The Hollow and The Halcyon

Chapter 12: Catharsis


A/N: Sorry for such a long wait. Hopefully this long-ass chapter will make up for it. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach the anime or the manga.


Waves of fatigue swept over him as he painstakingly, step-by-agonizing step, carried himself to his floor in the gargantuan apartment complex. Seeing as there was no one in his immediate vicinity, he allowed a faint yawn to escape his parted lips. Such an action would have been unsightly if dawned on his flawless features, but it couldn't be helped. He had heard several unamusing jokes about the dreadful graveyard shift, yet Szayel Aporro Granz had never exhausted himself to the point of near collapse in his laboratory.

The last thing he could have possibly envisioned through his superior frame of mind was finding himself both mentally and physically enfeebled in the labs of his enemies: the Soul Reapers. Especially that wretched Captain of Squad Twelve. He could barely utter that madman's name without feeling sickness sprout like poison from within him.

He reached the Espada's not so humble abode, ethereally quiet for once in the tranquil night, with the aim of retiring to his room for much needed and much desired rest; that sentiment was shattered as the door was opened before his fingers grazed the cold doorknob.

Behind the white door that Szayel had crafted so elegantly with his own penchant for floral design, was the self-proclaimed Espada King himself. Despite his languor, Szayel managed a dry grin up at the elderly Arrancar.

"Good evening. Shouldn't you be resting, Grandfather dear?"

Baraggan grunted harshly before moving aside to let Szayel slip through the doorway to enter Casa Espada's masterfully adorned living room.

"I'm assuming the rest have been confined to their rooms?" Szayel asked, maintaining artificial cordiality.

"Yes." The eldest Espada answered gruffly, as he settled in his throne-like lazy chair. "There are leftovers from dinner in the refrigerator. Before you make a snide remark, Yammy's cooking was actually bearable."

"Hmm..." Szayel mused, but ultimately dismissed the notion.

"While that sounds like an adventure, I'd rather save myself any gastrointestinal trauma, and call it a night like everyone else." He concluded, turning on his heel.

"Not before you report to me." Baraggan said sternly.

Oozing with dissatisfaction, Szayel pivoted back to face his glaring elder.

"Always so demanding." He lamented, with one of his signature sighs.

"What news do you have?" The King asked remorselessly.

Szayel recalled his visit to the Soul Society Research Division with an unpromising grimace gracing his delicate features.

"The usual story. They refuse to provide me with actual access to the experimental procedures, and the data they've presented seems intentionally vague." He explained while adjusting his glasses.

"Does it seem like they're making a valid effort for our zanpakuto?" Baraggan asked.

"In a sense." Szayel answered dimly. "Currently, they are modifying the sword release of a recently captured Arrancar subject, though the results haven't been very fruitful. They won't allow me to assess the cause of the data, nor will they allow me to be in close contact with the subject."

The elder Arrancar allowed a single sigh to escape his frowning lips.

"The paranoid bastards."

Szayel adjusted his glasses in agreement. The true experimentation in the laboratories was kept hidden from him. Sad to say that the Soul Society's security was exceptionally high caliber, and difficult to surreptitiously breach without shedding the blood of their watchmen. Even if Szayel managed to sneak his way to that Captain's main office where all the documents were held, that created lieutenant of his was always so dutifully on gaurd. At any moment Szayel's attention settled on the document storge, her vapid gaze accosted him and gave more than enough incentive to turn away.

"It's been a while since I've had actual access to lab equipment and supplies, so I have no way to conduct my own independent research." Szayel reluctantly admitted. "It had actually been one of my past plans to compare the zanpakutos granted to us by the Hogyoku, to those of the Soul Reapers."

"There's no way for you to take a Reaper's shikai to analyze without being condemned for theft." Baraggan said quietly, scratching his square jaw in contemplation. "Or worse, for suspicion of a retaliation."

"They wouldn't hesitate to make a rash judgment..." Szayel murmured, holding the defined tip of his sharp chin. "Even though the they're guilty of that exact crime themselves. Taking our zanpakutos for their research."

His voice trailed off as memories from the dark laboratory flashed before their lusterless gazes. Time could not vanquish the permanent trauma left behind by the Soul Society's torment. Even if the scars, bruises, and injuries healed, the haunting thoughts and sensations they had evoked crept upon their skin like the icy breath of a vengeful ghost. Every Espada still quivered in remembrance of the lab cages, the collars, the brutal experiments, and those horrible wrist bands still locked above their trembling hands like prison shackles.

After a brief silence, the glimmer of penitence in Baraggan's stubborn eyes dried into a desert of ash.

"It seems like a scientific law." He grumbled. "The Arrancarification creates the Soul Reaper and Hollow hybrid with Reaper-like powers, but our pseudo zanpakuto have no capability of purifying hollows. Once the Hogyoku's work has been done, it's irreversible."

"Or so we think." Szayel corrected. "Without further experimentation, we cannot know the full extent of that little orb's power. Not like Aizen did. I believe that's what they fear the most. If we did unlock the potential of the Hogyoku, it would be further guarded from our clutches."

"Just another matter they're wary to share with us." Baraggan growled, roughly clenching his fist. "But there's no one else to rely on for research on this issue."

"I haven't had any luck trying to contact Kisuke Urahara for his explanation of the zanpakuto mechanics or the Hogyoku." Szayel furrowed his brows in frustration.

"What role does he play in this research study?" Baraggan inquired gruffly.

