Hangovers sucked, pure and simple. Drinking was not worth this agony. Succumbing to emotion was overrated. Clinical objectivity and rational analysis were always the better options. He would never make the mistake of throwing a childish tantrum and indulging in self-damaging habits again. He was done with that. Done. Not going there. He was cool, collected, and in control… but damn did his head hurt.

Why'd I ever let me convince myself that drinking a whole bottle of gin would be a good idea? Well to be fair, he hadn't planned on it; it'd just happened. The alcohol had been lying handy at the time and he hadn't been thinking straight, incapacitated by outrage. Two and two had come together and conspired to punish him with this. Oh god, I feel like someone's ruptured my eardrums and shoved broken glass into my skull…

Moaning, he threw a feeble hand over his eyes, blocking out the artificial light that filtered down from the skylight in his ceiling to blind him painfully. Make that hot glass puncturing my eye sockets and driving straight through to my brain. Or maybe sulfuric acid melting through my corneas… Go away, go away… The skylight did not go away, and sluggishly, Szayel forced himself to sit up. He regretted the action immediately.

Stars sprang into his eyes as the world somersaulted forward spinning with kaleidoscopic disunity. The floor jarred him to awareness as he hit it in a dead faint, his cheekbone taking the brunt of the fall. Disoriented, he levered himself off the ground only to double over and vomit a second later as nausea struck. He gasped, mortified at his weakness, and dragged himself out of the stinking pool that had formed the contents of his stomach. The reek was oppressive, and as he stood, it took the utmost self-control not to collapse and vomit again.

Szayel half fell, half staggered his way over to the bathroom, and by the time he reached it, his knees were trembling uncontrollably and threatening to give out under him. The lights clicked on automatically as he entered, causing him to flinch.

"Dim 70%!" he gasped, then added as an afterthought, "Switch to tile lighting."

The overhead lights flickered off, replaced by a soft glow emanating from the tiles underfoot. It was a soothing glow, imitating the natural phosphorescence of cave dwelling plants and deep ocean fish. To his relief, the jagged, throbbing pain that assaulted his mind subsided a little. The smell of bile still clung to his clothes however, and wrinkling his nose at the stench, he peeled them off, shuddering as he smeared some of the foul liquid on his face. Once he'd stripped down to his bare skin, he wadded them into a bundle and tossed them out of the bathroom, closing the door behind them. Pressing a button, he spoke quietly into the intercom he'd installed.

"Verona, come down to my suite and tidy up the mess you'll find near the couch. Also, take my clothes for cleaning. I'll be out in an hour, and I expect to find everything spotless. Have Lumina assist you if you suspect you will not finish in time. That is all."

He released the button, knowing everything would be spotless within twenty minutes anyways and glad that he'd upgraded the two, bumbling fools of Fraccion he'd had in Las Noches to the competent pair that served as his attendants and proxies for himself to the outside world. They were his face, his voice to the public, and the only people he knew he could absolutely trust. After all, he'd made them that way. They were loyal to the point that they'd gladly commit suicide at his command. Fear tactics were outdated anyways; devotion was the subtler, more prestigious mode of control. Besides, they now served different roles. Their work demanded more intelligence, more personality, and human appearances. They were no longer handy food sources; they were his avatars.

The room wasn't cold, but all the same he shivered, conscious of his nakedness. His bathroom was divided into two separate rooms; the bathroom itself, and the washroom. The former was a small room that adjoined the larger chamber, which housed a hot tub and the shower, yet it served as the only entrance to the washroom. If the first room was private, then the second was doubly so, accessible only as it was through a roundabout manner.

He padded gingerly into the adjoining room, and when it was clear his knees would not give out, he walked with more confidence over to the shower, twisting the dial so that the water turned on. Bliss. Hot water cascaded down his back, carrying away with it the haggardness and aches of his drunken evening. Szayel tilted his head so it wet his hair, turning it a rich magenta, and streamed down his face and neck.

He could stand there forever, just feeling the comforting warmth of the water trail its fingers over his skin and breathe the spiraling steam that rose from the floor. He had it all to himself; there was no one here to hide from, no sneaking around in the dark furtively like some criminal. He could shower when he wished and for as long as he wished. It was this fact in the end that prompted him to reach for the shampoo with reluctance and scrub it into his hair. It smelled sweet, like lilacs, and lathered up beautifully. The soap he used was made of goat's milk, a product he favored as it didn't dry or irritate his fair, delicate skin, and as he washed himself with it, the shower steam took on the scent of vanilla and honey.

