Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ In The Moments We Share ❯ Choices ( Chapter 2 )

“Alright boys,” Ichimaru Gin started. He just finished placing the cups on the tray, proud of the perfected pattern. The house mandated sixteen cups spiraled outward in four directions; a masterpiece on any drunkard's table. “Gotta a new rule. If it's less then eight cups, ya gotta take the ones still flipped an' you're the new 'Baka' for next round. Got it?”
“That's not fair!” cried Iemura.
“I think it is,” agreed Tetsuo.
“Yea, it avoid cheaters,” Hisagi glared playfully at the blond across from him.
Rangiku turned her nose up, appalled. “I have no idea what you are talking about,”
“Sure you don't, Baka . . .” Gin antagonized, choosing to indulge in the last of his cup rather the finger stretched face she made at him. Pushing the tray to the next in line “Keep it up, Baka, 'an your face'll stay that way. Now earn your title,”
“Hey, I think Kotetsu-chan's gone,” commented Iba, poking her unconscious state.
“Awwww . . .” grumbled Iemura, “I don't want to have to roll her back to Fourth . . .”
“I'm sure she'll wake when the time comes,” Rangiku said, stretching around to look at her passed out friend, “Anyone got a pen?”
“Baka, you're horrible,” mused the table's long standing reagent, “Everyone knows ya never mess with a lady's face,”
“Yea?” inquired Hisagi as he inspected Tatsuhusa, propped up on one arm. A non-responsive flick to the ear curled a wider grin. “What about guys?”
“Now that,” Gin smiled, reaching into his kimono, “Is a different story,” The flushed lieutenant produced two opportunities for mischief, a green and a red marker, that were split between the victim's flanking parties. Slamming an hand on the table, he pressed more. "Oi, Baka, take your turn! We don' have all night, ya know,"
"I'm goin', I'm goin'," Rangiku replied, brows twisted in indecision. There was something amiss here. Gin was too confident with such odds stack ageist him. There was no way; directly next to impossible. The cups were shuffled after the pin was hidden. Even then, a fresh game was open for her choosing. Scanning over the cups, a decision was made. Her hand covered it down to the base, finger molesting a chip in its frame. Returning the glare, a deep breath was taken in, puffing out her chest in confidence as she began to chant. "Kiku no hana, kiku no hana! Akete tanoshii," The cup was lifted, "Kiku no hana!"
The scent was potent. The obvious smell of sake was built on an undertone of a spice that Rangiku could only know by one name. Tingling in the back of her throat, it reawakened memories of even colder, less bitter nights where it's presence meant safety and contentment. She looked to the tray.
"Baka, you have the worst luck I have ever seen!" laughed Hisagi, the first one to see her lost.
Directly under the clay cup was Kotetsu's pink and blue clip. Somehow, in face of all other probable statistics, the flower was uncovered on the first try. Rangiku couldn't believe herself . . . or him.
"You have to drink sixteen cups, Matsumoto-chan. Do you know what that means?" asked Iba.
"You're cut off!" sang the sunglassed pair the end of the table. With a sweeping chops, they cut through the air.
Iemura fished up a fresh bottle out and rolled it. Dipping down a second time, he pulled up the remaining set and put them on the table. "Last two,"
"Let me do the honors, Baka-sama," said Gin, opening the bottle and topping off her cup.
“I . . . just don't believe it," Rangiku near-whispered, still caught between being flabbergasted and amused. She scanned the spiral, trying to figure out how the ruse was played. All the glazed clay surfaces looked the same. Not one of them were new or overly worn. There were nics and dings from everyday use, but nothing that made any particular one unique. The table lantern held the key, its glow unlocking the secret off the glossy surface. Realization dawned on her. "I knew there was a catch! And you called me 'crafty', Nogitsune-sama,"
"I prefer Myôbu," Gin toasted her cup in his habitual smile, making them both take a drink.
Accepting her fate, Rangiku once again drank the whole of her cup in one sitting. While her decisions may be bad, she still had her pride as a drinker and wouldn't accept charity from no one. Swallowing it down as fast as possible created a bubble that swelled in the back of her throat. The resulting belch resonated off the far wall, returning several decibels softer.
