Chapter 10

Grimmjow furrowed his eyebrows, aware of a difference in his usual routine the moment he'd awoken. He didn't even need to open his eyes.

For starters, he was already pretty sure he was suffering from a severe hangover. Now, that wasn't a huge deal, he'd dealt with enough in his time to be used to it. It was just the consequences weren't usually the best.

His bed felt different. Which probably meant it wasn't his bed. Lovely. In fact, it didn't feel like a bed at all. Grass. He'd slept in the grass. The notion wasn't one that really phased him, he rather liked sleeping under the stars and he'd done so many times before, sometimes preferring it to the stagnant room. Call it his instinctual nature.

Speaking of instincts, he thought tiredly, flexing his hand once and finding it had much more strength contained in it, not to mention claws. So, he'd released. He was now lying around as Pantera where anyone could see him. Probably not a good idea.

The last thing, though, caught his attention much more so. Ulquiorra was curled in his arms. He knew it was Ulquiorra because no other demon would cuddle up to him and not kill him.

But… that wasn't the only reason he knew it was him, surprisingly. Sure, he could sense it was a demon what with being in his Pantera form, even a strong one with a dense reiatsu. Really dense, suffocating, almost. He wasn't being suffocated though. It had no affect on him other that a warm, enveloping feeling.

Grimmjow could, inside of him, feel that Ulquiorra was there. He also felt that he was asleep, and most likely should not be wakened. He was having a good dream.

Grimmjow should not have known that. But he did. How?

The mating came back to him at that precise moment.

Grimmjow's eyes flashed open and he found himself staring at a lightening sky. Judging by the light and the stars' position, it was just after six o'clock.

Ulquiorra shifted slightly, probably sensing Grimmjow's distress.

What was I thinking?

No more getting drunk around demons. It just didn't lead to anything good. Anything to do with demons never led to anything good.

He had to get rid of the mating. Soon. Now.

Grimmjow looked down and caught the top of Ulquiorra's head. He looked peaceful. Something he wanted. Maybe he'd be more willing to die having some of his wishes realized.

Grimmjow cringed away from the thought. He didn't want to kill him, probably couldn't. He hadn't been able to before, when he'd realised he loved him. Now it would be even harder.

He felt so conflicted, his mind racing from one scenario to the other.

He didn't understand what it meant to be mated to Ulquiorra. He'd only started to figure out his feelings for the other man. Demon, not man, he corrected himself. It was getting harder to separate the two in his mind.

Why the fuck m I stressing over this? He suddenly thought. I love him, end of story. He grinned unexpectedly. I'm just gonna do whatever the fuck I want!

His internal ramblings and conflictions finally seemed to have awakened Ulquiorra. It was strange knowing all of this now.

"Grimmjow, is something the matter?" Ulquiorra asked. His voice was clear without a hint of exhaustion in it even if he'd just woken up. Grimmjow wondered how he did it.

"Nothin's wrong," he shrugged, looking down to meet Ulquiorra's beautiful, emerald green eyes. The eyes, no longer dead or haunting, but so alive and full of things Grimmjow was just delving into.

And every thought he'd ever had that mating to Ulquiorra was a bad idea flew from his mind. Because this couldn't be wrong. It could never be wrong. He gently leaned down to kiss those soft lips and Ulquiorra happily obliged. It went on for minutes, but to Grimmjow it went on forever, and it wasn't long enough.

They finally pulled back and Grimmjow had a smile, not a grin or a smirk, but a smile gracing his lips.

"Good mornin' to ya too," he said, nuzzling Ulquiorra's hair.

"Mm, yes. It is a good morning," he agreed. "Though I feel slightly unsteady despite lying down."

Grimmjow chuckled and stroked Ulquiorra's hair easily. "Probably the after-effects of the beer, the fight, the amazing sex- you're welcome- and, even though I got no clue how it works, probably the mating too." Ulquiorra seemed to consider his propositions. He seemed to lose interest, though, when he started playing idly with Grimmjow's long hair, spilling in a blue splaying waterfall around them.

"You are confused about the mating?" Ulquiorra asked distractedly. Apparently, he was putting most of his attention into making a small braid in a few of the blue strands.