He rinsed the soap suds from his body and shut off the tap, feeling the water swirl around his feet before gurgling its way down the drain. With it fled his body heat, and he hurried over to the hot tub, pulling open the cover and sliding in gratefully. The temperature was perfect; enough to make his skin prickle deliciously without being so hot that he felt like he was boiling. Szayel smelled cinnamon and smiled, relaxing. He'd designed it to select and release an essential oil complementary to whatever scents he already wore from the shower into the bath water, and the warm scent of cinnamon was a favorite of his. Closing his eyes, he let himself drift.

His migraine had abated, the hangover tamed by the heat that sunk languidly into his body, and for the first time since he'd woken up, he could really think clearly. Safe in his domain and cradled in the warmth of his bath, he perused the events of the day before.

I was an idiot for reacting that way. I panicked, like any stupid human. What I should have done instead of angsting like some jilted female was come up with a plan to deal with this Takeda Nobu.

Yes. That sounded right. Encouraged by this start, he continued his musing.

The reason I was so incompetent was because I was unprepared. His existence took me by surprise and later his actions. He no longer has that advantage so the next time, I will not be nearly so helpless.

There was the root of his problem. Identified, it did not seem so beyond his reach or so distressing.

Takeda is Nnoitra's reincarnation. They are not the same person, yet I reacted to his advances. This is something that should be explored and explained. What do I know of him? He's smarter than Nnoitra but not smarter than me, and physically, he's weaker. He is poor, young, occupation other than stealing unknown, though I doubt he's without his connections. He seems too well off to work alone. That is speculation, however. Sexual orientation… unknown. I suspect he's bisexual since that's so popular these days and he… ahem… but again, that's only speculation. Other than this, I know very little.

Szayel slid deeper into the water, letting it lap at his chin. The fact he knew so few hard facts bothered him. It meant Takeda could still unbalance him in another confrontation. It also meant he would continue to wonder about him, and that would not do. He wanted to be in control of his own thoughts; this uncertainty did not sit well on his conscience.

I need to conduct more research. But this time, it will be on my own terms. I'll be the one surprising him. Besides… haven't I been wanting something to do? I'll learn who this Takeda really is and put my past to rest.

There. That was it then. Things were so much simpler when one paused to think them through. Content with his decision, he allowed himself to luxuriate in the cinnamon perfumed bath water, his mind for once completely idle. It felt nice not to think, nice in a way forcibly not thinking could never be. That was foolish. Going against his nature was foolish, and the repercussions painful. Perhaps that's something I should work on… eliminating hangovers? No. Hangovers are a part of life; an unpleasant reminder not to get stupidly drunk. I deserved this one.

But all the same… the least he could do was develop a decent painkiller. Those humans were really quite inept at it. With a dreamy sigh, he let his mind go blank.

***

Verona had come and gone by the time he'd toweled off and dried his hair. He'd paused to comb it and brush his teeth to rid his mouth of the lingering bitter taste the bile left his tongue before stepping out into his suite. Szayel was pleased to note she'd taken care of the odor as well; the room smelled fresh, with no hint that an hour earlier he'd thrown up on the carpeting. Good. He expected nothing less from her.

Wrapping the towel around his hips, he strode over to his walk-in closet; the one that actually contained clothes rather than housing his portable lab. Again the lights flickered on with his motion, but it was readjusted to his lighting preference while trying on clothing. This light was golden, mimicking how natural sunlight would look around noon in late summer; he'd gotten better at replicating it over the years.

The weather was supposed to be nice that day, so he forwent any sort of coat, selecting instead a formfitting long-sleeved shirt of a thin but sturdy material. It looked deceptively delicate, but it would not tear as easily as it seemed it would. It was turquoise in color with iridescent undertones of peacock green that shimmered in the background when the light hit it just right, though this solid block of color was broken up by the feathery white tracery that wove throughout the shirt. The stitching along the collar, hem, and cuffs was also white, though a violet thread meandered through it, drawing the eye to the amethyst highlight.

Offsetting the exotic shirt were a pair of respectable khaki slacks, though they were shaped around the bottoms so that they did not fall completely straight but tapered in around the ankles, showing off the dainty purple shoes that looked suspiciously like ballet flats. Probably because they were. Absolutely impractical, but he loved how light they felt on his feet.

Szayel scrutinized himself in the mirror that comprised the back wall of his walk-in closet, turning to examine his image at a different angle. Raising one eyebrow, he smiled demurely at his reflection and promptly burst out laughing.

"God I look like such a fairy, except I'm prettier and have better fashion sense than most women too," he remarked to the doppelganger in the mirror. His double smiled back, looking incredibly haughty, and he laughed again, this time a little cruelly.

"Honestly, all I'm missing is the chest and one other key attribute, and even that never stopped anyone from making insinuations before. I've got the face and the skin for it; white as porcelain and just as smooth. Then lets not forget my lack of bodily or facial hair, no I don't shave. Oh! And its color too, not to mention my Resurreccion form looks like a dress. Why, I'm all but chromosomally female I'm just so damn effeminate! I might as well dress in drag and masquerade as a woman."

