Author's Notes: Well, I had thought this story would only be three chapters, but it has grown in the telling, and now looks like it will be five. Five looong chapters, as per my norm. I know the long read might not be to everyone's taste, but each segment of the story has a definite flow, with a momentum and specific goal from each segment's beginning to its end, and I want to preserve that integrity regardless of length. Blame Hitsugaya. He's too serious about everything to be anything less than a serious pain in the ass when it comes to getting the details of this monster story right, and details too often mean long, and long, and long again. The positive side is that obsession has me writing much, MUCH faster than I usually write, so hopefully the next chapter will be done in a few weeks. Assuming that I don't have to spend another week agonizing over apparent timeline discrepancies in the manga, and wondering just how many years I need to insert in key places. Damn the mysteries of Soul Society aging and training…
Also, for those interested in stepping briefly out of the Hitsugaya limelight, my story "Facets" deals with the viewpoints of other characters as they watch Hitsugaya's developing career, and I've decided that that's where I'm going to put the Matsumoto viewpoint pieces to accompany this one. The thought of doing a full Matsumoto piece threatened to become as large a project as this one, and I'm too scared to take it on. So shorter pieces in "Facets" will have to suffice. She'll probably forgive me as long as I make sure to put a lot of drinking in her scenes…
FROZEN SKY
Part Two: Patterns in the Rain
Hitsugaya had had many years to form expectations – wrong though most of them were ultimately proved – about life in the academy. Hinamori's visits during her own studies had provided more than enough detail on which to build speculation, and the years after she had graduated, and stopped coming to visit, had allowed him plenty of time to let speculation ripen.
He'd had no such time to truly build expectations about life after the academy, however, and so found himself unprepared for many aspects of life as a full Shinigami in the Gotei 13.
To start with, and most persistently obvious, there was the work itself.
It was universally understood that seated officers in the Gotei 13 were entrusted with the most dangerous of missions. Hunting particularly deadly Hollows. Investigating sensitive rumors. Protecting lower squad members on their training exercises. And of course, taking every opportunity to further their own training. All of this, Hitsugaya had been prepared for.
He had not been prepared for the paperwork or the meetings or the mundane patrol assignments that not even seated officers could entirely avoid.
He had been happy enough with his fifth seat position. High enough, he felt, to reflect his skill, and low enough to give him room to grow. What he hadn't realized until the first day he entered the small office area he now shared with the third, fourth, and sixth seat officers, was that fifth seat was also a perfectly placed middle rank, and to the middle flowed all things too tedious for higher officers to handle, but too important to be ignored or entrusted to the lower ranks.
Reports on care of the jigoku-chou, scrawled by the hands of anxious rookie Shinigami who spent more time holding butterfly nets than their swords. Reports from division members assigned to the mortal world on gigai or equipment difficulties. Reports on the damages done to the division facilities by drunk members coming back in from a night out, by members over-excited in their kidou practice, by members who had managed to antagonize other divisions enough to cause some sort of incursion, or graffiti, or any other number of petty diversions restless Shinigami seemed so much to enjoy.
All tedious reports, it seemed, passed over the fifth seat's desk, to be sorted, compiled, and copied over in a more orderly fashion for delivery to the Vice Captain, who would then pass on anything that required the Captain's notation.
The fourth and third seats compiled the reports regarding Hollow activity in Soul Society, the transfer of souls into and out of Rukongai after soul burial by members of the 7th, and the training reports on the division's members.
It did not take Hitsugaya long to learn to envy the nature of their workload.
Nor did it take him long to establish a reputation for efficiency in regards to his own.
"You mean you're already done?" Watari Kazuo had asked him, blinking in evident surprise, as he entered the workroom on Hitsugaya's third day in the division.
"Yes," he said, continuing to hold the stack of paperwork – neatly separated and bound by subject matter – out for the fourth seat's inspection.
Watari took it, shifting each individual section aside to the see the bundle beneath, his eyes scanning the neat writing and the signature at the bottom of each cover page.
Hitsugaya waited in silence for him to finish, struggling with himself not to cross his arms in the presence of his superior. In only the three days since his acceptance to 7th Division he had developed a genuine respect for fourth seat Watari Kazuo. The man was somber or friendly by turns, but always calm, and also the only person Hitsugaya had not yet caught watching their newest officer out of the corner of their eyes when they thought he wasn't looking.
"This is… very thorough," Watari said finally. "Well done. Not many have the patience for this sort of work. There was quite a back load of it too, if I recall."
"Yes," he said. He wasn't about to deny it. His desk had a been a total mess. The fifth seat had clearly been vacant for too long in this division. He had stayed up the whole night finishing the backlog, and wasn't about to play modest.
Watari smiled faintly. "I will see that it gets delivered to the Vice Captain. Thank you."
And as usual, word of his accomplishments tended to spread. After that day, though he could never prove it, he suspected that work which was not strictly meant for him ended up on his desk anyway, snuck there by less diligent officers who hoped he wouldn't feel secure enough in his position yet to make an issue of it.
He worked every piece of parchment that crossed his desk without a word of complaint. No one could ever say they overheard him reporting to his superiors when others skived off their work. It just so happened that those who didn't do their own paperwork usually got caught in the Vice Captain's sorting process, and if that had something to do with the fifth seat's efficient method of organizing paperwork by subject matter so that the presence of an inappropriate officer signature – or lack of the appropriate one – was easily and instantly noted, well that was a matter for the fifth seat and the Vice Captain to worry about.
He had no love for paperwork, or conducting his monthly inspection of the hellmoth cages, or approving the ninth seat's weekly cleaning-duties roster, but they were such simple tasks that he couldn't forgive himself for doing anything less than a perfect job on them. If anyone wanted grounds on which to complain about him, it would not be for something trivial.
And there were complaints, of course. Some things hadn't changed from the academy. He had hoped that fifth seat would be a low enough position to avoid incurring the ire of envious gossips, but it seemed that whispers and rumors were something he would never be able to fully avoid.
Most disturbing of the whispers that plagued his early weeks in the 7th were those about the test against the Hollow during which he had first released his zanpakutou, because they were unerringly accurate. It wasn't until his first seated officers meeting a month after his arrival, when he realized that Kentaro Yumiko had also been assigned to his division in the tenth seat, that he understood how the whispers had come about. He hadn't been able to stop himself from giving her a rather frosty look across the room as the meeting progressed, but he regretted it a bit afterwards, when she caught up with him in the garden to apologize.
"They were asking about you, so I told them the truth," she said, her lean face clouded by sincere regret. "I told them that you were top of the class, and that you were the only person even in the advanced group to summon your zanpakutou in our final exercise. They asked about your zanpakutou, so I told them what we all saw. I didn't think they'd be so infantile as to twist the information about for their rumor mongering. I apologize," she said, bowing deeply, subordinate to superior.
Hitsugaya shrugged it off; hearing apologies made him as uncomfortable as giving them. But he appreciated her continued lack of pretense with him, and was just glad that it was Yumiko who had ended up in 7th with him rather than, say, Tanizaki Michio, who had quite appropriately been sent to the 11th where, if rumor could be believed, he had been forced to fight the ninth seat in order to qualify for the tenth, landing them both in 4th Division's medical facilities.
Omura Yukio, after his own stay in the medical ward, had been sent back to the academy for a further year of training, and would have to take the standard entrance exam just like anyone else if he wanted to get into the Gotei 13 now.
Akagi Kohana had been given the ninth seat in 5th Division, and Hitsugaya was grateful for this posting as well, because it meant that word of his success had reached Hinamori all the faster.
She had come to see him on his second morning in the 7th, before he'd even learned how to navigate the division's compound. A lower ranked division member came to inform him that he had a guest, and he had been forced to ask that they guide him to the front gate. But all embarrassment vanished when he stepped into the main courtyard and saw that his hopes had proved true, and it really was Hinamori waiting for him.
