A/N: Welcome back, minna! I know you're all ready to kill me for the way I left you in SDBZ. XD For those of you who are Grimm/Ichi fans, I'm sorry. I am. If you look close though, our favorite pineapple-head may show up once or twice here before we head back to him and Bya-kun. So people can follow this the right way without getting confused, this part starts between chapters 1 and 2 of SDBZ and continues running parallel to that one. In other words this is what was happening in the Living World while Ren and Bya were dealing with stuff in Soul Society.

Fair warning, this part will be dealing with some nasty stuff. No rape or anything, but implied drug-use, infidelity, and one of the most serious complications of such actions. So, just like SDBZ this not for the faint of heart. With that said, enjoy, minna! =D

"Ya make me so happy I could die…"

Breathe. Focus on the down beat. Let the rhythm take away the pain. Reach out, grab the pole, spin, gyrate. Ignore the feeling of being eye-fucked. Forget that school starts again in less than seven hours. Breathe. Undo the buttons. Run a hand along the open waistband. Flash a smile that tells them everything and nothing. Twist, fling the sweat off, let it catch the strobe lights. Make love to the props. Breathe. Crawl across the stage. Float away on the guitar riffs. Burn honey eyes, promising delights that will never be filled. Breathe. Last piece, don't fuck it up. Throw it away and take the bills. Breathe. Give them one more flirty wink as you leave the stage. And don't forget: breathe.

Can't breathe!

The curtain closed on a thousand catcalls, and the orange haired youth, just over the age of consent, leaned against the wall praying the throbbing music behind him covered his wheezing coughs that kept him from catching his breath.

"You alright, Strawberry?"

He winced and fought down the fury that typically came with that nickname. It was his persona here and he had to put up with it if he wanted to keep his job. So, he nodded and moved off from the wings, hand still running along the wall for balance. Damn this cold. Losing his powers six months ago had to have affected something, making him more vulnerable to illnesses and such. This was the fourth cold he'd had since January. Maybe that was why he'd—no! He refused to think about it.

Entering the communal dressing room all of the dancers used, he plopped down in the chair that was designated as his. He'd been working at the club for a month; something to get his mind off of the things he didn't want to think about. His dad had been wary, but he was sixteen, able to consent to working jobs like this now. He certainly wasn't going to take some delivery boy job, not after winning the Soul Society's war. He'd seen too much, done too much, to pretend he was a child anymore. So, Goat Face had agreed, and he took up the nickname he hated more than almost any other.

His mirror was decorated with encouragement notes held up in the same shaped clips. The other dancers enjoyed the irony, and after a week or two, he'd come to smirk every time he thought about it. He looked tired. Running a hand through his sweaty, orange spikes he could tell he had a fever again. Those spots on his cheeks only showed up when he had one. Sighing deeply, as there was nothing he could do about it now, he reached for a cloth to wipe the stage makeup off before he put his tee shirt on.

It was late, after three in the morning. The club upstairs had just closed, his performance the crowning jewel of the evening. Saturday would dawn in the next two and a half hours, and two hours after that he had to be at his high school for the extra classes he was taking to balance out the time he'd missed training and working with the Soul Society. Shit, that meant he didn't have time for a nap, and he'd probably have to help his dad with his sisters before his shift at nine that night. At least most of the night he was just waiting tables and could take it easy, but he had three shows to do. Ugh, this was going to be a long day, and telling Goat Face about his fever would just make the man insist Ichigo take the night off, which for his sanity he couldn't do.

Saturdays especially! They'd been their night out. Every Saturday from just before New Year's until he'd caught him a month ago necking with some fruity trollop in a seedy alley not too far from the river bank. Damn it! Now he was thinking about it. The man's newfound humanity was something that Ichigo had never cursed before, but exploring that humanity with every willing body from here to Tokyo was going too far. And Kami only knew what other vices the damned feline had picked up since showing back up in his life after he lost his powers.

"Hey, Berry-kun." A soft almost female voice broke through his daydreaming.

His exhausted orbs glanced up at the second face in his mirror; a pretty cocoa colored male that could have been Yumichika's twin in every other way. "Oh, hey Mocha. How'd the tables go t'night?"

"Not bad, only about a G or two though." The slim male plopped down in the seat next to Ichigo, dressed in short shorts and a skin-tight baby doll tee shirt bearing the club's name and logo in neon letters across both his chest and his ass. He crossed his legs at the knee and frowned, though it looked more like a pout. "Berry-kun, you don't look so good. You sure you're gonna be ok for tonight?"

He was picking up Mocha's shift because the effeminate male had a date with his flavor of the week. "Yeah, I'll be fine. I just gotta grab a nap or something to keep me going 'til tomorrow morning." He flashed a shaky smile.

"Alright, just remember, working yourself to the bone won't bring in more tips, and you'll regret it when you're older." The dusky man cupped his cheek and returned his smile with a note of fondness before standing and walking off unconsciously shaking his hips provocatively.

