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Balance	By : nausicaasmith Category: Bleach > General Views: 2048 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from Bleach, I just borrowed the characters.

Chapter List
- 1-Balance
- 1
Toshiro was allowed to leave the medical ward
at half past two.� Unohana hadn't wanted
him to go so soon, but Matsumoto had promised her that she'd be sure to keep
him busy with paperwork for a few days while she looked after the men
herself.�� So with a cheerful smile in
spite of the dark circles under her eyes, Matsumoto helped him gather his
things and tie his sash, and together they walked out of Division Four and
stepped out onto the dark street below.

It was a clear night with a full, bright moon
and Toshiro could see clearly ahead of them.�
A breeze blew across the wide street as they came to the desolate main
square and crossed.� Matsumoto, by his
side as always, held one hand to her sword's hilt as they walked across the
open area.� Toshiro knew he should be
alert as well for anything suspicious after such an eventful day, but it was
all he could do to remember his way back to the barracks.� They made it across the moonlit square
without incident and turned into the labyrinth that was the streets of
Sereitei.

Out of sight of anyone but her, Toshiro let
his shoulders drop, his chin lowering almost to his collarbone.� He focused on the polished stones ahead of
him, on placing one foot in front of the other.� He didn't want to think; not about Aizen, not about Hinamori, not
about the ryoka or the destroyed Soukyoku or the stolen Hogyoku (whatever the
hell that was) or any of the rest of this absurd mess.� They turned a corner, and Toshiro
swayed--but before he shot out a hand to right himself against the wall, he
felt a hand on his back, steadying him.�
He nodded his thanks, and she smiled tiredly down at him.

He didn't have the energy or the will to
shrug her off now, so the slight warm pressure of her hand remained there at
the back of his neck all the way to the door of his rooms, which were already
unlocked.� She'd come earlier to get him
a change of clothes and put Hyorinmaru away.�
She hadn't asked, she'd just done it.�
Which was fine, he thought.� She
had a key for a reason.� And he didn't
need to tell her that she was the only person he'd ever have allowed to take
Hyorinmaru from him.

Inside was dark, but Matsumoto lit the lamps
with a little kidou and ushered him into his own living room.� Toshiro obeyed quietly, his whole being
focused only on not thinking of Hinamori.�
Hinamori, who still lay comatose at the Fourth Division.� Hinamori, whose loyalty seemed to lie more
with her traitorous captain than with the Gotei 13, which was inexcusable.� Hinamori, so blinded by that loyalty that
she would turn against the boy she'd called a brother and her own closest
companions before thinking to do a little investigation on her own.

Stop.�
No more thinking.� Toshiro bent
and lit the fire.� Usually he hated the
heat, but tonight he felt a chill in the air that probably had nothing to do
with the weather.� Matsumoto was beside
him again.� She pushed a cup of hot tea
into his hands, and sat him down in the floor by the coffee table.� How long had he stood there in a daze?� He couldn't recall, and it didn't really
matter.� What mattered was.... what did
matter?� Soul Society, that's what
mattered.� Aizen's rebellion
mattered.�� Hinamori's broken mind and
heart mattered.�

Toshiro's vision blurred and he blinked
furiously, finally focusing on Matsumoto's face a few feet in front of
him.� She was staring down into her
teacup, the firelight flickering on her face and shining in her golden hair.� That's right, Toshiro realized.� She's lost a childhood friend too, today.� He drank his tea, recalling that Matsumoto
and Ichimaru went way back.� Before they
had been Shinigami, he thought.�
Probably not as long as Toshiro had known Hinamori, but long
enough.�

And she'd been sitting with him at the
medical unit all night, she'd been comforting Kira and Hisagi and running
errands for Unohana.� All with a smile
plastered on her face and a happy lilt in her voice, all in spite of how she
must feel about having lost a dear friend that afternoon.� Toshiro alone, perhaps, knew how she
felt.� Kira and Hisagi had lost their
Captains, whom they'd idolized and admired.�
They hadn't lost a brother or sister, who they'd grown up with, played
games with, shared food and bedtime stories and secrets with.

Suddenly Toshiro wished he'd never suspected
Ichimaru at all.� He'd always been wary
of the man in spite of Matsumoto's assurances that he was a good guy, deep
down.� He wished he'd just taken her
word for it and trusted the snake.� That
way he wouldn't have the right, right now, to say "told you so."� He wished he could be shocked and deeply
hurt like everyone else at Ichimaru's defection, rather than being the one
who'd seen through him all these years.��
Rather than being the one who she, one of the ones who had been hurt the
most by the betrayal, would now have to put up with in her grief.� She sat, sipping her tea quietly.� The firelight cast a darker shade against
the pink scarf around her shoulders, and in the shadows it looked almost
burgundy.

