Hey, guys! Now, I appreciate your attempt to drop by a review in the last chapter (=.=) so here's the next one! I'll have to touch it up later, because this is a bit choppy and everything, so don't worry, it'll be better soon! And I know I'm goin' really fast with their relationship, so I'll keep this short and sweet. I'm gonna lay off a bit, but there's still gonna be the cheesy comments. And god, is Grimm OOC. Don't worry about that either, I'm gonna work on it! (This is my second re-do\touch up for this chapter, started on 3-8-13 D: So I'm really trying. xD)

Hope you enjoy!

Oh! And there is a poll up on my page and IT WOULD BE AMAZING IF YOU COULD CHECK THAT POLL OUT.

Please and thank you. X3

Flashback: Maybe, just maybe, Kurosaki could turn me into something other than an instrument of violence.

Maybe, even, perhaps, a human being.

Instrument Of Violence Chapter 2: In the Name Of Fucking Blood.

Grimmjow Jeagerjaques POV

"My, my, Grimmjow. What brings you here on your own impending will – for once?" The mere sound of this man's voice pissed me the fuck off. Sosuke Aizen's tone mixed with his poisoned vocal cords mixed with evil laugher and complete mockery – two things I couldn't tolerate at all. I mean damn, what kind of guy has a complex as fucked up as this and still manages to have people that adore and follow him? He was almost like that Hitler guy in Germany. And please, you'd have to be blind not to see that those fuckers were pure evil. Like, really. One beats the shit out of people if they simply talk back, and the other fucked up so many Jews that no one really could know the count – well, except an estimate of course. But that was beside the point.

Sadly, a lot of people were blind.

Though, even with my impending hate towards this man and this man alone, I found myself thinking of Ichigo and how I would be letting him down if I didn't do this for him. Even the thought of his face; disappointed and sad, disgruntled and slightly annoyed…I just didn't like it, really. So, for the sake of the orange-haired fighter and the freedom that he honestly deserved, I found myself standing uncomfortably in the middle of this stupid as hell man's office. Pissed off as fucking hell, I was, too.

God, did I hate Aizen.

"I wan' a fight. A good one." I forced myself to snarl and narrow my eyes in a predator-like fashion, completely aware that I came across as insane. Which it was for the better – I can't have Aizen knowing that I was getting a soft spot. That would cause suspicion. Then that would cause snooping. Then that would cause us being found out. Then started the beating.

Then we were screwed.

So instead, I wisely kept up my tough, egoistic exterior.

Aizen raised his eyebrows in a sort of simulated surprise. "But, Grimmjow –…"

I cut off the bastard before he could speak any further. "I want to fight Kurosaki Ichigo. I can beat that fucking idiot – I know I can. Just let me get to him." My voice sounded urgent. Making sure to keep my cool even with the pressure of royally screwing things up, I glanced right into the eyes of my assailant and snarled. I made sure not to fear the abuser. Brown eyes glinted with curiosity and amusement. That was a good sign. I think.

"My dear Grimmjow, you can try. Though, seeing your iron will against this subject, I suppose I will grant your wish. Does June fifteenth sound alright for you?" Sosuke answered with a ringing tone. I simply not and scowl deeply.

I tsked. "Ain't like I got anythin' better ta do." My accent slipped up a bit as I let that sarcasm roll off my tongue in pleasurable waves, smirking when the other man's eyes darkened with anger just a bit. It wasn't like I couldn't poke fun at the brown-haired douchebag, even if that would cause a hell of a lot more trouble for me later in time. Since there was a chance that I could finally get out of this shit hole I can be a little more lax than usual. For once, I felt quite happy. And it was all because of Kurosaki.

Damn, I was getting sentimental again. Ah, who the hell cared at this point? It wasn't like anyone was able to hear my thoughts – my mind was the only thing free for my control; I can use it however the living fuck I chose too. So if I wanted to be sentimental, there was no one there to stop me. Or if I wanted to be happy, or annoyed, or sad, or pissed, or even goofy. There was no one who could tell me that it was wrong. It was kind of funny how I just came to that conclusion, even after dealing with my mind for a little over two decades, but hell, it was fine if I realized it now.

