A short winter holiday themed story. I don't want to say which one, or it will ruin the surprise. Didn't know where else to put it. Please enjoy!
FRAMES
A Bleach fanfic by division-ten
NOTE: a number of liberties were taken with the Bleach universe. Set one year after the Winter War.
Hitsugaya scoffed. He adjusted the heinous pair of glasses that Unohana had started making him wear, upon realization that his constant headaches were not actually the fault of his direct subordinate, but from squinting too much at paperwork. It wasn’t the glasses themselves he despised - after all, his headaches were gone (although Matsumoto’s constant annoyances were not) - rather, it was the fact that the ones provided by Seireitei, the issued ones, were the same bulky, black square kind ‘he’ used. Hitsugaya’s custom frames wouldn’t come in for at least another two weeks; exacerbated by the fact that his optometrist was Protestant and it was four days before Christmas, with New Year’s shortly on its heels.
Hitsugaya would not even look at himself in the mirror with the darned things on. Peeving him more were the fact that they worked.
But none was so constant a peeve as Matsumoto. She was running around with Renji again, the two of them in a semi-drunken stupor, caroling and throwing decorations up wherever they saw fit.
They weren’t alone. Most of the Catholic and Protestant shinigami got unruly this time of year. And the ones of Japanese and Chinese descent were running around getting gifts for their dates, having grown up on the secular and romantic side of the tradition. Hitsugaya was no Scrooge (but if the Three Ghosts made their way into his room, he’d probably just fire a kidou from his futon and turn over), but he genuinely just did not like Christmas.
Naturally, this was something that bothered Matsumoto. Hitsugaya could only wonder why. As she leaned backwards over his desk to give a nosebleed-inducing view, grinning like a monkey, all Hitsugaya could do was move the inkpot out of her way so as not to get her hair in it.
“Hey, Captain,” she said lazily, as if she were talking to her lover the morning after, “We’re going down for some eggnog after work today. Bring Hinamori if you want to. There’ll be plenty of nonalcoholic stuff.”
Hitsugaya put his pen down, and adjusted his glasses. “Thank you, Matsumoto, but no. Please get back to work.”
“Awww, come on! Even Third-Seat Tange is coming.”
Hitsugaya looked to his left, where Tange Sakura smiled lightly, fixing the corner of her hijab. “So long as they keep the alcohol separate, even I don’t mind going. If you’re not going to drink, at least join us,” she said simply, shelving another volume of our most recent reports.
“See,” Matsumoto interjected, still upside-down over the desk. “You’re being a spoilsport.” Her small oak cross that was usually hidden in her brassiere came loose, and plunked down onto the wood.
Hitsugaya put his hand to his forehead, somewhat sick of the religious symbols that dominated the minds of many in Soul Society. Ironic. ‘All of us are spirits; yet still believe in the afterlife. If anybody was right, it’s the Buddhists,’ he mused. Out loud, he simply repeated his former rejection of, “No.”
Matsumoto gave him the puppy-eyed look. He sighed. “Look, if you are going to continue to harass me, I am going to force you to take leave. You have not used any vacation days in two years. Get out of here until January 2nd. I’ll finish whatever is on your desk.” He paused. “Sakura, the same goes for you. You didn’t even take off for Eid al-Adha two weeks ago. Go have some fun. If there is something really urgent, you’ll hear from me. Otherwise, I want your rear ends out of this office.”
The two women looked somewhat astonished at their superior officer. Matsumoto had flipped herself upright and put her cross away. “Really?”
“Really.”
“And you don’t want to come with us?”
“I have something more important to do this evening. Go. I’m not mad; I’m giving you permission. On your way out, please let the caterers know that I want some alcohol and sweets sent to the lower officers, and a feast set up in the barracks. There’s enough left in our food budget. I’ve already checked. If they have a problem, they can see me.”
“Wait… does this mean you intend to work over Christmas?”
“Somebody has to, so, yes.”
“You don’t want anything sent to you?”
“I have my own paycheck that is more than ample for buying food.” Hitsugaya sighed again. He had no tolerance for dealing with things like this. “Just go.”
Matsumoto picked up her belongings, and Tange followed suit, knowing that Hitsugaya was neither joking nor angry. However, Matsumoto also knew that something wasn’t right.
Later that evening, before taking any of the food or drink at the local pub, Matsumoto quietly slipped out of the restaurant to see of her superior was still up working. He wasn’t miserly or mean, but he did have a stick up his ass much further than he should for someone of only thirty or forty. Even Vice-Captain Yachiru was older than he and still able to retain ample amounts of energy and creativity.
