A/N: Guess what, everyone? I decided to update - once again this week. Why? Because I feel like it: a simple reason. Enjoy and please leave some feedback!

Chapter Six – Sparks

It turns out that Hinamori's a really talkative girl. I'm not even kidding – I don't think I can stuff enough socks down her throat to shut her up.

A couple of days ago, after gagging through a bowl of liquid diet together, Unohana walked in with her cartful of equipment for our daily check ups. Hinamori was chattering on about this dude named Kira Izuru, blabbering on about how he was a nice guy and shit – and Unohana almost fainted.

"Hinamori-san!" the Fourth Division Captain gasped.

We turned to regard her.

"Yes?" Hinamori inquired, suspicious. "Is something the matter, Unohana-taichou?"

Unohana smiled and shook her head, laughing. "Only the opposite, Hinamori-san. It seems your back to your old self again."

The doc had dragged me out of the room and into her office for a "quick operation."

"The hell?" I protested, struggling to worm out of Unohana's vice-like grip. "You never told about any friggin' operation! What the f – "

"Relax, Sarugaki-chan. There is no operation; I just need to speak with you." Unohana sat me down at chair across her desk and folded her hands together. "Have you noticed the drastic changes in Hinamori-san's . . . composure?"

"Whaddaya mean?" I arched an eyebrow and cross my arms.

Unohana sighed and poured me a cup of tea but stops midway. "Oh, right. Liquid diet. I apologize." She pours the fragrant drink into a convenient flower pot.

"No need to," I gritted out, frustrated that I missed my golden opportunity to savor something that isn't water or liquid diet. "It's. Perfectly. Fine. With. Me."

Unohana cleared her throat. "Ah, yes. Why you were summoned . . . do you have, by chance, any explanation as to why Hinamori-san has improved?"

"Nope."

The Fourth Division Captain extracted a medical report from a file cabinet behind her and shows me a form. "According to our psychiatrist, Hinamori Momo has been suffering from serious depression ever since Aizen's betrayal."

I raised up my hand. "Hold up for a sec!" Unohana blinked. "Is it right for you, the doc, to show me someone else's medical records? What about the confidential crap –"

"At any rate," Unohana interrupted smoothly, as if I didn't open my mouth. "Hinamori has been showing signs of convalescence; she is communicating, she is eating . . . she is even attempting to carry on an intelligible conversation."

"No way," I derided, rolling my eyes pretty disrespectfully. "'Cause that girl doesn't even attempt. She just sings like a hyperactive parrot! 'Kira this!' 'Kira that!' 'Oh my goodness! I have a broken nail! Have you ever had a broken nail before, Hiyori-san?' 'Have you read this part in Wuthering Heights?' 'Ah, there's a beautiful cloud outside! It looks like a trombone! One time, Shiro-chan tried playing trombone, but he was too short! I don't think you could ever play trombone either, Hiyori-san' –"

"Which is exactly my point," Unohana seamlessly cut in again. I've got to learn how to do that. "Hinamori's sudden improvement is far too convenient for us. I shouldn't be possible for such a severe depression patient to clear up so quickly."

We sat there for a moment not exchanging another word, Unohana scanning over Hinamori's records and me scrutinizing my fingernail. Finally, the doc broke the silence, "Do you have anything to do with this, Hiyori-chan? I you goad her with your lectures?"

"Lectures?" I screeched. "I don't damn lecture! All I's did was yell a bit at her and tell her how fucking pathetic she was –"

"Language."

"Sorry, how friggin' pathetic she was! I mean seriously! Being anorexic and stuff? That's fuck – friggin' gross! I could see all her bones and tissue and organs and stuff! Hell, I could even see her liver, if I looked hard enough! People shouldn't look like that! It's friggin' unhealthy and detrimental!"

Unohana crossed her arms and nodded in agreement. "I stand by corrected. I believe you goaded her by your riveting rants. Thank you for your time, Sarugaki-chan. I will look further into this matter."

"Wait! Whaddaya mean by 'rants'?"

Unohana had already herded me outside and closed the door behind me.

"Hiyori-san?" Hinamori looks up from her book. This week's selection is Jane Eyre. I mean seriously, why is the hospital staff so obsessed over these soap opera classics? First of all, they've got absolutely no action, and then they talk like grandmas and geezers. They should, instead, roll in a TV and make us discuss those human spy movies from Britain like James Bond and Austin Powers. Now those make good discussions.

