Disclaimer: I still don't own it.

A/N: Thanks to all of you for your kind reviews. It's nice to know that someone enjoys reading them as much as I enjoy writing them.

The moment she opens her eyes, he will be relieved, and all will be right with the world again.

Unohana says she is "stable," and that "the time when she comes back to us is up to her." Leave it to Momo to be contrary; it's been what feels like years. Her hair has grown a little, loose and free like a fan on her pillow, her cheeks are a little flushed, and anyone who didn't know what put her here would think she is merely sleeping.

Toushiro knows better.

Beneath the blankets and the nightgown Matsumoto had brought for her, on that pale white tummy, is an angry red scar. He knows because he looked. The need to confirm its existence was too much; he had to see for himself that she really was healing and therefore on her way back. It was a strange thing, the furtive scanning of the outside hallway and the locking of the door so he could peek at the sleeping girl, even in a "nonsexy way," as Matsumoto described it. She has become the closest he has to a confidant. Perhaps she always was. Momo only ever really heard what she wanted to, anyway, and hey, why is he thinking about her in past tense?

His eyes are heavy. He wishes he could be sleeping now too. But he can't. Even Unohana has given up on that, even arranged for a cot to be placed in the room for those frequent nights where he can only lay awake in his own bed terrified that Momo will open her eyes and he won't be there. Hitsugaya Toushiro, terrified. And he doesn't even really know what of. All he knows is that the sound of her breath is the only thing that can soothe him. It's almost as reliable as counting sheep. She's still alive. She's still alive. Aizen didn't completely take her. She's in limbo, possibly even watching over him, her invisible hands laid on his cheeks in benediction. Saint Momo.

She is, really. Never an unkind word, never a voice raised in anger. All kindness and a heart too soft for the thirteen squads, really. As much as people marveled about him, boy genius, they were amazed that Hinamori Momo even qualified to be a Vice Captain. But Aizen had chosen her, pushed her, helped her to bring the power she had to the surface. And it's true, there are few as skilled as she in the demon arts. Black feathers and a hole in a wall are nothing to her. Aizen must have seen this, his plan was so very tight. Everyone fell into the hole he dug.

Including Toushiro.

Especially Toushiro. He hadn't been inclined to show it too much, but he liked Aizen. He liked his kindness, his clear and undeniable wisdom. When Toushiro tried to imitate him, he always failed. The calm came off as cold. By the time it dawned on him that Aizen was so far ahead it would take years to catch up, his reputation had been sealed, and he was known throughout Sereitei as a captain with a hard bearing that rivaled Kuchiki's. But that wasn't so bad. People at least took him seriously and really, what more did he need? So when Ichimaru would try to needle him it was all the easier to brush off.

He'd never liked Gin. There was too much caustic playfulness there, too much clear scorn for everything and everyone. The smile was just misformed scowl. What Aizen had ever seen in him was unclear, except maybe the battle skills. Those went without question. But then so did his hatred. He despised everything, including his former captain.

It easy to pin Ichimaru. So very easy. Apparently, too easy. Just the way Aizen planned it. How he was so easy to like and Ichimaru so easy to dislike. This was why it was so plausible that Ichimaru would harm him. No one said it then, with Aizen hanging from the tower, but Hinamori. She spoke aloud the suspicions everyone else had. Including Toushiro. But in the end she was just one in a long line of gullible fools.

Including Toushiro.

So much for the boy genius. Boy being the operative word. He knows he is young. But he also knows he is no longer that boy. Boys live in black and white worlds where the enemies are easily spotted. That is not this world. All the lines are blurred and the one thing he can can be absolutely sure of is that he'll feel better when Momo wakes up.

And she'll wake and things will be as they were. He can be himself again and not some kid smarting over the fact that his best friend in the world chose a dead man's word over his. Came after him with a released soul cutter. Prepared to cut him to shreds, and he would have let her because he never knew she had it in her.

And he hates her for it.