Wow, I fail at life. No, wait, too dramatic. Wow, I fail at updating my fics. Better.

Well I'm not dead, folks. I'm really sorry for the ridiculously long wait. Gah. I had to reread everything and then realize that I still did like Bleach and ask myself what the hell was I doing not finishing these stories?

-Sigh-

So I return with an update and an apology. I hope it doesn't happen again.

(((())))

Ulquiorra was praised for his cold intellect. The unwavering calculations of his acute mind condemned the innocent and the damned in the same passing thought. His power was contained precisely to the degree that a second release, akin to a shinigami's bankai, was hidden from the very eyes of Aizen Sousuke. His emotionless mask betrayed unfeeling flames of loyalty and utter devotion to those whom he held worthy. And in his uncultured-emerald gaze, no one was held so high. Not in a position of power, authority, intelligence. These Ulquiorra all boasted himself, therefore could find no compromise with another being. Not from this plane of existence.

Not unless that being swam in a lake of compassion so deep even Ulquiorra couldn't fathom its depth.

A small Arrancar chattered away, snuffling through the damage done to a single wire of hundreds cluttering the wall of the hallway control room. Clearly this was intentional, as Ulquiorra noted with a deceivingly lazy glance at the white-lined board. The door had been locked.

"Right," the little Arrancar sputtered. "It's this here, Ulquiorra-sama. This here."

"I see," the Espada said, turning. "Have this room sealed again."

"But, Ulquiorra-sama, it needs fixing. And—"

The Arrancar scrambled from the room, finding the hall empty. He muttered to himself, and went to repair the mess.

He never reached the bared wire panel.

(())

"Sabotage?" Aizen wondered indifferently, stroking his strong jaw once. The liquid ice of his brown eyes slowly danced across the unflinching face of Ulquiorra.

"Yes, Aizen-sama," the Espada reiterated. "In the Walk Control Room. A section of wires commanding the halls was torn apart."

Aizen calmly studied the corpse at his feet. The idea of sabotage was not new, not in the millennia in which the earth had thrived. But to have a worm chewing at his own strings? Aizen could only smile coldly. All good plans required a few unwarranted holes. Rest assured that none would escape those holes alive, however.

"You're usually less sloppy, Gin," Aizen illuminated, leaning to the left, and propped his chin within a design of his fingers.

The grinning man shrugged, edging around the dead Arrancar's nearly messily removed head. "He ran," Gin said, turning the grin into a maliciously taciturn threat. "Guilty men run."

"Or self-preserving men," Aizen added. He turned back to Ulquiorra, who stood stone-like to the side. "Has the problem been fixed?"

"Repairs are being made as we speak, Aizen-sama."

"You're dismissed."

Ulquiorra bowed deeply, forgoing the affirmed fist to his chest.

"Ulquiorra," Aizen commanded, changing his mind. "How is our guest?"

The Espada paused, staring for the words. His eyes did not flicker in search for his response.

"The woman is…troubled."

"Troubled?"

"She frets, and has dreams that scare her."

"Will she not confide in you?" Aizen asked, drifting his fingers closer to the corner of his mouth, as if physically stifling the twitch of a dark smirk.

Ulquiorra did not miss the gesture; Aizen counted on that.

"She will not."

"See that she doesn't kill herself," Aizen said breezily, if not with a bit of an annoyed undertone, waving the Espada from the chambers. "Or go raving mad."

"As you wish, Aizen-sama."

It was a true pity, that one. Ulquiorra's resurrection had confused him. With any luck at all Ulquiorra would settle his doubts and issues, otherwise Aizen would sorely miss the addition to his collection.

Aizen roved his attention to the smelling corpse. A haunty expression clouded his face, the blackness in his gaze rekindling. It was a terrifying face when accompanied by a smile.

"I'm surprised, Gin," he elongated, stringing his surprise out for no mistake to be had. "Acts of loyalty aren't in your willing nature."

"It's a cover story." The laughing tone of Gin's voice conflicted with the dark twist in his smile and the sharpness of his hidden eyes.

Aizen lifted his brows. "Is it?"

"Isn't it always, Aizen-taichou?"