She had run across the courtyard to meet him, and even though he stood stiff and still as she threw her arms around him – his guide was still watching, after all – he couldn't stop the warmth from spreading through his chest.
"Oh, Shiro-chan, I'm so proud of you!"
"Hinamori," he said, his tone properly exasperated though he had to work hard at keeping his expression stern, "you can not call me that anymore. I'm a seated officer, just like you."
"Oh, but I'm a third seat now, you know," she smiled, her cheeks rosy with happiness, and poked him lightly in the chest with her finger. "Still higher than you. But I guess I'll have to start calling you Hitsugaya-kun now, at least."
"At least."
"So serious! Smile, Toushiro! You've made it here after only one year! Everyone is talking about it. I wish I could have seen your zanpakutou's release! Akagi says it was really amazing."
"Maybe she should have spent more time fighting instead of watching me."
"Ah, Hitsugaya-kun, what a mean thing to say!"
But she kept smiling. When she threw her arms around him again for another quick hug, he allowed himself a tiny sigh, and wondered if she still knew him well enough to recognize it for a happy sound. It had been so many years since she had hugged him like this.
It wasn't the same anymore.
But he was glad of it nonetheless.
The duties of a seated officer in the Gotei 13 kept him busy enough, especially in the first months as he accustomed himself to new responsibilities, and new discoveries around almost every corner of the Seireitei. But Hitsugaya was pleased to learn that time for training was not only permitted, it was encouraged for seated officers. Though a great deal of that time involved supervising the training of lower ranked members, at least one full day of every week was granted to seated officers for their private practice. They were expected to keep their skills sharp, and most of them had an eye on their own advancement.
Hitsugaya had to admit that he was no exception to that rule.
At first, he had been pleased enough to have left the academy in record time. From all that he had been able to gather, he was the youngest Shinigami to have achieved seated officer status in the history of Soul Society. Or at least, in the history that was available for an eager young Shinigami to study. At first, that had seemed more than enough.
And if "Hitsugaya-kun" was the best he could get out of it, that was at least a good first step.
But it did not take him long to realize that there was more to be had. More within his grasp.
The dragon could soar to far greater heights than this.
It was not ambition. Not truly. He didn't want to become stronger just for the sake of strength, and least of all for any sense of recognition. He simply couldn't bear the thought of leaving the power within him untapped. To do so would have been like denying himself food, ignoring hunger. That was not something he would ever have to do again where eating was concerned, and he had no desire to endure it in other matters either. While there was still progress to made, skill to be refined, depths within to explore, then he would train, and search, and advance. And if that meant rising in ranks among Shinigami, then that was what it meant. Actions had consequences, and consequences had to be acknowledged and accepted before the first step on any path was taken.
Perhaps it was a simplistic view. He would have admitted that possibility, had anyone confronted him on it.
But a dragon's needs were simple, in the end.
All it needed, all it truly needed, was space in which to soar. And until that need was met, Hitsugaya was willing to suborn his own needs to the dragon's. After all, he wasn't even sure what his own needs really were. Whenever he allowed himself to think on that question, life lost its sharp clarity and became a mess of barely acknowledged emotions, regrets, desires, far too chaotic to sort. Hyourinmaru's needs, at least, were easy to understand, and too tempting not to share.
So while at first the fifth seat of any division had seemed a perfectly comfortable place to be, in less than a year Hitsugaya had already decided that advancement was inevitable. It was just a matter of how much time he wanted to take in getting there. And that, of course, was a much more complicated question, because it meant finally confronting some uncomfortable truths.
Some were simple, though the frustration they engendered ran deep.
His age would always prove a barrier to be overcome. Double proofs were required for every accomplishment or claim, and every such trial found him shorter on patience, which did not win him many friends. Even those who did not question his natural skill in combat often faltered when it came to his work in other areas. He would always receive more askance looks on entering the division archives than on entering the battlefield, and it was hard to decide which irritated him more.
So he could choose to pursue his training, and the advancement it might mean, as quickly as natural skill allowed, and fight a double battle for it every step of the way. Or he could wait, give himself time to develop his gifts in leisurely exploration, and give others time to accept him. The dragon could be patient if it had to be, but Hitsugaya had never liked going against his instincts.
That, however, frustrating choice though it might be, was an easier truth to confront than… others.
He would never, he understood now, be Hinamori's comrade in arms.
He had long ago given up the idea of recapturing any element of their childhood friendship; he had realized and accepted that loss a few years after Hinamori's graduation from the academy, when it became clear that it wasn't just a matter of work that had put an end to her visits, but a shift in her heart.
Yet all along, bitterly though he might have resented it at times, there had always been the hope deep in his own heart that becoming Shinigami would mean that he could begin a new friendship with her, one between equals, based on an understanding of each other's abilities, and at least informed, if no longer shaped, by their lost childhood years.
It was clear to him now that this could never be.
He told himself that it was because they had been too long apart. He told himself that it was because her heart and loyalty were given wholly to her Captain, and that was perhaps to be understood, maybe even in some ways to be admired.
But what he never spoke aloud to anyone, not even in the dream-like frozen landscapes where he sometimes met Hyourinmaru and unloaded his heavier thoughts, was his new understanding of the gap between them.
He would never be able to stand beside Hinamori as a comrade in arms, because his instinct was a dragon's, his power still growing, and Hinamori's skill had always been shaped by a different sort of strength, one which flowered best in the shade that others cast. Her ambitions had always been given over to the ambitions of others, to the desire to share rather than to stand alone. And maybe that was why she had been so quick to befriend a younger, coolly independent and sharp-tongued Toushiro. She had called him Shiro-chan, and laughed at his coldness, and let her strength flow outwards, always outwards, a warmth to thaw all frost. Hinamori shone brightest in the shadow of those she loved.
But as his awareness of his own power grew, Hitsugaya realized that he didn't want to be the one casting the shadow anymore. And casting a shadow would be inevitable. He disliked false modesty as much as he disliked bragging, and he could already see, though Hinamori was in 5th Division's third seat and destined to rise higher, that he himself was likely to rise higher still, given time.
And Momo had already chosen the one in whose shadow she wished to stand.
Hitsugaya spent as much time, in his first months as a member of the Gotei 13, pursuing stories of Aizen's accomplishments as he did those of Komamura's. Learning about his own Captain was merely to be expected, and he viewed it as another part of his duties.
Learning about Aizen was the only way he could understand the person Hinamori had become.
She did not come to visit him often, nor did he have the time to seek her out. Months would pass without even a glimpse of her, and then perhaps he would see her in passing as she made her way through Seireitei's inner roads in pursuit of some errand, he in pursuit of his, and she would pause just long enough to wave, her voice echoing brightly across any distance, "Hitsugaya-kun! You look busy! So am I! Tomorrow I'll bring you lunch, yes?" But she rarely did. He did not expect her to.
A smile and the occasional wave, he had decided, was enough.
He had duties and subordinates now to preoccupy him, and that too, he had decided, was enough.
That, and Hyourinmaru.
He learned very quickly not to use his shikai release in training. Or at least, not in training with other Shinigami.
At first he thought that it was his inability to properly control Hyourinmaru that made the dragon lash out with such vigor. The first time he had summoned shikai in the division's training yard, half the field had been flooded and coated over in ice, and three people had been sent to 4th Division.
Over time, however, he came to fully understand the strength of his zanpakutou. Learning proper control over it was undoubtedly an issue, and one requiring much of his attention, but against some opponents the matter of fine control was moot. It benefited no one for him to release Hyourinmaru in training practice with unseated Shinigami.
He decided to view this imposed limitation as a positive aspect of his training. It was his responsibility to oversee the practice and missions of the middle-ranked squads in the division, and in that capacity he could not avoid engaging them in the occasional training exercise. Without releasing his zanpakutou, this meant relying entirely on perfecting sword techniques, on hakuda, on shunpo. Even against unseated Shinigami, it was a chance to find the weaknesses in his own skills.