He frowned, old hurts rising to the surface as he reminisced, but after a minute of staring past his reflection's pinched expression, he pushed them to the back of his mind and smothered them with apathy. They were specters anyhow; remnants of his former colleagues now dead and gone. There was no point in digging up expired memories. His face became defiant as he addressed the mirror.

"I can wear whatever I feel like wearing, Espada be damned! What I have on is not unusual, I just carry it off better than most of my gender. If nature graced me with good looks, then I say flaunt them! The rest of the world can go die from jealousy."

Thus self-assured, he batted his eyes at the mirror mock flirtatiously and flounced off with a superior smirk. Just as he left the closet however, he pulled a sheer pink scarf that matched his hair from a hangar and wrapped it around his neck. The smirk became rueful as even he acknowledged that his impulsive addition could in no way be justified as "manly."

Hmm… perhaps not, but it ties the color scheme together. It wasn't quite balanced without the scarf.

Szayel grimaced and stopped trying to think up excuses. Everyone had his or her eccentricities. He just liked to dress nicely. And kill people. And take over the world. And… well, ok; he had more eccentric hobbies than most, but he wasn't human either, which kind of set him apart from the beginning. Shaking his head, Szayel strode over to the huge flat screen embedded in the wall above his desk.

"Takeda Nobu. Male, aged twenty five years. Citizen of Japan. Residency, Karakura City. Double majored in pol sci and psychology. ID," he input clearly.

The screen sprang to life, bringing up a page of hits that rapidly narrowed down to two results. The computer zoomed in on the two photographs and it was simple to distinguish his target.

"Top result, expand. Present information on Takeda Nobu," Szayel ordered. The monitor hummed as information flooded the screen and the program began to read off the information in an androgynous voice.

"Takeda Nobu, chip number 9741223987, address…"

He was chipped. This made things so much simpler. Fixing on this all important detail, he listened long enough to determine his current coordinates before halting and saving the search.

Humans are such ridiculous creatures, he thought with disdain, give me convenience or give me death. Desperate for popularity to the point they'd microchip themselves like animals for the sake of having bragging rights to the latest tech.

Or maybe it was because, as usual, he'd made his chips such an integral part of society that people thought little of them anymore? Certainly they'd been controversial at first, until a year after their release, no hackers had managed to penetrate the system. It had gained tentative acceptance, then enthusiastic approval. To this day it remained unhacked… himself being the exception of course, but no one had to know that.

No matter. He's chipped… therefore he's mine. So Takeda… how will you respond when I show up at your work?

Oh yes. This time, things would go differently.

***

Finding him wasn't difficult, not when he was confined to a single building for eight hours of the day. Standing at the entrance to a familiar café, Szayel was struck by a powerful sense of irony. He was in the same district he'd first met Takeda, about to enter the same shop he'd considered a day earlier. It wouldn't have surprised him to learn that Takeda had been returning from his lunch break when they'd passed each other, which meant that they still would have met, though under different circumstances. If he was a superstitious man, he might have called it fate.

But of course, he wasn't. Even dead with "magical" powers, he was a scientist. Destiny was a faded byword used by love struck humans and oily politicians; not fit for his casual vocabulary. Pushing open the door, he stepped into the cool interior of the shop, the tinkle of bells announcing his arrival. It was quaint; such an outdated practice, but fitting for this café. What it lacked in fancy technology it made up for in charm, and this appealed to his romantic side.

"Good afternoon. Do you know what you'd like to order?"

His voice was polite if a little disinterested, and Szayel could see he was occupied with a book behind the counter. Clearly, he wasn't expecting to greet many customers at this hour. Szayel glanced at the clock; it read 2:00 pm. A little late for lunch. Most of the afternoon traffic would have come and gone by now. That was just as well. He had an agenda, and he didn't want to deal with interruptions.

"I'm not sure myself yet. Is there anything you'd recommend in particular today?"

Takeda startled, looking up at the sound of his voice. When he saw who his customer was, he quickly dog eared his page and shut the book, setting it beside the register. Szayel walked over, amused at the reaction his unexpected arrival had caused.

"You! What are you doing here? How do you know where I-"

"Takeda, is that a customer?"

A woman's voice called from the back, interrupting his hissed interrogation and he jumped again, looking nervous.

"Are you visible?" he silently mouthed, and Szayel shook his head, amusement growing.

"No Hiroko-san, it was just a gust of wind. I heard the bells chime as the door opened and called out, so it was my mistake."

"Alright. Just make sure you greet them properly when they come. I know you're spacing off with that damn book again."

"Yes Hiroko-san," he replied, wincing as his employer berated him in front of just such a customer. Szayel smiled wickedly.