"Not exactly. I know what it's s'pose' to mean and everything, I just don't get how it'll affect me," he shrugged, his eyes trained on Ulquiorra's delicate claw movements. He'd never pegged Ulquiorra as one to do anything gently.

"I believe you are feeling some of those effects as we speak," Ulquiorra pointed out, attention never drifting far away from his menial task. "You will be able to sense me when I am near, be able to feel some of what I am feeling, know when I am in trouble, things like that," he explained. "I believe mating was originally, and normally remains today, a way to gain a strong battle partner. A survival technique, if you will. A demon will normally mate with someone who fights in a complimentary way to their own abilities. Certainly, it is an attractive quality. Perhaps that is part of what finally made me ask you to mate with me, having seen you fight. And, as we are still animals in our most basic forms, I suppose it is also a way to relieve pent up sexual desires," he said, calm as ever. "Demons, though rarely feel love in any form, are often victims of lust. It is not surprising. Is lust not one of the seven deadly sins? At any rate, to quell our desires, we find a mate. The deprivation of a physical outlet can inhibit fighting skills and, in the world of demons, that is something that cannot be tolerated, lest you have a death wish."

Grimmjow allowed that to sink in. "So, what we have is some sort of battle treaty or something?" He found that he didn't like that at all. Is that all the mating was to Ulquiorra? Just a way to save his skin in a crisis?

Before he could grow too furious, Ulquiorra interrupted his thoughts, leading Grimmjow to believe he could feel some of the rage through their new bond.

"If that is all you think this is, then you truly are a complete and utter fool. Have you no sense of what is in me? Do you not feel that love yourself? This is far more than just a simple, rudimentary mating," Ulquiorra said. Grimmjow could feel some anger on his part too, most likely directed at his idea. Compartmentalising it like that. They were different, not like other mated pairs. Ulquiorra truly loved him and, if he was being truthful, believed that Ulquiorra would want nothing more than to see Grimmjow never enter another fight in his lifetime.

His lifetime…

"And what about when I get old, huh?" Grimmjow asked, catching Ulquiorra's claw in his hair and stopping him from continuing. He wanted his full attention for this, not an answer half-formulated and not thought out. "I dunno how long you guys live, but it sure beats out a human life. Hell, do you ever age? So, what happens when I'm old and finally bite the dust? Still gonna be around then?"

Ulquiorra slapped him across the face. Hard.

Grimmjow did not turn his face back, merely stared into the distance, watching the first rays of the sun peak over the horizon. It's so empty, he though distantly. Like nothing could ever grow there.

Like Ulquiorra's eyes just days ago.

"Do not speak of me leaving you, Grimmjow. If you believe something like age," he sneered the word, "could ever tear me from you, then you do not understand the depth of my feelings." He spoke with the most emotion Grimmjow had ever heard from him, except perhaps the time Grimmjow had almost killed him.

And he was usually pretty expressive during sex.

"I will not leave your side until your body is separated from mine be earth or your ashes run from me in the wind. Even then, my heart will follow you into the next world, and then soon after I shall too." His words were spoken with such honestly, his words accented by his heart pouring itself into the bond that Grimmjow found he was holding his breath. "Your body is beautiful, yes, but it is not what makes me love you. So your looks shall fade, so mine have too through the years and here you lay," he gestured to Grimmjow's deathly still body beneath him. "Ever willing to lay with a demon, to love a creature whose very being defines hell. My body is not meant to attract physically, it is meant to kill. And yet, you found something in me to love." He stroked Grimmjow's cheek softly. "Your age will not tarnish my affections. If anything, they will only grow with time, though I can hardly imagine feeling any more than I do now. To grow old is beautiful. It means life, the signals of time, the mindset that time is not something to be wasted, but to cherish. I will never grow old. I will never be natural or beautiful, and perhaps I can never truly understand how to live every moment as though I would die in decade or a day. To ask you to stay with me was selfish, perhaps you did not know how much so, but it was unbearably selfish, and here I stand, begging your humanity and beauty and love and all that it entails, and you ask me if I will remain here when you grow old?" He was furious. Absolutely, unbelievably furious.

And so beautiful. So human, that it almost hurt Grimmjow to look at him.