"Awww, that's cute," mocked Iemura.
"Yea, right up there with kittens," muttered Hisagi, "Now what're we going to do with the last bottle?"
"But there's two . . ." Tetsuo pondered out loud.
"Bakamono!" Rangiku yelled, pointing over table and people alike at the offender. There was an angry spike in her tone.
It was then Hisagi's squad mate was introduced to a standard rule of thumb when drinking in the halls of the Gouti 13. Shinigami are soldiers and only in death does their duty truly end. More are lost to the battlefield then will ever be admitted; an understanding only experience can give. When comrades drink, the last bottle is put aside for a new day. The hope is that all those who joined will reunite. The last bottle must always be saved.
"An' so ya don' forget, ya get ta drink half of Baka-sama's cups for her. Hear that," Gin tapped her shoulder and held up the new number, "You only have ta drink seven now,"
"Ichimaru-sama! What the hell!" objected Tetsuo.
"Shut up and get your ass over there. Should probably move anyway . . ." Hisagi suggested, adding a rosy spiral to Tatsuhusa's cheek. Capping the red marker, a collective breath was held when the target snorted to the verge of waking up. Adding a steady snore to his sleeping rhythm, Tatsuhusa remained ignorant. "See what I mean?"
The circle shifted left, started by Tetsuo's reluctant move to play by the rules. He stumbled to the other side of Rangiku and sat with a heavy thud, the others following in the same fashion. 'The Wall', as the unmovable pair were dubbed, slept through continued entertainment. The games became more docile as the ceramics stacked higher. A lot had been cleared in the hours they sat there. Narrow bottle necks towered over piles of empty cups, one of the many faces of a night well spent.
Gin eventually lost his title to Tetsuo through an ill fated game of Jaken. They both received prods of encouragement and jeers of shameful repercussions from all parts of the circle. Reaching over the table to legitimize throws, Rangiku was squeezed to the edge of her seat to avoid getting bashed in the heat of the moment. A third and final round was needed to nullify the stalemate, each having been dubbed a win.
"I'm coming for you, Ichimaru!"
"Let's see what ya got, little man!"
"Oi! Are you gonna let him talk to you like that, Onigiri?" Hisagi taunted.
"Onigiri?" Iemura choked, dribbling half a mouthful back into his cup.
"I'll tell you after Onigiri-chan loses," promised the shinigami next to him.
"Damn you, Hisagi, I'm gonna make you pay for that," Turning back to the Fifth Division Lieutenant with a fire in his glossed eyes, Tetsuo threw out a fist , "Draw, Ichimaru!"
"Ichi!" The two roared.
"Ni!" The rest of the table joined.
"San!" Hands were thrown up and slammed down in celebration of the moment.
When they landed on the table, Gin's fist was trumped by Tetsuo's flat hand. The shinigami jumped, celebrating his first win of the night and threw a victory gesture in his squad mate's face. Hisagi returned the favor in kind, sparking a bout of wild arm motions and facial expressions that became more offensive and vulgar the longer it went. The king and his fool having a contest; the irony of it all. Sweeping his arms out, Tetsuo pushed both hands inches from Hisagi's face in a particularly obscene formation. Hisagi retaliated, grabbing the shinigami's sleeves and they locked together over the table, playfully punching each others' sides.
Several times the Ninth Squad members swung beyond their range of personal space. Each time she dodged and evaded; the magnificently agile creature she was. Gin held his breath as another stray skimmed dangerously close. She pulled away from it barely unscathed, a text book curve etched in her back. She had always been lazy; putting out the bare minimum to get something done. He exhaled slowly. The girl he knew was still the same.
"Beat his ass, Tetsuo-sama!" yelled Iba in true Squad Eleven fashion, taking a step back.
"Watch it!" Rangiku protested, inching over further.
