clearandstrong: ([Bleach] Momo: Hesitant)
[personal profile] clearandstrong
Title: Dying
Author: [livejournal.com profile] davyn
Fandom: Bleach
Characters: Hinamori Momo
Prompt: 27- Dying
Word Count: 803
Rating: PG
Summary: Momo reflects?
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I do not own bleach or any of its characters.



She remembered what the cool steel of Aizen’s sword had felt like as it slid through the flesh and muscles in her chest. She really didn’t like to think about it all that much. Because of that she had refused to talk to anyone about it since she had woken from the coma that his sword had put her into – but she remembered.

She hadn’t expected it, but she rather thought that everyone knew that by now. She hadn’t paid attention to the central forty-six all that much. Oh she had seen the bodies, smelled the decay and that strange tang of old blood – had known instantly what had happened. Gin had killed them all.

Only it had been more than that hadn’t it? Her fingers moved upwards to press against the new scar there that would eventually lighten and fade into the same pale color as her skin. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to. She glanced up at the stars twinkling in the distance and sighed softly. Captain Aizen, how long had she followed him? How long had she trusted him? It had been her goal – her dream – from the time she first caught sight of him until she reached vice-captaincy to serve him, guard his back, and earn his regard. Instead she ended up with his sword in her chest while she had stared up at him with nothing short of stunned disbelief.

She had been so happy to see that he was alive. She hadn’t thought past it.

She didn’t know how she hadn’t died. Knew it was thanks to Hitsugaya and Unohana. Had known as soon as he had shoved his sword into her and then just cruelly pulled it out that she was going to die. She had fallen, almost in a daze, with Tobiume shrieking in her ears, unable to do anything but lay there. Her blood being pushed out of her body with each beat of her treacherous heart. She vaguely remembered counting each breath that had left her body. She had known one of them would be her last and she had been determined to try to hold on. She couldn’t remember if it had been the pain or the shock that had caused her to black out, but she didn’t remember anything past that.

Later… much later she had been told about Hitsugaya and she had been forced to wonder if it hadn’t been his ice that had saved them both. The cold slowing their blood flow while they lay on the floor surrounded by the blood soaked ice that his Bankai had produced. She didn’t know if she was grateful to him and Unohana or not. She liked to think she was.

She didn’t know if she wanted to believe the worst of her beloved captain or not either… it wasn’t that she didn’t understand that he was there for more reasons than she could possibly understand. In Hueco Mundo, on the other side of the stars, just out of reach, like the moon was out of reach to all the mere mortals in their world. Only she was no mortal and she had not been a mere person for so long that sometimes she wished fervently for the small cabin that she and Hitsugaya had grown up in. Only she was to set in her ways, to stubborn, to go back there without him… and was too afraid to ask.

It would be so much simpler if Gin had been the reason this had started. She could feel for Matsumoto then. She could wallow in pity for someone other than herself. Then she would be able to tell the older woman that her heart went out to her and that she would do anything she could for her, but… she couldn’t. She knew somewhere on the outskirts of her reach that it wasn’t just Gin, she just didn’t want to believe it. She could ignore it, fight it, deny it every day until the day she finally left this life, but she rather doubted it would change to many things.

No matter how hard she wished to forget it, the look in Hitsugaya’s eyes when she had asked him to save Aizen… the betrayal that had flashed across his face so quickly that she had thought she was imaging it. She ducked her head and let the tears that had been building drip down her cheeks and onto her uniform.

She just wished she knew where she stood. Then maybe she could make sense of it all… maybe then she could stop yearning for watermelon seeds and the kind gentle words of the old woman who had been so kind to them. Maybe… maybe then she could forget how it felt to be dying.

Maybe she could forgive herself to.
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December 2010

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