Disclaimer: I still don't own anything.

Summary: The medicine has run its course, but with two new sickies on the East wing, Szayel has his hands full. To prevent re-infection during his recovery, Grimmjow gets transferred to the West wing with... Ulquiorra?!

Notes: I got a request for more Grimmjow POV, so here it is. Grimmjow for something like fifteen pages, not including omake. Also, I've come to the "regrettable" conclusion that I will not be able to finish this story in thirteen chapters, rendering the title meaningless. Oh well.

Quarantine

Grimmjow watched Szayel pace back and forth muttering chemical formulas to himself, and continued his mental debate on the merits of turning over so his back was turned to the scientist-turned-medic. So far, on the reasons why he should, he'd determined that he'd be able to sleep better without the distracting movement and that it might send the "go away" message more clearly than his glare currently was.

On the other hand, he'd have to summon a great deal of energy to turn over. Energy came in short bursts these days, and was something he'd found himself with a limited supply of lately. And it would defeat the purpose entirely if Szayel noticed what he was doing and decided to help him face the other way. For something like the tenth time that day Grimmjow hurled a mental curse at the shinigami responsible for this hell. The shape-shifting bitch would suffer if he ever met her again.

He sighed and tried to intensify the glare he was directing at his unwelcome company. Grimmjow wouldn't go so far as to say things were better when he wasn't aware of Szayel's presence--there'd been scads of unpleasantness to cancel out that one ray of sunshine--but now that he could think clearly and the crazed seafood had gone back to wherever it called home, he just really, really wanted to be alone.

Szayel stopped his pacing for a moment and froze, looking toward the back room. Unlike the other Espada who used their inner rooms as bedrooms, Grimmjow preferred to keep that room largely empty except for the shredded couch he liked to nap on in his released form, and the object hidden behind that couch. There was nothing back there that could have drawn Szayel's attention unless...

And there it was. Poking its head around the corner of the doorway was the littlest member of his modest collection. Why it had decided to show itself now was a mystery. Grimmjow glanced from the masked ball of fuzz to Szayel, and found his fellow Espada looking at him incredulously.

"You know, Grimmjow," he started, moving his hands to his hips, "I always suspected you kept those things in here." The disapproval in his tone was obvious, and touched with exasperation.

The combination stirred up what rebellion Grimmjow still had the energy for. "So? They aren't bothering you." He reached out and grabbed the empty pill canister from his table and weakly tossed it across the room. The little black one held back, but his two grey striped cats launched themselves from the back room to chase the canister as it bounced across the floor.

"Grimmjow, they're--"

"Entertaining, all right?" He folded his arms over his chest and smirked. "And they're good for pest control."

"They are the pests!" Szayel protested. "They're probably the reason Aizen has to send someone to come get you for meetings and hand deliver messages all the time. These damn cats eat his messenger insects."

Grimmjow let the smirk grow to a smug smile. "Like I said: entertainment and pest control. And all for the low, low price of a bowl of water in the back room behind the couch." He paused as one of the cats took a swipe at the pill canister and then darted under the bed to chase it, followed by the second one. "You should start your own herd. They're very easy to keep, and probably more intelligent than your fraccion."

Szayel's glare was all the reward he needed to keep going. There was a chance that he could irritate the Octava enough to earn a few minutes alone.

"Anyway, it's not like I go looking for them," he continued. "When I see one in the hallways I kill it just like everyone else does. I mean, unless I recognize it as one of mine," Grimmjow corrected. "Then I've got to cart the thing back here."

"Yes," Szayel nodded, still following the cats with his eyes. "Except for a skinny little white cat that ended up in the prisoner's room."

Grimmjow frowned. "Huh? No, I've got four." He counted them off on his fingers. "That scrawny black one you noticed at first, these two grey ones, and an enormous, long-haired tortoise shell that sleeps more than Stark does after a big meal."

Szayel raised an eyebrow at him. "And her white cat?"

He shrugged. "Must have come through the window."

"The barred window."

"Hey," he said with a grin, "you said it was skinny. I bet it could fit with those bars so far apart."

Szayel shook his head, and they watched the two cats scuffle with each other for a long moment, the pill canister forgotten in their mock fight.

