Comments on the inception: This story literally came out of nowhere. I started it as one thing, and it turned into something completely different, so I just went with that. My favorite stories tend to do that. Right now I still consider this as my beta version. I usually mull over a story for a couple weeks before I finally decide that it's done, but I'm posting this regardless, since I'm in the middle of a few stories and mulling wouldn't do me much good anyway. So if you notice any errors (of any sort), especially in my shamefully ignorant use of Japanese, please inform me. If you notice any major canonical or fact screwups, also let me know right away! This was a quickly written story, with little fact-checking on my part.

Comments on the setting: I gave the least amount of information necessary for the setting in this story, because the setting is not really what was important—the relationship was. If it is vastly confusing without more explanation, let me know, but I think that most should be able to pick up the visual fairly easily. If you think a certain person is OP in this story, I don't care, they deserve it for what comes next!

Disclaimer: Not mine, but I'm pretty sure that Hitsugaya is the sexiest shinigami alive.

Tears of Ash

Hitsugaya

The worst thing to experience as a leader is helplessness. As a Captain in the Gotei 13, I was a leader, a role model, a source of motivation and morale. Without a Captain, a division is nothing but an identifier for countless shinigami. Without a division, a Captain is merely a man.

It was jokingly referred to as a battle of the gods—the inevitable day that the Gotei 13 faced Aizen's legions. It wasn't. It was a battle between demons and men, and Hell was winning.

Ten days after it began, over a hundred shinigami dead, two hundred injured, and both numbers were rising. I hadn't slept in three days, and it was taking its toll. My only rest was to rendezvous for reports from the rest of the Captains. Impatiently, I waited for the messenger. My men were dying out there, needing me. I thought of Kurosaki Ichigo. Our hope rested on one man and his small team of inexperienced shinigami and humans. Poor chances for success.

"Hitsugaya Taichou," a breathless unseated shinigami from 1st Division said urgently.

"Report," I said in my normal detached tone.

"Hai, Taichou. Yamamoto Taichou reports a 25 percent loss across the divisions after that last push. No word from Kurosaki Ichigo. I have nothing else to report."

Bad news. We were nearing a fifty percent attrition rate between our wounded and injured, all told. If Soul Society had a single shinigami alive after this, it would be considered a victory. It wasn't looking promising.

It was time to head out again, now that I had received my report. Matsumoto had organized the remaining 10th Division shinigami into squads with regular rotations so our men could have some time to rest. My Vice-Captain, however, refused to rest, to sleep. I ruefully recalled her telling me, in no uncertain terms, that when I slept, she would too. Four days ago was the last she had slept while I recovered from serious wounds taken against an Espada. My body still ached from that battle.

A shinigami appeared in front of me. Nawaki Sai, 10th Division. "Hitsugaya Taichou! Matsumoto Fukutaichou urgently needs you in the 4th Sector. Defectors from 3rd Division and 5th Division are trying to break the line!"

Defectors, shinigami hurrying to the winning side, were common, but they were usually easily dealt with. For Matsumoto to need help meant it was serious. Anger surged through me and I flash-stepped before he could finish. The line could not fail now. This fight must stay contained, or all would be lost.

I felt the surge in her reiatsu before I could see her. In a battlefield full of spirit power, it made it difficult to differentiate between shinigami, but I knew hers better than my own.

When she came into view, I was struck by her appearance. Matsumoto looked like a warrior-queen out of a story, suspended in thin air as shinigami were inclined to do. Her hair billowed out behind her, her face a mask of righteous fury through blood and sweat on her face. Her blue eyes pierced like awls, and her back was straight, imperious. In her right hand she clutched her zanpakutou, and in her left she cradled…

"Hinamori," I whispered. Matsumoto clung to the smaller woman, her eyes daring the traitorous shinigami to move closer. Four of them were from 5th Division, the other three from the 3rd.

"Taichou," Matsumoto acknowledged as I appeared next to her, her voice tight with anger. I could see now that almost all of the defectors were seated shinigami, none considered weak.

"Is she alive?" I asked, dreading the answer, but I dared not take my eyes off our opponents.

"Barely. Take her to Unohana Taichou. I will hold them off until you return." Her tone was one of no discussion, no negotiation.

"No, Matsumoto—"

She gave me an apologetic look and released an unconscious Hinamori. I watched in horror as she plummeted to the ground. "Go, Taichou," Matsumoto said quietly, turning back to face her opponents. "You don't have much time."

Matsumoto

Matsumoto Rangiku was a woman who appeared to be extremely vain and unsubstantial. She used that image to her advantage as much as possible, and as a result, very few people really knew the true Matsumoto Rangiku. Most thought she was nothing but a pretty face and a well endowed chest, automatically assuming that she had gained her position for those reasons only. However, if anyone spent any time in the 10th Division, they would find that to be a very inaccurate assumption.

Her division held a deep respect for their Vice-Captain, a respect that rivaled that of Hitsugaya Taichou—and he was one of the most beloved Captains of any division. Inside the division, their respect was heartfelt, and fights commonly broke out between the 10th and other divisions over insults and lewd comments directed to their Fukutaichou.

