Rangiku Matsumoto gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands, but the car was sitting still on the side of the street. In the passenger seat beside her was her purse. In her purse was a gun, her papers, cash, her favorite lipstick, a pair of sunglasses and gloves. To any passerby who might have stopped to take a peek inside her borrowed car, they might have seen a woman prepared to skip town.

But Rangiku had no destination in mind. She sighed and turned off the ignition. It had been this way for a week now. She would pick up her bag, head to the car Toshiro had given her, start the ignition and then kill it the instant she had more than a few seconds to think about her predicament.

And then she would get out of the car and head back to the motel she was staying at. It was a seedy little shithole, the place, but anywhere else and people would recognize her. Sunglasses did little to hide the magnanimous way she walked, the boisterous way she talked. She was a star now. A mid-level one, perhaps, but still. For anyone who knew where to look, she wouldn't be hard to find.

Walking back to her motel now, Rangiku rummaged through her purse so she could drop her keys back in. So distracted was she that she hardly noticed the shadow emerging from beyond her shoulder.

And then someone grabbed her wrist. Rangiku almost screamed, but a hand came up to cover her mouth, tugging her backwards until they were out of the main street and into an alleyway.

She didn't even have to turn around to know who it was, but her heart lurched to her throat nonetheless. She forced herself out of the snakelike grip of the man behind her and turned on her heel, panting.

The years hadn't treated him kindly, but somewhere in there was still a man she once loved—a man she would have given her whole life for, if only he hadn't given her away first.

"Gin," she breathed. She wished she didn't sound so ragged about it.

Gin Ichimaru smiled. It was a cutting smile, one that made her uncomfortable, but a part of her was relieved to see him. It didn't matter how many years it had been; seeing Gin would always be a mixed bag of emotions she only ever knew how to express on stage.

"You really should know better than crossing the street unawares, Rannie. I mean, what if someone just grabbed ya off the street—outta the blue?"

Rangiku frowned, ignoring the rapid rush of her heartbeat. "How did you find me?"

So far, only Toshiro knew she was here, having urged her to skip town the second she told him what had happened. Her blood chilled. Did Gin—?

"I didn't crack any knuckles, if that's what you're suggesting," Gin said lightly.

"That's not funny," Rangiku spat, and all her earlier trepidation vanished. "What are you doing here, Gin?"

To her surprise, Gin's eyes grew dark and serious. "I need to know what you told Ulquiorra. Now, I know what you're going to say, Rannie. You're gonna ask me to fuck off and never show my face to you again, but I think you and I both know this seedy lil' motel ain't going to keep you safe for long. That Kurosaki boy ain't slow, you know?"

"He wouldn't kill me," Rangiku said gravely. "They say he's got more honor than your boss, anyway."

Gin's expression didn't change. Once, it used to be easy to read him, but there was a wall between them—one Rangiku was too cautious to break down. Not after what had happened last time.

"You ever hear about what Kurosaki did to the man who gutted that lady in the old neighborhood? Shibata, I think her name was," he said.

Rangiku's throat was dry, but she said nothing.

"Guy had a big mouth, a silver-tongue, they used to say. Could talk himself out of anything, but he had a…fixation on women," Gin said casually. "So he figures, 'why not have a little fun with this lady? I could talk myself out of it.' Now this was back when he was running with Gilga's mob, you see. Gilga's mob liked the sort of thing that that guy wanted to do with poor ol' Shibata. They bragged about it."

Rangiku's heart continued to pound, even as she tried to scan the alleyway for exits. She was almost certain she didn't want to hear the end of this.

"So he does it, and he kills her, and he goes back to his guys and makes a big tale out of it. But Kurosaki, he's got a thing about women, right? Keeps his distance, doesn't leer down the neckline. You probably know what I'm talking about." Gin smiled. "Now, he hears about this silver-tongue—and he's got a funny sense of humor, Kurosaki. He stalks up to Gilga's guy and he goes, 'you're good with words, huh? Let's hear you flap that thing, then. I wanna know what the joke is.'"

"Gin…"

"The cops still talk about it—the day they found the body. The guy's tongue was twenty feet away from his corpse. He bled to death like that, the disgusting fuck."

"...Maybe he deserved it," Rangiku said stonily. "Maybe he shouldn't have hurt that poor woman."

"Everyone thinks Kurosaki's victims deserve it until they're on the receiving end of his gun, Rannie." Gin's tone was hard, almost menacing. "Now. What did you tell Ulquiorra?"

"Tell Ulquiorra?" Rangiku demanded. "Tell him? Is that what you think happened?"

Gin said nothing, but Rangiku suspected he was theorizing. Thinking of all the ways Ulquiorra could have hurt her to get the information that would let him into Kurosaki's impenetrable fort. Picturing ways to punish him for it. That, more than anything, filled Rangiku's mouth with a sharp bitterness.