Grimmjow yawned, thankful that he could finally breathe well enough to do that. "I'm surprised they came out, actually. They're usually smart enough to hide from visitors." He waited until Szayel turned his attention from the cats. "Maybe it's because you overstayed your welcome by three weeks. They must think you're part of the decor."

"I've only been staying here two and a half weeks, and I'm surprised you even know that word," Szayel sniped back.

"What, 'decor?'" he asked. "Why wouldn't I know the word? I'm not stupid."

Szayel reached down to gather his papers up into a loose stack. "You're not exactly polished, either."

"Fuck off."

"I plan to. I need to go tally all these results in my lab so I can begin creating the ultimate bacteria as part of my revenge." He watched the cats scamper back to the inner room at his movements and shook his head again. "Does Aizen know about them?"

Grimmjow shrugged, trying to hide his excitement at the prospect of alone time. "He hasn't done anything about it, so either he doesn't know or he doesn't care. Whichever is fine with me."

"Hm." Szayel stretched to pop his back and made his way to the door. "I'll send Stark in to keep you company while I'm gone."

Grimmjow groaned and rolled his eyes. "Joy." So much for a little privacy. The door had been closed only a minute when the glass of water on the far side of the table started looking very good and very out of his reach. If he was loud enough, he could probably get Szayel back in the room to push the water closer. Or, he could wait for Stark to come.

"Fuck that," he muttered. He was an Espada. Sick or not sick, there was no excuse for an Espada to be helpless. He narrowed his eyes at the water glass and stretched out his arm. Nothing doing. He braced himself with his other arm and dragged himself the foot or so necessary to get to the water, and swore softly as his fingertips barely brushed the side of the glass. At this rate he'd use up all his energy getting to the water and have none left for drinking it.

"Want some help?"

Grimmjow let his arm drop and fell back against his pillow. "No," he muttered, wondering how Stark had managed to get in without him even noticing. "But I want the water enough to put up with help, if you're offering."

Stark walked over and put his arms around Grimmjow's shoulders, hoisting him into a sitting position against his headboard, and then held the rim of the glass up near Grimmjow's lips. "Tell me when you're done with it."

Half a glass of water later, Grimmjow nodded and leaned his head back against the wall. "Thanks." At least with Stark he was sure to never have this come back and bite him. That was more than he could say for any of the others, except maybe Halibel and Zommari.

"No problem." Stark pulled out the chair and leaned forward on the table, his cheek cradled on one palm. "I'd say that pneumonia/medicine combo wiped you out, Grimmjow. Any energy you had left you spent flailing around, and screaming at imaginary whatsits, and shooting ceros at Aizen. It's no wonder you're tired."

It took a moment to process anything Stark said, since he was still busy reveling in the satisfaction of quenched thirst. When it did all get processed, he frowned. "Huh?"

Stark guessed what he was asking and nodded. "Szayel says you threw a fistful of cero at Aizen when he came to visit."

Grimmjow blinked. He had indeed heard that correctly. It wasn't wishful thinking or auditory hallucination. What's that human saying about charms? A third time couldn't hurt. "Stark, you're telling me that after all these years, I finally had an opportunity to cero Aizen... and I took it..." he trailed off as Stark nodded. "And I don't even get to remember doing it!?"

Stark shrugged. "Szayel managed to defuse the situation somehow. He was kind of vague about the details."

"Life is even less fair than I thought," he groaned. Never mind that Stark seemed to be withholding information. That didn't matter. What mattered was the chance offered, taken, and forgotten.

"If it helps any, you should be getting your strength back during the next few days. The medicine's fading pretty quickly."

Grimmjow shook his head. "Yeah, but it's not like I'm ever going to get a second chance at Aizen." The first chance couldn't have been anything but a fluke, after all.

"You know, I really don't see what your big problem is with him. Live and let live, I say."

He shot a level look at Stark and let his inner monologue run. "Self-righteous, hypocritical, usurpationist shinigami who have no business even setting foot in Hueco Mundo, much less lording it over the rightful inhabitants, like this shit hole isn't bad enough already, we need to have fucking orders crammed down our throats and neat little, white, themed uniforms shoved over our heads, and all the while he's got that damned smile on his face that I just want to scrape off with a fucking rusty machete--"

"You know you're saying that aloud, right?" Stark looked back at the door, as though afraid someone would overhear.

