Bleach Fan Fiction ❯ After Never ❯ Chapter 2

Standard disclaimers apply. Bleach is far from mine.

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Months of rotation and Matsumoto found herself once again wrapped inside the city practically owned by the night, particularly its creatures, and absently flipped the pages of reprinted documents set one hundred and fifteen years earlier of a Seeker who previously held Matsumoto's same route. No name was recorded, as was tradition, and events of the past proved no different to the ones she faced today. Familiar names sprinkled the paragraphs, Aizen being one of those, almost always accompanied by Tousen, sometimes Ichimaru Gin. He had a fair number of pages directed solely at him almost, with jargon and official statements peppering the irritation screaming from between the lines.

The first record book she read of the Seeker right before her, who had died about nine years ago, only had a couple entries involving a creepy silver-haired vampire.

The silent room's doors slapped open and a well armed guard ushered a small boy inside sternly but notably refrained from touching the kid. “That room is off-limits, as I've told you before. Stay here like you're supposed to.”

“It's dull in here,” the boy grumbled, crossing his thin arms, scowl deepening. He cast a cold-aqua glance at Matsumoto. “There's nothing to do.”

“A far as I know, you're leaving soon anyway. Just…stay here.” The guard looked at Matsumoto, almost pleadingly, but she snorted off his request. She wasn't a baby-sitter.

“Would you bring me a book at least?”

From over his shoulder, the man snapped, “Not from that library!”

Curiously, Matsumoto flipped pages while watching the kid wander into a chair, huffing mightily as he sat to glare at a spot on the clean, off-white wall.

“If you're trying to be sneaky,” he mumbled, flicking a stern glimpse, “you're doing a bad job.”

Snapping the book shut, and almost scaring him, Matsumoto turned her full attention. “Oh, then you finally noticed? Look kid, at least he didn't kick you out right off the bat. You're not the first who wanted a peek inside. Next time try to be a bit more sly.”

He eyed her incredulously. “I wasn't trying anything. I walked right in.”

She lifted her brows. “There's the problem. I've seen bold boys like you run home crying. Just be careful about what room you decide to waltz into.”

He shifted lower into his chair, muttering something she couldn't catch.

Tapping her chin, she altered the discussion. “So who let you color your hair when you're so young? What, nine? Ten?”

“Twelve, almost thirteen,” he growled. “And my hair's naturally white.”

Oh. Ego blow. Matsumoto apologized, and he grunted.

“So,” he ground between his teeth, “who are you exactly?”

“Matsumoto Rangiku, native Seeker, soon-to-be employee on the run.” She winked.

He rolled his eyes. “Hitsugaya Toushiro. This is going to be my company one day. I'll keep that in mind.”

Whoops. She smiled, wondering if she could skip out on this meeting just so the squirt wouldn't have more time to memorize her face.

Slightly curious, though, he asked, “You're from here?”

“Mhm. Born and raised, kid. It's not a pretty town; don't let anyone tell you otherwise. They picked the worst and the best spot for headquarters: right in the middle of all the action.”

“Don't worry,” Toushiro's face scrunched. “I hate it here anyway. It's too warm. I like the cold better, like where I'm from. And there aren't as many of those things running around either. They just make everything complicated.” His eyes narrowed as he pondered. “A Seeker? That's…living based, right? Werewolves, werepanthers, and whatever else?”

“Right. Ironically, only Seekers can see ghosts.” Matsumoto quirked her eyebrows. “You've read up on your history, I hope? I don't want an unknowledgeable boss now, when the time comes.” Hopefully she's still alive by then, she absently thought.

“I have. What they've given me. I can't get into the main library where all the important information is yet.”

“Stuff like this?” She produced her book. “This is big boy stuff,” she cooed.

Toushiro glowered. “I'm almost thirteen.”

“Shirou-chan!” a high but not unpleasant soprano rang through the opening door. A flash of relief and joy crossed Toushirou's stern features before annoyance lightly pinched his lips.

The current corporation head, Ukitake Juushiro, drifted behind the young girl not two years Toushiro's senior. She darted to his side, immediately taking his hand without thought, dragging his half unwilling self for the door.

“We'll be late, Shiro!” Pleading with big brown eyes, thin black hair pulled into a cute ponytail, she tugged a bit more against his fading will. “Hurry!”

“Stop calling me that and I might consider it.”

Rangiku, at the entertainment, suppressed the urge to clap, giggle, and coo at the adorableness, seeing as Toushiro's manliness had already taken a few beatings. Still, how cute!

Ukitake, a mild man ironically running one of the most dangerous corporations around, contented himself by watching with soft coffee eyes; no comments for the growing boy. When all was quiet he turned to Matsumoto. “Rangiku! It's always wonderful to see you back at home.”

