Chapter 8: Acquaintance and Re-acquaintance

I woke up. That was the first thing I recall doing. The second thing was that I saw my brother, Pierre, sitting beside me in one of the visitors' chairs. I remember that the first thing I thought was "What the heck is my brother doing here?".

Oh, that's right. You don't know Pierre, do you? He was my older brother—four years older, to be exact.

The question I had thought, apparently, was the same question that I asked. Well, it came out more like "What the heck are you doing here?"—directed at Pierre, of course, his presence being the only other in the room.

He didn't answer, though. He just shrugged, looking at me in a bored manner. I knew that look. If he was going to be the only one here, he would explain. But, someone else had to be coming so he wouldn't explain. That annoyed me. And, on that same note, I wondered who was coming.

... Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no. No, this was not happening.

That person was not coming.

Unfortunately, life hated me and, also unfortunately, that person was coming. Who was "that person"? Well, "that person" was incredibly loud, incredibly frustrating, worried too much, always doted on me, and, worst of all, was my mother.

Just then, the door swung violently open. I cringed as it collided harshly with the wall. I could only imagine what sort of dent the protruding doorknob had made—a considerable one, I would think. I could hear brisk footsteps pacing over to my bed and a loud voice wailing, "Grimmy!"

Yes, life most definitely hated me.

"Maman," I hissed, my eyes still screwed shut, "je m'appelle Grimmjow, pas 'Grimmy'."

She threw her arms around me and pulled me into a suffocating embrace, nuzzling into my head. "Mais, je veux appeller toi 'Grimmy'. C'est mignon!" To that, I only growled. It was so not cute. Somewhere in the room, I swear that Pierre was snickering at me. Bastard.

Apparently, my mother wasn't the only one who had come.

An annoying, childish voice bit out viciously, "Grimmjow! Idiote!" I received a smack on the head after that. Damn if it didn't hurt. My mother released me after. I had only a few seconds to gasp and wheeze for air so as to regain proper oxygen levels in my body.

"Quoi?!" I choked out angrily, "Marie! Que fais-tu ici?!"

"Je suis ici parce que tu es," she started, gesturing towards the machine I had been hooked up to quickly, "comme ça. Tu es pènible, comprends?! Une vraie idiote!" That thing was my stupid little sister, Marie.

"Marie!" my mother scolded her gently, tapping her on the shoulder.

"Fucked up" was a light term when used to describe my mismatched family. Heck, my family made "fucked up" look normal and "psychotic" look sane! Oh, did I mention that my father was an elite assassin in the assassin business? I didn't even need to ask why he wasn't there—he had work, how typical. Sometimes, I questioned that, though. He might have had an aversion to seeing me, too. That, or he thought that I needed to learn "independence"—whatever that was supposed to mean to him.

Before I could argue with Marie, though, there was a soft knock on the doorframe. All three of us turned to see who it was.

"Hello," the person at the door greeted us lightly, bowing, "Mrs. Jeagerjaques, Pierre, Marie," He addressed us each individually, too, with a slight pause before finishing, "Grimmjow. I'm glad to see that you're finally awake, Grimm."

I rolled my eyes. That I know for sure. "It's good to see you again, too, Roy."

Leroy grinned at me unrepentantly, showing his teeth. He stepped into the room, then turned to look behind him, ushering two others into the room. Before I could see who they were, my mother had rushed to the door, exclaiming, "It's so good to see you again!" She had hugged someone, I could see. They were hugging her, too. The other was standing somewhere behind them, relatively passively, I assumed.

When my mother released the person she was holding, I saw who the two were. One was a rather expected face—Ulquiorra, who wasn't the one she had hugged—the other was Lis. Her full name was Elisabeth Jules. I knew her pretty well. She was one of my few friends. Leroy knew her even better—had known her since he was six, I believe. They were childhood friends—good ones, too. It seemed normal for her to tag along with him.

When she saw me hooked up to the machine, though, she seemed panicked, her earlier calm expression fading into worry and panic. "Grimmjow!" Unlike Leroy, she hadn't taken on his silly nickname, "Are you alright?!" She was by my bed, at that time.

