Chapter 7: Ignorance is Bliss
Las Noches had been surprisingly quiet in the past month. The only people Szayel needed to treat was Ulquiorra, whose stitches were removed—and with great difficulty. He was not very good at cooperating. And Grimmjow, who had his cast cut off. He nearly fainted when his saw how skinny his arm was, not to mention the scar from the surgery, but he quickly recollected himself and left shortly after to go eat.
This meant Szayel had time for other activities, namely, Uranium Enrichment, sleep, and other experiments that involved the laws of physics. For that reason, Szayel had been in a noticeably better mood. A smile was stuck to his face and Szayel even made obscure science jokes ("So, the new biochemist was going to grow some bacteria for the first time. He was very agar to start. Get it? Agar, eager? Hahaha!"). But, of course, nobody even understood. Not that Szayel really cared; he found them hilarious. Along with that, he fooled around with Aaroniero's weather machine so that it was sunny, cloudy, or windy. Now that it was April, intermittent showers came as they pleased and the sun shone. Sometimes, cloud cover was thick. This meant Hueco Mundo was almost able to support vegetation…
Not much had happened in the past month. Halibel was now two months pregnant, which had proven to be a nightmare for her and Stark—morning sickness, moodiness, issues with strong scents, the usual pregnancy problems. Ulquiorra had vowed to avoid sharp objects. Nowadays, he cut everything with a fork. In fact, he had even tucked his zanpakutou under his pillow, only to be used for "emergencies". Not that he used it before. Ulquiorra was lazy. As for Grimmjow, he has officially become an exercise freak. When he saw his skinny, pale arm once the cast was gone, he decided to work his ass off to get it back to normal. Grimmjow had developed beastly abs and even acquired a tan from running around Las Noches outside. His biceps bulged, his triceps were firm, and his forearms rippled with muscle. His arm was gaining strength quickly as well, but he still had to be a little careful. Not that it deterred him any.
"Three minute mile. Bam. Bam." Grimmjow, took a long sip from his water bottle, wiping his sweating brow on the back of his hand. It reminded Ulquiorra of those old Gatorade commercials in which the actor sweat Gatorade, except this was water he drank and actual sweat, meaning he didn't look half as cool.
Ulquiorra sighed and shook his head.
"Congratulations." Ulquiorra dryly. He frowned as he saw his prisoner attempt a cartwheel and fall on her butt, laughing like a maniac. Ulquiorra rolled his eyes in disgust. Teenage human females were moodier than Halibel sometimes.
Nowadays, Aizen had forced them all to spend some time outside. Aizen, having returned from a two week long vacation in Miami, returned with blonde highlights (natural, he claimed), a wonderful tan, and a nice pair of D&G sunglasses. When he returned, he was shocked to see how pale and thin everyone was. "You look like Holocaust survivors," he had said. And then, he implemented a new rule: they had to go outside at least once a day, unless it was raining or any other impediments halted them from enjoying the outdoors.
"I hate the sun," Ulquiorra muttered.
"I hate Hueco Mundo." Stark joined them with a sullen sigh, glancing at Halibel and her fraccion. "I hate Aizen, too."
"You retards!" Grimmjow stomped over to them, catching his breath. He gestured wildly up to the sky. "How can you hate the sun? I can understand hating Aizen, he's a bastard, but the sun? Feel the wonderful rays of heat!"
"That's the exact problem," Ulquiorra said rather pointedly. "It's making me sweat. I don't like sweating."
"The sun? Meh. I don't really care, actually." Stark said with a shrug. "My problem is Halibel over there."
Grimmjow looked over Stark's shoulder at Halibel, who was about forty yards away. She was sitting on a blanket while Apache fed her grapes like the devoted slave she was. He then shifted his gaze to Stark, who was wan, with dark circles under his eyes. Stark's eyes, a pale shade of blue-green, were glazed over. He yawned widely.
"It must suck." Grimmjow agreed.
"It does. She wakes up in the middle of the night and tells me to go get her ice cream. Ice cream is not yummy at two thirty in the morning." Stark said, running a hand through his hair furiously.
"Ice cream is great any time, duh." Grimmjow said, smirking.
