Sometimes I delight in taking canon, dangling it upside down, and shaking it 'til something shiny comes out. What does that metaphor even mean? I have no idea. But it feels like what I did here, so I figured I would share it.

Anyway. Shall we?

.

Hitsugaya's favorite time to practice his swordsmanship was when it was storming. Given that his sword was attuned to water and ice, this part wasn't particularly surprising. The surprising part was that his enthusiasm was directly proportionate to how devastating the storm was. It was when other people were hunkered in their homes, praying for the clouds to part and for the sun to come back as quickly as it ever could that Toshiro Hitsugaya was at his most focused, most dedicated, and most excited.

"If I didn't know any better," Matsumoto said one night, watching as her soldiers rushed for the warmth and safety of the barracks; meanwhile, her captain was adjusting Hyorinmaru's scabbard on his back and eyeing the maelstrom outside with obvious hunger, "I'd say you had some kind of death wish. You haven't been having thoughts of harming yourself, have you, Captain?"

"What?" Hitsugaya asked, clearly distracted and only half-listening. "No, of course not."

"Are you sure this is a good idea? Even the Eleventh is holed up and drinking tonight, and they're functionally insane."

"Mm," said Hitsugaya, noncommittally. "Head on a swivel, Rangiku. If anything happens on the grounds, make sure the soldiers have what they need. I'll be back in two hours."

Matsumoto thought about arguing, thought about insisting that her captain stay inside; she even considered trying to guilt him into it. Eventually, she didn't. She just watched him tromp off outside and swallowed her unease. It took her quite a while before she realized she wasn't alone.

"Good evening, Vice-Captain," said Shutetsu Nagakiso, with a low bow of his head. His thick mustaches quivered. "Dare I ask what business has our dear leader heading outside in such weather?"

"You know how he gets," Matsumoto muttered. "If he doesn't come back inside with new scar-worthy wounds, it doesn't count as proper training. He says he doesn't want to hurt himself, but I don't think I believe him. He's always had this problem. Pushing himself too far."

"Indeed." Nagakiso nodded. "I recall there being . . . friction between us when I first trained him. Captain Hitsugaya has always struggled with accepting his own limits." He ran a hand over his bald head. "Do you worry for his safety?"

"No," Matsumoto admitted, "not really. He'll be fine. But just because I know that doesn't mean I know that."

Nagakiso nodded again. "Of course, Vice-Captain. I understand."

Matsumoto groaned. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. "That man is going to give me grey hairs."

Nagakiso laughed quietly. "Perhaps," he said, "a distraction would be useful? Evening drills are yet to conclude. Perhaps our newest recruits would be well-served by a demonstration of swordsmanship from one of their leaders."

Matsumoto mulled this over. "You know what? That sounds fine. Let's go."

"Follow me, if you would."

So it was that Matsumoto eventually returned to the quarters near the office she shared with her captain, sore and exhausted and covered in welts. When Hitsugaya joined her later in the evening, he was bare from the waist up with a towel covering his head. His eyes were bright, gleaming, and he looked more energized than when he'd left.

There was no universe where he would be sleeping tonight.

Matsumoto groaned as she flopped onto a couch and stared incredulously. "Toshiro, you are ridiculous. I hope you know that. Roofs were shaking. Men were weeping. We had to block all the doors to keep them from flying off."

"I'm sure," said Hitsugaya. Then he frowned. "What have you been up to?"

"Nagakiso asked me to help with drills."

"Aha," said Hitsugaya, "but I'm the one who makes bad decisions."

"Shut up."