"Mmm?" I glance up from my copy of Jane Eyre. I narrow my eyes. "Dammit, you made me lose my place, and it was actually an interestin' spot!"

"Can I talk to you about something?" Hinamori's eyes darken. She tugs at a string on her pillow.

"Shoot." I mark my place in my book and chuck it violently at the wall. "Fucking classics. Emily was always better than you, Charlotte, even though she was a bit of a mope."

"Well . . ." Hinamori sighs. "I've got this friend . . . you know, Shiro-chan?"

I roll my eyes. "'Course I know this Shiro-chan. You always ramble about him. 'Shiro-chan this.' 'Shiro-chan that.' Almost as much as this Kira guy – just a tinge bit less, though. I'll give ya that."

She blushes. "I talk about Kira-kun a lot?"

"No duh."

She shrugs off the thought. "Well, Shiro-chan seems to be feeling really down lately. You know . . . because . . . oh, I just don't know . . ."

I watch her grab her Fifth Division Lieutenant's badge off her nightstand and stroke the insignia, the lily of the valley. I respond bluntly, "Of course you know. You just don't feel like talkin' 'bout it." I sigh. "Well that's perfectly fine with me. Besides, there's more interestin' drama in Jane Eyre –"

"No, no, no!" Hinamori insists. "I want to talk about it . . . it's just that . . ." Her voice trails off.

"If ya wanna talk about it, then spit it out already," I say. "So you were at this Shiro-chan. He do anything to you?"

Hinamori leans back against her pillows and closes her eyes. "He hurt me."

"Hurt you? Like broke your heart?"

"Oh, not like that at all! We're just friend's you see!" Her face reddens. "I could never imagine Shiro-chan as my . . . lover . . ." She laughs softly. "We were the best friends back in Rukongai. Growing up together with his grandmother, eating watermelon, playing games. Shiro-chan didn't have many friends because . . . he was a cold child. He never liked having people so close to him; he always shrugged them away. But I kept sticking close to him – partly just to tease him. He's like a little brother to me. We do love each other, though not in that sense."

I nod. It's like a lot like my relationship with Shinji. He was always there for me during those dark days; conversely, I was always there to help him when he – I shudder at the thought of him – whipped him or beat him. We've been through a lot, and we're the very image of a love-hate relationship. At one time of the day, we're best friends, and at another time, we're worst enemies. And at the end of that day, we both know that we'll stick up for each other. After all, we both have the same past.

"Is he a Shinigami?" I query.

Hinamori nods vigorously. "Oh yes. Rangiku-san convinced him to join after a certain incident with his grandmother. I was already enrolled in the Academy at the time, and I was thrilled! I've always tried to persuade him to join our ranks – defending the innocent was simply so right! It was my owing to the world! And when he finally got in, he . . ." She bursts into laughter. "He graduated in a year. A darn year. I was so surprised when he became a seated officer.

"'Shiro-chan,' I said. 'Looks like you almost caught up to me!'

"I was a Lieutenant at the time, and he was a Fourth Seat. And you know how he responded?

"'Dammit, Bed Wetter Momo! Quit callin' me that! You said when I joined the Academy, you'd start calling me by my real name!'

"The way he reacted was so childish, so young and puerile, I cracked up. 'You mean by calling you Toshiro-kun?' I replied.

"'No!' he shouted. 'Call me by Hitsugaya! No –kun or –chan or nicknames!'

"Then, he became a Lieutenant, just like me. He insisted I call him Hitsugaya-fukutaichou. But no, I insisted on Hitsugaya-kun. He was my little brother, I think I'll always, essentially, look down on him. And then when he became Captain . . . I still gave him a hard time about that." Hinamori smiles.

"Wait, this Shiro-chan kid is a Captain?" I ask. "A kid Captain?"

"Don't say that around him . . . he's got this weird inferiority complex with his height." Hinamori shivers.

"I think I've seen this kid around somewhere . . . a midget right?"

"Um, he's kind of the same height as you . . ."

"Well never mind then. I've never seen such a guy," I huff. "The kid Captain I met was at least a foot shorter than me! Hell, he was a fucking midget – and not to mention a pervert! We were fightin' this Vasto Lorde, and this kid Captain sucked, always getting in my way. The annoying brat. How tall is this Shiro-chan?"

"I'd say about 4'4''," Hinamori guesses.