Ulquiorra's breathing was heavy, his eyes fiery, his heart beating to the sound of a hummingbirds' wing.

Grimmjow gently took Ulquiorra's claw into his and pressed his lips to it.

"Are we so different?" he whispered, holding Ulquiorra's claw delicately in his. As though he would break. "I am human, but we aren't so far apart. Especially now," he accented it by bringing his tail to brush against Ulquiorra's leg. "Am I evil? Am I unnatural, even now?" Ulquiorra only shook his head. They were staring intently into each other's eyes as though the answer to their worlds was inside them. Perhaps it was so. "Then you don't have to be either."

Ulquiorra collapsed on his chest, curling into a ball, trying to block the rest of the world out while he tried to accept something that hundreds, maybe thousands of years, had dictate against him. But he could never keep Grimmjow out. Grimmjow wrapped his arms around the still ball of demon and whispered soft hushing noises into his black, elongated ears.

"You aren't alone anymore, Ulquiorra." He petted back his soft, black locks and saw Ulquiorra's calculating, frightened eyes watching him.

"I feel… it is hard to explain," he said, his eyes darting around, like the answer was contained in the surrounding landscape. "I don't feel… empty anymore," he explained, unable to be any more specific. It was enough for Grimmjow though, and he gently kissed the other. He felt Ulquiorra's tail wrap easily around his waist, holding him in an unbreakable grip. An attempt to keep the emptiness away forever and Grimmjow with him to chase it away when it came knocking again.

Grimmjow slowly, carefully rolled them over so Ulquiorra was under him, Grimmjow holding himself right above him, but still touching. Ulquiorra needed to feel Grimmjow, and he recognized this need. Let me be all he feels.

He kissed Ulquiorra softly, beginning to massage him all over to reaffirm that his existence would protects him. Ulquiorra took everything in and locked his arms around Grimmjow's neck, unwilling to ever let go. Grimmjow's hair fell all around them and when Grimmjow broke the kiss to get air and move to his neck, Ulquiorra buried his face in the tresses around his head.

Grimmjow could not hurt Ulquiorra in the least, not like this, so he refused to even bite into the clean, white skin in front of him, unwilling to even mark him as his. Ulquiorra had a deeper mark in his heart. He rubbed Ulquiorra's back comfortingly, making small circular motions around his back until he hit the joints attatching his wings. He spread his fingers and stroked the span of wing, taking in its velvety texture and was mesmerised when the wings stretched further out, leaving them all out for Grimmjow's inspection. He left no part of the wings untouched, unloved.

You don't scare me, he thought and it translated in his touches and must have gone through the mate bond because Ulquiorra shivered and his grip on Grimmjow's neck tightened again. Grimmjow knew his hands wouldn't move; they would stay holding Grimmjow flush against his body throughout the experience.

Grimmjow moved one hand to rub at his ribs, sickly protruding from his sides as though he'd never had enough to eat, and moved the other to trail his fingers down his horns. They were pure bone.

He would caress and love every part that Ulquiorra despised, every part that made him feel less human, he would make it feel human to Ulquiorra.

Ulquiorra seemed to understand and when Grimmjow's hand moved down again, he lifted his body slightly up, allowing Grimmjow to caress his tail. He ran his hand along it, gently squeezing in places to make sure Ulquiorra never forgot where his hands were.

Then he moved to the gaping hole in Ulquiorra's abdomen. Grimmjow felt him hold his breath, like he needed air, as both hands approached it. Grimmjow circled it with one hand, palm flat, and the other went around his back to gently feel inside it. Ulquiorra flinched, his eyes narrowing in slight pain. Grimmjow almost moved away before Ulquiorra looked at him pleadingly and his tail curled around his left wrist, the one at his back, and held it there. Grimmjow continued, putting very light pressure, and was surprised when small sounds of pleasure and even tiny moans poured from Ulquiorra's mouth. He pressed a little harder and Ulquiorra's moaning became louder, urging him on.

Finally, after several minutes of this, Grimmjow laced three fingers at Ulquiorra's mouth. Ulquiorra almost eagerly took them into his mouth, sucking and licking with rapt attention. His tongue danced around the digits, and he sucked them once in a while.

