Chapter Ten

Rangiku was late to her first day as fukutaichou of the Thirteenth, because . . . she overslept. Hours upon hours of deep, dream-free, blissful sleep.

If she were going to be honest, the whole night had been blissful. He'd been so kind. Taking her hand to help her up the stairs, casting a kidou barrier around his room so no one would hear them, drying her off and warming her up before taking her to bed and showing her all those memories weren't an exaggeration. Shudders and moans intermixed with chuckles and smiles and . . . connection. She didn't feel like a plaything with Toushirou. When she'd had sex with men before, she'd felt like just a body, like everything else about her was superfluous. Not with Toushirou. It wasn't like they spoke during, really, but something about the way he stared into her eyes, the way his hands skimmed over her skin told her he knew it was her he was touching, her he was kissing, her he had gasping, writhing, begging for more, strung out and desperate and finally fully alive.

He didn't have to be kind. He could have slammed the door in her face, could have told her to get lost, could have treated her like a slut or given a perfunctory performance and sent her on her way, but he hadn't. It didn't make up for the way he'd left, but it was something.

She'd snuck back to Soul Society as soon as he fell asleep, returned to her rooms, and crashed the moment her head hit the pillow. She hadn't set an alarm because, well, duh, when you only slept an hour or two at a time, there was no need.

Oops.

So now she was late, crawling to her new taichou's office, ready to throw herself at his feet and hope that he decided not to fire her before she'd even begun. But at least, for once, the fog in her head was gone and her mind was completely clear.

Sex with Toushirou really was the best medicine. "They should bottle that shit," she muttered.

"What?"

Rangiku jumped, spinning around to see Kiyone flash her a strange look.

"N-nothing. Is Juushirou—I mean Ukitake-taichou—in his office?"

The younger girl nodded and pointed her in the right direction. Rangiku knocked before entering, then hesitated as she wondered whether she should kneel. She'd noticed that the Thirteenth squad tended to kneel to their taichou a lot, but it wasn't something she was used to doing. Toushirou had always tried to break new recruits of that habit, and besides, Juushirou was her friend. Someone she'd gotten drunk with more times than she could count. Bowing and scraping would just be . . . weird. Demeaning, even.

Then she remembered she'd knelt to Toushirou just the night before. She'd begged him—begged him to have sex with her. There wasn't really anything more demeaning than that. But he was different. That was different. And it was never going to happen again.

She wouldn't kneel.

Her new taichou was sitting at his desk, reviewing reports. "Sorry I'm late, Ukitake-taichou!" she burst out, bowing her head when he looked up at her. "I've been having trouble sleeping, and I think it all caught up with me!"

She waited for him to yell and rage or, worse yet, tell her how disappointed he was in her. Or maybe he would just sigh and tell her not to bother coming in tomorrow at all. But he didn't respond.

She glanced up and saw the quizzical expression on his face. "Well, I'm glad you're feeling better, Rangiku," he said finally, looking concerned. A lock of snow white hair fell into his eyes, and she fought not to wince. He flashed her a self-deprecating smile. "I'd actually forgotten you were coming in today. To be honest, I haven't had a fukutaichou in so long, I don't really remember what they do."

Huh? Rangiku gaped at him. "U-um—" Was he serious?

"Why don't you take the rest of the day to get settled in your new quarters, and then you can spend the next few days tailing Sentarou and Kiyone and meeting the squad. And . . . training?" he suggested, looking as lost as she felt.

Great. So much for being needed. She thanked him walked toward the door.

"And oh, Rangiku!" he called after her.

She twisted around, hanging on his next word. "Yes, Ukitake-taichou?"

He paused. "You can still call me Juu-kun, you know."

Her face fell. "Okay. Juu-kun. Did you have something else to tell me?" she asked dully.

He grinned, and pulled a giant bottle of sake out of his sleeve. "Welcome to the Thirteenth!"

She threw him a weak smile, took the gift, and trudged out of the room.

She had everything she'd ever wanted. Whoopie.

He hadn't anticipated it, but Hitsugaya wasn't exactly surprised, either.

Just taking off in the middle of the night hadn't been his best move, and it certainly hadn't been the best way to end things with Rangiku. His only excuse was that he had panicked and been unable to face the accusation and regret in her eyes when she woke and realized what a mistake he had been.

