It was much too quiet for Ulquiorra's liking. Although he, more than most Arrancar, appreciated the silence, he was unnerved to hear nothing coming from inside Orihime's room. He turned the doorknob and entered. He half-expected to see her hunched form sitting at the table, reading a book, playing some game or even resting her head on the table, a bored look on her face. Instead he found her usual seat empty.

Ulquiorra scanned the room. Where was she? Finally, his gaze rested upon her curled up form on the couch. Stepping closer he noticed Orihime's eyes were closed, eyebrows furrowed as if she were in pain. He placed a hand on her forehead, but it took him a moment to realize the futility of his actions, as he had nothing to compare it to.

Was she feeling ill? How did she get sick? And more importantly, why now?

He had come to Orihime's room to inform her he would be on his longest mission to date, one spanning a day and a half. The thought of leaving her that long, with only Szayel as her guard, already unnerved him. But now that she was sick, unable to fend for herself? Ulquiorra tried not to think about it. There wasn't much he could do to change the situation.

Orihime started shivering. She didn't wake, but she wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to keep warm. Ulquiorra noticed her blanket in a pile on the floor, then looked back at her shivering form. He picked up the blanket, brushed off any dirt, and placed it over her. The shivering subsided.

Quietly shutting the door, Ulquiorra burst in to Szayel's domain. The marble pieces of door were thrown to the other side of the room, landing with loud thumps. A door opened, and the Octava Espada poked his head out. He looked from the impassive Ulquiorra to the hole, where there was once a door to his domain, and back.

Szayel gripped the edge of the door. "Apparently you've never heard of knocking. You'll have to fix that, by the way."

Ulquiorra looked up at the ceiling. There was a large crack running from one end of the room to the other, then down one of the walls. "It's not as though your domain was in the best condition to begin with."

"What do you want?" asked Szayel, as he walked over to Ulquiorra, his arms folded over his chest. "I was about to leave for Orihime's room in a few—"

"Inoue is ill," Ulquiorra said without ceremony.

Szayel's eyes widened. Did Ulquiorra just call Orihime by her name? He shook his head. That wasn't important at the moment. "Are you sure?"

"Of course not," said Ulquiorra. He kept putting his hands in his pockets and taking them out. "I'm not the scientist here. That's your job. I only suspect she's ill because she was still sleeping when I came in, and that's…unusual."

Szayel nodded. "I'm not sure how much help I can be. As you said, I'm a scientist. If Orihime really is sick she needs a doctor. But I will do what I can."

"Do what you must to make her healthy," Ulquiorra said. "If Aizen-sama finds out she's become ill, it will be one of our heads—and I'll make certain it won't be mine." He walked out of Szayel's domain, leaving the other Espada to stare at his back until he was out of sight.

"Really, Cuatro-san?" Szayel smirked. "Then why do you seem so worried?"

Szayel searched a few rooms for different instruments that might help him figure out what was wrong. It ended up being quite a large pile, more than he could hope to carry, so he took a cart that had long been forgotten and placed the objects on the two levels.

With a push on the door Szayel rolled the cart into Orihime's room. The wheels squeaked loudly halfway in. He glanced at the sleeping form on the couch. Orihime turned so that she was facing him, but her eyes remained.

He sighed, relieved, and laid out the instruments on her table. When he was done Szayel faced her and frowned. He needed to know what symptoms she had, but he couldn't ask when Orihime was sleeping. He didn't want to wake her up either. Sleep was probably the best thing she could do, especially if she contracted a virus, which he suspected she had.

"Szayel?" Orihime asked, her voice cracking.

Szayel grabbed a chair and sat down next to her. Her eyes were open and shiny, as if she were about to cry. He removed his glove and placed a hand on her forehead.

"You're warm." He stood up and took a thermometer out of his pocket. "Too warm."

Even in her fever-induced state Orihime found herself laughing. "Do you always carry a thermometer in your pocket?"

"Well, you never know what might come about—of course not!" Szayel said, rolling his eyes. "Ulquiorra informed me of the situation. Now open."

Orihime opened her mouth, and he placed the thermometer under her tongue. They waited a minute or so until it let out a small beep.

"Thirty-seven point seven degrees," said Szayel, and turned back to the table.

Orihime forced herself into a sitting position, brushing the sleep from her eyes. "What's wrong with me? I thought there weren't any illnesses here in Hueco Mundo."

"I doubt there are any bacteria, but a virus is still a likely culprit." Szayel turned around with a needle in one hand and a long strip of rubber in the other. "There's only one way to find out."

Orihime pushed herself against the back of the couch, away from Szayel. She held her arms close to her chest. "No."