"Ice cream tastes like calories, fat, and heart problems." Ulquiorra said under his breath. When he caught sight of Orihime running around in circles, he added, "What is she doing?" Stark and Grimmjow looked at Orihime, who was doing somersaults and falling on her butt and in the sand. Stark raised an eyebrow and Grimmjow grunted, shrugging. He suddenly started to cough.
"Are you okay?" Stark asked, turning to Grimmjow. Grimmjow was breathing hard and he was doubled over.
"Hells to the yeah!" Grimmjow pumped a fist in the air, ignoring his shortness of breath. "I'm fine. In fact, I'm going to run another fucking mile."
"Oh, no, you're not!"
Apache stomped over to Grimmjow, pouting like usual. She planted herself in front of him, looking up into his face. She was going to get a crick in her neck from doing that, as she was quite short.
"Fuck yes I am." Grimmjow scoffed.
"You want to race me?" Apache smiled deviously, rolling up her sleeves. Grimmjow's eyebrows shot up. An amused, devilish look came over his face.
"Well, you know, you're going to lose to my Freaking Flaming Feet of Forceful Fire." Grimmjow smirked.
"That's redundant, retard." Apache said with a snide laugh. "I'm going to own you. Ready…Set…GO!"
Like bats out of hell, the two took off in a mad dash somewhere. Ulquiorra and Stark looked at each other, sighed, and didn't even bother to voice their thoughts.
-
"That was a good run." Grimmjow said, panting. He turned to Apache , grinning. "You're pretty fast for a midget."
"I know, right?" Apache said, taking a swig of her water bottle. Her blue eyes twinkled and a mischievous, pleased grin was on her boyish face. Apache was wearing black Nike running shorts and a red T-shirt that read "THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID". Her short black hair was in a cruddy topknot on her head. "I'm a total beast." She said.
Grimmjow nodded in agreement, wiping his sweating brow. Apache was pretty cool.
"Yeah. I still beat you, but hey. It's all good. You were friggin' close!" Grimmjow remarked. "Well. Should we go inside?"
"Let's warm down." Apache said congenially.
"Nah." Grimmjow waved a hand, smirking. "I have to catch 24."
A dark look passed over Apache's face. She stomped her foot and lunged at him, grabbing his wrist and pulling him along.
"Dammit, you're warming down with me!" Apache said in a shrill voice. "Jack Bauer can go die in a hole! And Chuck Norris owns him any day!"
"What the hell? I want to watch my TV! Also, Chuck Norris sucks." Grimmjow said gruffly.
"Warm down with me!" Apache said forcefully, dragging him behind her. For a midget, she was strong. Grimmjow found himself digging his heels into the ground to prevent himself from being forced into an unneeded warm down. He tried to undo her grip around his wrist, but found he couldn't. Grimmjow had no choice but to succumb to her ideas.
Meanwhile, Mira Rose and Sun Sun were catching sun outside, several yards away from them. Mira Rose looked over the rims of her sunglasses and nudged Sun Sun.
"Hey, check it. Looks like Apache's got a crush!" Mira Rose waggled her eyebrows at her fellow fraccion who rolled her eyes and buried her face in a magazine.
-
The kitchen seemed to be a meeting place for the Espada. At any given time of the day, there would be at least one Espada in there—usually. That early afternoon, Noitora sat at the table, flipping through a car magazine and munching on some BBQ chips while Halibel sat a few feet away from him, eating a bowl of fruit rather aggressively. Stark was sitting next to her, frowning. Ulquiorra was at his post by the kitchen island. Contemplating the choices of lunch he had, his chin was in hand and his emerald gaze was fixed on the clock mounted above the doors the led into the main hallway. All was relatively quiet. Stark broke the silence rather casually.
"My knee hurts." He observed.
"Is that why you've been walking funny?" Halibel asked, setting her fork down. Stark had been walking around with an awkward gait. His left knee was bent and he walked around on the ball of his foot while his unaffected leg walked normally. It wasn't easy to notice, due to the long, loose hakama.
"I guess. It hurts when I walk and my knee randomly gives out under me." Stark said. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "What a pain."
"Literally." Noitora quipped. "Take some pain meds."
Stark shrugged. "They don't work too well."
"Get some narcotics from Szayel." Noitora said flippantly. He snorted. "I bet that fuck-up is loaded with those."
"Uhh, no." Stark said quickly, shaking his head. "I hate doctors. I've seen way too much in that lab over the past few months."