To her surprise, however, Hitsugaya was not in the office. The Christmas decorations placed within were moved to the lower floors by reception and the officer rooms, and the Upper Office was spotlessly clean. Hitsugaya’s desk, as well as Matsumoto’s and the other seated officers had been cleared of a large amount of the work, but her Captain, who often worked hors past everyone else with no vacation, was nowhere to be found. Matsumoto got worried.
She knew where Hitsugaya lived, and also knew he hated going out, despite his claim that he had something important to do. She quickly arrived at his modest pagoda, and, as she expected, a light was coming from a single window in the house.
She heard footsteps, and a moment later, the front door slid open. Hitsugaya was always very good at detecting her presence; she should have expected that. He was already out of his uniform, and wearing a simple grey kimono tied loosely to the side, and bare feet despite the snow steadily forming. “What do you want?” Hitsugaya questioned, clearly disgruntled. “Don’t you have a party?”
“I thought you said you have something important to do,” she replied simply.
“I do, and I am. I only have a few minutes left to do it, if you don’t mind. The sun’s almost set.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” she asked.
“Well, since you’re here, maybe I could ask you for some help. I’m really not supposed to be the one doing this, and with Aizen gone… Last year wasn’t a problem because all of us were fighting, and I didn’t even have the time. But this is the first year I have to do this on my own.”
“What?”
“Say the candle blessings. Come on, there isn’t much time.” He ran out to meet her, barefoot in the snow, and grabbed her wrist. At that moment, he hardly looked like her Captain, but more like the little boy from seventeen years ago who nearly froze his adopted grandmother to death. She couldn’t say no. As she bounded up the steps after him, she hardly had enough time to slip off her shoes. She’d never been in his house before, and to be invited in so suddenly startled her. She slid, surprised at the smooth bamboo hardwood flooring and landed next to Hitsugaya at a small table facing a window. An unlit menorah with two candles stood silently by it.
“A woman is typically supposed to light the candles,” he said simply. “Aizen was once a cantor, though, - the one who says the prayers in synagogue- and he did them with me. The b-st-rd.”
Matsumoto looked at him. He looked somewhat pathetic. The sun had already sunk to its lowest point, and was nearly out of sight. “What do you want me to do?”
“Can you just stay? A minute, then I won’t bother you.” What he really meant was, ‘I’m lonely, and have nobody to be with. Hanukah and Christmas fell at the same time this year, and I feel awful for even intruding.’
Matsumoto didn’t actually do anything. Hitsugaya didn’t have a match handy, and simply used the Shakahou spell to light the taller candle, and then gracefully picked it up while chanting something she couldn’t understand. After using it to light the other candle, he said a simple “Thanks,” and showed her back to the door.
“I can do the Hanerot Halalu and Ma’ot Tsur myself,” he said. “The other two prayers. Thanks again.”
“No,” she replied firmly, lifting up a hand in protest. Until it’s all done, I’ll stay. With a firm grip, she lifted him up by the collar and set him back in front of his candleholder. Hitsugaya was too startled to protest.
With his back turned to the lights, Matsumoto quickly text-messaged a friend who worked in a Jewish deli to send over any leftovers, as well as Renji to get his butt over to Hitsugaya’s. She finished with one more message, and then quietly closed her phone.
By the time the last stanza was uttered, a small city of friends and well-wishers were at his gate. Hitsugaya, too focused on the tiny flickering lights in front of him, as well as enough high ranking officers actively blocking everyone’s spiritual pressure, got a shock when he led Matsumoto to the door for a second time.
“What… the…” was about all he could say as about half of Seireitei was standing at his doorstep, while he was in little more than pajamas.
“You know,” Matsumoto quipped, “once you started lighting the candles I figured out why you’re such a picky eater. You keep Kosher, don’t you?”
“Yeah…” was about all he could manage to say.
“Well,” one of the revelers yelled up at them, “I brought a dreidel. I wanna gamble!” It was Ikkaku. Ikkaku? Some officer from the rambunctious Eleventh Division.
“You’re Jewish?” Hitsugaya stammered back.
“Heck yeah,” he cried. “So is one outta every 100 people. So what, you think you’re the only one? C’mon, don’t just stand there, I brought booze!” He held up three large bottles of red wine.
Before he could protest, at least fifty people, most with food, drink or musical instruments flooded his main hall. Last came Doctor Ishikawa, the one who was making his new glasses. He dropped a small, oblong case into Hitsugaya’s hands, and walked back out into the white night.
His new frames were done. Hitsugaya casually put them on, ran to yell at some Sixth Division idiots who were trying to find a suitable table for the food, and deliberately knocked the old pair outside the open window. He couldn’t even hear them when they landed into the soft blanket of white below, nor see them from the dim candlelight. The falling snow, unheard over the noise of the revelers, quickly covered up the frames.
