Author's Note: I have actually rewritten/edited all the chapters so far (including this one), so if you're interested or have a lot of time on your hands, you're welcome to go back and have a look. I admit that the changes are minimal, so you might not be able to tell the difference right away; I undertook the mission of rereading and rechecking my work not to change the story, but to improve the overall flow of the existing plot. So I made no substantial changes to the plot itself (although, I did change Zaraki's rant in Chapter 7. I think that it's funnier now.) I added some details here and there, cut unnecessary bits, checking for spelling inconsistencies, etc. One major difference, however, is my use of italics. Before, I used italics to indicate dialogue, but I realized that for longer conversations (Chapter 5 in particular), the italics really were a nuisance to read. I don't know about you, but my eyes got a little tired when I looked it over, so I changed it for all chapters. From now on, I'll just use italics for inner monologues/for emphasis on thoughts. Sorry about the inconsistencies, but I hope that it'll now be a bit easier to read.

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Chapter 12: Rooftop Musings

Forget him?

Never.

How could she forget someone who had played such a large part in her life, someone who had been so very important? Someone who still meant so much, even now after so many years...

She just wished that it wouldn't hurt so damned much every time her mind came close to-

The brush of a delicate wing against her cheek brusquely interrupted her musings, severing her on-going chain of thought. She wrinkled her forehead in response to the sudden disturbance, while her mind rushed to make sense of the gentle touch.

A wing? A Hell Butterfly?

At a closer inspection, she realized that the wing indeed belonged to one of Seireitei's fragile messengers. She also realized that her limbs were feeling rather stiff; that cool wind was gently tugging at her hair and robes; and that she was neither in her office, nor in her quarters. She blinked twice, surveying her surroundings, only to slowly recognize where she was.

The rooftop.

Of course, where else would she be?

She was back.

Yes, she was still sitting on the rooftop overlooking Seireitei. Only now, the sun was no longer rising through the crisp morning air; instead, it was firmly anchored high on the pale blue sky, and judging from its position, it was a little after midday. Considering just how long she must have been sitting there, deep in her own thoughts, it was a wonder that no one had noticed her. Usually, she left long before anyone else woke up, but today had been different. Today, she had been completely oblivious to the on-goings of the rest of the world. Strange...

She briefly turned her attention to the shinigami, who were going about with their everyday business far below her feet. She could only guess as to the nature of their missions and destinations: walking toward their squads, heading to the training grounds, rushing to relay orders, preparing for soul burial missions in the living world, carrying piles of paperwork to other divisions, hurrying to complete the various tasks set by their Captains and lieutenants...

In other words, it was an ordinary day, and Seireitei was bustling with life and excitement as usual. It was difficult to imagine that this comfortable routine had ever been disturbed, or that there had been a time when those very streets and walkways had been lined with injured, confused, and frightened shinigami. She had lived through the war and the terror, and yet, in the warm sunshine, it all seemed so distant. After all, at least twenty years must have passed since she walked among the ranks of her squad, offering encouragement to the brave shinigami who had never once hesitated to follow her to battle. Even when the number and the power of their enemies had overwhelmed them, even when they had been forced to retreat, even when the bodies of their comrades were littering the fields outside Rukongai, even when fear had gripped even the bravest of her seats – not even then had they questioned her. They had known that she would not yield, and therefore, nor would they.

Twenty years...

It was strange – sometimes, she wondered if as much as two whole decades really could have passed since the end of the devastating war, since the Captains returned from Hueco Mundo with a broken body and the confirmation that Aizen had finally died. Sometimes, she wondered where all of those years had gone. Yes, while twenty years had been enough to replenish the ranks of the Gotei 13 and for the selection of a new Central 46 Chambers, it had not been nearly enough time to completely erase the distrust and suspicion that still hovered over Seireitei... nor had it been enough to mend shattered lives, or broken hearts.

Not that she considered her own heart as broken, of course... at least not anymore. It couldn't be – whenever she let a hand rest lightly over her chest, she felt its regular beats under the layers of fabric, skin, bone, and tissue. How could it be broken when she had painstakingly mended it over the years, a little piece at the time? But even she knew that although it was mended, it wasn't whole either...

