It's been a while. My muse simply refused to cooperate, and I've been really busy with my new house and upcoming wedding. :) Updates will be slower in the next few months, please bear with me. I promise I'll make the waits worthwhile. I also owe people replies...I will get to them, I promise. Thanks for your patience! :)
"One 'o four," Tessai announced gruffly. The man's thick eyebrows drew together in a worried frown as he regarded the thermometer in his hand.
Grimmjow's heart sank. It had been almost three hours since he nearly broke down the doctor's bedroom door to ask for help. Ichigo was burning up and was not responding except for the occasional moans and groggy murmurs that made no sense. Tessai had immediately administered a dose of intravenous Acetaminophen, yet all it did was to bring the boy's fever down two measly degrees before it shot back up again half an hour ago.
"That was my last dose," Tessai said, wiping his brow as he looked from Urahara to Juushirou to Grimmjow before finally settling his eyes on the unconscious teen on the bed.
Ichigo needed medical attention right away, that much was certain. Grimmjow's chest constricted painfully as he gripped the boy's hand in his own, the overheated skin reminding him that precious time was ticking away. There was only one option left.
"Get him into the truck," Grimmjow said, without bothering to look at the others.
He was expecting Ichigo's uncle to protest, but to his surprise, the blonde simply nodded. Within minutes, they had the barely conscious teenager bundled in the backseat. Urahara slid into the driver's seat while Grimmjow climbed in after Ichigo so that he could hold him steady during their high-speed ride. Unable to all fit into the truck, Juushirou and Tessai remained at the shop.
The ride was tense and silent; the monotonous scenery speeding by in a blur as Urahara pushed the truck to its limit. The automobile squeaked and shook as it raced towards the city, but it held together almost as if it could sense its owner's urgency.
Kisuke glanced at the rear view mirror, his knuckles white and stiff from his tight grip on the steering wheel. It had been two hours since their departure, and Ichigo's condition had shown little sign of improvement. Tessai's best guess was that the boy had somehow caught something while he was out in the rain, but whatever it was, the most important thing was that they needed to control his body temperature.
"How's he doing?" Kisuke asked.
Grimmjow met his eyes in the mirror. "I think it has gone down a bit," the man replied in a strained voice. "But I still can't get him to wake up."
Kisuke bit his lip and sat up straighter in his seat. He wished they could go faster, but he daren't push the battered old thing any harder. As it was, they would probably arrive at the hospital under two hours, which was already quite the feat.
Another quick peek at the rear view mirror showed Grimmjow wringing cold water out of the towel which they had brought along before dabbing Ichigo's forehead with it. The man's lips were pursed into a thin line, his jaw tight and stiff. Worry rolled off his body in almost visible waves. For a moment, Kisuke felt his resolve waver.
Was he doing the right thing by asking their mysterious guest to leave?
He was only doing what any concerned uncle would do, was he not? It was for Ichigo's protection after all. He had overheard them; knew that the boy was sinking deeper everyday. He had nothing against his nephew taking a lover, but this was someone they knew nothing about, except for the fact that the man was, technically, dead. Grimmjow Jaegerjaques was a mystery and spelled nothing but trouble for his young nephew.
Kisuke sighed inwardly. Who was he kidding? If he were Ichigo, he would've left with Grimmjow months ago, unable to resist the promise of an adventure. He would've followed the man in a quest to uncover his past. After all, it was that very trait of his that prompted him to go into his former profession in the first place. It would seem like a mere twenty years of retirement had turned him into the very kind of meddling old man he once swore he would never become.
Decision made, he cleared his throat. "Stay," he said.
He glanced in the mirror just in time to catch a pair of cerulean eyebrows shoot towards equally blue bangs.
"Stay, I will help you," he continued, knowing that he had Grimmjow's full attention.
There was a long pause before the other man replied. "Why now?"
"Seeing is believing," Kisuke said solemnly.
Grimmjow fell silent as if to ponder the meaning of Kisuke's answer, then, as Kisuke noted that they only had another hour left before they would enter the city, Grimmjow muttered a quiet "thank you".
"Coccidocci-what?"