Grimmjow blinked and cut himself off mid-thought. "I hadn't noticed." He'd have to work on that brain-mouth barrier before there was another meeting. It seemed to have been corroded by the pneumonia.

Stark turned to face him again, somewhat uneasily. "So what exactly is Szayel working on?" he asked to change the subject. "I would have thought he had his hands so full taking care of you that there wasn't any time for a new project. He looked miserable enough, anyway."

"Pink? He's designing... stuff." Grimmjow watched Stark's face shift from uneasy to suspicious, and knew he'd end up explaining. He'd have rather left that to Szayel, who undoubtedly knew more about it.

"Stuff," Stark repeated flatly.

Grimmjow sighed. "Well for one, he's going to be running regular tests on any arrancar who so much as sniffles to be sure no one else develops this pneumonia shit."

"That's good to hear."

"He's also going to make his own version of it that only affects shinigami. Don't bother asking me how he's going to do that. I'm still shaky on the concept of bacteria other than that they're small."

Stark rubbed at his face with both hands and sighed. "Didn't we get orders to lay low ever since that ryouka thing? Wasn't that the whole point of the temporary truce?"

Grimmjow kept his mouth shut. There was no point in denying that, and he didn't feel like acknowledging stupid orders when he didn't have to.

"I see," Stark said, putting pieces together anyway. "He's going against orders so that he can get revenge on that captain who defeated him. I hate to say it, but that sounds more like something you would do, Grimmjow."

"Where do you think he got the idea?"

"You're a walking negative influence, you know that?"

Grimmjow shrugged, inching his way down until he was curled on his side again. "What can I say? I do my part to make this a better place."

He yawned, trying to keep his eyes open as the latest wave of exhaustion rolled over him. Who knew sitting up and talking could take so much energy? "Shit," he mumbled. "I'm half sure I'll never be able to sleep again once this is all over because I'm using up all the sleep that was allotted to me for this lifetime."

Stark laughed. "Nah. I'd have run out of sleep ages ago." There was a pause. "If you're going to be asleep, Grimmjow, you think you'll be all right alone for it? Yammi and Halibel are going to be needing the garganta opened at the park in a few minutes."

Grimmjow mustered up the energy to be confused for a moment. "I thought they were back already."

"Assignment got extended by a few days. Something about a bus stop."

"Cool. Do whatever." Grimmjow listened for the door, and let himself fully relax once it closed. It just figured he'd be too tired to appreciate it when he finally got some time alone.

"Grimmjow."

There was the sound of a cleared throat, and Grimmjow decided to ignore the intrusion by curling tighter into his blankets.

"Grimmjow, wake up. It's time for your meal."

He wanted to pretend he was still asleep, but vaguely recalled getting blankets stolen from him the last time he pulled that stunt, and the incident didn't bear repeating. He forced his eyes open, and then did a double take. "I thought I'd finished all the medicine," he said, looking up at Szayel. There were several things not right with this picture, and he almost dreaded the moment he figured it out.

"You have."

Grimmjow scrunched up his face, and mentally told the hallucination to scram. It didn't go anywhere. "I thought that meant no more hallucinations."

"It does."

He blinked twice. "Your hair isn't pink." He ran his eyes down this much shorter, paler figure and then back up to the green tears and horned mask. "Among other things."

"I'm not Szayel," Ulquiorra said tersely. "Halibel and Yammi returned from Karakura bearing influenza, and we moved you here to avoid the outbreak on the East wing." He set down a bowl of lumpy, off-white... something... and continued. "You'll be staying with me for the next two weeks."

"Huh." Knowledge of this switch was not coming to him, not even in vague snippets, and he thought he must have been completely out of it at the time or he would never have agreed to this. Grimmjow pinched his arm once, and then again, hard enough to bruise. "Well, so much for the nightmares being over."

Ulquiorra didn't respond to the jibe. "You need to eat in order to regain your strength more quickly. I've made you a bowl of bananas and applesauce over steamed rice."

Grimmjow gulped and levered himself into a sitting position against the back and arm of the couch. "There's no way I'm eating that."

Ulquiorra sat down opposite him and cleared his throat. "I will give you twenty minutes. If it isn't finished by then, I will tie you to this chair and force feed you."