Coming to terms with the fact that I just lost myself in my thoughts, I snapped back in to the world of reality and stared the bastard that granted me wish down.

"Your right, Grimmjow. There isn't anything else you can do." That snarky smile sent shivers down my tense spine. Instead of replying in what I thought would be an annoyed come back, I simply glared.

"May I leave now, Aizen?"

Slap.

God did I hate when that guy hit me. But it didn't surprise me anymore, thank god. Instead of focusing on the pain that expressed itself throughout the veins in my burning cheek, I decide to turn my head back and roll my eyes slightly. "Aizen-sama."

Aizen smiled and sat down in his overly expensive chair. "That's good, Grimmjow. Your still learning, but you're getting better. Now, you may leave."

Without turning to look back even once, I faced away from that stupid little bastard and walked out of the room.

Mission 1: Get the fight, accomplished.

~oOo~

My mind wandered in the middle of preparing for the upcoming fight. It was about five or six days after I had asked and was granted permission to fight Ichigo in the approaching tournament, and I have to say – I was buzzing with both confusion and excitement. Me and Ichigo were talking and talking right after I got out of that retched place, and he appeared so damn pleased that I got the fight going. It pulled at whatever was left of my heart. Not like I would admit that to anyone else, of course. But apart from that, I was both excited to finally try to escape – with Ichigo, no less – but I was also confused with what we were going to do when – or even if, we were to get out.

It wasn't like we had a plan as soon as we ran away. Again, that was a huge ass if. I shouldn't get my hopes up like that. But, for the two of us, one known as 'Insanity' and the other an 'Instrument of Violence', what sort of life were we to live outside of our cages? To think that we would be free – the simple thought of that brought apprehensive shivers to my skin. It's not like we would ever be free. Ichigo and I would always have to run, whether we liked it or not. That drowned my hopes within a few mere seconds, the idea of never being free, but even if we weren't it would be better than living in this shithole.

A sigh passed my lips. There wasn't any helping it.

However, there was something else that was making me think at this moment.

The fifteenth of June. Ichigo Kurosaki's birthday.

You see, Kurosaki never told me this directly. I ended up finding out the piece of information from a friend. Now, normally I wouldn't shit bricks trying to figure out what in the living hell I was to get him or do or say, but then again, Ichigo didn't make me act like my normal badass self. Cold, I usually felt, and most of the time lifeless, but I guess Kurosaki could release the animal without even knowing how to. I could recall awhile back when I was around…I dunno, fourteen or so, and Kurosaki was standing there, staring at me after our second or third fight…Well, I would have to say that's the first time I really got to look at him. And not only look; study.

Kid probably thought I was creepy after that, but then again, we never really had a stable relationship. He fixed me up plenty of times within a whole shitload of sometimes comfortable and sometimes uncomfortable silence, then we would fight again, and then Ichigo would patch me over and then himself. When we fought against each other, neither of us had the power to patch the other up. So instead of doing anything we usually let someone else do it – separately of course. But with the blood coursing through our veins and the raw hunger and lust during a non-warranted, no rule fight, we could never ask for more than that. Even if sometimes we wished for it to stop. Then again, as animal to animal, we would never wish for it any other way.

Then again, we, or, well, I, would go for some more talking every once in a while.

Not like I was getting soft on the bastard.

Ha. As if.

There I go again, trying to deny my own goddamned feelings even though they were in my own fuckin' mind.

"Um….Grimmjow?" Ichigo's voice invaded my senses in the middle of wrapping my knuckles. I blink and look up from my deep-thinking habit, cocking my head to the side at the orangette's timid voice. So unlike him. Or maybe it was like him, and I never noticed. Y'know, thinking about that, I probably knew close to nothing about Ichigo, other than the fact that his tough exterior was his cover-up for being caring. It did no justice being caring in a place like this. I wouldn't understand how he really was; well, not until we were out of this shithole anyway.

"Hm?" I grunt out as I pull at the tape. It ripped, so I set it down, palming the rest of the sticky stuff around my thumbs. At least Aizen provided us with medical care so we didn't die on our first night of our underground boxing – sort of – matches. As of now I was getting ready for my first match of the night, Ichigo only in here because his match was after mine. I guess tonight was a full-out specials night, and we were the main suspects to the nasty world behind those fences. Main attraction, main indulgence, whatever you want to call it – we were like humans in a cockfight.

