"Twenty-nine and a half."

Matsumoto Rangiku glanced over the edge of the paper. Her captain absorbed the information, brows tucked deep, lips thin, aqua eyes sharp.

"Impressive," Hitsugaya relented with a nod.

The vice captain lifted her eyebrows. The captain never said much out of anything more than necessity, but praise especially was scarce these days. Perhaps Hitsugaya Toushirou was actually grown enough to finally get away with acting older than his age.

"Will it be a problem?" the Fifth Division communications officer asked.

Hitsugaya glanced the man's way, breaking from his contemplative pose of resting his left elbow on his desk, forefinger and thumb cupping his chin with the other fingers falling over his lips.

"Not at all. The amount surprises me." The white-haired captain frowned. Rangiku sat on the corner of his desk, rereading the list.

"If that's all," their guest inquired through the silence.

"You're dismissed," Rangiku consented. When he had bowed and gone she turned to her captain.

"Twenty-nine," he muttered, gears turning. "And a half?"

Rangiku smiled lopsidedly because she couldn't yank and tangle him in his chain anymore.

"The half's for me personally," she answered, setting the list down with a tap of the finger. Her captain's face soured, as it always did for the past seventy-some years when the time came around. The laugh in her eyes—you know what it means, she seemed to say—made him grunt.

"Be careful," her captain warned with enough chill in his tone for her to understand the warmth he just couldn't muster.

Rangiku closed up her work station for the night, though it was not yet noon, and winked.

(())

Soul Society worked under the table nearly the same amount as officials earned wages in the open. The earliest account Rangiku recalled of this was Urahara Kisuke, as the once-exile had inexplicably aided the very people who banished him during the longest war many of her generation of shinigami witnessed. The Winter War took half a year to accomplish, but it was the most protracted six months many could remember.

In the wake of the last battle unsanctioned alliances were formed in the most unlikely places. Hitsugaya and Rangiku were one set of three captains and vice captains who had been picked to seal the wary truce between Seireitei and the unofficial rulers of Hueco Mundo, Grimmjow Jeagerjaques and Nelliel Tu Oderschvank. That had been a highly entertaining experience, if not more than slightly dangerous. The blue-haired Espada was wild and unpredictable; Nelliel Tu was leveled-headed and calm, who had spoken mostly and spent the better part of their time keeping her male companion quiet.

As far as the others went Rangiku had no part in, except one. The matters of an escapee resolved themselves all of the sudden five years after Aizen was killed. Ichimaru Gin, who had off-and-on dared penetrating Seireitei leaving only hints for Rangiku to alone notice, came forward, claiming he was finished wandering. The death sentence was the first response, and the Tenth Captain had been precisely at the forefront of that line of consent, but when Gin produced some sort of something that intrigued the Commander General, another exile came into play. For almost ten years Gin was passed between the Maggot's Nest and the transient world, where he used an irremovable and power-repressing gigai, for research or some manner of espionage that kept the man contented with the otherwise slightly less than honorable treatment.

None of what occurred throughout that time would anyone reveal to Rangiku, though Hitsugaya did have some part in a few acts of loyalty in which Gin engaged. She'd rather not know anyhow. She did not see him hardly either, just a few distant glances and gazes.

Nowadays Gin was set up permanently in the transient world, stuck inside a newly fashioned version of the gigai that had at first been tested on him, the same gigai that nearly cost Gin's life. (Urahara did apologize for the mistake, but, after all, most agreed silently that if Ichimaru Gin had died in that accident then none would be the wiser.) Stationed just outside Karakura Town, which at one point had been the center of incredible amounts of reishi, until the next spiritual hotspot revealed itself, Gin's job, besides staying the hell out of Soul Society, was surveillance. With Aizen's legacy finally vanquished there was no need for his power any longer. Bound and bored, Ichimaru Gin wasn't a very happy man at the moment.

