AN: So, these are my lovely (snark) Aizen/Momo drabbles. Safe to say they are pretty Momo-centric, more gen than romance, if A/M isn't your cup of tea. Although these are mostly unrelated, I've decided a few 'facts'--ie, my perception of the Bleach presentation of Momo's life/friends.

Momo has several layers to her life--a layer involving her family and her past with Hitsugaya, etc, a layer involving her friends at the academy (as far as we know, Kira and Renji, Shuuhei later on, Rukia early maybe?), and a layer involving her official duties for and not-so-official-worship of Aizen. Though that is probably self-explanatory, I just wanted to clear that up.

Some of these, I'm not totally happy with. But given the scarcity of A/M fics, I thought that fans of the pair might appreciate them anyway.

Drabbles

Altitude

As a young girl, Hinamori was aware that even though she had not stopped growing, she would never be tall.

Other children used to tease her about being short. Never Shiro-chan—he wasn't all that tall himself. But at least he could look forward to growing taller, eventually. Once she hit a certain age, near the very end of her shinigami training, she accepted her fate with resignation: Kira and Renji would always tease her about her 'vertical problem', as they (so tactfully!) put it. There would be no five-inch growth spurt—there would maybe be another inch or two at best, but no more. What she dreaded the most was the day that Toshiro surpassed her and avenged years of teasing about his stature with the eternity he would have of being taller than she was.

But when she joined Squad Five, Hinamori's outlook changed.

On her very first day, Aizen-taicho himself summoned her to his office to welcome her, despite her youth and her lack of a seat—she was well-trained, quick, and very good at kidou, but she needed experience in combat. She needed to overcome her size.

But, as she came face-to-face with her idol, the reason why she'd worked so hard, she came to a realization.

Aizen-taicho was kind, considerate. He saw her nervousness—that little head bobble and those red ears. So as she came closer, he smiled a smile that made her feel bubbly and warm, like uncorked champagne. He stood to greet her respectfully—even though she was only an unseated (as of yet, she promised herself) new recruit. "Welcome to my squad, Hinamori-kun." He extended a hand warmly; she moved forward to shake it.

The contact was as soothing to her as a warm fireplace welcomes cold visitors. She wished there was a kidou spell that could extend moments, or capture them vividly for future recollection. Some wild part of her vowed to invent one. (Thankfully, she never sought to fulfill that vow).

"Thank you, Aizen-taicho," reaching up to look, briefly, at those kindly eyes. If she could not be tall enough to look him in the eye, then she could do something far more important: she could stare into his heart.

Shunpo

Kira and Renji used to race each other at shunpo, but never her.

It was because she always won.

They would make bets, on little things, stupid things. Help with homework. Chores. Help with crushes. Kidou targets. In the beginning, Rukia would be there a lot, and she would always bet on Kira ("because Renji has always been slow in every way"). There was a hidden childhood joke in there, Hinamori sensed, smiling because they were, in a way, very similar to herself and Shiro-chan. She had been sad when Rukia had stopped coming to watch, although not nearly as sad as Renji himself. It became another element to his motivation.

Each of them had their own goals for when they became, when they grew up, crystallized into whatever they considered perfection. Kira desired to find an eclectic quasi-family of shinigami. He had told her, one late night when they were both stressed from too muh studying, the heartwrenching story of losing his parents. Hinamori had skipped class the next day to go see in grandmother in tears of gratitude. But she could understand Kira's lack, and thus desire, for an anchor: he had a name that was empty, and his nobility—minor or not—would be proven or disproven in his values. And his achievement. Kira knew he was good, if untested, but he did not want prestige, only security. A fixed name and a fixed spot, a fixed set of people. Even the squad officers were not secure in their positions; this was only pragmatic. But the top seats were always secure, because the top officers had different duties and special training and there was loyalty there. It was no longer merely about how well one could fight, but the quality of one's heart.

Renji on the other hand, sought prestige and power. Having survived on the streets for so long (which, after an angsty walk in the park had turned into further gratitude sessions with her grandmother), he was used to losing friends. He had no name to live up to or grow into—but he did have a label to break out of. If he wanted to become more than a street brat, he would need the strength to hold up under the weight of people's respect. He had never had respect, and he wasn't sure how it was made or broken. Hinamori could have told him that the answer was not merely in strength and power, but she'd doubted it would help.