Hakuda, he quickly realized, was not his strongest point. Fast movement techniques came naturally enough, and his kidou met all seated officer standards, but sword was undeniably his greatest gift. And if the Shinigami under his supervision learned that the hard way, it would have to be a learning experience for them. He told them so. It earned him many groans in response, which he steadfastly ignored. And for the most part, he forgave them their mutters of frustration with his uncompromising demands in their training regimen, because he realized that he benefited as much from the opportunity to refine his technique on them as they did in learning from his example.
They never came to love him, he knew. They referred to him as the "little sensei" whenever they thought he couldn't hear them, and undoubtedly came in for much teasing by other squad members. Hitsugaya never lost any sleep over it. But he was quietly proud, in spite of himself, to note that several years later nearly every member of his assigned squads had been picked out by the Vice Captain for promotion.
True advancements in his own training were almost entirely the product of solitary work. He often used his free time to leave the Seireitei altogether, choosing deserted areas outside of Rukongai to let Hyourinmaru fly. It was a time of discovery, and he would always look back on it fondly.
Once, on a particularly hot day, he had called the dragon out to summon rain over a group of elderly women toiling in parched fields. They had been frightened of him at first, and he regretted making his presence so ostentatiously known. This wasn't Jyunrinan, where someone might remember him. And even there he would have hesitated to make a scene. But they had been all alone, and they had seemed so hot…
He hadn't been able to help himself when another solitary training session found him in the same area several months later; he passed by the same field, wondering if the old women would still be working there, though this time he was careful to put his training to use in a stealthy approach. But old women had a preternatural ability to sense delinquent behavior, as he had learned too well at the hands of the orphanage's Grandmother, and as though they could sense his nearby presence the women began to speak of the white-haired boy who had called forth the rain once, on a day as hot as this one.
"To think he was a Shinigami! He looked no older than my grandson did, last time I saw him."
"Just goes to show that not all Shinigami are so haughty."
It was the first time he could ever recall that someone had said he wasn't haughty. Eyebrows skeptically raised, he'd watched them in silence for nearly a half hour, until their conversation had left the topic of his last encounter with them behind. Only then did he stroll forward into their view.
He never told anyone about that field, or the four grandmothers who came eventually to count on his arrival when the days were hottest. He never stayed long, only long enough to bring a cooling breeze or a refreshing rain – though once they learned of his weakness for fresh fruit they began to exert their power over him, as all old women must. He hardly spoke, and never smiled, but that didn't seem to bother them. "Rain child," they called him, and he never told them his real name.
All four grandmothers died a few years later, but he remembered them fondly. As did Hyourinmaru. A zanpakutou, it was commonly accepted, cared nothing for the opinions of anyone save their wielders. But the dragon basked in any chance to be set free, and when Hitsugaya felt content, Hyourinmaru was less restless.
They were mirrors to each other, Hitsugaya soon realized. He often wondered if all Shinigami felt so with their swords, but knew better than to ask. When he went too long without challenging his skill, the dragon within began to coil tighter; cold winds crept into his dreams, and he found himself feeling more snappish than usual. And for days after a particularly difficult or rewarding exercise, a cool euphoria made his steps feel light, influenced by a sense of satisfaction that was not entirely his own.
Over time he came to develop his own theory about zanpakutou. The stronger the Shinigami, the more closely they seemed to resemble their swords, and their swords them. Perhaps some of them clashed in the beginning, perhaps some Shinigami never felt comfortable with the nature of their zanpakutou – but if you held a mirror up long enough, eventually a reflection would be cast. Whether you liked it or not.
He could not imagine wielding any other zanpakutou but Hyourinmaru. He could not imagine – nor clearly remember – a life not haunted by the desire to fly, or skin not familiar with the touch of cold. Within mere months after discovering his sword's name, he could not imagine a time when the dragon hadn't been able to speak to him.
If it so desired.
Sword and wielder, in this case, were mirrors to each other in many ways.
Long stretches of time would sometimes pass in which Hyourinmaru seemed content to say nothing, provided training – or even better, Hollow hunting – had proved rewarding enough. And then there were nights when Hitsugaya wanted nothing more than to sleep uninterrupted, but his zanpakutou might feel an evening of shared introspection was in order.
Most of the time, however, they did not need long conversations to communicate with each other.
You have freedom here, Hyourinmaru said, a few months after his acceptance to the 7th.
It had not taken Hitsugaya long to find a spot of roof angled away from the sightlines of the compound's residential areas, and he often retreated there after night had fallen, to lay on his back and watch the stars. It was always a quiet time, and Hyourinmaru often spoke to him then, when his mind was clear and the night cool.
The blade lay on the roof tiles beside him while the dragon turned slow and graceful loops in the air high above, sliding sinuously through its own coils in a ceaseless spiral dance, stars winking through and between its movements.
"I hope so," he'd said in response.
They have not yet tried to interfere. They can sense the dragon in you.
"Maybe. Or maybe they just don't know what to do with me yet. With us."
They are training warriors, are they not? It makes no sense to cripple you by inhibition. They will give you freedom to fly.
"Maybe."
Hyourinmaru hissed, a sound like steam fighting through frozen air. It was the first time Hitsugaya had ever heard the dragon's laughter. It did not happen often.
You take so much pleasure in doubt.
"I do not. I'm merely being realistic."
As you wish. Call it what you will. So long as the dance that we share remains free of doubting, I am content.
A long time of silence passed. The stars became blurry points of light as Hitsugaya let his eyes fall half closed; Hyourinmaru moved like silver shadow over them.
"Will you wait for me, Hyourinmaru?"
With anyone else, he would have had to explain himself. To try to find words to express his frustration with the way others perceived him, and the limitations their perceptions placed on him. To express his uncertainty about choosing his path, or at least the speed at which he would walk it. To express the deeper, almost unacknowledged fear that he might not prove adequate to the dragon's needs.
But he didn't have to say it.
Hyourinmaru never needed the burden of too many words.
I will always wait. Without you, I am nothing.
He closed his eyes, nodding his thanks. His hand moved across the tiles to close lightly around his sheathed sword.
But I will not always wait patiently.
"Hnh," he breathed, a sound of dry amusement. "Me neither."
The monthly meetings for seated officers were Hitsugaya's least favorite aspect of his duties. Many years later, he could trace his dislike for meetings of any sort back to his earliest days in the 7th, though in retrospect he would come to appreciate the relative discipline of Komamura's court. But even the most reserved of Captains could not completely quell the head-butting of strong-willed Shinigami by example alone.
A year into Hitsugaya's position as fifth seat in 7th Division, the monthly meetings took a turn for the worse with the promotion of Ikkanzaka Jiroubou to sixth seat.
"It is a disgrace!" Jiroubou insisted, as pompous as ever, making his presence loudly known at only his second meeting as a newly transferred member of the division. "To have been defeated by merely three Hollows! A sign of poor training, surely."
Hitsugaya clenched his teeth, and kept his gaze locked on the low table before him. His ink brush lay, untouched, beside his stack of reports and his blank parchment. There had not yet been a reason to take any notes. Preoccupation with a disastrous hunting expedition which had only yesterday killed two division members – and Jiroubou's insistent opinions on the subject – had brought the entire meeting to a standstill.
"I don't think you are in any position, yet, to be commenting on the process or product of training in our squads, Ikkanzaka," said Watari Kazuo, his normally serene expression hardened now.
