[Fic] [AU] Stygian

[darklightshades]

I have spent the weekend in the kind of madness of momentum, writing at insane paces to keep up with Mia's horrific enabling. This is one of the most coherent results of it all, although a part of me is still staring at it wondering what I was thinking. A tentative continuation of Lucent, moving on from weapons of mass destruction into the realm of spying and conspiracies.


He supposes they think he hasn't noticed.

Sousuke Aizen leans back on his chair, staring contemplatively at the screen, at the encrypted report of illegal log-ins to his private system. He'll concede that their perpetrator is very clever - nearly a fortnight of hacking, several times managing to get past their firewalls, and even though Szayel's system had caught the intrusions they haven't yet successfully managed to track the source. He would have said it were irritating, but he had asked for his defences to be made imperfect for just this reason; to lure the curious and spring the trap when the time was right. It was only a matter of time.

Still, he can't quite fathom why it's Gin's files they're investigating rather than his own. Of course, he keeps nothing critical or confidential here. They have a closed server in the back for such things, and most of the Shiva project exists only in the minds of its progenitors, but he has several files that should have drawn appropriate interest and yet have remained untouched.

“What are you working on?” he asks, idly shifting through the disorganised registry of Gin's work. Even he can't find a pattern to their order, and most of it doesn't even appear to be finished, although there's several intriguing looking formulae, though nothing annotated enough to make it's meaning clear.

“Just the usual,” Gin replies, not looking up from the notebook in front of him. He stretches, his back arching over the arm of the sofa, long arms reaching towards the floor. “Why?”

“It looks interesting,” Aizen says, and it's not quite a lie, but there's only the smallest suggestions of Gin's brilliance here. In one folder he recognises the early works of Gin's thesis before he'd changed his mind, now tending towards something else altogether. In another, he sees what must have been an idle attempt to solve the critical error in Kisuke Urahara's Hyogyoku proposal. It's a promising start, but Aizen can already see it would have run into the same difficulties, and Gin must have realised as well because the equation cuts out abruptly mid-line.

There is one file though, the one that's been raided more than once for every time Gin has gone back to it. Several pages of encoded notes, an accompanying sketch that looks like the internal coil of some sort of device, but there's no accompanying measurements to suggest its function.

“Telling you now would spoil the surprise,” Gin teases, finally glancing up, smirk stretching to the edges of his face. He stretches out more indolently, head resting on his palm. “Wouldn't you rather see it when it's finished?”

“I suppose,” Aizen allows, although he wonders if someone is already making better use of it than Gin is. Even so, however, it'll be a valuable lesson learned in care, and perhaps it won't matter if their persistent lurker becomes unlucky. He sends another message to Szayel, advising him which files to watch more closely, and closes down their database with the intention of dismissing the persistent twinge of something amiss.

Gin rarely deigns to attend official functions, but when he does he tends to draw a mixed crowd of admirers and bewildered onlookers, watching him talk mathematical loops around other, more prestigious academics and cutting so carefully with his tongue that it often takes them minutes to realise the insult. Aizen has always enjoyed the show, although he takes care to keep his distance. He has no doubt that Gin is daring enough to issue him a public challenge, and though they could put on a show that would leave their audience reeling, Aizen couldn't afford the price of either its acceptance or refusal.

“Quite an amazing mind,” one of the diplomats remarks, watching the display in an indulgent fashion that almost covers the sly glance he throws in Aizen's direction. “I do wonder what it is you have him working on.”

“You give me too much credit,” Aizen demurs. “Gin takes projects of his own choosing. I imagine he's found plenty of things to keep himself occupied.”

“But nothing official?” the man queries. “It seems a waste not to give that talent a proper focus. Just imagine what he could do on Kurotsuchi's research team.”

“A combination I'm not sure the world is ready for,” Aizen replies, smiling, although he has to restrain a more derisive reply at the thought. Gin's ability would be absolutely wasted as Mayuri's subordinate. The man was too obsessed with his own brilliance to share, as Urahara had already discovered. “Besides, I don't think he's the kind who works well with others.”

“But you are his mentor, are you not? Perhaps you could encourage him to take up a more legitimate post? His achievements speak highly of him, in spite of his age.”