Grimmjow grit his teeth to hold back a moan and pulled them out, but Ulquiorra held onto them, seeming unwilling to be rid of a part of Grimmjow inside of him. Grimmjow felt a shock go through him at this. He licked more, sucked harder, did not want to be without him if even in the most trivial way.

He finally coaxed his fingers out and Ulquiorra gave him the most pleading look, it went straight to Grimmjow's heart. And his cock. He was fucking ready to cum already.

He positioned his fingers at Ulquiorra's hole, inserting one finger slowly, not wanting to cause any more pain than absolutely necessary. Ulquiorra needed to be treasured and treated carefully, the smallest thing could break him. Ulquiorra didn't flinch when the first one went in. Grimmjow kissed him passionately and Ulquiorra responded in turn. He slowly added the second finger, feeling a slight twitch from the body beneath him. He slowed his pace immediately, kissing him deeper. Their tongues swirled together in a dance that only they could understand, only meant to be danced by them.

Grimmjow slowly added the third finger and Ulquiorra cringed. Grimmjow wrapped his spare are around Ulquiorra and held him closer, comforting him.

Grimmjow angled his fingers and finally hit the spot he knew would have Ulquiorra seeing stars.

Ulquiorra arched back, breaking off the kiss and gasping out Grimmjow's name uninhibitedly. Grimmjow hit it three more times before Ulquiorra was all but crying in pleasure.

Ulquiorra, shuffled and gave him a knowing look dead in his eyes.

Grimmjow nodded and removed his fingers, only to replace it immediately with his cock. Ulquiorra would not bear to be apart from him for more than seconds. He thrust in, and Ulquiorra choked back a scream, coming out as a loud, resounding moan. Grimmjow could feel Ulquiorra's pleasure through the bond, but it was hard to focus on that.

Ulquiorra was just so fucking tight!

He moaned out loud after shifting slightly. It was agonizing, only being in him, not moving. Ulquiorra bucked his hips, and Grimmjow could no longer hold back. He pounded into Ulquiorra with chilling accuracy, hitting his prostate dead on every time. Ulquiorra kept calling out his name, moaning how he loved him.

And Grimmjow reciprocated, howling Ulquiorra's name to the wind and whispering words of love and affection in his ear, words only meant for him.

Ulquiorra could no longer handle the pleasure and came with one last cry of Grimmjow's name.

Grimmjow groaned out Ulquiorra's name too and came inside him, barely managing to hold himself above Ulquiorra.

Ulquiorra, too quickly for Grimmjow's sated brain to follow, flipped their positions so Ulquiorra was resting on Grimmjow's chest again, Grimmjow still inside him.

"Stay, just for a while," he whispered in his twitching blue ear.

Grimmjow smiled at him and kissed him gently. Tails intertwined and still connected in the most intimate of ways, they both dozed for just a little while more.

XXX

"Where is she!" screamed the infuriated, inexhaustible voice of Nnoitra Jiruga. It had been days since he'd last seen Neliel and he was growing tired of being patient. It just wasn't in his nature. "She could not leave. She could not!"

Stark sat in the dining room, leaned back in the chair with his black boots, Italian, of course, crossed on the table in a clear indication that Nnoitra was not fazing him. His usual grey coat hung off him, made of wolf's fur and lined with the softest of the stuff, impeccable. It had been tailored to his needs. Not at his discretion, though. He always wondered why Hallibel went to all the trouble over details like clothes.

"You look more intimidating if you walk in looking superior."

He supposed it was the price for mating her, putting up with her eccentricities. He supposed he shouldn't complain, though. Hallibel was never on his case, usually let him do as he pleased and kept him in line and ready to fight when he needed it. Yes, she must have been the closest thing he would ever come to a perfect match. Strong, calculating, determined, beautiful, and deadly as poison, Hallibel was something entirely other in the realm of demons. Stark would never assume he had ever tamed her. If anything, he was on the leash, despite being stronger.

"Apparently, she did," Stark replied tiredly. He knew that no answer was really required, but entertainment was hard to come by lately and watching Nnoitra storm around the manor, all but screaming in rage, provided a temporary lapse from boredom.

"I know perfectly well she did!" he snapped, getting right in Stark's face, to which he really didn't appreciate.