No kidding, Hitsugaya thought sourly to himself. Beside him, Etsuko Aru, the seventh seat, and the man who had been responsible for training the squad in question, was doing an admirable job of keeping both his anger and his sorrow in check. But Hitsugaya could see, out of the corner of his eye, the man's hands closed in tight fists on his folded knees. To Hitsugaya's other side, Kentaro Yumiko was making no effort to keep the disgust from showing clearly on her face. It was almost impressive, really, how quickly Jiroubou had managed to infuriate nearly every seated officer in the division. Anyone who could drive even Watari Kazuo to break his calm had to be credited with a certain gift, unwelcome though it might be.
"More importantly," interjected Akita Sachio, the third seat, and significantly easier to ruffle than Watari, "this is hardly what I would call the appropriate time. We lost men out there. Recriminations can come later."
"It is the best time for recriminations!" Jiroubou retorted. "When the wounds are still fresh, the lesson will be taken to heart!"
Hitsugaya could feel the twitch beginning in his frown, and this time he picked up the ink brush and began twisting it determinedly between his fingers, to keep himself from forming fists of his own.
Maybe it was the man's size that made him think he could get away with looking down on everyone. It was almost impossible to imagine that this arrogant idiot could be related to Jidanbou. At least Jidanbou was a kind idiot.
This time Etsuko Aru looked like he wouldn't be able to hold himself in check any longer. His fists opened, his fingers clutching at his knees, and his gaze locked in challenge on Jiroubou's face.
But another voice forestalled him.
"The lesson," Komamura said, "is well learned."
Everyone fell silent. Even Jiroubou. All eyes turned – most of them gratefully – to their Captain's helmeted figure, where he sat on a plain mat before his solitary table, one large, gauntleted hand resting on the report containing the details of the failed mission. And the names of the dead men.
"You are new here, Ikkanzaka," Komamura went on steadily. "And so your outrage and incomprehension both are to be forgiven. You will see for yourself, given time, that the training our officers provide is more than adequate. These tragedies happen, when facing Hollows. It is inevitable. Not all are strong enough to survive. That does not mean their sacrifice should not be honored. And so there has been enough argument. This discussion ends now. Watari. Your report on mortal world missions, if you will."
When the meeting finally ended, even Komamura seemed swifter than usual in beating a retreat. Vice Captain Imada was close on his heels, his hand hovering near his obi where his zanpakutou would have been, had they been in the field. Watari also left quickly, no doubt to find a place where he could allow his discipline to crack in private.
Jiroubou strutted out, ducking to get through the doorway, pretending not to notice the stares like daggers being shot at his back as he went.
Akita Sachio did not even wait for the sound of the larger man's footsteps to have fully faded before letting out an explosive sigh of annoyance. "You'd think," he said, throwing himself back onto his elbows and propping his feet carelessly up on the low table, "with such a glowing recommendation from Kurotsuchi-taichou, that the man would have a bit more brains."
"Who knows," Yumiko said dryly, gathering up her papers to leave. "With 12th Division, it's possible he's had his brains scrambled beyond repair."
"Ch." Etsuko was on his feet now, and looked like he wanted to kick something. He was normally a good-natured young man, always quick with a smile, but he was taking the loss of his subordinates hard. "If he ever had any to begin with. That sort doesn't need to think. They just muscle their way through the world, not caring who they step on."
Hitsugaya rose from his mats, his own papers in hand. "He just likes to hear himself talk," he said coolly, and set off toward the door.
"Yeah, that's true," Akita said, then pushed himself up off his elbows and swung his feet down from the table in such a rush that he knocked over his inkstone, splashing black stains heedlessly over the mats. "Hey, Hitsugaya! Why haven't you agreed to come to the officers' exercise tomorrow?"
"I haven't decided yet," he replied, without pausing or turning back.
"Oi! What kind of a response is that? Come on, you never bring out that shikai of yours. Don't you want to show it off for once?"
"No."
"Aaah!" Akita exploded in another exasperated sigh. The sound of his body collapsing back onto the mats was all that was needed in order to paint the image of his dramatic performance.
Hitsugaya finally paused in the doorway, his back still turned to the room, and rolled his eyes. "I said I haven't decided yet. I'll let you know tomorrow."
"Which means no, of course," Etsuko said, and his usual smile could be heard again in his tone.
"Don't do it to show off, then," Akita said. "Do it to put that bastard Jiroubou in his place."
Hitsugaya froze. There was silence in the room behind him now. It was the first time anyone had openly acknowledged, even through mere implication like this, that his strength might be greater than a fifth seat's standards.
Akita Sachio had been third seat in 7th Division for thirty years. Hitsugaya had previously thought him too undisciplined; his name appeared often enough on drunken damage reports to make the fifth seat's temples pound. But his words that night marked the moment at which Hitsugaya made his choice, and he would always remember them.
Waiting, he decided then, was no longer an option. He would not hold himself back, just to make it easier for others to accept him.
Because those whose opinions truly mattered would not ask him to wait.
He was grateful to Akita for speaking that night, though he was never close enough to the man to mention it. But even though Akita never knew it, he sparked crucial change in Hitsugaya Toushiro's life two times. And this first, with such simple prompting, was by far the lesser of the two.
"All right," Hitsugaya said, turning his head just enough to shoot the division's third seat officer a glance over his shoulder. "I'll be there."
Akita grinned. "Good. Freeze his ass solid for us."
Several days later, when Hitsugaya went to visit Jidanbou, compelled despite himself to apologize for what he'd done to his friend's little brother, Jidanbou just laughed.
"It was a one on one duel," Jidanbou said, and this time when he reached out to pat his smaller friend on the head, a sense of guilt made Hitsugaya stand still to endure it, his arms stubbornly folded. "It was Hitsugaya-kun who talked so much about being civilized, remember? I am sure that you beat him fairly."
"Yes," Hitsugaya said, finally sliding out from beneath Jidanbou's hand and running a hand through his hair to put it back into its usual – less squashed – disarray. "It was certainly a fair fight."
Deep in his mind, he could almost imagine he heard Hyourinmaru let out one of the dragon's rare, hissing laughs.
"Besides," Jidanbou added, squinting thoughtfully into the sunset beyond the West Gate, "he was always the idiot of the family."
As though fate were validating his choice, the following months were filled with examples of others advancing in rank or skill, achieving goals long desired.
It began with the rumor spreading through 7th Division that their third seat, Akita Sachio, had put himself forward for the Vice Captain's exam. The rumor was met with a mixture of pleasure and regret, for Akita was well-loved by most in the division, particularly the lower ranks with whom he had always got along well, and they all wished him success even as they hoped he wouldn't be leaving them.
It took Hitsugaya several days to get the truth, for Akita was suddenly nowhere to be found in the compound's inner buildings, and the office Hitsugaya shared with the third, fourth and sixth seats had been empty of all but Jiroubou every time he went there to work. Jiroubou had stopped talking to him altogether since his ignominious defeat, which was fine by Hitsugaya.
When he finally did stumble across Watari Kazuo on his way through the training courtyard, he was even spared the struggle of trying to come up with a way of asking about Akita that wouldn't ruin the image of disinterest in base gossip that he had so carefully crafted over the last year. Watari took care of the problem for him by speaking first.
"Hitsugaya-san, I have news."
"Yes?"
"Would you join me for a walk through the garden?"
He would have turned down the invitation with a skeptically raised eyebrow had it come from anyone else, but he answered Watari's request only with a nod and fell into step beside him. They walked in silence for a good while, and it became obvious that Watari wanted to ensure they had complete privacy. The fragrant shadow of an isolated sakura tree apparently met with his satisfaction, and after a quick glance around to be sure they were alone, he gave Hitsugaya one of his characteristically faint smiles that softened the long, lean lines of his face.
"I probably shouldn't be telling you this before the formal announcement is made, but Komamura-taichou indicated that it wouldn't be a problem."
"This is about Akita?" Hitsugaya asked, trying not to sound too impatient, though he had few illusions about his ability to dissemble.
"Yes. He has passed his Vice Captain's exam, and word is that he will be assigned to 6th Division as soon as next week."