"Guys, maybe you should-" Iemura started, "Iba, what the hell! You're drinking the whole thing!" The Fourth Squad officer tried to snatch the communal bottle, but missed as his target moved away from the table.
Tetsuo dropped his playmate and charged the thief, effectively ending the night. Hisagi slid over the table into Tatsuhusa and toppled over the edge. They landed with a distinct crunch. A painfully irritated groan covered a stifled laugh.
"Oden with fukuro, please!" Kotetsu shot up before letting out a deep yawn. With sleep laden eyes, she slowly began to piece things together.
Even after being tackled to floor, Iba still managed a tight hold on the bottle. Tetsuo scaled toward the outreached hand, just about to reach the prize when a sandal pushed him back down. "Hisagi toppled 'The Wall'! ", Iba declared, wiping his mouth clean.
With a quick grab and roll, Tetsuo eyed the bottle. "Awww you bastard! There's nothing left!"
"Wasn't too much in there anyway," muttered the shinigami, barely managing to stand on his own.
"Alright, Sleeping Beauty, let's get you up and movin'," Hisagi helped the larger shinigami to his feet.
"Guys," Tatsuhusa sat on the bench, cradling his head. The groans, burps, and gaggles from the other side of his wide back mixed with Hisagi's disgust writ face spelled a mess of trouble, literally. "Guys, think I might need help gettin-" He cut himself off when a 'gurbble' erupted out of his gut. A hand went to his mouth.
"Don' puke on my floor," Gin said, pointing a stern finger.
With another spasm, Tetsuhusa shoulder checked pass Hisagi, pushed Iba back to the ground, threw open the door and up heaved the contents of his stomach onto the snow.
The clock tower rang the last bell of the night; half past midnight.
"Guess we're finished, huh?" frowned Rangiku. She looked over the table at the floor, "Damn you two, I'm gonna have to replace those," she glared at Hisagi.
"Gomen . . . Motsumoto-chan," Hisagi replied sincerely, though his attention was somewhere else. Bearing witness to another round of spasms, he continued to laugh as the Eighth division's shame vomited outside. "I'll get-" His eyes narrowed, smile turning stern. "Tetsuo! Get your ass over here an' clean up the mess you made!"
The accused hesitated only for a second, stopping his slow creep toward freedom. Looking over his shoulder, Tetsuo bolted outside with Hisagi hot on his trail. Iba shouted, following them into the snow. Rangiku sighed.

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"Are you sure? I mean, I'll help finish up -" Iemura started.
"Just go; you did your part. Besides, seems like there's enough on your hands," Rangiku smiled, patting Kotetsu. With attentions being drawn elsewhere, it wasn't long before she put her head back on the table and went to sleep. "Get under the other arm and lift on three. One...two...three!"
"Ehh...?" cooed a drowsy voice, "What's going on?"
"Gotta keep you on your feet, Isane-chan, least till you get home," Rangiku dipped out from under her friend, "Got her, Iemura?"
can do it on my -hiccup- own!" objected Kotetsu. Pushing her squad mate away, she stood proudly before slowly tipping sideways. Iemura reached out and pulled her back, wrapping a hand around her shoulder.
"I know you can, Isane-chan, but lean on Iemura-kun till you get back; it'll make it easier," suggested Rangiku as she walked with them toward the door.
"I guess you're right . . . But you better not get fresh!" she threatened Iemura with renewed zeal.
"With the wrath of Unohana-ticho breathing down my neck, I wouldn't dare," he reassured, shifting Kotetsu's weight. A keen eye glimpsed a twinkle from behind the sunglasses, sneaking a quick peek down the loose uniform neck. "But I can dream . . ." he muttered, starting to walk.
"Alright, 'cause there was enough of that already going on and I don't want none of it!"
Rangiku stopped and a hard crease formed in her brow. "Who was feelin' up on you Isane-chan?" Pushing up the black sleeves to her elbows, she marched vigorously to the door. "I'll knock 'em silly!"
Ignoring Kotetsu’s manic giggling, Iemura sighed. Looking over his shoulder, he tilted his head to see. Pupils skimming over the frame of Iba's sunglasses linked with the enraged shinigami. In them, Rangiku saw a wave doubt, derailing all thoughts of vengeance.
