When I go into a story, I usually look for areas that canon doesn't explore very much, and I think that's how I've managed to turn Bleach into a workplace comedy in my head. I can't help it. We see the Shinigami / Soul Reapers about their fighty-slashy work, but we don't really see the rest of it in any real depth. And why would we? That's not the point of the story.

But that's precisely why I do this. So I can explore parts of a series that aren't the focus of canon, but could exist alongside it. I can't prove this is how day-to-day life in Soul Society works, but nobody can prove it isn't.

I take that as a win.

.

"I can't help but feel jealous sometimes," Matsumoto murmured, chewing on a knuckle.

"Jealous of what?" Hitsugaya looked up. "You're having a conversation with yourself again."

"The reps who patrol the living world," Matsumoto clarified, looking up at her captain. "You know, like Kurosaki. They get to rescue people. They make a real impact on human lives. Deaths. Whatever. They get to save souls and cute little animals and . . . do something. It just doesn't feel like we're making an impact anymore. We're always locked up in here like bureaucrats."

Hitsugaya frowned thoughtfully. "You don't think this work is helping Soul Society?"

"I mean, I'm sure it is," Matsumoto said dismissively, "but it's not in any way that's tangible."

"Depending on the definition," Hitsugaya noted, "nothing in our world is tangible." Matsumoto threw a pen at him. "All right, all right. I won't pretend I don't see your point, but I wonder if I can't explain things in a way that will . . . help you."

Matsumoto looked skeptical. "I suppose I'm listening."

"You mentioned rescuing people," Hitsugaya began. "Well, where do they go? The people that are rescued, I mean. Or the spirits who are cleansed. They come here, to Soul Society, right? Imagine, then, if we weren't here. None of us. Those souls would be left to the mercy of chaos, wouldn't they? What is Soul Society if not the promise of safety? What are we if not the insurance for that safety?"

Matsumoto waggled a sheet of paper in front of her face. "You're telling me that a requisition form for socks is keeping chaos at bay, huh? Come on, Captain. Even you can't be that idealistic. What possible reason could there be for all this red tape?"

"The red tape," Hitsugaya said, unfazed, "is so there's a trail. In case something goes wrong. If one of our own goes missing, but we know they were on their way to . . . deliver socks, let's say. We'll know where to start looking, won't we? It's difficult to rely on anybody's memory for that kind of information, though. It's hazy. Especially here, where time has so little hold on our daily reality."

Matsumoto hummed low in her throat; she was pouting. "I guess," she grumbled.

"Eyewitness accounts don't amount to much, and that's especially true here," Hitsugaya went on. "It's bad enough in the living world, where human minds patch in missing details without realizing where half of them come from. Here, it's a hundred times worse." The young captain gesticulated randomly. "Need I remind you of a certain colleague who specialized in manipulating just such a space?"

"Hngh," said Matsumoto.

"In the moment," Hitsugaya admitted, "none of this does all that much. I won't argue with you on that point. It's completely superfluous busy work. Right up until the point that it isn't."

"I always thought all this paperwork was to lull us into such a state of constant, nail-ripping boredom that any real work would feel like a vacation by comparison," Matsumoto said. "That way, we never complain about patrolling, or a snatch-and-grab, or a war."

Hitsugaya's face scrunched up. ". . . I can't prove that isn't part of it," he said eventually.

Matsumoto tapped her temple. "Aha! You see? I've got you thinking. You can't just take the tripe they sell you. That's how you get roped in, and then you drown. You're left with nothing but what they give you, and then what are you? Just a pawn. Just a chump."

Hitsugaya pointed. "That is just you coming up with a way to make shirking a performance review to go day-drinking into a noble act of rebellion."

"You're the one who brought up how time works here," Matsumoto shot back. "What's it to you if it's 'day-drinking'? How do you know it's daytime? What if that's just another lie? The old man would always talk about how his sword contained all the heat of the sun. Maybe it's all an illusion."

"It probably is," Hitsugaya said, "but that's not the point. The point is, if you're so insistent on doing something tangible, rescuing someone, playing the hero, the last way you're ever going to do it is if you're so deep in your cups that you forget which way your shoes are pointed."

"That only happened the one time!"

"It was twice, and even now Kurotsuchi says he can't work out how you twisted your ankle like that." Hitsugaya groaned and ran a hand through his hair. "Look. Regardless of how useless it seems, there is a point to all of this. I've used plenty of these records myself, and they've been invaluable. The next time I make use of them, I'll let you join me so you can see how invaluable."

Matsumoto scowled. "You just tricked me into asking you for clerical work."

Hitsugaya flashed a grin. "They don't call me a genius to flatter me," he said.