fanfic || .caught [Bleach] || ch:003

[tumbleberry]

Title: .caught
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13 
Genre: Detective/Mystery/Thriller
Pairing: Semi-HitsuHina
Disclaimer: I don't own. 
A/N: A bit depressing fo the New Year... but a fic all the same.

Summary: He'd killed ten in a single month.Ten. And he was at it again.


← Chapter 2

Gin Ichimaru leans back into his leather armchair, head lolling over the cushions. Fingers find the remote control and click, cool jazz permeates the air, softening it. He reaches for his tie, tugging the chokehold from around his neck.

Work like his is time-consuming-at the least-to downright hazardous to the health-and that's not even at most. Not to mention having a relationship with an FBI agent to juggle on the side, but who says he can't multitask? Ichimaru grins at the thought of his girlfriend-soontobewife-of three years. But she doesn't need to know that yet. MostAll men would kill to get a kitten like her under their belts; boy did she mewl when he rubbed her the right way.

His phone goes off, inching along the tabletop. He cracks open an eye and immediately grabs it. Rangiku Matsumoto is smiling at him from the screen. His grin only grows wider as he presses the little green button that would allow him to drown in her voice.

And drown he does.

"Hey~" He drags out the vowel and can almost hear her heart thump over the line.

"Hey. Just thought I'd call to-"

"-hear my voice? I didn' know ya missed me that much-oh wait, I did."

She laughs dispite herself. Hearing her boyfriend-soontobehusband.shehopes-always smooths over whatever nerves are sticking out of her at the moment. He never would tell her where he picked up the British accent; she assumed it was because he'd lived in England for most of his college career, or maybe because his father grew up in Bristol; his mother in London.

"No, I called to tell you that the Agent in Charge got promoted... Twice... so he's Director now." She waits for his response.

"Oh! Tha's good news, innit? You've always look'd up ta 'im, right?"

"Yeah, so he's taking us-the crew-out to dinner tonight."

A pause.

"Oh, well 'ave fun, then, eh?" She hears the trademark grin in his words. "Bring me back somethin' good, a'right love?" He winks; she knows and grins.

"Alright. Bye~"

"Be safe, love."

He clicks off and smiles a bit wider.

She clicks off and smiles a little less.

--

Nanao Ise placidly covers the face of the young girl, disgust\anger\sadness\pity boils in her stomach. She'd known this girl once, once upon a time. She'd laughed and smiled and cried with this girl once, once upon a time.

Momo had once-once-been her friend. She had also once-once-been Toushirou Hitsugaya's partner-firstpartnerfirstlovefirstpartnerfirstlovefirst.first.last.

She peels the gloves from her hands and tosses them into the disposal, running her fingers under the warm water. She closes her eyes, sucks in a breath and punches the nob as far left as it can go. Liquid diamond pours from the faucet, skimming past her hands. She squeezes her eyes tight and lets it burn, numbing her pain, pain.

"You know that's not good for you, boiling your hands." Burnt sand sizzles up her nostrils and seers her brain\her lungs\her heart. The smoke wraps itself around her throat; her eyes water and she coughs.

Nanao whips around. Shunsui Kyouraku stands in the doorway, hands tucked in his pockets, cigarette hanging from his mouth.

"You know that's not good for you, smoking. There's a reason they call it the cancer-stick, you know." She wipes her hands on a papertowel and tosses that in the disposal too. He walks toward her, backing her up against the counter, hiptohipchesttochest. His hands meet the cold marble to the countertop and he bends his head till their noses touch. He feels the air vibrate between their lips with her breaths, short, short. Dim lights glint in her eyes; dilated.

The cigarette is snuffed under the heal of his John&Crocketts.

"D-Director, I don't th-think..." She reaches for her glasses with shaking fingers, eyes downcast. He catches her hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a kiss into her palm. Her fingers curl, warm against his face; soft. He relishes the feeling.

"So you know, about the promotion?" His voice rumbles through her chest, sending brilliant sparks up her spine. Ohgodhisvoice.hisvoice. She nods, shivering as he presses another kiss, and then another, another into her hand, the tip of each finger.

"Th-The Captain told me about it... first thing...said that... I should know, if anyone, since I was...uh...working while everyone else got the-the news." Kyouraku grins against her hand before letting go; it falls limp by her side. She's shaking. He lets his fingers brush away the hairs falling from her hairclip, then trail along her soft jawline, her collarbone, shoulders, tracing fire down her arm before latching around her waist and pulling her closer, iron-pressed against him.