Grimmjow stared at the doctor in bafflement, his exhausted mind unable to process the string of scientific jargon that the woman had just said.
"Coccidioidomycosis," the doctor repeated with a gentle smile on her lips. "Also known as Valley Fever. It's a fungal infection. The source is usually dormant when it's dry, but yesterday's rain must've triggered the release of the spores. Mr. Kurosaki is fortunate that you acted quickly."
"Is it...is it serious?" Grimmjow asked, casting a worried gaze at Ichigo's unmoving form as a nurse draped a thin blanket over the boy's legs.
The doctor shook her head. "I've prescribed Diflucan, an antifungal drug, so he should be fine. Still, just in case there might be any complications, I'd like to keep him here for monitoring, at least till the end of the day."
Grimmjow exchanged a look with Ichigo's uncle and nodded, feeling relieved beyond words that it wasn't something life-threatening. "Sure," he said to the doctor. "Thanks."
As the doctor politely steered them towards the door, the two of them stepped into the hallway, leaving Ichigo in the doctor's good hands. The hospital was bustling with activity even at this early hour, and Grimmjow suddenly felt a sense of foreboding loom over his head. The same feeling of uneasiness at the thought of being in public, in a crowded space, gnawed on him once more, just like it had at the very beginning of his stay at Urahara's home. He glanced left and right, trying to understand what was making him feel this way, but nothing looked out of place.
"Something wrong?"
Grimmjow jumped slightly and shook his head in reply. The last thing he needed was to give Urahara reason to doubt his sanity. "Just tired, that's all," he muttered as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Aren't you?"
"Now that you mention it, yes" the shopkeeper smiled. "Shall we grab some coffee, then?"
They left Urahara's cell phone number at the nurses' station and slowly made their way down to the hospital cafeteria. The ride in the elevator was awkward, to say the least. Now that his worry for Ichigo had ebbed somewhat, all Grimmjow could think of was what the shopkeeper had said to him in the truck.
I will help you.
Grimmjow resisted the urge to snort. What could a middle-aged, eccentric owner of a run-down convenience store possibly do to help him?
Ichigo came around two hours later, his temperature finally stabilizing. He seemed to be responding well to the antifungal drug, showing none of the possible side effects that might warrant an overnight stay at the hospital. As it was, the doctor announced that he was free to leave by the evening. The best part, however, was the boy's reaction to the news that Grimmjow would be staying. The sight of the wide grin on Ichigo's tired face made the nagging, ominous feeling of danger seem insignificant.
"The old fart has a lot of explaining to do," the boy muttered darkly from his hospital bed, though it was obvious that he was more relieved than angry.
Grimmjow chuckled. "That he does," he agreed as he casted a sideways glance at the older man who was pacing outside, cell phone plastered against one ear as he made lodging arrangements for the three of them.
By the time all the paperwork was done and Ichigo was finally allowed to leave, the sky had turned a gloomy grayish blue; the stormy clouds above promising more rain before the day was over. As they approached the main entrance, it was clear that the wind had already picked up, the trees lining the hospital courtyard tilting precariously to the side under its assault.
"You guys stay here," Grimmjow zipped up his jacket and gestured to the waiting hall. "I'll get the car." Giving Ichigo's hair a fond ruffle and ignoring the resulting scowl, he turned and headed for the exit.
When the glass sliding doors of the hospital main entrance slid opened, the man with the wavy brown hair lifted his hooded eyes to scan the crowd. He had done this so often in the past few months that it had become second nature. He supposed they could simply use a simple surveillance tool - and they had many - to achieve the same objective, but he much preferred the traditional way. No amount of electronic components could replace the keen eyes of one Coyote Starrk.
Nothing stood out at first as his eyes darted quickly from face to face with calculating, analytical detachment. Then, all of a sudden, he saw it. He straightened up and lowered his sunglasses discreetly, just enough for him to peer over the top of the frame.
There was no question about it. That unmistakable shade of blue could only belong to one person.
Keeping his eyes trained on the back of the blue-haired man, he fished out his phone and dialed.
Across the street, seated comfortably in a parked car, the man dressed in white smirked as he listened to the line he had tapped into.
"Sexta found, pull up."
