A/N:

Okay, so this one's a lot of little scenes and a tiny bit of a time jump, but it doesn't feel choppy, at least to me. I hope you enjoy it, and please review!

Chapter Eleven

When Hitsugaya woke up, it was morning, and he almost panicked. He'd just meant to close his eyes for a moment while he savored the feel of her in his arms. He'd missed it.

But he hadn't, because she was still there. She'd twisted during the night, and now her face was scrunched up against his chest, her legs wrapped around his. She was drooling on him, and he didn't even care. She was still there.

Hold it, Shiro, he chided himself. You can hold her 'til she wakes up, but then she has to go. He fell back asleep waiting for that moment to come, and when he woke again, his arms were empty.

He indulged himself for a second, reliving the night. Trying to figure out what was going on. Once was post-breakup sex. Twice was . . . an anomaly? Or a pattern?

Rival factions warred within his brain, and he couldn't decide which option he preferred. For her sake it should be the first, but he wasn't perfect. There was only so much selflessness a non-saint could exhibit, and he was about at his max.

He wasn't strong enough to say no to heaven.

So when Rangiku appeared again a week later, his protest was halfhearted at best.

She returned again and again. Hitsugaya managed to procure his own apartment (by convincing Yamamoto of the benefits of a home base in Karakura), just so he wouldn't have to feel so icky about the Kurosakis being just few doors down. Then the time began to shorten between her visits until she was returning every three days, and each time he took less persuading until finally he was waiting for her, and just let her in when she arrived.

For good reason, too. The "therapy," bizarre and immoral as it was, seemed to be working. She was smiling again, the pinched look in her eyes only a memory. She even bubbled a bit, although her effervescence was only a fraction of what it had been. She was healing, and somehow sex with him was helping, and that's all that mattered.

That, and the way the sex was amazing. The way it was always as good, if not better than their second time. The way she screamed and clutched at him as she came, the way her body gripped his until he fairly exploded. The way she cuddled close to him afterward, and they slept in each others' arms—everything up until the moment he woke up and she was gone. And she was always gone. But she always returned, and the cycle would begin all over again, hot and sweet and agonizingly empty.

It was killing him. Taunting him with what he could have had, had he not been so selfish, had he been a better man, had he been even the slightest bit worthy of her. Because this was an illusion, a sham. A crutch. Eventually she would learn to walk again, was learning how to walk, and pretty soon she wouldn't need him any more.

Beautiful things never last.

Rangiku didn't know who she was any more—and she didn't really care. She had Toushirou, and even if she lost herself and the world went to hell, that was enough. Every few days she had his hands on her body, his hardness inside her, his tender care afterward. They didn't say much, didn't talk at all really, but the connection that she needed like breathing was there. She was an addict and he was her crack. Their arrangement was fragile as a butterfly's wings, but it was stable.

Until the day he made her breakfast. It was about a month in to their arrangement, and she'd had a hard week. For lack of anything better to do, she'd started volunteering with training the new recruits, and they'd had her out in Rukongai all week running drills and minor missions, driving the recruits to their limits (and herself too). Needless to say, she'd been exhausted. Not enough to miss her "date" with her former taichou, but enough that she'd fallen out hard after, and slept much too soundly to wake up and slip out before he rose for the day.

When she awoke, the sunlight was streaming in through the blinds, tickling her nose and kissing her fingertips. She yawned and stretched, thinking idly of tea and wondering why she felt so refreshed.

"Morning."

She froze, and in horror movie slow-motion, looked over at Toushirou lying next to her in the bed. Apparently the sunlight hadn't been the only thing kissing her.

Shit. She felt the blood drain from her face, and then flood back as she took in his sleep-mussed hair and drowsy eyes. Did he always look like sex on legs?

He leaned over and kissed her. "Really? How long have we been doing this and you're embarrassed now?"

Panicked, actually, but she bit her tongue. Normally she would just bluster through it. But "Toushirou" wasn't quite as easy to sing-song as "Taichou," and there was too much riding on this. Change one thing, change it all—different was dangerous, and their relationship, whatever it was, was precarious enough.

So she kissed him back, just for a moment, and then played her trump card. "I should be getting back. Wouldn't want to be late!"

She went to get up, remembering just in time that she was naked and that that was part of what made the morning after so awkward. If she wrapped the sheet around her . . . but then she caught the challenge in his eyes. Fuck it. He'd seen it all already, and she'd never claimed to be modest. She stood up, baring herself to the room (and him), and began looking for her uniform.

He waited, watching, until she was halfway dressed. Then he snorted and rose, too, wrapping a gray yukata around his body and knotting it at the waist. She stared, mesmerized by the way the garment gaped, revealing glimpses of smooth tanned skin and rippling muscles as he moved.

"Since when have you ever cared about getting to work on time?"

Damn him for throwing her off kilter. He had her there, and he'd never believe Ukitake was stricter than him, it was too ridiculous for words.

