Thanks to bleedblackwalz, for reviewing and also for convincing me to post this, as well as her sister XxAngelofDemisexX.

"Oh damn…my head…" Nnoitra opened his eyes and blinked a little, his vision adjusting itself to the darkness of his room. He was lying flat on his back, a position he hardly ever slept in, covers wrapped around him tightly and a lamp glowing in a far corner of the room. It was pretty bright, actually, but the rest of his room—probably the rest of his domain—was pitch-dark since it was night, so the lamp couldn't do much. He didn't remember having a lamp, he thought, much less leaving it on when he'd gotten back.

Wait… gotten back? He didn't remember getting back. He remembered trying to ask to be excused, but after that, he couldn't recall walking back here or even leaving the throne room. Something had happened to him… had he blacked out? If so, who had carried him back?

Glancing around, his gaze settled on the floor, where the edge of a hakama could be seen. Nnoitra wriggled out of the blankets—they were too hot, anyway—and leaned over the side of the bed. He got the shock of his life, for there, curled up in a makeshift futon beside his bed, was Halibel.

Her hair was sticking up in a million different directions, and her collar was crumpled and folded down because she'd slept in her uniform. He blinked once, then twice, hoping she'd go away and it would be somebody else—Tesla, hopefully, because this would be just about as embarrassing with any other Espada. Alas and alack, however, she stayed right where she was, not stirring an inch.

'Figures she'd be a quiet sleeper', Nnoitra thought to himself. Suddenly, however, he felt slightly sick. Sitting up in bed did not help the situation whatsoever. Squeezing his eyes shut, Nnoitra got out of bed and managed to stumble into the bathroom before his legs turned to water underneath him and he fell roughly on his knees, the nausea getting worse with each second.

He knew—and don't you look at me like that, you know exactly what I mean—he just knew he was about to throw up. Gagging, he felt the blood drain from his face and knew how pale and green he must look. He felt himself begin to retch and blocked out the next few moments, until he opened his eyes, sitting in the floor, spitting bile from his mouth, his hair pulled back from his face by someone's hands.

Wait a second...

Nnoitra turned and faced Halibel, who had let go of him and was standing a few feet back. "What the hell are you doing here?" She grinned, staring him down.

"Well, no one else would take care of you, Nnoitra. And you were just so weak…" smirking, she leaned against the doorframe. "I was assigned to make sure you don't… you know… give up the ghost. Now come on."

Striding over, she picked him up and looped one arm around his waist, tugging his wrist across the back of her neck with her other hand and standing up. "You shouldn't sit on that tile floor any longer. It's too cold." Legs dragging along since Halibel was a good two feet shorter than him, Nnoitra let himself be helped back into bed, turning away and yanking the covers up to his chin.

"What's wrong with you anyway? You hate me."

"I don't hate you," replied Halibel, pulling him back up and handing him a glass of water. "I dislike you. Greatly. However, you're too weak to take care of yourself, and since you have such a terrible personality, not even your Fraccion would step in. Stark would have fallen asleep, Barragan would have forgotten who you were, Ulquiorra flatly refused, and everyone below you is too scared. Now drink something."

He jumped a little, too weak to do much else, as she sat down behind him. One of her shoulders fit neatly along the top part of his spine, supporting his back. It irked him a little that she'd just assume that he couldn't sit up on his own—though, in truth, with this whatever-it-was he couldn't. He wondered briefly if somebody had poisoned him. It was a definite possibility.

Nnoitra tipped the glass forward and sipped some water, taking a little more until the taste of bile was gone from his mouth. He was strangely thirsty after that, and managed to drink down the rest of the full glass, placing it on the table beside his bed and shifting so that he could lie down.

He flipped onto his stomach and lay his head on his arms, eyes closing as he figured he might as well try to sleep. It was not to be; something was slipped into his mouth. Nnoitra moved his tongue around, trying to spit it out. It stayed in. He jerked his head back; it stayed in. He opened his eyes, grabbed the thing, and managed to yank it out of his mouth just as it beeped. Halibel smirked at him. She held out the thermometer that had been in his mouth so he could see the digital numbers.

"One hundred and three?" he queried. "So what?" Nnoitra turned over again, this time making sure to face away from her and her stupid smirk.

"So you have a fever," she replied, slipping into the bathroom. When she returned, Halibel carried a wet cloth. "Apparently you've been so pigheaded and stupid with all your chauvinistic ideals, that now you're very sick." She sat down next to him and began carefully washing his face to bring down his fever, tugging his eyepatch off in the process. "So you're going to get even weaker. How does it feel, Nnoitra?"