Ha. Disgusting.

I hated thinking of myself as a caged man, a man with no dignity, no freedom. Alas, that was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the fucking truth.

Ew.

Ichigo's voice pulled me out of my downgrading thoughts as I glance his way. "Just…don't get hurt intentionally too much out there, okay?" He says as he continues to look down, still in the process of taping his own hands up. A jolt of pleasure ran throughout me at the thought of Ichigo being worried at me, making me smirk a bit as I lean towards his face with an eager expression. Something warm weathered up inside of me, and at that moment, I couldn't help but feel a little bit better. Previous thoughts of mine always got me into a pissy mood, but leave it to Kurosaki to patch me up. Again.

A genuine smile passed my lips for a moment. Ichigo knew some of the weird quirks that got me happy – well, he may not know, but he does it unconsciously in any case. It was adorable to think so.

But instead of acting on that welling up happiness, I settled for nodding and scowling. Any man in his right mind would keep up that tough exterior that kept them safe, including me and Ichigo, so I made sure I used that little tactic at that moment. A snort filled the room.

"Keh, like I would." The trademark smirk that Ichigo always had the authority to see then arose on my face. Ichigo shook his head and grinned. Even if I wasn't good at reading faces, I could tell he thought I was an idiot right now. But, well, what does that make that fucker? A bigger idiot?

Of course.

Before I had the chance to tell my body no, I rounded the couch to stand in front of the beautiful brown haired man that seemed to be worried about me. A deft smile was my next reaction, which Ichigo gauged with a calm face, even though he was probably wondering what the fuck I was doing. Well, I wondered that too. So he wasn't the only one. The urge to suddenly wrap him in my arms and comfort him and tell him I was going to be alright – that I wouldn't leave him, no matter what the cost, surged through me. Though, I only intake the smell of lavender and a musky tone coming from the orangette, and pat him on the head affectionately. After a second, I blinked, and noticed that I had tried to comfort the man. A frown marred my lips.

Kid was already changin' me.

Somehow I thought I knew this already.

"What's today?" I ask suddenly with a furrowed brow.

"The twenty-third of April, why?" Ichigo looked generally confused as to what I was asking. Either that or changing the subject. It didn't matter which. I rolled my eyes at his blunt stupidity and step back a few steps to clearly see his face.

Shaking my head, I turn, just as I was being called out to the arena. "We only have a few more months in this shithole, and you will be free, Ichigo. I hope you enjoy it." I say truthfully as I walk out. I didn't mean to make the words sound so cheesy, but I'll be damned, the look on Ichigo's face completely and utterly made up for it. Out of the corner of my eye when I was turning I saw his face alight with a newfound shade of red, a happy grin beginning to appear no his face. And when I walked out, out into that arena, I realized something.

Two more months until I was free, too.

~oOo~

With the underground mess around me, the boisterous cheering, and the violence, I felt alive. It was like something new was spurring me on, something take-able, something amazing, something that kept me going until the person was beat to bloody pulp. I love the feeling of cold blood on my fists. I love the calluses I receive from years of hard work. I love the smell of sweat, the beating of hearts, and the workout. Even the arousing feeling of warm, beautiful crimson blood splashing on your face as you reach the peak of victory, and then they drop, drop down to the floor, leaving you completely dominant and prominently victorious…well….

It turned me on.

It made me feel needed.

And I savored it.

But, as I was fighting a weakling that was paired up with me, I had the time to think. It wasn't what I wanted in life. I wanted Ichigo to live with me, in a remote house, with a working job, and a steady pay. Sure, the violence that was bread from me will never go away, but sometimes, I just wanted to be…Mellow. Something like that, anyway. But when I think of my future, all I think about is Ichigo. The man who could still possibly turn me into a functional human, instead of this born-and-bread instrument of violence that I was. Maybe he could, maybe he couldn't. I wouldn't blame him either way.

Punch. Kick. Head-but. Jab. Punch. Uppercut. Three-point-combo.

