Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its affiliates. Anything that you recognise is property of its respective owners. Any relations to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

Base/s: Bleach

Title: Thiever, Stealing Time

Summary: He is stuck between a rock and a hard place. It isn't perfect, far from it, but it is better than nothing. He's just a thiever, stealing time. A darker look at a HitsuMatsuHina triangle.

Music used for inspiration: Getting Away with Murder, Hollywood Whore, I Almost Told You that I Loved You – Papa Roach

Carefully, she applies the mascara to her eyelashes. She always likes being careful when she applies her makeup, and makes sure to leave plenty of time for the task.

She finishes the second coat and slides the wand back into the little tube, screwing the lid on tightly. She glances down to the pile of cosmetics scattered on her dressing table and picks out what she wants. Everything has to be done in order. First she will wash her face, use that cream she had picked up from that little shop she likes and pat her skin dry. Then she will get dressed. Once that task is complete, she will fetch her makeup bag from the drawer under the bed and tip the contents onto her dresser. First, the foundation. She rubs it into her skin softly, making sure to never miss a spot. Then the powder, the blush and the eyeshadow. The eyeliner and the mascara. Then finally, she will finish it all off with a swipe of gloss. She looks at herself in the mirror. Diamond earrings, designer dress, shiny hair and perfect face.

So why does she feel so ugly?

She tries smiling. She poses in front of the mirror. Innocent, happy, provocative, flirty, sad, frustrated, angry.

A haze settles over her vision. She lashes out and sends brightly coloured bottles and tubes clattering to the floor. In the wake of her outburst, her breathing heavy and the look in her eyes wild, she hears his voice seep through the closed door.

"What have you done now?"

She feels annoyance creep up her stomach. She narrows her eyes and picks up her beaded bag, settling it on her arm before wrenching the door to her bedroom open and walking into the living room.

Her bedroom. They don't share.

She shoots him a scathing look. He is sitting, sprawled on the sofa, a book in one hand and a glass of amber liquid in the other.

"Nothing darling."

He looks up. Her gives her a once over, his eyes roving over her before returning to his book, taking a sip of the potent alcohol in his glass. She lets him.

"Where are you going?" he asks, casual.

"Out."

She feels vindictive pleasure at the way he sighs.

"I asked where you are going." He repeats, faint steel in his voice.

"I heard the first time."

He looks up again and she feels something flicker in her chest.

"You couldn't have, otherwise you would have answered."

She grits her teeth.

"I said, out."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Oh? Who are you visiting tonight? Shuuhei? Sentaro? Kira?" his eyes don't miss the small reaction to the last name.

"Izuru then. I see, have fun." He says dismissively, taking another sip of his drink, his eyes sliding back to his book.

She resists the impulse to scream at him.

"Is that all you can say?" she demands.

"What do you want to hear?" he asks, not looking up.

"I am your wife. A little concern might be nice." She spits.

"Wife in nothing but name, precious."

Casual. Fact. Blunt. Dismissive. True.

"My god you're insufferable." She says, looking down with an unpleasant twist to her lips. She hates how ugly he makes her feel.

He snorts and takes another sip.

"Thank god. It gets you out of the house faster." He says, still not looking at her.

She huffs and turns towards the door.

"If you're going to be out all night - and I'm sure you will be - do you mind if I invite Rangiku over?"

"I bloody well do mind! I don't want that woman in my house."

He eyes her. He's making her feel dirty again. Heat spreads across her cheeks. She averts her gaze but not fast enough. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him put down his glass and book and get up.

She wants to run now. He's dangerous and he knows it.

Too close, he's too close. She feels his hand on her chin and he gently forces her to look up. She flinches.

He lets go, surprised.

"What's wrong with you?" he asks. She feels stupid. Despite not loving her, he would never hit her. That was a line he would never cross. Ever. But still, the thought that if he wanted to, he could and she would be able to do nothing to stop him scared her more than she liked to admit.

She sneers.

"Nothing. Don't get so close to me." She says, not looking. The red on her cheeks is getting stronger.

She hates this. As much as she detests his presence, there is that animal urge she can't deny, nor get rid of.

His mouth is very close to her ear. She can smell the scent of the strong alcohol on his breath.

He chuckles.

"I asked what was wrong, precious."

She hates it when he calls her that. It reminds her that she was in fact, not precious to him anymore. It frightens her, the way he says it. He feels like she should feel privileged, seeing this side of him. The sinister side. The cruel, darkly playful one. She doesn't. She feels guilty and afraid. There is power there, under that bronzed skin. More power than she had. And it is cold, so very cold.

"And I said, nothing."

He lingers for a moment before shrugging and moving away. Her eyes are drawn to his profile and she hates the way lust rises in her stomach, sending fire through her nerves. He settles on the sofa again and picks up his previously discarded glass. He tips it back and drains it. He looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

"So, are you coming back tomorrow morning? Or will it be later?" he asks and she is struck that the question is one that could be heard in any household with a happy married couple. But she knows that they are far from happy.

"Why do you ask?" she says, fully aware of the answer and with sarcasm lacing her voice. "Not want Rangiku to be here when I get back?"

He answers lazily as he pours another glass, something which gets on her nerves.

"Of course not. You know, I don't think she likes you." He adds almost as an afterthought.

Her lips twist.

"Oh heaven forbid the wonderful Rangiku be displeased." She says and she sees him frown. "What a cliché, the girlfriend who hates the wife."