“I'll give it some thought,” Aizen promises generously, intending to do no such thing.

“You know, perhaps I should apply for an official position,” Gin says unprompted a week later, swivelling in his chair to face Aizen. “What do you think?”

Caught in the act of cleaning the lenses of his glasses, Aizen refrains from returning them to his eyes so he can regard Gin with a stern, unveiled gaze. “I think you would gain nothing from it.”

“What about the prestige?” Gin wheedles playfully. “Position and power?”

“It's much less prestigious than you think. Without the proper backing you'd find yourself locked in libraries, doing unglamorous research work for a profession who'd more than likely take credit for whatever paltry findings you'd make.”

“Working tirelessly and never seeing the light of day?” Gin asks, his smile gaining a poisonous edge. “I don't know...that doesn't sound so different, really.”

They lock gazes for a moment, and Aizen knows when he's being baited but he can also tell there's more than just contrariness presenting itself in Gin's expression. He purses his lips, than carelessly turns away. “If you think you can progress further on your own, by all means. I assured you, before you chose to follow me here, that you would have a promising career no matter where you went. That hasn't changed.”

Aizen knows how to cut with the truth without even trying, and he can see Gin refusing to flinch from that barb but unable to rise to something so mildly worded. He goes quiet, thoughts turning inward, and eventually says, “It's still something to consider.”

“As you like,” Aizen agrees, smiling the same blithe smile he'd shown Gin when refusing to comment of that farce of an exam.

The next time he goes looking through them, he finds a number of Gin's files deleted. Quite a few of them, in fact. He doesn't remark upon it, and neither does Gin.

Their apartments are large enough that the lack of a single person shouldn't make for an obvious absence, and yet the next few days are noticeably quieter as Gin seems to be keeping himself occupied elsewhere, coming in at strange hours and retiring to the guest room when he does. The avoidance seems childish, and Aizen doesn't deign to give it any sort of attention. He has more important matters to attend to, with another summit coming up and a thousand preparations to make to subtly cultivate the arena he requires for his plans.

It comes to an end, after several days, when the onset of midnight finds him wide awake and not quite able to lose himself in a book and a warm cup of tea. The door bursts open, a noisy intrusion on the hour, and Gin stumbles in with eyes too-bright and looking madly buoyant.

“I think,” he says, speech slurring from what must have been the application of several bottles of sake, “I got a job.”

“Congratulations,” Aizen says, unperturbed, setting his book aside and rising because Gin's looking around as though he's forgotten how to find his room and he thinks it's probably surprising that the younger man made it back at all. At his approach, however, there's nothing of their (unvoiced) argument in Gin's expression, only inebriated cheer. He takes a half step, nearly falls, but manages to grab Aizen's shoulders and leans unabashedly against him.

“It'll be interesting,” he enthuses, though the words are nearly muffled, his nose pressed against Aizen's chest since he over-balanced, but he manages to crane his neck upwards at what looks to be a painful angle. “Aren't you proud of me?”

There's a dozen answers to that question, most of them meaningless, but there's something almost unguarded about Gin's expression in that moment and so he simply says, “Yes.”

“Good, good,” Gin says happily, and Aizen doubts the reply has even managed to sink in past the cloud of alcohol, but for a moment Gin simply leans against him, eyes fluttering shut, fingers grasping feebly at the cotton of Aizen's sleeves, and even though the only sound is the heavy heave of his breath it breaks the quiet, and fills the emptiness. A peaceful minute passes before he stirs, and when he looks up again he seems more worn, eyes red. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Alright,” Aizen said, and guides him to bed.

It's a restless night for Gin, and a nearly sleepless one for Aizen. He feels the bed shift as the younger man rolls around, his skin almost feverish, first curling to Aizen's side and then rolling to the far edge of the bed, throwing off the blanket. Aizen remains unmoving throughout, listening to Gin's lungs struggle with choked inhales, but eventually the drunken sickness passes.

Once, close to dawn, he cracks open an eye and feels Gin's arm slung across his waist, the touch tense and tentative, but when he next wakes fully it's gone, and so is Gin.

He doesn't see Gin for three whole days, though this time he can't tell how much is his own doing. He has speeches to organise, presentations to plan, and often he's gone from early morning until late at night. The only sign that Gin is still around at all is the occasional dish stacked on the sink, and once he finds the book he's been reading shifted to the night stand on the other side of the bed.