"No kidding? That's how tall I am!" I pat the top of my head. "And I'm not a midget 'cause I'm still growin' fine and dandy! With a healthy diet and good sleep – now that's key – I'll rocket past 4'10'', and I'll never be considered a midget bitch!"

Hinamori nods her head slowly, as if she, for some reason, does not believe me. "That's something Shiro-chan'd say. Especially about the sleeping part."

"But wait." I sit cross-legged on my bed and face my roommate. "Didn't you say this Shiro-chan hurt you?"

Her expression darkens again. "Yes."

"But not emotionally," I reason, "So he physically –"

"He almost killed me. He stabbed in the chest, mistaking me for Ai – for someone else – and . . . he feels really guilty about it. He keeps blaming himself, but he was tricked! He didn't know about . . . that." Hinamori wipes at her eye. "And . . . this person he thought I was . . . this person made him hurt me, made him hurt his friend, and he never forgives himself for that. It's hurting him so much."

My eyes widen. I flashback to that night. Shinji had me toted under his arm like a basketball while fending off Tousen. And then I felt the most horrible feeling in world. Like every good cell in my body was terrorized and infected by this gross sickness that reeked evil and hunger for something: it was blood. I remember retching – I felt so ill, and my conscience was taken over by something; I could only watch what my body was doing, like through a mask or through a screen. I had no control over it whatsoever. This something reared me up, tore myself out of Shinji's arm, and slashed him across the chest. I felt his blood splatter on me like little raindrops, and this thing controlling me wanted to feel more of that blood.

Shinji still has that scar. Whenever we all go to the beach or to the pool, he always wears something over it – a towel, a Hawaiian shirt, whatever – because he knows I will stare at it and remember. It is a blatant reminder of what I did, and what Aizen made me do. He made me hurt my friends. And that is why I hate him.

"I know exactly what you are talkin' about," I say quietly. Hinamori blinks in surprise. "I bet you're wonderin' why. 'Cause I was in the same situation as this Shiro-chan several years ago."

"What?" she exclaims. "How?"

I pick at my bed sheets, uneager to relate the details of that night. "You see . . . someone prodded me hurt my friends too – and I blamed myself for it entirely."

Hinamori looks at the floor.

"But then I realized it wasn't entirely my fault. I found solace in that and in the fact that my friends forgave me." I face Hinamori who stares blankly. "You're friend needs to understand that. Otherwise, he'll never get over this. Ever."

"Yeah . . ." Hinamori's voice is soft. She looks at me. "Hiyori-san, I want you to meet Shiro-chan. I want you to explain to him what you explained to me. I want him to realize what you realized. I want you to help him let go of his feelings about the incident . . . I just want him to be the old Shiro-chan again!" She, already walking on a thin wire, about to break any second, finally bursts into tears. I was anticipating it.

I crawl over the bed dividing us and sit beside her and pat her back. "Hey, quit cryin'. It's not big deal."

"It's a plenty big deal! Please, Hiyori-san!" she begs. "Please talk to him!"

I sit there, continuing on patting her back. At last, I speak, "Alright, I'll try. Just . . . don't expect too much . . . I'm kind of bad at conveying feelings."

"Thank you, Hiyori-san! Thank you!" She embraces me and sobs into my shoulder.

"Yeah, just don't get me all wet –" It's pointless.

Unsure what to do, I just sit there awkwardly in hospital pajamas drenched in tears, still awkwardly patting her shoulder. The time ticks by and after about ten minutes, I realize Hinamori has fallen asleep on me. Now this is awkward beyond reproach. I try to wriggle out of her hold, but she clings fast to me. Sighing, I stay there, sitting and patting and wondering how I'm going to talk to this Shiro-chan stranger who I'm pretty sure I've never met in my entire life. And that is going to be the most awkward thing in the entire universe.

Hitsugaya slaps a few coins on the counter, and the cashier hands him his bouquets. "One order of fresh daffodils, correct?"

"Yeah." He scoops up the flowers and hurries into the rehabilitation ward. He remembers one time in the past when he ordered Matsumoto to take a week off from work and go here for her incessant drinking habits.

"Why, Taichou?" she had wailed. He had frozen her into a huge ice chunk, leaving her head unfrozen so they could communicate. "You don't have to turn me into a popsicle, you know! I would've come here on my own!"

"On my own? Don't make me laugh. You'd just run off to some random bar and do who knows what. Spend a week here and come back as sober as the old man." Hitsugaya had responded.