"He's at the heart of it all." Szayel said with a grim smile. "The mad doctor responsible for our current condition with his revolutionary invention: the Hogyoku. Well, after our dear Lord Aizen's failed attempt."

"And how has he partaken in the experiment?"

"His involvement in the matter is apparently a sensitive one, but his knowledge of the Hollowfication and Arrancarification is more vast than any scientist in the research department. Although, Squad Twelve's Captain is determined to pull through with his own discoveries about the little device."

"His standings towards us may follow a similar route with those Reapers, but he too has a strained relationship with them." Baraggan added. "Due to his involvement with the Vizards."

"Indeed, but it seems they don't trust us to have any contact with him alone." Szayel said, flipping back a few smooth strands of pink hair. "Their guards have accompanied me everytime to his shop on every occasion, even when I went with Grimmjow to have his gigai fixed."

Likewise to their capture, the memory of their Sexta Espada's plight with the Reapers not long ago, was still fresh. The damage to his body was severe, more so than any one had thought, but unsurprising given everyone's desperate attempts to subdue the raging Espada. Nnoitra's and Neliel's recent punishment from the black soul bands was another grim reminder not to disobey orders. However carefree he had made himself seem to be this afternoon, even Szayel felt a pang of panic constrict him when his two comrades unintentionally killed their targets, and suffered their punishment.

"Any information on these soul bands?" Baraggan asked in a way that seemed to seek no answer.

Szayel shook his head in accordance with Baraggan's seemingly hopeless sentiment.

"There's no way to remove them without confronting Urahara, and I'm sure he's banned from giving any information to us. I have learned that the wristbands don't deliver high voltage shocks, but rather inject a small dosage of poison into the bloodstream. The poison was specially created by the Captain of Squad Twelve. According to him, there is no immunity vaccine or a cure for the effects, except for time to flush it out of the system. Extremely large doses can be fatal."

"The lethal shock." Baraggan whispered in a voice quieter than death.

Szayel nodded slowly. "No cure, but that's only backed by mere words. I have yet to study the substance myself."

If only I could get a sample of that poison. The only way would be to extract a dosage from an activated soul band, but that would risk another injection into an Espada. None of them would be willing to oblige...

Szayel twirled thin strands of hair around his index finger. The serpentine orientation of pink around his finger brought his eyes to the arrantly black slip of fabric encircling his thin wrist.

The symbol of his imprisonment.

Through some unexplainable perspective, it nearly humored him that the Soul Reapers went to such desperate lengths to ensure subordination from the Espada. While the hatred it created within him festered with the lethal malignancy of a virus, the whole situation was absurdly ironic.

How had the endless road of time for the Espada come to a junction where the deathless and heartless warriors had fallen from their position of dominance, to be put under submission by their spiritually inverted enemies?

The divinely magnanimous Soul Reapers were painted in the image of saviors for the lost souls of the dead. Caring, compassionate, and chivalrous to guide the decadent soul to salvation... or damning, draconian, and depriving to punish the unholy creature fostered under the dark hand of sin. Their blessed shikai were claimed to be purifying; capable of no wrongdoing lest the master be corrupt and unfit to wield it.

The Soul Reapers claimed sainthood...

What entices a saint to destroy? To deprive? To dismay? To degrade? To deprave? To devastate?

What was the need for such torturous treatment?

Was it out of fear of another unavoidable battle?

Was it out of the need to establish authority?

Was it out of the desire to exude dominance?

Was it out of a shamefully seductive sadism to exact violent vengeance upon the captured enemy?

So many questions he couldn't help but ponder over. After all, he was a scientist; it was in his nature to seek clarity and truth to explain abstruse phenomenon.

He was also a warrior; it was his desire to understand the truth of the humiliation inflicted upon him and his comrades, and to claim retribution for their honor.

To be lethally tazed into submission was treatment suited for taming animals. The thought inspired spiteful discontent in the pit of Szayel's being, but there was nothing he, nor any of his fellow Espada could do about the black bands permanently attached to their gigais. These damn devices branded them like worthless beasts, debased them to nothing but test subjects, and threatened them with swift death each out of turn 'crime' they committed against their enemy's standards.

Ah...but it was as humorous as it was hateful.

It was so ironic in his case that Szayel wanted to laugh. This was what had become of the great scientist of Hueco Mundo? The doctor so engulfed in his own madness and his own narcissism, and so heartless as to devalue any life for the purpose of his intellectual gain...

...was now the tortured lab rat?

He forgot how cruel irony was, but he loved how its exquisite madness could fracture the breakable minds of humans and even hollows. The way insanity ferociously clutched the fragile health of mind made it more powerful than any weapon, disease, or spell. Sentient beings had nothing to fear more than the debasement of their minds. From the lightless confines of the conscious, subconscious, and unconscious, one could all to easily plummet into the smiling crevice of psychopathy.

The utter discord of this conflict infuriated him as much as it filled him with a deranged euphoria that he wished to unleash with cackles of maddened glee to ring out in the dead night...

...but he settled for a dark smirk instead.

"And that's that, dear Grandfather." Szayel concluded, adjusting the thin frame of his glasses. "Satisfied?"

Baraggan said nothing, but his glare had not wavered.

"Get some sleep, sire." Szayel drawled, placing a hand on the back of his neck. "A King needs his rest, too."

With that, Baraggan lifted himself from his chair, but made no move towards his room.

"A King cannot rest while his subjects are threatened."

Szayel lifted his golden eyes to find steadfast resolution in the ashen ones across from him. He had seen such an ardent light in the Segunda Espada's glare any time he defended his title, but the miniscule light in those dead eyes seemed too far reaching to shine for only one person.