"She was a friend of yours... it hurts, doesn't it?" He blows out against her ear, cheeks almost touching. He feels her nod and breathe out, hot air tingling against his neck. She smells of spearmint and cleaning alcohol, occupational hazard of being in Forensics.

He's found his new addiction; screw cigarettes.

"It hurt for me too, when Lisa went. But you knew that, didn't you? You knew that, and you were there for me... just like I'm here for you now..." He lowers his head and nuzzles into the crook of her neck. She gasps, head tilting back. Kyouraku smirks. Maybe he should really ask her out this time, if he had enough guts.

It's funny, how the Director of the FBI, who worked his way up from an Agent, busting into criminal muses day in and day out, finds the task of asking a girl on a date so daunting. Especially since said Director is known to be the biggest womanizer in New York City.

And the Big Apple is big.

She laughs at his words, reaching for her glasses again and actually managing to take them off this time. He lifts his head to meet her eyes for the first time that evening. Sparks don't fly like the books say. Brilliant yellow weaver-birds flap around them, strings of fireworks in their beaks, tying them together, tighter and tighter.

"I wasn't so forward when I-last time." He chuckles, eyes scanning her face, recording every miniscule detail. The length of her eyelashes and the shape of her eyebrows. The arch of her nose and the faint colour seeping into her cheeks.

"Have I ever told you how stunningly beautiful you are without your glasses on?" He leans in until their foreheads meet, noses brush, lips less than a breath away.

"No..." She grins, an almost wicked grin. He thinks\believes\knows... he's in love.

"Well now you know." He presses his mouth to her high cheekbones. She laughs, quietwhisperghostlaugh. It swirls around his ears like smoke in the air.

"Thank you... Maybe I should get contacts then." He nods approvingly at her voice, teasing. Ohlordohlord-Nanao? Teasing? Kyouraku isn't sure how much more of this he can endure before the worn stitches binding him together snap in half. Clean in half.

"Why don't you come with us tonight... I'm taking everyone out for dinner, on me. A celebration of sorts, for my double-promotion." He holds his breath. Pleasesayyespleasessayyespleasepleaseplease-

"I'd love to... and you're allowed to breathe now, you know." He laughs, she laughs.

She laughs and kisses him like she'd never kissed him before.

A dead girl watches them through shuttered eyes.

--

"Well, let's hear it then." The voice of a dead girl is waiting on the phone. There's only one recording, made at 11:37PM the night before. So she was alive then...

Hisagi glances at Hitsugaya one last time before pressing on play.

Voices clatter from the speakers. Indistinguishable murmurings static through. The four people lean in around the phone on the table, ears pricked.

Someone screams. Momo. Hitsugaya winces at the sound but tries to hide it. Faint thumps, more murmuring. It's a man's voice, deep and smooth. Matsumoto briefly thinks of midnight radio stations. They can't hear what he's saying, but whatever it is, Momo is scared. Her rapid breathing echos in each of their ears.

A loud thump, static.static.clack.click.click.click...

"NO! NO! DON'T TOUCH ME! S-STOP! PLEASE! STOP!" Momo is sobbing.

It takes everything in Hitsugaya's willpower not to smash the cellphone before him into little tiny metalic pieces that fizz and fuzz around the edges, just like his brain is doing. He settles for lowering his head into his arms and taking deep breaths.

"No... no... please..........s...to...p....."

Weak whimpers and moans. Everything falls silent.

"Goodnight, my angel." The voice slithers through the air, foulfoul like tobacco smoke. Penetrating, sharp, needlespinsneedlespins shimmer and glimmer.

Hitsugaya lets his fist fall.

Everyone around the table flinches. The table very nearly cracks, they swear it. The phone bounces and skids across, twisting swirling swirling over the top.

Matsumoto stops it with one hand, picks it up and turns it off.

The moment-silence-is salt-water above their heads, and they're in way too deep. Everyone except Hitsugaya reaches desperately for the light above, sinking sinking... sinking. Hitsugaya only holds his breath and kicks his feet, swimming deeper; towards darkness.

"Angel, he said 'angel'." Hisagi straightens at Abarai's words and raises an eyebrow.