It had the ring of a line he'd practiced many times, and Grimmjow wondered whether the prisoner balked at Ulquiorra's cooking the way a sane person would. "Force feed me?" he asked. "You just try it. I'll bite your fucking fingers off."

Once again, Ulquiorra seemed completely unfazed by the comment, his stoic expression not faltering for a moment. "If you were to bite me, Grimmjow," he promised softly, "I would break every tooth out of your head and have Aizen-sama rename you Gummjow."

Oh, so he's going to play like this, is he? Well this is something I've got the energy for. "Okay, first off, that fucker didn't give me my name," he returned. "And second... Damn, Ulquiorra! That was pretty good. I never would've expected that out of a butt-kissing little piss midget like yourself."

"There are now seventeen minutes remaining." Ulquiorra pushed the bowl closer to him and sat back, his expression never changing and his eyes never leaving Grimmjow's.

"Oh, come on," he said. "You can't be serious. I'm not even taking the medicine anymore, so there's no need for food. Especially food like that." Grimmjow waited for a response, and got none for a long, silent moment.

Then, "Ten minutes, Grimmjow."

He looked incredulously from the bowl to Ulquiorra and back, heard Ulquiorra clear his throat again, and tried to think of a graceful way out of this situation. A way that involved him not backing down and yet not being force-fed.

Ulquiorra shifted in his seat but remained silent as he stared.

"Fuck," he breathed. "You're serious."

"And you are down to six and a half minutes."

Grimmjow silently vowed revenge and started shoveling. His pride demanded that he steadfastly refuse to eat, but at this point, his better judgment had taken over and if his pride thought it was bad to give in, he didn't want to know what it would think of being tied up and spoon fed.

He'd thought when he first smelled this particular creation of Ulquiorra's that it bordered on disgusting, but even eating fast enough to avoid any but the barest contact between "food" and tongue didn't prevent him from coming to a different conclusion. This slop didn't border on disgusting. It crossed that border and traveled several miles inland.

The saving grace, as he tossed the bowl and spoon back onto the table, was that Ulquiorra didn't seem to be getting any enjoyment out of watching him suffer. "I am not scraping the sides. In fact, I think it'd serve you right if I threw up all over your floor."

Ulquiorra stood up and collected the bowl and spoon. "I'm pleased you enjoyed it," he said, utterly deadpan. "You might as well get whatever sleep you can."

Grimmjow watched him leave, and figured sleep would actually be a good thing, even if Ulquiorra was the one who suggested it. He'd rather dream bizarre things than have to live through them. And it might take his mind off the sloshy feeling in his stomach after what passed for a meal in Ulquiorra's mind.

The walls here were lined with books just like his own walls, only these books all seemed to have white paper dust jackets. It was the sort of anal attention to detail he'd come to expect from Ulquiorra, and it contributed to an overwhelming sense of stark white sterility in the room. There was less color here than in the prisoner's room, and all she had was that single rug on the floor.

He took a deep breath and wrapped his blanket tighter around himself, closing his eyes to the glaring whiteness in the room. If only that sterile quality extended to smells. Instead, here he was, alone, but for all intents and purposes surrounded by Ulquiorra. It was unnerving, and it was keeping him awake.

Grimmjow had only just gotten to that pleasant place between sleeping and waking when his new keeper returned, heralded by a scuff of feet on the floor and a softly cleared throat. He roused himself enough to wonder at that, but kept his eyes closed as he followed the sounds Ulquiorra made as he moved about the room.

A pause at the bookshelf there near the door, soft thumbing through pages, a scuff of a second chair being pulled out across the room from the couch, a glass of water being poured, sipped, set down, another round of throat clearing followed by another sip of water. Then a long stretch of silence broken only by turned pages and the occasional cleared throat.

If Ulquiorra was the immature type, Grimmjow would say the bastard was doing that intentionally, to keep him awake. But the littlest Espada acted for all the world more mature than the oldest one, so that couldn't be it. Whatever it was, Grimmjow was sure it wasn't anything serious. If he thought for one moment he was getting sick, Ulquiorra, being the tight-laced, law-abiding, brainwash victim he was, would have reported in to Szayel for a checkup. And there was no way Szayel would leave him here if Ulquiorra had been deemed sick.

