Note: Consider this little piece a prequel to my upcoming story, Paper Angels. If the characterizations seem off, forgive me. I have yet to actually read the manga so I'm only going off what I've picked up from the anime. Anyway! Hope you like it!
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. Bleach and all characters within are property of their respective copyright holders.
She raked her fingernails over the white skin of her wrist, her smile still bright even as red welts formed in cruel invitation.
"He'll come back, you know," she sang softly, her voice carrying through the emptiness. Slowly, her fragile body rocked back and forth, almost as if the tiny movement propelled her song forward. "He'll be back, you'll see."
A strange look darkened the young man's eyes, but that look was soon replaced with something Unohana could only call sad tenderness. Gently, he took hold of the patient's hand and pried it away from her slim chest, murmuring soft words that seemed to relax the girl some.
"He'll come back," Hinamori repeated, her eyes looking off into a distance no one could fathom. "He'll come back, Hitsugaya-taisho."
"Shiro-chan," the young man corrected, his voice soft but firm.
"He'll come back," the girl said, her dark eyes giving no indication she heard her companion speak at all. Singing to herself words she could only understand, Hinamori ignored him as he dabbed at the new wound with that old handkerchief he always seemed to carry these days.
He never ceased to amaze her, this child captain with the serious eyes. Unohana smiled slightly, watching the young man bandage the patient's wrist with a nimbleness born of much practice. Shaking herself out of her stupor, the healer looked back at the papers in her hands. Unohana had brought them with her, as it was her practice lately, to give the young man some semblance of privacy during these supervised visits, but she never managed to read more than a paragraph or two.
"… and, there. Good as new," he said, smiling as he patted the girl's hand.
But the tenderness went unnoticed for the girl merely snatched her hand back and brought it to her chest, her body still slowly rocking.
"He'll come back, Hitsugaya-taisho."
The young man looked down at the floor, his hand resting on the side of his face. With a sharp intake of breath, those serious eyes squeezed tightly shut. He stood there in silence, seemingly oblivious to the rhythmic song of the girl so close to him. His knuckles turned white as he lifted the handkerchief to his nose and inhaled the scent of that ancient, battered cloth deeply.
For one, single moment, Unohana nearly crossed over to the boy and enfolded him into her arms. For that brief moment, she forgot all about ranks and missions, seeing only the pain she knew she could never heal.
But the moment passed almost as quickly as it came, and so she remained where she stood – her hands still clutching the papers that both she and the young man knew she wasn't reading.
"It's Shiro-chan," he whispered, raising his turbulent eyes to face the patient. With a smile that didn't quite match the look in his eyes, he cupped the girl's face. The small hand caressed Hinamori's skin lovingly, seeming to cherish every line and curve.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Bed-wetter Momo. Be a good girl for me."
The girl just stared off into the corner of the white room, her lips moving soundlessly.
His eyes closed again as his hand dropped lifelessly from Hinamori's face, but that strange smile never left his lips. With a curt nod to Unohana, he headed towards the door.
"That's a lovely handkerchief you carry," Unohana started, the suddenness of her own voice in the lonely silence startling even to her ears.
Stopping at her words, he glanced down at the plain, white cloth still gripped tightly in his hands. His fingers gingerly traced the woven material, the ghost of a genuine smile filtering past his usual stoicism.
"It is," he said, secreting the handkerchief away in a pocket. "It's not mine, though. But one day, I very much intend to give it back to its proper owner."
And with his step almost imperceptibly lighter, Hitsugaya Toushirou walked away.
Note: I'm not a huge Hinamori fan, but this one was begging to be written since I quite imagine that if a scenario such as this were to take place, Hitsugaya would kill for things to go back to the way they were before all this happened... back to the when there was no Aizen, no betrayals, and she was still the Bed-wetter Momo he knew instead of a troubled young woman stumbling into insanity.
Oh, well! Your comments would be greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading!