I like the idea of Rangiku being the one who's got her talons sunk deep in Gin's belly, rather than it being Gin who's got his fingers wrapped around her neck. I'm thinking this is as unrevised as it is senseless, but hey, whatever, right?
There's a flash of pink in the corner of his eye and he freezes, heart stopping in his chest, veins turning to ice. Oh God it can't be, there's no way she's here. She shouldn't be- couldn't be, and why her, why would they send her instead of her captain or that damned Shuhhie who loves her so much? Even Kira would have been better, though in all honesty it still would have been a curse for the little blonde lieutenant to appear so suddenly in Hueco Mundo. The two were bloodstains in his purely apathetic mind, and she was the one who'd first sunk her talons into him to draw the red ichor.
All reason leaves him in that single instant, seeing that little spot of color in the far side of his gaze. He doesn't stop to think about how he would have felt it the moment she of all people stepped into Hueco Mundo, never mind Los Noches. Why is she still wearing the scarf he bought for her? Shouldn't she have sworn him off, discarding the scarf along with his name? His smile falters for a second as he turns, eyes just barely cracked open, because this isn't how the plan is meant to go.
It's the eighth espada. His long hair had looked like a scarf for a fraction of an instant there. Closing his eyes once more, Gin whispers, "Shoot ta' kill, Shinso."
Szayelaporro comes to the next meeting with a short bob, looking rather displeased. Gin doesn't care in the least, and even if he were to care, the pink-haired scientist learns to love the cut.
It happens too often for his liking. The sixth espada has a horde of Fracion, and there is one male who has long flowing blonde hair that has just an edge of curl, like hers. Every time he sees the man from the back his palms get sweaty because damn it for a second he thinks it really is her, but then he notices the flat ass and the straight sides and he curls in on himself, spitting in disgust.
He'd thought he was so clever back when he was still with Rangiku. Creeping into her bedroom or walking home with her at night, were talk would turn to flirting, and then flirting would turn to kissing, and from there the kissing could dissolve into any manner of naughty things. He'd thought he was taking her in, so to speak, thought he was claiming her with all he was. He thought he was possessing some part of her he could sew to his skin, so that her warmth would be with him, even when he left.
Oh, he'd been a fool. Every time he slept with her he'd left a piece of himself there, and with how often he'd sought out the late-night adventures, well… there wasn't much left to himself. The only things he'd managed to hold on to were his bitter hatred and deep thirst for revenge, but both of those things stemmed from loving her, too.
Damn it.
So now here he is, seeking her out in every corner of hell, like he hopes to find an angel down in hell with the demons like him. Oh, now, it is good that its so hard for Shinigami to conceive, because he thinks that if it were possible they would have head awful, terrible, horrible babies. Honestly, what could you expect when you mixed the two of them together? An angel and a demon in one soul was a human, but he had good intentions at heart, and she had too many sinful habits, so they weren't so quote on quote heavenly being and crawler of hell.
There's an arancar girl with a big bust and short-cut silver hair. She has big blue eyes and plump pink lips, but she's too young to be Ran. Much too young. She'd be useful if she could control her abilities more so than she already can, but as things stand she can only manage to spit and drool acid, and that doesn't do so well against any one. But she laughs like him and she winks like her and he's glad he's been with Rangiku too often to have missed a pregnancy because he'd have been so fucking suspicious other wise.
He's glad he doesn't see her often.
When that little Orihime girl comes he's not happy, not in the least. She's like a mini-Rangiku, but more innocent, and childish, and her hair's not the right color, and her smell's not right, and… Well, at first glance she's a mini-Ran-chan. It's enough to make him crazy. She has the appropriate body to be a clone of pre-academy Ran, anyway. The appropriate breast size. The childish monster in his head sniggers. But she doesn't have the mole or the swing in her hips. Better luck next time!
He takes silent satisfaction in the fact that she doesn't like dried persimmons when he leaves a basket just inside her door. She ate half of one, in desperation it seems, and the rest go untouched.
She's afraid of him, too. She hates him for what he's done to Rangiku, and that's good. Even if the girl could never hate him as much as he hates himself, it feels right for someone like her to despise him- a little ray of sunshine in their world of darkness. It makes his smile longer, tighter; more like the snake he knows than the man he is.
That's good, he tells himself.
He see's Rangiku in her darkened glare.
Yeah. Yeah, that's good.
He's not ready to see her again. He hides behind his smile, hides from the only person in the world he said he'd never have to. She knows it, too, or maybe she thinks he's been pretending all along, who knows? He sure doesn't. For once in his life he has no inkling as to the answer of the question posed before him. All those days of people calling him a prodigy, the years of being the freak with the mind genius, they mean nothing. When she stands before him he is a fool.
He's a damned idiot, too, to think he can keep her away with cute little jabs. She throws Izuru's broken heart in his face and it scalds; it burns like boiled lava, stays there blistering into welts even as he casually tosses another insult her way.
"You sure we're talkin' 'bout Izuru, here?"
Oh, now there is the fire that makes him tremble. There's a whole story playing out on her face, a novel in the span of three seconds. In the book her features have written she takes him by the throat and hits his face, repeatedly, until she's rid him of his goddamn smirk.
Silly Ran. He wants to say. I'll smile in my grave if that's what it takes ta' hide from ya.
She's no angel. He got it wrong. The looks she's sending him, so broken and hurt and confused. She has to know what she's doing to him. She's no angel or devil, she's something else all together. She's a goddess.
And what sort of evil would he be if he didn't go and spill the celestial's blood? A very sorry sort, that's what.
He's still the stupid sort, thinking a little wound like that will keep her down, but it doesn't matter. Kira will find her, or her captain, someone. Aizen's not going to win, because he's going to take him down, and so it doesn't matter who gets to her- even if no one in Soul Society gets there right away, once he's finally offed Aizen for good he can tend to her himself.
But damn it would be good if someone would get there now. She was so badly hurt before she came to him, half patched up. Someone on their side had hurt her.
No, not our side, it's their side. He was not a part of the damned army of the dead. He was just there waiting to slip the king the right poison and then he'd be back to Camelot to wait on his lady's hand and foot, even if he did disguise himself as a prince…
It's been a long day. He's chalking too much up to metaphors and not thinking. No matter. The whole thing will be over soon enough.
When he's dying she cries for him. It doesn't matter that he's going- the freaky kid with the orange hair's gonna take care of his Ran-chan, so it's okay.
Her tears mean a lot to him.
Each one is a gold coin in the beggar's basket, and at the same time, each one is a biting sting that he just can't shake. Oh, she is heaven and hell wrapped up in one, isn't she? She's the damn cosmos and she's raining stars on him. He doesn't even deserve that much, he thinks, but he'll soak it all in while he can- and that's a fact.
Gin has turned against himself- mind whispering he's a damned idiot. Kira's turned on him, too, eyes full of a betrayed hate. But Rangiku, no, she still loves him, she hasn't betrayed him, she-
"Gin... Gin, how could you?"
The talons in his heart shred what's left as he takes on last breath.
Et tu, Brute?
It doesn't matter. Oh God it doesn't matter. Not when she's above him, blocking out the sun so that its rays shine around her head like a halo.
Nothing matters but her.
Nothing matters
Nothing
N-
He dies with his eyes fixed on the one thing he wanted. He dies gazing at the one thing he can't have.