"Well, I—" she floundered, turning away, wondering why he couldn't just ignore all of that and let her make a graceful exit. "I mean—"

"Ran—" he began, and she felt his eyes burning into the back of her head. She couldn't read his tone, and she couldn't let her own laziness ruin things between them.

The words burst from her unbidden. "Look, Toushirou. I've lived without you before and I don't want to do it again! So whatever you want to say—" she broke off, unable to continue, not even sure what she wanted to say, just anything to stop this from unravelling.

He filled in the silence. "I was just going to ask if you wanted breakfast."

"Oh." She turned back to him and her face blushed ten kinds of red. "Um, yeah. Thanks."

He nodded, eyes shining with an emotion she couldn't decipher. "I'll be in the kitchen, then."

"O-okay."

And the earth shifted again.

From that day on, Rangiku always stayed for breakfast. They still didn't say much, just nonsense about the weather and Ichigo's latest screw-ups. But there was a comfortable familiarity about it, and although she had no delusions that it would last forever, it was more than she'd expected.

She didn't know how any of them had ever considered him cold. He was so warm. His body heat, his quiet presence next to her, that hint of a smirk that was as close to a smile as she needed. His arms around her waist as they drifted off to slumber, the softness in his eyes when he woke up in the morning, still holding her.

She had him now. They had a routine developed, and she had him for nearly 12 hours every three days. Too much of that time was spent sleeping. None of it was spent worrying. She didn't worry when she was with him, she didn't think, she didn't do anything but lie next to him and enjoy the closeness between them. It wasn't until she left, until he was no longer in sight and she knew she was on her own for the next few days, that she would start to miss him and wonder if, when she returned, he would still welcome her with open arms. Or whether he would Move On. And then she would slip back to the living world, stand outside the door of the new apartment he had managed to obtain, and he would pull her inside and into his arms and all would be right with the world again. When she was touching him, the twitchiness in her soul, the itching in her skin, the growing sense of unease just melted away and she was at peace. It seemed to work just as well with their clothes on, too, proving it wasn't sex, per se, or desire, but just him. They needed to be together.

A few weeks later, she realized he felt it too, at least a little. She snuck away from her duties early that day and managed to surprise him. Sort of. He was sitting on the roof of his apartment building looking at his soul phone when she flashed herself behind him, but he didn't greet her or make any movement to indicate he'd noticed her. His shoulders were tense, hunched over, and the urge to massage the tension away gripped at her belly. But that might be too far, too close to their old interactions as taichou and fukutaichou, and what would she do if he snapped at her and told her to leave him alone like he would have back then? Snap in two, perhaps. So with the silent stealth of a feline, she settled herself on the roof behind him, and simply leaned her back against his.

His shoulders relaxed instantly. He snapped his phone shut, eased back into her, and just breathed. Not an inch of their bare skin was touching, it was just clothing to clothing, hair to hair. And yet she wouldn't have moved for the world, and he didn't seem inclined to either.

"Matsumoto," he said, sometime later.

"Stressed out, Toushirou?" she murmured back.

"You could say that."

She waffled for a moment. "Cup of tea?" she proposed.

Silence. "Yeah."

She took in the tightness of his jaw, the worry lines in his forehead. "And then you can tell me what's going on."

His eyes met hers, and the tinge of relief they held surprised her. "Sounds good."

They slipped through his apartment window and she reached for the kettle, but he shooed her away.

"I'll make the tea in my own apartment."

"But you always make breakfast. Tea can be my thing!" she suggested as she pumped a fist in the air, unreasonably excited about having a "thing."

He hesitated, then handed her the kettle. "If you insist. You make it better than I do, anyway."

She turned away before the grin split her face wide open. "That's because you measure the leaves."

"Getting the right leaf-to-water ratio is as vital as it is scientific," he lectured her, sitting down at the table.

"Yeah, and how's that working for you?"

Pause. "Okay, so my tea could be better."

"Toushirou, you make the worst tea in all of Soul Society! And I make the best!" she gloated, dancing around his kitchen with the leaves.

"Well, every woman ought to be able to cook something . . . and you certainly can't cook anything else," he grumbled under his breath.

"Tai—Toushirou!" Her slip-up took the wind out of her sails. She hadn't done that in a month at least, but bantering back and forth like this was too much like old times, and it made her too comfortable. "Sorry," she whispered.

He ignored her. "We're fighting with the arrancar again."

"I'd heard that."

She rolled her eyes at his shocked expression. "Word travels, you know, even around Soul Society. Besides, did you honestly think I couldn't sense two former Espada in town every time I came to visit?"

"I never really thought about it before."

"You have been distracted! So tell me something I don't know."

"I guess you know that Yammy drove Grimmjow and Nel out of Hueco Mundo and is planning his revenge on the Seireitei?"

She nodded.

"He's tracking down the reincarnations of all the Espada."

She gasped. "To fight in his army? But Toushirou, they couldn't be more than two!"

He shrugged.

"Well, that's just sick!"

She set the tea down in front of him and joined him at the table.