So her need for closure wasn't exactly revolutionary. It was just post-breakup sex. One last goodbye, nothing more.

Except there could be no breakup because there'd been no relationship. Except for him, one last time wasn't enough. All the time in the world wouldn't be enough. He was glad she'd been the one to leave this time, because he didn't have the strength to walk away again. Except this wasn't about him—if it was, there never would have been a goodbye—this was for her, because she deserved better.

And maybe if he repeated that mantra to himself a thousand times a day, it might keep him from latching onto her the next time he saw her and never letting go.

She was gone, truly gone, with no reason to come back this time. Hitsugaya doubled over as agony exploded in his chest. He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't do anything but feel this pain and know it was all over. He'd only felt this way one other time in his life.

And deep inside, he felt the darkness start to unfurl. No!

"Ah, Toushirou, there you are."

No. Run, Kurosaki. Get away from here. "How many times do I have to tell you, it's Hitsugaya-taichou?" he thundered as he straightened and turned around. Half conscious, half consumed by the darkness, both halves needing to push the substitute away.

"Oh. S-sorry," Ichigo muttered, shrugging his shoulders. He was obviously hurt, and Hitsugaya knew it was because he hadn't demanded to be called by his name in weeks, and he'd never been that harsh about it.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

"I, uh, just came to tell you that one of the privarónes finally cracked. We're all meeting at Urahara's shop for debriefing."

Hitsugaya didn't respond, he just shunpoed away.

When he arrived at the shop, he saw that most everyone was already sitting around the table sipping their tea. Urahara stood off to the side by a bound, miserable-looking privarón. Grimmjow kicked the captive in the gut as he walked by, and the shopkeeper chided him in an amused tone.

"No need to be so rough, kitty-cat-san. He's already cooperating."

"Che," was his reply. "He's a weakling. Real warriors never talk."

Hitsugaya bit his tongue. Literally.

Ichigo strode in a moment later. "That was pretty rude, you know—" he broke off at Hitsugaya's glare.

He tried to temper it, tried to rein his rage in, but the darkness had already broken free. He was officially out of control.

"Well, Urahara? Why are we here?" he demanded.

The shopkeeper looked unsettled, and then calculating, at the sharpness in his voice. "So glad you asked," he replied. "Our friend over here has graciously decided to avail himself of our hospitality and ingratiate himself into our goodwill."

"Less flare, more substance," Hitsugaya ground out.

Urahara shrugged. "The prisoner talked." He didn't seem inclined to say any more than that.

"And . . . ."

"I'll let him tell you himself." He ripped the tape off of the arrancar's mouth.

It coughed before beginning, "Yammy-sama's looking—"

"Yammy-what? Since when is Yammy your master, you bastard?" Grimmjow growled, looming over the captive.

The privarón shrunk away. "S-sorry, Grimmjow-sama! It's just that, Yammy-sa—Yammy promised us all the weak hollow we could eat, and you were starving us trying to make them stronger!"

Grimmjow cursed. "Idiot arrancar don't know what's best for themselves!" he griped, sinking back into his seat. "They'd rather gorge themselves than have an army."

"Well, you were eating the army too, Grimmy!"

"Shut up, Nel!"

"You shut up!"

"I said, shut up!"

Hitsugaya couldn't take it any more. His reiatsu flared up, the arrancar fell silent, and everyone shivered as a frost settled on every available surface. He could tell his power was wild, knew he was making the others uncomfortable, but he couldn't find his center, couldn't pull out the calm he usually took for granted. He gripped Hyourinmaru's hilt in desperation, and the pressure eased, the darkness crept back into its box and he triple-locked the door on that part of himself. Relief. Control restored, he dropped his reiatsu to normal levels and sent the dragon a million silent thank-yous. He might have hurt everyone who mattered to him and lost them in the process, but he still had Hyourinmaru. He would always have Hyourinmaru.

A chill ran up his spine, and if he weren't so practical he might have thought his zanpaktou was trying to reassure him.

He opened his eyes to see the whole team staring at him. "Sorry," he mumbled, blushing at his rookie-like lack of control. "Little off today."