"I'll be excused from patrol tomorrow on account of a meeting that has been scheduled between me and the Head Captain." The elder Espada informed.

"Oh?" Szayel inquired with a raised brow. "For the usual list of grievances?"

Baraggan shook his head. "I've been assessing our balanced sides for quite some time, but I've decided to take a further step in this conflict, by evaluating their leader's take on the issue. If they think they can place a psychological trap on my comrades, then I will enfeeble their leader with his own dread."

"How callous. And all for the sake of your underlings? I didn't expect you to be such a benevolent ruler." Szayel mused with a dry grin. "Although, that kind of corrupt chivalry may backfire on you."

"Don't mistake my resolve for kindness." Baraggan warned. "As a ruler, it is my prerogative to ensure the survival of my comrades, as well as it is to make the other side know our power."

The grin disappeared as Szayel listened more intently to the Segunda's words.

"The Soul Reapers have the upper hand in the event of a battle, but they won't allow such a scenario to be reached." He said with enough impudence to make his words seem like law. "They fear a future without us."

Those scarred eyes went darker than the night beyond them.

"It is in a ruler's justified right to spread fear. I plan to find out just what exactly agonizes Head Captain Yamamoto, and use that fear to our advantage."

"You sound so sure of yourself." Szayel said with intrigue pulling the corners of his lips into a smooth smile. "How can you be sure that the Head Captain fears anything?"

"Humans, Soul Reapers, Hollows, Demons, or Ghosts." He said darkly. "No one is safe from fear. It cannot be escaped in life, in time, or in death."

Szayel never took the liberty to peer into the darkness of Hueco Mundo's self-proclaimed King, and now he could see why. The old hollow wore a countenance more formidable than the mask of death itself. The frigid air was fatalistic around the spectral old man, but Szayel could barely contain his demented elation at the severity of the Segunda's expression.

With a resolve as unwavering as his, there was bound to be enthralling discord.

"Don't overestimate yourself, old man." He lilted warningly, successfully eclipsing any excitement in his voice. "An aged horse won't get back up once it's fallen down."

A thrilling shudder passed through him when those gruesome eyes, sharp enough to draw glittering lines of crimson blood down his body, gravitated over to him.

"A horse may fall, but the king will rise against all."


Moonlight washed through the thin white fabric of her curtains, cutting through the thick blanket of darkness that enveloped her small room. Orihime sat curled up on her soft bed, with her body tangled in a mess of sheets and school papers that she had been working on, and her attention drawn to the magnetic pull of the full moon. It's pale luminescence brought a lustrous sheen to her diamond eyes, similar to the grinning crescent of Hueco Mundo that guarded her from above her chamber in Las Noches.

From the deepest parts of her mind, beneath the cold bedrock of unwanted and unappreciated memories, images seen, sounds heard, feelings felt, and words spoken were seeping out into the active conscious of her everyday bubbly mentality. Twice today in school, she had been called out on for daydreaming. The worried looks that Tatsuki had been sending her made her feel guilty, but she couldn't ponder over that guilt.

Her bedeviled thoughts simply would not let her.

Why was she so engrossed with memories of that traumatic experience? From the melancholic scenery to the utter dread and terror she had felt throughout her stay, there wasn't much to look happily back on. Such a horrible time should be repressed within the mind as a defensive mechanism.

Restless, Orihime slid her legs off of her bed to sit upright, and brought her eyes to the wall just aside her. Like the cadaverous visage of the pale moon glaring down at her, the wall was a colorless blank slate. She smoothed the messy soft sheets on her bed before she tentatively stood to face the wall. Beyond it's solid foundation, were the unrushed, controlled, pulsating waves of a familiar spiritual pressure. From the slow and sound cadence of the spiritual waves, she could tell the person to whom this spiritual pressure belonged to was asleep.

If only she could follow suit.


"When you get home tonight, get some sleep."

Even if he had decided not to heed her words, it would have been physcially impossible to stay conscious any longer after the patrol.

Hollows were roaming all around him, swarming the city in an untamed, discordant mass. Their chalky masks reflected the warm light of the sunset, bringing a ghostly glare to their grisly features. So many gleaming faces surrounded him in the fading crimson light, that it was hard to keep track of them; even harder to do so with his restricted capabilities at the moment.

He was breathing heavily, clutching a nearly dislocated shoulder, and unable to tell whether the dampness running down his pale face was perspiration or blood. He was overwhelmed; exhausted; alert; and absolutely teetering on the adrenalizing verge of collapse or exhilaration. He felt everything at this moment; everything was moving; everything was active with vivacity in him.

Every animal knew this feeling. It was difficult to remain so calm in the face of utter danger, knowing that everything was against you, and that you had nothing to save yourself but your own limited power.

Difficult...but the rush of life for that brief fraction of time was unmatched by any other feeling.

Fifty-three seconds.

In fifty-three chaotically accelerated seconds, Murciélago's blade glistened with the dark blood of thirty-five fallen hollows, Menos, and whatever else lay broken and bleeding at Ulquiorra's feet. Without the assistance of his power, it was all so physical: running, dodging, jumping, slashing, and all else...

Countless Reapers dropped down to finish off his fallen adversaries, some too shellshocked to comprehend what had just happened.

He brought his numb fingers to the sweaty and blood drenched bangs at his forehead, breathing laboriously as he held his throbbing head. He forgot how exhausting it all was, but also so empowering. Behind the unbreakable mask of indifference, a separate dimension of him was inebriated by his own bloodlust.

