A/N: A new story, because well. . . just because. Lol.

Disclaimer: I'm a poor university student. Do you really think Tite Kubo would randomly choose me to take over? No?

I was hoping you'd say yes.

Mon Cœur S'ouvre à Ta Voix

(My heart opens itself to your voice)

I

There were things in the world Toushiro Hitsugaya had come to understand as simple, repetitive, maybe even a little bit dull.

Though young by shinigami standards, his life had been one of routine, of careful planning and a meticulous attention to detail—to strive for the very top of what he could reach (and what he couldn't—being short made him all that more determined).

That was how he ended up with his own office, with a faithful (though rather rambunctious) lieutenant, with subordinates who looked up to him for everything that they deemed clearly unattainable—or maybe, in the more gutsy ones, the goal.

Day in and day out, as the dust of Aizen' betrayal and the Zanpaktou rebellion settled and their world took a turn for the better, it almost felt as if things got . . . boring. There was nothing—not the pain of realizing Hinamori wouldn't ever be the same, not the anger of losing over half his squad, not even the feeling of hunger in his stomach.

It was on one of those nights—dreadfully long, full of (pointless) paperwork, the ticking of the clock eternal—that something began to feel. . . different?

The doors burst open as thunder crashed above, rumbling and rattling his bones. Matsumoto was laughing, shoving a smaller figure ahead of her into the room.

"Ne, Rukia! You think Renji found the sakura blossom we planted in his hair yet?" A fit of giggles and she clumsily leaned against the door frame, her petite companion trying to steady and pull his drunken vice-captain into the room.

"H-Hitsugaya Taichou! "-A flimsy bow and she quickly dove to save Matsumoto from meeting the ground-"I apologize for the disturbance but if you would be so kind-"

Sighing heavily, he didn't even look up, but instead pointed to the doorway leading to the barracks. "Second doorway to your right." It wasn't until he heard them shuffling into his subordinate's quarters that he noticed the huge puddles of water on the floor—which he would end up cleaning, he was sure.

A joy, his lieutenant was.

Scowling, the frustrated captain continued his work, not even noticing when Rukia had come out of the room. In fact he had forgotten she was there until he jumped at the crackle of ice forming on the floor beside his desk, quickly solidifying the trail of water that had been left behind by the two soaked women. When he looked up she was standing there, cheeks flushed and gaze lowered so as not to look at him.

"Hitsugaya-taichou sir, would you happen to keep a broom I could use for a moment?" More confused than anything, he simply pointed to the small utilities closet (also known as Matsumoto's secret stash compartment).

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he took a moment to stretch his back before once again going back to the paperwork. The rhythm and monotony of his work began to settle in until he felt more than heard the distinct crack of ice shattering. Looking up, he watched as Rukia flipped the broom upside down and methodically broke apart the ice into tiny shards (like his concentration), sweeping them towards the open office door as she went.

"I would've never thought of that."

She froze, turning slowly to look at him.

Frankly, it had slipped before he could even filter it. Her violet gaze met his then and they both flushed in embarrassment. Clearing his throat, Toshiro's aquamarine orbs slipped back down to his work, waving a dismissive hand at her. "Please, continue."

So she did.

Still, the scribbling frenzy of his brush was not enough to anchor the whole of his attention to what needed to be done. Instead he found himself staring at her turned back (twice) caught by the curiosity of her movements, of the deep concentration and precision in the way she handled the spell—but most of all, by the subtle difference she brought to the room.

It was. . . strange; something he couldn't quite put his finger on—had certainly never noted whenever he had happened upon her among the others.

"You must be very good at kidou if I didn't even hear you utter a spell."

The second time; somehow in her silence he found the need to be responsible to fill the room with something—a chance perhaps, to speak after the habitual stillness had been drilled into his skull by the ever present reminders of noise past the shoji doors.

The rain picked up as if to mock him.

Breaking the last of the ice, Rukia turned to him. "Though my abilities are decent, this was no doing of kidou, Hitsugaya-taichou."

I feel her.

Hyourinmaru's sudden interference tore his attention from her in surprise. This wasn't custom, wasn't the usual still of the office or the sleeping quiet of the zanpaktou within him. The dragon never spoke unless prodded; either that or he saw the need to express something that hadn't been brought to light that may be essential.

"Her name is Sode no Shirayuki." The black haired young woman said, smiling as she proudly let one hand fall on the hilt of her sword.

The first zanpaktou to fall by an outsider's hand--her brother's.

Something told him that Byakuya had conveniently forgotten to tell his sister about it—her zanpaktou as well it seemed.

"I was afraid I would lose her after . . . the rebellion." There was a flicker in her gaze, a deep sadness that flitted away like a trick of the light. "But things are behind us now. I'm just glad everyone was returned safely with their partners."

Indeed, it had been anything but simple.

The sound of the closet door sliding closed broke Hitsugaya's train of thought. It wasn't until he blinked again and noted her idle gaze that he realized that his attention had even wandered.