"I didn't tell him anything," she hissed. "He stole my book. I came home one day and my place was ransacked. Now, I know I'm a messy drunk, alright? I know that better than anyone else. But I'm not messy enough to be blind. I knew someone had been inside. I knew they'd taken the book. It wasn't until I read about it in the papers that I knew what they wanted it for."

"Rannie…"

"You think I wanted Orihime to get hurt?" Rangiku demanded. "You think I'd endanger her just to get your attention? They broke into my house, Gin. That's the kind of people you're in bed with!"

She watched his fist curl, a nasty sneer contorting his expression into something cold and cruel. Then, it cleared as he moved on to bigger things. "It's not too late to twist this in our favor. You tell anyone else about this?"

"No, just my manager," Rangiku said, shaking her head at Gin's frown. "All he did was give me his car and tell me to get the hell out of here. He's a good guy, Gin."

Gin smiled, almost teasingly. "That's good, then. I guess that still works. I wouldn't want you to cozy up with a bad guy, certainly." His expression changed. "Now, listen, Rannie. I know you think you've got this under control. But these are some very bad people, and one wrong step could cost ya. Word on the street is that Kurosaki knows there's been a leak. He's going to want blood."

"Why do you care?" Rangiku asked, curiosity and hurt having a complicated battle in her chest. "You certainly never had before."

Something shifted, Gin's smile tightening around the corners of his mouth. "We're really doing this now?"

"You never wrote back to me. Not once. Now you show up here, acting like you give a shit." Regrettably, her voice went soft. "What's a girl supposed to think, Gin?"

There was no way of saying what effect her words had on Gin. His face had gone carefully blank. Rangiku sighed. She had certainly never expected straight answers from him—he'd long stopped giving them to her when he took up with Aizen and his crew. But there was a craving for closure, like she could finally finish this chapter if Gin would let her see his point of view.

"You tell Kurosaki that it was you who helped Ulquiorra, he'll kill you, whether you meant to do it or not," Gin said, his voice tight and hard and shaking. "You go to the police, Aizen will."

Rangiku reached out and touched Gin's cheek. "So, what? We skip town? Head out to California?" It was an old inside joke—a dream they'd had as kids before New York had made knives out of both of them.

Gin's hand gripped Rangiku's wrist. "You could come in. Let Aizen show you how grateful he is for your little gift."

Rangiku's entire body went cold. She snatched her hand back. "It wasn't a gift."

"Now, Rannie, I know you ain't stupid. But you've got to weigh your options here."

"I'm not weighing shit," Rangiku hissed. "I won't play this game, and if you knew what was good for you, you wouldn't either!" Her tone softened. "Thanks for coming out to see me, Gin, but I think I've got it from here."

She gently nudged him and began walking away. And for the second time in their fraught history, Gin let her.

-O-

Orihime's optimism had started to dim.

The situation with Aizen had not improved. His men were still on the prowl, looking to spill Ichigo's blood. And if not Ichigo, they were perfectly happy to make do with Uryu and Chad instead. The three of them hardly stepped out, and when they did, they took their strongest cars, wore their firmest armor and avoided public spaces. Conversations now were hushed, brief, and pointedly indoors.

Ichigo's paranoia, on the other hand, had worsened. He had cut all his cooks and gardeners loose, fearing that any of them, at any time, could be turned by Aizen. To make matters worse, the state of unrest had worsened his shell shock. Ichigo hardly slept, and when he did, his tremors woke them both. She tried to soothe him as best as she could, but her efforts could only do so much. There were countless instances where she'd walked in on him staring into the distance, blank and unfocused and oblivious to her calls of his name. Ikumi, out of concern for Orihime, had suggested they sleep separately, but Orihime couldn't fathom leaving him when he was like that. He was the love of her life. His mind and body might have been away at war, but his heart was hers.

But it wasn't easy.

Eventually, the gardens grew wild and unkempt, while Ikumi and Yuzu bore the brunt of keeping them all fed. Orihime helped where she could, but after a while, it felt less like pruning a home and more like tending to a prison. In all her years of existence, she'd never been coddled like this. The Orihime of before had things to do, places to go, people to meet. Life to live. Here at the manor, she could hardly hear the bustle of the city that had become so lovely to her.

And she wasn't the only one. One morning, while she was on her daily walk, Orihime noticed Karin at the gate, her voice rising to near hysterical levels. As Orihime approached closer, she realized the young woman was arguing with Chad, who stood at the gate like a monument.

" — Ichigo's orders," he was saying gently, as if to pacify her.

"Fuck that!" Karin spat angrily. "He can't keep us trapped in here like this."

"What's going on?" Orihime asked softly, glancing between Karin and Chad as she got closer to them.