It was a guilty pleasure that he would never admit to.

The rushing blood in his veins eventually calmed down to its normal, steady flow, just as the rest of his body and mind reconnected to the easy pace of a danger-free reality. Like steam arising from after an eruption, the high dissipated; evaporated; faded like the slit of titian light at the darkening horizon.

His adrenaline rush was shot, making his body far too heavy to carry. Walking over to the closest solid wall, Ulquiorra fell against the rigid bricks and slid down to the floor. Patrol was over, at the very least. Just as his regular calm settled over him, Ulquiorra's eye caught light of the pendant glinting in the remaining ruby red light. Instinct coaxed him to rip the damn thing off, but he knew better than to perform an act of disobedience in the wake of the glaring Reaper unit.

Before he closed his eyes, he could vaguely feel his comrades alerted rieatsus, and hear their rushed footsteps approach him in a hurry. Within seconds, a set of nimble arms latched around him, tight enough to snap a bone.

"You can't fight so hard with that necklace on, dummy! Don't worry me like that!"

"You're crushing me, Nel..."

He heard controlled footsteps approach behind her.

"Can you walk?" Starrk asked softly, as he crouched down to meet his exhausted brother's lusterless green eyes. As Ulquiorra nodded, an oddly quiet Yammy also stepped forward to peer down at him.

"Any injuries?"

He was about to shake his head, but a sharp pain interrupted him from his side. Nel released her strong hold to stare down at him worriedly. With a slight grimace painted on his expressionless face, he clutched his shoulder...

...and popped it back in place.

Every battle-hardened, unapprehensive Espada winced.

Ulquiorra's eyes fluttered open as the memory faded back into the dark space of his mind. The warmth that flooded into his body upon reconnecting to reality reminded him that he was outside, perched on the glossy black hood of his car, tiredly waiting for Starrk to get ready for their morning ride to Karakura High.

As loud as the symphonic storm of sound from drums, basses, and guitars rang in his ears, his thoughts and memories were easily reached without obstruction. He brought his fingers to the thin black wire connected to his cell phone and tugged the headphones out of his ears. The riotous melody ironically served more as a narcotic rather than a stimulant. It put him at peace, and gave him the incentive to freely ruminate about whatever came to mind. It wasn't often that he could so easily escape a world that demanded his constant alert attention, but this music composed by human musical groups was perfectly distracting.

As he stretched out his arm, he nearly winced at the aching in his muscles, still sore from being overtaxed without his rieatsu to manage his stamina. The pain hadn't been so daunting last night, but that could be attributed to the fighter's high he had experienced. How long had it been since he felt this physically afflicted?

Inevitably, his eyes dropped down to the silver necklace latched onto the chalky skin of his exposed collarbone, darkly framed by the black jacket collar that hung loosely around his neck. It certainly wasn't as hazardous as the shocks from the dark soul bands, but the seal on the ghostly pendant had proven to be quite a hindrance in his daily routine. It wasn't that he was any less adept at working or fighting, but there was far less energy for him to expend.

Essentially, he just had to work a bit harder.

Generally, his ability to succeed through even the most harrowing of tasks was effortless. It wasn't often that he had to truly push himself to complete a job.

One might find his handicap to be burdensome, but after years of being able to achieve everything so easily, a little struggle wasn't unwelcome. Being able to succeed with his own physical and mental capability gave Ulquiorra an odd sense of triumph. The exhaustion was grueling, but he wasn't opposed to the challenge that the Soul Reapers placed on him.

This desire to prosper and succeed...what is it exaclty? Competitiveness? No. Work ethic? Maybe...? A need for dominance? That sounds barbaric...

He still wasn't quite as adept as others at labeling the new sensations pooling just beyond the locked doors of this new...'heart' of his (he wasn't all that comfortable with the term either). His inability to perceive his own turmoils made Ulquiorra wonder just how little he knew about himself. Each day, he found distinctive characteristics about himself that he had never paid mind to before.

Was he always so pensive?

Did he always play with his hair when he was thinking?

Did he always crack his knuckles when he felt troubled?

Had he always been so stubborn?

Had he always been so caffeine dependent?

Had he always liked the color gray?

He hadn't ever given any consideration to what he was like as a person. Hollows didn't tend to think much about their inner being; there wasn't much there to begin with. Yet, as he experienced more with this 'heart', it seemed as though there was more to himself that he, not even Murciélago, knew of.

It felt like he was finding himself in a new light after being hidden in darkness.

Ulquiorra leaned a bit further back on the hood of his car, slipping out his cell phone to find that Starrk had a max of ten minutes to rush down to the parking lot. Sighing again, Ulquiorra quelled his impatience by listening to a few more songs. Just as the thrash metal brought his mind to his rush on the battlefield, the smoother melody of what he assumed was a bittersweet love song by a different band, created fleeting images of his auburn-haired neighbor.

She was probably already on her way to school, merrily enjoying every moment of her life with that ever persistent smile, radiating warmth for anyone who came her way. Even for a cold hollow.

As the gentle hymn of the guitar streamed within Ulquiorra's mind, everything about her was brought to mind.

How was it so easy for her to face life with such a happy mask painted on, when she no doubt had suffered through drawbacks in her short life? It seemed effortless for humans to forget pain and keep moving along with the light of time.

That must not be the case for the dead.

There was no moving on from the sufferings faced in life and after it as well.

Were hollows fixated in a realm of nothingness?

Was that why there was nothing to save them from pain?

Was that why there was no reason for them to get to know themselves?