After nearly two hours during which Grimmjow alternately pretended to be asleep and tried to fall asleep, a striped messenger hornet buzzed through the wall and alighted on the table near Ulquiorra. Grimmjow gave up both efforts and propped himself up on an elbow, his eyes on the minuscule hollow fluttering its wings while the message was delivered.

"Well?" he asked, once the thing had flown off.

Ulquiorra sighed, and placed a slip of paper in the book to mark his spot. "Get up and put your boots on. Aizen-sama has called a meeting."

"Now?" It wasn't exactly that he was comfortable here--far from it--but he got the distinct impression he'd be even less comfortable in the meeting room.

"It was not on the schedule," Ulquiorra said by way of explanation, sliding the book back onto the shelf where he'd gotten it. He cleared his throat and motioned for Grimmjow to stand. "And yes, we need to leave now if we're going to make it on time."

Grimmjow gritted his teeth and dragged himself up off the couch. At least the West wing was closer to the meeting room than his own wing. That meant less walking, which meant he'd probably be able to keep awake during whatever pointless nonsense Aizen decided to waste his time with today. He pulled on one of the vaguely familiar boots that had been sitting at the other end of the couch, and then the second. After three weeks, it was sort of odd wearing boots again.

And after three steps in the hallway, he figured out why they'd only been vaguely familiar. "What the hell did you do to my boots, Ulquiorra?"

"Excuse me?"

"They're fucking loud." Each step now echoed down the hall the way some of the better-dressed women's heels had in Karakura. Fuck. People would hear him coming from three corridors down with these things on. He stood still a moment, and heard Ulquiorra's make the same click-clack noise.

"These are the newest standard issue, Grimmjow." Ulquiorra walked on ahead of him, clicking the whole way. "I suggest you get used to them."

Grimmjow caught up, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "What was so terrible about the old standard issue?" Those boots had been worlds above the shinigami-based tabi and zori that had made up the original standard issue, and they'd been quiet, too.

Ulquiorra turned toward him a moment, an expression very nearly a smile playing over his face. "I believe it had something to do with your skills at hide and seek, Grimmjow."

"Aizen needs a new hobby if that's what he spends his time worrying about." He paused when Ulquiorra stopped walking, and turned around to look at the shorter Espada. "What?"

"We're two thirds of the way there," he replied as though the answer were obvious. "You need a rest before we continue, or you won't make it through the meeting."

Only confusion that Ulquiorra hadn't reprimanded him about his comment and the fact that he did feel like leaning against the wall kept him from denying Ulquiorra's statement about needing a rest. He might feel better than this morning, and infinitely better than a few days ago, but this was taking a lot out of him. More than he'd care to admit. He thought about sliding down the wall and just sitting for a while, but the notion that he'd have to get himself back up kept him standing.

"We have fifteen minutes to rest, Grimmjow." Ulquiorra cleared his throat and sat cross-legged against the wall beside him. "You might as well sit."

Grimmjow looked down at the top of Ulquiorra's mask for a moment, and then followed suit, hugging his knees against his chest so he could rest his head on them. "What's up with the throat?"

"Hm?"

"You keep clearing your throat. Why?" Grimmjow told himself he didn't really care, that he was just curious. And that was mostly correct, anyway.

Ulquiorra didn't answer for a moment, then shrugged, the motion looking out of place on his normally still frame. "In the park, there are drinks called soda, which tingle in the throat. I believe I simply consumed too much of this soda last night."

Grimmjow nodded, but didn't reply. They'd be getting company in the hallway soon, and judging by the length of the time between each heel click, their company would be very tall. Nnoitra was perhaps the last Espada Grimmjow wanted to see at the moment.

"And jus' what're you two doin' sittin' there like that?" Nnoitra came to a stop next to them and leered down. "I thought kitty was suppos'ta stay in bed."

Grimmjow looked up, running through a list of potential ways to get rid of Nnoitra. His list faltered when he got a good look at the taller Espada's face, specifically, at the angry red area surrounding his visible eye. "What the fuck is wrong with your eye?"

Nnoitra snarled, slamming a fist into the wall above his head. "You oughta know, prick! You fuckin' spat at me!"