He leaves it there. He doesn't have time to read it at the moment anyway, and it would be petty to reclaim something he doesn't need. He tries to keep that resolution in mind as the days stretch on.

When his assistant summarily suspends his duties and practically orders him to take the next morning off, he finally manages to catch Gin as more than just a fleeting shade on the edges of his vision. He seems utterly lost in thought, nibbling disinterestedly on the corner of a piece of toast, and actually starts when Aizen enters the kitchen. “I thought you'd be gone already.”

“Not yet.” He prefers tea, but Gin seems to have recently acquired a taste for coffee, and since the pot is ready and hot Aizen pours himself some and turns to regard Gin over it's rim. “How's your new job going?”

For a moment, Gin merely blinks at him, and Aizen wonders whether he even remembers their last conversation, but after a moment the masking smile slips into place. “It's perfect. Even better than I'd expected.”

“You never did mention what it was,” Aizen says, taking a cautious sip. His drink has been brewed strong and black. Bitter.

“No,” Gin replies cheerfully. “I didn't.”

He doesn't say anything else, but an awkward silence isn't an effective enough weapon to be used against Aizen. It becomes a considering pause instead, and it's Gin who shifts first, discarding his meal and dusting off his hands. “Ahh, but you'll have to excuse me. My ride should be here shortly.”

Aizen makes a dismissive noise, turning to the fridge to see what might be available for breakfast, and doesn't look up until Gin leaves. Only when he's sure the door is shut does he grab the phone and swiftly dial a number from memory.

“Ulquiorra? I need you to have a car tailed. Find out its destination for me. Yes, it's leaving from my residence right now.”

He glances out the front window and reads back the license plate of the vehicle Gin climbs into, then hangs up with an uncharacteristic frown, wondering how he could have missed such an obvious discrepancy and trying to figure out how long Gin had been lying to him.

He calls into the office, arranges for his meetings to be shifted later in the afternoon to buy a little more time, and in the process of thinking back carefully over the last couple of weeks for when this farce might have started, and in the process remembers one other task he's been neglecting. This time, instead of sending a message, he calls Szayel directly.

“Oh yes, of course I caught him, Aizen-sama. I told you I would.” Szayel's pride is muted by a note of uncertainty.

“Something the matter?” Aizen queries, his tone a deceptively gentle command.

“Hmm, well I thought Ichimaru would have told you.”

He doesn't let any sharpness creep into his voice. “You've been speaking to Gin?”

“He said you were busy, and that he was going to take care of the matter for you. Was that wrong, Aizen-sama?”

Aizen closes his eyes, thinking that he of all people should have known better than to believe that Gin wasn't paying attention even when he was otherwise occupied. He'd watched the younger man sleep through a whole year's worth of classes and ace every single one of them.

“No, it's fine,” he says, and it sounds perfectly convincing. “What did you give him?”

“An address,” Szayel says, and Aizen commits it to memory. “There haven't been any more attempts since I told him, so I thought the matter was dealt with.”

“A miscommunication, it seems,” Aizen says. “Thank you for your assistance, Szayel Aporro.”

Crushing the phone in his hand would serve no purpose, he reflects, and in the next ten minutes Ulquiorra contacts him again with the destination of the vehicle. When he hears it, he's not entirely surprised to find that it's the same address Szayel had given him, which can only mean two things. Either Gin has betrayed him, or...

He reaches for the phone again, compiling a list of the calls he will need to make in his thoughts.

He's forced to go to his meetings that afternoon because it would be unlike himself to miss them. When he returns home, there's a message on the answering machine; Gin's too-cheerful voice telling him he's working on a new project, that he might not be back for a couple of days. When he tries to call the man's phone, it chimes from the table near the door where Gin had left it. This time, he does allow himself to break something.

It takes some creative shuffling of his schedule, and twenty-four hours of tireless work, but in an impressively short amount of time he has all his preparation in place, neatly locked away in a simple brief case. It's not a diversion he can really afford, but his first mistake was not attending to this problem himself. It will be resolves, one way or the other.