Ulquiorra decided to listen in. It was better than suffering from internal angst due to inability to decide on what to eat. He leaned forward slightly.
"I haven't had a problem with it." Halibel said calmly. "It's not disgusting."
Stark shuddered in repulsion.
"It is."
"How long has your knee been hurting?" Ulquiorra asked, in a rare moment of extroversion. Everyone jumped slightly and looked at him, unnerved.
"Whoa. I didn't even know you were in the room." Stark said under his breath. Ulquiorra scowled at him, offended. "It's been hurting for about…two months. It's just getting worse."
"I see."
"I think you should go to Szayel." Halibel said, pointing at Stark with a fork. She looked serious. Very serious. And also close to mood-swinging everyone out of the kitchen, since she seemed to have that power. Stark's lip curled and he shook his head.
"I think not!" he said faintly. "Really, I don't want to get involved. Nothing's wrong with me."
"Stop being so damn macho and get Szayel to take a look." Halibel slammed her hand down on the table.
"Hey, don't lash out at me like that." Stark said calmly, defensively. He stared at her evenly. "It'll be fine. If it gets worse, I'll go get it checked out."
"Fine." Halibel ate in silence.
Ulquiorra didn't have much of an opinion. He was wasn't too keen on doctors, and though he didn't mind blood or gore, he preferred it to be accompanied with screams of pain and victory. Not under the bright lights of the operating room, not with the cardiac monitor beeping so rhythmically.
"Hey, I just realized something—Grimmjow's not in here." Noitora said, closing his magazine.
"Obviously." Stark said. "Last time I saw him he was with Apache."
"I thought they hated each other." Ulquiorra said candidly.
"No. They're both control freaks, that's all." Stark said with a shrug. Halibel nodded in agreement. "They're ridiculously competitive."
Everyone tensed up when Szayel moseyed into the kitchen. He flashed them all a smile while Stark quickly tried to act natural. Szayel seemed to be in a good mood. His lab coat was clean, unwrinkled. He looked rested and collected. After fishing some leftovers out of the fridge and putting them in the microwave, he turned to all of them.
"Hello, everyone. How are you?" Szayel greeted.
"I'm fine, but Stark sure isn't." Halibel said scathingly.
Noitora gathered his food and darted out of the kitchen. He was a little afraid of Szayel, and he was not even going to pretend he wasn't. Nobody really noticed.
As for Ulquiorra, he didn't even bother replying to Szayel's question.
Szayel studied Stark, looking at him from head to toe. The smile had fallen off his face as he surveyed him very carefully. Szayel noted the dark circles under his eyes and the wan complexion, along with the lack of shine in his eyes. He did look sick, but Szayel had a feeling that was not the case. Otherwise, Stark would've been in bed. Szayel was sure of that.
"Are you feeling okay?" Szayel asked in a rather cool manner.
"Yeah, of course." Stark replied quickly. "I'm fine. Don't listen to them."
"His knee hurts." Halibel put in. "It has for two months."
"Halibel—" Stark's urgent tone of voice definitely pointed to the obvious—Stark was not 'fine'. He was just pretending to be.
"And also it was really swollen two months ago." Halibel continued. "I saw it with my own two—"
"Halibel, I'm fine!" Stark said emphatically. He rose from his chair.
Szayel snickered in amusement. Though he didn't want to admit it, he found Lovers' spats to be so funny. The wife usually won, he noticed, and that was the case. Halibel was challenging Stark to walk. And Szayel caught the dreading expression that passed over Stark's face.
"Alright, geez. Be that way." Stark said sullenly, sinking back into the chair. "Nope. Can't walk normally." He shot Halibel a nasty glare. And Halibel, in return, smirked smugly.
"Oh, really?" Szayel rounded the island and studied him more.
"Yeah." Stark replied petulantly. He folded his arms.
"Do you remember what happened when the pain started?" Szayel asked.
"I was on a mission in Chile. Remember that? Yeah. Well, I was on the side of a mountain, scouting for something when I took a step. I didn't watch where I was going, so my left leg kind of fell in a hole—I stepped strangely. And then the pain started."
"Hm. Did you hear a pop?" Szayel asked. He was onto something. Ulquiorra could almost see his brain narrowing the list of possible maladies.