"Last I checked, my spit wasn't corrosive." Grimmjow frowned. "Seriously. What happened?"

Ulquiorra cleared his throat. "He assumed that he had been infected with what he termed num--"

"Shut up!" Nnoitra interrupted him, again punching the wall. "Don't you say a word, Ulquiorra. Fuck you both!" He turned a glare on the both of them and took off down the hall, pausing to look back at them before turning the corner. "Just you wait, Jacques. I've got plans for you!" Nnoitra spun on his heel disappeared down the adjacent hallway, moving more quickly than before.

Grimmjow watched him go, confused. "Huh?"

"After you spat at him, Nnoitra spent the greater part of an hour scrubbing his eye with dish detergent and a scouring pad from the kitchen. His vision has since returned, but his ego is still sore over the matter."

"Fuck." Grimmjow held back a smile. He had a fuzzy memory of Nnoitra being in his room, talking about French. In his memory, he'd wanted to chase Nnoitra out, but he'd had no idea how effective he'd been. Sometimes, he impressed even himself.

"It is time to move on." Ulquiorra stood up and shifted his shoulders back, then reached down to haul Grimmjow to his feet by the collar of his uniform and press him against the wall.

Grimmjow blinked away the stars from the sudden movement and glowered at Ulquiorra. "Get your hands off me."

"When I am satisfied you are able to stand on your own, I will do so." Ulquiorra waited a few more seconds and then released his uniform and took a step back. "Let's go."

Grimmjow spent the rest of the trip glaring at Ulquiorra's back as they walked, slowly, down the hallway. He didn't need someone to keep him upright, for fuck's sake. He just needed for no one to jerk him upright all of a sudden. That's all. He slid into his seat and slumped back, both glad he'd made it and pissed to be there.

"I hadn't expected you to be feeling up to a meeting, Grimmjow," Aaroniero murmured from the end of the table. "Welcome back."

He grunted, almost more upset by the pleasant welcome than by the fact that he was back. He could think of no fewer than a dozen things he'd rather be doing, most of them involving pillows and a fuzzy blanket.

"Grimmjow is far from well," Szayel corrected, ignoring the look his former patient shot him. "Though I am impressed you managed to get him here, Ulquiorra."

Ulquiorra glanced down the table. "Where are the others?"

"Well," Szayel said, "Halibel is feverish like Grimmjow was, and Yammi is vomiting almost hourly. It's likely they're contagious, so they're staying in the East wing."

Stark sighed, raising his head from the table. "And I'm going to be staying with Lilinet. There's no way I'm losing even more sleep to sick hall mates."

Aaroniero shuffled a stack of papers in front of him. "Barrigan and Zommari have had to extend their assignment by several hours, and won't be returning until tomorrow morning. I've taken notes on their progress so far if I'm called on to report." He paused. "It's just as well, since this meeting wasn't mandatory like tomorrow's."

Grimmjow perked up at that. "This shit isn't mandatory ?" He stood up, bracing himself briefly with a hand on the table to keep a momentary dizzy spell at bay. "I'm outta here." He got perhaps three feet from the door when it opened and he found himself face to face with Aizen.

"Where are you going, Grimmjow?"

Remembering his conversation earlier with Stark where he'd spoken what were supposed to be mere thoughts, Grimmjow kept his mind as closed as his mouth for a moment. "Nowhere," he finally muttered. "Sir."

"Ah, then why don't we go take our seats?" Aizen breezed past him, followed by grinning Ichimaru and Tousen, who spared him a pointed scowl.

Feeling particularly defeated, Grimmjow went back to his seat, slinking as far down in it as he could while remaining technically seated. It would be his goal today to say absolutely nothing, and to forget that recurring nightmare about hands that alternately held him down and petted his hair.

"It has come to my attention," Aizen began, "that we now have two Espada on the East wing down with what is likely influenza. Given the highly contagious nature of this illness, all current residents in the East wing will now be under a quarantine."

"Except for me, right?" Stark sat forward, looking somewhat worried. "I'm free to go, aren't I?"

Aizen let his gaze fall on Stark. "You opened the garganta for them, correct?" He continued at Stark's nod. "That's a long span of time in relatively close contact. Szayel will have to monitor you for infection before I'll lift the quarantine for you."