“Thanks,” she stepped into his clean office, ignoring the pill bottles left standing like burnt orange sentries on the corner of his desk. “Is he your son?”

“Toushiro?” Ukitake inquired as he settled himself in the extremely comfortable-looking leather high back chair. “Oh, no. A nephew, actually. My only nephew.”

“Ah,” she nodded. “Even so there's so much resemblance!”

“Only some,” the man smiled faintly. “Hair mostly; after the fact there really isn't much.”

“Who was the young lady he looked so comfortable with?”

Ukitake chuckled. “Hinamori Momo. They've been friends ever since Toushiro moved down here to live with me. It's been…about seven years now.”

“Old friends, huh? That's so cute! But does she know about his career yet?”

“Of course. There's no problem from her view, though that might be thinking a bit far ahead. By the way, how did you know about that?”

“He formally informed me right after I declared about going AWOL.”

“That's an old threat, but I doubt he knows that. He's not much of a kidder for being so young. It's qualities that the department heads like to see in any case.” He shrugged almost mournfully. “I hope his friendship with Momo can soften him up a little. Otherwise working with quite a few members of the staff will be very interesting to say the least.”

“I wouldn't dream of giving any unnecessary hardships for the boss!” Rangiku confessed innocently.

Sighing lightly but with a genuine smile, Ukitake leaned over his desk, sure sign the real meeting officially began. “Speaking of bosses and hardships, I heard you gave the head of our southern branch quite a mouthful last week.”

Huffing prettily, she folded her arms and sat back, tilting her head a bit to stare semi-irritated at the ceiling. “He looked like a squealer.”

“Reporting incidents isn't squealing. It's part of the job description, which also mentions keeping pleasant relations with the ones who have the power to send in help when needed, or not.”

“Emotions aren't part of the job.”

“They shouldn't,” he readily agreed, “but sometimes they get in the way, cloud someone's better judgment, and eventually all pile up right here on my desk in paperwork form in addition to everyday work. Personally, I enjoy my job, but that doesn't mean I'd like to have a special case on my hands. Especially evolving you; and something like that could possibly carry over into Toushiro's control. Now, I'd rather not know what started the argument or what was said. All I want is a bit more willingness on your part. He's not the easiest man to deal with, but certainly not the most difficult, I'm sure.”

Matsumoto nodded. “I'll do my best.”

“It's all I ask. Now, as for tonight, I originally had you stationed at the southeastern border near the river, but in light of a situation with the new recruit, I'm switching you with his schedule. You'll be taking the northern and northeastern quarters since another of ours was placed in the hospital a few days ago. I tried to contact any backup available but there was none for the next couple nights. I'm sure you can handle it?”

“Yeah, the northeastern quarter is filled with a bunch of human-lovers and whatnot. They never cause too much trouble, and monitoring monster fights aren't what I'm paid for,” she smiled.

“Even so,” Ukitake urged as they stood and he walked with her to the door, “don't hesitate to give me a call directly. I wasn't prepared to have you switched, then given two areas to patrol. Any extra personal will be ready at a moment's notice.”

“I'll be fine,” Matsumoto assured him. “Besides, on a night like this, I'm sure not a thing interesting is going to happen. It'll be boring probably, and I might fall asleep.” With a short laugh, she left, a slightly concerned smile on Ukitake's lips as he hoped that didn't happen again.

(())

The northeastern corner, home to the hippies of the underworld staking claim against human consumption and taking an unconventional outlook on life by drinking concoctions mixed with animal blood, straight liquor, and other, unmentionable substances. Apparently it was the cocaine of the vampires, addictive and highly intoxicating, having effects that lasted twice as long as a normal meal. As a strange effect, it also made them more docile, opposing a vampire's natural, more instinctive-driven lifestyle. Screwing with your mind had no borderlines it seemed.

In any case, it made for an easy night when not bombarded with slurring child-like giddiness times a hundred in the bodily harm department as an unfamiliar human passing through. Matsumoto had taken this side of the city before, but never expected any of them to remember. They had more important things on the brain.

Hippie vamps were one thing, success rate on their end rose higher than the poor, idiotic Weres who turned unnaturally violent when placed on a strictly no meat diet. Still, they tried. Seekers had no business with them since the number of ghosts usually surrounding the dieting Were was so syrupy sweet it shocked, causing black-out and sometimes a sugar-induced coma. Then said Seeker couldn't get away. It was a messy situation Matsumoto could sleep perfectly fine without.