I nodded in affirmation, smiling vaguely at her. She was known for worrying too much. "Yeah, I'm fine, Lis." She then smiled at me, stepping away. She only needed to hear me say it and mean it to believe me. She wasn't like other girls who pestered you and insisted that you weren't okay. I liked that about her—it made her seem more personable.

Ulquiorra stepped forward after her. My breath hitched. I then noticed that he was frowning. He walked closer, still frowning, before saying, "You're an idiot." I nodded anyway. "You made me worry." he added. I nodded again. "Don't do it again." I could tell that that was an order. I nodded again. "Good." And, that was all he said before stepping back and sitting down in a chair. I could hear Leroy chuckling softly to himself and I swear that I saw Pierre smile just a little bit.

My mother was the first to interrupt. "Who's this, Grimmy?" she asked excitedly. She loved it when I made friends—a bit too much.

I braced myself. "He's a friend of mine," I replied. "His name's Ulquiorra."

Ulquiorra bowed graciously. "It's nice to meet you." he said politely.

My mother loved it even more when I made nice, polite friends.

She smiled widely, nearly squealing in delight. "Grimmy made a friend!" she announced, sounding much too overly joyous. Marie rolled her eyes, which escaped my mother's not-so-watchful (Okay, that's a lie. It's more like she didn't bother to reprimand her about that) eyes. Pierre's face remained stoic. My mother? She hugged Ulquiorra—tightly.

Ulquiorra's eyes bulged slightly, a bit shocked. I couldn't blame him for that. Who could possibly expect that? Oh, right—me. This was my bizarre-o mother, after all—born and raised by her. I'm not sure if I should be ashamed or proud or just downright afraid of that fact. Well, it's not like it matters anyway.

He looked like he would suffocate. If she didn't let go soon, he probably would do just that. Thankfully, she did let go after much squirming on Ulquiorra's part and much insisting on Pierre's part that Ulquiorra's face turning blue was neither natural nor healthy for him. He thanked Pierre—very much. He had saved his life. That might not be an entire exaggeration. My mother was an assassin—she was still in practice then, too.

I leaned back in my bed, nuzzling my head further into the none-too-comfortable, stark white pillow. It was large, I'd give it that much, at least.

The next thing I knew, Pierre had herded everyone out of the room—everyone save for Ulquiorra. That surprised me—both what Pierre had done and who was left.

"You're horrible." Ulquiorra told me—straight to my face. I couldn't help but agree—reluctantly, of course.

"I know."

He nodded, confirming that. I sighed. So, this was how it would go, wouldn't it? Briefly, I wondered how long I had been out. A second thought wandered aimlessly across my mind, too—had anyone come to visit me while I was here? The sweet-smelling lilacs sitting in a clear vase on my bedside table told me yes. Of course, I wanted to hear it from the person who had come. The lilacs also told me who to expect.

I didn't ask, though—that was the strange part. Instead, I thanked him—thanked him for bothering to visit me; bothering himself with me. He didn't tell me that I was welcome. I knew that I wasn't welcome, though—this wouldn't be happening again, anyway.

I closed my eyes for a moment, pondering something trivial and useless, before opening them again for yet another trivial and useless reason. I took notice that Ulquiorra had switched positions—he was currently seated at the edge of my bed rather than standing far behind the end of it where he had previously been. It made me smile. Not many people caught me when I was off guard—not even my family. Leroy and Mother were usually exceptions to that, though. That was to be expected, though, right? Familiarity and trust tore down personal barriers like the tide did to sandcastles—easily, swiftly, and painlessly.

The proximity, oddly enough but expectedly, didn't put me at unease. I felt perfectly fine with him right there with me—my killer's instinct hadn't flicked the "on" switch just yet. That one word alone made me tense up, though—"yet". But, the reason made me relax—for fear of hurting him.

Was this the reason Pierre had left? In the mere seconds he had been here, had he seen? Why was it moments like these that I thought of the most insignificant things? Why was it moments like these that I felt like, out of all the people I knew and out of all the people that shouldn't have known more than I did, I knew the least?

It was insignificant, though. My stupidity felt palpable.

"How have you been?" Ulquiorra asked me—asked me as if he knew that my mind had wandered to things of lesser importance.