Nel broke the shocked silence in the room as she crawled into his lap. "That's ok. Nel's sorry she was a dis-cracked-shun." Hitsugaya couldn't help but smirk.

"Distraction," Rukia corrected softly, motioning for the girl to come to her and leave the taichou alone.

He shook his head. "She's fine." He rested a hand on the tiny arrancar's head and signaled that he was ready to continue.

Urahara prodded the privarón.

"Like I was saying, Yammy-sa—" he broke off, glancing at Grimmjow, who was still glaring. "Yammy's looking all over the living world for a bunch of human kids."

"We already know that," Grimmjow snapped, cracking his knuckles. "If you don't have any news for us—"

"The kids he's looking for are the reincarnations of the Espada!" the arrancar shrieked, cowering.

Hitsugaya's mouth dropped open, and Ichigo looked similarly flabbergasted.

"Well, shit!" Orihime slapped a hand over her mouth, blushing. "Sorry," she mumbled.

"That about sums it up," Yoruichi broke in. "We almost lost fighting them once, what are we going to do if he reforms the Espada?"

"With a bunch of kids?" Ichigo asked. "What can he do with a bunch of two-year-olds?"

"At least we know why he's looking for kids that young," Rukia said. "I was really worried he was eating them or something."

"He'll probably wait until they grow up, Kurosaki!" Ishida snapped at the same time.

"But why would he appear here?" Chad asked slowly. They all shut up and listened as the usually quiet teen spoke. "If these kids were reborn all over the world, why would he keep invading Karakura? You would think he wouldn't want us to notice until his plan was complete."

No one had an answer for him.

Hitsugaya didn't think it was quite that simple, but he lost his line of thought as he noticed something odd. "Grimmjow, what are you smiling about?"

The former Espada snickered, and then let loose a full-force creepy laugh. "Nothing," he croaked out, shoulders heaving.

"Explain yourself!" Ishida demanded.

But Grimmjow just fell backwards, laughing harder.

Hitsugaya felt his lap vibrating as Nel giggled too. "Yammy always was the dumbest of us!"

Neither Espada would explain what they meant.

If someone had asked Rangiku a few days ago if being the fukutaichou of a different division would be, well, different, she would have laughed. A fukutaichou position was a fukutaichou position, right?

Wrong. It was completely different. And she hated it.

"Nanao, I'm so bored!" she burst out, taking another swig from her sake cup. She'd finally made dragging her best friend to the bar a weeknight routine. Sure, the teetotaler only drank tea, but at least Rangiku didn't have to drink alone—she couldn't very well moan about her job to Shunsui any more. "Juushirou does all his own paperwork, and his third seats, as annoying and incompetent as they seem, have everything else running like a well-oiled machine. I have nothing to do! I can come in late and drink all day, and no one even cares. They just thank me for my hard work! I'm redundant!" she screeched, sobbing into her arms.

It confirmed that she had been transferred not because the Thirteenth needed her, but because Toushirou didn't want her any more.

"Give it time," Nanao told her, patting Rangiku's back and rolling her eyes at the same time. "You'll find your place."

No, she wouldn't. She didn't have one.

Not any more.

Rangiku's respite from insomnia only lasted so long. After three days, the dreams came back. Vivid snatches of memory and fantasy blended together until she couldn't tell one from the other, and just as her every muscle clenched and she approached that elusive peak, she awoke, gasping, mind racing and skin tight and body horribly, painfully empty.

It was the need that drove her to madness. She tried everything—reading the dictionary, doing paperwork, soothing the ache herself, but none of it worked. She could bore herself to tears, but not to sleep. She could bring herself to peak after peak, but the need only grew. And so she raged and she wept and she lay awake. And by the weekend, she was a wreck again. Tired, needy, aching, desperate. Deja vu.

But more than that, she was lost. Thirteen wasn't Ten, and Ukitake wasn't Toushirou.

She tried to pretend she wasn't in love with a man who didn't want her. She was just used to him, that was all. Before these months apart, hardly a day went by where she didn't touch him, didn't hear his voice, didn't annoy him into screaming her name and feel that little clutch inside her when she saw the affection warring with frustration in his eyes, and God, she was back to being in love with him again. He was too much a part of her, too essential to be the one that got away or, let's face it, the one she never had. It wasn't her division she missed, or the office, or her old room, or even her former subordinates—it was him. Hitsugaya Toushirou was her home.