As they learned, she saw Renji's goals evolve until they coalesced into the form of the beautiful Byakuya Kuchiki. She should have explained then that beating the elegant, rich, revered captain would not earn him the respect he wanted, but rather the respect of fear—the way a street kid yearns to beat the neighborhood bully. But she could only hope that, sucessful or not, Renji would come to know that for himself.

And she? Her goal had a name as well. Aizen Sousuke. She yearned, ever since her first time seeing him, to serve under him. He seemed to embody everything a shinigami should. She knew his lieutenant was powerful—there were rumors floating around that he'd already achieved Bankai—but she dreamt about that position for herself, to be able to walk around and have people say about her, "She's Aizen-taicho's lieutenant."

She knew it was silly, girlish, idealistic, but she believed very strongly (as Kira did) that more than experiences and power and prestige, it was the people gathered around her, the people with whom she shared love and kindness, who made everything have meaning. And where better to find such people than in a division led by the most compassionate, skilled yet humble man she had ever known?

She was the first of the three to achieve lieutenant, that post of which they had never really spoken (though there had been some shared fantasies about their life post-Academy…). The day that it happened, Kira and Renji took her out to dinner to celebrate. She had never been so happy in her life—she had gotten her dearest wish, to serve under Aizen-taicho…to be needed by him.

To her great amusement, once their congratulations had worn down and the food was mostly gone, Kira and Renji started a bet on which one of them would make lieutenant first—and of course, in what division, since the Fifth's slot was irrevocably filled. Hinamori groaned and wished for Rukia to come and deliver a well-timed insult. "Come on," she said to them, "this isn't some sort of game! What can you possibly wager that will make this competition worthwhile?"

Several years later, long after Kira had become Ichimaru-taicho's new lieutenant (the old one didn't cope well with the adjustment and Ichimaru-taicho had always had an eye on Kira) and Renji had left for the Eleventh, Hinamori got her answer. One innocuous day, she had finished her work early and was on her way to a meeting between her squad and Squad Twelve when she bumped into Renji. "Oh! Renji-kun! I'm so sorry!" As she knelt to help him retrieve the pile of papers, she couldn't help but notice that they were Third Division's forms, nominally filled out by a certain Kira Izuru.

As Renji's eyes met hers, she raised her eyebrows in amusement.

"Worst bet ever," muttered Renji.

Hinamori tried really, really hard not to laugh as she shunpo'd towards the Twelth, using her speed mainly to hide her glee. She was very grateful that she'd never felt the need to race.

Gentle

Men had not been a part of her childhood. Sometimes they scared her with their size, their roughness. Even Renji and Kira—especially Renji—could be clumsy, unmindful. Another girl would never knock down a picture by accident with a rogue shoulder or disturb the careful way she had folded her laundry. And yet, Kira and Renji were her best friends now. And so even though after every visit there was inevitably something she had to straighten out, it was a learning experience. She watched them often when they weren't aware of it, vaguely critiquing the crudeness of their actions.

Aizen-taicho was her future. She had a picture of him in her dorm room (a picture that she'd obtained, somewhat guiltily, from official records of his challenge for captaincy. Someone had taken an excellent shot of Aizen alone, eyes closed as he drew his sword. A lock of hair had fallen across his face. He did not look like he was about to fight a pitched battle. He looked utterly confident, in control, and yet totally graceful. Hinamori had studied that photo obsessively, wondering where she could get one of him with open eyes.

In him Hinamori could see, in the way he moved, that he was always careful—that every nuance was self-aware. More than that, she sensed he was gentle. He would never cleave his way through any environment without knowing that he was a part of it.

This was proven when she joined his division and could observe that even the small movements he made were perfectly controlled, and that he could hold a young woman's hand without making her feel small or smothered. She would never have to straighten anything out for someone of Aizen-taicho's dexterity and caution. All of his perceptions were accurate and minute—he even noticed when she'd trimmed her hair. She loved him for the lightness of his touch and his delicate understanding of human psychology.

A long while later, to her dismay, Hinamori learned that all her observations about his qualities were true, and that even gentle can be cruel.

Mirror

She cried.

