Hello there! This is the first chapter of a series of one-shots that were spawned by randomly flipping through a dictionary (a real one - surprised I had it, actually) and picking one noun from each letter of the alphabet. Therefore there will be twenty-six of these total. Rating, mood, length and theme will vary. I will change the overall rating as needed.

Word: Aftermath
Word Count: 1241
Characters: Hitsugaya, Matsumoto
Rating: K+

Disclaimer: All rights for Bleach go to its respective owner(s).

Aftermath: A consequence or result, especially of a disaster or misfortune.

When all was said and done, when the dust had cleared and the cries of the wounded had faded away (which only happened two ways, and he supposed both were a relief of some sort), he sat on a heap of rubble from a building demolished sometime in the fighting, and wondered what it was all for.

Oh, sure, he knew the easy definition. Aizen was a traitor, a monster, a murderer. He had started the war, and it was kill or be killed. And so the armies had met together in one last showdown in a fake town built for just this purpose. Both had killed and been killed.

And though he supposed that it would be called a victory, it would not be a celebrated one. They had won, but at the same time they had completely and utterly lost. Aizen had been captured, and was now residing in a cell below the Central 46 chambers (irony rearing its ugly head once more).

The more difficult definition, the one that he wasn't sure even Aizen himself completely understood, was that the war was not really a war. It was just one battle – bloody and demoralizing, yes, but a battle nonetheless – in an unceasing war that had been fought since the first souls had been born and twisted into Hollows. Aizen had given the mutated souls new power, new intellect, and new abilities, but in the end they were still Hollows. And there would always be more Hollows, for the souls that became them would never cease to be born.

Hitsugaya sat on the rubble and absently rubbed his left arm, the one that Aizen had severed and Inoue Orihime had reattached. He kneaded the still-tender flesh, fingers skipping over the raised ridge where his skin and muscle and bone had been linked together again. Inoue had told him that she could remove the scar completely, but he refused. There were others who needed her more than him, and besides, it would forever remind him of what he had done. What he had done…

The rhythmic crunch of debris told him that someone was approaching. He lowered his hand from his shoulder, still staring ahead. Fourth Division Shinigami were swarming over the ruins of the fake Karakura Town, searching for survivors or the dead. All too often he saw them find someone, gather others to help lift a hunk of cement or rock, bend down and stand up again, much too fast.

"Captain?"

The single-word question was spoken in a low enough tone not to carry, yet loud enough that he could still hear the weariness and exhaustion that did not come from exertion. He turned his head just enough to see Matsumoto standing behind him. She was putting her weight on one foot and pressing one hand to her stomach where the creature had hit her. Her robes were shredded and gray from dust, and her eyes were shadowed.

Hitsugaya's only response to her query was to shift slightly on the rubble, indicating that he would allow her to sit beside him, even if only because she looked about ready to collapse at any moment. She took his silent invitation eagerly, and settled herself down with a relieved sigh, beginning to massage her side with adept fingers. "I almost can't believe it's over. I keep thinking, there's still more; we have to keep fighting, but no. We won. Aizen won't be getting out any time soon. Tousen's dead, and Gin…"

She trailed off, but Hitsugaya stayed silent.

"I didn't think Captain Unohana would let you go so soon," she continued with false cheer. "Usually she has to strap you to a bed to get you to stay down." Her attempted smile was unappreciated and unreturned. He stirred, and roused himself enough to respond, but not in the way she was obviously hoping.

"I didn't go to Unohana. Inoue…" And, just like his Lieutenant, he found that he couldn't finish his sentence. There didn't seem a point.

The two sat in silence for some time, just watching as wounded Shinigami were treated and sent to the Fourth for further care. The frantic calls and adrenaline slowly drained away, leaving behind tired, dull-eyed soldiers who had seen far too much in far too little time to far too many people they knew. The dust settled and the sun set, bathing the sky pink and gold. Beside him, Matsumoto took a deep breath, gingerly lying back until she was flat on her back, hands still resting on her stomach protectively. After a moment, one came up and gently tugged at the back of his ruined haori, persisting stubbornly despite his warning growl. But eventually he gave in and soon found himself lying on his back on a large slap of cement of what he thought used to be a clothing store.

(The thought that, for once, Matsumoto was practically inside a clothing store and not trying anything on was enough to get a weak twitch of his lips, nothing more.)

"The clouds are beautiful, aren't they?" she asked, and he forced his eyes to focus on the fluffy water vapor above him. She was right, he supposed, but at the moment, the pink glow of the sunset was only reminding him of blood staining white fabric, and he dragged his gaze away again.

Unperturbed by his silence, the Lieutenant continued. "I've always liked the clouds. They're so soft, and peaceful, and fun. That one looks like a bunny, doesn't it?" She pointed with one hand at a cloud off to the side, and since he had nothing better to do (although he knew that the inevitable confusion and disorder resulting from war was waiting for him as soon as he returned to the Soul Society), he followed her finger. The cloud did look like a rabbit, if a rabbit's fur was dipped in crimson blood.

Matsumoto shifted her hand to point at a thin, oblong cloud. "And that's a watermelon, see?"

He did not see. Watermelons kept their red on the inside.

"Look! There's a dragon! Just like yours!"

(Hyourinmaru stirred at this, looked at the cloud through Hitsugaya's eyes, and sniffed disdainfully.)

She kept pointing out more clouds and kept coming up with more and more outlandish shapes until he snapped at her to be quiet. She was still for about half a minute before rolling her head over to look at him. "Everyone's hurt, Captain," she said softly, and he tensed. The sun had set enough by now that the pink had leeched from the clouds, and a nighttime chill was starting to steal the warmth from the cement slab under them. "You're not alone."

She said nothing more on the subject, and instead went back to pointing out clouds and their shapes, and this time he allowed it. He allowed his mind to focus only on what she was saying, and what she was looking at. Nothing else mattered but the shapes in the clouds. Her rambling continued on for several minutes, until she pointed to a cloud and hesitated. Hitsugaya looked more intensely at it.

"Daffodil," he decided. Matsumoto grinned.

"A daffodil it is, then!"

The war was devastating. Many died. Grief would be carried in their hearts for years to come. The unending war would continue forever. But for now, just for a few more minutes, they were done. It was over. And they could finally relax.