He shook his head, amused. It only took him another five minutes to get his jeans, tee shirt, sneakers and hoodie on so he'd be ready to head home. It would take him fifteen minutes to cross town if he took the train, but it wouldn't come by the closest station until four thirty, another forty-five minutes from now. He debated just walking to school, but taking a step outside the club's back door, he shivered. Yeah, gonna wait for the train.

"G'night, 'Berry." The bouncer who manned the back door greeted him.

Ichigo waved, putting his headphones in. Since he couldn't keep his mind off of a certain someone earlier, he was in no mood to chit chat with Pineapple. If it wasn't for the different hair color, he'd have sworn the man was Renji. There were a few other subtle differences; his quiet demeanor, the way the man never wore anything with short sleeves, and his avoidance of all things alcohol. But the abrasive temper, the way he styled his hair, even the nickname he'd chosen to go with the theme of the club all screamed similarity with the vibrant redhead from Seireitei.

Soft, dark music pounded into his ears, and unconsciously he matched the beat with his footsteps. He dropped a token from his jeans pocket into the turn-style. The station was empty at this time of the day, not even the businessmen heading to Tokyo were out yet. The stairs leading up to the train itself stole his breath again, resulting in another bout of wet coughing. Shivering, he huddled in the corner of a bench in the frigid early May night air.

"Hey. Ya shouldn't be sittin' here alone at this time o' night." The all too familiar voice broke through the haze of sleep.

The sky was lightening. Crap! He'd dozed off, and missed the train. Then he focused on the tall, well-built male standing over him. "You stalking me now?" He growled.

Blue eyes shifted to the side. "Nah, this is just the line I gotta take ta get ta the warehouse."

He knew that. He cursed mentally, and drew in another breath to spit an insult back. However, the words died on his lips when the frigid air made his infected bronchioles spasm. Planting his feet on the ground, and wrapping his arms around his ribs, he leaned into the fit, eyes closed and letting whatever built up mucus work its way out of his lungs. A glob of greenish goo, tinged with pink, landed between his feet before he could draw a steady breath. He winced at it, green—not good, probably bronchitis then. If he wasn't careful he'd sink into pneumonia.

"Oi. Ya ok, Ichi?" The crystal clear blue eyes were worried.

"What do you want, Grimmjow?" The orangette panted, still holding his ribs with one arm and leaning his head against the cold metal of the terminal wall.

The former Sexta scoffed. "Feh. I saw ya dreamin' here an' thought I'd be neighborly. We're s'posed ta be 'friends', Ichigo." His eyebrows drew together looking over the former Shinigami.

"Yeah, sure. Just like the others right?" His laughter almost made him cough again. Fuck, this being sick shit was for the birds. He shivered again, internally hating that he was being weak in front of Grimmjow.

"Let me take ya ta breakfast, ne?"

A body-warmed leather jacket dropped over the orangette's shoulders, and a perverse part of his brain that he used to attribute to his inner Hollow made him aware that he could easily infect the blunette with his cold just by coughing on the collar of the jacket. Because of that voice he scowled and swallowed the denial that had almost escaped his lips. Instead he closed his eyes again, actually enjoying the contrast of warmth around his shoulders and cold on his burning forehead. As such it was several moments before he could bring himself to croak out, "Yeah, sure, Grimm."

A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him against a broad chest that was too familiar for comfort. He inhaled the scent he'd been missing for four weeks, and tried to pretend that his heart wasn't screaming at him to wrap himself around the body holding him. He vaguely noticed that they were walking down the stairs from the train platform and out a side door to a parking lot where overnight travelers left their vehicles. He frowned as the knowledge that he'd been bullshitted hit him when Grimmjow pulled a set of keys from his pocket and clicked a button, making a dark blue Mitsubishi Lancer flash its lights.

Scowling orange brows leaned up to glare at the strong, angular jaw above him. "You lied to me. Again. How come you have a car?"

"Just get in, Ichi. Yer Dad wanted me ta come get ya. He knows yer sick." The blunette pushed him towards the passenger side door, and though he was glaring he got in. When Grimmjow took his seat behind the wheel, he sighed, "Why're ya beatin' yerself up like this?" His voice was heavy.

The fever must have loosened his tongue because the scathing remark he bit back came out sounding more tired than angry. "Because it's the only way I can get you off my mind." Silence reigned for a little while as the car pulled out of the parking lot and turned towards Ichigo's home with his father and sisters. Then the orangette broke it, "It's Saturday."

"Yeah, I know." Again silence stretched between them. Hands tightened on the wheel. "Ya know…I am sorry, Kitten."

"You aren't allowed to call me that anymore." He was glaring at the driver again. "You lost that privilege when I found that napkin in your pocket. No, maybe you lost it when I found you high as a kite on something on the school roof. Or, maybe it was when I took you back twice in the same month, only to smell other guys on you." The blunette winced, but Ichigo continued, "Don't talk to me about sorry, Grimmjow. You're only sorry because you can't have me anymore."

