Obscene noises echoed from the mouth of the alley. Ichigo Kurosaki blushed deep when he saw the young woman on her knees, a man in a business suit leaned back against brick with his fist in her hair.

He hurried down the sidewalk, away from the dirty act and past the open door of a seedy pub. Smoke wafted out to him, he heard roucus laughter even though it was only early in the evening. Down the road someone was shouting through a grated door, rattling the cage in its lock. One glance and Ichigo saw it was a pawn shop. He continued on.

The faster he could get out of this part of town, the better.

When he saw the garage on the corner of the street, he slowed. He straightened his jacket and pulled a scrap of paper from his back pocket. Then he plastered his best, innocent look on his face, and strode forward.

The doors were still open. There was just one man inside, bent over the engine of a beige Cadillac. One of the tires was off. The hood above his head was dented and the right head light was smashed.

The mechanic drew a wrench back out and whipped his hands off on a rag.

"What d'you want?" he called back without looking at Ichigo, still examining the interior of the car.

"Are you Grimmjow Jaggerjaques?"

"Yeah." He leaned into the car and turned the ignition. It stuttered to life. He shut it off again and finally paid Ichigo some attention. "What d'you want?"

Ichigo waved the little piece of paper before him. "I got your address from the owner of this car. He wanted me to get his stuff from it."

"Nope."

"No? What do you mean, no?"

"You ain't the customer so you can't go looking through his car."

"But he sent me."

"How am I supposed to know that? Look around you, kid, you don't think a dozen other assholes have tried that bit when they see a nice car in here? I mean, you even know his damn name?"

"Yeah. Renji Abarai. You know he's in the hospital right? He can't come here himself."

"Yeah, I know."

"Well."

"Well unless Renji Abarai gives me a call, I can't give you shit from his car."

"Come on, he needs his stuff. It's just in the dash—"

"Beat it kid. No exceptions."

Ichigo shifted his weight from one foot to the other and bit his lip. Blue eyes swept over him, assessing him in one quick sweep.

"He's gonna be pissed," Ichigo pressed.

"He'll be even more pissed if I let some kid make off with his stuff." Grimmjow took a step forward, straightening, and Ichigo knew the conversation was over. The man's shoulders were broad, his chest and arms corded with muscles and Ichigo had to tilt his head back to meet his eyes when he was this close. "Time to go, kid."

Ichigo took a step back, pretending to be freaked. Instead though, he was making a mental note of the back door in the garage that connected to the apartment above, the locks to the garage door, the safety deposit box where keys to cars were probably kept overnight.

"Okay," he said backing away. "Sorry."

He knew blue eyes remained on him the whole way down the street, but he never turned back. He wouldn't, not until the shop went dark.

Ichigo inched his way along the grated walk way until he was at the very edge. He dropped off the edge into the black and caught the edge of the next building. A rush of wind left him, but he recovered and pulled himsef back up over the edge. Two more lunges and he was on the building at the corner of the street.

Getting through the garage doors was out of the question. Getting in through the apartment, however, was doable.

He landed lightly on the firesape and pressed his back against brick just in case the man inside saw. He waited for several moments before inching toward the window and checking for the occupant.

He was both cursed and blessed by what he saw. First off, the window was open, so he didn't have to try breaking it or anything. But on the downside, he was looking in on the mechanic's bedroom.

"Fuck," he breathed. He waited a long time, watching the sleeping figure. He could see a glass on the nightstan and a white bottle, possibly pills. He knew just enough about this guy to know he was a class one criminal and probably a drugie. Ichigo had to hope he'd taken enough of whatever it was to keep him under.

He pushed the window the rest of the way up. It was a hot night and he was already sweating. Then he dropped inside the apartment.

No movement from the bed. He'd gone unheard. He inched his way along the wooden floor. He could see the apartment was a loft, and below was a tiled kitchen, leather couch and big screen. This guy had it pretty sweet in a neighborhood of miscreants. It was a wonder what he was doing in these parts if he was this loaded.

Ichigo stilled his mind and focussed on the task at hand. All he had to do was get to the stairs, down them and get into the garage from the ground floor. Simple. Except when he glanced back to check the occupant of the bed, he wasn't there.

"Shit."

Ichigo ducked under the kick just before it made contact. He rolled backward and popped up with a punch but his opponent had sidestepped his swing and his arm was caught. He spun across the room, his back smacking into the support beam at the top of the stairs. He blocked the next strike and swept at the mechanic's bare feet. He hit nothing and next thing knuckles were in his jaw and he was on all fours on the hardwood.