"How polite Takeda, using such formal language."

"Look, could you keep your voice down? My boss'll wonder…" he whispered back.

"Ordinary humans can neither see nor hear me. You needn't worry about her, unless you speak up and make yourself look schizophrenic."

His shoulders relaxed visibly, and he shook his head.

"Nah, I'll just claim I'm takin' a call. People do it all the time. But seriously, what are you doing here?"

"I'm here to see you."

Takeda leaned forward over the counter, looking mildly puzzled.

"Why?"

"Because of what happened yesterday."

His puzzled expression morphed into a grin, and he propped his chin up on his fist as he appraised the pink haired man.

"Can't forget about me, huh?"

If a voice could smirk, then his would be flashing a positively superior smile. Szayel leaned in so their faces were inches away from touching, an action that forced Takeda to blink and back off a little. Clearly he wasn't expecting such boldness.

"Don't flatter yourself. I've merely come to assess your personality and determine if my reaction yesterday was the result of a lingering attachment to my former peer or something else. Also, I want a blueberry tart and a tall peach white tea with lemon. On ice."

He blinked again and straightened, reaching automatically for the fridge, then he paused, his eyes flicking over towards the back where in another room his boss worked. Grinding ice would not go unnoticed. He glanced back at Szayel, doubt narrowing his dark eyes.

"Are you serious about the tart and the tea?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Szayel replied.

Takeda sighed, running a hand through his hair as he considered his options with a troubled expression. His eyes brightened when he finally hit upon an idea, and he opened the fridge, pulling out the tea mix and lemon juice, then scooped ice into the blender. As he poured the peach tea flavoring on top followed by water and a drizzle of lemon juice, he called over his shoulder.

"Hey, I'm gonna take my lunch break if ya don't mind."

The woman named Hiroko popped her head around the corner. She looked to be in her early forties, though she had aged gracefully. Her hair was long and black, though streaked with silver, and drawn up in a twist at the nape of her neck. Her nose was smudged with dough, and the front of her black apron was speckled with flour. She had a slender figure, more willowy than full, and though her appearance was domestic, there was a hardness about her bearing that brooked no disrespect. Her brown eyes were piercing, intelligent, and beneath her ready smile lay a warning.

Well, it was little wonder he was so polite to her. Hiroko wiped her hands on a washcloth and strode over to him, looking fierce.

"You haven't been on break yet? Goodness Takeda, I won't have my employees calling me draconian for not giving them their lunch hour! Why didn't you call me out earlier? Its already two!"

"Things got really busy around lunch, so I kind of spaced. Sorry. I'll vouch for you?"

She hmphed, smacking his arm with the washcloth as she drew up a stool and settled herself in front of the register. She was, he realized, a rather petite woman, and seeing her manhandle Takeda- easily a foot and a half taller -with such casual disregard was a sight to behold. Takeda rubbed his arm regretfully and poured the tea off into two glasses, topping each with a lemon slice before capping them and nabbing a couple of straws. The blueberry tart he slid into a small, white pastry box, careful not to break off the flaky crust. She watched him with interest as he removed the black apron that constituted his uniform and hung it up neatly on its hook. When he gathered the tea and boxed tart into his arms, she proffered him a knowing smile.

"Meeting someone?"

He returned her inquiry with a cheeky smile of his own.

"Not really. Just having a chat."

She waved him off, clearly not believing his ambiguous reply.

"Sure kid; whatever you say. The tea and pastry are on the house since you worked through lunch. Don't do it again."

"Thanks Hiroko."

"That's Hiroko-san to you, whelp!"

He dodged her second whack, managing to not drop his cargo as he skipped out of reach and pushed open the door. Szayel quickly swept past him so he would not look strange standing there for no apparent reason, and Takeda let the door bang closed behind them. There was a musical jangle as the bells swung on the other side of the glass. Takeda walked purposefully away from the shop, leading him to a quiet urban park several blocks down the street. It wasn't a family park; the scenery was unmarred by playground equipment, though families did pass through. It was beautifully landscaped with flowering shrubs and trees of different varieties. Most striking were the red maples with their vibrant foliage, a poignant reminder that the summer was fading away.

Takeda settled himself at the foot of a willow and nodded towards the open space beside him. Szayel sat, folding his legs beneath him, and accepted the box and tea he handed him. Hands freer, Takeda took up his own cup and positioned himself more comfortably.

"You've got your food now, and for free even, so… start analyzing or whatever you said you came to do."

Szayel glanced at him pointedly, tapping the lid, and Takeda quickly handed him a straw. He poked it through the plastic and took a meditative sip. For having come from concentrate, it tasted decent. Especially since he hadn't wasted money on it, not that he'd have cared. It was better than the gin in any case, and the lemon added a pleasant zing to the drink.

