*bows, ducking head into collar* Eh, heh... pinaprincess, Rayna Lissesul, Artificial Life Creator, Aly Sky, and xXAngelofDemiseXx ... sorry about not writing you in. I meant to, but then we had a power outage, Mila Rose accidentally lit the curtains on fire with a candle, Szayel's bioweapons got loose... anyway, poorly written excuses asidethank you guys all so much. This is, to let you all know, the second-to-last chapter.

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Szayel glanced up at Halibel as he rearranged some of the ice. At the moment, they would probably have to keep Nnoitra like this until they noticed some changes for the better. Namely, the fluid in his lungs that refused to get gone...and probably wouldn't for quite some time. He sighed as she met his gaze.

"Is he any better?" He noticed that she was a little pale and remembered that it was the middle of the night, and she hadn't been getting any sleep.

"Yes, in that his fever has stabilized for now. It hasn't broken by any means, and it will start spiking again in a few hours. But it won't get as high as it would if we'd left him untreated." Pausing, he took a moment to uncap the syringes he'd brought with him, one by one. The first contained something for his cough, to dry up and heal his lungs. The other two, respectively, were fever-reducers and a new substance he'd learned about through research.

It was, supposedly, a kind of antibiotic. He'd added more than that to be safe, but his new chemical was the base. "These should help immensely," he said, swiping Nnoitra's upper arm with antiseptic.

"What are 'those'?"

"Salicylic acid, for one." He held up the first syringe, flicking and squirting out any air bubbles. "In the World of the Living, they call it 'aspirin'. This would be ibuprofen, but an Arrancar's system isn't built to handle that drug. It should help his fever." He slid the needle into Nnoitra's skin. "The next one is a cocktail of several drugs that work together. It should help dry out his lungs so that we don't have to go in and mess around with them to clear them out, and hopefully help his body to heal them faster. And this last one—" a third tiny drop of blood appeared on Nnoitra's pale skin as he recapped the needles—"is mainly a human drug called Penicillin. It will kill the germs that are causing him to have these new symptoms."

He wiped the blood away and dabbed on a little more antiseptic, closing the black medical bag, picking it up and standing. Sighing, he handed a small grayish device over to Halibel. "When his fever goes back up, then I'll need to administer more Penicillin to kill the bacteria. Press this button here, and I'll be there within ten minutes." He sighed tiredly. "And if—Aizen forbid—anything else should go wrong, the same applies. I'll be here."

With that, he sauntered out the door, presumably to get some sleep. Halibel sat with her back against the edge of the bathtub, glancing over at Nnoitra every so often to see if there had been any change. Blissfully, there was not. At first, anyway.

The medicine worked fine for all of two hours, settling Nnoitra's fever to a manageable 103 Fahrenheit and at the very least calming his urge to cough, though it still looked like it hurt for him to breathe. Almost exactly at the two-hour mark, however, the effects wore off and Nnoitra's breath hitched painfully, his temperature shooting up within minutes. Halibel felt her vision cloud over, sitting dead-still holding the digital thermometer Szayel had left. The numbers read 108.43. And, she was sure, climbing.

He's going to die. She felt herself start crying, and no matter what she tried she couldn't stop those damnable tears from brimming in her eyes and spilling over. They slipped down scalding-hot, catching in her bangs, distorting the numbers on the thermometer's readout, leaving dark spots on her collar and skirt. He's going to die, right here and now. He's never going to wake up!

There was suddenly a hard, cold lump in Halibel's throat. It made it hard to breathe as she desperately tried to bring Nnoitra's temperature down, drenching his face and head in the cold water and holding ice to the insides of his wrists, his throat and chest in an attempt to stop the fever. Tears were still flowing from her eyes when Szayel arrived, shining on the buckles on her collar and mixing with the water she'd ended up soaked in by now. She lowered her head in shame, but he saw them anyway.

"You're crying," he observed.

"Yes," she choked, tucking her head further down into her high collar. "I am."

Szayel blinked, chalking the tears up to an involuntary response to being without sleep and under stress. He administered a bigger dose of the medicine needed, Penicillin, before considering the Espada's fever and giving him more aspirin as well. Then he recapped the syringe he'd used and left. Nnoitra's breathing evened out again, and Halibel sat back down against the bathtub, sighing in relief. Her vision cleared as the lump in her throat abruptly vanished, her tears stopping as suddenly as they'd started. She swiped at her eyes, wincing because they felt sore from being open so long. Hopefully she'd get to sleep soon, because she'd been up for more than three days straight. Hopefully Nnoitra would wake up soon and be okay.