Hitsugaya frowned, tilting his head slightly to let a stray blossom drift down without catching in his hair.
He hadn't had a chance to interact with members of 6th Division save for the two full Gotei 13 meetings of all seated officers he had been called on to attend. But rumors were impossible to avoid, and since most of them were about 6th Division's famous Captain, he given them more of his attention than he generally allowed for tales or gossip.
Kuchiki Byakuya was said to be the strongest warrior the Kuchiki family had ever produced, and also, according to many, the strongest Captain currently alive in the Gotei 13. Hitsugaya did not know enough of the man to judge, but that was a claim he would have to see proven before he believed it. What, really, were the standards by which such strength was measured?
Kuchiki Byakuya was also rumored to be a strict and uncompromising Captain, and Hitsugaya had a hard time imagining that Akita Sachio would meet the disciplined requirements such a Captain would impose. He couldn't help thinking that Vice Captains should share their Captain's most prominent traits, to ensure harmony if nothing else. Surely that was the most effective way.
"I can guess at your doubts," Watari said, smiling again. "But I think Akita will be pleased. Kuchiki-taichou's division sees a great deal of combat, and Akita has been a third seat here for too long. He needs a chance to develop his skills, and a Vice Captain's responsibility will sober him, I think."
"Then it would be the first thing I've heard of with the power to keep him sober."
Watari shook his head rather ruefully, and Hitsugaya had a sudden, irritating suspicion that the man wasn't thinking about Akita's drinking habits at all. He knew perfectly well that he'd never been good at tact. So really, what was the point of making the effort now?
"Akita will be missed around here," Watari said then, placing one hand against the sakura tree's smooth bark.
Hitsugaya said nothing, but he nodded a silent agreement. Akita would be missed. By more than just the lower ranks.
"But Komamura-taichou has decided to make use of his promotion to make other changes in the division as well. It would seem that you and I will both be moving up a seat. I suspect you'll find a fourth seat's paperwork a welcome change to hellmoth care reports."
The sense of relief that swept Hitsugaya then was strong enough that his expression must have betrayed him, because Watari actually laughed.
"Believe me, I remember. Congratulations. Frankly, I'm relieved it all worked out the way it has. After that display at the officers' exercise the other day, I think the Captain decided he was going to have to move you up one way or another. I'm just glad that this way you didn't end up stealing my seat from under me."
And though he said it kindly, and his smile never faltered, Hitsugaya sensed a quiet undercurrent of truth to the older man's words.
It was the first time he truly understood that others might view him as a threat to their own ambitions.
The following day, Komamura announced the changes at the officers' meeting, and word reached the rest of the division with lightning speed. In all the furor over Akita's departure, few – at least within the rank and file – were interested in the promotion of the other officers, and Hitsugaya was grateful that this step in his advancement went relatively unremarked. It was the first time since entering the Seireitei that anything had gone so smoothly for him.
He was grateful, too, that the frenzy of farewell celebrations being held all over the division compound allowed him to receive a visit from Hinamori that same night without anyone being the wiser.
"Oh, Hitsugaya-kun, you'll never believe me! I can hardly believe it myself! It's… it's too good be true."
"You should sit down before you hurt yourself," he said, but without much hope of being heeded. Hinamori's eyes were shining, almost feverish, and she held her hands clasped tightly to her chest as though to hold in a fluttering heart while she paced back and forth across his small room. He contented himself with watching her, his arms folded, from where he sat with his back against the doorframe. All seated officers in 7th Division had rooms with screens that could be opened out onto the compound's garden, and he often liked to leave them rolled back so that the night breeze entered.
"I couldn't possibly sit down. You'll never guess, Shiro-chan, you'll never – "
"You passed your Vice Captain's exam."
"Aah!" she wailed, throwing her arms up in the air. But her smile lit the room brighter than any candlelight. "How do you always figure things out so quickly? More importantly, how did you even know I was going to try the exam?"
"Because the two times I've seen you in the last six months, training was all you talked about," he said blandly, and it was perfectly true. Not only had she made repeated mention of how hard she had been working to bring her hakuda and sword techniques up to a level that might at least shadow her kidou, but the exhaustion in her eyes and movements had been obvious. She had been working herself to the bone, and he had been half tempted to warn her about pushing herself too hard. But what right would he have had to do so? None. He wasn't that much of a hypocrite. He only hoped Aizen appreciated how hard she was trying for his sake.
Because of course she must have been assigned as Aizen's Vice Captain. She would not have been this deliriously happy otherwise.
"Well, you're too smart for your own good," she said, "but of course you're right. And oh, I'm so glad that I did well enough, so glad. And Kira-kun too! He passed the exam as well, and they've already assigned him to be Ichimaru-taichou's Vice Captain." Her smile faltered, and she stared off into the garden as she said, "I don't really envy him. Ichimaru-taichou is… well, he's a Captain, and he was Aizen-taichou's second for so long… he must be a good Captain, right? I think maybe Kira-kun was hoping to be Aizen-taichou's second too… oh, Shiro-chan, does it make me a bad person that I'm happy it was me?"
"No," he said, and meant it, though seeing the expression on her face he would never have said otherwise, no matter his feelings.
"Thank goodness," she said, sighing heavily, and the light came slowly back into her face. "Because I am so happy it was me. I was so afraid I wouldn't be good enough, but now I'll have the chance to show him, to work for him, to be the Vice Captain he deserves. Or at least try to be. I need to go tell Abarai-kun as well, but I wanted to tell you first. Oh, he's going to be so jealous!" She giggled suddenly. "Or at least he'll pretend to be jealous. I know that he likes it in 11th Division, but he's too talented to be just a fifth seat there forever, and he knows it."
"Hn," Hitsugaya said by way of absent agreement, his gaze now locked on the half-moon shining pale over the rooftops. He had heard about Kira and Abarai countless times during Hinamori's years at the academy, and knew them – or at least about them – better than he cared to.
It made him feel uncomfortable, and he tried not to let his frown deepen and betray him, but all he could think of was how her words might relate to him. He wondered if he should mention that he himself had just been promoted from his own fifth seat earlier that day, but the thought died almost as soon as it came. He didn't want to have to tell her. But he didn't really expect her to know. She had her own life to worry about, he reminded himself, and besides, today could be her day. She had worked hard for it.
He, on the other hand, had not even started to work.
Oh, he'd performed his duties well enough. Perfectly, in fact. But so far, nothing that had happened to him – his early graduation from the academy, his posting, his most recent advancement – had come as a result of his effort. It came for being what he naturally was.
Hinamori had worked so hard.
Why should he expect to succeed without doing the same?
"Eh? Hitsugaya-kun, what's the matter?"
He realized suddenly that he was grimacing, and forced himself to relax; he could indulge in self-recrimination later. "Nothing. So when do you begin your new duties?"
"Tomorrow. Oh, I'm suddenly nervous! Do you think I'll be a good Vice Captain?"
"Idiot. Why are you asking me? You know your own abilities. Isn't this what you've been working for? Why are you going to doubt yourself now?"
"You're right," she said, letting his words and his tone of voice pass over her as she always had, as though he were the most gracious of friends, and she the least abused. Some things about her would never change, it seemed. "I can't doubt myself. Aizen-taichou deserves a confident Vice Captain!"
"If you say so."
"He does!" she retorted, so quickly and hotly that he blinked, taken aback for the first time that he could recall in Momo's company.
Perhaps some things had changed.
"He's a good man, Hitsugaya-kun," she said firmly. "One day I hope you'll know him better, and then you'll see." And as if her eyes hadn't been bright a moment ago with indignation, she smiled again, and gave a tiny little spin that sent the ends of her sleeves flying. "Oh, that's such a wonderful idea! Have you ever thought of transferring to 5th Division? You should come, and then you could see for your – "
"I'm happy here," he said. "Komamura is a good Captain."
