"Matsumoto-fukutaichou!"
A trio of men screamed like anxious little girls as Rangiku slowly, tongue out in concentration through the clearly exaggerated wails, navigated the final step to the Tenth Division. Each man was respectable, hard working, and individually numbered three to five down the list of shinigami in her division.
And she was surely going to kill them all.
"I'm alright, boys," she assured, testing her balance on the crutches while attempting to remove her sandal with one foot and no hands.
"Let me help you," the fifth seat offered.
In a panic that nearly toppled her precarious position, Rangiku had the sandal sailing through the air, strap broken and flat part hanging together by threads, before his knees touched the floor.
"Oh, well" Rangiku chirped. "Thank you anyway."
She hobbled off.
"I hope you're feeling better, Matsumoto-fukutaichou," someone called from down a hall. Immediately the greetings flooded her ears, and she smiled and laughed and silently, in a small part of her, wished them all dead. Well, silenced for the moment would be good.
"Just a little accident," she told another inquiring subordinate as she threw herself into the captain's office. "Now, I have some catching up to do," she explained while sliding the door shut in the faces of her subordinates. Her smile dropped to the floor. What a nightmare. Although she should appreciate that her division truly cared for their vice captain, she also wasn't feeling particularly gracious today.
Wobbling to the desk, Rangiku eased into the chair. Swiveling to find a descent and comfortable spot from which to work while simultaneously dangling a stiff cast leeching off her leg, she dislodged a couple papers with the front corner of her uniform. They fluttered to the ground, skirting just out of reach. When her fist slammed the desk a second enraged time it triggered the burning behind her eyes. The humiliation, frustration, it all finally grabbed her ankles, climbing over like a sick blanket.
A knock at the door replaced that mental exhaustion with fresh anger.
"Yes," she called softly, hoping whoever it was wouldn't hear.
It opened. The third seat walked in.
Rangiku snapped.
"I swear, if anyone else comes in here hounding after my health this crutch is headed up their ass!"
The man's mouth gaped. Rangiku, having said what needed to be said, felt much better. With a smile, she sat back, politely asking what he wanted.
"Forgive me, Matsumoto-fukutaichou, but we were told to keep a close eye on you, once you got back. Aizen-taichou asked us to." He was relieved once the pensiveness in her expression withered away. The shock was much more approachable. He continued, "Aizen-taichou insisted it was the least he could do concerning…well, the accident."
Rangiku gnawed her tongue pressed against the inside of her check for a moment, eyes darting across her desk, paper to ink brush, to ink bowl, to drawer by her foot and back again.
"He did, huh?"
"Yes."
Well that was certainly a bit flattering. Call her naive—she wasn't old, not according to a shinigami yet—but couldn't that be counted as interest? Or maybe that wasn't naiveté, but a bit of hopefulness?
What was she, a damn schoolgirl? A teenager pining after attention?
Hell no.
"Well, you can tell him that it's a nice gesture," Rangiku asserted, "but I'm capable of taking care of myself. Thank you. Very much."
Her third seat smiled.
"Aizen-taichou guessed you would say that." He hurried to the door, sliding it open to reveal the nuisance himself.
Aizen smiled a little, nodding to the grinning third seat. He held the door open when Rangiku's man started to close it, dismissing the man still. Aizen clacked the door completely open before facing his opponent.
"You wouldn't punish your men for following a request, would you, Matsumoto-san?" Aizen asked, looking quite sheepish with that little red slice across his cheek. Seeing the wound, however small, on a captain's face worsened the downtrodden self-pity Rangiku decidedly wallowed in.
Her face soured.
"I think," she began, setting herself to work on a paper she didn't read beforehand, "that you've done more than your share of helping this division, Aizen-taichou. When I agreed to stand in as captain, I did it because I was confident enough to handle a captain's responsibilities." Glad she didn't see any reason to look up, Rangiku continued to scribble on and ruin her paperwork.
Aizen was quiet, and it was damn comfortable. Except for the heaviness coming from his side of the room. Still she refused to look up.