It was a repetition of things this opponent did, which was the downfall of his style. Like me – I was unpredictable. I could be wimpy when I wanted to be praised to the fullest, I could be quick because I wanted to be hurt or scolded, or I could let things just play its course. I was wild, I was a nothing, and I was merely a number; a single number in which couldn't be taken down, a master of war, a master of hell. I could feel nothing when I fought. I couldn't feel the others pain, I couldn't feel their misery; I couldn't feel their anger and desperation. I couldn't even feel their skin, I couldn't feel their jabs, or their kicks, or their punches, or anything else along those lines.

But I could feel Ichigo's.

I don't know why, I don't know how. But it always happened. Maybe it was because I didn't know them, or didn't care, or whatever; or maybe I was just sentimental on him. The mere thought caused another frown to appear on my face as I deliver a harsh punch to the ribs. A satisfying crack of a bone breaking, or fracturing more like it, was heard. I smirked then.

Weakling.

To have weak bones as a fighter was something that people commonly cursed. Having 'weak bones' meant they were easy to break or crack; easy to bend at will and abuse to the fullest. Most fighters, like me, took that their fullest advantage and simply broke the person, much like I was doing now. See, now people like me and this guy, Nnoitra, our bones were so fucking iron-like I don't think anyone that wasn't under the right training could even bruise them. No one could probably hurt Nnoitra, except Ichigo and me, maybe. Ichigo had weak ass bones too, but don't let that fool you. No one but me could even get close enough to land a hit on the guy, he never let the fight roll on. Now that I think about it, his bones were probably the reason why he never toyed with his prey. That, and he was too human to do such.

Anyway.

I watch as the man that I was fighting crumble to his knees, both worn out and simply terrified. I cackled at the weakness surrounding me. It was as if this man was begging for his life. But then again, I would be doing the same thing in his position. Thank god I knew how to fight. Thank god I knew how to take care of myself and finally rise to the heights of new worlds to keep myself and Ichigo safe. Though, this man couldn't. He just simply couldn't.

Pity was clear as day as I watched another flicker of fear pass the eyes of my fighter. With the need to abruptly glace in the other direction I did just that and instead wrap my fingers around his neck in a form of pity. The man knew it too. I smiled slightly and gripped harder. Suddenly, I –…

Snap.

It truly was a pity.

I went back to the room that takes away my life from me. Ichigo was walking in at the exact same time. I looked at him. He looked at me. We looked spotless, minus a few spots of blood. He looked beautiful. He looked…sad. How do I feel this shit when I'm around him? It's not like I want to. But still, fucking hell, I do.

I think I kind of liked it.

"You win?" he asked me. His voice already said he knew the answer, but I answered for him anyway. In the back of my mind I wondered if a new arena opened up for him to fight – cause he was supposed to go after me. Huh, probably was the reason in any case. Well, in any case, I'm glad he had to fight at the same time as I. If he didn't, I just knew he would be watching me and that made me uncomfortable – not because I doubted my skills, but I didn't like knowing that Ichigo saw me as the monster I was when I fought.

"When do I not?" I smirk cockily. He grins also and walks over to me, stopping about a foot away.

"When you fight me, duh." He comments. I scoff, even though I know he's right. When Ichigo lifts his scarred hand to my own still-clothed one, I look at him, but he ignores my gaze and begins to un-wrap my bandages. He continued this circular motion until the cloth falls to the ground, not making a sound. That's when he looks at me again. "Will you miss fighting?" He asks in an almost strangled voice. "Will you feel normal mixing with the innocent?" He always had the strangest wording of things, I swear. After letting out a breath, I shrugged a bit, and knew where this was already going.

I sighed. I knew this would take a while.

Without further or due, I motion for him to sit down. He does.

I myself sit down next to him and take a deep breath. "I don't think tha' we'll fit in with humans for quite some time, Ichi, but I kno' that we'll get there, y'know?" I state cautiously. A few points, I was sure, to dance around. "And yeah, I guess I'll miss some of the fighting, like the life or death situations and the energy and the passion, but I think I had 'nough of that shit to go around. I think it's time we settle down, no?" With a grin, I poke the orangette in the face. "I need to provide a good home fer my wifey, now don't I?" I smirk.