"I've already begun. Actually, I have been since I walked in the door to your café," he replied quietly.

"Oh? Discover anythin'?" Takeda asked teasingly.

"Yes. You're much less of an asshole at work."

"You try pissing off Hiroko sometime. She may look like a nice old woman, but she's a demon when it comes to manners and good customer service. She has to I guess… to run a successful establishment."

"Hmm… I can relate."

Takeda smiled crookedly.

"Liar. You're the Inventor. Everyone works for you."

"I had a life before I became the Inventor you know. My creator… he was a master at playing appearances. He seemed nice, but underneath the mask, he was more of a monster than any of us. One might call him a God I suppose. He's dead now though. We all lived in fear and awe of him while he was alive, but he kept things running smoothly."

"Your creator?"

"Aizen Sousuke, thought to be fair, he didn't create me per se. He transformed my soul into the form it takes currently and made it so I wouldn't have to fear regression."

"Regression?"

Szayel sipped his tea again, giving him a sidelong look of irritation.

"I hardly think that's any of your business. Besides, I'm supposed to be asking you questions."

"Then try asking. You haven't actually asked me anything yet."

"Oh… I guess you're right. I haven't…" he murmured absently, "Mmm… if you have a job, then why do you steal?"

"The barista and waiting job covers the essentials; mugging allows me to implement my income. Besides, if you see opportunity strollin' down the street so naively, you take advantage of the rich bastard."

"So what would that make me?"

"I'm not sure. I guess the freak who defied my expectations?"

"Never heard that one before…" he muttered, taking a long draught of tea as he stared past the trailing branches of the willow moodily.

"What, freak?"

"Yes. A common adjective used to describe me, especially in conjunction with the preceding title 'pink haired.'"

"Pink haired freak. I kind of like it," Takeda said.

Szayel gave a noncommittal grunt and opened the pastry box, picking up the tart. He took a bite, closing his eyes as he savored the taste. Perhaps the tea was ordinary, but the tart was divine. There was nothing processed about it, just an honest to god blueberry tart. He recalled Hiroko with her dough smudged face and speckled apron; she must have made it by hand.

"You like?"

Szayel nodded and took another bite, not bothering to reply. His mouth was full with the flaky pastry anyhow, and he was too busy sorting through the varied flavors to formulate a proper reply.

"Hiroko makes all the shop's baked goods. She's tried to teach me since I'm a pretty regular employee, but I'm hopeless at that sort of thing. The oven's got a grudge against me, I swear."

Nnoitra's reincarnation trying his hand at baking? The image was so ridiculous he was sorely tempted to giggle. But that would be undignified in his present company and besides, he'd choke on the tart crumbs, and that was not something he wanted to do in public or really ever. So instead, he shook his head in amused disbelief to show that he was listening.

Fingers brushed his hair, capturing a tress, and Szayel opened his eyes in shock as Takeda leaned in to sniff. The back of his neck prickled, and he inhaled sharply at the sudden proximity, nearly choking despite himself.

"You smell good, like honey and lilac and something spicy… cinnamon?" he murmured, his warm breath tickling his ear. Szayel shivered at the agreeable sensation, his body going weak.

"Do you mind?" he asked defensively, but his heart wasn't in it. It was currently fluttering uselessly and betraying his carefully reasoned sensibilities.

"Do you?" he retorted, gently cupping his chin and tilting it back.

Szayel swallowed, momentarily lost for words as he stared into Takeda's eyes. He felt stunned, unable to react. Just like last time he realized with a jolt of fear. Even armed with foreknowledge on this man, he was paralyzed by his touch… Then he found his voice at last and stubbornly fought back against the soporific effect of his presence.

"Yes, I do actually. I mind quite a bit."

Takeda laughed but eased off, releasing his chin in favor of twirling a lock of his hair carelessly between his fingers.

"I'm serious though," he said, "You really do smell good. Not like that musky cologne most guys seem to like or the cheap shit a lot of women spray on themselves. They walk into the face or down the street and the reek is overpowering, but not you. Your scent is light and sweet. Subtle. Its nice."

Feminine was the implied word. He was exercising tact, but Szayel could still hear it in his voice, a void he skirted delicately. His next remark was less so, a return to the blunt personality he was accustomed to.

"But your hair color! Bright pink! Really? Its just so damn flamboyant a shade, it can't possibly be your natural color. You must dye it."

"It's my natural hair color, trust me. It isn't as though I try to attract attention," Szayel replied dryly.

"Which is why you dress like…"

"Like what?"

Takeda grinned suggestively, moving in again.

"Like you're asking to be fucked."

Szayel's heart leapt, thudding unpleasantly against his ribcage.