Ulquiorra drives him to the address he's now intimate familiar with, and he examines the sign on the gate - The Marigold Institute - as the guard listens to their fabricated story and is quick to let them through the gates. Now if only all parts of this plan would go as smoothly, he thinks, and then thinks no further because to do so would invite doubt. He will do what he must, and as for Gin...

“Should I come with you?” Ulquiorra asks as he opens to door to let Aizen out.

“It won't be necessary. I shouldn't be long.”

Not unless something goes awry, but he's already prepared for that eventuality half a dozen times over. He wouldn't come here otherwise. He mounts the steps two at a time, entering fearlessly through the front door. The reception area is small, unmarked, and attended only by a single, unintimidating man at the front desk. He regards Aizen with unguarded surprise. “Uh...”

“I'm here to see Shuusuke Amagai,” he says smoothly. “We have an appointment.”

“I don't think he has anyone scheduled for today,” the man replies, brushing blond hair away from his eyes to frown at the screen in front of him. “Your name?”

“Sousuke Aizen.”

The blond looks up with a start that's all too revealing. Aizen smiles thinly. “I think you'd better take me to him. We have urgent business to discuss.”

“Ah...of course...sir.” In spite of the faltering, the other man clearly doesn't know how to refuse him. Perhaps he's not even certain whether Aizen's visit is a legitimate one, because he beckons smartly towards the corridor and sets off at a hurried pace. Aizen maps their path in his mind, recalling the floorplan of the building. They head not towards the laboratories, but to the offices, and Aizen is gratified by the nameplate on the door that the blond chooses to knock on. There's a call from inside, but he only opens it a crack.

“I'm sorry...sir? There's someone here to-” He stalls, flinching as Aizen's hand comes down on his shoulder, looking back with widened eyes.

“I can take it from here,” Aizen informs him gently. “Perhaps you should return to your post.”

The man ducks his head and scuttles off with something like guilty relief, and as Aizen enters the office he watches Gin's smile freeze into place. Amagai's expression is equally difficult to decipher, affecting curiosity at the intrusion, but his eyes are sharp.

“Shuusuke Amagai. I hope you'll forgive the presumption,” he says, quietly closing the door behind him, “but since you have chosen to make yourself known to me, I thought perhaps it would be best to meet in person.”

“I see.” It doesn't take Amagai long to recover his poise, Aizen will grant him that. He offers a roguish grin, leans back in his chair. “Aizen, isn't it? Ichimaru here has told me about you, but if you're here to chide me for making use of your apprentice-”

“You misunderstand,” Aizen interrupts. “I'm not here to speak of things you have taken from me. Those are entirely negligible.” He doesn't glance at Gin, although the stillness on the edge of his vision speaks more than motion would have. “I'm here to speak about things you have taken from others. From the private emails of several foreign ambassadors, for instance. Or from the Defence Minister's classified files.”

He takes the spare chair, completing the triangle, and opens the briefcase to reveal several rather incriminating documents, splaying them out on the table between them.

“Quite an impressive conspiracy you've been building,” Aizen notes. “I might have been interested in seeing it play out, but as you have overstepped your boundaries-” And this time he does let his eyes flicker towards Gin, finds those green eyes already waiting for him, “-I'm afraid I'll have to cut your planning short. In exactly two hours, all these documents will be forwarded to the appropriate authorities. I suggest you find a way out of the country before then.”

He offers no deals, no opening to bargain. The ending is already in motion, but he doesn't express any trace of satisfaction. He watches Amagai's expression twist, something ugly quickly covered, and his eyes flick towards Gin. “And you would throw your apprentice to the wolves as well?”

“Apprentice?” Gin barks a laugh, unwinding in his seat, affecting Aizen's relaxed posture. “You mean, his spy.”

Amagai pins him with a stare that makes the corners of Gin's mouth curl smugly. “By the way, we also found the man you have planted in the summit. You might want to warn him to abandon his post too. Arrests really aren't very pleasant.”

Well played, Aizen thinks, and stands. “In any case, I believe our business is done here. Amagai, I wish you all the best of luck. Gin.”

The summons brings Gin to his side, the familiar shadow on his heels, and he finds it prudent to depart before Amagai can decide how he's going to react to this upheaval but not a single word is exchanged between them even after they are safely ensconced in the car with Ulquiorra driving them far from what will soon be the graveyard of a man's vengeful ambition. Gin's smile is fixed, but not in the slightest victorious, and Aizen gives him nothing but silence.