So she lied to herself. And on her day off, she snuck off to the Living World, thinking if she could just see him, just hear his voice, just lean back against him and feel him solidly there, the world would stop reeling and her head would stop spinning and maybe she could be found again.

She'd lost herself in him and now she was losing herself in the want of him. Was there any of her backbone left at all?

She stepped through the senkaimon outside of the Kurosaki Clinic, and she felt it again. She'd dismissed it the first time as a fluke, but the moment she entered Toushirou's vicinity, it was like an invisible cord snapped into place. She could almost hear it thrum, feel the vibration. Like a missing piece of her reiatsu returned and she could be whole again.

She didn't flare her reiatsu. She didn't want Ichigo or anyone else to notice. Besides, she knew her mere presence was enough. He would feel her. They were that attuned to each other after all these years. He opened the door within moments.

God, he looked good. Strong and serious and everything that was right with the world.

"Tai—Toushirou," she stuttered, steeling herself, wondering how he was going to take her calling him by his first name.

"Rangiku." In stride, apparently.

She flung herself at his feet, buried her face into his stomach and held on for dear life. Like a teddy bear except better because he was real and made of battle-hardened muscle instead of cotton and fluff. He didn't sputter or try to pull away like she'd expected. Instead he placed one small, yet surprisingly heavy, hand on her head and sighed. And she cried. Whether it was out of relief or desperation, she didn't know, and he didn't ask.

She wouldn't beg him to sleep with her. She wouldn't.

She just wanted to hold on a little longer or maybe forever, but definitely until his scent and the chill of his reiatsu stopped making her so God damned happy.

She let out a sob and his fingers tightened in her hair. She looked up, and it was probably her imagination, but she thought she saw her desperation reflected in his eyes. His reiatsu took on a wild edge as it caressed her skin. He clasped her hand and tugged her to her feet, and they went up to his room just like before.

She just wanted to be near him, to bask in his presence a little longer, and did that sound like worship, because she didn't mean it to. It was them, together, that she worshipped, not him. She just needed to touch him—anything else was secondary.

But they had sex, because that was what they knew how to do.

Not that she was complaining.

It was agony and it was ecstasy and it was what fantasies were made of except it was real. He kissed her neck while she ran her fingers through his hair—as always, thrilled that he allowed her to. He looked so good in modern clothing, but he looked even better out of it.

There was kissing and touching and care—so much care—and then thrusting and dragging and panting and begging and moaning and coming and pleasure more like pain than anything else. And as they were coming down from that high her eyes slipped into his, and she held her breath at the intimacy.

He moved as if to get up, and she started to as well, figuring he wasn't going to sleep this time, so she might as well leave now. Awkward, yes, but she couldn't stand to be in his way. She pulled herself to her feet to search for her uniform.

His hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Don't leave," he said, commanding as ever. And what could she do but obey?

As he went to the bathroom, she laid back down, strangely nervous. But he just came back, curled himself around her, pulled the covers up, and kissed the back of her neck.

His grip tightened with her every movement, as if he feared she would try to slip away. She certainly considered it; she couldn't see why he would care, and it would save them another awkward scene in the morning. But she leaned back into the wall of his chest, listened to the barely perceptible sound of him breathing, and she was just too content.

She should be ashamed for this weakness, but all she could feel was elation. Acceptance. She loved this man, she could finally admit that to herself—he was an incredible man, and it was okay to love him. He didn't love her back, didn't want her in his life, but he seemed to enjoy sleeping with her.

She couldn't have all of him, but he would give her this. And in love, one took what one could get. When need fought with shame, need always won.

She needed to breathe. And he was her air.

A/N:

Thanks for reading! Sorry it's been awhile; I've been trying to get healthier and make it to the gym more often (as in 5 days a week), and that's dramatically limiting my writing time. But I'm updating as fast as inspiration and my schedule allow, I promise! Please review-it really does help with the inspiration part! Seriously...I check my email like every five minutes the morning after I update, and sometimes I won't get up until I get a review...which often makes me late for work :-P Oh well.

Oh, and am I the only one who's actually liking this new filler arc? So much for starting off slow!