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Tuesdays with Shuuhei	By : Yatzuaka Category: Bleach > Het - Male/Female Views: 6357 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I neither own, nor make money from anything Bleach related. More's the pity.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
WARNING! Thar’ be spoilers ahead! Ep’s 116 and 266 onwards… Seriously, if you don’t want to know, this is not for you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
~*~
She was soaring through the air. It was like all those times she’d dreamt she was flying. The sky was blue and her hair was orange in the brilliant sunlight as tendrils fluttered around her face. A trail of red that followed her sparkled like lovely, expensive rubies in a jewelry store window. It was, for a perfect moment, all colors and light.
Then pain bloomed sharp and bright, the knowledge that she just hadn’t done well enough its own agony. Wearing her failure as a shroud was not how she wanted this to end. She’d come for answers, for honor.
There was no honor in this.
~*~
Rangiku’s heart skipped a beat, like it always did, when the boy with a face like a fox took her hand. He was so nice. Even though Gin did stupid boy stuff like chasing frogs and playing with bugs, he also found them both food and kept them both safe. It had been hard enough to find something to eat when it was just her; she couldn’t imagine how much trouble it was for him to find enough for both of them.
He’d gone off yesterday and hadn’t been back yet. Gin had done that before- ran off and not come back for hours, but he always came back. She wasn’t worried he wouldn’t come back, though. He’d promised that he’d keep her safe. He said he had honor, and if a person had honor they always kept their promises.
When he’d promised to leave town for a while, she’d jumped up and down, had begged to leave right then and there. It had been so hot lately.
“Patience, Matsumoto-sama.” He called her that when he wanted her to pay attention and not pout.
When he finally showed up, it was past midday and she was starting to get hungry. Still, his hand was warm in hers. She believed him completely when he said that it would all be alright.
The forest was green and growing dark as the day inched its way to night. The smell of pine was thick in her nostrils, clean and fresh after the stifling atmosphere in the city. It was good to be there, with him, safe and free.
~*~
The dull pounding in her body accompanied the throb she felt inside, all the way inside her mind. Rangiku opened her eyes slowly, unsure, confused as to the source of the pain. She remembered the woods, (yeah, that’s right) walking in the woods with Gin, an adventure he’d said. The dim light of her room hurt her eyes and made it hard to remember.
She shivered and wished for a bath. She felt… dirty, in some indefinable way. She would have gotten up and cleaned, both herself and her room, had she had the energy. Closing her eyes provided scant relief for her eyes, and she tried again to think back.
Warm, it had been warm and muggy when they started out yesterday. (Was it yesterday?) Her hand tingled and she recalled his hand in hers; familiar, yet not. (He’d been training with bokken, and his hands had grown callused since he went away.)
She pushed for more detail, tried with all her might to remember (black-rimmed glasses and shaggy hair), but in the end all she got for her troubles was a pain like a spike through her left eye, digging around in her brain. She allowed her body to sag in on itself, collapsing more firmly into the thin mat on the floor. (Eyes, closed to slits, small pointy nose, wide mouth, thin lips- Gin. Oh Gods- it hurt!)
Giving up for now, she let herself slide away into nothing. (Keep you safe, keep you safe always. Don’t worry. Your own good, Ran, for your own good, listen to me. I’ll keep you safe, I already promised I would, but there are rules.)
…In her sleep she mumbled, hands thrashing as she tried to shove, tried to pull, away or to?
She woke suddenly, no longer dreaming of that time when she had been young. She remembered it so well this time, because the pain matched what it had been. Throb, thump, throb, thump- the hurt measuring a beat in time with her heart, now as then.
Shoving the inconvenient recollections of a past best forgotten aside, focusing on the battleground instead, she used Haineko as a crutch to get her to feet again. The zanpakuto whined a bit at the treatment, but Matsumoto could give two fucks right then. Shut up, you. Be glad I’m alive at all. Bitch, bitch, bitch; I swear that’s all you ever do.