"It's a necessary evil, I'm afraid," Szayel said, holding his hand out. He waited for Orihime to give him one of her arm, but she shook her head. "Orihime, I can't be entirely certain you have a virus. If, on the off-chance I'm wrong, and you have a bacterial infection, you need antibiotics."

Orihime stared at the needle for a long time, and then at Szayel. She slowly nodded. "Fine," she said, holding out her left arm. "Do it quickly."

He rolled up her sleeve and prepared the arm. Orihime squeezed her eyes shut, her head turned away, bracing herself for the inevitable pain. Her heart was beating in her ears, a bit of sweat forming on her brow. Eventually she cracked open an eye.

"Aren't you going to get it over with? Or are you going to make me wait and suffer?"

"I'm already done," Szayel said, chuckling. He placed a cotton ball on the spot the needle had been.

Orihime looked down at her arm. A bit of tape kept the cotton in place. "It really is," she said, examining his handiwork. "I didn't even feel a thing."

"Drawing blood shouldn't hurt if the person is doing it correctly," he said, eyeing the red substance in the tube. "And now to find out what is causing you to be ill."

Szayel walked over to the table and, taking a pipette, placed a small sample of her blood onto a glass slide. Sliding it under the microscope, Szayel peered down the eyepiece. He fiddled with the focus on the side to sharpen the image. He sat hunched over in deep concentration

Orihime smiled at the scene. "Always the scientist," she said, giggling as she wrapped the blanket around herself. "But that's okay. I wouldn't have you any other way."

Szayel stiffened at her words. He couldn't be sure if that was the fever talking or just one of her usual comments. He decided not to dwell on it, focused on the instrument in front of him.

"You should get some rest."

"Szayel?" He made a small noise of affirmation. "If I can get sick here, does that mean Arrancar get sick, too?"

The Octava Espada looked up. "No. Bacteria and viruses need living hosts in order to thrive. Arrancar would be poor candidates."

"Lucky," said Orihime. "I can't help feeling envious. Being sick isn't fun at all."

"What's it like?" he asked, and returned to the blood sample in front of him. Szayel had read accounts of illnesses, but they only told of the symptoms and the path of the infection once it was in the host.

"It's hard to describe. It depends on what illness you have. Mainly you feel all weak and shaky, and sometimes you feel nauseous." Orihime paused. "Basically your body doesn't really feel like your own."

Szayel's hand slipped from the focus. Not like one's self, huh? Perhaps he was about Arrancar not becoming ill. He looked up from the eyepiece and turned to her.

"As I suspected, it's a virus." Szayel frowned. "Which means all I can do is keep you hydrated and rested. Your body will do the rest."

The moment Orihime nodded her stomach growled.

Szayel chuckled. "Do you think you can keep your food down?"

"Yeah, I think so," said Orihime, trying to not blush.

"Then we should get you something to eat."

Szayel opened the door and looked down the hall. His gaze landed on the low-level Arrancar who insisted on plastering herself to Aizen. Loli, was it?

"You!"

"What do you want, Octava Espada?" Loli demanded.

"Go tell the cook to change our guest's meal to something simple. Miso soup and rice should be good," said Szayel. Loli's eyes narrowed, her hands on her hips. "Why are you still standing here? Go!"

Shooting Szayel one last dirty look, Loli left, muttering, "Aizen-sama will be hearing about this. Just wait and see."

Szayel closed the door with a scoff. He crossed the room and sat back in the chair across from Orihime.

"What are you going to do?" she asked. "I mean, if I'm going to be sleeping for most of the time."

"I'll find something to occupy my time," Szayel said with a slight shrug. "Just worry about getting better."

The door opened, and the Arrancar cook came in with a small tray with a pitcher of water and a mug, a bowl of miso soup, and a bowl of rice. A spoon and a pair of chopsticks lay next to the bowls. He placed the tray in front of Orihime and bowed to Szayel before exiting the room.

Orihime looked at the food and sighed. "I guess it's back to boring food."

"Only until you feel better."

Orihime tried using the spoon to bring the soup to her mouth, but her hand was shaking too much. Most of the soup dripped out and back into the bowl before she could eat it. After two more unsuccessful attempts she put the spoon down and, picking up the small bowl, and sipped the soup directly from it.

Szayel poured her some water and handed her the mug. "Drink."

Orihime took the glass and chugged, sighing contently when she was finished, a bit of the water still on her upper lip. It was strange for a meal to be so quiet. Szayel thought back to his other meals with her, where she chatted with him more than actually ate the food in front of her.

"I'm done," said Orihime, looking at the bowl of rice with furrowed brows.

"I know you're tired of plain rice, but you need your strength."

Orihime still looked less than enthusiastic.

