I usually take some time in a story like this to get around to "the plot." I don't think there was an overarching plot in the previous installment of this … series?

But this time, I tried to be a bit more deliberate.

So, this week, we have ourselves the beginning of "the plot" for this story.

Why do I have that in quotes?

Plausible deniability, probably.

.

Hitsugaya wasn't the sort to bother with ornamentation in his immediate workspace. He preferred to keep his desk simple, clean, and orderly. All the same, he'd had to come to grips with some decoration just because Matsumoto was the precise opposite; she covered her own space with little treasures, and she was constantly sifting through them to find what she needed. She would insist that everything was fine, that she had no need for any kind of help. Everything was in its proper place, Matsumoto knew where everything was, and that was all there was to it.

The only decorative flourish on Hitsugaya's desk was a little picture, kept in a simple wooden frame.

It was rare for anyone to notice the little picture, mostly because hardly anyone was ever on the right side of the desk to properly see it. So it was that Matsumoto was one of the only people in all of Soul Society actually familiar with it.

At first glance, the little picture didn't look like much of anything.

It was just a bunch of scribbles of color, clearly a child's work, with no real rhyme or reason to it except a sinuous shape that looked vaguely like the letter S. Matsumoto knew what the little picture was supposed to represent, but other members of the Tenth Division—who happened to see it by chance—often speculated. They would ask for their vice-captain's input, knowing instinctively that Captain Hitsugaya wouldn't answer any questions, but so far Matsumoto hadn't given them any real hints.

"Who knows?" she would ask flippantly, clearly affecting disinterest. "From an admirer, perhaps."

The thing was, it wasn't a lie. Exactly.

Early in Hitsugaya's career as a soul reaper, he'd come across a pair of young twins named Izumi and Hibiki. Whether they were actually twins—and, somehow, managed to stay together across the transition to Soul Society—or if they'd just decided to declare themselves siblings, neither Hitsugaya nor Matsumoto knew. The children didn't seem to think it was very important to distinguish between the two.

Hitsugaya didn't like to talk about the mission that brought him into contact with Izumi and Hibiki, which was why he didn't talk about the little picture. It was a gift, handed to him by both children at the same time, representing their appreciation for a young soldier who was now a hero.

The little picture was Hyorinmaru, in all his sweeping magnificence; the little picture represented the core of Toshiro Hitsugaya's mission as a reaper and as a captain. It was his job, as a warrior, to fight for those who couldn't. The little picture was his daily reminder of that job.

Was Izumi still alive? Was Hibiki? They didn't know. They hadn't been able to track the twins down again after that initial meeting, despite trying multiple times, in multiple different ways; especially after Soul Society had been leveled and rebuilt so many times, it was impossible to find any given soul in the vast reaches of Rukongai. Hitsugaya didn't want to think about whether they'd died again, starting the cycle all over again in the living world.

The same living world that killed them so early the first time.

"I worry that they have," he admitted once, "and that the reason for it was one of those balancing rituals."

"You worry they were made to suffer for something we've done?" Matsumoto asked.

Hitsugaya shook his head. "No. I worry that I'll find out who sent them to the other side, and that I won't be able to stop myself from rearranging their ribcage."