Nnoitra surreptitiously covered his mouth and leaned to his left, as far away from Stark as he could get without leaving his seat entirely. "And the rest of us?" he asked nervously. "I mean, you got Grimmjow stayin' with Ulquiorra now, an' he was sick, too."

Ulquiorra cleared his throat before responding. "Actually, Nnoitra, Grimmjow hasn't been contagious for quite some time. He's perfectly safe, in terms of illness."

Grimmjow looked around the table, trying to distract himself from the comment burning a hole through his tongue. Aaroniero looked a little tenser than usual, and Szayel exuded resignation about the matter. Nnoitra's reaction was almost humorous enough to keep his attention, but...

Aizen's nod dragged his attention to the left. "I would suggest staying in your rooms whenever possible until the quarantine is fully lifted."

"So what you're saying," Grimmjow began, appalled at his tongue's betrayal but unable to stop, "is that you dragged us all together for a meeting in an enclosed space just so you could tell us all not to get anywhere near each other."

"In a manner of speaking, Grimmjow," Aizen murmured, "you might say that. I find announcements are paid more attention when made officially like this. Thank you for bringing up that point."

Grimmjow lost track of what Aizen said after that, and had to remind himself to close his mouth and not stare at the man. Thank you? Really? That didn't make much sense. Grimmjow sat up straighter, still trying to figure out what it was that happened there.

"I'll be making a precursory tour of the fraccion and numeros tomorrow as well," Aizen continued, "in order to determine how extensive a quarantine will be needed. None of you are to contact your fraccion until I have cleared them."

"Hold up," Grimmjow said. "You think the others may be sick and so you're calling a quarantine for us, but then you're going to fucking wander the hallways yourself?" He scrunched up his face in confusion. "How does that make any sense?"

Aizen waved to his side, and Tousen took a step back and removed his hand from his hilt. "Thank you, Grimmjow. I appreciate your concern for my well-being. I assure you, however, that I will be fine."

"My... wait, what?" Grimmjow wondered briefly if they were speaking the same language anymore.

"If there's nothing else?" Aizen asked the room. They all returned blank looks that mirrored some of Grimmjow's confusion. "Well then, you're dismissed."

Nnoitra darted out of the room almost before Aizen was finished speaking, and Grimmjow shot to his feet a heartbeat later, but found himself pulled back down by Aizen's hand on his arm. He felt his eyes widen and he leaned back as Aizen leaned forward.

"You sat through the entire meeting without being overly disruptive, and you expressed concern for others as well." Aizen smiled warmly at him, an expression that sent chills down Grimmjow's back. "Your phrasing could be improved, but I am, on the whole, very pleased. Thank you for the good work." Aizen gave his arm a pat and then got up and swept out of the room, leaving behind a room-wide frozen silence.

It took Grimmjow a moment to find his voice again as he stared at the door Aizen had gone through. "What the fuck was that?" he finally managed, turning to look at the other remaining Espada, who were all equally stunned.

"I wonder how much they would bill me for each hour of therapy," Szayel murmured to himself, staring down at his gloved hands. "Even if it's ridiculously expensive, it might be worthwhile."

OMAKE:

Aizen led his stolen captains from the meeting room, hardly sparing a thought to his path as he flipped to the back of his dog-eared parenting book. He carefully made a notation on the provided chart, taking down the date and time of the experiment, the words said, the actions taken, and the results he anticipated.

"Tha's your book on strong-willed kids, right?" Gin asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Mhm," Aizen confirmed, his attention still on the last of his notes. This and the other book agreed that punishment did nothing to avert bad behavior, and that reasoning rarely accomplished anything. Instead, both strongly advocated praise for behaviors that should be continued, and a clear set of boundaries. He closed the book sharply.

Well, he'd always been nothing if not clear about the boundaries, and while he doubted the benefits of praise, he had to admit that it seemed to have been working with Ulquiorra from the beginning. Of course, that one had never had any behavior problems to be corrected. It was good that those two were sharing a room for the time being. Perhaps Ulquiorra's continual presence would have some positive effect on Grimmjow.

Aizen opened the book again and made an additional note in the back. It would be helpful to see whether this unanticipated assistance sped things along.