He woke clothed. Grimmjow would have had to remove his shackles to do that. He also would have had to see him naked but after yesterday that was hardly a concern now. He sat carefully, already sensing many of his new wounds, but the worst was by far his ankle. It was swelled to balloon like proportions and hurt to move even a little bit.

"Don't try walking on it." Grimmjow's voice startled him. It hurt to turn his head and he squinted through a swollen eye. The espada offered him nothing more as he headed out of the cell and locked it shut behind him. Ichigo lay back.

It was going to be a long recovery.

Much of his days were passed in silence. Grimmjow was often out. He came back smelling of smoke, alcohol and sometimes sporting bloody knuckles. Ichigo wasn't sure how often he had to defend his position as King but he got the impression Grimmjow spent all his time with the lowlifes who bet on the death matches in the pit. Well, he couldn't blame him, what else was there to do?

Except talk to him.

On the rare occasion, Grimmjow would get bored. Ichigo could tell when he sat in his chair at the desk and stared at the cell bars as if contemplating whether or not it was worth going out, if anything beyond these four walls could really occupy the interest of a highly trained warrior.

That's when he would talk to Ichigo.

"You'll feel better in a little while," he explained when he saw Ichigo's frustration at still being bed ridden even after several days. "The initial shock of losing your spiritual pressure affects everyone for a long time. Then you start getting used to it and you won't feel so exhausted and weak."

"So I might get stronger?"

"Not much, you're way too small, you just won't feel as cruddy."

"Great."

Grimmjow said nothing more on the subject and they lapsed into silence again. He seemed very busy for someone who did none of the work in maintaining their prison world. Meeker creatures of less refined humanoid form brought them their fresh laundry and since Ichigo was immobilized, slid him food and water between the bars. He also saw them cleaning the walkways of the massive structure. If he'd felt better, he would have pitied them, but since all his days were filled with endless silence, the pain of a very slow recovery, and the memories of friends' screams on the battlefield—he didn't have much room left for pity.

Eventually he was mobile. His ankle had only sprained. By the time it was better, the scrapes and bruises from the fight had already faded. He began exercising in the cell again, forcing himself to do push-ups and get himself out of breath with certain exercises that could be done in small spaces.

Grimmjow seemed to have no problem with it, as he never commented. Ichigo was growing very annoyed with his shackles, however, and one day when he thought he was catching Grimmjow in a better mood he asked him if they could be removed.

The other looked at the chains as if he'd forgotten them. He didn't answer and Ichigo didn't know what that meant—if he was considering or if he just wasn't acknowledging the question. For now, he let it go.

A while later, though, Grimmjow got up and looked at Ichigo. "You should shower."

"Uh.."

"Let's go."

It wasn't a choice. Ichigo didn't really feel like repeating his experience from last time but it had been a disgustingly long time since he'd properly cleaned up so he took Grimmjow up on his offer. It was only when they were at the door and Grimmjow stopped to consider the difficulty of removing clothing that he acknowledged Ichigo's earlier request.

"Just for now," he said when he reached for the key kept in his pants pocket.

"Okay." Ichigo didn't know what else to say but there was no hiding his relief when the iron fell away from his wrists and he rubbed them gently, massaging long chaffed skin. Grimmjow led them out and down toward the main arena. They got many stares—Ichigo had only been out for that one horrifying experience. He noticed many hungry eyes on him, and he also noted how Grimmjow blanked them completely. He barked out the same order as last time and the room was cleared. Then he shoved Ichigo toward one end while he went to the other.

"Five minutes."

"Okay," Ichigo just said again, shedding his clothes and hurrying under the frigid spray. There was little to do with no soap or towel so he just scrubbed as vigorously as he could with his bare hands and then redressed before Grimmjow could decided to drag him back naked again. The other washed on the other side and only came back to collect him when he too was fully clothed.

"Grimmjow."

"What?"

"How long have you been here?"

"Long enough."

"I mean-" he was silenced at the glare, then he stopped walking completely. He'd let himself grow too weak—too obedient to this man. Now he stood unshackled and out of the cell, so he faced Grimmjow with the same resolve he had the first time they met.

"Why can't you just be straight with me?"

Grimmjow glanced behind him, at the milling beings on the prison floor.

"You do not want to have this discussion, kid."

"Why the Hell not? Since I arrived you've been my friggin' prison guard and I don't know if you're protecting me or torturing me! What the Hell do you want from me?"

"Shut. The Fuck. Up." Grimmjow grabbed him around the collar.

"Why 'cause you'll hit me again? You do remember who I am right? You do know that—"

"I said shut up!" Grimmjow's strike came hard and fast. Ichigo was still getting used to life without spiritual pressure. Even if he was human, he was currently in his spiritual form, so it was very disorienting to be in this form without the strength of a soul reaper. He hit the ground hard and skidded over the filthy floor. Anyone nearby stopped to watch.