But, if I really thought about it, could I provide a good life for Ichigo? Was he better off….

Never mind. I didn't even want to think like that.

Ichigo scowls and smacks my stomach. I couldn't help but think of it as cute, I mean, who wouldn't? "Shut up, I'm being serious." I sigh. "I mean, we'll be living our lives in secret – and we won't stop running. We are his best fighters. He won't just let us go." I could see his logic. But, I thought with a frown, I'd rather take my chances out there with Ichigo than live here with being beaten.

"We'll figure it out. Stop getting cold feet, neh?" I shake my head. "Ya know those boxing competitions? We could enter in those if we get bored. Not the nation ones, of course not, but, y'know, the underground ones? That would sate us. As long as we're…careful." Now that I think about it, I'm not sure if that's a good idea either. Aizen had men everywhere, from every country, every match, you name it. Maybe we'll just have to settle for street fights before we calm down. Yeah, that sounded more realistic. A lot more realistic.

Maybe even then he would catch on.

He wasn't stupid, after all. Actually, we would have to be more careful than I previously thought.

Ichigo sighed. "I guess so…" I felt something pang in my heart at that comment. With a genuine frown, I smack the back of his head, only to shake it when he yelps. I really didn't like that look on his fact. No, I hated it. Purely hated it.

"Stop thinking negative, Ichi. We'll get it right someday." Ichigo nodded solemnly.

"I really hope we will."

"We will. Don't worry."

"Okay."

After a few seconds of silence, I noticed something was dawning on me. The orangette looked like he was holding back his features, which were kind of frightened, so what if he was…Trying to, y'know, hide it? I narrow my eyes a second, thinking how alike we are. After contemplating, I attempt to comfort him. "It's alright to be scared, y'know." I comment lightly. As quickly as I said that, Ichigo frowned, his face dropped by quite a few measures. He looked embarrassed and guarded to think that someone could figure him out so easily.

Ah, we really were alike.

"I'm not scared!" He growls out, almost murderously. I cackle. Man, he was like me in so many ways. The maintaining pride, manliness, trying to keep his face impassive as he was really freaked out with the world around him…Yeah, he would become a true Jeagerjaques. A true Jeagerjaques. I liked the sound of that. It sent pleasant shivers up and down my spine. Too bad we couldn't get married – because it would be awesome for Ichigo to have my last name. But again, that topic was off track. This was a more serious matter at hand.

"Yes you are. If you're anything like me, yer trying ta hide it." I look straight into his eyes then, showing him mentally that he is not the only one scared, which makes him gulp and nod.

"Your…scared, too?" He asks hesitantly. He looked a bit ashamed asking me, so I did my best to comfort him.

Idiot.

"A 'course I am, Ichi." I say soothingly. Taking my hand, I ruffle his hair and stand up. He stands also. "It's not something simple we're abou' ta do, okay?" I take him into my arms and hug him; I saw this happen once in the crowd. I'm pretty sure hugging is meant to be soothing, so I might as well try it on Ichi anyway. He responded, and wrapped his arms around me, nodding into my shoulder. "We got this. Before you know it, we'll be in a whole new boxing ring, getting money, renting a….Apartment, and on our merry way." The whole ordeal was immensely cheesy, but I wasn't about to say anything else, due to the fact that Ichigo looked satisfied.

Said strawberry shook his head in dismay. "If you say so." He comments lightly as he picks up the bloody bandages from the floor, going to throw them away. I watched him silently as he walked so perfectly, so elegantly, his body swaying with every step he took. I inwardly groaned. Ichigo was – most positively – one of the biggest hot messes I've ever laid my eyes on; chick, dude, whatever.

That brought me around to his fiery personality. That was probably one of the first things that attracted me to the man – the raw anger he brought himself up in. I remember, a long while back, when me and Ichigo first met. We were only kids – hell, we still are – but younger. It was our first fight, and I vaguely remember that being his first encounter in 'the ring', that I thought I should go easy on him. Boy, was I wrong. He wiped the floor with my ass in seconds, and by then, I realized I would have to show my true potential with the next bell. When I did, Ichigo, he wasn't in the least shocked. But he uped his game then, and man, was that a fight to be seen.

I loved it.