He placed a finger on Nnoitra's head and shoved him back a bit. "Thanks for that," he said, drawing back his hand and putting both of them behind his head, the picture of ease. "Hali ain't gonna like it if I smell like your breath. Probably scrub my face clean off to get rid of it. You know how she is." Stark had a bad habit of pissing off everybody he came into contact with. What does she see in me?

Nnoitra was shaking in anger. Stark worked hard to keep a smirk off his face and easily caught the fist thrown at his face. He bent his wrist slightly, bending Nnoitra's backwards, and watched him flinch. "Remember who you're throwin' punches at, Nnoitra," Stark warned in his lazy drawl. He sounded far from serious, but the constant, increasing pressure of Nnoitra's hand proved differently. Just before he was sure the bone would break, Stark released him and Nnoitra backed up a few steps, rubbing the offended hand. His glare could cut through steel, but never Stark.

"Continue with your rant," Stark said, flipping his hand dismissively before grabbing his hat- a cowboy hat that Hallibel always complained about when it was worn- and placed it so the tip covered his eyes from the sight of the disgruntled mantis demon. One of the positives of the hat was how he could always make so that he never had to actually see anything he'd rather not. Like Nnoitra's face, for instance, but other things too. Pretty trivial, really. Sometimes Szayel's experiments would get loose and run amok in the manor, usually naked. Sometimes the fraccion would taunt each other and try to play annoying games Stark couldn't care less about. Sometimes Hali would get real pissed at him and start berating him on his different flaws. Prime hat time.

Come to think of it, maybe that's why she hates it so much.

"You ain't no damn help!" he snarled, whipping around to continue his pacing. He must have realised that picking a fight with Stark, strongest of the Espada, strongest demon alive, was not the smartest idea. A rare moment of actual insight.

"Don't know what you want me to say, Nnoitra. You bring it on yourself," he shrugged, pushing the hat more prominently in front of his face. He felt when Nnoitra was standing before him again.

"What do ya know! She's my mate! I'll treat her how I see fit!"

Stark swirled a pinky in his ear. "Always gotta yell?" he asked, leaning back again. "I'm actually surprised she didn't kick your ass when she coulda. Hali would," he pointed out, mentally allowing Nnoitra's slow ticking brain to try and make sense of everything, dulled further by rage.

"Maybe your mate don't know her place, but Neliel does!" he snarled. "She did, before she ran off to Go-" he hacked a bit. "To g-" Stark frowned slightly as he heard Nnoitra's coughing fit increase. God knows where.

"Pick a different word. You know demons who've Descended can't say God," he reminded him, pushing the brim of his hat up enough for his left eye to peek out and see the hunched, coughing figure of Nnoitra, choking on words not meant for his kind to say.

"I ain't Descended yet!" he growled, glaring up at Stark from his bent form. Stark lifted an eyebrow skeptically.

"Fine then. Choke yourself to death on holy words for all I care," he shrugged tiredly, sick of Nnoitra's denial. Any demon could tell when one had Descended. Once they had, they were rash, based more off instinct, unable to think things through. More like when we were in hell, before we got back here. Usually Descended demons didn't last too long. Their rashness and inability to really plan things through usually spelled out their demise and they were back in Hell before long. Back to that burning and aching and the sheer torture of it all.

No one talked about it. It was over, and there was nothing any demon could do to change it. All anyone could do was live in this world, the human world, and hope to God-ironic- that you weren't killed and sent back down. Those were your options. A menial, bored existence filled with the day to day of the mundane life, or rot in Hell for all eternity. You could probably guess which one demons were more inclined to,

No one really knew how a demon got back up. The general assumption was that the good ol' Devil himself didn't want things getting to happy-peachy-easy life in the Mortal World, so he sent Demons to crash the party. But that was just a guess. Could be dumb luck, could have unknowingly escaped, could have been released on good behavior for all Stark knew. The only thing that was for sure was that he was back and he did not plan to go down again. He'd make sure that him, and Hali, stayed up in the Mortal World for a good long time. Like eternity.

"I'm tellin' ya, I ain't Descended! I'd know," he argued, punching the wall in a fit of uncontrollable anger.

"Yes, you're actions are very thought out, not irrational at all," Stark said, no infliction in his voice.