"Get up," Grimmjow ordered.

Ichigo picked himself up. Aware of the eyes on him.

"Let's go." Grimmjow motioned for him to follow. Ichigo held his ground.

"No."

"You fucking idiot." Grimmjow turned back to him.

"I'm not yours to control."

"Trouble in paradise, Jaggerjaques?" Someone called.

"Little fucker looks pretty healthy for a chew toy." Someone else commented. Grimmjow went rigid with anger but his eyes never left the teen before him.

"You did this to yourself." He barely whispered as he grabbed Ichigo around the neck. The teen wasn't completely helpless, landing a few kicks from his strained position but not enough to get Grimmjow to let go.

He slammed back into the dirt, face first, Grimmjow's knee settling in his lower back.

"Get off of me!"

"I fucking warned you." Grimmjow yanked his shirt up and Ichigo saw him reach for something in his pocket. When he saw the glint of silver he started to struggle harder. "Just in case there was any doubt," his voice rose to those around him and everyone listened. "This soul reaper belongs to me."

"AH!" Ichigo couldn't contain his scream when the metal bit into his skin. Grimmjow worked it in a curving line over the flesh of his lower back, carving deep and cruelly. Ichigo tried to hold it back but the pain got the best of him and he gasped and groaned on the floor, fighting with everything to keep the sounds from turning into sobs.

When he was done, and there was a clear six carved into bloodied skin, Grimmjow stood, leaving Ichigo's back bare and exposed to all above. "Now he won't forget where he belongs." He announced but his eyes turned upward to them, "And neither will you."

He bent down and picked up his prey by the back of his neck but stepped back toward the shower entrance.

"And if you want to live, you won't fucking disturb us."

Ichigo saw their faces and understood the looks, Grimmjow's words. He tried to struggled but he was dragged backward all the same. The pain in his back was unreal, but still it numbed in comparison to the fear he felt when he was dumped on wet tile and Grimmjow stood above him.

"You should have kept your fucking mouth shut."

"You bastard." Ichigo tried to get a hand over the wound but Grimmjow dropped on him, pinning his wrists above his head with one hand while he settled his weight on the teen's thighs, trapping him face fist on the ground. "GET OFF OF ME!"

"I never should have let you out of the cell." Grimmjow growled and then his fist connected with Ichigo's side.

He couldn't hold it back. He was already in too much pain from the six Grimmjow had carved into his flesh. He was too drained from having his powers leached from him. And he was too alone—an all consuming loneliness not just from being imprisoned here with monsters, but from knowing probably none of his friends still lived, let alone anyone out there might come to rescue him.

So he screamed as Grimmjow pounded his fists into his hip, then switched to the other side. He hollered when he was flipped onto his back, his wound striking the floor. Then Grimmjow cut off his air, fingernails biting deep where they gouged into his neck with bruising force. All the while a thundering rain of ice cold water poured down on him.

A rake of sharp fingers cut across his chest and stomach. Grimmjow sat back and surveyed him while Ichigo choked on water and blood. He caught a couple blows to the face to split his lip and bring up blood.

"Don't..." Ichigo knew what those looks meant, knew what Grimmjow's words had meant.

Grimmjow stared down on him, then leaned in close and Ichigo's whole body went stiff in anticipation of his next move. Grimmjow frowned.

"Who the Fuck do you think I am?"

Ichigo stared back at him. The espada seemed offended. For a moment, Ichigo felt confusion, then he screamed again when he was rolled to his side and Grimmjow hammered down on his thigh with one fist. He struck the same spot several times, making Ichigo cry out again and again. He wouldn't stop—not until he heard the frantic gasps he was looking for. Not until the stream of water wasn't the only source of droplets on Ichigo's face. Only then did he relent in his brutal assault, when the flesh on Ichigo's leg was purple and red and bleeding. When he couldn't for the life of him put pressure on the leg and limped heavily when Grimmjow dragged him up.

"If you say one word, I'll do it again," Grimmjow warned when they neared the entrance. Ichigo was still trying to control his erratic breaths and uncontrolled tears but Grimmjow seemed eager for the others to see. He hauled Ichigo out before their merciless eyes. He heard the jabs and jeers, the claps and hoots.

And he came to the dark understanding of what everyone thought had happened—and what Grimmjow had chosen not to do to him.

He was dropped a shaking, sopping mess on his bed. Grimmjow yanked the curtain shut on them, and stood there for a long moment as if he didn't have the energy to turn back to the beaten teen. Ichigo's hand hovered over his horribly bruised thigh, his hips hardly better off. He couldn't keep the shaking from his hands or any of his other limbs.

When he finally did turn around, Grimmjow watched him for a long time.

"They think you want me for..." Ichigo swallowed and didn't finish his sentence.