Again, she was thankful that no one had seemed to have noticed her, as she was sitting on the roof. It was her secret, her only indulgence, and she did not want others to know that she often would come to that particular place to simply watch the sun rise over Soul Society. The triumph of light over darkness never failed to amaze her; she often had the urge for absolute reassurance that there was no such thing as perpetual night, and although she thought of her behaviour as embarrassingly childish, the first rays of light always stilled her fears.

The morning silence also provided her with a rare opportunity to think without any outside interruptions or disturbances. Those early mornings were her time – the time for quiet reflection and remembrance. It was the time for all the things that she normally pushed into the deepest corners of her mind; the things that she never dealt with in public; the things that no one else would ever be allowed to see; the things that she hardly wanted to see herself.

So when she relaxed her iron-clad control over her wandering thoughts, she knew that she was making a monumental mistake – she knew that her actions would only bring her pain. But there had been something unexplainably special about the fragile stillness of that particular sunrise... it was as if the air itself had been holding its breath, and she had yielded to its quivering anticipation. The moment that she relinquished control, she had known that it would only be a mere matter of moments before her memories would roam her mind unchallenged, eventually overwhelming both her resolve and her reason. She had known as she plunged headfirst into the familiar, thrashing maelstrom of darkness, hurt, and confusion that she knew so well.

There had been a time when that maelstrom had been a placid lake filled with sunlight, laughter, beauty, and warmth. But she could hardly remember that time, as she stood powerless before the surges of memories of Aizen, death, war, and... Shiro. A confused mass of fragmented thoughts and feelings that she had buried deep inside her soul were mercilessly brought to the surface once more; badly healed wounds had been reopened, and had once again begun to bleed.

The hellish thoughts always refused to leave her in peace until she relived them in her mind, one by one. Oh, how she loathed it, she loathed herself when she lost control and when she allowed the past to cripple her grasp of the present! She loathed how she bowed in submission so easily, and that submissiveness angered her – frightened her – even if it was to no other than to herself.

After all, she had a choice. It was simple, even: she could control her mind, or let her mind control her. There was always a choice. But she knew that actually making that choice was a different matter altogether, and one which was infinitely more difficult. She could not quite understand herself, but while she hated the merciless ache that accompanied those memories, a part of her welcomed its frightening thrill.

When she reached the point of no return, when even Captain Kuchiki's fabled self-restraint would be futile, she was ashamed to admit that part of her wanted to be swept away by the tidal wave of time. Perhaps it was because those memories and the pain were the last, shadowy remains of another lifetime – a lifetime, which she had simultaneously rejected and cherished over the years. Perhaps it was because those memories reminded her of a time when things had been so very different, when she had been different. Perhaps it was because the pain reminded her that she once had longed to break, snap, and shatter; to destroy and be destroyed; to scream until her cracked voice was hoarse of words and meaning; to throw back her head and laugh hysterically at the madness of the world. Perhaps it was because they reminded her of a time when she had wanted to unwind – utterly, completely, and devastatingly.

But, again, perhaps they were not; perhaps they were merely the crumbling remnants, the weak echoes of things that had been lost years ago – things that better should be left in peace.

After all, since then, she had learned many things: she had learned that such outbursts were as pointless as they were unnecessary. She had learned that they changed nothing, and that she had been a fool to ever think otherwise. She had eventually learned that it was better not to care. In the end, she simply didn't want to...nor was she certain if she remembered how. Besides, it was too uncomfortable... too personal for her liking.

Sometimes, she wondered if that wasn't even worse than... But she had survived, and surely, that was the most important thing of all?

However, before she could continue with her musings, she was brought back to her rooftop and to reality by the sound of nervously fluttering wings; the Hell Butterfly was desperately trying to regain her attention.

She sighed.

No, she couldn't possibly let it wait any longer – it must be important.

I hope that the chapter made it clear that Momo has returned to present time after reminiscing about events in the past.

Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach.