The repentance cell is ready.

The guards came in the dead of night. Gin could not have predicted it better. They did not want to move him in broad daylight; that would be tempting fate. He finds it amusing that he even thinks of things as fate now, because if that's true—that there is a plan, that from the first day his face felt sunlight it was already supposed to end this way—it's not a very nice thing. It would mean that woman walked away from him not because he let her, but because she was meant to. The same theory would apply itself to that violet-eyed cunt as well. So he was meant to fall from favor. And oh yeah, Aizen was doomed before Urahara put that sparkly in his head. That's just so amusing, the events of all these years boiled down and stripped to their bare bones.

Fucking hilarious. The guards are already on edge even though he has been separated from his zanpaktou. Perhaps that's because he's laughing, or is it the other way around? He is hooded, he is bound, but he is walking straight and tall, chuckling to himself at the irony. Does his laughter make them nervous?

He laughs even harder. Good.

He's had precious little to laugh about lately, and this is a welcome respite. He lingered in Hueco Mundo only long enough to see Las Noches in flames. The vanguard of Soul Society's army was gathered to watch it burn. Aizen was already dead—another thing that was predestined—by the hand of Urahara Kisuke—something that was still a shock, whether fated or not. Gin could only look forward, from here. He felt the second division on his heels from the moment he crossed into the living world. He could only evade them for so long, especially now that Soi Fon had begrudgingly accepted the help of the greatest tracker the second division has ever known.

Yoruichi was dogged, determined, and sneaky. Gin began seeing black cats everywhere he went, and although they never approached him, he had to suppress the desire to kill them all. But when Yoruichi came to him, she was in her own form. He was holed up in a vacant, dusty house, bored. It had been months, and he was starving. She offered him lunch. "You look thin. You should at least want to look your best when they see you again." Her amber eyes found Shinsô. "I'll be gone before you can even call its name," she said coolly. "Eat up and we'll go."

Going without a fight was ignominious, but necessary. He was bored here, in the months he spent hiding himself in the living world, but he had not been idle. Not my a long shot. Soul Society's idea of justice was bound to catch up with him, sooner or later. He planned on an ending no one would ever forget.

That's why he's laughing now. Not because he can see his plan taking shape, all the pieces coming into place, but because he now knows they were a farce, his intentions, the foul play he wrote over and over in his head. He eavesdropped as often as he could, in that second division holding cell. And the things he heard did not please him. At first, certain repeated words snatched his interest. Words like "trial," "guilty," and "punishment." After a while other words added themselves to his attention list. "Jury," "execution,"and "fair." And then he understood his trial would not be public. He would face no one but a jury and those chosen as counsel and judges. This worried him a bit. He wouldn't even see her, not once, before he died. That definitely was not part of his plan.

By the time the guards came to move him to his final cell, he was a little bit demoralized and a lot angry. He hated being thwarted like this. He hated the smug faces underneath the masks the guards wore. If he had Shinsô with him, he would have sliced his way through them and ran. He hated, hates the fact that he still does not want to die. Is afraid to, even. Especially if it will be so pointless. Especially since he felt—feels that his life should have ended when Ran-chan's did. He hates that even now he cannot let her go. His face screws up under the hood, even though he's still laughing. It means he'll never be able to end it with her. He'll never be able to give her the things he wanted her to have. There is only one other person he's willing to give them to, and these are things that are meant to be given away. And yet by some political or judicial fluke, he'll never be able to. Fate is a complete bitch.

So is that girl. The cause of his downfall. The cause of everything.

When it dawns on him that he would not be in this situation if he had not cultivated her, saved her, treasured her hatred, it makes him laugh even harder. But he does not want her dead, not just yet. He hasn't really changed at all, even after all this. It's fucking hilarious.

Even more hilarious than that is the welcoming committee. When the hood is lifted and his bonds removed, he looks them in their cool faces and smiles. Those two. He still likes them, actually. Soul Society's sardonic Dark Knight and gentle, white-haired Angel. Even Aizen held a begrudging respect for them, and why not? They were clever and kind, but strong. Too strong for him to overcome, even separately. So why not make nice? "What, Yamma-ji won't see me? Not that I think the two of you are bad company."

The white hair is staring, dark eyes narrow, examining him. The dark hair takes the role of diplomat. "You look thin, Ichimaru-dono. Life on the run disagreed with you. But it's okay now, we can at least promise you three square and a dry place to sleep."

"Until it's time to kill me, of course."

"That's unusual. So you want to get right down to business?" Kyouraku is surprised, but he doesn't care. He's always taken things in stride. "Fine then. We will try you, but it's a formality. Everyone knows you were complicit. But we won't deny you a chance to speak your peace. I'd urge you to apologize, but it turns my stomach when people lie."

"And that is that?" Gin wants to know. "Will I get what I asked for?" This question is pointed towards Ukitake, whose eyes become even more narrow. "My last request?"

Of course not. That would be too easy, and she's not that kind.

"She says she will come," Ukitake says. "And she'll come alone."

"So. She will," Gin begins to laugh again.

But when she comes to him in his dream, her eyes are soft and kind. She kisses his lips and touches his cheeks; he tries and fails to resist the urge to slide down, kneel, and bury his face in her midsection, hands knotting behind her back. His lungs are leaden and he just wants to weep, but can't. When he looks up at her the violet eyes are still just as gentle as she takes the knife he gave her so long ago and sets the blade to his throat. She is frowning now.

He closes his eyes. "Do it, Rukia." There is a pause, he feels the sting, sinks back, smiling at her. "Thank you," he gurgles.

This is where he opens his eyes. Interesting, he thinks.

And begins to laugh again. This time, he has no idea why.