She tried to imagine Aizen-taicho, the one she had served, going to Tousen and presenting him outright with his plans. She could picture it done the way that Aizen-taicho would carefully craft his logical responses when Difficult Questions arose. Here, Tousen. You desire the least amount of bloodshed possible. What if I told you that there was a way to prevent bloodshed ever again? Of course, there would be a struggle at first, but it will be a necessary one to bring forth a new world order.

If Aizen-taicho had taken such a route (and this was all merely speculation) then it would have been quintessentially him—logical core, manipulation of ideals, knowledge of where to place the desired illusion…

Every quality he had was double-edged. That was why she knew that Aizen-taicho, despite being a 'persona', was Aizen Sousuke—perhaps with some fake acting, but not much. How else could someone live a part for so many years? No, Hinamori knew where the illusion lay—in the choice to use one's powers for good or ill. Aizen had merely chosen, for a series of years, to cleave to the former for the sake of the latter.

That was why she could still admire him. Or was it because she still carried around the sheer irrational impulsive affection…it scared her.

It scared her because she knew that just as she had served him before, she could do so again. Yet perhaps not. She had no surety now; she swung back and forth like a pendulum between two wholly opposite opinions. Was he wrong? Was he right? Could she? Could she not? But her love…it remained. Even if she chose to fight against him—or to abstain, which, given her fragile condition, would be excusable—she would always love him.

No one had told her that Aizen-taicho had killed her out of mercy. But she didn't need to be told. She was so lost; she wanted his advice. But how crazy would that be?

She imagined his hand upon her hand in consolation. She imagined his warmth floating into her. She begged for his strength and it was not given to her. She cried.

As she turned, she caught her reflection in the mirror. She looked dead—red eyes, white skin made even whiter by the harsh spotlight of the moon, mouth slack with drunken tears in a semblance of death.

She wondered about Ichimaru. What loyalty did he feel towards Aizen-taicho? She understood that Aizen had always considered Ichimaru his second-in-command, but she knew it was because Ichimaru knew about Aizen's real plot. What could she be to Aizen that Ichimaru was not? Probably nothing. He had been an able (if disliked) captain, and she knew his abilities outranked hers, as did his place in Aizen's heart. She reconstructed a thousand scenarios in her head as to why…it was harder than with Tousen. More uncertainty to fill in. Too much.

Ichimaru, in return for not being very popular, had made sure that the details of his life were private—even to those who were, to some extent, in it. Hinamori failed to come up with any explanation based on fact. Even she had never really seen her captain and Ichimaru interact significantly.

"And what about you, Momo?" she asked the mirror. "What will you do now that the illusions are gone? Can you make any sense of him now?" The mirrored Momo was trembling slightly and her hair was dull, listless.

"It must be true," she decided. "You can't live without him. At least you might feel alive again if he were there…even if it were only for a minute…only long enough for him to finish it right…" sobbing she had a moment of weakness. She found she resolve, as always, in Aizen-taicho…no, Aizen-sama.

She began to open a gate (a skill she never thought she'd actually need but that was taught as emergency measures to those exceptionally skilled at kidou). The darkness was like a voracious mouth opening wide. Beyond it there was desert and a cold moon. It looked as windswept and desolate as her heart. "Not backwards, only forwards," she counseled herself. "I am a reflection of his will, because I love him."

As she rode her reiatsu towards the vision of the desert, she wondered what reason people would believe for why she followed him. Though all might guess love, respect, desperation, dependence, she doubted any would add any insights as to the nature of reflections to truth.

"Aizen-sama?" He was waiting in the desert; he had caught her when she fell—her path had ended unexpectedly.

He smiled down at the girl he carried in his arms. "Hinamori-kun," he said, "you came for me."

"What is going to happen to me, Aizen-sama?" So happy now, safe and secure. It didn't matter what the future carried. These moments now were all she wanted.

Abruptly Aizen-sama put her down in the sand. She stood, facing him. He was down on one knee, eye to eye with her. They were warm. They were cold.

"You," he answered smiling, "have passed my last test of loyalty. Close your eyes, please, Hinamori-kun."

She shut out the world. But she could feel him closer, closer...

So, that is that. I would appreciate reviews, but ehh, you know how it is. I may or may not have more lurking in my brain.