Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach, not now, not then, not ever. I'm sure there are plenty of people out there dying to state that they do, and I don't blame 'em, and would like to join 'em sometime. All the same, being on the wrong side of the law is not fun, and so I must hesitantly refrain.

…Yeah. Getting on…

"I've always wondered what a sky looks like."

The soft footsteps come to a halt at length, leaving only the plaintive wail of wind and rain in the wake of the soft, rhythmic pace. The relative silence persists for a bit, and then Gin Ichimaru's head tilts to one side. Though he doesn't deign to look back, his voice rises at length, aloof and carefree as ever.

"Hm? Didja say somethin'? 'Fraid I din' quite catch that the first time."

Silence again. And then Shinso's voice rings once more, flat and emotionless.

"It was nothing much, master. I was just wondering what a sky might look like."

The hush that rises in the wake of this statement is as complete as the last. Not that Shinso himself finds it disturbing in the least. No, he is used to silence, between himself and his wielder. Even after he had first spoken his name…even after Gin had first called it in battle…even then…the most they have shared in their time together since is silence. Silence of voice, of course. For the world around them, the world of his wielder's heart, carries on regardless of the rise and fall of something as insignificant as a voice, something as diminutive as the spoken word.

This world of his is a place of complete stillness or utter extremity. It can be a haven or a chaos in the blink of an eye, but more often than not the chaos prevails, taking hold of the sky and winds, wreaking havoc on whatever dares to stand against it. Thunderheads constantly loom above, rising out of the great fog that covers all, shrouding this place in mystery, hiding, always hiding…secrets, thoughts, emotions, all behind a façade of pearly white as unquestioning and aloof as a constant smile. Of course, there are little snippets, blessed moments of time, when the fog is less thick, the thunderheads less dark, the wind less lashing and heated. There are times when a mere gentle mist seeps about, fanning over the vast scarred earth, clinging lightly to the landmarks worth hiding, while the expanse above Shinso's head seems on the verge of lightening, dispersing.

It is during those times when Shinso feels almost too at ease for comfort, those times when he often looks up expectantly, his eyes able to pick out every distant curl and swirl of the clouds above, wondering, waiting, perhaps expecting a ray of illumination to break through, for the light drizzle to cease, for the heavens to allow him the smallest, slightest glimpse of that fabled 'sky', that rumored blue expanse that signifies a wielder's total peace of mind.

But the sky never comes.

Instead, after a small while, the stormheads darken again, and the wind rears up, a mass of scythe blades, slicing relentlessly into the mist even as it thickens, wafting through the air, solidifying into fog once more, unaffected by the rain that then lances down. The scene might be illuminated by an angry flash of lightning, perhaps a crack of thunder that sends tremors into the ground, or maybe the downpour will simply persist, pouring down in flooding torrents, drowning all in the world save its lone inhabitant.

Shinso does not particularly care for the rain, but he does not dislike it, not remotely. Sometimes it's better that way, in fact. It cannot harm him, it cannot drown him, for he is too tall, too high up to be reached and smothered. Instead he lets it fall, lets the silver curtain enclose round his head, and he hears the thunder, and he spies the dancing lightning, and he knows that, in the end, it's really just better to let it rain. It's just better to let the storm take root, than to look up in its times of lull and be left to wonder, to wait, to hope for a complete reprieve, because that always hurts more, to be disappointed every time.

Instead he lets the chaos reign his realm, and does not attempt to put a hand in stopping it, for he knows that he will merely be ignored. Gin Ichimaru is a solitary person, and will not accept the help or advice of others, much less that of his zanpakuto's.

And so Shinso is resigned to the condition of his world, and knows that he should not hope for anything better. His moods can grow as fickle as his master's in such conditions, of course, and there are times when his raging screams echo through the wasteland, when his uncontrollable sobs rival the song of the thunder. And then there is his grim silence, which is what surfaces most often and prevails the longest, a silence in which Shinso succumbs into a subconscious of deep thought, exploring the veins of mood in his wielder while accepting the fact that they will forever remain distant, never true partners, true friends.

…

But even then…

…sometimes…

…he can't help but wonder…

"The sky, ya say?"