I would have shrugged had I not seen that his hand had fallen from his lap to the bed—just beside his thigh. It was a sign that he was beginning to feel comfortable, I knew. I decided sincerity and forethought would be the best, now. "I don't know." For a moment, I wondered if that really meant more than a shrug? I suppose it did, though. It must have been why I had chosen to speak rather than shrug. A shrug just seemed so much more half-hearted than I felt, I suppose. "How long have I been gone?"

He seemed to think for a moment, trying to recall just how long in order to answer my question. Halfway through that thought, he seemed to give up on trying to remember, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration. "About," his voice trailed a little at that one word before it grew stronger and he continued, "a day, I think—you've been asleep for nearly a day." That was good. I hadn't been out for long.

"Oh," I half-said, half-muttered.

Ulquiorra nearly rolled his eyes for some reason that wasn't given. Well, he was yet to give the reason, anyway. "You're out of commission for one day and you're already reduced to a nervous wreck?" Of course, he had no compassion for the person who had been shoved in a hospital for some unknown reason. Speaking of unknown reasons, why was I here in the first place?

Also, speaking of unknown reasons, why was it that Ulquiorra knew the answer to my, I thought, anyway, non-spoken-out-loud question?

"Heart attack." He always did that, didn't he? He just spoke the answer so outright and so abruptly that I never knew what he was talking about, at first, usually. "You had a heart attack—something about stress and whatnot. You're such an idiot."

Of course, that was something he would do.

I, like the idiot I was, let myself groan. "You're annoying, too. Don't go around calling me an idiot, idiot."

"You don't have a right to talk."

"What are you—"

He cut me off with an unexpected growl. "You, of all people, hardly have a right to talk." I became steadily more and more wary of the fact that Ulquiorra was beginning to breathe harder and sharper. Was something bothering him?

"Even if that's true, you don't need to call me an idiot," I retorted nearly instinctually—as though it was a reflex of some sort or another. That was strange. Had I truly become this accustomed to Ulquiorra's presence and his actions (particularly, his reactions, might I add)? It felt strange to know someone like him... well? Was that the word to use?

He seemed to calm down abruptly for some strange reason. "Yes, well," he exhaled deeply, "I find it necessary when describing someone like you."

Of course, he would say that. The only thing strange about the situation was that I didn't reject that comment, this time. Of course, the silence also seemed to cue Leroy in. And, that he did—tumbling through the door with all his extravagance. The door slammed shut behind him but not of his own actions. In fact, he hadn't even come in of his own accord, so it seemed.

"What is it, Roy?" I snapped, irritated. I didn't like being interrupted.

He laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as a nervous habit. "I was just checking on you guys. It got too bloody silent for— er..." He seemed to correct his statement before finishing. "My taste." He nodded at that, seeming to agree with himself—a nod of satisfaction. It was some concocted reason, quite obviously.

I muttered something beneath my breath similar to "It's got nothing to do with your taste". Leroy didn't hear it, though.

"Everything is fine."

That was Ulquiorra's voice interrupting. I hated interruptions, damn it.

"Who are you kidding? There is no way that everything is 'okay', you—" I fell immediately silent. I hadn't noticed when Leroy had stepped out of the room. Apparently, though, he had. That was all I knew. "Great," I mumbled unhappily. Glancing up at Ulquiorra, I let out a reluctant sigh. "Look," I started, "I don't want to argue with you right after waking up, alright? I've got a nasty headache to boot."

Ulquiorra glared at me—glared pointedly—before he, just as reluctantly as I had, gave in.

"Even?" I pressed.

"Even," he agreed. Of course, he had to name his conditions. "As long as you admit that you're an idiot."

I grimaced—not entirely unpredictable. I couldn't say that I hadn't expected that. "Define 'idiot'." I winced inwardly. Asking him to give an exact definition was almost the same as saying that I would acknowledge being one—so long as I knew what I was acknowledging.

"You," came the sarcastic reply—there was always an honest one to match, though. It came after a pause. "An idiot is someone who does stupid things and makes people worry excessively—you're an idiot." By "stupid things" he meant "passing out for an entire day" and by "people" he meant "himself"—at least, in this context.