“Oi! What’s that for?” She was totally confounded.
"Seriously, Matsumoto?” he replied, being drawn into her confusion. “I mean if -Hey!" Iemura was twisted around.
Kotetsu, took in a breath to regain composure before her smile curled wickedly to one side. "I wasn't talking about me, Rangiku-chan,” Her focus wavered; washed over eyes drifting freely to the side. With a double blink and a stern refocus, she pulled herself back together. “Come on, Iemura-kun, you need to take me home,”

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He watched Rangiku contemplate; focus drifting over the hall to its occupants. She shook off the brewing notion, stacking unbroken cups on the tray. She listened to Iemura grumble as he piled trash and bottles into the basket. Setting two exceptions aside, the sealed bottle and its halved counterpart resurrected ideas so tantalizing, Gin wondered if she felt the teeth biting her bottom lip. When she finally spoke, her voice cracked and so did his smile. From the spot along the kitchen wall, Gin watched her flip out the shoulder length hair and wave Iemura off when he questioned her reasoning. Patting her friend’s head, Rangiku was firmly set in her excuse.
With Kotetsu Isane’s verbal slip and Rangiku’s disproportioned rage, Gin thought it best to step in before words turned too careless. Shouldering the long handled dustpan, he almost dropped the broom when Iemura spoke. Kotetsu’s impressively quick reaction abruptly silenced the loosened tongue. Following a playful tease, a decision was made to withdraw after seeing the lieutenant.
Gin was aware of his wrongdoing. It began when he played into Kotetsu’s ill-advised invitation and would end when he locked up the hall. Whatever else happened that night, behind closed doors was where it would most definitely stay. Even then, he had to be careful. Falling into the temptation of overindulgence held grave consequences. Fortunately, the chance of Aizen Souske staying ignorant weighed heavily in Gin’s favor, as did the official scheduling where he was listed as ‘off duty’. ‘One must exert great control in order to obtain anything of true value’, Gin remembered being lectured in the early days of his career. If his mentor could only see how well the advice was being used, it might actually surprise the Captain. Or enrage him . . . he pondered with a second thought. Aizen’s unregimented wrath was among the rarest breeds of cruelty.
Leaning on the broomstick, Gin wondered when he should wake the daydreamer. Over Rangiku’s shoulder, he watched Kotetsu and Iemura leave, pausing briefly before slamming of the door. Still she stood, lost within the depths of herself, disconnected from the world. He looked her over, seeing his swamped haired girl from North Rukongai before the voluptuous bombshell whispered about in the halls of the Tenth. The line he would have to walk now would be particularly thin. His earlier digression was inexcusable.
The moment the Ninth Squad nakama threw down, it was only a matter of time before the game got out of hand. When it did, Rangiku scooted as far away as she could, playing that uneasy game of agility. Every throw and sideswipe, block and parry, inched her further and further away until she pressed Gin’s shoulder with nowhere else to go. Seeing an unavoidable harm deflected her way, his arm looped around her waist and pulled her to safety. That was Gin's moment of inner failing; losing himself to instinct. Fortunately, it was disguised as a rescue. She didn’t protest or pull away, only wiggled herself comfortable and yelled across the table. When the pair crashed to the floor, she moved to get a better look.
Walking into the situation, the lieutenant knew what he was doing was a blatant act of insubordination, but it wasn’t until after-the-fact did Gin realize where he’d erred. It had been reflexive, something so much a part of him that its existence was undeniable yet nameless. In the rescue’s wake his gaze fell upon Tetsuo, the owner of a nearly fatal backhand. Gin wouldn’t have known if it wasn’t for a certain low ranking officer. Shifting to a blur in his peripheral, there was Iemura, stuck between shock and terrified before submissively looking away to play peace maker. Livid blood had boiled to the surface in the absence of logic and bore a witness. His failure was complete and it posed a very real and dangerous problem.