Ulquiorra found himself nodding along, not only to the rhythm of the melody, but also to his own deep inquiry. After all, any attempt to escape the melancholy would have been futile and ultimately pointless. There was no where to keep moving...

That all changed when a gentle light led him astray; guided him out of the cold world he had been in for so long; embraced him in a new world where, for once, he felt as though he was moving towards something.

Was she his light?

The chorus of the singer's soft ballad was interrupted by the guttural purr of an engine. A blur of black flashed in the corner of his eye, to which Ulquiorra turned and found a black motorcycle and it's blue-haired rider present in the parking lot. Grimmjow slid up his dark sunglasses to meet Ulquiorra's torpid gaze.

"Nice scar." He grinned wickedly.

Instinctively, Ulquiorra brought pale fingers up to the mark just beneath his eye, inflicted by a rampaging Adjuchas. It wasn't particularly eye-catching, but it couldn't be completely hidden by the shortened locks of his dark hair.

"That little thing's really doin' a number on you, huh?" He inquired with mock-concern flicking his eyes to the silver necklace. Ulquiorra wished he had worn something more conservative than just a thin gray and black tank top that Nel had bought him, but he couldn't be bothered to pointlessly defy his sister's pleas (especially since she's been in a bad mood since yesterday).

"Not particularly."

"Whatever. You and Starrk didn't take off yet?" He asked casually, mounting himself off of his glossy bike.

Ulquiorra shook his head while wrapping the headphones around his slim device and settling it in his pockets.

"He's just running a bit late."

"You two will be running for real if you don't make it out soon." Grimmjow informed with a callous smirk, adjusting the dark lens of the shades to settle atop his head. "Traffic's killer today."

His words echoed those of another redheaded human who had been on Ulquiorra's mind. Before he could make it to the concrete staircase to reach the first floor, Ulquiorra called out to him.

"Hold it. We have to discuss your parole."

An abrupt stop. Tensed shoulders. What he could have imagined was an annoyed eye roll. Grimmjow tilted his head back to meet his serious emerald eyes. The words that escaped his scowling lips were more infuriating than any profanity he could have barked out.

"I don't know what business it is of yours."

Despite the collected demeanor he kept, Ulquiorra could feel his fists clench tightly in his pockets.

"Any affair pertaining to the Espada is of my concern." He said coolly.

"Cause you're such a responsible little diplomat, aren't ya?" He sneered mockingly.

"It's come under my attention that you've been abandoning your partner out in the city." Ulquiorra continued, unfazed. "Is that true?"

The watery blue glare hardened into ice.

"How do you know that?"

"Answer my question."

"Answer mine."

Ulquiorra didn't remember when his feet had planted themselves on the hard concrete just in the wake of his glaring comrade. Both men were now upfront with each other in a not quite brotherly manner. Grimmjow's blazing eyes narrowed at him in contemptuous suspicion.

"Am I being spied on now?" He asked bitterly. Ulquiorra didn't blink.

"I've spoken with Kurosaki over the matter. It's your turn to testify." He replied with a politician's glare.

"So I'm on trial now?" Grimmjow arched a strictly angled brow. "And you actually spoke with that brat? He can't take my shit, so he bitches to you about it like you're some kind of fucking mediator?"

"If anything isn't right with the patrol, then he has the right to express his complaint." Ulquiorra answered. "And he isn't wrong. The rules are clear: you have to cooperate with him for it to be an actual partnership. That entails being within his vicinity."

"That's great." Grimmjow ran a hand through the ruffled strands of his electric blue hair, using the other to remove the dark shades from their spot. "Just fucking great. That spiky haired brat tattles to you just so you can take care of his problem. I hate that kind of cowardice."

"According to him, you're never around to for him to be upfront about the issue." Ulquiorra said in an all-business tone. "Why are you avoiding him?"

"Isn't it obvious, genius?" Grimmjow furrowed his brows in annoyance. "I can't stand that bastard, so I steer clear of him. The fuck does it matter so long as we get our job done? That's all the Soul Society wants."

Ulquiorra shut his eyes for a brief moment to take a calm breath. When they slid open again, he was prepared for Grimmjow's impatient glower.

"If you're attempting to avoid more conflict with him, then your way of handling the situation isn't very judicious." He stated factually. "The Soul Society expects joint cooperation to make sure fights like last time won't happen again. At least make it appear as though you're trying to get along."

"Are you actually buying that garbage they're tryin' to shove down our throats?" Grimmjow inquired with a severe scowl. "Cooperation? With a Soul Reaper? What a load of-"

"The point is," Ulquiorra interrupted. "You need to work with him regardless of whether or not you find the idea of collaboration unrealistic."

"So I have to play their little bullshit game to make it seem like they taught me a lesson?" He snapped. "You're asking me to kiss their asses just to give them the satisfaction of winning?"

"You can accept this alternative, or you return to house arrest and..."

His voice trailed off upon feeling the harshness of his words. He didn't need to finish that sentence for Grimmjow to place a protective hand over Pantera's gleaming hilt. Ulquiorra followed his line of vision, but pretended to not notice the slight shiver of that hand. Tense silence followed not long after Grimmjow let out a frustrated sigh.

"I'm assuming this form of punishment is...preferable." Ulquiorra followed up with a borderline soft voice. When his eyes traveled up to his face, he saw that Grimmjow couldn't keep his eyes off of his sword. They stayed glued to the blue hilt, as if at any fleeting moment it would be ripped from his desperately tight grasp. Something alien was surging in those sapphire eyes, but it was closed off by a layer of black eyelashes.