Szayel grabbed the bowl and, picking up a bit of rice with the chopsticks, joked, "I'll force the food down your throat if I have to, woman."

"Fine then, Ulquiorra," she laughed, and took the bowl from him. "I'll eat. But I can't promise I can eat it all."

"Eat at least half of it," said Szayel, smirking.

Orihime used her fingers to bring small pinches of rice to her mouth. She continued eating until the bowl was a little less than halfway empty. Szayel nodded in approval and took the tray away, placing it on the floor next to the couch.

When he returned to his seat he noticed Orihime looking at her fingers, frowning at the bit of rice grains on her fingers. A napkin hadn't been provided with her meal, so Szayel could tell she was debating whether to wipe her fingers on her clothing or the blanket. Orihime decided to do neither. She brought her fingers to her lips, licking off the grains and residue. Szayel's eyes widened at the action, but he couldn't look away as she repeated the action for every finger.

Only when she was done could he finally pull his gaze from her fingers, his mouth dry all of a sudden.

"If that's all…." Szayel couldn't finish.

Orihime lay back into the couch, pulling the covers up and around herself. She looked like she was in a cocoon. While she was getting settled Szayel walked over to the pile of games and books he had given her and took a thick book that seemed interesting.

"Szayel," called Orihime after about thirty minutes. She was staring at the ceiling, her eyes half closed. "I can't sleep."

"Closing your eyes tends to help in that endeavor."

Orihime turned to Szayel and gave him a glare worthy of a certain Cuatro Espada, although it wasn't nearly as intimidating coming from her. "That's what I've been doing since you started reading."

Szayel marked his place and headed over to the couch. "What would help you fall asleep"

"A kiss."

It was a very strange feeling: half of Szayel's brain ground to a halt, while the other half went a million kilometers a minute. But both sides were wondering where that comment had come from. Again he decided it must have been the fever.

"I'm sorry?" Szayel asked, hoping the shock from her question wasn't too clearly written on his face.

Orihime smiled and, pulling her hand out from under the covers, pointed to the center of her forehead. "I've always had trouble getting to sleep when I'm sick. There was this one time when I was little. I got really, really sick, and I couldn't sleep for days. My brother stayed up with me the whole time, cradling me in his arms. He tried everything he could think of to get me to sleep, but nothing worked. Finally he kissed my forehead and told me that it was a special kiss, one that would make me feel better in no time. Before I knew it, I was asleep. Ever since then, whenever I got sick and couldn't sleep, he would place a kiss on my forehead."

Szayel stared at her as she finished her story.

"I know it's silly, but please?"

Oirhime looked up at him, her eyes wide and shining. Szayel half-wondered if perhaps this was the power Aizen wanted from her. He could feel his resolve crumbling.

This was ridiculous, he told himself. It would never work. She would've gotten better even without her brother's kiss. It was just some silly girl's superstition. Not to mention he was under no obligation to do this for her.

On the other hand, the power of suggestion was amazing in its own right. If it did help Orihime sleep and help fight off this infection more quickly, all the better for him. And if that meant Szayel could avoid Aizen finding out about her being ill—well, he certainly wouldn't complain.

Besides, it was just an experiment. There was no involvement. No attachment. No feelings involved.

What was the worst that could happen?

He placed one hand on the back of the couch, the other leaning on the armrest. His lips brushed against her forehead. Szayel instantly regretted it and pulled away, turning before Orihime could see the blush slowly forming on his cheeks. Once he was certain his face was back to its usual color Szayel turned back around, only to find her asleep.

She lay on her side in a fetal position, her arms held close to her body. The covers had loosened around her, one corner of the blanket on the floor. Szayel picked up the edge of the cover and placed it on the couch with her and sat down. He watched Orihime's even breathing with a neutral face, resting his head on his hand.

The book he had been reading earlier was completely forgotten.

"I feel much better today!" Orihime asked, stretching her arms up as high as she could. "Are you sure you didn't have anything put in my food to help me recover faster?"

Szayel chuckled. "I assure you, I didn't. There's nothing I could have done. You had a viral infection, remember? Besides, you should still take it easy. Your body's still not at one hundred percent."

Orihime was about to respond when they heard a knock on the door. She looked at Szayel, as if to ask who it could be. The Octava Espada tensed. He knew the presence behind the door, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew to brace himself for something ominous.

The door opened, and the figure stepped in.

"A-Aizen-sama," Szayel said, quickly bowing.

Orihime looked at the Shinigami ex-captain, her hands balled up beside her.

Aizen took note of the room, particularly the foreign objects from Szayel's lab. "I hear you're feeling unwell, Orihime. I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you, Aizen-san." Orihime plastered a smile to her face and lowered her eyes. Szayel could see a bit of defiance deep within them. "You're too kind."