But of course, the flouncing speech she'd made in Ukitake's office had to turn around a chase her like the devil's hound. Every time the Were pounced, came within hearing range as if hot, dripping steam slithered down her cold neck, Matsumoto's focus faltered, white-hot torment stabbing sweetly from the back of her dry throat. Each breath seared like swallowing rock candy without chewing first. Lead feet, foggy vision, hiccupping in a child's fashion, Matsumoto created quite a scene tripping over garbage cans and curbs.

Of all the incredible, flaunty ways to die in the business, Matsumoto obviously clasped the short stick. Maybe when she took a crack at a kid who turned out as her future boss, or got snippy over a trivial matter downtown at the capital. Was there karma against things like that? It had a real nice ring. Poke a little boy in the ego and in return a drugged were-creature will first disorientate then messily devour you in the same night. Wasn't there some sort of rule against getting bit back in less than two hours? Though it could have also been from the time she'd accidentally gotten an entire stack of important documentation wet after a route by leaving it near an open window after it started raining, then lied about the whole thing and turned in a very less detailed report the following day. Week. Time sure flies.

By default she fell, realizing she should and half over her own feet as the wolf-man, mid-transformed and slobbering, tumbled above her. She swore, doubling over into pitch dark, streetlights flickering far away, fighting the sweet stench of souls reaching out to be helped, avenged.

The touch across her forehead first of all shouldn't have been cold, soft, yet stern and without sharp claws.

Whatever. She'd take it anyway.

Heavy music pounded mutely through the floor and the room smelt of cleanliness and strong salt. Matsumoto nearly fell from the soft leather couch onto an equally soft carpeted floor. Shades revealed the night, drawn back and tied in neat bows, the material blending with the cool walls and muted furnishings. The ceiling stretched many feet over her head, clutching a low-hanging unlit chandelier glittering in the winking city lights flowing breezily through the windows. The room was a little warm.

A rustle, and a shadow detached itself from the far wall.

“Where am I?” she demanded foolishly, jumping at the same moment.

“Ya normally nap on the job?”

Forehead between her fingers and eyes shut tight, she mumbled, “I wasn't supposed to. What time is it?”

“Quarter past ten. Ya gonna be in trouble wit' th' boss?”

He almost sounded daring, like he wanted her to say yes. Shaking her head, she waved a hand. “No, it's not too late. I guess the problem in the northeastern corner is taken care of?” she added skeptically, confirmed by a smile.

“It's dangerous havin' one o' `em runnin' round loose.”

Matsumoto tried to force awkwardness into the silence, eyeing his shadowed form, smile, and dark slit eyes, searching for something to turn the moment from melting ease to escape route. When alone, Gin's taste on her tongue wasn't harsh like eating a spoonful of table salt, but much like sea salt with a hint of the ocean still texturing the flavorful spice. The crawling skin and tingling hardly passed as unpleasantly gross and suppressing. Nothing like any of his kind she'd ever come across.

“Well,” she clapped her hands together, standing swiftly enough for the world to whirl. Gin didn't move. “It's about time to see what's to see down there. Don't want to really upset the boss, right?”

Like clockwork, she predicted him. Walk past and he won't follow at first, just slowly tilt his head and stare with a broad smile tweaking his lips. How she understood so freakishly well Matsumoto wouldn't care to explain or know. Of course, she'd read the entries concerning him in the official statement log multiple times, fascinated while scared at her own interest. Even so, the entries were hardly detailed enough to mention his slighter quirks such as silently eyeballing someone as they left a room.

While telling herself to go about business as usual as the night could now, Matsumoto stepped into a darkened room. Faceless window frames and another furiously tall ceiling greeted her, but the pair of eyes that blinked alive across the way caught her attention. A startling jade, they stared without intensity or emotion, yet scrutiny lashed over her nerves as a distasteful wave of salt burned her throat. Whoever leaned forward, splashes of light spilling over chalky features, shadowing thinly between the eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked in a deep, mellow yet hostile tone.

“She's wit' me,” Gin announced, slipping strong arms around her waist.

A hint of surprise flicked over the pale face. “I hadn't seen you bring anyone inside.” An unspoken question buzzed through the air.

“Nah, Aizen don't know, but he won't mind much if I got her here. She was jus' restin' a bit. Rough night.”

The suggestion in Gin's last statement, stirred with his cold breath across her cheek, slammed Matsumoto like a semi.

Unperturbed by her sudden tenseness, he continued, “If ya want, we c'n ask Aizen himself when he gets back soon `nough. Would ya wanna do that, Ulquiorra?”