"More so than yours." He returned sullenly, not even bothering to drop a hint of malice in his voice.

Gentle gusts of wind ran through his inky black hair, bringing the black waves up to melt in with the oceanic sky. The vacuous azure space fearlessly, fiercely, and freely extended so far and high above the world, like a king transcending above the lowest ranks to reach the precipice of power in the world. It invaded every inch of the world, unafraid to darken and bring tempest to reign unforgivingly on its enemy.

"Why are you avoiding him?" Ulquiorra repeated more intently.

Why wasn't that blazing turbulence right where it should be? Reflected in the sky blue eyes now closed off from him.

"He pisses me off." He droned almost robotically. "You've seen what happens when I get pissed off."

Ulquiorra slid his eyes to the unsuited despondency in that rough voice he knew so well. Grimmjow's eyes were open again, but still stuck on Pantera.

What was that look in his eye?

Why couldn't Ulquiorra find out what it was?

If he was opened to so many new things now, why couldn't he place this one expression for the sake of his comrade?

It was so unbefitting of his brother to look such a way, that it made Ulquiorra...

Upset? Anxious? Angry? Helpless? Hurt?

How could he figure out what was going on with Grimmjow if he had no idea what was inside of him?

What did that expression mean?

Why did it mean so much?

Why did not knowing make Ulquiorra feel so blind?

Why did his thoughts keep desperately reverting back to...to Orihime...whenever he was so consumed by his own turmoil, as if he wanted her to save him?

"It almost sounds as if you're worried about him."

His own words to the worried teen Reaper were echoing back to him in his head for an unknown reason.

Ulquiorra's hands tightened again in his pockets, though not out of vexation this time. "If there is anything troubling you on the patrol-"

"Troubling me?"

There was that roughly choleric voice. Ulquiorra looked up expectantly, bargaining for the impetuous azure to be glowering mercilessly down at him.

But no. It was only a mildly irritated glare.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" He demanded.

Good question. Ulquiorra kept his expression dauntless, but something faltered within him.

"You've been behaving differently-"

"Oh, not this shit again." Grimmjow scowled in disgust, and turned on his heel.

"We're not done talking." Ulquiorra said more sharply than he had intended, watching his retreating form with a still glare.

"What's there to talk about?" Grimmjow yelled as he pivoted back to face him. "You already gave your damn warning. What the fuck else do you have to say?"

Ulquiorra parted his lips, but found that no words would come forth. What was he supposed to say now? He had done what he needed to do, but it felt as though this moment was incomplete without something else that needed to be confronted.

"What about my behavior?" Grimmjow challenged, stalking forward menacingly. "Go on. Tell me. Did that Soul Reaper brat cry to you about that, too? Or are you using some 'wise' and 'all-seeing' intuition, like Baraggan?"

"This has nothing to do with either of them." Ulquiorra intoned gravely, finding that the both of them were in each other's faces again.

"Oh, but you're all the fucking same." Grimmjow glared down at him. "Watching me like hawks, bitching about everything I do, saying stuff about me like you know everything. If you do, then enlighten me. Tell me everything you think you know about what's going on with me."

All of his words were like knives stabbing remorselessly into him, but more so than anger, Ulquiorra felt...

He didn't know what he felt.

"What is going on with you?"

His voice was more sincere than it had ever been when talking with his cantankerous brother. Ulquiorra looked into his eyes in hopes of finding some answer, but all that he could see was stubborn fury.

He didn't have time to look deeper before the scuffing sound of footsteps against concrete was accompanied by Starrk's leisurely spiritual pressure. As the Primera reached the parking lot, his foggy blue eyes absorbed the tension between his two brothers. His lips parted as if he would say something, but Grimmjow brushed past him with out so much as a glance or any gesture of acknowledgement. The scene closed with what sounded like wood splintering and concrete cracking from the heavy impact of a slammed door.

"Sorry I was late." He muttered as he approached Ulquiorra. "Took a little more energy than I thought to...subdue Nnoitra and Nel."

Ulquiorra gave him an inquisitive look at the choice of words, but ultimately abandoned the thought and headed to the driver's seat of his car. As he started the ignition, he met Starrk's rapt gaze reflected in the illuminated windshield.

"Is he alright?"

The engine answered with a low purr, creating the only noise in the unerringly silent car. Ulquiorra shifted his eyes over to his own colorless expression, mimicked in the glass panes with a ghostly translucency. His green eyes were like the countless lost leaves swaying aimlessly in the air, drifting farther and farther away from the life-giving mother tree until lost in the stormy blue world of the sky.

Lost and unable to do anything to stop the storm.

His internal trepidation immediately enticed his mind to think of his smiling emotional sage for clarity, but she probably wouldn't understand their plight.

Would she?

Would she be able to see what he couldn't with that radiant light of hers?

"Ulquiorra?"

He snapped out of his momentary daze to meet Starrk's rainy eyes, brimming with concern.

"Are you alright?"

He was left to answer the question with a noncommittal shrug. Just as he set the gears to drive, he took out his headphones, and cranked up the volume.


"Wow..."

Her eyes traced over each line, each curve, each shade, and whatever else embodied the lovely vision before her. Never before had she seen such a captivating array of shades of black, white, and a hauntingly familiar green that she had become accustomed to over the last few weeks. Throughout the day, the month, and all her life, she had seen a variety of entrancing art pieces, but the one cradled delicately in her arms emanated such feeling; so much that Tatsuki could only breath another...