"I must say," replied Aizen, turning towards Szayel, "I do have to wonder how you became ill under our care. It does speak rather poorly of us as hosts. Don't you agree, Szayel?"

Szayel stiffened. He knew all too well that what Aizen said and what he meant were completely different. In this case, Szayel knew the question he was really being asked was, "What did you do that caused her to become ill?" But even he had to admit that Orihime getting sick was odd. Her immune system should have been healthy enough to fight off the infection. Unless…

Unless she decided to play in the rain for hours on end, in not exactly the warmest of conditions, thus lowering her resistance.

"Well, Szayel Aporro Granz?"

For once the Octava Espada's brain came up blank.

A sharp cough coming from Orihime garnered their attention. "Aizen-san, there's nothing you could've done to prevent me from getting sick," she said, her voice surprisingly calm and assertive.

Aizen raised an eyebrow. Szayel did the same, only because he couldn't figure out what she was doing.

"Please, Orihime," said Aizen. "Explain."

"It's sort of—for many—I mean, I get sick like this about once a month, so I've gotten used to it. It happens to most women. Well, maybe not all have to deal with this," she said, gesturing with her hands to get her point across. "There's some variation in symptoms, but you know…"

Szayel's frown deepened. Orihime's face was turning redder by the second, and he still had no idea what she was talking about. How could anyone get sick every mon—

A light bulb went off in Szayel's head, and he resisted the urge to laugh at her explanation. "Aizen-sama," he said. "I believe Orihime is trying to say she's menstruating."

In the silence that filled the room a pin dropping could be heard. Orhime's face turned an odd shade of purple, like she wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and never be found. Aizen coughed uncomfortably. The sight made Szayel's smirk widen.

"I see," said Aizen. "That is…a relief. If that's all, I'll be taking my leave." He left the room, a bit faster than necessary.

Szayel turned to Orihime, her face now a dark shade of red. Like yesterday she was giving him an Ulquiorra-like glare. But this time Szayel was certain the Cuarto Espada would've been proud of the daggers she was sending his way.

"Oh God! Every time he sees me he's going to be thinking about this. I can never be in his presence by myself," she said, pulling the blanket over her head. "I'm just going to lay under here and die, if it's all the same to you."

Szayel sat on the couch beside her, laughing. "You're the one who brought it up, in your own convoluted way. I simply clarified it for him."

Orihime pulled her head from under the covers and glared at him. "There's a difference between alluding to it and just…saying it! Besides, how can you talk about it in such a carefree way? It'd be like me talking about something that happened with guys, like—like—like—"

"Yes?" Szayel raised an eyebrow.

Orihime, realizing where the conversation was leading, covered her mouth. "Never mind."

"Why did you lie anyway?" asked Szayel. "You didn't have to."

"I know," she said, smoothing out the blanket in her lap. "But…I can't say. The way Aizen-san was looking at you seemed so accusing. And it wasn't your fault, so I just—It felt like he going to punish you, and I didn't want that to happen, so…" She stopped and shook her head. "You know, I have no idea why I did that. Let's just blame it on the fever."

Szayel didn't point out that her fever had broken hours ago. "Agreed."

"By the way, what did you do while I was out?"

Szayel pulled on a loose thread on one of his gloves. Somehow he didn't think she would appreciate his answer, that he had watched her sleep until she had woken up. "Nothing interesting. Read a couple of the books in the corner. Looked at the virus some more. You know, very boring 'scientist' things."

Orihime giggled. "Szayel, when I was feverish, I didn't say or do anything weird, did I?" she asked, her expression suddenly serious. "Because I've heard I have tend to and…I—Oh God, I did, didn't I?

He could already see the panic taking control, her body tense beside him. Orihime's chatter was going faster than should've been humanly possible, her eyebrows furrowed. Szayel knew that, in the back of her mind, she was berating and belittling herself mercilessly.

And, for some reason, that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

"No," said Szayel.

Oirhime snapped out of her daze. Relief washed over her features as she placed a hand on her chest. "You're sure?"

Szayel closed his eyes. "Yes. Nothing out of the ordinary."

When Ulquiorra returned from his mission Orihime was back to normal, though Szayel explained she should still take it easy and stay in her room. Ulquiorra was only too keen on following those instructions.

Back in his domain Szayel returned the rest of his instruments back to their proper places. He took the remaining sample of Orihime's blood and placed it in a test tube, preparing to study the virus further. He grabbed an apron, prepared for the long hours of work ahead of him.

Without warning, he sneezed.

"Huh," said Szayel, pulling up his sleeves. "Someone must be talking about me."