Gods, the town was trashed, almost beyond recognition. There were piles of rubble everywhere. It was hard to believe that it was pretty much all that was left of what had been enormous concrete structures only a few hours ago. The real mercy here was that the citizens were evacuated to the copy of Karakura Town.
The only people left for this, what she hoped was the final battle, were the elite of the Thirteen Court Squads, most of them anyway, and the Arrancars. (And Tosen. And Aizen. And Gin.) She really hoped their combined forces would be strong enough.
Patting her stomach, she grimaced, feeling the wound there closed, but not fully healed. Shit. She’d probably scar. Vanity aside, after a few experimental swings of her sword, she was determined not to let her wounds get in the way of doing her duty.
Matsumoto glanced around, looking for any visual clues as to what happened to her saviors. There had to have been at least two shinigami here very recently, or she wouldn’t have made it. She suppressed a shudder at the memory of being cut down.
Those freaking bitches thought they could… No, the captain commander had taken care of them, she could tell. No point in getting worked up over something she couldn’t change. Failure. There was nothing she hated more than fucking failing.
The jolt of awareness took her breath away. Gin. He was close, so close she could smell persimmons on the warm breeze that stirred vague and dusty shapes in remembrance. (A grey haired boy with a strange name, and finally an ease to the gnawing hunger in her belly, the sweet-mushy flavor in her mouth taking her by surprise. She’d always know him by that smell.)
All the loss. Every thing, every person she held dear, which had all been thanks to his influence- his role- in her life, was in jeopardy because of him. He’d always been perverse like that. Giving and taking, the cost always measured against a scale no one could hope to understand, least of all her. She loved him.
The cool chain around her neck tightened just enough to remind her it was there.
She loathed him just as much.
~*~
She remembered when a girl as sweet as softly ripe persimmon had looked at her, with big, moist eyes of the softest grey imaginable. Those eyes that had tried to unsuccessfully wrangle diamond bright tears, and had begged for advice.
Orihime was a big girl, busty and tall-ish, capable in an oddly human way, nice to a fault and self-effacing in a way that had managed not to annoy Matsumoto. Inoue’s lack of capability was not in her spirit, but rather in what she perceived as her limits as a mere mortal.
The gods knew she could put up with saccharine uselessness barely disguised by passable kido, but phony helplessness had always stuck in her craw. Shit, she’d maintained a courteous working relationship with Momo for years, even though the girl was about as useful as a stick in a sword battle.
Either way, the red-heads plea for help had been genuinely reluctant, perhaps evidenced by the awkward moment it had come at.
Ichigo Kurosaki.
That annoying man-child really had the most abominable social skills. That he reminded her – just the tiniest bit – of someone else she knew, only made it easier for the words to come.
As she’d stepped into the bath that night, she’d been the slightest bit amused. She knew any number of men and shinigami who would have paid good money to see them as they had been; nude and wet in the same room.
“He needs you both,” she’d said, as if it was the simplest thing in the world. The gods knew it wasn’t. All the times she’d wanted to gut the clueless Momo for some perceived slight on behalf of her captain and had stopped herself were proof of that.
Why, though? Why had she been so indignant on behalf of her captain? Why had she treated the girl, who was mostly harmless in her bumbling, with such shortness? Because Momo wasted precious time, always sitting on the fence, waiting for something better… Aizen.
She hadn’t needed to imagine how it felt to have someone you truly loved so oblivious and so entwined with another. Words had been all she’d had to comfort the poor girl caught in a battle not her own. That she was still willing to fight, despite the cost to herself, had made Matsumoto admire Orihime Inoue tremendously.
Besides, at the time, her money would have been on Renji to win over Rukia. The bastard had seemed to want it enough.
Now, though, now Orihime Inoue was gone. She’d been labeled a traitor and practically forsaken in Hueco Mundo. Who knew what was happening with the small force over there? Nothing good, if their current situation in Karakura was anything to judge by.