"Wow..." She repeated in the same wonderstruck daze. Orihime was to her side underneath the tall tree just outside the back of the school. Despite her valiant efforts to hide it, her anxiety was evident like the shadows of leaves splayed on her strained, smiling face.

"I'm guessing that means it's at least presentable." She said with a sheepish laugh.

"What do you mean presentable?" Tatsuki inquired with a dark brow lifted. "Isn't that the point of art? To show others?"

The smile faltered around the corners as Orihime began distractedly fidgeting with her fingers in her lap.

"Not if it's really personal. You're the only one I've shown this to..." She mumbled in a tiny and bashful voice.

"Orihime..." She said, looking at her friend in amazement. "This is really beautiful."

Despite the flush of red that bloomed like roses on her friend's cheeks, an appreciative smile graced her lips.

"Thank you." She whispered, drawing her finger delicately over the grainy texture of the colored paper. "I don't think I've ever put so much effort into one piece."

"That explains why it's so well-made." Tatsuki openly admired the gorgeous orientation splashed onto this very, very lucky piece of paper. "Not bad, Princess. Looks like you really found a great muse."

The blush deepened, but Orihime's head nodded slowly.

Tatsuki thumbed through the numerous other decorated pages of Orihime's sketchbook, but none were as breathtaking as the last one among the sheets of paper. As an artist, Tatsuki always stressed the notion that a singular piece's beauty was not achieved through tireless efforts to create an aesthetically pleasing image, but by giving each detail it's own meaning. Each streak, each shape, each line, each shade, each tint, and each dimension should speak a word, until all components strung together to create a message for an individual to interpret through his or her own perspective.

Without knowing the story behind her inspiration, the message of Orihime's drawing was incomplete, broken, and nearly indecipherable to the naked eye. To Tatsuki, there was a myriad of words being spoken to her.

Freedom.

Escape.

Light.

Salvation.

The only way she could fully discover the meaning this piece is if she understood the influence of it's muse.

"This is him." Tatsuki stated as a fact more so than a question. For the sake of protecting their friends and themselves from the gossip current of this school, Orihime and Tatsuki had a strict pronoun ambiguity rule to prevent their conversations from being successfully encroached upon.

That and 'he' was an uncomfortably touchy issue at hand.

Orihime nodded numbly again, not even bothering to deny the claim in a flustered panic; such would be pointless with Tatsuki. She twirled her hair absent-mindedly, but the deep gray of her eyes was more reflective than before.

"Well, to be honest, I was thinking about all of the Esp...my neighbors before I started it..." She ran a hand through her smooth hair, and gave an awkward smile. "I suppose he just happened to be on my mind more so than the others."

The childish meekness of Tatsuki's innocent friend seemed to waver back and forth with the struggle of a woman to face an imposing truth. Tatsuki silently closed the sketchbook and laid it gently against the wooden trunk of the tree, before she too leaned against the strong frame of bark behind her.

"Man." She said with her arms crossed. "I didn't think..."

"What is it?" Orihime asked innocently, trying to mask her slight worry with a bright smile.

Her words faded like sounds heard from under water. Tatsuki's mind was filled with nothing but contemplation of the muse for her friend's lovely artwork.

Running back to their first meeting, Tatsuki hadn't registered the aloof hollow as anyone or anything except the bastard that stole her best friend away from the world of the living. She could speak of him and directly to him more easily now than she ever would have been able to before, but she always felt a subtle apprehension around him. Even now, as he showed a more relaxed face than before as a teacher aid, Tatsuki could always feel the gnawing hostility within ready to unleash itself whenever he was around, no matter how controlled the environment was. She couldn't help it; she had always been so protective of her Orihime when it came to boys (or girls in Chizuru's case), but Tatsuki had never really considered any one of them a true threat.

The way those emerald eyes watched over her friend wasn't like any other lecherous male; his older, more mature gaze searched for something deeper; something that Tatsuki found to be too precious for Orihime to share with anyone.

"Tatsuki?" Orihime waved a small hand in front of her friend's glazed cocoa brown eyes. "Wh-what were you saying?"

Tatsuki let out a little sigh and sad smile. "I didn't think you had feelings this strong. You're always so airheaded, so it's easy to forget that you can be deep, too."

"O-oh. Awww, thanks." She smiled again, fighting to obscure the anxiety flooding her from where this conversation may inevitably lead to. If she was desperate enough to try such ineffective tactics with her best friend, then the matter must be too heavy for her to talk about.

Tatsuki shifted her eyes to the trees, grass and shrubs.

The verdant scenery around them brought no vision to her eyes except that of the pale, cold, dark-haired Espada himself. His presence was like that of the shadows pulsating around them. Darkness was always attracted to light. The dark always gravitated towards the magnetic glimmer of light until it's cold, invasive shadows imprinted upon the untainted luminescence.

"You know," Orihime mumbled, childishly tracing her thumb along the edge of her parted lips. "Once I started that drawing, I couldn't stop. You were right about letting all my feelings out, but now that they're drawn for everyone to see, it's way too embarrassing to even look at. I don't think I can have sensei grade this one-"

"Forget about sensei."

She turned her head, eyes wide at the abruptly ardent pitch in Tatsuki's husky voice. Tatsuki could feel her body tense, her fists clench, and her eyes burn the same way they always did when she steeled herself for a fight.

This time, she needed to prepare herself for something she couldn't hope to match with her fists. So she took a calming breath.

"This is about him. Be honest with me," She whispered gently. "How do you two really feel about each other."

"I..." Orihime blushed again, holding her hands up to shield the fragile space above her heart.

