Disclaimer: Bleach belongs to Kubo Tite.

Author natterings: I love the Hitsugaya/Matsumoto bond too much, so it was inevitable that I'd be writing something for 'em eventually. I might continue, if I get anymore ideas. Each piece may be taken romantically or non-romantically. Whichever you prefer. Thanks for reading! Comments are welcome.

-

1. FUKUTAICHOU
"Matsu- Matsumoto," he muttered. Then he fainted, falling from the sky, ice-wings disappearing with the last vestiges of his strength. His body crashed into the ground, and as she ran to him on a broken leg, she heard the wet snapping of bones, and choked back a sob.

He was crumpled in a heap, the emblem on the back of his captain robe torn, and she hated that it seemed rife with symbolism. She crashed to his side, the pain from her leg singing. The blood had clot long ago - she was covered in brown splotches of her own blood. Streaking, fresh, along her bare arms was his.

"Don't you die on me, you bastard. If you die, fuck. I-I won't. I won't ever..." Tears were escaping her eyes now and then, drying in tight paths along her cheeks, spotting the sleeves of her robe. She wished desperately that she had taken rudimentary classes on healing - any shinigami could manipulate their spiritual power even the tiniest bit to aid the healing process. Fuck. Fuck. She had to close his wounds. Why wasn't the fourth division here yet?

Water ran disgustingly from her nose. God, ohgodohgod. He was on his back, a pool around him. The pool was a mixture of melting ice and blood. Blood was everywhere, why wouldn't it stop? How could such a small person bleed so much? "Don't. You can't. I'll lose you," she muttered nonsense, but it didn't matter. It didn't matter because her captain was dying and the last words he'd said had been her name. Tears fell from her eyes to meet his closed ones. She pleaded, she pleaded, she pleaded. "Don't make it my name."

-

2. AN AFTERNOON
"Has your hair always been white?" she mused one day, at her desk across from his. Her chin was cupped whimsically in her palm.

He was unsure of her sobriety, and expressed it by raising an eyebrow. "... No."

"What colour was it before?"

His brush moved across the paper, his hand lifted perfectly to not smudge the characters. "I don't remember."

"Then, how do you know that for a fact?" she challenged. Perhaps she really was drunk. Mildly inebriated at the least. She was leaning over her desk enough that he could look down her robe and see a good deal, if he were Kyouraku. But he never did, because he was Hitsugaya.

"Because," he said reasonably, but without interest, "No one has hair this white in their lifetime. It's unnatural."

She frowned minutely, in a fashion he supposed she thought was cute. He returned to his paperwork, re-reading several lines.

"Do you really think that? That it's unnatural?" she asked, and she sounded a touch more grounded.

He resisted the urge to sigh. He swept his brush over their shared inkstone and replied distractedly, "Yes."

"Hitsugaya?"

He looked up at her, his mouth a bent line of aggravation.

"Even if you think that," she told him softly, honestly, "I think it's beautiful." She held his gaze.

He looked at her, his visage unchanged. And all of a sudden, he straightened his robe, looked down at imaginary lint, and coughed, a blush blooming across his cheeks.

Matsumoto smiled.

-

3. SHARED SECRET
Why did she stay with him? Why did he stay with her?

Warriors said it was a case of zanpakuto. Haineko and Hyourinmaru worked famously well together. They meshed, and though there were potential better fits for either, those fits hadn't been discovered yet. Hyourinmaru covered the sky while Haineko covered the ground. Their strategy in battle was formidable, and clever in many ways unexpected.

Feminists said it was a case of respect. Matsumoto's attire was not exactly conservative, and all men noticed. But only one didn't act. It was speculated to be an acknowledgement of her power and smarts, an acceptance of her character.

Philosophers said it was a case of like minds. The execution of Kuchiki Rukia proved this; that both rushed to stop the suspiciously quick murder, and rightly so. It was a sense of justice that they shared, that when paired together, was unshakable.

Why did she stay with him?

She said it something like this: Hitsugaya-taichou is my taichou. I trust him. I know that he won't turn traitor because he loves Soul Society too much. Now, Kiyone, put away the microphone.

Why did he stay with her?

He said it something like this: Matsumoto-fukutaichou is my fukutaichou. We were assigned to each other. I don't have to explain how I feel. Kotetsu-san. Ko-- get out of my office!

Why, indeed?

Only they knew.