"Yes, Renji, that's why he tacks them up. He calls it 'clipping their wings'." Matsumoto tucks the cellphone carefully back into the plastic bag and pushes it over to Hisagi. He picks it up, nose scrunching, running his fingers over the plastic-covered keys. Her hands used to be on those.

Hitsugaya still hasn't stopped swimming and they all know it will take hell to pull him back up again. They aren't ready for that, not yet anyway.

--

Matsumoto walks in on untucked shirts and curling toes. She grins to herself before clearing her throat.

"Ah-OH! Rangiku! Uhm..." Nanao scrambles for her glasses while Kyouraku only looks mildly dazzed.

"Look, I know you're all for experimenting in different places, but really now? The Forensics Lab? Don't you think it's kinda gross with all the dead bodies and whatnot?" Matsumoto walks down the last two steps and joins the pair in the dimly lit room.

Only the one body, Nanao thinks, buttoning up her shirt, cheeks so red Matsumoto would have been worried for a fever if Kyouraku hadn't been in the room; then, it's normal.

"Oh you know they've never bothered me, Ran. Dead bodies, schmead bodies, as long as they don't move by themselves, I could care less." He doesn't bother redoing his buttons but has the decency to zipper his pants and wrap his belt around his middle again. Matsumoto chuckles, eyes drawn automatically to the clinically pale girl lying on a metal bed few feet from them. The tease drains from her voice.

"Hitsugaya... wouldn't come down with me, and I wanted to get a more in depth record... in writing, if possible. I think it'll be a while before he'll come down to take a look." She looks down, fidgets with the band around her middle finger. A promise from a silver-haired fox. It glimmers brightly, flashes of the past project onto the ceiling.

She had once squealed and hugged Matsumoto upon hearing the news of a new boyfriend-"He works for the Pentagon?!". She had once bounced around the office all day, almost getting in trouble with her partner for being late to a crime scene; he forgave her when he heard the news.

He didn't know Matsumoto then, not really anyway. Matsumoto had heard of him-obviouslywhohadn't-the young genius-detective. Sherlock Holmes Jr. And he had heard of her-alltheguyshad-the legendary FBI special agent with a rack the size of-and that's as far as he ever dared to pay attention.

"Oh that's... understandable..." Nanao adjusts her glasses, mussing down her hair while Kyouraku musses his up. Matsumoto walks passed him, fingers trailing along the metallic walls, over the knobs\doors\rooms\hearts locked up. She tastes ironbloodiron in the air.

An angel lies on the table. One of many that have been in the exact same place. AngelsAngels, clipped-winged Angels. But this is the first Angel with poison in her veins instead of love, tears on her face instead of smiles, screams in her throat instead of blessings.

Once, this angel had beautiful wings, beautiful wings with brilliant white feathers. And when she flew, she shed light upon everyone around her. She gave out smiles. The only thing she got back was a bag of cherry-stained feathers. Hitsugaya still hasn't let them go. He wouldn't and nobody could get him. He's still swimming, and he doesn't want to come back up.

"She was... one of my best friends." Matsumoto's fingers linger on the edge of the metal bed. It must be uncomfortable to lay here, it must be cold... did it hurt?

"Yeah... we know, Ran. We know."

"She was mine too." Nanao rubs Matsumoto's shoulders. Kyouraku pats her head. Matsumoto bites her lip and almost reaches over to touch the Angel's face. Almostalmost... she doesn't.

"Here. The... uhm... autopsy report." Nanao puts the beige file on the desk next to the metal bed. Matsumoto can't turn away from the angel on the table, frozen in time with her wings clipped off, branches of ice braided into her hair.

Did it hurt?

"Did it-" She chokes, coughs and wishes she were stronger. The fingers on her shoulders are firm but gentle. The smell of cigarettes that linger by calms her, somewhat. Because she knows she still has something to hold on to. So she won't drown... But, there's someone else that she has to save. Someone else that doesn't have anything to hold onto, or so he thinks.

She's got a life to save.

"No. Curare is a paralysis drug, so she didn't feel a thing." Matsumoto nods, grabs the file and turns away. The sudden darkness tries to grab her, but she resists.

"I have to get these up to Hitsugaya, he'll want to... know." She forces a small smile and walks resolutely back up the stairs.

"Well, that really killed the mood."