Unfortunately, it was a good week before his eyes could stay open or hers could stay closed. The next morning, Nnoitra was taken out of the ice water since his fever was slowly but surely getting lower, almost breaking. However, he was still weak, and the fever wasn't gone yet. His lungs were still in bad shape, and if he wasn't watched, it was a sure bet that he'd be even worse off than before. So, of course Halibel stayed up. After all, it was her job, right? Make sure he didn't die.

And every once in a while, she was rewarded for this job. Nnoitra's eyes would flutter open, not as heavy-lidded as before. He'd be helped up and sit still for a moment before asking in a ragged vice for water, taking a sip and coughing as the cold liquid hit his raw, sore throat. Then he'd lie back down and fall asleep.

Halibel would stare at the glass of water that was never even close to half-empty and sigh worriedly, then push such reprehensible behavior from her mind and check the time to see when his next round of medicine would be. And sometimes, though she'd never admit it, she had Tesla go down to the kitchen and fetch some hot tea, because it didn't hurt his throat as much. In this way, Nnoitra was steadily getting better.

However, Halibel couldn't help wondering how this was affecting her sanity. She was just supposed to be doing her job. Because nobody else would take the job, or nobody else could be trusted. One or the other; exactly which one was foggy after so long without sleep. However, the fact remained: nothing more, nothing less, just make sure he pulled through and was back at meetings in a week, give or take.

But nobody had told her to stay up with him even when somebody volunteered to watch him for her, not ever sleeping for fear that he'd get worse and refusing food that she never seemed to be hungry for. She did it anyway. Nobody told her to take his hand when Szayel wasn't looking and let it tighten around hers as he gave Nnoitra's shots.

Certainly, it was not Halibel's job to sit by his side when he started coughing in his sleep, stroking his back and trying to soothe the fits away so that he wouldn't hurt anymore. Nobody told her to whisper that it would be alright when he woke up sometimes—his gaze wild with the nightmares that never seemed to stop, so scared and sick and out of it that he didn't even know her—and stared up into her eyes with a look of pure terror and pain. Nobody had briefed her, saying that she should gently rub his shoulders and back and tell him everything was okay. She did it anyway, every single time he woke up scared and looked at her like that.

This being Nnoitra that she was dealing with, she would have loved to make it as unpleasant an experience as possible. It just wouldn't happen. She was compelled to do those things, as if it were second nature. Part of life. Nobody told her—and this was the most important thing—nobody had ever told Halibel to cry over him..

So why had she? She'd never cried before in her life, for anyone. It wasn't an option to admit that it had anything to do with emotion, but it was definitely not sleep deprivation. There was something there, something very different. A fact she would ignore if it drove her insane, rather than admit. At first.

By the middle of the week, though, any other conclusion seemed impossible. She was fighting the truth with everything she had to give at this point, and hoping that soon Nnoitra would get better. Of course, the reason would have to be so that she wouldn't have to look at his ugly mug anymore. She refused to admit that she could possibly care for his well-being. He was Nnoitra, after all. Chauvinistic, cruel, vulgar, really cute with his eyes closed and his hands clasped hers as he slept—ahem. That is, a jerk of the highest caliber.

Thankfully, by the end of the week, the flu and pneumonia were gone for good. Once Nnoitra's fever had broken—around "dawn" on Wednesday—things had gotten better at an amazing rate. That Saturday morning Halibel made sure he was coherent and left as soon as possible. She fully intended to take a long, hot shower, crawl into bed, and sleep for the next few days. Whatever Nnoitra did was none of her concern, so long as he was breathing by the next meeting. Congratulating herself on regaining some measure of sanity, Halibel made a quick right to turn onto the hall for her domain.

However, Nnoitra was not to be gotten rid of so easily, even if he wasn't actually following her along. A small tickle in her throat caught her attention just as it triggered a fit of the dry, wracking coughs that had started this whole mess. She clapped both hands across her mouth, horrified. Too late. They'd been ignored all week—a cough here, a sneeze there, chills that she'd written off as her wet uniform since she hadn't the time to change. A horrible taste in my mouth, she thought. By the time she could stop coughing, she was leaning against a wall, sides heaving, her throat raw.

The Espada Dos does not get sick, Halibel reminded herself. The symptoms she was feeling right now were guilt-driven sympathy pains and would wash off in the shower... at least, she hoped so. She'd hate to be as sick as Nnoitra had been. Unfortunately, there was no such luck to be had. She'd barely stepped out of the shower when her breath hitched and she started coughing again. Her lungs began to ache.

But at least Nnoitra's okay.... frowning, Halibel silenced her inner voice with a fit of coughing. She'd much rather listen to that, and plot ways to murder Nnoitra. Curse the stupid schmuck who gave her this with everything under the sun...