~*~
As if seeing Ran’s guts wasn’t enough to unnerve him, Tosen had decided to show his face, too. The strange feeling of Muguruma being near was a sear in the tattoo on his cheek. All in all, he was having the mother of all psych-trauma days. The prospect of actually fighting his old friend and mentor scared him to his bones. Shuuhei Hisagi didn’t want to die.
He had unfinished business to attend to.
~*~
Not just like, but the actual face of a wolf, a being whose unfortunate crossing had resulted in… his strange body and features, whose entire afterlife had been lonely, the picture of outcast until he’d been given a purpose. Until his friend had shown him that purpose.
Komamura never lost; not with his enormous bankai. Not unless it was the Old Man he was up against. In his confidence, he batted Hisagi aside, wanting this battle for himself. Tosen was more than ready for his old friend.
~*~
Gin was just as she remembered. Still thin, despite the sweets.
His eyes opened one last time, a familiar flash of red, and she remembered. (Persimmons and that pure, wonderful blush of first love.)
His life drained as he tried one last time to save her, and she remembered. (Being left behind, like nothing, everything they’d worked so very hard for in tatters.)
All. That. Loss.
As she looked down at him, she cried, despite the rules.
~*~~*~~*~
Months later, it was the little things that kept her up at night.
She sat straight up, sweaty and her heart slamming in her chest. This particular night, it was the way Yoruichi had glanced at Kisuke when Aizen batted her aside as if she were a fly. The moment between the two had lasted microseconds at the most, and it had contained volumes of unspoken meaning.
Was she petty enough that she was actually jealous of two people who had been cast out of polite society? Maybe.
At least those two still had each other.
The dim light meant it was too late to try what would, no doubt, be futile attempts at sleep. Matsumoto levered herself from bed, and padded outside to wash. It was completely quiet, and she allowed herself a moment to just breathe. After, she dressed for work. Her hair was brushed and her skin was glowing from her new exfoliant.
Not that it mattered. It’s not like she really cared what she looked like; it was just what was expected of her.
Gin was dead. He’d loved her.
There was a routine to follow. She followed it, and in return she could live with herself. There were rules, just like always. There was witty banter for her colleagues and coldness, loneliness hidden carefully from view. She was the same as she’d always been. Empty. (Hadn’t been like this with…Hisagi. It’d been hot and full with him.)
The stack of paper work waiting for her on her desk was enormous. She held her breath as she sat before it, knowing from personal experience how precarious a pile like that was.
Her adherence to the routine, which included putting in a productive day at the office, was strict. However, as she sat there, Ran found suddenly that she didn’t have another responsible, contributing-to-the-greater-good day at the office in her. Nope. Just couldn’t face another day cooped inside, sober, fingers cramping from trying to fit complicated kanji inside the too-small boxes on the forms and reports.
Glancing over, she noted the paleness and stark thinness of her captain. They were both in rough shape after all that transpired on the battle field. Perhaps she felt she owed him something, more than what was normal for a lieutenant for her captain, and perhaps that was why she tried her best to keep up the front of normality. For him, her little friend.
She gave Hitsugaya a real, honest-to-goodness smile, as she shimmied her way over to his desk. She put a lot of hip into her walk, allowed her assets to bobble freely. He glanced up, the wrinkle between his eyebrows that meant “Oh, come on. Give me a break!” in full effect. Her arms wound their way around his neck, her breasts cushioning his head, muffling her voice.
“Taicho…” she whined, her voice catching uncharacteristically. It had been ages since she’d used that tone of voice with him- with anybody.
He struggled under her, fists thumping against her with nowhere near the force needed to dissuade her. The ribbon of space between the door and the frame caught her eye. Blue sky, so very blue and bright. It had been ages since she had noticed, much less cared what the weather was like.