"A vice captain shouldn't have to shoulder a captain's load, whether they're standing as one or not. So," Aizen concluded, "though the ambitions were good, that final blow was rightfully mine. If not by necessity then by default as I was the highest ranking official there."
Had she ever witnessed Aizen pulling rank before? Not even with his own men did he slander their mistakes and misfortunes by slapping the captain card in their face. But it wasn't like he purposely waved his superiority under her nose.
Or was he?
"I could have handled it," she resisted.
"It would have been the loss of a vice captain with much potential."
Rangiku glanced at him then, catching the glare of his glasses against the light. When he shifted and she could see, he was smiling, but his lips were thin.
"You're messing with me," Rangiku accused with all seriousness, eyes narrowed.
Aizen blinked, deeply surprised.
"Of course I'm not. Matsumoto-san, I am a man of my word. I wouldn't speak anything more than the truth," he protested.
She muttered, "Uh-huh," and scribbled her paper some more. "What do you want, Aizen-taichou?" she sighed, relenting under the stare of his smile, which she couldn't help but return. A little. She refused him complete satisfaction, and he seemed quite alright with that.
"Only to help," he answered, spreading his hands wide.
"For now?"
"Just for now."
"Just while I'm hurt?"
"If that's what you want, then yes. For the next day, until that cast comes off, I am at your service."
This was weird, way weird, and yet highly enjoyable. Rangiku smirked, gnawing her tongue while studying his open expression.
"How about a portion of this paperwork here?" she indicated the pile that had exceeded her normal, hard-enough-to-finish amount.
"Consider it done."
Without warning he swept most of her day away in a neat pile.
"Hey! That's more than half!" Rangiku sputtered.
Aizen turned a closed-eyed smile on her.
"I think you'll have more than your share of time in getting a replacement for that form. It seems you might need another draft."
The door shut. Rangiku stared, and then slid her gaze to the sloppy mess in front of her.
Great.
Scowling, she cursed her crutches, the floor, the paper and ink and ink brush, and the papers on the floor she'd have to maneuver to retrieve. But when she looked, they were gone, sitting properly upon her desk fanned so the titles could easily be read. Again Rangiku gawked after the door, pondering her strange predicament. It was a preposterous thing for sure, gaining the attentions of the Fifth Captain. He was much to reserved for her; he was essentially supposed to be boring. And she couldn't stand for a boring anything. Plus she was much too loudmouthed for him; there was no possible way he could keep up with her pace of, well, activities that did not include work.
Rangiku grunted as she plopped into her chair, digging through the bottom drawer until a fresh bottle of sake produced itself. While her thoughts swirled like she swirled the alcohol, round and round, an hour slipped through her fingers, as did the nearly empty bottle when she slowly drifted off to sleep.
(())
With a single candle burning low, Aizen sat at his personal desk long after the deep night closed in, occasionally pausing the field report to run through one of Rangiku's other papers with little effort. After all, he had been present at her little excursion. The report was flawless and left no leaf unturned, where as the same report written by Rangiku herself would have been riddled with legitimate holes, for good reason.
The extra work didn't bother him; he slept little anyway.
He glanced at his zanpaktou, replaced in her case and silently contented for the time being. Her ambitions, a constantly replayed filmstrip in the background of her intricate mind, always bloomed a particular smile on her wielder's face.
"All is well," Aizen said to the sword's demand vibrating through the air.
As well as it should be.
He peered at the Tenth Division's papers.
Kyouka Suigetsu was silent.
(((())))
So, when I am ever going to write a long chapter? I dunno.
Haha!
Ah, just poking fun at myself a bit. ^^
Sorry for the long update wait. I was having issues with this chapter. As in this is my fifth draft of this chapter kind of issues. But it's all good. I think I did myself a favor by starting Consort since that took some of the pressure of events I want to see happen off this story. Should be smoother sailing from here on out.
And, peeps, thanks for the support! And power to the AiRan fandom! It is (according to my statistics) now going three strong! An increase! And hey, if you're out there and you're a fan too then give me a shout-out. Make yourself known!