She liked him.
She would never admit this to his face, of course. But out of all of the arrancar assigned to take care of her, he was the only Espada that ever visited her.
He listened to her.
He would sit quietly, though that seemed impossible, as she would vent to him. She had even slapped him once out of her anger.
Of course, he didn't even feel it. She was the one with the fractured wrist.
She remembered their first conversation. It wasn't much of a conversation, really. Just a loud war of insults, which, if you took the cuss words out, weren't really sentences at all. It had taken him nearly a month (or maybe only a few days; it was impossible to gauge time) to promote his method of address from 'little bitch' to 'girl'. And for her, it had taken her almost two times as long just to call him anything, though 'drunk' didn't really count either. Secretly, the thought of him and alcohol together in the same room scared her. She didn't want to find out what the special combo was for that.
They mellowed out, eventually.
She remembered, once, that she had asked him a question about the other Espada, Ulquiorra, who she had seen in small glances in half-second intervals when her door was opened, only to allow Grimmjow in and out.
It was the first time she had seen him in a genuine rage.
He shouted, screamed, cussed, and even stomped a little. He destroyed her room completely, turning all of her furniture to dust. He would have destroyed her walls, too, if he hadn't stopped as suddenly as he had begun, only to look at her witheringly and say,
"Don't you dare say that name to me. You understand, you little bitch? Never."
In his eyes, she had clearly been demoted times a billion.
Never in a lifetime would she admit that he had scared her.
She didn't really want her room repaired after that. She refused the fraccion who had rushed in (after he had left, of course) and offered to have her moved to a different room. She looked at each piece, each fragment of furniture reduced to a sort of ash-like substance by his cero.
She thought hollows, or Espada, for that matter, weren't supposed to be in any way human aside from appearance.
Out of every single hollow she had encountered, hell, out of every single person she had ever known,
He seemed the most human to her.
He returned a few days later after that incident and sat on the rubble of what was once a couch. He just sat there with her. He didn't say anything. Not that he needed to.
All he said, with this wicked grin on his face, "Scary, innit?'
They talked about music. Grimmjow didn't like music. He said he didn't understand it. He didn't even know what a piano was.
She laughed at a little mental image of him, all groomed like a sleek tomcat, wearing a suit and tie, playing a piano. He'd like something a little more violent. But somehow, obvious things, like an electric guitar or drums or whatever, didn't seem to fit him.
She vowed that one day she would teach him how to play a piano. How she would wrestle him into it, hell if she knew, but she knew it would happen.
After a long time, it didn't seem like she had been kidnapped.
This place, Las Noches, seemed like home to her.
She noticed that her room began to smell like him. He had made himself so at home in her room that it had, in a way, become his too. There was a place where he would lounge on the couch, a small armchair where he would sit and pick at the food she refused to eat, even a shallow dent in the far wall where she knew he would lean and watch her sleep.
He smelled…strange. In a good way, though. He smelled like a forest, almost, though she was sure he had never been in such a place in his life. Musky and mossy and unbelievably warm. Spicy, almost.
Somewhere in there was a small hint of dark chocolate. Bitter and smooth and sweet.
She liked his smell.
He was the most unsafe thing in the world, hell, in the universe, that she could be around. And yet, he made her feel safe.
She felt guilty that she barely thought of home anymore.
She remembered Grimmjow talk about that other girl. Inoue Orihime, or something. She had known that name in high school, and how Kurosaki Ichigo and Ishida Uryuu and Sado Yasutora and someone named Kuchiki Rukia had broke into Las Noches to save her.
She didn't have friends like them.
And frankly, she didn't want to be saved, either.
She was angry at them for destroying what little piece of tranquility she had.
She wanted to meet this Orihime girl.
She asked Grimmjow if she could, but he looked at her as if she had just suggested that Aizen secretly played with dolls in his hours spent alone.
She didn't have powers like Orihime. She didn't even know why she was here. She didn't seem special. She didn't have any weird ass hair clips that 'tampered in the realm of god' as Grimmjow had so mockingly quoted.
All she had done was walk home an hour late.
Then, next thing she knew, two men in strange clothing had appeared out of nowhere. They looked like they were fighting about something.
And then one had turned his eyes, green like emeralds and which pierced her to the very core, upon her.
"Who are you, trash?"
His voice wasn't alive like Grimmjow's.
It was flat and dead and cold.
She hated Ulquiorra Schiffer.
She wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake him and scream at him and rip out his throat.
So he would never talk to her with that voice, that horrible, lifeless, scorning sound, ever again.
A/N: I haven't decided on a name yet. I would like my readers to choose one of their liking. Review or PM with your favorite female name (non-japanese prefferable, European preffered) and I'll use that as her name for the chapters to come if I decide to continue this.
This is not a romance story.