Save for the days when his notes and other such busywork were gathered. No one else wanted the job, so it naturally landed Rangiku. It took her a good fight to get, but in the end she was the only person who found the man remotely approachable, and Soul Society couldn't afford not having his required help if circumstances demanded it. The job was supposed to be a quick, in-then-out retrieval; Rangiku wasn't even given a gigai whenever she left, but she stayed, usually overnight. Gratefully Hitsugaya, though adverse at first, allowed her to miss the better part of the next day seeing as these trips were required only at most three or four times a month. During the initial period together again Rangiku and Gin talked, or she did mostly, but he listened. It was the reconstruction of a broken relationship that took years to renovate. First friendship, then once again more. Although Gin in a gigai and Rangiku not complicated things, they welcomed the complication to an extent until Urahara approached Rangiku on her way to gather information when he presented the device that would trigger the special gigai to release the soul inside. He had smiled, scratched his head, and shuffled off, but Rangiku only smirked. She had been sure thanking him would only embarrass the weird scientist. She could appreciate his outward silly guise, and silently forgave him for coming close to removing the strangely steady aspect in her life.

That was almost thirty-six years ago.

A lot had happened since then.

(())

"Captain, can I talk to you for a moment?"

Hitsugaya's eyes actually widened, and the young man the captain was conversing with—a new recruit—respectfully bowed and made ready to move aside.

"Matsumoto, what are doing back so early?"

At that, through the seriousness, she cracked a smile.

"Good to see you, too."

Hitsugaya excused the young man, folding his arms, shock and worry blending with the normal stern aloofness on his face.

Taking a moment to consider her next words carefully, Rangiku continued, "I'd like to know why he was sent to Hueco Mundo alone and in that damned gigai."

It wasn't often Rangiku spoke venomously. Her captain carted the conversation to the office, closing the doors.

"Gin went where?" he demanded.

Startled, Rangiku detached her hand from her hip, mouth slightly open as if at a loss. They stared.

"You didn't know about it?" she slowly asked.

"No. Matsumoto, what happened?"

"He's been nursing himself back to health, that's what happened!"

Hitsugaya walked to his desk, sat, and dug through a bottom drawer. His vice captain sat on the arm of the old couch, staring at the wall. The captain swore under his breath, and Rangiku faced him, already knowing he held a piece of paper between his fingers and a look of apology in his static eyes. Rangiku took a deep breath, closed her eyes and clutched at a charm attached to the simple chain round her neck. The top of the cool metal charm was smooth, the bottom textured and rugged; it had been found in the dirt half rusted and suddenly more special to her than the world.

Hitsugaya stood and carried cold thunder with him from the room, but his statement betrayed the feelings beneath the ice.

"I'll have him brought in."

(())

Eighty years changed the world. Eighty-seven, to be exact. For better or worse depended on the point of view, accordingly. Kurosaki Ichigo had watched his friends grow old, and die. Already having his chain of life severed years ago, Ichigo had already been dead technically speaking. He never really imagined that it would one day cost him more than he imagined.

This future had no flying cars, no chrome cities, aliens, high-end space travel, or oddly gelled hairstyles. It had people; an entire generation he watched fade and get replaced, nice vehicles and outrageously clear television. Computers talked back, keyboards and the computer mouse were ancient devices. It was real science-fiction his dead generation dreamed of.

And he didn't give a damn about any of it.

The fifteen-year-old he had been filled in the muscles his hard labor produced and Ichigo had grown taller, wiser—though still streaked with impulsiveness—and grimmer. The trademark scowl that earned his badass reputation during high school was now more permanent than ever, and his sense of humor—what he had of one—diminished a little over the hard years. Shinji often commented on his hard-ass-ness, but that quality also allowed Ichigo to not care what the older Vizard had to say. "Hirako Shinji's advice was put to better use when crammed up someone's ass" was as much a proverb to Ichigo as a mere passing statement.

And here he was, making more recommendations.

"Hey," Shinji muttered.

"What?" the auburn-haired man muttered right back.

"Someone's here to see you."

Oh.

Well, damnit, Ichigo had never consistently been right before. Why start now?

Ichigo turned. Shinji tossed his thumb over his shoulder, leaning his head in the opposite direction like he was bored as hell. The blond sighed when Ichigo hurried past him. The Vizard grabbed Ichigo's collar, however, yanking the younger man almost off his feet. Years of thus treatment had curbed Ichigo's quick tongue, but not his temper.

Shinji threatened without a smile, "We'll talk later," and shoved Ichigo toward the door.