(())

The dead of night appeared no different from noontime in Hueco Mundo. It was a fact that Rangiku dealt with, and got over. The entire atmosphere was dappled in gray heaviness. Absently she wondered if Soul Society would appear the same way if the air were charged with so many spiritual particles. Damp with reitsu, yet hopefully not as bland with a gritty, bitter aftertaste.

Then again, Soul Society didn't thrive off reitsu alone, but the act of living itself, whether in Rukongai or Seireitei.

Here she went, drifting to a better place and time. Rangiku tried to focus on a single moment where she would rather be than here, but resolved to leave that question unanswered. Her life was riddled in good memories, and yet each seemed tied somehow to the bad. Pleasure came with pain. It was yet another fact Rangiku dealt with and would never really get over, but would rather accept and ignore.

The sedated blonde glanced at the man dressing at the foot of the bed and smirked a little, cocooned rather languidly within his silken sheets. Almost immediately the haziness of after-sex blinked from her body, and the heat that had poured from Aizen's fingers into her blood went cold and murky. The only satisfaction now was that he rose before she did this time, apparently having pressing matters to attend that could no longer wait. The normal night ended with Rangiku leaving, as it had been long before these tumbles in Hueco Mundo. The scene just fit in the past: the woman appearing at his door, the making of purely illegal passions, and a fare-the-well at an hour in which no one would be the wiser. Rangiku could pass her early escapes as habit, but really she just wanted to see if she could recall the moment prior to Aizen consuming her for the first time.

With what Gin had smelted onto her lips not a day ago, Rangiku found she didn't have to reach so far back anymore. And that truly worried her.

Rangiku watched Aizen tie the red sash around his waste, and stifled a laugh. Her face smoothed just as he glanced her way again. Aizen didn't like the way things proceeded. It grated his mistakenly untouchable ego. Rangiku rose first, he never did.

It was a fun little game, if not slightly dangerous. If Aizen hadn't guessed Rangiku's perception of his reaction to her thwarting his formalities, then she had gained a great advantage.

All would surface when he embraced her next.

For her following step toward toeing the boundaries he had most likely set, Rangiku asked, "Do I get a guard?" Aizen turned to her, his expression surprisingly unreadable, the smile straightened and mellow on his ravaging lips. Perhaps she struck a nerve, or actually surprised him. "Someone to help me around this place?"

"Do you want one?" he replied levelly.

She shifted, stretching her body out before answering. His eyes watched, piercing the thin material hiding her from him. Rangiku smiled. "I don't see why not. Orihime has Ulquiorra."

Looking back into her eyes, Aizen carved a smile from the air, turning the calculating madman into a devil. The unadulterated laughter screeched behind his liquid-brown eyes. Rangiku knew she'd lost this battle.

"I'm sure you can find someone willing."

Only when he departed did Rangiku rise and dress herself, donning a crisp white mockery of her shihakushou littered in luscious spans of silk and satin, contracting a soft sigh from the woman as it slid across her chilled skin. The gooseflesh receded after she raked her fingers through her hair and situated the front of the clothing that was, if at all possible, a little more revealing than the woman was comfortable with.

Aizen had a mirror; one that she now looked at herself in, hands braced on her hips. It surprised her initially, but then it maintained a sense of relative familiarity that Rangiku couldn't imagine Aizen without a mirror. Not that the man pestered with his image, no. His egomaniacal fingers didn't reach so far. Or, she should say, so short. His case was far more advanced than a pretty-boy obsessing over his appearance. In truth Rangiku couldn't figure it out. She wasn't positive she was willing to delve so deep into Aizen's psyche. She didn't need to understand his every twist and turn. She sure sa hell didn't want to. Getting by on the skin of her teeth was more of a Matsumoto Rangiku fashion anyway.

"I'm sure you can find someone willing."

Rangiku frowned, passing out into the obscurely hellish hallways. Aizen didn't outright tell her no, or recommend anyone.

He had someone in mind, then.

Truth be told, so did she. The second the request spilled from her mouth Rangiku was picturing Gin. He would be the logical choice, the predictable choice.

So Rangiku set her eyes on someone else.

(((())))

Again, I apologize for the wait. Life sucks sometimes. Let's leave it at that.

It is, however, good to know that I haven't lost the ball for this muse. Dropped it, yes, but didn't lose it.

Gah! I miss my GinRanAi! –sadface-