Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite.
Author natterings: There's a lot of things that go unsaid in this piece, but I'm hoping you can read this and fill some blanks in. Again, this may be interpreted romantically or non-romantically. I have a feeling that I'm going to write at least one obviously romantic piece though. What are your opinions?
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4. NEED & LOVE
Your head bounces once when you lean into the wall. You roll your shoulders a little. They feel almost creaky from recent disuse. The hallway is quiet now, the bustle of three (or four, you can't remember) hours before completely dissipated. There is you, and Matsumoto, who is in the still darkness of the room, and a member of the fourth divison, walking calmly forward. Heki... something. Your memory fails you at the moment. It's all you can do to stand, so it isn't surprising that you don't remember her name.
"Hitsugaya-taichou," she greets you, bowing. It's all you can do to bow back. "Unohana-taichou requests that you and Matsumoto-fukutaichou take your leave. We must conduct some tests on Hinamori-fukutaichou." Her attitude is no-nonsense, her eyes are hard and grey and intelligent. You know she's not judging you for your height. Her respect is genuine. Yet, these facts reach you through a fog.
"Hitsugaya-taichou seems tired," she states, and bites her lip immediately after, wondering if she's gone too far with her assumptions. It's all you can do to reply, maybe ease away some of that anxiety.
"Matsumoto-fukutaichou and I will take our leave. Thank you," you tell her. You feel dull, like you're a sword that has been dragged along a gravel road.
"Taichou," Matsumoto emerges from the room. They wheeled Hinamori in there an hour (or two, you can't remember) ago, from the emergency ward. Matsumoto was with you, at your left elbow, like she always is, and through all the craziness you were glad she was there. Your constant.
"Matsumoto," you acknowledge. You're so harrowed, you've dropped the suffix. "Let's--"
"Right," she picks up on it immediately. "And thank you," she turns to Heki just in time to smile. Heki seems surprised for a millisecond, then nods and smiles back.
"You're welcome. You're good people," Heki says sincerely, and dips her head. "Hitsugaya-taichou should rest," she adds kindly. She knows you were discharged today. Matsumoto has kept up her polite, slight smile, and you're glad that someone has enough social finesse to handle this. You can't even look at the door of the room, and choose to focus your attentions on the floor beside Matsumoto's sandal. Heki smiles briefly before closing the door to Hinamori's room.
"Taichou," Matsumoto prompts, once the click of the lock is heard.
You look up, and then the both of you start to navigate the hallways together. She's by your side now, instead of behind.
It's entirely silent except for the occasional fourth division member passing by. They all have a calm look to them that must be Unohana-taichou's mark, and they all dip their heads in greeting. In the back of your mind is an urgency to get out, so that there is no more need of this - no more needing to keep up some semblance of social order. You couldn't care less if they bowed right now. You want to speed back to your quarters where you can be alone and sleep because you're tired and dull like a sword that's been dragged along a rough road and there'snothingyoucandotohelpher.
You've left the fourth division by now and you want to take a deep breath, but you don't. It's dark outside. Figures of buildings are highlighted by what moonlight there is. The little stream circling the recovery ward catches moonlight too, plays with it. Your notice of this is fleeting.
Matsumoto has been silent the whole time, and you know she hasn't cast you any looks of concern because you'd sense it. You wonder, idly, where her mind is right now.
"Come on," she says, and it's almost a whisper. You're confused for a moment by the statement and the volume, but then she leaps off in the direction of the taichou quarters. It's clear that she has a plan, and you're almost sure you can't deal with it tonight. What is she doing?
"Matsumoto-fukutaichou," you say, catching up to her. You try to speak with some measure of authority, feeling slightly the hypocrite for bringing back the social structure into this. But your voice sounds like an echo, and with your ghostly voice disappears your guilt. "What are you doing?"
She casts a look over her shoulder, and you see that she's smiling a small smile. Her hair is yellow-white in the moonlight, blowing all around her face with the wind, generated by the speed you're both travelling at. When you see her smile, the knowledge hits abruptly that you yourself have not smiled the whole day.
You've stopped.
She's pulled back the screen of your living quarters already and shucked her sandals by the entrance. You follow her in, allowing your usual composure to slip by mashing the heel of your palm into the hollow between your cheekbone and your brow, closing one green eye. Your sandals come off with more effort than you like.
Matsumoto's already found your lamps and lit two of them, the one by your bed and the one against the far wall. You don't know what she's doing.
"Matsumoto..."
"Sit, taichou," she says softly, in the gentle, firm tone that only a woman can achieve. She's just lit the fire for boiling a pot of water, and shakes the match out.
You don't sit, you stand, because she's your fukutaichou and she shouldn't be in your room. "Matsumoto-fukutaichou, please return to your own quarters." You bite back a yawn. You steady yourself with your right arm, bent against the wall by the door. It's hard to keep this up, so hard, because your body wants to give in to fatigue.
She gets up from her position by the pot, her pink scarf fluttering as she walks over to you. When she's close enough that you can smell the scent of tea leaves on her hands, she says, "Taichou. Please." Her eyes are dark in this light, but you can tell all the same that she's serious.
You say nothing, and mash the heel of your palm against your closed eye again. You somehow can't force yourself to look up.
She spirits herself away again to tend to the boiling water. Steam is just beginning to rise. She lifts the ceramic lid with her bare fingers and adds some leaves. You don't know how she can touch it when it's so hot. You run your fingers through your hair. Your kneecaps creak a little, another sign of disuse.
"Taichou," she calls quietly. She's set two teacups down onto the floor, and it hits you how long you just spent standing by the entrance of your own room. Her expression... you can't make it out. But you know from the tilt of her head that she's waiting for you, and she won't take no for an answer because she's Matsumoto. So you walk over, your tread across the floor feeling sluggish.
Her tea is cradled in her hands already, her hands atop her lap. She looks at you. You're looking at her knees.
She tilts her head again, in the way she always does before she's about to open her mouth. But no words come. Her lips are together in a soft line. Her hair hides the arch of her neck.
You take the tea. You feel dead. You know you are dead, but you actually feel dead. You've never felt dead. You lift the cup to your lips, and sip. It's very good, better than when you make it yourself. You look up, into her face.
You don't know what you find there, but it's not pity, like you had expected. She knows what Hinamori means to you, she saw your face when you woke up, she heard you mumble her name, over, over, over. But it's not there. There is sadness, but there is strength and comfort and respect. It is all Matsumoto. Yes, Matsumoto.
And Matsumoto, you realize suddenly, and a spring of guilt wells up at realizing it so late, and Matsumoto has lost someone too. She's lost a childhood friend as well. But because she's Matsumoto, she pushes on, and she's there for you, even if you don't know you need her. But now, you know. You need her. And you're not sure, but maybe she needs you. And if she does, you know you'll be there. Maybe she realized this before you did.
She lets her lips curl upwards a little, her eyes still the same, and sips her tea too. You both understand.
When you wake in the morning, you have a cup of cold tea in your hands. You fell asleep sitting up - your cheek is pressed against her shoulder and her cheek is pressed into your hair. You give a small smile. And sense of peace spreads through you, knowing that should you ever need it, you could wake up like this again, at the crack of dawn, next to her - next to someone you love.