He sneers.

"Well, you have the classic nagging shrew of a wife act down, don't you think?"

She eyes him for a moment before fetching her coat. It's expensive and flatters her figure. She feels the bracelet on her wrist snag on a thread. The jewellery had been a present. She can't remember from whom.

She feels jealous and smug at the same time.

There was only one woman he went to when she was out of the house. She has many lovers who she plays with, hoping to feel something. The sex, while good, doesn't quite compare. She knows he wants a divorce. Secretly, she wants nothing more. But divorced women have a reputation she doesn't want.

She buttons up her coat.

"You know," she starts and he grunts, showing her she has his attention even while his eyes are glued to the book. "You can be a real bastard to me sometimes."

He barks out a laugh and turns a half lidded gaze on her, draining his glass once again.

"I believe the saying is, 'an eye for an eye.'"

She huffs and picks up her bag from the side table where she had left it.

"I want her out of here by morning."

"No need," he says, "I'll go to hers, less fuss."

She suddenly feels so angry. So very angry. The haze settles over her mind again.

"Of course! Her neighbours are probably used to men coming in at all hours of the night. The whore."

She screams when the glass smashes an inch from her ear.

"Don't talk about her that way." He says, his voice rough. He's standing and looks imposing enough without the shards of the glass scattered on the floor.

She trembles, she's pushed him too far. Despite her own power, formidable as it is, she's still frightened. Few people can stand up to him physically, and she's not one of them.

"Get out."

She starts when he speaks. His eyes are angry and his fists are clenched. She reminds herself he has never hit her, even when she has pushed him further than this. But power scares her, and he has power.

"I said get out."

She flees through the door, slamming it behind her.

He stands, looking at the door with wide eyes and his breath coming in heavy, loud breaths.

He slowly relaxes and sinks down onto the sofa again, his head in his hands. His hands fist his white hair and he sighs. He lost his temper. Again. The alcohol probably didn't help.

After a few minutes, he stands and goes into the kitchen. He fetches the dustpan and brush from the cupboard under the sink and returns to sweep the smashed glass from the floor. He feels guilty.

He dumps it into the bin and, noticing it's full takes it outside to dump ready for the collection the next morning.

As he's about to return, he sees the face of one of his neighbours. He wants to sneer. Stupid old bitch. Far too nosey for her own good. He hopes to avoid her, but she catches him.

She eyes him beadily. He raises an eyebrow.

"Can I help you with something?" he asks, wanting to be rid of her.

"I heard shouting. Someone in your position should have more restraint."

He scowls.

"Just a little domestic dispute. Everything's fine." He assures her, tasting the lie.

The old woman narrows her eyes.

"I heard glass breaking."

He smiles thinly at her. He feels a tiny amount of vindictive pleasure when he sees her take a small step back. Ahh, the unspoken power of a Bankai release.

"I just dropped a glass. Really, you shouldn't worry so much."

He knows she's not appeased and really, he doesn't care right now. All he needs is Rangiku.

He walks back inside and takes his keys, not bothering to change out of his uniform.

He locks the door and disappears. He is glad he didn't invite Rangiku over, he's had enough of that place for one night.

He arrives at her door and fumbles with the key. He finally opens it and is immediately gathered up into a hug. He feels his anger melt away. His muscles relax and he breathes easier into her bone crushing embrace.

She finally lets go of him.

"Hey, are you alright?" she asks, her voice concerned. He wants to smile. She always could tell when something was off with him.

He reaches up and cups her jaw and his thumb strokes her cheek. She leans into his touch.

"Momo making thing difficult again?" she asks. This time he does smile. She knows everything.

"Yeah."

She tuts and fusses over him, making him laugh. He gently grabs the back of her neck and kisses her, long and sweet.

"D'you mind if I stay tonight?" he asks.

She gives a breathtaking smile. She's sad inside for him he knows. She told him so once. She knows he doesn't want to go back to his apartment. She knows his wife won't be there and that something must have happened. She doesn't ask.

She gathers it all up and lets it all go. She's glad he's here, even if the circumstances are less than ideal.

"Of course."

He looks at her gratefully. Her eyes crinkle and she positively bounces to her television. She rummages for a few seconds, and he becomes increasingly curious as to what she is doing. She pops up holding two cases.

"Action or Romcom?" she asks, her eyes twinkling.

He snorts, settling onto the sofa.

"You don't even have to ask."

She giggles and he finds he likes the sound.

He is relaxing, the tension is rolling of him in waves. He wishes he could stay forever, but knows he has an obligation. He wishes things were different.

"Thank god, I was thinking you might have gone soppy on me. Die Hard four it is then!"

He welcomes her into his arms as she flops next to him. He presses a kiss to her temple and she settles down. She'll start to fidget halfway through and he'll tell her to stop. She'll whine and change position and use him as a pillow. He'll roll his eyes and say something sarcastic, but he'll let her do whatever she wants anyway.

About an hour later, as she starts to wriggle, he feels that while life certainly smells nothing like roses, it isn't quite as bad as all that. The only damper on his mood, is that come morning, he'll have to leave. Go back to his wife.

He doesn't want to. He doesn't know how many more glasses he can take. But as long as he can steal moments like this, he feels it's almost worth it.

End

Woah. Dark. Ish. Still, I hope people like it! I also don't hate Momo. I don't like her, but for this story, she's just a convenient character. And! Notice that I'm not bashing her. They're both as bad as each other. :)