"Never appreciated your sarcasm," Nnoitra huffed, retracting his arm. "You!" he snarled at an unfortunate passing fraccion. "Fix that!"

Stark watched the little thing run away, clearly fearing for its life. Once of the nameless ones, just handy help around.

"Fuck you, Stark!" he shouted. Off the deep end, if you ask me. "You thinkin' you're so high an' mighty! I hope you die a painful blody death and go back to Hell where you bel-" He cut off very suddenly when he felt the cool metal of Stark's gun against his head. The light above them glowed dimly off the grey metal of the gun. Specially crafted, hand made for Stark to fit his expectations. One was loud as a cannon, one as silent as death. Perfectly balanced, light-weight, unending ammunition made from demonic power. Stark's power. None other could ever control it. One of a pair Stark had named Lilynette. Nnoitra's breathing was laboured and his eyes darted between the gun and Stark's still-hooded eyes. It was another thing Stark liked about the hat, and what he believed Hallibel secretly liked too. When used correctly, it made him even more intimidating.

"Careful who you talk to, Nnoitra," he said in a dangerously controlled voice. His coat billowed slightly from his sudden movements. But nothing else moved. Nnoitra's fear seemed to sing out to Stark's willing ears. His arm was steady, frighteningly so, and his body was still. Nnoitra, too, had gone absolutely still. Perhaps he believed he'd finally pushed his luck too far with the usual docile Espada. Thought there was no limit, maybe. But there was always a limit. "Never know when somebody's just," He cocked the gun. "Gonna," he placed his finger on the trigger. "Snap." He pulled the trigger and a loud, echoing shot rang out throughout the manor.

Silence.

Dead Silence.

Empty shot.

"Be thankful I ain't ready to snap yet," Stark said darkly before holstering the gun. He turned sharply and walked calmly out of the room, hands in pockets, eyes still covered. Every ounce the Numero Espada, Coyote Stark.

XXX

Neliel's hair flew horizontally to her side in the strong, rapidly growing wind that blew dust around her. She thought perhaps she may have looked like an ominous figure bringing omens of doom from some otherworldly place. Then again, perhaps she just looked like a woman caught in a small dust storm. She decided she liked that one better.

She stared at the quaint little town of Hueco Mundo. It was perfect, no one would ever think to come find her here.

Neliel stalked into the town, dressed in the clothes she'd woven from her own hair, unable to stay in her dead, white clothing any longer. It symbolised the Espada, something she no longer was. Something she had left behind to pursue a new life without the haunting white surrounding her. Without Nnoitra slowly helping her into Dissension.

The town was abuzz already at what she assumed was roughly eight thirty in the morning. She watched as people bustled by her, eager to get somewhere-which in itself was strange as the small place surely couldn't hold to much excitement or a desperate need to be anywhere, really- and children ran along the streets eagerly, playing with whatever toy their parents had bought them on some voyage into a larger center, for she doubted there was a toy store in this place. Animals were wary of her though, able to smell the strange, unnatural scent on her.

On the whole, a charming town. But she couldn't see a church anywhere.

There should have been a church somewhere. Las Noches, her safe haven, if she could find it.

Assuming it lay somewhere within a short running distance for her from the town, she traipsed into one of the larger shops in the town.

Urahara Shoten. A strange name, especially for such a small town. It had a Japanese flavour to the name. She wondered if the store saw much business with such an unorthodox name.

Her answer came when she walked in and saw many people bustling about at the store's various items. And she meant various. It looked like an all-purpose store but had the strangest assortment of things. There was aisles of hardware and others of candy, grocery aisles and toy aisles, clothes and medicine and home décor and other such nonsensical things that Neliel never thought she'd encounter in the same store. There were even tires lining the far wall.

The proprietor must be a very strange man, she decided. Or have ADD.

She was about to find out.

"Welcome to my shop, Miss! Never seen you around here before and I see everybody! My name is Urahara Kisuke, and I'd be happy to help you out if you need anything. Can I ask your name?"