He really didn't know what to do for
her.� Matsumoto Rangiku was always the
one cheering people up, always the one smiling and laughing no matter how dire
the situation, no matter how terrible the odds.� It must be a heavy burden to bear, he thought.� Never being allowed to be sad.� Never having an off day, never needing
someone to lean on as others lean on you.�
She looked up from her teacup, her blue eyes round and wide as they
made contact with his.� There were no
tears on her face, but her hair was mussed and her eyes bloodshot.� If she looked this tired, he must look like
death itself.� Which, in a sense, he
was.

"Rangiku." he said softly.� She tilted her head a little in expectation,
but he couldn't find anything to say.�
There wasn't a thing he could tell her that would ease her burden.� He could, however, help her forget it for a
little while.

Sighing, he got up and padded carefully to
the little kitchen in the back.� He had
to climb up on the counter to reach the top cabinets, but there in the back was
a dark green bottle he'd had for a little more than ten years.� He hopped down with it, steadied himself,
and stepped quietly back into the living area.�
Matsumoto had put her head down on the table, her legs curled under
her.� Without a word, Toshiro snapped
the seal off the bottle, and poured the dark liquid into her empty teacup.� She raised her head and looked around at him
in surprise.

"What's this?" she asked, eyebrows
nearly creeping up into her hairline.

"Scotch whiskey, from the real world."
Toshiro said.� "Hinamori gave it to
me for a birthday a while back.� She
said I should try new things."

"Oh?" she smiled softly, picked up
the cup... and then put it back down.�
"Only if you have some too, Captain."

"I'll pass."

"Come on, Captain." A familiar
mischievous glint touched her eyes, and she said, "You should try new
things."

Well, if it would make her feel better.� Just this once.� Toshiro poured a little into his own empty teacup and sat the
bottle on the table.� She was watching
him, waiting for him to drink it.� He
felt ridiculous for a second: a little boy being encouraged to drink whiskey
out of a teacup by a busty older woman.

"Um." he said.

"If you've never done it before, it's
best to take it like medicine." she said, flashing him that perfect grin
of hers.� "If you want to pinch
your nose first, I won't tell anybody."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," he said
dryly, and held his breath, and took a sip.

Immediately his eyes watered, his throat
burned, his ears popped.� Choking a
little, he sat the cup back down and covered his face with his hands.� Matsumoto's tinkling laughter reached his
ears.� He wiped his eyes and took a deep
breath, and decided that the genuine smile on her face was worth it.� She drank from her own cup and rested her
head on her arms, staring into the fire.�
He refilled both their cups, and they sat in silence together.� Normally he'd have sent her to her own rooms
long ago, but he didn't want to be alone tonight.� He sensed that she didn't either.

"How long do you think they were
planning all this?" she said softly, leaning back against the foot of the
couch.� Toshiro sighed.� He didn't really want to think about it.� But waiting to deal with it wouldn't make it
any easier, he knew.

"Probably," he responded, "A very
long time.� I'd guess, longer than I've
been in Soul Society.� If Aizen ever was
anything, it was patient."

"You're probably right." she said,
nodding in solemn agreement.� Her eyes
shone a little too brightly in the fire light.

"Rangiku?" he said, and it was
almost a whisper.

"Hm?" she took a sip from her cup,
sat it down.� When he didn't say
anything, she turned to look at him.

"I'm sorry." was all he could think
of.� A lone tear ran down her flushed
cheek, but she brushed it away as if it were a fly that had been bothering
her.� She leaned forward, reaching
across the table, and squeezed his small hand.�
Smiled a watery smile.

"I'm sorry too." she whispered.

Gradually the green bottle emptied, and
Matsumoto fell asleep lying in the floor in front of the dying fire.� Toshiro's vision wobbled and spun, but he
pulled a spare blanket from the back of the sofa and tossed it over her.� In the morning she'd get up and wash her
face, comb her hair, and appear to all the world to be as right as rain.� She would be a comfort to Kira and a
distraction to Hisagi, she'd help Toshiro finish the Fifth Division's paperwork
and she'd come with him to visit Hinamori.�
She'd have a drink with Iba and Madarame.� She'd give her report at the Lieutenants' meeting with a steady
voice and straight shoulders, and they would all take it for granted that she
was ok.

He wondered how she stood up to it.� So many people leaning on her for support,
for comfort, for help, for guidance, for solace; but who could she lean on
herself?� It was a wonder she didn't collapse
with the weight of it.� At the very least,
she should be way off balance.� Toshiro
straightened the blanket as best he could in his fuzzy state, shut the screen
on the fireplace, and sat down on the couch.�
He'd watch over her until he fell asleep.� There was nothing he could do to
heal the injuries that Ichimaru had dealt to her, nor to ease the burden of the
others who depended on her; but if he could at least lessen his own weight
against her already overtaxed soul, maybe that would be enough.
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Balance