The rest of the ride was filled with heavy silence. Pulling up to the Kurosaki Clinic, the orangette didn't even wait for the car to be fully stopped before throwing open the door and diving for freedom. "Ichi-" The door slammed on his words, and the former Espada growled, running a work roughened hand through his unruly blue spikes. He didn't leave yet. He'd been promised answers, and damnit, he was going to get them if he had to wait all day.

Within the house, Isshin Kurosaki watched his son arrive, looking more worn out and tired than any sixteen-year-old should. He mimicked his son's ex just as the door to their home slammed open. He put his goofball face on and deliberately threw a punch at the wall behind the tall eldest child.

"Save it, Dad, I don't have the energy to play this morning." The boy didn't even realize he still had Grimmjow's leather jacket around his shoulders.

The doctor frowned, and dropped the act. "Here, Ichigo. Let me take your temperature and get you something for the cough you're fighting." He turned to enter the attached clinic through a door in the living room. When he returned the orangette was spread out on the couch. His slim shoulders shook as he fought the coughing spasm the change in position triggered. Hmm, maybe it already was pneumonia. Little red flags were waving all through Isshin's medically trained mind, especially when one took in the extreme measures his son's ex had taken to experience human life in the first few months of his reappearance.

He bent over his son, stuck a thermometer in his ear, and pulled his stethoscope out of his pocket with the other hand. By the time the instrument read a temperature of 101.5 the coughing had begun to ease again. Ichigo saw the stethoscope and groaned, sitting up carefully to avoid more coughing. Isshin frowned as he listened to his son's chest.

Honey-brown eyes looked up expectantly, and he sat next to the boy on the couch. "It's definitely bronchitis, but I want to do a chest x-ray to make sure you haven't developed anything worse. You've been coughing for almost two weeks now. Why are you doing this, Ichigo? All to avoid Grimmjow?"

The orangette breathed deeply, reclining against the couch cushions somehow made that easier. "That's part of it. I can't get him out of my head, Dad, but I can't just forgive him either. The numbers I can ignore, and the drugs don't really matter because I know he can't get addicted and won't get in trouble with the cops. But when he comes ho—uh—here and has somebody else's cologne on his clothes, lipstick on his shirt, and hickies I know I didn't place, I just can't sit back and do nothing." He closed his eyes in pain. "He wants to experience life as a Human, well here's lesson number one. It sucks." A few minutes of silence stretched between them as Ichigo simply breathed. "I'm going to head to bed. Please wake me in time for dinner? I have a shift at the club at nine." Then he got off the couch and dragged himself to his room, leaving the jacket next to Isshin.

The dark haired patriarch ran his hand through his hair again, grabbed the jacket, and exited the house to speak with the blunette he knew was still sitting outside. The door of the car opened when the doctor came within speaking distance. He gratefully climbed in, handing the man his jacket back. "You've really put your foot in it, Grimm."

"I know. How is he?" Came the reply without much preamble.

"I think it's pneumonia, but he won't slow down." He shook his head. "It's like his reiatsu burned through his immune system. He's never been this sick before. This is the third time this year that he's come down with bronchitis." The ex-captain's face was drawn. The amicable relationship between the two powerhouses was something of a surprise. The Shinigami had fully expected to hate the Arrancar when he showed up in a gigai. Of course, discovering that somehow his fight with Ichigo had pushed him to the other side of the coin was something of a shock, and Isshin supposed that maybe that had something to do with it. He shook his head to clear his thoughts of the past, "How is the mask training going?"

"Pan's respondin' well. It's a little odd seein' mahself as I was as an Adjuchas inside mah head, 'specially since he's inverted. White paws, black armor." Bewildered blue eyes caught dark brown. "Th' real f'ked up part is that his blue fur is orange. Heh. 'S like I can't git away from Ichi no matter what I do. He gives me the same kinda talkin' to when I fuck up too." He shook his head, still not quite used to not having a piece of mask on his cheek. "What d'I do, Doc?"

"I don't know. He needs to heal, both physically and mentally, but I don't think he will until you two sort this out. He's just going to keep pushing himself harder and harder until he finally snaps. I'm just afraid that he won't stop until he's dead. Not having his powers is just one more weight on his already over-burdened shoulders." The doctor scrubbed his face with his hand, staying up waiting for his son to come home was not something he could do easily anymore. "I'm going to see Kisuke today about that idea we had. You sure Pantera's willing to sacrifice her claw to make the sword?"

"O' course! I just have ta work on getting' mah Resurrection back." The blunette's resolve echoed in his eyes. "We're close. I c'n feel it!"

Grimm's car: cdnedge . vinsolutions AP / 4097 - 2 - 10252885 - 63908694 - 0 - 0 / 63908694 . jpg