"What!" he squeaked with alarm, edging away, but his back was to the tree and Takeda so very close. His breathing quickened as he released his hair, trailing his hand down the side of his cheek and then the front of his shirt. The material was so thin and close fitting; it was as if there was nothing separating his fingers from his bare skin. His snaky smile broadened as he wrapped a hand around the pink scarf and pulled him forwards.

Oh shit. I'm in trouble… move damn it! Move Szayel!

He could not move; his eyes held him motionless and sapped him of his will, like being caught in a serpent's gaze, and he the bird. He whimpered softly.

"If you don't want to give out the wrong signals, you shouldn't dress so provocatively. You'd make straighter men than me doubt their sexuality. Especially when you act so helpless… it's irresistible."

Szayel closed his eyes as Takeda straddled his hips, pinning him against the willow. His free hand traced down his spine to rest at his lower back while with the other, he reeled him in slowly and teasingly by the scarf. This close, Szayel could smell Takeda's own, personal scent; almonds and coffee, with a touch of chai. The café clung to him even after he'd left it. Dimly, as his breath brushed his lips, he wondered if he'd feel revulsion or-

Takeda stopped. His body went taught as he froze, then he sat back. Szayel opened his eyes, wondering what could have caused his sudden, tense silence. Takeda noticed, his eyes flicking from whatever specter he was staring at intently to Szayel, then back again. He stood abruptly, pacing away from him so that his back was turned to him.

"Yeah," he said, his voice switching to a smoother tone, "Its all taken care of. I contacted them earlier this week."

Takeda paused, listening, and Szayel realized what was happening. He was taking a call. An important one, to stop in the middle of… er, to stop without a second thought. And from the look on his face when he'd received it, he didn't want Szayel to know who it was from.

"No, he won't be a problem. I got him to cooperate. Look… could you call me back after closing time? I'm with a customer right now. Yes. Understood. We'll talk later."

Click Szayel thought. The imaginary sound of a phone call terminating. Takeda's shoulders relaxed and he turned around, bestowing a charming smile on him.

"Sorry 'bout that. I had to take a call."

From who? Szayel wondered, setting his tea and tart aside and straightening. Takeda followed his movements wistfully as he stood up and brushed the crumbs from his lap.

"Shitty timing though. Ruined the mood."

Perfect timing.

"Indeed," Szayel murmured wryly, fixing his scarf. Takeda grinned and returned to his original spot, spreading his legs nonchalantly in front of him and taking up way more room than was strictly necessary. His eyes invited Szayel to sit down again, and after a moment's hesitation, he did. It was too awkward to stand there by himself. Noting his discomfort, Takeda did not make any further advances. As he'd said, the mood was ruined. Instead, he engaged him in light conversation.

"You got a comChip?"

"Yes," he replied curtly, knowing where this was going.

"Send me your number?" Takeda said, managing to turn the demand into a request with a smile and inflection.

"No."

His expression darkened, and Szayel grinned internally before amending his reply; he had to admit, he'd hoped to provoke just that reaction.

"That is to say, I can't send you my number. I chipped my material body; my gigai as I call it, and as you know, I'm not wearing it right now."

Takeda's expression lightened again, and he had the grace to look sheepish.

"Oh, right. Well, I don't suppose you could, uh, 'wear' your gigai next time? Its pretty fucking awkward to interact with you when no one else can see you."

"You assume there will be a next time," was Szayel's catty reply.

Takeda rolled his eyes.

"God, you're an uptight bitch. Don't forget you came looking for me first. I don't think it's too much of a stretch to make assumptions."

Szayel picked up his tea again and focused on the ice swirling in the amber liquid. It was an inconvenient truth he spouted, and one he didn't really have the answer to, so instead, he posed a question he know he wouldn't answer.

"Who called you?"

Takeda immediately shut down. The smile remained stationary on his lips, but it was superficial. His eyes were cold, his good humor gone.

"Just an associate," he replied lightly, but his words were evasive and he seemed disturbed.

"I see," remarked Szayel with affected disinterest, as if the matter had already fled his mind. He took up the blueberry tart again and finished it off while they sat there in mutual silence. It was not companionable, but it wasn't hostile either. They'd come to an impasse of sorts. It was Takeda who broke the quiet with a question. From his musing tone, Szayel could discern the edgy tension between them had passed, even if the topic was bold.

"You called me Nnoitra after I kissed you. Was that my past self's name?"

Szayel set the empty pastry box aside and sighed, picking up the tea to take a thoughtful sip.

"Yes," he finally answered softly, "That was his name; Nnoitra Jiruga. It's a Western name like mine, so Nnoitra was his given name."

"You're so careful to make the distinction between us. His. He."

"You make the distinction as well. Do you not consider yourself separate from your previous incarnation?"

Takeda contemplated this for a minute, then shook his head and grinned ruefully.

