The ground darkened with his blood

The narrow street on the outskirts of Karakura Town was pitted with craters and swathed in patches of darkness where the battle had toppled light poles. The dust settled.

"Gin!" Rangiku stepped forward. A hand clamped down on her shoulder, holding her back.

She whipped her head around. "Taichou–"

Hitsugaya couldn't meet his lieutenant's eyes. Rangiku could see him struggling inside, his expression pained.

Her vision misted over. "Taichou. Please," she tried not to beg.

You would do it for Hinamori-san, she tried not to scream out. You would run to the one you loved – even if she was a traitor.

"Go." Hitsugaya released her.

Rangiku wasted no more time. A shunpo and she was by his side. "Gin!"

His body was torn. His once-white uniform was drenched black with blood. His breaths came ragged and uneven. His hand still clenched his sword.

Shinsou's bankai had faded away – a sure sign that Gin was dying. By willpower alone, Rangiku knew, Gin kept his zanpakuto extended in its shikai form, but that too would soon fade.

Her knees grew weak, and she pretended to drop to his side on her own free will.

She reached forward. And then caught herself. She hesitated, struggling.

This was the man who had betrayed her and everything she held dear. This was the man who had broken her heart again and again – and had never once looked back. This was the man who she had sworn to never love again.

But she still did, didn't she?

Rangiku felt a momentary flare of anger within her breast. The striking of self-loathing.

She was still here, kneeling before his dying body. Didn't that mean that she still cared for him? That she was still a fool? That she still loved him?

She suddenly realized that she was crying. Tears carved desperate streams down her cheeks. They dropped from her face and fell, mingling with the blood on the ground. She clenched her eyes closed.

She couldn't love him still – could she?

"Gin…" she whimpered. "Naze…?" Why?

A hand clasped hers.

Rangiku's eyes flew open.

Gin smiled up at her. Shinsou lay abandoned on the ground, still in extended form. Gin's eyes were open.

"Rangiku's cryin'," he whispered softly. His smirk was gentle. "She shouldn't be cryin' for someone like me."

"Baka," she choked out. She cradled his hand in hers. His skin was smooth and cold.

She pressed his hand in hers over her heart. Her heart… It hurt so much. So much.

A sob strangled her throat. She tried to hold it back. Tried to be brave. Tried to finally be the one to show no emotion and show him that he meant nothing to her.

A thin wail escaped her barricades.

Fresh tears streamed down her cheeks. The droplets hovered at her chin before falling to the ground and shattering.

"Ran-gi-ku," Gin lilted slightly in a singsong voice. A ghost of his old grin flitted across his lips. "Don't cry, please."

She felt another stab strike her heart. So he was trying to protect her too? Even now?

She looked into his eyes. She hadn't seen them in so long. Pale red – but dimming more and more every second as she watched the life seep out through his eyes.

"Your eyes…" Rangiku felt the sad smile before she could stop it. "They're open."

She felt Gin strengthen his hold on her hand the slightest bit. She squeezed back automatically.

"I wanted ta see Rangiku-chan's face one last time," he said. A ragged, painful breath shook his body. His smile faltered for half an instant.

Rangiku choked back another sob. There was no use in denying that Gin was going to die. Even as she tried to calculate the amount of time necessary for the Fourth Division to administer aid, she knew – deep in her heart – that they would not arrive in time to save him.

Hope was lost.

The sob broke free.

Rangiku clenched Gin's hand tighter, feeling her warm, liquid tears smear between their entwined palms. One hand was not enough. She needed to caress his face. Smooth his hair. Press her lips to his. One last time before he was gone.

The pain in her chest overcame her.

With a desperate cry, Rangiku plunged to embrace him. Unmindful of his broken body, she frantically gripped his shoulders. Buried her head in the crook of his neck. Cried without shame. Anything to get closer to him. Anything to stave off the inevitable coldness that would snatch him away and never, ever give him back.

Her passion boiled over into a swift, mindless anger. It wasn't fair. He hadn't been fair to her.

"Gin!" she shouted. "You bastard! You stupid bastard! Why?!" She pounded a fist into his chest. She broke down again, weeping uncontrollably.

A soft hand stroked her cheek, trying to stem the flow of tears.

"I'm so sorry, Rangiku," Gin whispered into her hair. "I did it to protect you."

"Liar!" she shot back at him. She searched his face for further proof, but his eyes held a sincerity that she could not dispute. Her rage faltered. "Liar," she whispered with feeble venom.

"I'm sorry," Gin continued to stroke her cheek.

Rangiku could feel the thin trail of blood that his fingers left as they caressed her skin. She could feel his ribcage, broken and cracked, trying to expand and force air through his body.

Gin took a sunken, labored breath. A sudden cough racked his body. Blood splattered to the ground.

Rangiku raised her head from his shoulder. A thin line of blood traced its way from the corner of his mouth.

"Gin…" Her rage left her. Despair took its rightful place in her heart.

"I'm sorry I left you all those years b'fore in Rukongai," he whispered. Rangiku watched his eyes sadden at the memory. "I want'd to go to Seireitei so I could become a shinigami to protect you. But… I never managed to get back."

"I know," Rangiku whispered. "You found Aizen."

"After I learn'd the true nature of his zanpakuto," Gin continued, "I never open'd my eyes – even when I wasn't 'round him."

