and Aizen have all left Seireitei. I … wasn't there to see it, but it was supposedly quite a sight. Aizen did always have a flair for the dramatic, though no one suspected it went so far.

"I was surprised when I heard Tousen had defected as well, though he must have his reasons. I never could read him." He narrowed his eyes, his frown growing more pronounced. "Just like I could never read Aizen."

Hitsugaya lifted his head to survey the machinery around Hinamori instead of the comatose body itself. "They say it's your choice whether you make it through this or not," he whispered, voice breaking despite his best efforts to keep it steady. "When you tried to fight me, because of the letter … when you tried to avenge Aizen, you knew exactly what you were getting into, didn't you? You knew you couldn't beat me, but you drew Tobiume on me anyway. You knew.

"You knew you didn't stand a chance."

He shut his eyes tight to keep the tears from manifesting. He would not allow himself to cry. Not here; not now. Biting his lip and doing everything in his power to keep his breathing steady, he reopened the weary orbs to meet that same, unmoving corpse that had been there before he had shut them.

"You knew you didn't stand a chance, so what were you trying to do?"

He stood up once more, bringing the chair back to its original spot before making his way back to the doorway. He grabbed at the frame, feeling the wood crack lightly under his intense grip. With a heavy sigh, he turned his head so that he could just make out the bed from the corner of his eye.

"Don't die, Hinamori. You have to talk to me one last time," he commanded, shutting his moist eyes once more. "Or else I'll never forgive you."

He paid no attention to the many Fourth Division shinigami shuffling around, busy since the ryoka had first made their grand entrance, nor to a sympathetic Isane, trying to console him as he walked out the door.

Matsumoto stood outside waiting for him. "Taichou."

"Take me to the nearest bar."

"Yes, Taichou."

And they left.