"How would I know? I've got nothin' ta reference, but I'll assume I'm similar enough to keep you interested. So? Aren't you supposed to be determining that right now?"

"Hnn…" Szayel replied vaguely, and his response prompted a curious look from Takeda. "Well… you look almost exactly like him, and there are certainly many… shared aspects of your personality."

"Like?"

"You're both good at pissing me off. Stop prying!"

"That's what I figured," Takeda said, then stood up, offering Szayel a hand. He ignored the gesture, rising by himself, and Takeda shrugged.

"Whatever. I've gotta head back to work; my lunch break is almost over. Feel free to follow me or do what you want, but don't talk to me for obvious reasons, and please don't order anything else. I can't explain that one away to my boss twice."

"So considerate," he muttered sarcastically as he tailed Takeda back to the shop. When they reached the café entrance, he motioned for Szayel to stop, turning to face him.

"You coming in?"

"I'm not finished with my task."

He frowned, looking uncertain. Szayel hazarded a guess that he was thinking about the phone call he had scheduled after work.

"You won't notice me; I'll fade into the background. Don't worry. At some point, you'll look up and I'll be gone."

Takeda glanced pointedly at his purple shoes, his eyes drifting slowly up his body and lingering longest on his shirt before returning to his eyes.

"Somehow I doubt that," he said with a faint smile, and opened the door. Szayel surrounded his tea with invisibility and walked in after him. At the register, Hiroko stirred, rubbing her eyes; she'd been sleeping. Takeda knew better than to point this out as he stepped behind the counter and donned his work apron.

"How'd your 'chat' go, brat?" she asked as she surrendered the stool to him.

"Fine. He liked your tart."

"He? You bad boy! Stringing both teams along! Must be a decent sort if he appreciates my quality baking though. So, did you two do anything I shouldn't know about?" Hiroko remarked with a saucy grin.

"Nah aunty. Our chat was interrupted by a call."

Her face grew serious as she absorbed this news.

"Oh. Well that's a shame. They should know better than to call you in the middle of work. Was it Ogawa? Put him on the line next time and I'll chew his ass out for bothering you while you're under my jurisdiction."

"Of course Hiroko-san. I'm sure they wouldn't dare after you're through with 'em."

"They'd better not," she growled as she swept back into the kitchen. Just before she disappeared around the corner, she paused and sent him a coy smile.

"And be sure to bring your friend by next time so I can get a proper look at him."

"Sure, if I can convince him to come. He's a bit of a hermit."

"We'll fix that," she assured him with a wink, then deciding she'd expended her quota of friendliness for the day, she barked over her shoulder, "Get back to work! Even if you don't have any customers, the shelves need reorganizing. If I come out and you're reading that book, there will be consequences! I don't pay your lazy ass to slack off."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Hiroko-san," he called innocently, then under his breath muttered, "Old hag…"

Szayel, listening to their conversation, choked quietly on his tea and hid his flaming cheeks behind a curtain of hair. It was certainly a change of pace from his monotonous schedule of meetings and boredom. Occasionally he'd stir himself to begin a new experiment, but with little environmental stimulus to do so, he most often languished in his lavish suite. But haunting Takeda was unpredictable. For one, his light treatment of their relationship was unsettling for him. His replies, vague and confident, made it sound as if they'd known each other for a while. Chat replaced the word date, but somehow managed to be more intimate. A date implied structure, where as a chat was casual, less formal, and the way those two used the word…

"Our chat was interrupted by a call." Neither of them meant speaking the way they'd been smiling. Oh, he'd definitely use his gigai if he ever visited Takeda again. That way at least he wouldn't suffer others talking about him in silence. Seating himself in a corner table, he sat and watched. Around 3:30 pm, the first stream of customers began trickling in.

It was college students at first, free from classes, with a healthy mix of high school and even middle school students as well. At one point, he had to surrender his seat to a group of girls who tittered over boys and fashion and who dated whom. Even the man behind the counter received consideration.

"He's cute!" one affirmed as she stared his way dreamily.

"No way! He's got a creepy smile," exclaimed another, shaking her head. The first girl stuck her tongue out at her friend and giggled.

"But he's like, so tall! And polite… And he looks hot in an apron."

Takeda chose that moment to walk over with their drinks; this busy, Hiroko manned the register, leaving him to act as waiter. He smiled at Szayel who stood behind his critic and set the drinks down before each of the girls. With a half bow, he said, "Hope you're enjoying yourselves, ladies. I'll be right back with the crème brulee."

The argumentative girl seemed stunned as he walked off, and her friends quickly pounced on her.

"Ohmigosh Miyuki, I think he likes you! He totally just smiled at you!"

She recovered from her dazed state, pursing her lips stubbornly, but Szayel could tell she was secretly flattered.