"Yes. It was loud. I fell to the ground right after that." Stark said with a nod. He grimaced, remembering the incident.
"Okay." Szayel nodded. "Sounds like a ligament." Szayel sighed deeply, and the steely look in his eye returned. He adjusted his glasses habitually. "I suppose I can examine you, but this is putting off my uranium enrichment program along with my gravity testing…well, to the lab, then. Come with me, Stark."
Stark followed Szayel down the hall to the lab while Szayel watched him walk. He didn't say anything, and analyzed Stark's painful gait. He held the door open for the glum-faced Stark and closed it behind him, only to look up and find, in shock, that the foyer of his lab had two people in it.
Grimmjow, grinning in genuine amusement, was sitting next to Apache on one of the white couches. Apache, however, had a towel pressed to her head and was smiling sheepishly.
"What happened?" Szayel asked, walking briskly to them.
"Funny story, actually." Grimmjow snorted. "Apache and I were watching 24 in my room, and then we decided to be ninjas so we started doing flips and jumping on my bed. But Apache is retarded at doing flips, so she screwed up and hit her head on the corner of my bedside table."
Szayel stared them with a "Seriously?" look on his face for a long time before beckoning them over to his side.
"Well, that makes two patients to examine." Szayel said under his breath. But then, another thought came to mind—Grimmjow was…unfainted. He was conscious. How was this possible? Apache was bleeding from what Szayel assumed was a large head wound. Yet Grimmjow was still on his feet, with a healthy pallor on his fierce countenance. Szayel shrugged it off, and led the idiot parade to the exam rooms. He left Stark in one and took the other two to the room right across the hallway. Szayel patted the examination table, and Apacci sat up there.
"Well, let's take a look." Szayel pulled on some latex gloves and removed the towel from Apacci's forehead. At once, a stream of fresh blood poured from a wound just above her right eyebrow. Szayel pressed gauze to the wound and watched Grimmjow with a slight smirk as Grimmjow lost coloring to his face.
"You can sit down, Grimmjow." Szayel said.
Grimmjow nodded jerkily and chose to sit on the counter, holding his face in his hands.
"Ugh. That is so gross!" Grimmjow muttered.
"Wow, you're a sissy!" Apache said with a laugh. She lay down on the examination table. Szayel gently pushed her down into a lying position.
"Shut up, Apache!" Grimmjow moaned. "You're just a man!"
"Blood isn't that bad—ow!"
"Hold still, please." Szayel tossed the used lidocaine injection into the sharps box. Apache's wound was a jagged line, fairly wide, but only about an inch and a half long. Szayel grasped the needle holder in his right hand and assessed the wound, deciding on what kind of stitch to use. The needle holder was reminiscent of hemostats or scissors, but there was a grove in it that was for the needle. Because of its location on her head, he figured a simple stitch would work. He poked the needle under her skin and deftly popped it out on the other side. He pulled it tight, and tied it with his left hand and the needle holder, snipping it with scissors.
"How are you feeling, Apache?" Szayel asked, dabbing some blood away with gauze. It was important to make sure she hadn't lost too much blood.
"Hungry." Apache replied candidly. "Do you have food?"
Szayel smiled. Apache really was as tomboyish as everyone said she was. It was a relief, since the majority of Las Noches' girls were bitchy, whiny, or finicky. Apache was bitchy, yes, and she had a rep of being just as rude as Grimmjow. But she wasn't squeamish, nor did she wince at the word 'blood'. That was definitely a relief to Szayel.
"No nausea or dizziness?"
"Nope. I think you should ask Grimmjow that. That pussy…cat over looks like he's going to be sick."
Szayel found Grimmjow attempting to watch the procedure, but evidently not doing too well. His eyes were closed and he looked like he was in pain. But that was probably his stomach clenching and the room spinning around him. And the foreboding feeling of breakfast rising.
"Grimmjow…seriously. You didn't fine with the blood transfusion from Ulquiorra's incident. Why can't you handle this?" Szayel asked, looking at him over his shoulder.
"Yeah, in case you haven't noticed, her blood is kind of spewing out of the wound." He said emphatically. "Plus, it's not in a plastic bag. It's gushing out like Gushers™ when you poke them with a fork."
"Because most people really eat Gushers with forks," Apache put in sarcastically. "You're so messed up, Grimmjow."