“Look out there, Taicho. It’s far too lovely a day to spend it cooped up inside. Come oooooon,” the sing-song quality of her voice seemed to have rendered him momentarily stunned.
He allowed it when she tugged his slack arm and pulled him to the covered area outside. She settled him comfortably and scurried back inside for her emergency bottle of sake and cups.
When Matsumoto slid the door closed, she heard the unmistakable hiss of something sliding and the rapid patter, so much like rain, of paper hitting the floor. Her heart dropped and as she turned to go back inside, to make right the mess, her attention was caught by Hitsugaya.
His eyes were huge, his face heartbreakingly young as he sat watching the unseated officers go through their katas. He’d not ventured outside to watch in forever, and for a second she was nearly scared he’d remain impassive. There were obvious flaws in some of the recruits’ techniques, and had she not been so intent on closing herself in on her pain, she would have supervised more often. Or at very least, forced Hitsugaya to.
She opened her mouth to shout corrections, but stayed her tongue at the last second. Her tiny, little captain stood carefully, as if very old or unused to the action. Then he found his voice, startling the shit out of several of the younger set.
“Watch me!”
Pale hair ruffled in the breeze as he stood to demonstrate proper form, his white haori fluttering prettily in the radiance of a perfect day. Their division members, every single one, filed out of the buildings of their compound. Soon, every available space outside seemed to hold a body. No one so much as breathed while their captain showed their squad what made him great.
It was uncanny, flawless, perfect. His body twisted and flowed through every complex form of the movements of their most difficult combinations of kata. He straightened with a loud snap of fabric, and shouted “Again!”
As one, their squad replicated - to the best of their abilities- the movements of their captain. Rangiku Matsumoto was transfixed.
Until her darling, little captain turned on her.
Tufts of unruly hair swept over Toshiro Hitsugaya’s face, leaving much of his eyes covered. He jerked his head to the left to clear his field of vision. It was a gesture she’d once found quaint, proof positive he was still just a kid- the kid she’d once helped out. Like a little brother, but more bother and less fun.
Now though, she realized there were few, and only he who could be considered young, who moved with such innate grace, who tried so hard to wield the sword with dignity. He was born to this, not just trained to it, as the rest of the shinigami seemed.
When he raised an eyebrow she quickly dropped the sake and cups, and left all thoughts of paperwork behind. Then she found a place in the hot sun among the squad standing at attention in the pavilion.
An hour later, she was covered in sweat, cursing the impulse that had started this madness.
Two hours later she was considering good, old fashioned hari-kiri. Muscles she hadn’t even been aware she’d had were screaming for mercy. She was much inclined to join in.
Three hours later the only thing that kept her upright and moving was her pride. There were a pile of men and women being tended to by the fourth squad. Hitsugaya smiled. Smiled fully, his hair practically plastered to his skull, his uniform partially removed and askew.
She really, truly hated him. Like, paperwork hated him. Sweaty and blotchy was not a good look for her.
He hadn’t looked so joyous since before the betrayal that had torn their world apart.
Maybe she didn’t quite hate him.
~*~
Two hours in the bath had done little to help the deep aches in her body. Strangely though, it was the restlessness that suffused her that made being in her immaculate apartment unbearable. She gave her hair a few quick swipes of a brush through her hair and put on some sandals she’d picked up all those months ago in the world of the living. They were strappy and made walking excessively hard, but were cute beyond belief.
She contemplated her feet, and decided to just go. No use second guessing herself.
A few shunpo jumps and she was in the Eighth squads pavilion. Rice paper lanterns lit a small square of the covered porch, revealing Ukitake and Iba. Shuunsui opened the shoji screen bearing a tray. She made out bottles, presumably sake, and plates, what she assumed were little nibblies, knowing Shuunsui.
“Matsumoto-San!” his ebullient greeting warmed her. “So happy you joined us finally,” he continued, with no judgment in his tone at all.