"I want to go out for an hour, just an hour and not too far away, but apparently I can't." She glared at Chad. "Ichigo's orders."

"I'm sorry," Chad said. "I know you're mad, but he told me not to let anyone leave, no matter what." While it was obvious that Ichigo and Chad were close friends, Orihime knew that Ichigo's position as the boss held a weight that preceded everything else. Ichigo's word was the word of god, and as his soldier, Chad had no choice but to follow. All the men did.

"Mad?" Karin demanded, and her face crumpled like she was trying not to cry. "I feel cooped up in here! Everyone does. I haven't seen my friends in a week, because apparently my big brother is worried that the police or Aizen or whoever is watching us."

"You can give your message to Uryu. He'll take it into the city," Chad suggested.

Karin ignored him and turned to Orihime. "Orihime, can't you talk to him?" Orihime opened her mouth, but Karin was on a roll. "He'll listen to you. If you told him, he'd listen." She wiped away a tear with the back of her hand, then broke down completely with her head bowed.

Orihime gently held Karin as she cried, sharing a sympathetic glance with Chad over her shoulder. Both of them understood Karin's pain, but their hands were tied. Orihime did not blame Chad or Karin for their feelings.

Later, after she escorted a distraught Karin back to her room and put her to bed, she returned to see Chad.

"I hurt her," he said.

Orihime shook her head. "It's cabin fever. We've been here a long time now." She bit her lip, hesitating. "Has he told you anything at all about what he's thinking?"

Chad sighed. "No. He won't talk to anyone."

"And the bar?"

"From what I've heard, it's doing okay. He goes in the night before he comes back here," Chad explained. "Mornings at the office, afternoons at the distillery and the auto shop, evenings at Highwell. He's doing the job of five men at once while we all sit here, waiting for the next attack."

Orihime swallowed. She knew Ichigo's routine probably looked something like that, considering how late he came home at night and how early he left in the morning.

"When we were over there," Chad said slowly, "there were times when we were in the trenches for days. Waiting. I hated waiting. It never gets any better."

Orihime blinked, realizing he must have been talking about the war. She settled her hand on his arm gently. "I'm sorry."

Chad shook his head. "You must be upset too. You've been through a lot."

She simply tried to smile. It was all she could do.

That night, when Ichigo came back, she watched him from her place on the right side of their bed. His routine was so familiar to her by now, the way he undid his holster, unbuckled his pants, slid on his shorts, unbuttoned his shirt. Bathroom, then a stop at the laundry basket. Yet, it felt like she was looking at a stranger.

"Honey?" she said, just once.

Ichigo looked up at her from where he was tossing his clothes into the basket. "Hm?"

She hesitated, feeling her throat tighten when he came closer. She didn't know what to say.

"What's wrong, Orihime?" He sat down on the edge of the bed, eyes scanning her face as he touched her wrist.

"Karin was crying today," she said, trying to relish in the warmth of his touch. She watched his face change, darken. "She misses going out."

"I know," he said shortly. "I met her on the way in. She made herself very clear."

Orihime had always admired that about Karin, her defiance, but she knew her brother was less than pleased about it. Still. Karin had only said what everyone else had been thinking.

"We're all just a little cooped up, I think," she said, and Ichigo sighed.

"Orihime, I know. But I can't just let all of you walk out there, when that's just what Aizen wants."

"He wants you," Orihime reminded him. And you go out all the time, she didn't add, but she was thinking it. The code of honor was as old as time, after all—no women and children. Had Orihime not been working at the bar, she wouldn't have been a target either, and for all of Grimmjow's posturing, he had mostly treated her delicately until she had betrayed him.

Guilt soured in her gut. Ichigo sighed and pulled his hand away. "Karin has a point. This place is a battleground, and I don't see the point in keeping you all here." He turned to Orihime. "I've been talking to Kuukaku up in New Jersey. I think it would be a good idea for you and the others to pack a few bags and head over there until this whole thing blows over."

Orihime's stomach sank with dread. "What?"

"Mizuiro can drive you. I'd ask Keigo, but he's not exactly pleased with me at the moment."

"You want us to go?" Orihime asked softly.

When Ichigo looked up, he seemed exhausted, his face hollow and gaunt as he rubbed a hand over it. "It's for the best. Safer than here."

Orihime could not express just how much every part of her body rebelled at the thought. "What about the bar?"

Ichigo sighed. "Orihime, we talked about this."

"You said this arrangement was just for a few days," she pushed. Then, "I want to come in. I could help—"

"No," Ichigo cut her off. "Hell, it was wrong of me to involve you in the first place." His voice was hard and full of regret. He seemed to be talking to himself more than her, but a shard of pain stabbed through Orihime regardless.