"Oh yeah? Your mom!" Grimmjow retorted. Apache pointed and laughed at him, prompting Szayel to remind her to stay still.
"Actually, a colloid cyst is the closest thing to a Gusher." Szayel decided to interrupt the camaraderie and chuckled at his reference. "If you pop it, goo comes out. They're fun to remove. But I think you're thinking of a ruptured artery, and this is not the case. Just don't throw up!"
"Workin'on it." Grimmjow riposted.
Within fifteen minutes, Apache's wound was sealed up by a total of six stitches, and covered with gauze. She sat up energetically once Szayel deemed her okay.
"Now, I want you to avoid strenuous activities—rest. No playing ninjas or flips." Szayel said reprovingly.
Apache nodded distractedly, grinning wickedly at Grimmjow, who was leaning against the doorframe, pale and clammy. He smiled weakly at Apache.
"I'm fine. Just fine." Grimmjow murmured.
"Yeah, right." She said with a roll of her eyes. Apache hopped off the operating table and trudged over to him. She reached up on tiptoe, arm fully extended and placed a hand on his forehead. She drew back and wiped her hand on her hakama.
"You're sweating. You sure you okay?" Apache asked suspiciously, peering at Grimmjow. She really was a midget—Apache didn't even hit Grimmjow's shoulder, and she could probably stand under his arm comfortably if he extended it out to his side. Szayel found this cute in an odd sort of way that brought out her 'fun-sized' height.
"Yeah." Grimmjow replied with a casual wave of his hand. "Stop worrying."
"Oh. Whatever." Apache frowned a little. "Last one to the kitchen is a rotten egg—"
"I don't think so," Szayel said in dissent, blocking their exit. "No running for either of you. Apache, come back in four days. I'll need to check those stitches. Go watch TV or something. Without getting your heart rate up."
Grimmjow and Apache exchanged glances. It was a Kodak moment, almost, or maybe something cliche from a TV show, in the sense that one of them was about to yell "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?!".
"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Apache said mischievously. She rubbed her hands together.
"The Office?" Grimmjow said eagerly.
"Hell yes, motherfucker!" Apache yelled, body slamming Grimmjow. But, instead, Grimmjow crushed her in a bear hug. Her feet dangled above the ground and her face was squished into his chest while Grimmjow laughed heartily.
"Shit son, I am good!" Grimmjow growled.
Szayel watched from a safe distance, smiling placidly. There was something about the two…Szayel watched as they took off. And now, he had to deal with his other patient.
Stark had a devious air around him, and he watched with raised eyebrows as Grimmjow and Apache ran off somewhere.
"This could get interesting." Stark remarked tacitly.
"Indeed. Well, let's start the examination. Left knee, right? Haha, get it? Left, right? I digress. Roll up the pant leg of your hakama to mid thigh and then I'll do the Lachman test."
Stark warily rolled up the leg of his hakama.
"Will this hurt?"
"No. Lie flat. Relax your entire leg."
Szayel flexed Stark's knee to about thirty degrees. With his left hand, he grasped Stark's femur, and his right hand had his tibia in a tight grip. He pulled the tibia up firmly, displacing it from the femur, and Szayel immediately noticed something was wrong. The tibia was way out of its range—the amount of anterior displacement was a sure indication of an ACL tear.
"Stark, are you flexible?" Szayel asked, setting his leg down.
"No…"
"So, let me get this straight." Szayel adjusted his glasses. "You can't walk without pain and your knee gives out under you. And you heard a pop at the time of the injury. Halibel also mentioned some swelling. Care to elaborate on the swelling?"
"Sure. It was really swollen. Almost grapefruit size. Then it wore off after a few weeks." Stark replied bluntly.
Szayel hummed and nodded. He wouldn't even need an MRI to diagnose this one.
"It's an ACL tear." Szayel said gravely. What he got from Stark was a blank look.
"Care to elaborate?" Stark asked primly, mocking Szayel.
"The anterior cruciate ligament is one of the four ligaments of the knee joint—LCL, MCL, PCL, and ACL. A ligament connects bone to bone. The ACL, and also the PCL, which crosses behind the ACL, functions to hold the tibia and femur together and restrains too much forward motion of the tibia. It also maintains the stability of the knee joint. Once torn or completely ruptured, the ACL cannot heal itself, like the LCL or MCL due to lack of blood flow. Therefore, an ACL reconstruction surgery will be necessary for you." Szayel paused to let Stark process the information. Stark's expression went from fear to shock, and finally to reluctant acceptance.
