Chapter Seven

Grimmjow wouldn't start talking until he'd been served a cup of coffee—no tea—and found a nice comfortable spot beneath a heating duct. By then, Urahara had returned with the rest of them, and introductions had to be made, and of course the creepy shopkeeper and his even stranger assistant had to ply Nel with every possible variation of cookie, candy, and sweet. Which certainly didn't make her easier to control.

So it was the understatement of the year to say that, by the time the two arrancar got around to telling their story, it was late in the evening and Hitsugaya was slightly miffed.

"Bet you forgot about us, didn't you?" Grimmjow began. "Thought you killed me or something. Like you could kill me!"

"Wasn't trying to kill you. Last I remember, I was trying to save your ass from your own kind!" Kurosaki shot back.

Hitsugaya would have strangled Kurosaki if (a) the idiot wasn't snuggling a sleeping Nel who had finally hit a sugar crash, and (b) he wasn't sure that it would cause even further delay. He settled for a threat: "Espada, tell your story, and get to the point. The next person who interrupts him gets their mouth frozen shut."

Kurosaki looked like he wanted to protest, but all Hitsugaya had to do was raise an eyebrow for the teen to step back into line. There were threats, and there were threats, and this wasn't the idle kind.

"Anyway," Grimmjow began again, glaring at Kurosaki. "I passed out for awhile after Nnoitra's cheap shot, and when I woke up the place was deserted except for the kid, who was cryin' her eyes out somethin' fierce about bein' left behind."

Out of the corner of his eye, Hitsugaya saw Kurosaki wince and cuddle Nel even closer. Had he forgotten about her?

"I took the kid to the throne room, but it was empty, too. Aizen never left that throne room. We waited and waited for him to show himself, but he never did. Eventually we figured he must have died or run off somewhere, so we started searching for survivors. We managed to locate Nel's fracciónes, and a few dozen números and privarónes, but the rest of the arrancar were gone. All that was left were regular Adjuchas and Vasto Lordes."

Hitsugaya nodded. "Clean up crew. We couldn't leave all those arrancar to run amok."

Grimmjow grinned. "Well, guess you missed some."

"Continue your story."

"Well, with Aizen and the rest of the Espada gone, that put me in charge. So I rebuilt. Started with knocking down Las Noches and that creepy fake sky and putting up a palace truly worthy of the King of Hueco Mundo."

"And Nel started rebuilding our army!" Nel piped in, awake again.

"You did?" Urahara asked.

"Yep! Cuz Grimmy's too rough on the Adjuchas. He kept killing and eating them instead of training them."

"Gross!" Kurosaki shouted. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Well, Nel ate some too," she added, shrugging. "But only the weak ones."

"What did you think arrancar ate?" Grimmjow shot back. "Besides—"

"So you were rebuilding your fortress and your army. When did you start invading the World of the Living?" Hitsugaya interrupted. Keeping everyone focused might as well have been a full time job. It was a good thing he was used to dealing with Matsumoto.

The former Sexta sobered. "We didn't."

"What do you mean you didn't? That's what hollow do."

"Weak hollow, yeah. And that's what Aizen encouraged. But it's not really necessary. The weaker hollow can feed off the reishi in Hueco Mundo, and the stronger ones can feed off the weaker hollow."

"But that's not sustainable!" Rukia exclaimed. "You'll run out of weak hollow if you do that!"

"What's wrong with that?" Kurosaki asked. "Let them kill themselves off. Easier than making us do it."

Grimmjow sipped his coffee. "There will always be hollow that go to the World of the Living, but we don't need to prey on human souls as our primary food source."

"But you love to fight!"

"Humans don't put up a fight! They're helpless, like babies. There's no pride in taking them down. No challenge in it. It's cowardly. Besides, it brings us to your attention, and I'm not dumb enough to think we can take on all of the Shinigami at the state we're at right now. Like you said, Kurosaki, I can't be King if there's no one left to rule. So my plan was to lay low, rebuild, get stronger, keep to ourselves."

"What changed?" Hitsugaya asked.

"A few months ago, Yammy showed up."

"What?" three people shouted at the same time.

Hitsugaya held up a hand, silencing Urahara and Kurosaki. "We took Yammy down. Two of our strongest taichou did it personally. There's no way he could still exist."

Grimmjow raised an eyebrow. "Well, then, they suck at their jobs. They didn't see him dissolve, did they? Maybe they knocked him out for a while, whatever, but he's as much in existence as I am. And as much as I hate to say it, just as strong."

"He kicked Grimmy's ass!"