"The Soutaichou drinks even more than Kyouraku!"

Hitsugaya ignored her, turning his attention to filling out the registration forms at the hospital front desk. Name: Matsumoto Rangiku. Occupation/Rank: Tenth Division Lieutenant. Height: 5'8''. Weight . . . he would have to get back to the hospital on that one. For a hasty estimate, he jotted down, "140 lbs."

"Taichou!" Matsumoto screeched. Hitsugaya remembers she almost woke up the entire first floor. "The hell's that for? I'm not that fat! I'm only a hundred and twenty six! Fix that or else I'm not going!"

"Doesn't matter. You're going unconditionally."

In the end, it was all a waste. The minute she stepped out of the hospital, she ran to the nearest bar and guzzled down four-fifths with plenty of time to spare.

That, surprisingly, was considered to be a "happy memory" to the Captain. One "happy memory" out of thousands. But unfortunately, those don't really come around anymore; they seem like they're dying, fading away, slowly and quietly, into the background like an endangered species. Frankly, he doesn't really remember the last time he's had a decent laugh.

He continues through the hospital. Around him, Fourth Division members and nurses rush about, in and out of rooms and wards like honeybees, providing traversing through the hallways quite difficult. A stretcher here, a cardiac arrest patient there. But Hitsugaya effortlessly dodges the incoming people – it seems that instead of him trying to avoid them, they are trying to avoid him.

Unohana swoops out from a nearby room, bearing a spectrum of clipboards and medical records. Almost immediately, a throng of nurses, clad in impeccable, white uniforms, approach her, bombarding her with questions and reports.

"The blood pressure of Ichino-san is 160 – "

"Maruchi-san is in critical condition at the moment – "

"We have an unknown toxin – "

Hitsugaya watches, intrigued. He expects the Fourth Division Captain to blow a whistle and calm the torrent down to a gentle trickle and then assess the situations. After all, that is the most logical thing to do: stay relaxed. Or at least that's the thing he's always done throughout his career as a Shinigami; he's kept his cool. It was inherently a part of his demeanor and nature, so doing so came naturally to him, like an instinct. Unohana, however, does not even bat an eyelash.

She rattles off commands for each nurse quickly and concisely. "OK, get Ichino-san to the Fifth Seat. He should be in the orthopedics ward demonstrating to a group of new recruits. As for Maruchi-san, roll him to the emergency ward, and tell Iemura-san to stop whatever he's doing, hand it off to a subordinate, and take a look at him. And for the unknown toxin, take me to it, and along the way, explain to me the chemical compounds found in the bonds."

The nurses and Captain disperse in opposite directions, leaving Hitsugaya awestruck. As Unohana leaves, he catches her eye; he nods curtly. Secretly, he's always admired that woman. She works absolutely seamlessly, and her subordinates execute her every order without further question. If only he can get Matsumoto to do that. Yet then again, Unohana radiates that mysterious fear complex, which is a prime factor for the great respect she has earned from her comrades. He waves the thought off dismissively.

Hitsugaya turns a few corners, swerving past several surgeons, and finally reaches the Physical Rehabilitation room jotted down on his hand. Taking a deep breath, he reaches for the door handle. Will she be scared? That is his omnipresent thought that plagues him. Whenever he sees shadows or leaves blowing in the wind or droplets of whatever, he is reminded of Hinamori's fear. He can associate anything with it from a steaming soup to a flying bird. He is afraid of her expression when he walks in. Will it be of fear? Or anger? Or hate?

His hand grips the cool steel of the door handle, but he refuses to turn it. He is sweating now, his eyes darting back and forth between the door and the exit hallway. Maybe he shouldn't come. Maybe it's too early. Sighing, Hitsugaya lets his hand slip off the handle and hang loose by his side. He drops the daffodils by the door; Unohana will understand. She'll give them to Hinamori for him.

"Sorry."

He turns to return down the hallway, to weave back through the bustling ward, and to go back to his office to lie down. But as he steps away, he hears faint voices from behind the Physical Rehabilitation room door.

Hitsugaya presses his ear to the door, straining to decipher the dialogue.

"Fuck," a female voice swears. "How much longer am I on this bullshit diet crap?"

This cussing. This voice sounds strangely familiar, but Hitsugaya cannot put his finger on it. He continues to listen.