There was no response from the other end except for a click before the call was ended abruptly. Chuckling softly to himself, the man in white turned the key in the ignition.
Grimmjow ran his fingers through the soft orange tuft of hair tucked beneath his chin, ignoring Ichigo's half-hearted command to stop because his hair was "sweaty and gross". Fat droplets of rain splashed against the window, obscuring Grimmjow's view of their dreary surroundings. The hotel they were heading to lay at the outskirts of the city; close enough to the hospital in case they needed to make another trip there, but far enough from the heart of the city to avoid the morning traffic the next day.
Urahara was at the wheel again, navigating the truck through unfamiliar roads with the aid of the GPS on his phone. To Grimmjow's chagrin, the shopkeeper hadn't stopped humming since they left the hospital, so when the man finally fell silent, Grimmjow let out a long suffering sigh of relief. He rolled his eyes at the blonde's reflection in the rear view mirror, but the uncharacteristically somber face that stared back at him made his scowl falter.
As Grimmjow lifted an eyebrow inquiringly, Urahara commented casually, "I don't suppose you recognize the car behind us?"
The question set off Grimmjow's internal alarm bells at once. Sliding lower in his seat, he turned his head slowly to take a peek. He narrowed his eyes and tried to get a better look at the driver, but all he could see was a pair of headlights and the blurry outline of a white car. The car was not close enough and the rain was simply too heavy for him to make out any details. Even so, his heart rate spiked. There could only be one explanation for the shopkeeper's question.
"Since when?" he asked.
The shopkeeper's lips tightened grimly. "I noticed it after we left the pharmacy."
"Shit," Grimmjow muttered under his breath. This couldn't possibly be a coincidence, this had to be connected to him somehow. They were in danger, he could feel it in his bones. "Turn around-"
A loud "pop" cut him off, and the next thing he knew, he was slammed bodily into the car door. He heard Ichigo yell in surprise before the boy crashed into him head-first as the car swerved to the side of the road suddenly. Urahara swore and grappled with the steering wheel to bring the car back in control.
Amidst the chaos, Grimmjow gritted his teeth against the throbbing pain in his head and turned just in time to see the driver's hand disappear through the window. He ducked down, pulling Ichigo along with him to take cover behind the car seat. "I think he just took out our tire!" he shouted.
"You don't say!" the shopkeeper hollered back. "Hold on!"
The engine revved anew as Urahara stomped on the gas pedal, finally regaining control of the vehicle. Alas, their relief was short-lived. Just as the truck shot forward as though to take off, it jerked to an abrupt stop, nearly sending its passengers barreling face-first into the car fixtures. Then, with one last sickening lurch, the engine sputtered and died. The tense silence that followed was almost too much to bear as Grimmjow stared wide-eyed at Urahara, the only sound being their labored breathing and the pouring rain outside.
They were trapped.
"What the hell is going on?" Ichigo whispered nervously, wincing as he peeled himself off of Grimmjow's body.
Grimmjow shook his head and kept his hand firmly on the boy's arm to keep him hidden from view. He knew what he had to do. There was no other choice. "Whatever you do, don't move," he hissed, his heart pounding so loud and fast in his chest that he could barely hear himself speak.
Ichigo's eyes widened in realization. "Wait-"
Grimmjow turned to Urahara. "Keep him safe," was all he said before he sucked in a deep breath and opened the door.
The first thing that greeted him was the muzzle of a pistol, aimed directly at his head. The wielder, a tall, slender man with dark brown hair, smiled down at him. Blocking the door with his body, still seated, Grimmjow studied their mysterious enemy warily. For someone who was becoming soaked in the rain, the man still managed to look oddly regal.
"Step out," the man said, his voice deep and buttery smooth. His tone was calm, almost polite, as though he was merely bidding them good morning.
Grimmjow climbed out of the car and straightened to his full height, but before he could close the door behind him, the man spoke again.
"All of you. Now. I can't promise I'll only hit the tires next time."
Without a weapon of his own and having a gun right in his face, Grimmjow had no choice but to comply. He bit back a snarl and stepped aside to let Ichigo slide out. The soft crunching of gravel told him that Urahara had also exited the truck.