Gin's voice remains easy, his demeanor seemingly relaxed despite the chill of the rain that falls around them, plastering Ichimaru's silver hair. After another brief silence, he tries again, making every indication that he isn't really interested, only vaguely curious.

"I don' see why ya'd be wonderin' 'bout somethin' like that. A sky ain't much to look at, really."

Silence. And then Shinso's response.

"…It is merely a muse, master. In all the years that you have roamed the world alive, the clouds of thunder have never abated for the briefest of moments. As such, I have never witnessed a…sky."

"Huh. Really, now?"

Never does he try to look back. Not once. But then, he never has. Shinso has yet to witness his wielder's face. He never questions the fact, but he often concludes that whatever emotion he himself might have to reveal, as an extension of his master's own heart, would not be becoming in Gin Ichimaru's eyes. The man has always made a point to hide such things, besides.

It is no different this day, on a dreary, fog-run wasteland, as the rain falls and the clouds shift above. And the silence is nothing new.

"…Wouldja care to see it sometime?"

That, however, is a different matter. The emotion of surprise revived for the first time in many years, Shinso stares at the back of his master's head.

He fails to respond.

He does not know how.

A small laugh escapes from Gin's direction. Or perhaps it is a sigh. The rain renders such things hard to discern. However, his voice rings clear as ever.

"Well, if tha's the case, I suppose I oughtta make it a point to show one to ya sometime, ne?" He pauses. "…Nah, I guess ya right about that, then again. My heart ain't really up to it in the end, hm?"

Hissing rain.

"…Don' worry much 'bout it, Shinso, m'partner. Someday ya might get to know a sky after all. Tha's what I'm aimin' for, anyway. S'long's you keep shootin' true when I ask, ya might get a right eyeful o' sunlight real soon. How's that sound to you, hm?"

The pattering of droplets prevails in the air.

"…Huh. Patience, m'partner. Patience."

The whispering wind meanders through Ichimaru's hakama, the newly-granted Captain's haori damp and dripping but still shapely on his tense shoulders. After a while his footsteps then resonate once more, that soft rhythmic pace of his fading as easily into the rain as their owner's profile fades into the fog.

And Shinso knows that he is gone, the moment the man disappears from view.

He can't really remember why Gin had visited in the first place, now, not having bothered to take much notice of Shinso since the day he spoke his name for the first time. He remembers vaguely a mention of a rebellion against Soul Society, and something of a new world governed by that Aizen character that his master is so interested in. After a few seconds, however, Shinso lets the memory drop, lets the matter seep into the flood of rain around him, knowing that he probably has no need to uphold it anyway.

Instead he stands there, the downpour a curtain around his head, and he thinks in his grave silence while it lasts, knowing that his mood might very well change against his will sometime soon.

Gin Ichimaru is a man of lies and deception. He is not one to be trusted, and will keep his true colors hidden behind an indifferent fog at all costs. Shinso knows this better than any other individual in existence.

…

…And yet…

…even now…

…he can't help but wonder…

…and hope…

The next time Gin calls his name, Shinso takes heed, and shoots to kill mercilessly. Because he will lend his master every ounce of power he possesses.

He will cut down anyone in his path. He will surpass the limits of pain. He will endure his moments of madness without complaint.

If only…

If only to see…

This fabled 'sky'…

A/N: Well, here you have it. I'm on an inspirational roll, with many thanks to hu3long2 for your morale-boosting review. May I continue to entertain you, and everyone else that decides to have a shot at this fic! :D

Gin Ichimaru really is a difficult character to outline, always the one playing charades, and no one knowing his true motives even now. As such, I tried my best to capture his aloof personality, but I really don't know how well it turned out…

Notice also that I didn't fit a specific appearance to Shinso, as I really don't know how such a character might turn out, his name being what it is. Not having much else to go on, I decided to work on his state of mind and emotion instead, and it came out like this, pretty much. I figure Gin has a lot of tumult going on behind that creepy grin of his, and it seems the weather can be affected by such moods, so…well, that as a base, I hope it all turned out alright.

Then again, I hope another update might come as soon as this one did! And now, if you could just click on that button right there on the bottom left…you know…I hear something interesting happens… ;)