"You blame me for what happened?" she asked, her voice small.

A beat of silence followed. "No." Ichigo averted his gaze. "I blame myself. If I hadn't asked you to take over—"

"We made that decision together," she said, betrayed, her voice sounding shrill to her own ears. "We built that business together."

Ichigo said nothing. Orihime wanted to sob. All those days of ideating and building, of tasting liquor and going over their books—they did that together. They worked in that place. They had fallen in love in that place. She had used that place to become a free woman, a businesswoman who made her own money through the ingenuity of her labor.

And Ichigo wanted to take it away from her like it was a toy.

Orihime blinked back her tears. "Are you asking Chad and Uryu to go to Jersey too?"

Ichigo gave her an unimpressed glance, like he knew what she was onto. "That's different."

"Why?" Orihime demanded. "Why is it different?"

"Because we lost our baby, Orihime!" Ichigo turned over his heel and roared, making her flinch. "I almost lost you."

"That wasn't your fault." Orihime stepped closer, trying to cup her hands over his cheeks, but for the first time in her memory, he gently pushed her hands away. "Ichigo—"

"Don't," he cut in harshly. When their eyes met, his were bloodshot. "Don't absolve me. I made a mistake, asking you to carry this with me, and I'm paying for it. Don't you see that?"

Orihime turned away from him and sobbed, feeling cold all over. She tried to remind herself that he was grieving, but his words hurt. If he was to blame, then so was she, but Ichigo had refused her any and all accountability in the decisions she had made. This was to be his burden and his burden alone.

"The commissioner got shot trying to help me," Ichigo continued. "Nel got hurt because I wasn't fucking there to make sure people weren't blowing our places up. This isn't a world for good people, Orihime. This isn't your world."

"It doesn't have to be yours either!" Orihime shrilled, tears streaking down her cheeks hotly. "We could end this. We could help the commissioner bring Aizen down. Start fresh."

Ichigo scoffed. "Are you hearing yourself?"

"Ichigo—"

"I'm not one of them," Ichigo spat. "I'd never be. You don't think they'd use me and throw me away at the first opportunity?"

Orihime shook her head. "The commissioner would find a way. She wouldn't let you get hurt."

Ichigo laughed a humorless laugh. "The commissioner would throw me to the wolves and sleep like a baby—and you know what? I don't blame her. I'd do the same in her position."

"I don't believe that," Orihime said softly.

"That's the problem," Ichigo replied.

A silence fell over them, tense and uncomfortable. Though Orihime wanted to deny it, it seemed like they had arrived at a stalemate—one for which there would be no resolution, no happy conclusions. From the very beginning, Ichigo's word had been the law. She had been the naive one.

"Fine," she said softly, oblivious to the way his head perked. "I'll go. But not to New Jersey."

Ichigo's brows pinched in confusion. "What?"

"I thought me being here made you stronger," she said, her throat achy and tight. "But my presence makes you worse. You beat yourself up for our loss. Wear yourself thin trying to protect me."

"I love you," Ichigo said, like that was an argument. And in his head, it probably made sense as a rational one. But a love as self-corrosive as his had no sustainable future. She had to leave, if only so he could focus on protecting himself.

Orihime shook her head and sniffed. "You want me to regret it, the way you do," she began, even as she sensed that Ichigo was about to interrupt her. "But I don't, Ichigo. I don't regret meeting you, or loving you, or being with you. I gave it my all, with my whole heart. I can't help that it ended this way. Don't…." She whispered, strangled, coming up to him with a plea in her eyes. "Don't punish me for it."

"I'm not."

"You said this was a mistake," she reminded him, meeting his wounded gaze. "Do you still believe that?" She swallowed. "If you could go back in time and make it so we never met, would you?"

"If it meant sparing you the pain, I would," Ichigo replied stonily. "You know that."

"Then I guess that's what I should be doing as well," Orihime decided, brushing past him and moving towards the closet—their closet, where his clothes lay right beside hers. "Sparing you the pain."

Ichigo watched her, his brows narrow. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to go live with Tatsuki and her parents upstate," she murmured, setting clothes aside and pulling jewellery out of their boxes. "I'll have Mizuiro drive me to a bus stop tomorrow before the girls wake up. He'll be back before you need him."

"You're leaving?" His voice sounded tense, complicated.

Orihime turned over her shoulder. "That's what you wanted, right?"

A part of her wanted him to protest—wanted him to insist that she made him stronger, that they should sit down and do this as a couple, a family. She wanted him to admit that she had brought something valuable to the table, that he couldn't afford to lose it. She wanted him to confess that their business wouldn't run without her, and that his home would feel empty if she wasn't in it.

"I'll tell Mizuiro about the change of plans," he said, turning over his heel and leaving the room.

Orihime slumped to the floor and sobbed.