Down the stairs Ichigo passed Hiyori, the only other Vizard living in the same apartment building. The others took up across the street, or one complex down. The young woman—no longer quite so girlish; or, rather, girl-like­—began to ask if the dumbass was on the roof, but clamped her mouth shut with a snap.

"Whatever," she huffed.

Ichigo opened the door to his temporary home, humming with anticipation. His hands shook, and he stared a moment at the woman standing in the middle of his pathetic living room, studying the case that held his zanpaktou.

So he'd been right this time. His sensing skills were improving at last.

Kuchiki Rukia, like Ichigo, hadn't changed all that much. Her jet hair was longer, down her shoulder blade a little further, and still strikingly wild at the tips. Ichigo had once tried to grow his hair longer; it'd ended up shaggy and unkempt. Rukia, when she saw it, immediately hated it. They bitched about her blatancy, his stupidity, and overall the normal nothingness of their arguments. Ichigo had halted the bickering when he finally noticed her hair was longer as well. He liked it, and told her so. That was four years ago. She hadn't cut her hair at all; he had trimmed his considerably into short spikes.

Rukia had changed in womanly shape, though she would never in a million years be a Rangiku—not that many would—or even a Tatsuki when she was alive and younger. Her height laughingly seemed to follow his own growth in that he was still a head taller; she fit comfortably under his chin, the top of her hair tickling him.

It was there, folded in his arms, that Rukia found herself, and she clung to his comfortably broad shoulders silently.

"Ichigo," she said, almost with an old warning tone. Rukia was on business, then, as usual. Ichigo lifted her up, and walked to his cheap loveseat.

"What is it?" Ichigo asked. His hand splayed across her slender but toned back, and he eyed her. Not many things made Rukia nervous, much less keep her from looking him in the eye and telling him exactly how it was. He was worried immediately, but smart enough to give her time. Yelling "Out with it, midget!" never did help in these sort of situations.

"We aren't all accounted for," Rukia whispered, eyes hard like violet gems.

"What? Some of your division went missing?"

"No," she sighed, agitating herself with something behind that constrained look.

"Then what is it?"

"We aren't all accounted for!" she answered loudly, leaping to her feet.

Ichigo, out of impulse, jerked to follow, but remained seated with effort.

"Who?" he demanded in equal volume.

"Us!"

"We are sitting right here," he deadpanned.

"No, you idiot! They aren't accounted for! All of you aren't accounted for! Ichigo, one of us didn't make it to Soul Society," she finished, collecting a worried expression.

Oh. "Us" meaning the old group, long split apart.

He finally understood, nodding slowly, thinking hard, and glaring at the floor.

"We know Chad went to Soul Society," Ichigo numbered.

Rukia nodded, adding, "He didn't keep his powers and doesn't remember anything. My brother had him moved from the Sixty-third District to the First."

"And Ishida..."

"He's a Quincy. They don't go to Soul Society, and it's been confirmed that he never became a Hollow."

"If that's even possible," Ichigo mumbled, ticking off past learned information.

"Tatsuki's in the Fifth District, and we're pretty sure she'll show up at the Academy at some point. We've found Yuzu in one of the lower districts, but not low enough to relocate, and Karin made herself known yesterday. We would relocate her too, but the Commander General sees her as a potential Eleventh Division member,"

"Wait, what?" Ichigo had been nodding, but did a double-take. "What District is she in?"

Rukia half smiled playfully.

"She likes to wander around, and she keeps getting lower in the districts, we think. She's doing fine."

Ichigo smirked, tapping his foot as he pictured his little sister beating some hoodlum senseless. It was a shame she never developed shinigami abilities good enough to become a substitute in her lifetime. Then again, better she didn't get roped into a possible damning situation and lifestyle her older brother dove headfirst into without thinking of any consequences. Though he honestly would never go back and change a thing.

"Alright," he sighed gruffly, half chuckling, "Who else?"

"The rest were never powerful enough, so we haven't looked for them," Rukia paused, face pensive. Her stance mimicked a small brick wall with a steel pole running up the center: unwavering and deceitfully stronger than in appearance.

"So that leaves..."

Ichigo paled.

"Orihime."

(((())))

Sorry for the delay folks. Been on vacation. Cali, baby!