"Shut up, Nelliel!" the former Espada snapped, crossing his arms. "He took me by surprise, is all. Came out of nowhere, pulled our army out from under us, and took over. He's made it his mission to consume as many human souls as possible and to get revenge on you Shinigami. It's a stupid ass mission," Grimmjow griped, slamming his coffee mug down. "He's going to get my army killed, and I'm going to have to train a whole new one, damn it!"

Hitsugaya rolled his eyes. He was about to refocus yet again, when Nel jumped back in.

"Yammy's the one who started sending all the arrancar and Adjuchas to the World of the Living. We don't really know what his plan is, except that he's looking for human souls with a certain reiatsu."

"Strong ones?" Rukia asked.

"Yes, but not just any strong ones. We think he's kidnapped a couple kids, but he's killed just as many others with strong reiatsu. He's looking for something special, but we don't know what it is," Grimmjow said.

"How young?" Hitsugaya asked.

"I don't know, young! Like barely talking, young."

"How horrible!" Orihime gasped, drawing their attention to the doorway where she stood with Chad and the Quincy. "Babies can't survive in Hueco Mundo! We have to stop this!"

Rukia rubbed the human girl's shoulder. "We'll stop it, Orihime, don't you worry."

"Aww, Princess, I didn't see you there. Just as soft-hearted as ever, ain't cha? Soft everywhere, if I remember right," Grimmjow taunted, winking at her.

Orihime blanched, freezing in the act of sitting down. Rukia jumped in front of her, opening her mouth to tell Grimmjow off.

She was too slow. Hitsugaya was already on his feet, Hyourinmaru pressed up against the arrancar's throat. "Listen," he growled, "we don't need you. So if you can't behave and treat the women with respect—"

"It's okay, Toushirou-kun," Orihime mumbled, placing a hand on his sword arm. "Grimmjow just shocked me, that's all. I forgot what a dirty mouth he had."

Hitsugaya relented, resheathing his zanpaktou. He let himself be hugged by the overly emotional girl—who reminded him too much of a certain fukutaichou he wasn't supposed to be thinking of—while Grimmjow rubbed his neck and grumbled about Shinigami who didn't know how to take a joke.

He zoned out as Grimmjow finished describing the battles that had taken place in Hueco Mundo over the last few weeks, which wasn't like him at all. Normally he'd be hanging onto every word and expression, picking up clues and hidden meanings and constantly evaluating, synthesizing, combining it all in his head until he understood it backward and forward. Instead, he was only getting the highlights. His mind was focused solely where it shouldn't be.

Matsumoto. Him. In bed. Together. Again.

That was a lot of pressure. On him, on her, on them. One night. But one night could be powerful. It took one night to ruin everything—could one night fix it, too? He didn't think so. But he knew one night could make it much, much worse.

So for the first time in his life, Hitsugaya found himself in the absurd position of trying to find a way to make a one night stand not feel cheap and tawdry. He knew things would be different. He would be aware of himself. He could certainly be gentler, nicer, more considerate this time around. He would treat her the way he should have in the beginning; the way she deserved to be treated. But at the end of the day, it would still be a one night stand. It would still be inherently emotionally unsatisfying. Or, more likely in their case, emotionally devastating for both of them.

He cared for his fukutaichou. This was the dumbest plan he'd been a part of, but he still wanted it to work. He had no intention of treating her like a five-dollar whore.

No, just like an expensive one, he mocked himself.

One night. He'd make it the best damn night of her life.

No pressure.

He'd send her a note. It was the coward's way out, as he was well aware, so he'd send her a gift, too, to make up for it. Maybe a scarf, to replace the one he'd ruined that night. He couldn't bring himself to buy pink—it was too girly and too much like everything hadn't changed—but she needed something vibrant. Bright and colorful, just like her. Without it, she looked lifeless. Dull. Ordinary.

Matsumoto Rangiku was anything but ordinary.

Please let this work.

Matsumoto studied the package she'd found on the couch in her taichou's office—which she supposed sort of doubled as her desk. She opened the note, her heart clenching at the achingly familiar handwriting.

I'll pick you up at your place Saturday at 8. Dress for dinner.

—Hitsugaya

P.S. This reminded me of you.

Just like him to get straight to the point. And he'd remembered to tell her what to wear, too. She'd trained him well. Curious what the "this" was he was referring to, she opened the package and pulled out—a scarf. It reminded her of him. Ocean blue, like his eyes. She clutched it in her fist like a lifeline, careful not to crush the fragile silk.

This was it. Now or never. Put up or shut up, lay out all the cards on the table, and every other stupid idiom she'd ever heard in her life. It was going to work. It had to work.

Please let this work.

He was early. She should have expected that. His mantra was, if you're on time, you're late; if you're early, you're on time. And Hitsugaya Toushirou was never late.

She wore a black dress, her fuck-me heels, and the scarf.