"Well, I guess he's not that bad. But he's not hot."

She still blushed when Takeda delivered the deserts, and Szayel was certain he placed her order down with extra consideration. He'd even garnished the top with a sprig of mint and a sprinkling of cinnamon. Flirtatious bastard; he'd definitely overheard their conversation. They departed, engaged in a heated debate and giggling over the charming waiter.

Szayel observed many other encounters from his vantage point in the corner, not all quite as sweet. At one point, an argument broke out between two patrons, and Takeda stepped in before it could become physical, hauling the two men up by their shirt fronts while he advised them in a dangerously calm tone to take their conflict elsewhere before he gave them reason to. Lanky as he was, there was a wiry strength in his limbs and an air about him that brooked no defiance, and they slunk away from the establishment, muttering empty threats.

Around 4:30 pm, older patrons began drifting in after work. Takeda's progress became frenetic and he stopped glancing over in his direction, distracted as he was by his job. Perhaps the most curious event he witnessed was when an older woman, in her early fifties by the look of it, broke down at one of the tables. What caused her grief, he did not know. Perhaps it was marital strife? Perhaps she'd been laid off from her work? Perhaps she was going through a midlife crisis? It could have been any number of things, and it did not really matter what her emotional anguish stemmed from, for her shoulders heaved with quiet sobs as she sat at her solitary table while all around milled an indifferent crowd.

She looked so forlorn, stranded in a little isle of sorrow; such a typical example of the flip side of success. For every happy man or woman, there would be an equally miserable counterpart; fortune was not distributed evenly. It was a sight that stirred little sympathy in the scientist.

Then Takeda was there with a slice of bittersweet chocolate torte and a mug of spiced cocoa. She looked up at him in surprise, startled from her crying. Her eyes were still wet as she picked up the cocoa.

"I didn't order this," she said dumbly, and his lips quirked up into a smile.

"I know," he said, then returned to serving the rest of the customers. She stared after him disoriented, taking a sip of the unexpected gift. Her face brightened as the flavor hit her tongue. Szayel watched her depart later that evening with a smile on his face, knowing it wasn't the endorphins in the chocolate that were responsible for her change in mood.

He was different; that was clear to him now. Takeda Nobu was not the same person as Nnoitra Jiruga; his attachment was an old one. A dead one. These ghostly afterimages of passion were nothing more than fragments of a past life, one he'd left behind.

So that's it then…he thought to himself with chagrin as he stood and disposed of his now empty tea glass. Takeda was still busy attending to his other patrons, having completely forgotten about his invisible guest. Reaching into his pocket, his fingers found a slip left there from some previous unknown time. At the front, there was a cupful of pens, and he picked one of these up, scrawling out a series of numbers on the paper slip. When he was done, he slid it under the cover of Takeda's book, returned the pen to its holder, and walked out of the shop, unnoticed. He had a lot to think about.

***

Around six, Takeda began to close the shop. His last two customers, a couple, were leaving. They leaned into each other for comfort as they walked out the door, and the bells chimed a cheerful goodbye. He followed them with his eyes as they left, then remembered his other guest, glancing around for the pink haired man. He was nowhere to be seen; his quiet corner was empty. Just as he'd promised, he'd disappeared, and Takeda had never noticed.

"He really wasn't kidding," he said, mildly bewildered that he could have missed him.

"Did you say something Takeda?" Hiroko called.

"No. Nothing," he replied quietly, and resumed collecting the scattered, abandoned dishes.


Author's Comments:

Now you guys get to see me for what I really am; a sucker for unnecessary description. When I really get into something, it increases in length exponentially because I describe everything. Hopefully you don't mind too much.

Is Nnoitra OOC? Well... not precisely. He isn't Nnoitra; he's his reincarnation, so there are bound to be differences. But just you wait... this is the last chapter he is called Takeda, so we can get that oddness out of the way. And no, I'm not going to turn him into a big, mushy softy. That would be wrong and twisted in so many ways.

I personally like this chapter because I get to explore "Nnoitra" and Szayel's personalities. As you can see, Szayel has calmed down a little with time; he isn't quite so high strung. Then again, rethinking your philosophy after nearly getting killed by another mad scientist will do that to you. I'm not going to turn him into a pining bleeding heart either though. It also let me tease them, which is always a plus. Yum. More fangirliness is on the way with the next chapter.

Read and review as always. Really. I can't stress this enough. If you like it even slightly, I'd love to hear from you, critiques included. ^^ Ta for now. Just wait... I'll find a reason to edit this chapter or these comments. T_T

Edit: Oh yes, I remembered something. v.v The microchip/comChips which were alluded to in this chapter will be further explained/explored in the next chapter, so if you are confused, then I don't blame you. You can either wait, or ask me through PM if you really want to know the details.