[Bleach] all night long I've held your hand [Shuuhei/Rangiku]
Title: all night long I've held your hand
Author: Bri
Characters/Pairings: Shuuhei/Rangiku, Gin/Rangiku
Rating: K+
Word Count: 397
Notes: From the August 14, 2005 prompt for 31_days.
Summary: Getting drunk is the only respectable way to mourn.
She began the evening in the afternoon. By the end of it, he was pulling her off her stool, paying her tab, and escorting her back to her quarters. She swayed and stumbled, occasionally giggling or murmuring something unintelligible in his ear.
He hadn't even gone drinking with her, she would never invite him, but Kira and Renji had been too far gone to deal with her properly. Not that he envied them, he thought, remembering how distinctly uncomfortable Kira looked carrying Hinamori out. Well, they would take good enough care of her at least.
Which brought him back to the task at hand: keeping Rangiku-san upright. Her arm curved around his shoulder; she pressed into his side with every step. His arm was looped around her waist. He cleared his throat uncomfortably when her free hand started to get a little frisky with his hakama. He suddenly felt a great deal of sympathy for Kira.
She was sticky and reeked of alcohol; her hair was a mess and ended up in his mouth. She wasn't graceful or pretty like this, heavy-lidded eyes looking at him and not seeing him. She laughed too high and too noisily; she might start crying at any moment.
How many drinks? Until she forgot, until she could pretend to forget. He drank, sure. But memories burned stronger than alcohol, or at least his always had. He heard himself echoing his captain when he spoke to the division, in the writing of his reports. He felt Tousen's grip in the way he held the sword, in the way he didn't hold it.
He wondered where Rangiku-san still felt Ichimaru, could sake burn that away? Her eyes were glazed over, swimming in drink, empty. Her skin was clammy and cold to the touch. She was trying, evidently, which was more than he could say. He didn't reject the teachings of his traitorous captain, he embraced them. It wasn't real, he knew, but it didn't make what he had said any less true.
What would he have said about this? About Rangiku's curves clinging to him in the darkness. About her unsteady search to forget, to escape, to remember. She had always called Ichimaru by his given name, even in public. She said it now, foolishly, hollowly, little more than a broken whisper. It came out like a question, and he had no answer.
Author: Bri
Characters/Pairings: Shuuhei/Rangiku, Gin/Rangiku
Rating: K+
Word Count: 397
Notes: From the August 14, 2005 prompt for 31_days.
Summary: Getting drunk is the only respectable way to mourn.
She began the evening in the afternoon. By the end of it, he was pulling her off her stool, paying her tab, and escorting her back to her quarters. She swayed and stumbled, occasionally giggling or murmuring something unintelligible in his ear.
He hadn't even gone drinking with her, she would never invite him, but Kira and Renji had been too far gone to deal with her properly. Not that he envied them, he thought, remembering how distinctly uncomfortable Kira looked carrying Hinamori out. Well, they would take good enough care of her at least.
Which brought him back to the task at hand: keeping Rangiku-san upright. Her arm curved around his shoulder; she pressed into his side with every step. His arm was looped around her waist. He cleared his throat uncomfortably when her free hand started to get a little frisky with his hakama. He suddenly felt a great deal of sympathy for Kira.
She was sticky and reeked of alcohol; her hair was a mess and ended up in his mouth. She wasn't graceful or pretty like this, heavy-lidded eyes looking at him and not seeing him. She laughed too high and too noisily; she might start crying at any moment.
How many drinks? Until she forgot, until she could pretend to forget. He drank, sure. But memories burned stronger than alcohol, or at least his always had. He heard himself echoing his captain when he spoke to the division, in the writing of his reports. He felt Tousen's grip in the way he held the sword, in the way he didn't hold it.
He wondered where Rangiku-san still felt Ichimaru, could sake burn that away? Her eyes were glazed over, swimming in drink, empty. Her skin was clammy and cold to the touch. She was trying, evidently, which was more than he could say. He didn't reject the teachings of his traitorous captain, he embraced them. It wasn't real, he knew, but it didn't make what he had said any less true.
What would he have said about this? About Rangiku's curves clinging to him in the darkness. About her unsteady search to forget, to escape, to remember. She had always called Ichimaru by his given name, even in public. She said it now, foolishly, hollowly, little more than a broken whisper. It came out like a question, and he had no answer.