He must be more tired than he thought—but habit dictated he stubbornly stay until he could lighten the load he was sure was to be here awaiting his punctual arrival tomorrow.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose between index and thumb and finally turned to her again. Following the quick glance she had snuck past him, the young captain knew where it was leading to.

"Would you like . . . some help with the paperwork?" Usually he would've said no. But then he heard the rain outside, and saw how wet her clothes and hair were (she must've tried to dry some of it off in Matsumoto's room he guessed), and figured giving her an excuse to stay wouldn't be so bad. She had, after all, brought back Matsumoto safely and even cleaned up every drop of mess they had made on the way in—something neither Renji nor Shuuhei bothered to do on such trips (because they weren't in a much better state than their ward).

Not to mention she was a welcome distraction from the ticking of the clock.

Nodding, he pointed her to the couch and then told her to wait as he headed towards his quarters. Her eyes were questioning as he did, but she didn't move. It wasn't until he came back that she realized why he had left in the first place.

"I figured Matsumoto's would be way too big for you, so here." He handed her a neatly folded pile of his clothing. "The first door on your left should be fine for you to change in."

"N-no, Hitsugaya-Taichou, I can't accept this. I'll be fine in my own clothes, thank you."

"Are you questioning my orders?" The look of horror on her face made him smug. It wasn't every day that it worked. Usually with Matsumoto it fell on deaf ears, so it was not beyond him to relish the rare opportunity—plus her reaction was very amusing, a break from the ordinary.

"Of course not, sir!" She shot up like a bullet, clothes in hand. "I apologize, I'll go change now."

Crossing his arms, he watched her scurry into his room and slide the door shut. Frowning in thought, he headed back for his desk.

When she came back out her face was red and his extra shinigami uniform clung onto her form. Silently he marveled at the fact that there was actually someone smaller than him(sans chest of course—for a moment he had to turn and try not to blush at realizing that a female was wearing his clothing). Shoving the feeling back, he pointed to a stack he had prepared for her while she had been gone.

"You don't have to do it all. If you can just put a dent in that, you'll make my night that much easier."

(That much less of a routine.)

His teal orbs went from the stack to her face, scrutinizing and wondering if she was going to back out on him. There was no hint whatsoever to that though, her deep violet eyes instead meeting his as she nodded.

"Yes sir."

So they worked like that, Rukia periodically asking questions pertaining to their squad's workings for reports, and Toushiro giving precise replies. An hour and a half passed, the clock striking twenty till one in the morning as the storm raged on outside. Once, he caught her wide eyes staring at the sliding door leading outside, watching in fascination as lightning lit up the skies, and thus the door itself. She didn't seem to realize she was being watched as a tiny smile formed on her face before she ducked her head back into the work before her.

Their stacks grew considerably smaller until finally she finished.

She gingerly set her work down on the corner of his desk before momentarily excusing herself. When she finally came back it was with a tray in her hands, a teacup and kettle upon it.

"I apologize for not having thought of this before, sir. I just hope you don't mind me using Matsumoto's set."
Looking from the steaming cup to her in surprise, he shrugged. "It's not like she uses it anyways."

Rukia watched silently as he took the first sip of the tea, slender fingers wringing the edges of the tray in her hand. She nearly heaved a sigh of relief when he seemed to nod his approval, features subtly relaxing with the taste in his mouth.

Jasmine, she noted, that's what he seemed to like—which was good because it was the only thing in Matsumoto's cabinet.

She nearly jumped when he began speaking to her. "The storm doesn't look like it's going to give out anytime soon."

"No, it doesn't." Rukia replied, her eyes straying to the doorway as more lightning lit up the door. "It's nothing major though." Smiling, she set the tray down and arranged the kettle on it, setting the two on Matsumoto's now-clean desk.

"I should be leaving. I apologize for staying so late, and I hope my being here helped in some way." Bowing, she grabbed her wet uniform from the couch. "I'll be sure to return your uniform first thing in the morning, sir."

"There's no need, it's just a spare. Bring it back at your convenience." Bowing again, she uttered a goodbye, sliding the door open before he could give it a second thought.

Comical almost, out of the ordinary, and bizarre—Toushiro didn't know whether to describe her or his night like that. Silently, grim features seemed to scrunch into those of curiosity as he stared at the shoji doors from his seat, trying his hardest to understand why it felt as if any effort to understand what had just happened would be futile.

So he didn't try.

Instead, Toushiro Hitsugaya chose what he could never doubt in, what drove him to the heights of ultimate discipline, and (lack of) patience—he returned back to work.

Before he realized it, the white haired young man had emptied the kettle of its contents and the stacks of paper that had once seemed daunting now were all perfectly confined in folders and the like. And when he walked into his chambers for the night, he couldn't help but hesitate as his nose picked up the slightest scent of lavender.

It was . . . odd.

Between the sounds of the rain and the lingering feeling of Rukia Kuchiki's reiatsu, he changed into his night clothing and made his way to bed, teal eyes closing almost as soon as the back of his head hit the pillow.

For the first time in a few months, the captain of the tenth division slept soundly.