He wore a suit; black pin-striped, tailored to a T, she was almost jealous she hadn't helped him pick it out. Ishida's work, she'd bet her sake on it. And she didn't play around when it came to sake.

Regardless, he looked absolutely dashing in it. Not handsome, not cute, not even smart. Just smooth, sophisticated, and sexy as hell. If he checked his cuff links and straightened his tie, she might just swoon. Then he smirked at her, that little half-smile that was all too rare and all the more devastating for it. Her brain melted on the spot.

"T-tai—Hitsugaya-san," she whispered, standing in the doorway like an idiot with her mouth gaping open.

"Matsumoto," he greeted, offering her his arm. "You look lovely."

His expression didn't change. He was just as serious and intense as ever, but that irrepressible lock fell over his left eye, and for once it was anything but boyish. Hitsugaya on the prowl was lethal.

She didn't move, and his smirk grew into something resembling an actual smile.

"This is the part where you take my arm," he prompted after a few moments.

She flushed, surging into action. "Y-yes. Thank you. You look, um, nice too." She shut and locked the door behind her, placed her hand on his bicep, and let him lead her down the street.

She'd always known he was stronger than he looked, but she hadn't realized he felt stronger too.

"You're drooling, Matsumoto," he teased, back to smirking.

"Shut up!" she hissed, smacking his arm.

He just laughed and kept walking. The night was cool and clear. Perfect for lovers strolling in quiet companionship.

"Does it bother you?" she asked after a while. That I so obviously love you?

He didn't ask what she was referring to. She could have hugged him for that. He just continued walking in silence as he mulled it over.

"No," he said eventually. "I guess, in some ways, it makes things easier. At least for tonight."

Neither of them wanted to think about what would happen afterward.

His hand closed over hers and he looked up, meeting her eyes. He seemed to muster all of his courage in that one unsteady gaze. "For what it's worth," he whispered, "the attraction is mutual. You're a beautiful woman, Matsumoto Rangiku."

Her heart flew into her throat, then crashed down to her stomach. He said attraction. Attraction, not love. It wasn't a confession. Hell, it wasn't even news. Every man she'd ever met had been attracted to her by design. But her taichou had never admitted to it before, never let on, so maybe that was a victory in itself. But a hollow one.

They'd stopped walking. He looked embarrassed. She broke eye contact first, tugged on his arm to urge him forward. "That's sweet, Taichou, but you don't have to play all romantic or anything. I understand. Now let's get to dinner before I starve!"

Playing it off was the best defense. This boy—this man—could break her heart.

Maybe he already had.

Hitsugaya could be charming when he wanted to be. Most of the time he didn't bother—what was the point? He much preferred bluntness to sweet-talking his way through life. But there was a first time for everything, and if ever a situation needed a little sweet-talking, this was it.

They sat across from each other in the restaurant, made friendly conversation as the flickering candlelight cast reflections on the wall. Something was off with Matsumoto tonight. She'd been taken off guard by him, he could read her that well, but ever since their moment on the street, she'd closed herself off to him. She was bubbly and talkative and her generally effusive self, but it was all on the surface. And for once, he couldn't get a good handle on what was underneath.

He hoped it wasn't nerves. Whatever happened after all of this, she had nothing to fear about tonight. He was there—100% present this time—and he would make sure she enjoyed herself.

"Are you all right?" he asked, quietly interrupting her story about the SWA's latest attempt to give Kuchiki-taichou a conniption.

She fell silent. "You didn't have to do this, you know."

"Do what?"

"Take me out for dinner, make this a date."

"What, did you expect me to crawl in the window in the middle of the night?" he joked.

She flushed and turned away, and he had his answer.

"Matsu—Rangiku," he whispered, reaching across the table and laying his hand over hers, "you're my fukutaichou. And my friend," he added when he saw what looked like disappointment flash in her eyes. "I'm sorry I hurt you before, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you again." To emphasize his point, he brought her fingers to his lips before entwining them with his own. "You're worth more than that. You know that, right?"

She snatched her hand away. "We both know better than to believe in fairytales, Taichou. You don't have to keep us this façade."

Had he made her that jaded?

"Fairytales are all about the ending," he shot back. "This is about the process."

Her eyes widened. "Taichou!"

He didn't have the heart to correct her, even though every little slip was like a punch in the gut. He distracted her instead, launching into a tale about Kurosaki Ichigo's latest folly. The idiot's antics were always good for a laugh. This time she opened up, relaxed. He could tell she was fully with him.

Yes, Hitsugaya could be charming. When he tried.

A/N:

Thanks for reading. And, whoa, thanks for the reviews last time! Lemon coming up next chapter: this is your fair warning. See you soon!

~bandgirlz~