Disclaimer: Bleach and all affiliated characters and settings are the creative property of Kubo Tite and all companies holding title to its distribution. Used for non-profit entertainment purposes.

Warnings: Matsumoto Rangiku. Which you can assume means boob jokes, booze, swearing, and some violence.

Special Note: This particular piece is based off of Kellen's awesome AU Limitless, which – if you haven't already caught on to the absolute brilliance of it – you should go read now. (Yes, I have her permission to borrow her premise. This is a little ahead of what she's got written/posted, in case it wasn't clear.) There might be a little influence from Steal the Sky in here, too. (Steal the Sky is a RP on LiveJournal that's loosely based on Limitless; I RP Luppi there, and it's loads of fun!)

July 8 Prompt: The Rack

Bad Company

One thing Ichigo learned quickly was just how tiring running could be. Not the general sense of running as in the action of exercise, but more in the sense of fleeing – except, fleeing sounded far more cowardly. So he was running.

At least this time, he wasn't the only one trying to get away. He'd run into his short, white-haired companion on a dock, both wounded, both running from the same thing... maybe. Hitsugaya hadn't exactly been forward about that issue, but Ichigo had the feeling that something bigger than he realized was going down if a ship captain – young as the kid was – was on the run from his own employer.

They'd made it off that planet somehow – Ichigo was surprised to find that Hitsugaya was temporarily short a pilot, of all things, and Ichigo had managed to fill in – only to find themselves constantly jumping from place to place. Until the Lily's pilot returned, Ichigo had been offered the position, and he'd gratefully taken it. Piloting – even temporarily, and even if they were technically fugitives – was a far better job than delivery service. Hell, it was better than being dead.

He had no clue what the current planet's name was. All he knew was that he'd flown them there on instruction – he wasn't the navigator, damn it – and that they were (for the moment) safe. Hitsugaya was a surprisingly good captain for his youthful appearance, though he ran a pretty tight ship, even if his usual crew never seemed to quite take him as seriously as he'd like. But there was a level of trust between all the crew members that Ichigo respected.

That level of trust was half the reason that they'd been given some free time on the current planet, Ichigo was certain. The other half was that everyone seemed to be suffering from cabin fever and desperately needed some time planet-side. Didn't matter where, as long as they weren't caught.

As soon as they'd been cleared to settle their feet in the dirt, Ichigo took off in search of a proper bar. He wasn't typically the type to favor a good strong drink, but he figured that after the last however long they'd spent on the run, he needed one. Badly.

And so, he quickly found himself sitting with the Lily's buxom lieutenant, Matsu– err, Rangiku (she said off-duty, he would call her by her first name), at a seedy bar Rangiku said was called The Saddle Rack. Normally, bar names wouldn't bother him – they were all tacky as hell, anyway – but when his companion was a particularly robust female? The rack jokes got old. Fast.

She seemed used to the attention, and simply ignored the cracks coming her way about her... rather endowed physique. But really, it embarrassed Ichigo to find that half the occupants of the bar were giving him either seething glares, or approving nods. He wasn't sure that he appreciated either gesture.

They settled at the bar, and after a couple of beers, Rangiku seemed even friendlier than she usually was – which, if you didn't try to grab at her... assets, was pretty damn friendly – and had decided that she wanted to get to know the "cute little orange-haired pilot that Shirou-chan (don't tell him I called him that!) dragged home."

Ah. Another thing Ichigo had learned during his time aboard the Lily was that Matsumoto Rangiku rarely asked empty questions, no matter what tone of voice or manner of speech she used to cover it up. She was doing a background check of her own, probably to make sure that her captain's judgement hadn't been blurred by blood loss. Which it might have been, at the time, but Ichigo wasn't so well off himself at the time.

Well, sometimes, the truth didn't hurt, especially since it really wasn't Ichigo's fault that he was on the run. He carefully avoided mentioning that weird girl who he'd run into just before he realized that Grimmjow – that grinning maniac had called himself that – was trying to kill him for an object he was pretty sure he didn't have. He didn't mention Grimmjow's name either, but he did let Rangiku know that he did not have the object for which he was being targeted for.

At least, he was pretty sure he didn't have it.

But he didn't have time to explain any further about the object itself, once Rangiku had asked about it, before a large, leering, scruffy bar regular – who reeked of booze – came up with an insanely inappropriate comment about, well, those. And while Rangiku normally ignored such comments, this guy didn't seem to want to leave her alone when she airily waved him off with a giggle and a quick goodbye.

The moment the man placed his meaty hand on Rangiku's arm, all hell broke loose.

Ichigo wasn't sure who threw the first punch, but it didn't really matter in a situation like this. She was certainly throwing her punches now; the first man who had grabbed her was on the floor, and – like in any good bar – he wasn't going to be the last. Ichigo looked at the downed man with wide eyes for only a split second before his own vision exploded in white; the downed fellow apparently had bar buddies with him. Shaking his head clear of the stars, he ducked when he saw another fist flying at his face.

In a matter of seconds, the bar they were sitting at had turned into a roving brawl, accentuated by shouting and the occasional sound of breaking glass as beer bottles and glasses were being thrown and used as weapons. Once he tripped the guy swinging at him, Ichigo checked over to make sure Rangiku was faring well, only to see her nail another man's jaw with a sharp upper-cut. She was obviously experienced in bar brawling, and he felt suddenly outclassed.

Not that he was having much trouble, mind you. His head hurt a little, but he was still managing to duck and weave his way away from the mass of drunkenly enraged occupants that were crowding the bar. He hoped Rangiku was following him.

Hitsugaya was going to be pissed if he knew they'd gotten themselves into a fight here, especially after he'd told them to lay low.

Breaking glass was the only warning he had before another sharp pain burst through his skull, and the world went dark for a moment. When he slowly returned to reality, he saw that Rangiku had his arm draped across her shoulders, and that they were rushing through back alleyways and were – he assumed – headed back to the ship.

"Good, you're awake!" she chirped. "Can you walk?"

Grunting, Ichigo found his feet and staggered slightly as the world tilted and dipped, his stomach threatening to upturn his entire evening meal.

"Okay, good enough," Rangiku said, grabbing his arm again to steady him as she pulled him towards the docks.

"God, I hate bars," Ichigo managed to groan.

Rangiku giggled. "Aww, that wasn't so bad now, was it?"

"You–"

He yelped as Rangiku gave a hard tug on his arm. "Keep moving!"

No wonder nobody else had volunteered to go with them. It finally occurred to Ichigo: Rangiku probably tended to do this. Often. He made a vow then to never go to the bar with Rangiku again.