Rangiku's own eyes widened. So he had known from the beginning? Then why didn't he–

"I did everything to protect you," Gin repeated. He brought a shaking hand to tilt Rangiku's chin up to face him. Dimmed red burned into pale blue. "Gomen-ne, Rangiku-chan. I never meant to hurt you in the process."

Rangiku's eyes brimmed with unshed tears. He had betrayed her and everyone else. He had known that she would never forgive him – that she would curse herself for ever falling in love with him. He had endured her hatred to protect her from what she was not strong enough to defeat.

He had gone behind enemy lines knowing that he would probably never return alive.

He had done it all to protect her.

Rangiku gripped desperate handfuls of his cloak. Her eyes clenched close. She had been such a fool. "Gin… I'm sorry–"

Gentle lips met hers. They assured her of his forgiveness. They assured her of his love.

They made her fall even deeper into despair.

Why now? Why would he have to die now? Everything was set to right now because of him, but after his death, nothing would be right ever again.

She pressed back hungrily against his lips. She slid her tongue into his mouth and tasted blood.

Gin let her recoil.

Suddenly, another spasming cough rattled his thin frame. Blood splattered heavily onto her clothes.

Gin smiled weakly. His eyes drooped, as if he was fighting to keep them open.

"Rangiku…" he murmured softly. He caressed her name in his mouth, savoring its feel. One last time. "I still love you."

She held him close. She pressed her head into his chest. She could hear his heart slowing. Slowing. Slowing.

"Oh, Gin," she whispered through her tears. "I love you too."

Stopped.

A desperate, horrified wail pierced the night.

Shinsou retracted to its normal form, leaving a gaping hole in Aizen's dead body a few yards away.

--

There must have been quiet footsteps to announce his approach, but Rangiku did not hear them. Her sorrow overwhelmed her senses – severing sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell.

She only knew that Gin was gone forever. The hero who had outwitted Aizen. The friend who had sacrificed himself for her. The man who she had never stopped loving.

He was gone.

She buried her head in Gin's cold chest and wept.

"Yare, yare…"

Rangiku's head snapped up. "Urahara-san?"

Her eyes narrowed. Her hand flew to Haineko's hilt.

Urahara didn't flinch. His hat brim hid his eyes in shadow, and he held a fan loosely in one hand, effectively hiding the rest of his face.

"He is no longer a traitor. You will not take his body," Rangiku said with solid determination. "Even if I have to stop you myself."

She began to draw Haineko out.

Urahara chuckled. "Matsumoto-san. Let's not be so hasty," he said in a mockingly lilting voice. He paused for a long, tense moment. Rangiku felt her muscles quivering from the anticipation.

Then Urahara glanced up. "Would you like to bring him back?"

Her hand faltered. "What–?"

"There is a way," Urahara said slowly, "to bring back Gin's soul."

"That's not possible," Rangiku stared hard at the exile. "What do you gain from lying to me?" She fought to keep the desperate, pleading tone from creeping into her voice. She fought to keep control.

But at the first sign of hope, she felt that control slipping. What if it really was possible?

"Why would I lie to you?" Urahara laughed again. He stopped when he realized that Rangiku wasn't laughing along.

"Shinigami souls are reincarnated. Just like all the others," Rangiku said coldly. "There is no way to bring him back."

It was common knowledge. Even shinigami souls died eventually – usually a violent death – and when death claimed the soul, it was sent back to Earth.

This reincarnation was part of the balance between the souls in life and death that shinigami protected. Even shinigami knew that in the after life, one could not cheat second death.

When a soul was reincarnated, it lost all memories of its past life and was reborn as a human on Earth.

In this way, the soul that had once been Gin was now gone forever.

Rangiku's grip on Haineko's hilt tightened.

But she could not bring herself to unsheathe her zanpakuto.

Urahara waved his fan nonchalantly. "Human and shinigami souls get reincarnated. Hollows get sent to Soul Society or Hell."

He paused for effect.

Rangiku waited, barely daring to breathe. What was he getting at?

"Where do the arrancar souls go?" Urahara asked. His dagger-gaze skewered Rangiku.

Her mind churned.

Where did the arrancar go? Half shinigami, half hollow. Rangiku frowned. "Don't they go to Soul Society?"

"Wrong answer!" Urahara waved his fan lightly in her direction. He regained his seriousness and hid his eyes behind his hat once more. "And the vizard?"

Rangiku found a horrible sinking beginning in her stomach. "What does this have to do with Gin?" she demanded.

Urahara stepped forward and knelt by Gin's body.

Rangiku couldn't move to stop him. Her head spun and her stomach ached. Anxiety and fear had frozen her inside and out.

She could only watch as Urahara reached for Gin's bloodstained hakama. He parted the garment at the chest.

Gin's bloody wound was not as deep as Rangiku had thought. A flicker of white showed as Urahara continued to pull away at the dark, blood-drenched fabric.

Suddenly, she realized what Urahara meant.

Urahara stood back, surveying his handiwork. Rangiku's eyes widened while the rest of her body froze.

A white mask, pure as freshly fallen snow, rested on Gin's chest. It had blocked the brunt of Aizen's final blow. Suddenly the cracked hollow mask shuddered and shattered into a million little pieces, strewn on the wind.

Gin was an vizard.