Begrudgingly, I agreed. Ulquiorra seemed satisfied with that—he wouldn't ask for more, then. That was a good thing. It was calm for a few moments—a few moments before I decided to pose a question. "When do I get out of here?" I asked tentatively.

There was hesitation as he raised his head and even hesitation in his tone as he replied. "A couple days, give or take?"

Knowing me, tomorrow sounded like a good time for me to leave. Knowing him, he would "worry excessively", therefore deeming me an idiot. I didn't like that. "I'm used to injuries—external or internal." There wasn't meant to be any subtext in that but, as soon as I had said it, I noticed it. However, he didn't. Besides, to him, I was just musing to myself. "I heal quickly." I was trying to reassure him without making it seem as though I was making a conscious effort to do so.

Ulquiorra nodded—a little more positively, now. "That's good."

I almost told him not to worry. However, I didn't, though. That would have ended our little game. It also would have meant that I would have lost—how I hated losing.

This conversation was getting monotonous and tedious—too tedious for my liking. I decided to steer this conversation into an alternate direction. "Did John tell you what happened? I'm guessing you found out before the class did." I questioned—that topic seemed fairly conversational.

"Connected rooms," he pointed out, bored, giving me the "you're stupid" look. "Besides, Leroy was going to wake you up this morning, idiot." I immediately regretted agreeing to that nickname. Aside from "trash", Ulquiorra seemed to be quite fond of that one word, too. I had just added one more ridiculous, annoying, stupid nickname to the list I already had. That was great—really. Take note of the sarcasm, please.

"Right," I answered in my signature "as if I would know" tone of voice. He caught that immediately as he did everything else. He didn't pay it any heed, though. That was typical of Ulquiorra. If it didn't matter, he wouldn't care. I didn't like where this conversation was going either, though. So, I changed the subject again. "So, you met my freakish mother and er...my awkward brother and my brat of a little sister?"

Ulquiorra smirked—a knowing smirk. "If by 'freakish mother' you are referring to the woman who very nearly strangled me to death, yes." He raised a brow curiously here. "Your brother didn't seem awkward—a tad quiet, but I like that. And, as for your sister, she seemed..." He struggled to find the right word. I stifled a laugh. It wasn't good, his opinion of her. "She's a bit estranged... The only thing I didn't quite get, though, was your French—next time, speak slower."

"If I speak slower, I'll sound like an idiot." I mimicked him when he called me an idiot.

"Don't you always?"

I opened my mouth to answer that but my jaw snapped shut abruptly. I didn't feel like bothering, for some odd, unexplainable reason.

Ulquiorra asked another question, then. I didn't even know why, at the time. "Who is Lis?" The way he had said it, it sounded like the most normal thing in the world not to know your classmates. After a few seconds of prolonged silence, he corrected himself, seeing as to how I could not answer his previous question, "Who is Lis to you?"

"A friend?" I offered as a reply, my voice rising a bit at the end as an intonation, demonstrating my confusion. "Why are you asking?"

"Never mind,"

So, I left it at that.

"Let's let everyone else in." I wasn't sure if I had said that or if it had been Ulquiorra. One of us agreed to the other's decision, though.

I couldn't help but wonder. What had Ulquiorra meant? I mean, 'to me'? What was he trying to say? Oh well, it was beyond me, really. I thought back to my family, scrunching my face together in a distasteful expression. Oh, that was right, they were coming in again, too—along with Leroy and Lis.

I closed my eyes and fell asleep. They would just have to deal with the rest of this visit with me asleep. Why? Well, that would be because I didn't want to deal with it just then.

As I dozed off, I couldn't help but think—not all acquaintances had been the most pleasant today; not all the re-acquaintances had been pleasant today, either. From that, though, now I know, I learned only one lesson—fate hated me (and still does) from the very bottom of her very, very dark heart because this meeting—or, in some cases, re-meeting—whether it was designed by fate or not, was meant to happen, right?

Ulquiorra had to meet my family eventually.

This way, though, had been the worst and most impossibly inconvenient way to let it happen. I was yet to find out why, though. All I can say is that I probably fucking hate fate just as much as it hates me. Fate can be a real bitch, let me tell you.