Disclaimer: NO.

Author's Notes: Another strange Drabble. I have no explanation for this one either. It just happened. I don't know much about Momo, 'Shiro, and the rest, because I've got bad memory and that kind of stuff flys straight out the window. I also have no idea what a coma is like, so please bear with me. I blame Maiden of the Moon for getting me hooked on Henry Wadsworth Longsfellow. Curse you.


"This is the place. Stand still, my steed,
Let me review the scene,
And summon from the shadowy Past
The forms that once have been."

{Henry Wadsworth Longfellow}


She grins.

In her mind, she is no one, and everyone. She is Aizen. She is Toushirou. She is Unohana. But she is never herself.

She has succumbed to herself, and she knows and accepts this with no difficulty. She doesn't care, because here, she is free.

She hears their pleas. Sometimes it is soft-spoken, other times it is so loud and raucous that she sinks ever deeper into her own self conscious, an escape within her own mind. She does not want to hear their futile crying, their promises and earnest words.

She does not care.

She loves them. That fact is undeniable. But she also loved him, and he is gone. Aizen.

She will wait for him.

She knows they hurt. Most of all, she knows that he hurts, the one who is beside her at every available moment. She cannot hear him, not most of the time. Most of the time he does not speak. But she can feel him there, sometimes, the familiar reiatsu, the comforting silence between them. She loves him, as well.

But the other man is loved more.

In her mind, she is no one, but everyone. But she is never herself.

She is not stupid. She knows that she is not strong, not like them. She knows that if she tried to bring him back, she would die. There was only two options. He would kill her.

Or she would kill herself.

They had wanted her to wait. To sit, patiently and quietly, as they did the thinking, the planning, the fighting. It had killed her. She was the one that wanted him back. Not them. Not ever them. But they had insisted on leaving her out.

It would have killed her.

Waiting. Sitting. Quiet. Not a word. She was not stupid. She, of all people, knew her limitations, and she made sure to respect the boundaries. She was not stupid. She was smart enough to realize, and to understand that she would not have been able to handle waiting, sitting by the sidelines. No.

She had sank into herself with each passing moment, barely able to keep up a passable fa├žade, a wall of denial between herself and the rest of the world. Eventually she gave up. Inside her, there was no waiting. The only task there was being, and she was good at that. She pretended to be Aizen, and she would always propose to herself and hug shadow images passionately in her dream-scape. There was no waiting here, and that she could be content with.

She promised herself that one day, she would return to that other world, of dimensions and barriers and pain. But not yet.

Not yet.