Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Tite Kubo. I only own any of my original characters that I choose to include, as well as any of my own original plot ideas.

Rather Darkness Visible

Prompt: Is this my funeral, or yours...?

A/N: Post-Winter War, alternate events.


It was no surprise that the majority of his comrades now pitied him. Seeing him in this state, they probably felt obligated to do so; to offer words of comfort. Even his lieutenant was being incredibly supportive. She hadn't cracked a joke in days, her face always growing still and quiet when he entered a room. It was that way with everyone now, and he hated it.

Yes, the support was appreciated, but they were overdoing it. Apologies were constant, gifts, mostly from Captain Ukitake, were sent to his residence, and he was growing tired of it all. Had he the option, the youth would have resigned from his position. But as that was unacceptable for any member of the Court Guards, Toshiro was forced to live with it all.

Every morning he would head to the Fifth Division, an offering in hand. He usually took petunias, as they had been her favorite. They would be placed against the marker, which had been erected in her honor. The Fifth had not only lost their captain, but their lieutenant as well. One taken away by the other. But it was better this way, he supposed, as she no longer had any reason to suffer. She was at peace, being granted new life in the realm below. But it did little to bring him comfort. No longer would they spend their days off together, visiting the countryside in which they had grown up. They would never again make mention of the games they played, from splitting watermelons with axes to spitting the seeds at one another in bouts of tag.

She should have lived. She should have been given the chance to overcome the lingering adversity of her emotions, to rise to the seat of captaincy of which she had been capable. But no. Aizen had swept her life right out of her hands, causing her to die at the tip of Toshiro's own blade. Although Aizen had been behind it, Toshiro himself felt guilty for her death.

He had seen her die, felt the life leave her body. She had fallen into his arms as soon as his blade had been removed. And still, with all the time he'd spent feebly trying to heal her, Momo had perished all the same. It comforted him slightly to believe that, because of his fervent efforts, she had died with less pain, less despair. In fact, she had smiled at him, her head clasped in his arms.

"It's okay, Shiro," she'd said, teasing him. "I won't be gone too long."

If anyone should have died, it should have been him. In the days afterward, he had wished with everything that he could have taken the blow for her. That her pain could have been his own instead.

His comrades, namely Ukitake and Unohana, had insisted that there was always a light. That the light in this circumstance was that Momo would one day return to the Soul Society. Even so, he didn't believe in said light.

"Yet from these flames no light, but rather darkness visible."


Quote and title from John Milton's Paradise Lost.