"He seems so… so serious."
"Yes."
Her smile took on a slightly mischievous look, which was rare enough from Momo to make him suddenly wary. But all she said was, "Maybe he's the best Captain for you after all, ne?"
"There's nothing wrong with being serious about things," he said, working very hard not to sound sulky. He wished he had Hyourinmaru at his side, and shot a regretful look to the polished wood katanakake, where his sword currently rested on the altar table beside his bed. Somehow, in Momo's presence, he started to feel like a child again without his zanpakutou at hand. It was almost enough to make him resent her. Almost.
"I've missed your frown," she said cheerfully by way of reply, but before he could think of a response, she had raised her hands to her hair, tightened the ribbons tying it back, and skipped to the door. "But I should go now, I have to find Abarai-kun, and then I need to get back to my division compound. Maybe I can get a head start on my new reports and have them all done for Aizen-taichou first thing in the morning!"
And with that she was gone.
It would be many years before they were alone together again.
Hitsugaya spent nearly a decade in 7th Division, and never once saw his Captain's face. It wouldn't be until many years after his departure that he finally saw Komamura unmasked, but the revelation would not surprise him. He never spent much time in Komamura's immediate company, but the large Captain's reiatsu told Hitsugaya all he needed to know about his power. And his calm words, his steadfast espousal of all things dignified, told Hitsugaya all he needed to know about his personality. After that, what did faces really matter? It was something he often wished others would consider when dealing with him, and so he made it his own philosophy whenever he could.
His elevation to fourth seat increased his time spent with the third seat and the Vice Captain, though not significantly with Komamura himself. He had been given more advanced squads to train, and though hellmoth care reports were no longer on his agenda, he did spend more time dealing individually with the Shinigami returning from assignments in the mortal world. And his paperwork, though less in volume, required more of his attention. Compiling the data to account for the balance maintained by 7th Division's representatives – Hollows killed, soul burials performed, souls moving in and out of Rukongai under his division's supervision – became his primary concern, and in this he worked closely with Watari Kazuo in his third seat position. This meant, unfortunately, that the number of meetings he had to attend increased dramatically, but at least they were small affairs, usually only himself, Watari, and Vice Captain Imada.
Imada Natsu was a man on the shorter side, at least compared to the likes of Komamura and Watari, though he was easily twice as broad across the shoulders as Watari, and one of few people who managed to not look fragile at Komamura's side. He laughed often, but did not speak much, and some speculated that the scar splitting the side of his face – souvenir of a deadly Hollow attack – had cut not only his lips but into his tongue as well, making speech difficult.
It was of course not true, but after a few years of watching Imada smile as he hung back in conversations, Hitsugaya suspected that Imada thought the rumor amusing, and enjoyed playing into the mystique. In their meetings together, he was always willing to turn serious attention to their business, but he also insisted on ending every meeting with a shared drink of sake and the latest joke he had heard while out on patrols. The jokes were rarely funny, but Imada laughed at them all the same, even though he was the one to tell them. If asked, Hitsugaya would not have been able to put into words just what he thought about the man, but at least Imada never gave him reason to rue the time they spent working together.
Imada was also unfailingly honest, and this pleased Hitsugaya most of all.
"You're the best swordsman in this division, Hitsugaya," he said one day, as they stood together under the eaves of the meeting hall overlooking the training courtyard. In the yard, the top squads were drilling. A faint drizzle shone on skin and sword blades, while at the other end of the yard kidou fire sizzled through the air like comets trailing steam. "And I don't think there's a zanpakutou here, except taichou's, that could stand against yours. But your hakuda needs work. When you're not holding a sword, it's as if your feet always want to move faster than your hands. You'll leave too many openings that way."
Admittedly, Hitsugaya was half tempted to point out that Imada himself was no hakuda master, but even he knew when tactlessness could be taken too far. And besides, Imada was right. His hakuda remained the weakest of the four basic Shinigami disciplines in his training, and though he was pleased with the improvement in his kidou, hakuda was beginning to annoy him. It was not, in the end, a vital discipline to any Shinigami not in the Onmitsukidou brigades, but he hated the thought of leaving gaps in his ability.
It had not taken Hitsugaya long to realize that he preferred to fight alone, and when duty called him into the field against Hollows he rarely waited for others to catch up to him. He was not good at developing a rapport with comrades in battle, and consequently found them a hindrance to his strategy more often than a help. He knew that some people saw this as arrogance, but he wasn't about to jeopardize his own safety – and theirs, too, if they would stop to realize it – just to make others think more kindly of him.
But the first time he entered the battlefield with Imada, it became clear that the Vice Captain shared his tendency to want to take fights on alone. In their battles together, few though these were, they would split up rather than join forces. Hitsugaya found it a relief to be able to focus on his own opponent, and not have to worry about what was going on behind him.
So when Imada came to him one afternoon and asked for his assistance in hunting down a dangerous Hollow, he felt no reservations about agreeing.
"You may not have heard," Imada told him as they left the compound, moving swiftly through the Seireitei toward the West Seireimon, Jidanbou's gate, "since the reports have only come in since last night, but we've already lost nearly a whole unit to this Hollow."
"Which unit?" he asked, his voice level, though he very much hoped it hadn't been one of his, past or present.
"Watari's second squad. He's busy overseeing the transfer of the remaining wounded to 4th Division. That's best. The reports say this Hollow seems unusually resistant to kidou, and that puts Watari and his zanpakutou both at a disadvantage."
"Yes. Is it only one Hollow?"
"Most of the survivors seem to think so, but I suspect otherwise. Too much damage. A few years ago Komamura-taichou and I encountered a Hollow which had spawned other Hollows that resembled it. They attacked in concert, and I think this might be a similar case."
"The Hollow outside Inuzuri district," he said, nodding.
"You do spend a lot of time researching old records, don't you?"
Hitsugaya didn't bother to answer. The question was clearly rhetorical, and anyway he wasn't about to start defending his actions. He did spend a great deal of his time exploring archives. He wouldn't say he found it fun, but there were far less pleasant ways to pass the time. At least surrounded by old scrolls and ledgers he was guaranteed company that would pose questions he actually wanted to find answers for.
"I want to take care of this problem before any other divisions feel like they have to get involved," Imada said, the scar on his face seeming to stretch as his expression hardened. When he smiled the disfiguring effect of the scar on his lips was unnoticeable, but a somber set to his jaw made his mouth seem somehow lopsided. Hitsugaya watched him curiously out of the corner of his eye as they walked. It wasn't often he saw the Vice Captain looking so grim.
At the West Gate, Jidanbou saw them off. The great wall was nowhere in sight, but Jidanbou had been a gate guardian long enough to know instinctively where his gate would fall, as well as how to make himself nearly invisible in the area even though there never seemed to be anything large enough around to hide his bulk. Even as a child in Jyunrinan, Hitsugaya had been able to see deficiencies in Jidanbou's ability, but he had never been blind to the gifts the huge Shinigami did possess.
"Hunting Hollows, Hitsugaya-kun?" Jidanbou boomed. Hitsugaya just nodded. Imada raised his hand briefly toward Jidanbou in salute, but neither officer slowed their pace. "Tell me all about it when you come back," Jidanbou called after them, and Hitsugaya nodded again, this time raising his own hand in a farewell gesture over his shoulder. He probably ought to visit Jidanbou later, really. It had been several months since he visited last, and he knew that Jidanbou didn't have much in the way of entertainment. Hitsugaya had no illusions about the entertainment value of his own company, but he owed the large Shinigami that much at least.
"I sent a reconnaissance team ahead last night, so they'll be expecting us outside the 75th district," Imada said, as they moved through Jyunrinan's streets on their way towards the outskirts. Hitsugaya passed through his old childhood haunts without a second glance. He didn't want to see the way faces he might once have known would look at him now that he was Shinigami. He had never made friends as easily as Jidanbou.