Any discomfiture she felt fell away among the easy conversation and liquor. It was nice to be among these men. Her friends.
~*~~*~~*~
It hadn’t been easy to fall into a new rhythm, to allow the routine to lapse. She found something she felt was a much more fluid way of being, one that allowed her flashes, brief though they were, of contentment. Life passed more easily, and while thoughts of Gin were never far she grew more adept diverting them, grew more practiced at normality.
It was almost dawn, and she’d just come home from the wedding. She was more than a little drunk, and was again acutely aware of the changes since the Winter War. Renji, with his shorn hair and distant attitude had shown little in the way of emotion as he’d gazed at Rukia and her date, Ashido. There had been a time in the not-too-distant past when Ran would have laid odds that Renji ended up with Rukia. It seemed as though she would have been wrong.
While the pairing seemed to have taken everyone else by surprise, she wasn’t altogether sure why that was. Those two had been circling each other more and more, especially since the girl had come back for a visit when she’d almost quit her schooling. She was mostly happy for Zaraki and his lovely bride.
Rangiku Matsumoto contemplated the changes in her friends and colleagues. Some had defiantly stayed the same, like Shuunsui, Ukitake, and Old Man Yamamoto. Kenpachi had appeared resistant to change, but it was obvious from the look in his eyes as he looked at the woman he’d bound his life with that he’d changed fundamentally. Strange that.
She sat before her mirror, looking for signs in her familiar face of the same cosmic change in balance as she’d felt since the death of the one who’d loved her. There were none, even after years. How was it possible to not reflect any outward sign of such a radical shift? Just look down. It's there.
She didn’t notice the scratching sound at her door at first. It was when it stopped that she realized something was off. She cocked her head to the side, stretching out her senses… and in nanoseconds slammed back into herself. Hisagi, Shuuhei Hisagi.
She’d seen him at the festivities, but practically everybody from the Thirteen squads had been there. He’d gotten the same nod-and-smile as many in that crowd; nothing to encourage conversation, but nothing that would denote a snub.
They hadn’t talked outside their respective professional capacities, except for the occasional self-conscious greeting in years. The little incident, their unfortunate affair, seemed mercifully forgotten by the rest of the gossipmongers and if it was up to her, it would stay that way.
The tattered kimono she’d slung on was no longer merely old- it had veered in ancient territory several years ago. Though it was no longer her pride and joy, it remained treasured, probably because it was the most comfortable thing she owned. With a stiff back and a deep sigh, she stalked to her door. Only a crack, that’s all, she assured herself as she slid open the door.
She peeked through the slit, nearly startled by seeing him up-close and personal. Prickly stubble on his jaw- black eyes with shadows smudged beneath them- shiny scars lined up in a row on the side of his face- hair a spiked out mess he’d insist was a style… Just the same.
“I know it’s late, uhm, early or whatever, but can I come in? Please?”
~~~~~~~~~~
Uhm, sorry about the cliffie guys. If it’s any consolation, I’ve got the majority of the next chapter written- just finishing a few little bits and pieces- so it should be up soon. [Fingers crossed.] So this chapter… Eh. I don’t even quite know how I feel about it, it ranked up there with the more difficult things I’ve written and I can only hope that I conveyed even half the emotion behind it. It was kinda hard to get the timing for the various plot points right, and I wanted to keep it vague, because of the major spoilers thing. And I decided, since this is in the same ‘verse as ‘Words’, to include the wedding mentioned over there. Seemed to fit.
I wanted to send thanks-n-stuff to Erosu, Toast, mizperceived and Mevenia for their kind words of encouragement, and to those who’ve rated or just read. It means a lot guys.
The chapter title is merely borrowed from …And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead (punctuation included- amusing band name, gorgeous song). If I could claim ownership of it, I would, but alas, ‘tis not mine.
And finally… Review, sweet lovelies, I do so adore hearing from you.
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Tuesdays with Shuuhei