Despite his brave face, her Captain was still recovering from serious wounds. She knew she had the better odds here. She could see the pain in his face when he moved, knew that he stood little chance against so many men, regardless of his incredible talent. He had no reserves left. So she had done what he would have least expected, something he could not counteract. She had done the unpredictable.

When she faced seven experienced shinigami, she knew that shattering that vain and untalented image was her only card to play. She had to be unpredictable.

"Fukutaichou, you're going to take on all seven of us after we killed our own Vice-Captain?" one of the 5th Division shinigami jeered. "Seven against one—pretty bad odds."

"No, its seven against three," one joked crudely. Matsumoto ignored him. She'd heard every breast joke in existence—they didn't bother her.

Her anger was resonated in Haineko's. They were both lazy and playful, but quick to anger, and the longer they smoldered, the worse the explosion was.

She had smoldered far too long.

"Growl, Haineko," she declared, and her blade dissolved into ashes. Their laughter broke off as tendrils of her zanpakutou lashed out at the two on either end, scything through their attempts at guarding themselves. With screams, they plummeted to the ground.

The other five, their balanced recovered after her sudden attack, released their own zanpakutous.

"Drain, Henpuku."

"Sing, Sairen."

"Stand tall, Jiji."

"Slaughter, Shiga."

"Burn up, Kasen."

Matsumoto brought Haineko around her, spinning, blocking attacks, but it wasn't a complete defense. Kasen lashed her back, leaving a painful burn, the scent of seared flesh and smoldering clothes reaching her nose. Henpuku apparently drained reiatsu, and while it would not have been a substantial amount were she at her best, now, it was devastating. Sairen was used to distract as it made ear piercing shrieks when it moved through the air, able to throw its sound around the area so she could never tell where it was coming from. Jiji and Shiga used that to their advantage, finding openings. She barely managed to avoid fatal blows, Haineko deflecting them at the last moment.

Unsteadily she held her ground, her strength waning. Matsumoto was fueled only by her anger, her rage at seeing traitors nearly kill their Vice-Captain and endangering all of Soul Society. Her seared back made her want to cry in pain, every movement excruciating. Cuts from Jiji and Shiga, as well as Sairen, left wounds that soaked her shinigami robes. She only had one thing left in her arsenal.

"Bankai," she uttered.

Reiatsu flooded from her, causing her opponents to step back in surprise. They hadn't expected her to perform Bankai in this state, if they even thought she could use it at all. Her Bankai had been elusive for years—a combination of both her and Haineko's lazy natures. Only one thing could activate her Bankai: rage and a desperation to protect those precious to her. Like a lioness protecting her cubs, Haineko could be motivated under dire situations like these.

Ash billowed around her, gradually clearing and revealing Haineko's form. A molten cat crouched near Matsumoto, the shinigami's hand resting lightly on the Haineko's back. Ash flaked off Haineko, swirling around the men, irritating eyes and lungs alike. Matsumoto's hair appeared more vivid, almost molten itself as it whipped about in the swirl of ash. A flame-colored sash encircled her waist, and the same color trimmed the hem of her now ash-gray shinigami robe.

Matsumoto slowly lifted the hilt of her zanpakutou, and Haineko sank further into her crouch, uttering a low growl. When her hand stopped, Haineko struck. The cat ripped through the men, shattering zanpakutous and shinigami alike. Her claws left horrific burns on their faces, their chests, their legs as she swiped and clawed them. Clothes caught on fire as her molten body touched them, and the men screamed, trying to fend her off ineffectually. Shrieking in agony, they plunged to the earth below.

Haineko padded silently over to Matsumoto, who bowed her head in thanks, placing her hand on Haineko's head. The cat slowly dissipated into harmless ash.

She only had a flash of his presence before it was too late. In pure shock, she slowly looked down at her chest, a familiar zanpakutou protruding from between her breasts, the tip dripping with her blood.

"Rangiku-chan," he crooned in her ear.

She couldn't speak, only gasped as he thrust the weapon in to its hilt, screaming as he cruelly twisted it. Her legs lost the ability to hold her weight, and she collapsed into her assailant's arms.

Ichimaru Gin's smiling face peered down at her as he held her.

"Gin…" she breathed. She wanted to tell him how much he disgusted her, how much she hated him, but she couldn't. Her lips would not form the words, her lungs would not function.

"Shhh," he whispered, putting a hand to her lips even as blood leaked from the corners of her mouth. Her eyes could not focus, and his features swam violently in front of her.

I'm sorry, Toushirou Taichou, she thought, tears springing to her eyes. They weren't tears for her, or for her pain, or for her fear, for she had none of that now. They were tears for her partner, her best friend, a man whom she respected more than anyone. Her tears were for leaving him alone when he needed her most. I'm so sorry. I wasn't strong enough…

Distantly, she heard him call her name, and the corners of her lips lifted into a smile even as she died.

