The country of his dreams is lush and green and has flowing rivers of red-gold hair. Still. Peaks and valleys roll endlessly and breathe, deep and slow, a slight melodic hum coming from the caves and canyons. The wind often sings his name, the way she once did. "Gin," she would say as she lay on her back, her wrist on her forehead and her lips beckoningly parted. Of all of her parts, her tongue will always rate as second or third of his favorites. The first, of course, being her eyes, which are never closed the way his are, seeing into and through and all around him. There's nowhere to hide from her gaze and he doesn't, didn't, ever wish to. He's been naked before her more times than he can count, and it was not always for the purpose of joining his body to hers. Even as children, they never feared exposing themselves to each other. Not their bodies, not their souls. Nothing. If you could look at me again, Ran-chan, set your eyes on me. . . he would gladly sleep forever.
The blue-gray eyes that meet his when he wakes do not belong to Rangiku. The barrier has been lowered and another body has come close to his, but it is no one he anticipated or desired. He opens his mouth to speak and is horrified by the choking sound his larynx makes. But he is having no trouble breathing. He can only look up accusingly at the person who has invaded his space.
She is unflappable, is Unohana Retsu. Her hands are white and warm and he shivers at the tickle her long, thick braid creates on his chest as she leans close, a short, slender black canister in her hand circling his head. "Please do not move, Ichimaru-dono. I am almost finished. I did not want to disturb you, I'm sorry."
Unable to respond in words, he scowls at her, though he knows this will do no good. For Unohana Retsu was one of the few shinigami even Aizen balked at challenging. Gin has no wish to find out why.
When she is satisfied she rises, steps only a few feet away and stands, observing him, hands delicately clasped in front of her. "The trial is over," she says finally. Her gaze as steady as she waits for a response.
"Ah," Gin replies, stretching on the futon and coughing a little. "And how"― he pauses, the raspiness in his voice is startling―"am I to die?"
Her smile is not patronizing. Nor is it comforting. "That decision has not been made yet," she says. "Perhaps it would be best for you to think of other things, for now."
"Not much of a bedside manner you have."
"I give each patient the treatment he needs."
"Am I a patient?"
"One of many, Ichimaru-dono." She turns, gazes out of the window towards where the scaffold no longer stands. "It was not so long ago the other was here in your place, and I must say she was far less agitated when I visited her than she is now. I must say you have impressed me with your ability to wreck such a calm, again and again. And Hitsugaya-taichou has been half-mad since before you came back. You are completely aware of the chaos you are, and you are unashamed of it. Quite a self-esteem you have."
"What is it you really want to say?"
"What I just said. And this: If you wish to be at peace when you face your end, I can tell you how."
Half a turn and those eyes are on him again. "It's merely a suggestion. I would not have done my duty had I not informed you."
"Then you'll understand if I don't thank you for it." He rolls over; he'd rather be exposing his ass to her, but he knows that'll only amuse her. So calm is Unohana Retsu. "If you're done, I would like to resume my contemplation of my guilt."
The ban is back up and she is outside of it. "No use in lying to me," she says. "Comfort yourself with your memories of Matsumoto-san. No one can begrudge you those."
He frowns at the wall. Meddling old bitch. She wasn't even here to gloat. But Rangiku. . .
He must have been dreaming of her. She's never left him. Never, ever. Especially not the picture in his mind of her eyes, wide open but dimming, as she falls, red-gold hair streaming behind her. The picture always accompanied by his scream. His own scream.
"I could hear you outside." Funny. He didn't even hear her enter. When he rolls over she is standing in the same spot where Unohana Retsu stood, only her hands are on her hips and her face is red. "Scream all you want. You're already a dead man." The violet eyes are bloodshot and her rage is somehow different from what he's used to. He doesn't know whether to be pleased or horrified. "In fact, let me do you the same favor you did me. I'll get your zanpaktou and you can fall on it."
"Are we a tad irritable today, my love?" He sits up. "Lower the barrier, Rukia-chan. I can make it all better for you."
"The way you made it better for Matsumoto-san?" Her lips turn upward in a smile he thought only he had. He can feel the blood draining from his face, and damn, damn, damn. . .
"Oh, I know. Hitsugaya-taichou knows. We all know what you are and how far you sank. Stupid bastard, the only one who would have spoken up for you, and you killed her." She is pacing. "How could you? How did you? Did she fall against you, did you feel her heart pump out the last of her blood? Did she plead with you? Did you enjoy tearing her apart? Did you―" She stops, eyes wide and haunted. She knows as well as he does that her words are just as much for herself. He doesn't need to turn the table on her, she does a perfect job of that all on her own. He would find it deliriously satisfying if his mind weren't racing with that red-gold hair caked with blood.
"I didn't," his voice chokes out. "I never. I never."
"Never is a promise," she hisses. "You've already broken it." She shakes her head, because today they share a brain. He's broken his promise, she's trampled on hers. Like him before Aizen scooped him up and ever after, the dark wells up in her and all she can do is spread it.
"When did you become me?" he asks her back as she flees.