"Damn it." Stark muttered.
"To reconstruct the ACL, a new ligament will be grafted using an allograft, the patellar tendon, or the hamstring tendon. In your case, I will use an allograft. After the surgery, you will start a rigorous rehab program that will three or more months, depending on how well and diligent you do the exercises. Expect to be on crutches for up the three weeks."
"Let me guess—now you're going to tell me that my knee is going to grow a head, right?" Stark said bitterly.
"No. The surgery lasts up to two hours. During the surgery—"
"I'd rather not hear the details, thanks." Stark said curtly, glaring at Szayel. He folded his arms and huffed.
"That's understandable." Szayel said agreeably. He smiled apologetically at Stark who just shook his head. Szayel could tell that he was really pissed with his predicament.
"And I'm guessing there's no other way to fix it?" Stark threw the question out hopefully. But he already knew the answer.
"Ah, no. The surgery is basically the only way, especially judging by the severity of your tear that was demonstrated in the Lachman Test. Your tibia was seriously displaced. If it were a very small tear, a little rehab would do fine. But your tear is not small. In fact, you might've ruptured the whole thing."
"What about an MRI?"
"It is unnecessary, in the sense that we already know your ACL is torn or ruptured. The MRI would only show the exact tear or rupture." Szayel explained briefly.
"Ugh. Great." Stark said.
"In that case, the surgery is set for the thirtieth of April at 7 in the morning—ten days from now. In that time, just relax. Walk as little as possible." Szayel advised. "That's about all I have to tell you. Any questions?"
"Yeah, why is the surgery so early?" Stark snapped.
"Because we'll be able to observe you easier and so your circadian rhythm doesn't get messed up." Szayel scowled "And it's so much more practical."
"Fine." Stark sighed and stood up off the table. He and Szayel shook hands, though there was animosity on Stark's side. Szayel pretended not to notice—after all, it was understandable. ACL surgery was a big deal. Stark left the lab with an air of hostility around him.
-
"So, what'd he say?" Grimmjow asked.
The kitchen was lively with most of the Espada enjoying Hibachi. The kitchen was aromatic, the food piled high, and the lighting sultry and inviting. The food was hot and simmering on the ceramic plates. At the table, Halibel, Noitora, Grimmjow, Apache, Yami, Ulquiorra, and Stark were sitting peacefully. Szayel would've them, but he was 'busy', so they just left it at that and didn't question. Stark set his fork down on his plate and swallowed.
"Apparently, I've messed up my ACL really badly." Stark muttered.
"What the hell's an ACL?" Grimmjow asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Some weird ass ligament that crosses inside the knee that happens to cross over another weird ass ligament." Stark said flippantly.
Grimmjow snorted.
"I don't even know what a ligament is, but whatever."
Ulquiorra, at the end of the table, rolled his eyes at Grimmjow's ignorance. He was the incarnation, of the expression 'Ignorance is bliss'. Grimmjow didn't care that he didn't know anything. And he probably planned to keep it that way.
"When will the surgery be?" Ulquiorra asked.
"The thirtieth at seven in the morning." Stark replied with a frown. "Ten days to live in normalcy."
"Spend them well." Noitora said in a brief state of wisdom. Everyone knew that was more rare than catching Aizen doing something straight.
Stark gave a heavy sigh, and leaned back into his seat. He suddenly lost his appetite. He didn't want to eat the food, even it was Yami's specialty. He was just there, feeling angsty and wanting to get it over with. Already, he was making a mental list of things he liked to do, so that the time could fly.
And that was why, ten days later, he stood in the foyer of the laboratory at six forty five, greeted by an excited, energetic Szayel. Dressed in emerald green scrubs.
So, it's a cliffhanger because I don't want a case of writer's block to attack me and make you guys wait. I'm doing it for my fans. This chapter sucked, but the next one will be important and good. Trust me. ACL surgeries are REALLY fun to watch. ;)
Also, Apache x Grimm is such a cute pairing! But that's beside the point.
I hope you liked this chapter. Please review.