We were both fueled with the thoughts of rage from being taken captive at the time, having to fight for stupid ass business men who were roused to watch something like this. Our punches and kicks, unlike many others at the time, were trained and precise, and, even with my immense training and long hours of agility and weight lifting, the kid still beat me with flying colours.

Now that took some fuckin' skill.

With a petulant sigh, I also remember being the timid, sweet-talking lover-boy that I hated back then. The way he fawned over me, like I was a weakling, patching me up when I wasn't too hurt, stuff like that. We weren't exactly friends back then, we never were really 'friends', barely talking to each other and all, but as time went by and we grew older, he never stopped fixing me up. Most of the time we stayed quiet. Neither Ichigo nor I knew what to say, so, we opted for a comfortable silence.

It was relaxing. It made me feel safe. Even though I knew I was never to be 'safe'.

"What're you thinking about?" The voice I had grown accustomed to spoke out, causing me to glance over at him. He was fixing his own minor wounds, trying to cover up his pain while pouring alcohol on it, but failing. I sighed and decided to ignore it. There wasn't anything I could do.

Ichigo glanced at me, expecting an answer. "Y'know, I really hated you when we were little." I dragged on, shaking my head.

The orange-haired fighter gaped at me for a second, not knowing what to say. "Um…"

"Ya were always the little kid who stole my spotlight, but ya were such a naïve little shit that ya kept coming back to my side whether you knew it or not." Keh, he really was a weakling when it came to emotions. "I thought you were a chick for a while; with those emotion's a yers." I smirk at the comment, knowing Ichigo would be morally pissed off. I loved it when the kid was pissed off. Call me a freak, but it even turned me on a bit. What was that saying….don't knock it 'til ya try it? Yeah, don't judge me 'til you see that kid all riled up. Really. You'd be surprised.

I dodged a roll of tape that was thrown at me. "I was not a woman! Shithead!" Ichigo shouted as he growled at me. I smirked.

"I know. Didn't stop me from thinkin' it." I shook my head and plopped on the old, dirty couch. "I remember the burning jealousy that I always had from you, and I remember hating you so much I wish you died. But when you fixed me up usually, the silence, it made me feel a bit…Normal. So thanks, is what I'm getting at." I gruffly stated as a sign of indulgence, knowing, silently, that the orangette was probably proud of getting a 'thanks' out of me. Which he should be. I never said thanks to just anyone. They had to be special. Like Ichi.

Silence.

"I've loved you since our first fight." Ichigo confessed.

I gaped at him.

What?

Insert circuit in mind being cut off.

He gave me a look that said 'shut the fuck up or I'll hang your castrated balls for everyone to see in the morning'. I wisely shut up. Didn't stop me from thinking again, though.

"You were always the brash kid that could take anything that Aizen threw at him, while I begged him to stop most of the time. You had a smart as fuck mouth though, which, I remember got you into more trouble, but I guess that's what made you attractive to me. You were something I wasn't, a king of the ring, all that good shit." The orangette continued when I didn't speak. I couldn't. So he did for me, thankfully.

"I fixed you because you always looked broken." Ichigo shrugged. I gave him a strange look. "I didn't like seeing you broken." The hidden meaning within that statement almost made me quiver, but I cleverly held it in. That whole ordeal made me feel a tiny bit better, and, when I thought about it, I remember how I used to question those glances that Ichigo used to give me; the way his eyes would light up and then dim with disappointment when I wouldn't speak a word, before they brightened up once more as he hummed to himself while fixing up a shoulder or a wrist or a leg or something.

I also remember never being able to distinguish what that meant.

Maybe I was stupid. Or ignorant. But still.

Since we met? Damn.

"Sorry I can't say the same." I shrugged. "I liked seeing you in pain half of the time, but not from others. I liked it when I was the cause because that meant tha' I was the upper hand and shit like that, like I was the king or better." I could've been just a sadist and not known it yet. I remember, also, when I found out I was a sadist. It was a strange story, too. Maybe I'll tell you….some other time.

Ha.

Fat chance of that.

Anyway.

We shared a meaningful glance, but didn't speak.

Our silence spoke for us.

We will never break, we will soon be free, and then we will finally live our lives.

We will be human.