"Of course they fucking do." Grimmjow seemed to make up his mind about something and moved swiftly over to the teen. Ichigo threw up his hands in defence and couldn't believe how desperate his voice shot from him.

"Don't touch me!"

Grimmjow froze—but only for a moment. Then he grabbed bare shoulders and wrestled Ichigo down face first on his bed.

"DON'T!" The teen screamed as he fought desperately.

"SHUT UP!" Grimmjow pinned him by the back of his neck and Ichigo could only hear the tear of fabric. Then he recoiled at the painful pressure at his lower back. Grimmjow pressed the torn sheet over the wound. Ichigo hissed out in pain but stilled. When he was calm, Grimmjow let go of his strangle hold on him and proceeded to wrap up the wound he'd laid in pale flesh.

"Don't move from here," he ordered when he finished. Ichigo heard the clank of chains and tried to pull his hand back but Grimmjow caught it and forced the shackle back over his wrist. He looped the chain through the top bar of the bed several times until it was short and gave Ichigo little leeway when it clamped around his other wrist. Ichigo cursed him and fought it but there was no winning. He couldn't escape his position laying face down on the bed, hands held tight to the metal rungs by his head, leaving him open and exposed.

"Like I said, you brought this on yourself," Grimmjow muttered when he sat back on his own cot. He was angry, but despite his pain and upset, Ichigo knew none of these wounds had been laid on him out of rage alone. They were calculated, meaningful—and most frightening of all—they were merciful.

Because the alternative to this beating would have been much, much worse.

Girmmjow left him like that for over a day. Ichigo actually expected worse but then he figured the espada didn't relish dealing with the mess Ichigo would eventually be forced to make. Actually, he was very surprised when Grimmjow undid his shackles completely, gave him new clothes and then took him out of the cell.

It was show, of course. Ichigo's limp and strategically placed marks implied so much more, and and he tried to ignore the nasty grins and comments shot his way. Grimmjow took them to the meal hall, where Ichigo had never been. It was on the fifth level in place of the regular bank of cells that was in that space on every other level.

Grimmjow shoved him into a seat and someone hurried to provide them with the tasteless, oatmeal-like gruel they ate every day. Grimmjow had mentioned something about there being no concerns of running out. Ichigo guessed it was some sort of Soul Reaper spell that kept them continuously supplied. Everything in the spiritual world was made of reishi, after all, so if this place gleaned their energy, then the most likely solution was that this gruel was a portion of that very power being fed back to them.

It was decidedly disgusting, but no one refused it.

They ate in silence. Ichigo kept an eye on those around him the whole time. They wore the same smirks. His eyes returned to Grimmjow. He was expressionless.

When they were done Grimmjow dragged him back. Ichigo still couldn't walk without his help. His back killed him and his thigh often clenched into a painful charlie horse. He willingly slumped back onto his bed. Grimmjow hovered before him. Ichigo looked to the chain and then pulled his hands against his stomach in silent protest.

"You get it now, don't you?" Grimmjow finally spoke.

Ichigo got some of it—that those monsters out there thought Grimmjow had done something to Ichigo the teen couldn't even voice aloud—and that Grimmjow wanted them to think that. What he didn't get, was why. If Grimmjow had no desire to do that to him, then why was he keeping him alive? If he were to take revenge for their past battles, Ichigo was pretty sure he wouldn't do it this way. He sat in silence for a long moment, contemplating if he should pose the question.

"Why do you want them to think that?" he finally asked.

Grimmjow reacted in anger—he'd warned Ichigo never to ask why he was protecting him again. He shoved Ichigo down onto the mattress but then that was really it. Ichigo remained still while the espada pulled back the scraps of cloth over his wound and inspected them. Then he withdrew and sat at his desk, leaving Ichigo unchained and on his own.

And that was how things went for quite some time. Grimmjow took Ichigo out with him more and more frequently. In reality, Ichigo didn't mind—at least after the worst of the pain had receded from his back and leg. Spending day after day in that cell was driving him crazy, so when Grimmjow made him accompany him to different gambling games, even fights, or just to walk around the prison and beat up a few of the trouble makers to reassert his position, it was at least something to do to pass the time.

Grimmjow was smart—perhaps smarter than Ichigo had first given him credit for. He started to realize what the espada was doing by taking him with him. He was giving him a place—a place other than the other side of Grimmjow's room. If Grimmjow could establish his ownership over Ichigo, but also get him accustomed to the prison and familiar with some of the regular gamblers and dealers he visited throughout his day, then he wouldn't have to constantly babysit him.

Ichigo wasn't sure how he felt about all of this. It wasn't that he liked being around Grimmjow, but he wasn't sure he'd like being without him either.