"They'll be waiting for a while," Hitsugaya said. It was a long way to the 75th.
"Yes. It'll be quite a run. Save shunpo for the end."
Hitsugaya didn't need the warning, but he nodded acknowledgement anyway. If Imada thought this Hollow enough of a threat that he wanted the two of them to take it on personally, then it would be foolish to arrive exhausted after thousands of needless shunpo. The run would be tiring in its own way, but a seated officer's spirit level could handle it.
Even so, by the time they came within the bounds of West Rukongai's 75th district, many hours had passed, the sun was beginning its final descent, and Hitsugaya was glad for the chance to stop and let strained muscles cool, though he would never have admitted it. His deeper power reserves had not been tapped, but the looks of amazement on the faces of the reconnaissance team when they realized how far and how fast their second and fourth seat officers had come were not unmerited.
"Report," Imada said, admirably hiding any fatigue he might be feeling.
"Sir!" A young man leapt up immediately from his crouch in the tall grass, one hand pressing against the zanpakutou sheath through his obi as he spoke. "We think the Hollow has a lair in the ravine there. Per your orders, we haven't sent anyone down to investigate, but the air stinks of it."
He was right. Hitsugaya felt his nose and throat itching, irritated by the way only Hollows could foul the air. He knew that other Shinigami had different ways of interpreting the way they sensed a Hollow's nearness, but for him it was always a matter of smell, something he couldn't avoid or fail to notice. A sensitive spirit sense was not always a good thing to have.
"Spread your team along the south and north sides of the ravine," Imada instructed. "Form a strong perimeter. Try to delay the Hollow's progress if it attempts to make an escape, but don't engage it fully. Hitsugaya and I will pursue."
"Yes, sir."
"Hitsugaya."
"Yes."
With that, they advanced to the ravine's edge; the tall, dry grasses rustled with their movements, but the noise was of no concern. A Hollow would be able to sense strong reiatsu as clearly as those projecting it could sense a Hollow's taint.
Imada crouched at the ravine's edge, and Hitsugaya stood beside him, staring down. It was not a large chasm. He was sure he would be able to leap to the other side with ease. But it was deep as well as narrow, and ragged outcroppings and shards of stone jutted out at various levels, providing many shadows and hiding places. It was no surprise the Hollow had chosen to lair here, and the terrain would serve it even better in the long shadows cast by the setting sun.
After staring into the ravine's depths for several minutes in silence, Imada looked up at him. "What do you think?"
Hitsugaya shrugged slightly, though he did not uncross his arms.
It had not taken him long, after entering the Gotei 13, to devise a method of carrying Hyourinmaru across his back rather than through his obi, giving him the freedom to fold his arms as he wished. The few people who had been brave enough to suggest that he did it because he was so short that the end of his saya might drag along the ground otherwise were not brave enough to say it a second time.
"I'll take the eastern approach," was all he said now, though the thought of facing into the sunset was not appealing. Better he face the handicap head on, however, so that he would be prepared to compensate for it.
"All right. No need to wait for signals. Act at your discretion, and we'll take it as it comes."
"I can do that."
"I know," Imada said, smiling again, and with a nod they parted ways.
A dozen long flash steps took Hitsugaya far enough eastward that he felt satisfied with the net of space he and Imada would have cast between them, and he began his descent. Fortunately, the rocky outcroppings offered him an easy method of approach as well as cover to the enemy, and five leaps down from tier to tier was enough to reach the ravine floor.
The shadows were deep, but shafts of dark gold sunlight angled down into the chasm at unpredictable intervals, so that he had to be careful about planning his movements in a way that would preserve his dark vision. It was cold as well, but that was almost a comfort. It was deep enough into evening now that the rocks had released the heat captured during the day, and the faint breeze winding through the ravine picked up the occasional dusty patch along the stony ground to form brown whirlwinds that whispered against the hem of his hakama and scratched softly under his sandals.
The dragon inside began to move, awakened by the promise of battle. Along his back, Hyourinmaru burned with a cold fire, tangible even through the wood of his saya and the fabric of his clothing.
It's been a while hasn't it? Hitsugaya sent the thought inward, and the eager pressure in his chest lessened faintly in response.
A few moments' concentration told him that the Hollow's taint was stronger ahead than behind, and so he advanced along the ravine's bottom, confident that he was closing in on his prey.
The minutes seemed long, as they always did before a battle was joined, and his cautious progress from the shelter of one stone overhang to another was beginning to seem more of an impediment than a help before he heard and sensed the first sign of the Hollow's immediate nearness.
It sounded as though the monster were… humming to itself. Hitsugaya frowned, and told himself that he was only imagining the tone of satisfaction in that sound. To think anything else would only make him angry, and hurt his concentration. It might not have been one of his squads that had been decimated, but they were his division, and he felt a sense of responsibility for them.
He was not surprised when the Hollow began speaking. Not all Hollows could speak, or at least not all were focused enough in their malice to bother doing so, but the more powerful the Hollow the more likely it was to want to express itself. Some Shinigami found it disconcerting; it made the Hollows seem somehow less monstrous, and so more difficult to kill.
Hitsugaya did not have that problem.
"Come out, come out, little Shinigami. I can feel that you're near. No need to creep."
Hitsugaya did not bother to reply. Nor did he move. He remained crouched beneath a wide overhang, and worked at sorting out the echoes in the ravine to pinpoint the Hollow's exact location by sound.
"Come now, don't tell me you're afraid. True, I killed those other Shinigami quite easily, but then I've been doing that for months and months, and still you all keep coming. If you're that afraid, you really shouldn't have come."
The dragon turned in his chest, and in his mind's ear Hitsugaya could hear scales sliding across each other like the soft, frozen sound of snow brushing over ice. But neither he nor the dragon had any intention of dealing in the softness of snow when the moment came.
Another moment's concentration told him that Imada's reiatsu was approaching, but at a significant distance yet.
The battle was his to start.
He put a hand back over his shoulder and closed his fingers around Hyourinmaru.
"That last group came at me all together, you know. Everyone before came one at a time, and they were even easier to kill. I would have thought that by now you'd be sending a whole army, not going back to one on one combat."
Moving as stealthily now as his training allowed, Hitsugaya stepped out from beneath the overhang and leapt immediately upward. The Hollow's arrogance had kept it talking, and betrayed its position fully. Sure of his path, Hitsugaya landed on a crooked pillar of rock with one sandaled foot, pushed off, and leapt higher to a narrow outcropping. One shunpo took him from there to a wider ledge, just below the shelf in the ravine wall on which the Hollow was standing, half-emerged from a cave-like indentation in the stone.
He pulled Hyourinmaru free, and swung the blade upward as he jumped again, directly toward the underbelly of the shelf. Stone offered his sword no significant resistance, and another shunpo, pushing briefly off the spirit energy in the air, sent him backward out of the avalanche of the shelf's collapse. He hit the opposite wall of the ravine with both feet in a crouch parallel to the floor, one hand between his knees to steady him against the rock, then pushed off before gravity could do its work and followed after the Hollow in its plunge toward the bottom of the gorge.
His swoop down upon the enemy did not go as smoothly as he had hoped, however.
The Hollow was vaguely man-shaped, though many times a man's size, and it adapted smoothly to its fall, swinging one long arm up to block the descending sword. A thick white substance like a narrow shield of bone covered the outside of its arm, and though it chipped under the blade, it did not shatter.
Hitsugaya barely had time to dodge the Hollow's other arm as it swung around in a counterattack, and he alighted on the ravine floor only a few paces away from the enemy, his sword held in a guarding position.
The Hollow struck bottom amidst a landslide of falling rock from the ledge's destruction, and the dust settled on its black and white body like a second skin. It lurched out of the debris with a hiss of annoyance, and the burning yellow eyes in its mask were fixed on Hitsugaya.
