June 2010. Written for The Bleach Anime ED #23 AU Fic-a-Thon Challenge at the Live Journal community bleachness. You can watch a clip of the ending by searching "Bleach ED 23" on YouTube.

Thanks to Fenikkusuken for her encouragement and suggestions.

Silver Noir

A good show, thought Rangiku afterward. Crowded, if not overly so. The new girl—Inoue—was a hit and there would be a nice take in the morning.

Her dressing room was dark and cramped, and after entering she flipped the switch on the tiny Chinese lamp on her table, the yellow glow reflecting dimly in the vanity mirror and doing little to chase away the shadows. Rangiku stretched languorously, kicking off her shoes and shaking out her sweaty hair. She peeled off her long white gloves and dropped them on the couch, then glanced at her reflection in the mirror.

There was a man standing behind her.

"What are you doing here?" she managed, pivoting her torso and suppressing the shriek in her throat. In the murky light, only his silvery hair was clearly recognizable and she willed herself not to shake—she wasn't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he had frightened her.

"I was watchin' you tonight," the man answered, not moving from the shadows. "Awful tight dress you're wearing. Thought I'd come around in case you needed any help with that zipper."

"I'm surprised Aizen let you off your leash." She sat down, turning her back to him, and began to vigorously brush through her hair. "Didn't think there was anything here that still interested you."

"One can't depend on his boss to give him a tumble."

"That's not what I've heard."

In the mirror, she caught the glint of Gin's teeth as he smiled.

"Beat it," she ordered. "I don't want low-lifes like you skulking around my dressing room."

"I'm an officer of the law, Rangiku."

She snorted. "What kind of a law man carries a knife? What are you really here for?"

Gin joined her at the vanity, leaning comfortably and familiarly against its edge. "A kid from the newspaper is sniffin' into police corruption charges," he admitted. Rangiku hated the sour disappointment she felt, even knowing he had been lying. "Got wind he was here today, askin' questions."

"Yeah, he was here. Earnest type, real square. Not the kind you'll be able to pay off." Gin seemed amused, his grin wider than normal. "Good looking, too," she added.

"That so?" he drawled with lazy good humor. He unpocketed his switchblade and tossed it from palm to palm. "After gawkin' at you I bet he couldn't say two words without stuttering."

"Leave him alone, Gin," she said sharply.

"Of course," he said, looking hurt. "You can trust me, Rangiku."

"If you have what you need now, you can go."

Gin slipped the knife back into his jacket. "Ya want me to leave, I'll leave," he said. She could feel his eyes on her, feel him admiring every inch of her exposed skin, breathing in her scent and perfume and making her heart beat faster. She gathered her hair and pulled it over her shoulder.

"Help me with this zipper," she whispered.

She fell asleep after the sex.

There was barely room for them both on her narrow couch and she woke an hour later, half sitting, half slouched against him, Gin's head slumped into the crook of her neck. Even at the late hour she could hear the faint sound of jazz playing downstairs in the club, hollering and running footsteps from the alley outside. For a few moments, as she drifted in and out of full awareness, she imagined she was a child again. When she and Gin had been younger, they had often slept like this—huddled together like hungry alley kittens beneath fire escapes or in abandoned buildings—one hand clutched in the other's hand. She opened her eyes and looked at the empty hands resting in her lap; glanced at Gin, his arms folded and crossed as he dozed.

"Gin?"

"Hnn?" His eyes blinked defensively in the amber light, then seemed to disappear entirely. His tousled hair made him appear boyish, as he stretched and slid into the careless smile that made her ache with memories. "I should go," he said. "Can't keep Cap'n Aizen waiting."

"Leave him," said Rangiku.

He draped a dressing gown around her shoulders, tugged it over her chest, and pressed his nose playfully against hers. She tried again. "I'm serious. You could work here. Security. Something. Urahara would find something."

"Now, don't you worry, Rangiku." He stood up and slipped his suspenders over his shirt, and wrapped his tie around his neck. Rangiku resisted the urge to knot it for him. "Cap'n Aizen's the most powerful man on the force. More powerful than your boss, the newspaper, and Mayor Yamamoto combined. He's gonna run this city someday. Ain't nothin' gonna happen to me."

"He'll kill you, Gin," she said harshly. The easiness in his manner evaporated as his smile sharpened. Rangiku felt the walls slamming down.

"Why'd ya have to say such a nasty thing like that?" he chided. The tone was airy but it made her shiver. "So long, Rangiku. Be seeing you."

"Don't think I'll cry when they find you lying cold in some alley," she snapped. After pouring three fingers of scotch into a glass, she slammed a decanter back on its table.

"You should go easy on that whisky," Gin said, opening the door and lifting his hat from the corner of her mirror. He lowered his voice delicately. "You're startin' to look your age."

The drink shattered against the doorframe, but he was already gone.

Fin.