All this in the span of roughly nine seconds. Neliel blinked before taking in the sight before her. A man, maybe a bit taller than her without counting her horns, stood before her with a grin that she swore would break a lesser man's face. He had what she assumed to be very bad blonde hat hair, pieces of which stuck out of a green and white striped bucket-like hat that overshadowed his eyes and made her wonder, if in another setting, he would be menacing. Maybe if he stopped speaking in such a trilling, childish way. And that was saying something as her own voice was very child-like. He wore a long green jacket that covered whatever shirt he was wearing and green pants, matching to his jacket and hat, falling to his ankles. He donned on his feet wooden clog sandals, an odd choice no matter the situation. She wondered if he styled his outfit to suit his hat. It seemed almost likely with his flippant, enthusiastic attitude and strange demeanor.

But she paused in her musings. He had asked her a question. I think.

"My name is Neliel tu Oderschvank. Quite a mouthful," she said with a nervous laugh. This man made her uneasy, she just couldn't put a finger on why. Perhaps it was his clearly all-to-eccentric tendencies.

"Ah yes, quite, quite. Foreign then. German?" he asked, taking out a fan and waving it in front of his face as though it were normal to do so. Neliel regarded the fan for a moment and how it inhibited her from reading anything in his face. But that was not too terrible a loss. The man seemed harmless enough, of not slightly annoying.

"Yes, German," she said, nodding. "I'm surprised you got it right the first time. I get Danish or Russian sometimes," she mused, shrugging delicately.

"Oh, no doubt, no doubt," he said in an off-handish tone that stirred something in Neliel. A sense that there was more than the man was telling her. But she quelled it. Foolish notion, really. This man couldn't possibly know anything about her. "So what brings you to this small town?" he asked, his question unsuspicious. Anyone would ask the same.

"I'm actually here to see a church. Las Noches, I think it's called." She tapped her chin as if she were trying to recall it. How could she ever forget.

"Oh, that," he said with what she supposed was a smile. "Yes, yes, I know the place. Why there?" he asked, his head tilting to the side. He seems to be a bit tilted in general.

But there was a problem with his question. She could hardly say she wished to escape demons on holy ground. Best to lie, then.

"My parents were married there. They've been dead for a while now, but I'd like to pay a visit to it," she explained with a sombre face. She hoped it was convincing.

His hand came up to grasp at his hat and it was pushed further down, completely blocking his right eye from her view. His left eye stared at her amusedly. Odd, the story had not meant to be funny.

"That's quite a trip just for that, but you must be very determined then, to have come all this way." His voice was different. No longer giddy or childish. It was very much dark and superior. Intelligent. Knowing.

"Yes," she continued, feeling a chill crawl up her spine. "It was quite a journey." She watched him closely.

"Aw, Nelly, so suspicious all the time." Neliel started, her eyes darting quickly to the left. It was that damn projection of Nnoitra again. He waved to her with two of his arms, leaning against a shelf of auto kits on display. His smile was easy, his eyes narrowed in glee. He had always loved to mess with her.

The shop-keepers voice brought her back.

"Strikes me as odd, though, that your parents got married there," he said, still looking at her in that way, that way she did not like. His eyes, too, darted once to where her illusion of Nnoitra stood, all too calm.

Neliel tried not to bristle or hiss in rage. It didn't take much to earn her wrath in overstressing situations like these. "And why is that?"

He chuckled softly and looked her dead in the eye, arms crossed, hat still down over one eye, the picture of ease. "Because there hasn't been a service or marriage there in over eighty years."

Neliel felt her eyes grow wide and her breath speed a bit.

"Couldn't think up a better lie, could ya babe," Nnoitra laughed from beside her.

"Shut up," she whispered.

"I beg your pardon?" Urahara said, craning his neck forward.

"Not you," she hissed, glaring at him.

"Ah. Who, then?" he asked. Neliel scowled and her eyes darted to a chortling Nnoitra not five feet away.

"No one," she said, turning away. "Can you tell me where the church is?" she asked, not turning back to look at him. "I would still like to see it." She heard a sigh from the strange blonde man.

"It's three miles south of here. Just follow the road, you'll get there in no time," he said, and she could hear a grin in his voice. "Won't you," he murmured, causing her to look back at him again.

"What?" she asked, sharp eyes trained on him.