A foot glanced his ribs but he rolled away from the blow and caught the next kick. The guy was clearly not expecting it and when Ichigo twisted he fell against the floor as well, a grunt of surprise escaping him.

Ichigo jumped up again and gave himself some distance. It was dark, but his eyes had adjusted a while ago. He watched the mechanic kip up smoothly, sweeping back his mess of blue hair and grinning like an animal.

"You surprised me, kid." There was a dangerous glint in those blue eyes. Ichigo had a terrible cold feeling that the man had been waiting for him. Despite his words, he didn't seem surprised at all. "Didn't think you were a fighter."

Ichigo might be slight in his build, but that was only because he was young. In another few years all his years of training would pay off—he'd be as strong and muscular as the man before him.

"So what's so valuable in the Caddie that you would risk sneaking in here?"

"None of your damn business."

"None of my business? You're in my fucking house!"

Grimmjwo came at him. Ichigo ran to meet the blow and at the last second slide tackled the man. Grimmjow crashed to one side but when Ichigo made a kick his ankle was caught and Grimmjow yanked back hard, causing Ichigo to land on his tailbone. Pain screeched up his backside and he slammed his palm against the floor instead of screaming. Grimmjow still had his ankle, though, and yanked him forward again, until they were entangled on the floor.

Grimmjow got one wrist pinned but Ichigo's other hand shot into his sternum. Hot air escaped him and Ichigo could taste the liquor in his breath. So he wasn't on his a-game, he should be able to win this fight. He brought his elbow up this time and got him in the ribs but next thing Grimmjow's elbow came across his face.

He tasted the blood. He was pretty sure it was coming from his nose but it somehow got into his throat and he coughed it back out. Another strike made him blink back darkness but he was far from out of this fight.

He brought his right leg up and his left arm down, throwing Grimmjow off balanace and rolling him to the side. There was a mad scramble in which Ichigo felt his shirt tear but he escaped once more and backed up to the stairs.

Grimmjow was already standing. He looked a bit pissed now and his eyes shot to the stairs at Ichigo's back. Would he shove him down, if given the chance? Ichigo didn't have much of a read on this guy yet, but somehow, he figured he wouldn't take the cheap out.

He took his chances and bolted down the steps. He made it to the bottom unscathed but Grimmjow had followed and jumped the rail behind him, landing just before him on the tile floor. His punch sent Ichigo spinning into the kitchen counter. Damn. This guy had a punch twice as powerful as any asshole bully Ichigo had dealt with over the years.

His jaw ached. His body quivered. He needed to down this guy before he took any more damage.

He threw his foot back. The guy barely dodge. Ichigo grabbed a stool and swung it at the man but it was more of a diversionary tactic. He rushed him and went for a kidney shot. It paid off and Grimmjow cursed. They were both panting now. Ichigo hadn't been in a fight that had lasted this long in…a long, long time.

Grimmjow caught him with a square blow. Shit, he was losing. He fell against the sink, hitting something so that cold water sprayed back up on him. The next think his hair was gripped and he was bent into the stainless steel basin, water hitting him in the face so hard it blinded him.

Grimmjow brought a knee into his gut. He gasped and got a mouthful of water. It went straight to his lungs. He gagged. There was a hand around his trachea.

Shit. He was gonna die in this fucking sink.

He kicked wildly. He got lucky. Grimmjow dropped him and he collapsed from the sink, puking water over the tile floor. But his hair was gripped again. He knew the strike was coming and instead of trying to pry the hand from his hair he caught the fist, twisted and heard Grimmjow curse again. He was forced to let him go or suffer a broken wrist. They fell apart. Ichigo gripped the counter, still gasping. Grimmjow shook out the pain in his wrist.

"Last chance to explain yourself." Grimmjow balled his fist again.

"Fuck you."

Grimmjow grinned. "Good, so I don't have to take it easy on you."

Ichigo tried a different tactic. He ran first, but dodge to one side at the last second. His elbow came back into Grimmjow's spine. Then he turned sharply and chopped him in the neck. He stumbled away, clearly not having expected the move. But he was still on his feet, and Ichigo's near drowning had weakened him. So when Grimmjow came back with a swing and Ichigo tried to block it, he lost his balance and was thrown into the wall. He threw up his hands to block those that tried to strangle him, but received another knee to the gut.

It floored him. He gasped for air. None came. He smelt oil and brandy and sweat. Grimmjow's elbow was hooked beneath his neck. He couldn't breathe, couldn't move.

He'd lost.