Gin sighed and readjusted the broomstick. He was uneasy, but knew it would stay confidential. Iemura was no one’s fool and the price hung on that conversation was as heavy as a long-standing lieutenant’s word, and later his sword.
Then there was Kotetsu. She wouldn’t remember anything past sunset. Though, Gin could have sworn she was asleep the entire time.
"You were totally all up in my lap earlier, ya know," Gin stated with a glow of amusement.
"Shut up." Rangiku elbowed him and snatched the broom. She sleeked down the walkway to gather pieces of scattered wreckage.
Clanking the dustpan on the floor, Gin coaxed her into a game. Rangiku played along, taking aim with the larger pieces and sweeping smaller bits into a collective mound. Every couple shots, Gin would turn the opening or move the bin aside, letting the piece skip across the floor. He stuck out his tongue as another missed the mark. On her last shot, Rangiku aimed carefully, making sure to hit the target. Turning the angle of the straws one last time, she flung the glass in a perfect streamline. Gin jerked the dustpan in front of him, catching the bottle shard just in time. With a long whistle, he gave in and met her.
Sweeping the pile into the bin, Rangiku held her breath. How long had she been watching the snow melt? She remembered dazing at the thin coat of white as it swirled through the open gap and settled in a pile when the room sealed. She wasn’t so pose to think of Gin as she did and that’s what she was still lost on. Accepting him as the lieutenant of the Fifth Squad wasn’t nearly as hard as forgetting what they use to be. Now, the down had melted into cold puddles, slowly on its way to becoming temperate on the floor.
“Hmm?”
“If ya get the cups, you can follow me ta’ the back. Gotta dump trash an’ such,” Gin reiterated.
Rangiku nodded, resigning the broom back into Gin’s care. Picking up the tray carefully, she watched him empty the dustpan into the basket before slinging it and the broom over his shoulder. With the other hand, he gripped the thick handles and peaked over his shoulder before leading the way to the kitchen. Balancing the night’s clean up, Gin held the door with his foot, waiting for her to pass.
“What’s that for?” he asked when she half smiled.
“Been a while since someone’s held a door for me,” Rangiku said, adding the tray to the other sullied dishes.
“That’s a shame,” Gin commented, setting the cleaning implements aside. Looking in the basket, his mouth twisted into a frown. “You don’ want this thing, do ya?”
“Naaaa, just trash it,”
Gin lifted the tightly woven market basket and let the whole of it slid down the trash chute. Holding the lid open, he listened as it crashed in the dumpster. An amplified shatter rang up the duct and roared into the kitchen. Together, they smiled at the chaos.
“That was cool,” she said over the ringing in her head.
Twisting a finger in his ear, Gin chuckled, “Yea it is. Too bad it works both ways; I’ve caught people in here a couple times doin’ rounds,”
“Remind me to stay away from kitchens then,” Rangiku giggled on her way out.
“Don’ think I gotta remind you of – Hey!” The light was snuffed and Gin left alone in the dark. She watied for him on the other side, leaning on the spot he favored earlier. When she stuck out her tongue, he grinned. “Smart ass,” he mused before locking the door with the division’s skeleton key. “You’re in Tenth, right?”
“Unfortunately. Really sucks bein’ without a Captain,” Rangiku sighed. Walking back to the table, she sat down with a thud. “I’m exhausted. Guess we’re finished?”
“Think so, just gotta put out the lights,” Gin tucked the key ring into his kimono and exhaled slowly. “I could always get you a transfer, if ya ever wanted one,”
“I dunno,” Eyes jumping to the floor as he sat across from her, “For some reason, I know we’ll be okay,”
“It’s good you have faith in the future of your squad,” the lieutenant complimented, looking over the half-filled bottle.
Rangiku shot straight up, “ ’Course I do! Tenth Squad has the fortitude of a drunk ox! Nothing’ll ever keep us down!”