The silence lasts until they reach home - sanctuary, fortress - and the moment the door is closed behind them Gin opens his mouth. “Sousuke, I-”

He doesn't get any further before a hand crushes his throat, shoving him back against the wall, his skull making an audible crack against the plaster that Aizen is almost sorry for. Violence isn't a tactic he enjoys resorting to, but he intends to imprint a lesson that Gin won't forget. “What did you think you were doing?”

Gin squirms in his hold, reaching up the the hand that holds him captive, but he doesn't try to tear it away. He lets it keep its punishing grip, fingers shakily stroking apologetic circles at his wrist. “I...you found...my files...?”

“Yes,” Aizen says, because only after scouring what had been left after Gin had erased them had he realised that those left behind had not been the same as before. Subtle differences, easily overlooked. “But that wasn't my question.”

Gin offers him a weak smile. “S-sorry...Sousuke...”

He isn't, not really, and Aizen is still furious, but he crushes Gin to the wall, eyes burning into him. “This isn't what I brought you here for.”

The victorious smirk that was absent earlier starts to present itself now, for all that Gin's still struggling not to panic, to keep breathing. “But you did...bring me here for something...didn't you?”

Aizen had never confessed to such. While he had been ready to leave Gin behind, he'd also counted strongly on the possibility that Gin wouldn't allow it. He holds himself still, feeling Gin's pulse fluttering under his thumb, seeing raw triumph gleaming in his eyes, and after a moment he scoffs derisively at his own actions and lets go. Gin falls to his knees, coughing, and Aizen turns away to regain mastery of calm. Only when he's sure he has it does he say, “All this, for what? My attention?”

“Not just that,” Gin says, although with a trace of self-depreciation. Not just that. “You could give me a little more to do. Not just in here. Even I get bored with the numbers eventually.”

He turns, and even if Gin is on the ground, kneeling at his feet, his expression is proud, fierce. Didn't you promise me more, that expression says. He reaches for Aizen, pale hand outstretched, but Aizen easily steps to avoid it.

“That privilege,” he says, “is earned. Not taken.”

Gin pulls his hand back, fingers curling to a fist, rests it on his thigh. “Then I'll earn it.”

“I've no need for an inexperienced player,” Aizen says coolly and he takes a certain enjoyment from the splintering cracks in Gin's expression. Hunger denied acknowledgement, and fealty dismissed even though he knows it's not something Gin would offer him freely. “If you're not satisfied, then leave.”

“I...” Gin falters, unable to answer even though Aizen can hear what he won't say. I don't want to.

“If that's all,” Aizen says with an air of finality, moving away, “I have preparations to attend.”

He leaves Gin still kneeling by the door, sealing himself in the study to catch up on those things this delay has caused him.

He spends the night thinking instead of resting, recalling with unavoidable clarity Gin standing in the centre of a crowd, laughing at his flustered opponent, or the press of a sharp smile against his nape, the feel of fever warm skin and the smell of sake. He thinks of possibility, of the double-edged blade that Gin represents, of how in the coming months and years the games are only going to get more dangerous and how a loose canon could destroy everything he's trying to build.

What is risk? Is it keeping Gin close, in all his terrible, destructive brilliance? Or is it letting him go, to see what might burn in his path?

Or is it something else entirely?

In the morning, when he emerges, he finds Gin asleep on the desk in front of the computer, face planted on the keyboard and a line of gibberish on the bottom of the screen, but above that is a new, entirely reworked solution for the Hogyoku problem, this one without the recurring errors. They'll discuss it later, he thinks, to make sure its viable, but for now he strokes Gin's hair until there's a soft mumble of sound, lashes fluttering.

“Do you still want to earn it?” he asks as Gin is still only on the verge of wakefulness. There's a sluggish pause before Gin nods, sitting up slowly enough not to jostle the hand from his hair. He doesn't look, in that moment, like a fearsome weapon...but Aizen doesn't doubt he'll adapt quickly, just as he's done to every other challenge.

“Very well,” he says gravely, but his touch is still light. “We start now.”