"What do you want?" Grimmjow spat, narrowing his eyes at the stranger.
A look of confusion flashed across the man's face for a split second. It was brief, hardly noticeable, but Grimmjow caught it anyway. His breath hitched. He was supposed to know this man.
"Oh my." The stranger regarded Grimmjow with a look of amusement. "This is precious...you don't recognize me, do you?"
Grimmjow kept his mouth shut and his eyes focused on the gun in the man's glove-clad hand, resisting the urge to throw all caution in the wind and simply tackle the bastard to the ground, gun be damned. But he wasn't alone, he couldn't risk it. He wasn't stupid enough to think that this man would let Ichigo and Urahara walk free just like that.
The man's eerily serene smile widened. "I was wondering why you didn't come after me," he said, clicking his tongue. With a soft chuckle, the man brought his free hand to his mouth and removed his glove with his teeth, then he extended his arm towards Grimmjow, showing him the back of his hand. "Here, allow me to refresh your memory."
There, spanning across the webbing between the man's thumb and forefinger and over the knuckle, was a scar, shaped exactly like a ring of teeth.
"Remember this, Jaegerjaques?"
He was running.
Running.
Running.
There were footsteps behind him. Someone was yelling his name. He ignored them. He had to run faster, even if deep down inside, he knew it was too late. He was too slow, too far away, but he ran anyway. He had to reach him.
As soon as he rounded the corner of the street, he skidded to a halt. There were people gathered in front of his apartment building. Lots of people. Reporters, curious neighbors. He heart dropped to his feet. There were two fire trucks parked at the side of the street. Three police cars. An ambulance.
He shoved through the crowd, thrusting his badge blindly into people's faces when they turned to glare at him. The officer guarding the main entrance tried to stop him but quickly stepped aside as soon as he saw the gleaming badge.
He ran up all the way, all six floors, his breath becoming increasingly ragged as he pushed himself forward. Maybe, maybe there was a chance it wasn't true. He prayed it wasn't.
The sight that greeted him was like a physical punch right in his gut. He had seen all kinds of things in his career, but he could never be prepared for this. Nobody could ever be prepared for this.
There, one arm tied to the headboard of their bed, was Ilforte, naked save for a pair of boxers that was pooled around his smooth, pale thighs. The long blond locks that he loved so much were spread around Ilforte's head like a gruesome halo, the ends drenched in bright crimson. The slender neck, which still bore several faint marks that he'd left just one night ago, was completely covered in blood. Slit. His throat was slit, the cut so deep and long that it guaranteed death the moment it was inflicted.
The footsteps finally stopped behind him. "Shit," a voice murmured.
With a strangled sob, he fell onto his knees, his entire world crashing down all around him.
Half an hour later, he listened numbly as the medical examiner told him how Ilforte had fought back against his assailant. Despite his state of undress, he had not been violated. The medical examiner speculated that the attacker had intended to, but abandoned it when Ilforte bit him. Judging from the blood and tissue that they found on Ilforte's teeth, it was a substantial wound. Unfortunately, it was also one that led to Ilforte's death.
Or so the medical examiner said, but Grimmjow knew better. There was no chance the assailant would let Ilforte live even if he did get his way. That wasn't his style. He would want Grimmjow's suffering to be absolute. He would want to crush him, destroy him completely until there was nothing left.
Ichigo took a step back instinctively. He had never seen Grimmjow like this. The crystalline blue eyes held none of its usual hypnotizing beauty, only burning, seething fury and hatred that struck fear in Ichigo's heart. He watched, shocked and oblivious to the wet, bitter cold, as the older man balled his hands into fists and growled.
"Aizen Sousuke."
To be continued...
Now, please allow me to rant. I'm sure you've come across stories like this before: Great start, awesome plot, beautiful writing...and the writer abandons it half way. W.H.Y. I mean, I understand that writing fanfiction may be a passing hobby, or perhaps the writer got busy with real life, but PLEASE, is it so hard to warn your readers? A simple "on hiatus" or "abandoned" in the story summary would suffice. It just makes me so upset when I become immersed in a good story only to be left hanging. :(
Anyways, rant over. Thanks for listening. :)