“A drunk ox, huh?” Gin grinned, caressing the raised kanji on the vermillion surface. “Such imagery,”
“I have the mind of a true poet,” she assured, “Just always gets lost on the way out,”
“As wit’ many of us,” Gin muttered, looking through the open spout, “Ano . . . Ran-chan, why don' we finish this. Not much left, an' no use in lettin' a good drink go ta waste,"
“I don't know if that's kosher, Gin,” Rangiku said flatly, changing gears impressively fast, “Our relationship will always be different. There’s still a lot unsaid between us.”
“It’s true,” he admitted before taking a deep drink from the bottle, “But if we just focus on the here, an’ the now, we can finish this together an’ still leave happy,” He put it back on the table, just within her reach. To his unrealized joy, she pulled the alcohol in front of her, holding the base with both hands.
Rangiku’s fingers drummed the glass, as she fought to word herself properly, “One condition. Promise me . . .,” a painful blink brought their eyes together, “Promise me one day you’ll tell me why. The ‘whole why’, not a half-assed, ‘Ichimaru why’, ”
God damn promises, Gin spited, dethroned from his seat of power by his Ran-chan’s words, “One day, when all is said an’ done, I will tell you why things happened the way they did. I promise Rangiku,”
“Good,” Her drink from the bottle mirrored Gin’s, face twisting with bitterness, “So, when should I start callin’ you Ichimaru-ticho?”
Time passed with each alternating drink. Together they joked about squad dealings and academy experiences. Every now and then, the topics jumped to a time before, of stolen fish cooked on an open fire, or chasing dragonflies through the summer heat. Rangiku told Gin the real story of how Sora Akira lost his night’s freedom. He’d guessed right, though he never thought his Fifth Seat was the type to so drastically overplay his hand. Apparently, she cheated on that win too. It served Sora right, she assured him, and seemed perfectly satisfied with the entertainment that had been provided.
“They’re a mess, aren’t they?” she smiled, handing back the bottle, “Ya know, it wouldn’t a’ happened if you didn’ let Tetsuo win,”
“Yea . . . but then how would I have gotten you to stay an’ clean up wit’ me?”
“I would'a stayed anyway,” she stated a-matter-of-factly, “I don’t leave my mess for others,”
“ ‘Cause then you’ll get caught,” Gin smiled, reading the twinkle in her brilliant eyes. He drank and gave the bottle over.
“Damn right,” The base of the bottle was lifted high as Rangiku took in the last drink of the night. An empty bottle never felt so heavy. “That’s the end of our night, isn’t it?”
“It is and we gotta keep it that way,” Gin reaffirmed, trying to distance himself from the somber in his tone, “Want the last bottle?”
“You keep it. That way, you’ll owe me next time,” She couldn’t even try to smile, just stood, stretched, and fixed her uniform to better handle the cold walk back to Tenth.
“Deal,” Gin said with a more convincing facade, his mask far more tempered then her’s would ever have to be. Grabbing the empty bottle, he turned away, using its disposal as an excuse not to watch her leave. “Try an’ stay warm or somethin’,” he waved her off as the footsteps got further and further away.
Gin pulled out the key ready to unlock the kitchen door. Winter’s chill rushed around him, its bite stinging to the bone. It died following a soft clank of the exterior door. His jaw tightened, grinding teeth in forever-resented frustration. Jamming the key into the hole, he flung the bottle at the chute. It missed, shattering on the wall.
The final task was to snuff the laterns. Its better this way he told himself, knowing it was the wiser choice. The whole point of the night was to make sure she was, and will be, okay. The day she graduated into the Protection Squads he started watching her file, evaluating her performance, monitoring her assignments. For all Aizen knew, he was looking for potential in other squads, never something outwardly encouraged by Captains, but understood. His final judgment was that she was perfectly capable of handling herself.
The last table held a surprise. Next to the bottle stood the clay flask, unopened since Gin paid his dues. He stared at it, not sure of what to do. He couldn’t leave it, but he couldn’t take it ether. Sending it to back would raise unaffordable suspicions. The notion of throwing it away rose a wave of guilt.
Blowing at the last flame, Gin took an object in each hand, hoping he’d followed the right set of prints in the snow.