A slightly pause. “Unnecessary. I was not aware she was under surveillance.” Standing, without any further acknowledgement, Ulquiorra streamed from the room, hands tucked nonchalantly in his pockets. What Matsumoto had taken for shadows splitting his stony face was, in fact, the blackest ink hair she'd ever seen. What a contrast, black on such a white face.

Speaking of contrast, she debated her next move to exit Gin's friendly hold and wondered wistfully if any effort would matter. The familiarity seeping from his pores mingled with her knowledge that they'd met briefly only once before. He was silent escort, she had her butt saved. The month's had seemed to drag more than usual, more boring, and she'd never quite had the urge to return home so quickly that each city she traipsed, each sidewalk she owned, every person she came across all kept pushing her own town to the forefront. And for no apparent reason, that's what got to her. She'd even considered requesting a permanent station, which added frightfully more paperwork and hours to her already long workday. She just didn't want to leave.

Gin was speaking when she finally returned from her thoughts, his arms gone—which she absently missed—and an all-too knowing smirk. “C'mon,” he beckoned. “'less ya know th' way already.”

Matsumoto frowned. Why would she already—oh. Actually, the next room, white and bright, vaguely resembled a place she'd swear was in a dream-like, faraway memory. Her guess at which door they would take was correct, and finding Ulquiorra straight backed in a chair with a wide volume of a microscopic-print book hardly surprised her. His paleness was no trick of shadows and odd lighting; for a vampire even he appeared almost sickly. Where his skin ended and the crisp white button-up began was hard to tell. When those vibrantly colored eyes shifted, however, one quickly noted nothing wrong, save maybe the creepy blandness accented by down turned lips. And his hair, shoulder length and mussed in a controlled way, screamed against his skin and made his already clear eyes explode like green fire. He gave them an uninterested glance and returned to his reading.

Mapping the halls and turns in her mind, Matsumoto found, oddly enough and quite frighteningly, the proverbial touch in each simple decoration, each step she took, and the sounds buzzing from a predicted set of rooms. A metallic crash clanged behind a heavyset door, followed by strenuous sirens and a very agitated curse.

Gin never spoke a word, and she hardly noticed, but he slipped behind her at some point, allowing her to direct their advance though the secluded and secretive upper stories of the expensive and high-end club, Los Noches, own exclusively by Aizen as he'd prided himself to Matsumoto. Automatically she took a right, descended a spiraling staircase, and pushed open the right-hand door, spilling them into a yawning foyer sprinkled with white, plush couches, armchairs and sparkling glass coffee tables. Boisterous male laughter echoed in the otherwise silent room untouched by the thundering music downstairs.

A long, blacked haired man, hardly a vampire, turned immediately, a leer already spreading his lips. The eye not covered by a patch devoured Matsumoto, running the length of her body and back twice before Gin slid into view, hovering over her shoulder. The man hauntingly turned away, disappointed clearly, muttering something to a companion on the floor.

Even with only one vampire present, Gin's aura nearly consumed the Were's sweet scent, though not unpleasantly she admitted. A ghost, silent and weary, hovered blandly in the corner having followed the perpetrator of his murder too long. The image of a man was blurry and highly transparent, nearly dissipated. Matsumoto, had she the chance to speak with the spirit, wouldn't have held an intelligent conversation with him. He was too far gone, and needed desperately to move on.

When they crossed into view, a lounging dark-haired man snored lightly on a couch, but peeked a lazy eye open for the newcomers. Another leaned against a chair from the floor with wild blue hair. Loose strands hung above matching eyes silted like a cat's around a sharp, harshly handsome face. Between his raised knees sat an equally striking but much softer woman, long sea-foamy hair blanketing her shoulders. The interest in her green eyes was mild compared to the amused sneer on her close companion's lips.

“What the fucking hell—?” he demanded, jerking when long fingers roughly pinched his side. “Woman, do that again and I swear—”

“You may get away with that sometimes around me, but not with another lady present,” she answered crisply through the serenity of her voice.

He growled when the patched sleazebag sniggered. “Fine. What's that Seeker doin' here, Ichimaru?” He flashed a sarcastic questioning glare for approval. The woman instead yanked his ear close, whispering something that stretched a wicked grin lighting his entire face. He guffawed loudly, tossing his head back. “Holy shit! I can see it!” Another laugh. “Hey, taste anything extra sweet, Seeker, cause it's probably me! You'd take that over salty any day of the week I hear!”

His laughter chased Matsumoto down the next hall, a silent, largely grinning yet tight-lipped Gin stepping closely behind.

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Ah, Grimmjow, you obstinate kitty you.

I've decided to keep the chapters relatively short, which is why I cut it off where I did. Also, updates for the most part won't be so close together. I kinda surprised myself by finishing this when I did. Well, as always, reviews are appreciated.