"Cunning, cunning, little Shinigami. Maybe trying one on one again will be fun after all."
"Ch," Hitsugaya spit out dismissively, narrowing his eyes. "Don't bother thinking this is a duel. You'd have to be something other than a beast to qualify as anything more than prey."
"Oh, he talks big! But can you – "
Hitsugaya didn't bother to wait. A step and a leap took him several yards up the wall – he pushed off, higher, pushed off the opposite wall again – and brought Hyourinmaru around in an angled swing with the aim of removing one of the Hollow's armored arms. But the Hollow was fast. Faster than he'd truly been expecting. It twisted just enough to avoid losing the arm, but Hyourinmaru's blade cut deep, and dark blood splattered over the surrounding rocks.
Perching on a higher outcropping, Hitsugaya reconsidered his approach. He'd hoped to end this without reverting to a shikai release, but he realized now that he had only been catering to vanity.
That was a bad habit, and he decided, right then, to break it.
Too long hearing "tensai" behind his back. He wouldn't deserve to be called anything other than idiot if he let that undermine sound judgment.
So be it.
Time to fly, he sent inward, and held his sword ready.
"Soar in the frozen sky – Hyourinmaru!"
The dragon roared through the ravine like a sudden storm, the jagged edges of its icy body sharper than any nearby stone.
Time to sing,Hyourinmaru replied, deep in his mind, and Hitsugaya agreed by letting the dragon roar, its mouth opened wide to crush the Hollow in its frozen jaws.
The Hollow tried again to evade, but a sudden deluge of water around it caused it to lose its footing. Limber and seemingly jointless, the Hollow twisted its huge body to lurch out of harm's way – but the dragon moved like sleet in the wind, and though its jaws missed their mark, the freezing length of its body did its work. Ice bloomed along the Hollow's already injured arm, and Hitsugaya leapt through a sudden opening in the dragon's coils, his sword a flash of light – and the Hollow's arm in its ice casing shattered, falling away in a shower of white fragments.
The Hollow screamed in pain and outrage, spinning around to strike back.
But Hitsugaya had already brought the dragon back around. It was coiled so tightly close to him, cramped between the ravine's walls, that it formed a nearly impenetrable, moving shield around his body. With a tiny snap of motion in his wrist, he let the sword tip point the way, and the dragon shot forward again.
He was so intent on ending the fight quickly, so intent on landing a decisive blow, that he almost missed the approach of the second Hollow. The shadow gave it away, and he had cause at last to be glad for the angle of the sunlight as it sent all shadows running long before it.
He threw himself to the side, hitting one shoulder sharply against a rock edge, and brought Hyourinmaru's blade up just in time to deflect a swipe of Hollow claws.
Time to rethink his strategy again.
Using the ravine walls as opposing faces off which to push, he leapt once more to a higher ledge, and the dragon moved after him. The ravine bottom was by now slick with icy patches in many places, and it hindered the Hollows' movements enough to buy him time.
But he didn't need the time.
Someone was drawing near. Drawing very quickly near. And it wasn't Imada.
The strength of this reiatsu was far, far too strong to be Imada's, and because Hitsugaya had never before sensed it fully unleashed, he did not recognize it for Komamura's until the Captain's large body leapt down into the ravine like a falling boulder.
"Roar," Komamura said, and his voice rumbled through the ravine like a storm all its own, "Tengen!"
A shape so large and so fast that Hitsugaya could not be sure his eyes hadn't merely deceived him into thinking it resembled a giant's hand swept through the ravine, and the second Hollow that had ambushed him simply exploded under the impact of a lightning flash in the form of a monstrously large sword.
Komamura stood calmly in the haze of the Hollow's disintegrating body and turned his helmeted head up to Hitsugaya, who understood instinctively that he was being given the time in which to finish the battle he had started. Nodding his understanding, Hitsugaya adjusted his grip on Hyourinmaru to ready for another leap, and this time he called on the chain to follow.
Time to end this.
Past time.
Come.
And now he could see the true phantom shape of Hyourinmaru's star-silver body beside him, shadowing his movements, and they fell on the Hollow together.
It turned, just enough to make a clean strike at its mask impossible, attempting to swat its attacker from the air with its remaining arm.
Hitsugaya twisted in flight, planted both feet on the Hollow's large shoulder, and snapped the chain so that it coiled with quicksilver speed around the Hollow's upraised arm. Ice flowed down the chain's length, and one more snap was enough to break the second arm. The Hollow lurched, shrieking, under his feet, trying bodily to throw him off.
Hitsugaya jumped up again, and this time on his descent he did not miss. Hyourinmaru's blade cut cleanly through the mask, and as the Hollow's body began its slow dissolve, Hitsugaya's ears were filled with the sound of the dragon's triumphant roar. High above, changing waning sunlight to moonlight as it filtered through a serpentine body, Hyourinmaru's spirit form circled over the ravine.
Sword still in hand, but carefully held in a non-threatening guard position appropriate to his Captain's presence, Hitsugaya turned to face Komamura. The large Captain also still held his sword, and the cold wind generated by Hyourinmaru's shikai fluttered his Captain's jinbaori around him.
"And so our colleagues are avenged," he said, and the weight of his gaze was palpable even through the helmet.
Hitsugaya nodded, and let the ice dragon fade. His shikai re-sealed, he sheathed Hyourinmaru's blade, but the zanpakutou's spirit remained very much present.
Too short,it said. Too short a flight. But good. Every day we fly higher. Someday we will fly so high that none will be able to catch us. Someday.
Komamura slowly sheathed his sword as well, and stepped over the icy ground without a hitch in his long stride. He stopped at Hitsugaya's side, and looked suddenly upwards.
"Your zanpakutou," he said. "You can see it here, can't you?"
Hitsugaya did not look up. He knew, better than he knew the rhythm of his own breathing, exactly where Hyourinmaru was.
"Yes," he said, suddenly anxious for no reason he could logically explain. He felt somehow possessive of Hyourinmaru's presence, unwilling to expose the intimacy of his awareness where the dragon was concerned. Even though he was certain that most Shinigami probably felt the same way about their own zanpakutou, it didn't make the feeling any less sharp.
"I cannot see it," Komamura said then, tilting his helmeted face back down to his fourth seat officer. "Yet. But I suspect, after what I sensed in this battle, that it may not be long before I can. Have you begun training to manifest your zanpakutou's form fully in this world?"
In spite of all his plans, all of his new resolutions in regards to his training and advancement, Hitsugaya was taken aback by the question.
There was only one reason to train for full manifestation of a zanpakutou's form in this world.
"No," he answered honestly.
High above, still circling, Hyourinmaru was suddenly and unnervingly completely silent.
For a while Komamura said nothing, and Hitsugaya fought the urge to cross his arms defensively against the silence from both Captain and dragon. A silence that seemed to demand from him answers he did not yet have.
It hadn't even been two years. Of all the choices he had made recently, this one, at least, had not yet seemed entirely within his reach. And yet…
At last, Komamura spoke again.
"Yamamoto Genryuusai-dono spoke to me about you, Hitsugaya Toushiro. On the day I agreed to take you into my division, he told me that your time as my subordinate would be short."
Without warning, Komamura stepped away from him. The black seven on his back was clear even in the ravine's shadows as he strode slowly away. His voice drifted back just as clearly.
"He was, as in all things, quite right."
In a flash of movement, unexpected from a man of Komamura's size, but to be expected from a Captain, he vanished.
Hitsugaya stood at the bottom of the ravine for a long time, unmoving. He did not even look up to watch Hyourinmaru's coiling flight. Neither did the dragon speak to him again. Not for many days.
They both knew that once this decision was made, there would be no turning back from the path it would lay before them.
When the rain came, Hitsugaya could not be sure it was his own doing. But he let it trail over his skin for several hours just the same.