"You know, you've got a nasty little piece of hair there," he said, pointing to a chunk of her bangs, always falling in her face. "I have one too," he continued, pointing to his forehead where a long mass of blonde fell in the middle of his face. Neliel lifted an eyebrow, unamused. What did this have to do with anything. Even her mind's Nnoitra seemed confused. "Mine happens because my hat is always in the wrong spot!" he laughed good-naturedly. "Always pushed that piece down." He stopped laughing. His fan was gone, Neliel hadn't noticed him put it away. I should have noticed. Why didn't I? Something was very off about this man. Not right. Not right. "You kind of have the same problem, don't you. But," he said, his grin widening. "I assume you can't really control your hat, can you," he said, shrugging his shoulders before turning around to help other customers.

Neliel was frozen. Unable to do anything. Unable to process anything. What…

"Remember," his voice came again. "Three miles south. Like I said," he turned once more, his eyes somewhat malevolent, and far too knowing. "It shouldn't take you very long."

She backed up three steps. Three. She counted. Because she could not focus on anything else. Not even her vision of Nnoitra spoke. Or if he did, she couldn't hear him.

Imposible, no no no no no- She was running, running fast. Faster than any human could. Running away from the strange man with the knowing look. Eyes to keen. He couldn't have known. He couldn't have. Running faster now that she was out of town. Running, running, running…

And she was there. In front of a little white picket fence surrounding a churchyard. A quaint place. Somewhere she could escape from the white and Nnoitra and those knowing eyes.

She slowly, slowly raised her hand to grasp the fence. Her hand seethed instantly and she hissed, immediately retracting her hand, holding it protectively. Could she even do this? Could she possibly go through with her plan if all of her would hurt so much?

"Neliel?" came a bored but questioning voice from the other side of the fence. Her head snapped up and she audibly gasped at the sight.

"Ulquiorra?" she breathed, an unbelieving whisper. "What are you-"

"Don't move, demon," came a gruff, resounding voice from behind her. Her eyes widened and her eyes darted to her neck where a shining silver blade was pressed against it. Where it pressed, her neck burned worse than her hand, steaming and she tried to recoil from the pain, backing up only to hit a broad, muscled back directly behind her. She turned her head slightly and caught sight of a young man with outrageous blue hair and startling, beautiful blue eyes. The color of the sky, she thought.

"Who are you?" she asked in another shaky whisper.

"You don't gotta know," he growled, his voice a pleasing baritone and his eyes piercing. Neliel felt a spike of fear go through her. He was no ordinary human.

"You can see me," she whispered, her body now shaking slightly. How was it possible? Then, that man, could he have seen her too?

Unimportant, she decided, right then with her life on the line.

"You better explain why you're here. And make it good." He pressed the sharp side of the blade of what she assumed to be the Zanpakuto harder against her neck. "No second chances."

XXX

AN: Another chapter, and about time! But keep in mind I'm super busy. But I'll still try to update regularly.

Grimmjow and Ulquiorra have loving sex! I figure it's sort of an end to one serious conflict in the story. Grimmjow and Ulquiorra are officially together and not having any doubts. Well, not really.

However, one good plot end begins another, so enter Nel. She finally gets to Las Noches! Which means the beginning of other plot devices. And I have to decide what those are. I've got a few ideas for her but we'll just have to see what I come out with. This is an adventure for me too. And she met Urahara! Not exactly a happy meet but hey, thems the breaks. To be clear, Urahara can't actually see Nel's demon form, but he can sense she is a demon and he could sorta tell by her hair that she probably had horns and he knew she was fast by her reiatsu. He's a pro, after all.

Ok, so Stark. I haven't played around with Stark at all and I wanted to delve a bit more into one of the other characters, give some character development to someone I thought would be interesting. So I chose Stark, who I consider the badass, gunslinging, super calm and totally in control cowboy of the Espada. I figure I could have some fun with him, he's fun to write for and I actually really enjoyed writing for him. Sarcastic, lazy, and has a deadly temper you'd never guess, I kinda sympathise with him.

But if I did a good job or not is up to you to decide. Remember, if you wanna get more of a certain character into the story, just let me know. I'm very open to suggestions or ideas!

Well, read, review, and give me lots of love. And I thank you all whole-heartedly for your awesome comments that make me want to keep writing this story with all the passion it deserves!