After a week of such outings, Grimmjow began distancing himself, though never so far he couldn't intervene if something went wrong. Ichigo had learned all the games, some with cards, others with stones and symbols. Alcohol and something resembling tobacco were the currency. Ichigo knew the alcohol had to be some crude form of fermented gruel and didn't relish tasting the concoction, but he wasn't sure what the prisoners had found to roll up and smoke. He had no interest in either but he did start to get interested in the games—it was after all, the only intellectual stimulus he had.

So slowly, very slowly, and without being aware, he became accustomed to the prison life.

He came home one night from a successful match of stones, to a punch in the face. He swore and tried to fight back but Grimmjow shut the curtains and wrested him down on his bed. He couldn't help but fight back, but by now he knew the drill and if Ichigo ever stopped showing up with fresh bruises and a few well placed marks, the others would start to get suspicious.

Grimmjow left him panting in pain on his bed and stepped away to his own. Ichigo couldn't help but be shaken from each assault. Though he did feel stronger than when he'd first arrived, pain was so different without the presence of Zangetsu. But it was more—pain was different when it wasn't earned in the heat of a fight, when adrenaline coursed through his veins and each mark was earned in order to protect others. No, these marks were ones of abuse. Ones that hurt on a level deeper than the surface. Ichigo sat up slowly, rubbing the weeping wound at his neck. He caught blue eyes lingering on him for just a second.

Why was Grimmjow doing this?

He dwelled on the question more and more over the long days. It was while he was watching Grimmjow from his card game that it struck him. He lost the round and all his cigarettes, but he didn't care. Grimmjow was currently engaged in an arm wrestling match. His elbow was bleeding from the pressure being put on it and it looked like his whole arm might snap. His opponent was much larger than him but still Ichigo watched him win. He shook out the limb when he rose and there were cheers. Then he caught Ichigo staring at him. That night when they were back in their cell, Grimmjow seemed angry. He must have known he'd been found out.

"So," Ichigo began.

"Just spit it out," Grimmjow growled.

"You think they'll come back for me—the Vandenreich will want me again or the soul reapers will win and come to save me. You want to make sure I'm still alive for them to find, and you want to make sure you'll be near me so you can bust out too."

Grimmjow met his eyes but there was no doubt Ichigo had figured out the truth.

"Why not just tell me?" he asked.

"Because if anyone in this place gets a hint of my plan, they'll try to do the same."

"But you're the King."

"Yeah and I was a fucking idiot to ever put myself in that position. It doesn't mean shit—if they really want, they could gang up and kill me, I ain't dumb enough to think I can take 'em all on. But they don't do it, 'cause what would be the point? They'd just have to fight each other and start all over to establish a new king. And most of 'em would die in the process. So everyone goes with it 'cause there's nothing really worth fighting over—except you. They see you as a piece of meat right now, and they accept that you're mine. But if they saw you as their key out of this place, I'd be dead, and you'd be in some bastard's clutches."

"Oh," Ichigo just said, working it all out for himself. "If you'd just said that, it's not like I would turn around and tell them." Grimmjow didn't answer. It was clear he wasn't interested in showing Ichigo an ounce of trust. So the teen continued to think about his situation for the last few weeks.

"All that shit you've been doing to me...it's the only way to keep them from figuring out why you really want me close."

Grimmjow didn't answer. He just rose and stabbed a finger in the air with every word to emphasize his point. "Never. Speak. Of this. Again." He glared. "Both of our lives depend on it. Understand?"

"Yes." Ichigo nodded. They left it at that. Grimmjow went to bed fuming. Ichigo lay back unsettled, rethinking everything Grimmjow had done to him. He'd already known Grimmjow could have done worse to him instead of pretending to do worse. But now he knew the motivation for it all. It didn't absolve the espada of anything. He'd still made his first weeks painful and humiliating, but at least Ichigo understood his actions now. It was certainly more in keeping with the image of the espada of two years ago.

Then something else struck Ichigo.

Two years ago he'd left Grimmjow incapacitated in the sands of Hueco Mundo. Urahara said there was still no way to know at what point the Vandenreich had crossed into the desert world.

"Grimmjow."

"Shut it and go to sleep."

"Just...how long have you been here?"

"Long enough," he repeated the same thing he always said.

"Two years?" He heard the bed creak as Grimmjow rolled back over to look at him. The lights had gone out, Ichigo couldn't see him but he could feel his angry glare.

"Why?"

"They caught you after I..." saying he beat him would probably piss him off so Ichigo chose his words carefully. "After our last battle."

There was silence. Ichigo knew he was right. He said nothing more, grateful the conversation ended without a punch in the face.

Thanks for the positive response to the first chapter! I am looking forward to this new story and it is still unfolding for me as I continue writing so I don't actually know just how it will end up in terms of bromance vs romance. I try to do whatever happens naturally in the story but I generally am a bromance girl so that's usually how my stories go, just in case you were wondering.

Thanks again for reading!

Riza