He took his cup, but didn't drink from it, studying the pattern of leaves at the bottom. "Everyone assumed he would collect them and then wait for them to age."

"Everyone but you."

He nodded, even though it hadn't been a question. "Why would he let us on to his plan now if he couldn't implement it for years? Why bring the children here?"

"And Yammy doesn't seem patient enough for the whole long-term plan thing."

"Exactly."

"So what happened?" she asked. "You said 'assumed' like it's changed."

He bit his lip. "We ran into some of the Vizards tonight. They had the reincarnations of Halibel and Ulquiorra with them."

"What?"

"Hiyori said Shinji found them wandering around town."

"You spoke to Hiyori? I thought she called you a bald pervert!"

"Focus!" he snapped through his blush. So cute.

"So they recovered them. That's good, right? What has you so spooked?"

"Shinji found their souls, Rangiku. They were already dead."

She stared at him in horror. "Yammy killed them and was letting them slowly turn into hollows? Did you bury them?"

"No." Tortured eyes met hers. "Ichigo wanted to, but they're the best lead we have now . . . and the best bait. So I stopped him."

She was around the table and hugging him before she took her next breath. "Oh, Toushirou. It's not your fault."

He didn't hug back, but neither did he push her away. "They don't remember anything. They're just scared little kids."

"Stop."

"Huh?"

"Do you want to change your mind?"

"No."

"Then just stop. Stop questioning yourself, and stop feeling guilty! You did what was best, even though it was hard. That's why you're a taichou, and that's why—" she broke off as he kissed her, but hardly a minute passed before she pulled back.

"What is it?" he asked, lacing his fingers in hers.

"There's something else that's getting to you."

"How—?"

"Don't seem so surprised. You think I don't know you by now? Spill."

"It's been bothering me for a while. Grimmjow and Nel were amused by Yammy's plan, and they wouldn't say why. They treated it like this big joke."

"Hmmm." She settled back on his lap to get into prime thinking position . . . and if that happened to overlap with prime cuddling position, well, it was just a coincidence.

They sat there drinking their tea for a moment. She played with his hair.

And then she gasped. "Toushirou!"

"What is it?"

"Rukia fought the Ninth Espada and said he looked like Kaien and had Kaien's memories, right?"

"Yes."

"And it ate Kaien one hundred years ago in order for that to happen, right?"

"Yes."

"And hollow eat other hollow to get stronger, right?"

He smirked at her. "Right."

She snorted and snuggled deeper into his chest. "Then I understand why Grimmjow and Nel were laughing. Yammy really is an idiot!"

He held her until they both stopped chuckling.

"Rangiku?"

"Yeah?" She'd never heard him sound so hesitant.

"I missed this. Talking strategy, I mean." He didn't say "with you," but she understood anyway.

"Me too."

She had the sudden urge to share something with him too, to complete the moment. But she couldn't tell him about Ukitake—he could never know how useless she felt in the Thirteenth or how much she hated it.

"I started working with the new recruits about a month ago," she blurted out, wincing at how eager she sounded. He didn't want to know about things like that. She should have kept quiet.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Running training missions in Rukongai. You know, battling fake hollows and helping out the villagers after attacks. I—I really like it!"

"Really." He studied her face.

"What, no cracks about it cutting into my shopping time?" she snarked, feeling defensive at his utter lack of enthusiasm for the subject.

"I'm glad you've found something you want to apply yourself to." He paused. "Have you suffocated anyone yet?" he mocked, leering at her breasts.

She never thought she'd see the day when Hitsugaya Toushirou leered. And it wasn't her fault if she'd gotten a little too exuberant a few times and put a couple (okay, seven) of their new recruits in the Fourth for oxygen deprivation. "At least I don't make them cry!"

"That was one time! And he deserved it," Hitsugaya added, his expression darkening.

"True." The guy had tried to grope Rangiku, after all. Her taichou had nearly frozen him in place. She didn't have the heart to tell him they all hit on her at first. But only once. Any guy who tried twice wouldn't live to tell the tale.

They lapsed into silence, and Rangiku's heart sank a little. She'd hoped he'd be a little more interested in what was happening in her life. On the bright side, at least they were talking. She opened her mouth to change the subject.

He spoke first. "I never thought I'd see you volunteering to do more work. What is it about the training missions you enjoy so much?"

Her heart skipped a beat at the curiosity in his voice. He really wanted to know.

"Well, since you asked," she began, then regaled him with a laundry list.

He listened through all of it, stroked her hair, asked questions, made fun of her answers.

And their arrangement changed again. Into what, she wasn't sure. She wasn't his fukutaichou any more. What they had was more than sex, but not quite a relationship. It was just them.

And she tried to be okay with that. She'd take as much of him as she could get. She knew she couldn't have everything. Guys like him didn't give everything to girls like her. It was her high expectations that had gotten her into trouble in the past. Toushirou was sweet when he was with her. Gentle and compassionate and accepting. It was enough.

Right?

If she'd known what was going to happen a week later, she would've been content with what she had. But hindsight always was 20/20.