Hitsugaya

"No, no, no," I murmured, horror stricken. "Matsumoto!"

Ichimaru Gin stood behind her, and as I watched, flash-stepping as fast as I could, she collapsed. Ichimaru held her as I should have been. I cursed myself, cursed this war, cursed Aizen, cursed Ichimaru most of all.

"Matsumoto!" I bellowed. Ichimaru reached up to her face to do something I could not see, and then stood, turning to face me. "Bankai," I snarled, and Hyourinmaru's wings and tail appeared. Ichimaru held Matsumoto by her collar, and I could see that her Bankai had materialized by her clothing. Her head hung lifelessly, her limbs dangling, and bile rose in my throat. Violently, Ichimaru ripped his zanpakutou from her chest. A shower of her blood and flesh covered him, and he took a deep breath, relishing the feel of her warm blood on his skin.

"Sorry, Toushirou-kun," Ichimaru said with that smile of his. "I'm in a hurry, but I couldn't let my old friend go without saying goodbye. One of those things you gotta do yourself, ne?"

"I'm gonna fucking kill you," I raged, my grip tightening on Hyourinmaru, barely aware of the blood leaking from my hand.

Ichimaru cocked his head and suddenly hurled Matsumoto at me, opening a gate to Hueco Mundo simultaneously. I caught her, took a step forward, but I was too late. "Ja ne," he said with a little wave, and disappeared.

It was quiet, mercifully quiet as I held my Vice-Captain in my arms. Her eyes were open, calm and at ease, her lips turned in a slight smile. I tried not to look at the blood, tried not to notice that her chest no longer rose and fell, but as I held her and mourned her, my tears fell on her cheeks and ran down her neck.

"Matsumoto," I croaked. "Rangiku. Dammit! You weren't supposed to die here. This should have been my fight."

Memories assaulted me, of her playful personality, her love of tormenting me with her substantial bosom. Sobs wracked me, my chest heaving as I held her close, smoothing her hair, rocking her. I remembered her catnaps, her sake stash, her inventive excuses for avoiding work. Most of all, I remembered her wisdom, her fierce loyalty, her love for truth, for the 10th Division, for Soul Society, her willingness to stand up for what she believed. She and I had been that rare perfect pair, an ideal partnership that was so very hard to achieve. I realized now that I loved her deeply, not as a lover, or even as a woman, but as a soul mate, as my closest friend.

Her blue eyes captured me, her lips. Why did she have such a contented expression on her face? I wiped tears from my eyes and studied her face, determined to burn it into my memory: the slight smile, the mischievous blue eyes, the curve of her neck, the aristocratic angles of her high cheekbones, the red-gold hair that hung over my arm. Her necklace pooled at her throat, still glimmering with the life she no longer had. Closing my eyes, I let out a pain-filled cry, pouring all of my anger, all of my rage, my sorrow, my hatred, all of my vengeance into it.

I sat there for a long time, holding her still warm body. Drained, tearless, and tired, I reached up and gently closed her eyes. My hand lingered on her face, touching the soft skin I had never before felt. Leaning down, I placed a kiss on her forehead. "Matsumoto, what am I supposed to do without you?" I whispered hoarsely.

Slowly, I stood from the crouch I had remained for too long in, my muscles grateful to be relieved. I carefully situated Matsumoto in my arms, her head resting against my shoulder. With a gentle flap of my icy wings, I headed down toward the 4th Division's staging area. Tears threatened again, even as I landed softly, letting my Bankai dissolve.

I didn't realize at first what they were doing, but slowly, as 10th Division shinigami saw me carrying their lifeless Vice-Captain, they fell in around me, escorting us to our destination. A glance back showed me stony, angry faces. Guilt rose in my chest. Matsumoto was dead because of me. I was going to have to tell them that.

By the time I stopped at Unohana's post, I had acquired over thirty 10th Division shinigami, silently escorting their Vice-Captain's body. Unohana's pale face took on an expression of infinite sadness when she realized what had happened. Her knowing eyes took in my sorrow, my anger, my thinly restrained violence. I realized I was trembling with the bitter mix of those emotions.

Reluctantly, I laid Matsumoto where Unohana directed, my hand lingering on her shoulder. After a moment, I reached down and unsnapped her necklace, reclasping it on my own neck. "Goodbye, Matsumoto Fukutaichou," I murmured, then stood, my back facing my fellow shinigami.

Not bothering to wipe my tears, I finally turned, ripping my eyes from Matsumoto's peaceful face. "If you see Ichimaru Gin," I said in a low tone. "Tell him…" I paused, casting one more look back at Matsumoto.

"Taichou?" one of my subordinates asked tentatively.

I focused my attention back on the others, using that last look to hone my anger. "Tell him," I murmured dangerously, "that Hitsugaya Toushirou is waiting for him."

Fin.

Tell me what you think! Correct my mistakes! Let me know if you want another chapter or two…I have a couple of possibilities to continue this, and may consider it if there is enough response to justify it (or if it smacks me in the face and tells me to write it).