"Hey, at least you don't have too far to go." It's Hinamori's voice! Hitsugaya presses his ear harder against the wooden frame. And she laughs. She bursts out laughing. Hinamori's laughter is like grandmother's amanattou. The sugary, soft beans that pack such a dynamic flavor – it's been decades. And the laughter. He hasn't heard it for such a long time, he almost forgot how it sounds like. It's so alien.

The familiar female voice scoffs, "Hah, sucks for you! You're just a young whippersnapper compared to a liquid diet veteran like me!"

"Ah, don't be so mean!" There goes the candied laughter again.

Hitsugaya finds himself grinning. Behind this door is his old best friend, not a sad, lonely girl who has been hurt too many times. He scoops up the daffodils from the ground and opens the door.

As he walks in, the conversation he has been eavesdropping on continues.

"Ahh, I'm done!" the female voice sighs. "How far are you up to?"

Hinamori speaks, gagging, "Half-way!"

"Wait, did the door just open?" the female voice demands.

Hitsugaya emerges into the room and the first thing he sees is Hinamori setting a bowl filled with a vile-smelling green liquid in her lap and wiping her mouth with a napkin. He watches as her chocolate brown eyes travel up to meet his own and her plain expression morph into . . . joy?

"Shiro-chan?" she breathes. "Is that you?"

"Hinamori," Hitsugaya responds, smiling. "It's nice to see you."

His best friend rubs her eyes, as if she is seeing things, and blinks slowly. "Shiro-chan, it really is you!"

"What? You've caught a case of blindness as well?" he teases.

He doesn't believe the warm emotions bubbling inside of him – experiencing the happiness of hearing of Hinamori's improvement does not compare to this at all. His best friend, his caring older sister, who has seemingly disappeared off the face of the planet, has just returned to him. After months of depression, of sadness, of misery, this girl is more cheerful than a burbling brook on a chirpy spring afternoon. This is euphoria. Hitsugaya has only heard of this, the highest level of happiness one can achieve, in stories. And now he's living it.

"Shiro-chan!" Hinamori leaps off the bed and tackles Hitsugaya into a hug. "I haven't seen you since the operation! It's been so long!"

He feels her tears slipping into his hair; he smiles. "Yeah, I missed you too."

She's gotten skinnier, he notes. But she looks pretty healthy. Hitsugaya frowns slightly. But damn, she's still taller than me.

They break out their embrace and Hinamori instantly launches into a bout of chatter, "Come sit down, Shiro-chan! It must be really uncomfortable for you to stand around like that – you probably already to that all day at work. Poor Shiro-chan –"

"Hinamori! It's Hitsugaya-taichou, to you!" He shoves his daffodil bouquet into her hands and narrows his eyes. "Did you forget that?"

Hinamori stands there, perplexed. "I guess I did, Hitsugaya-kun. I guess I did."

Hitsugaya crosses his arms. "Well, see? There you go – "

"But if there's one thing I didn't forget, is that you're the bald and perverted midget and apparently, all this time when Hinamori's been talkin' about a 'Shiro-chan,' I actually knew him. Geez, what a grand reunion we've got here. Nice to see you again, dumbass bastard."

They both blink. It just occurs to Hitsugaya that there is another being in the room. And it's that strikingly familiar voice.

Hinamori turns around. "Hiyori-san! Meet Shiro-chan!"

Hiyori-san. As in, the Sarugaki Hiyori Kyouraku and Kurotsuchi were speaking of? As the Sarugaki Hiyori who mocked him to no end during that battle? The impulsive and absolutely repulsive blonde Visored who was bifurcated by Ichimaru Gin?

Hitsugaya stares past Hinamori, into the glinting amber eyes of the inhabitant of the far bed: none other than Sarugaki Hiyori.

"It's you," he points at the impudent blonde. "You! From the fight!"

The Visored cocks her head, almost as a challenge, and responds smugly. "And it's you. The bald, perverted midget from the fight."

A/N: How did you guys like it? So thanks to the wonderful reviewers who answered my questions about HinamorixHitsugaya and HiyorixShinji, I've got a firm handle on this story now. I'm surprised how many of you are such consistent reviewers - it makes me so happy! Anyway, thanks so much guys for your support and for all the wonderful comments. They really brighten my day (especially to Mel72000's note about the Central 46; that's all cleared up now)!

Now tell me guys, would you like to see some of this story in other perspectives? I've been considering Hinamori, Shinji, Lisa, Urahara, etc. Would you guys like that? Please give me some feedback, I'd really appreciate it!