"You can tell me anything." Tatsuki assured, taking her friend's trembling hand. "I'm not a part of the thing with the the Soul Society. You've been keeping everything bottled in. This," She held up the sketchbook without having to flip open to the discriminating evidence on the last page. "Is proof of those restrained feelings."

Orihime's lips pursed delicately, while the hands on her heart clenched in an oppositely rough manner.

"Tatsuki..." She sighed tiredly. "It's really confusing."

"Because you haven't been talking with anyone about it." Tatsuki insisted. "It's not good to hold in all of these feelings to yourself."

"I know..." Orihime said without looking into Tatsuki's eyes. She held onto her knees tightly as if they were a security post, keeping her grounded and safe. "Believe me, I've been trying to figure everything out by myself for a while now. It's just so complicated."

She offered a demure smile towards her worried friend.

"I'm so self-centered." She laughed sadly to herself. "You and everyone else are here worrying about me, and I've been uselessly thinking about myself. I even wasted your time for lunch yesterday, Tatsuki."

"I already told you I was cool with that." Tatsuki rolled her eyes. "Besides, you're anything but self-centered."

A small breeze blew by to lift the coppery strands of hair to the shiny crystalline in her eyes. Tatsuki sighed dramatically.

"You're such a weird girl."

"Huh?" Orihime tilted her head cluelessly. "Weird...?"

"Yes." Tatsuki crossed her arms. "Honestly, for someone always willing to help others, you never do yourself justice."

"What? But I help myself with lots of things." She insisted, bringing her fingers up to count out a list. "Cooking, cleaning, studying, grocery shopping..."

"I'm not talking about self-sufficiency." Tatsuki corrected. "What I mean is, you're so ready to ignore your own problems for the sake of others. Like, you care about everyone but yourself. You never say what's troubling you, and you always try to keep a strong face."

At some point during Tatsuki's speech, she reached out to poke the blushing cheekbones just beneath the thick wing of black eyelashes hiding Orihime's eyes.

"You cried to me so many times after you came home." She reminded her, trying to brace herself against the bittersweet memories of her friend returning to her home in the human world.

Slightly shivering, Orihime nodded.

"Yeah..." She whispered. "You cried, too."

"Yes, and even though we said we would edit that part out of the story," Tatsuki arched a warning brow. "Just know that I can still see those tears crystal clear. Back then, I thought those feelings would be buried away with your neighbors, but now they're both back...right?"

Orihime nodded again, wiping away at the threat of tears reforming in her eyes, still freshly haunted from being exposed to the hidden vulgarity of the world around her since her stay at Las Noches.

"So..." Tatsuki continued gently. "Stop pretending like none of it is bothering you. How does it make you feel?"

Orihime took a shaky breath, returning to the safety of holding her knees tight against her chest, trying to protect the frail heart underneath it.

"It's so complicated..." She repeated weakly. "I should be scared, right? Or relieved? That's what everyone said back in the labs...relieved that they can't hurt me anymore...or happy that now they're gonna 'get what they deserve'..."

Tatsuki listened intently to her friend's shaky words.

"I wasn't happy to see them in the labs like that. In fact, that made me feel so terrible. Even now, when my neighbors look so miserable with their new move here, I feel horrible, but..."

"But what?" Tatsuki prodded gingerly.

A traitor tear escaped the watery gray.

"I feel happy that they're all alive." She said in a muffled voice. "It feels so wrong, especially since they are all unhappy, but it just makes me so relieved to know they're not cold and alone, or just completely gone. It's silly, but...I want them to feel happy here."

She wiped away the tear and tried for a small smile.

The way she always did.

"I wasn't close to everyone next door; I hadn't even properly met a few of them. But...seeing them in locked up like that wasn't right...I just wish the Soul Society wasn't being so harsh about everything. Rukia says she and others want peace, but there's so much hostility between the two groups. I really want things to work out, I really do..."

"That's getting off topic." Tatsuki informed her. "We're not talking about their problems. I wanna know what's happening with you."

"Mm-hm." Orihime nodded, seemingly having calmed herself down a bit. "I told you before, I just want their struggle to be over. That's what started the whole feel for this drawing."

"And?"

Orihime bit her lip nervously. Tatsuki scooted a bit closer to her friend, joining against only her against all other students roaming the outskirts of campus at lunchtime.

"This drawing is way too focused on one symbol, and we both know who it is." Tatsuki insisted, bringing her voice down to a barely audible whisper. "You know, 'the Arrancar that kidnapped you'? Your 'Captor'? 'Jailer'? 'Pale-faced bastard'?"

"I never called him that." Orihime said, hiding a smile behind her arm.

"Sorry, that was one Ichigo and I kept to ourselves for a while." Tatsuki shrugged. "Anyway, whenever we used to talk afterwards about the Winter War, you'd always get all quiet whenever he was mentioned. I wanted to ask you, but you were always so withdrawn about it."

"Sorry about that." Orihime smiled sheepishly. "It was a sensitive topic at the time."

"That was then." Tatsuki said softly. "Ignoring the memories won't work like last time. You can't just run away. Talk to me. I'm here."

She surprised Tatsuki by slightly straightening up, and taking a deep breath. The gray of her eyes embraced the warm brown of Tatsuki's.

"I think," She began hesitantly. "It was because I saw him so often that I started to really depend on him...he was the only one there. I spent so much time with him. Or, maybe it just felt like a long time. I felt like I was there for years instead of days..."

"Orihime..." Tatsuki whispered warily, but her friend continued on, seemingly reliving her past experience.

"He was just supposed to watch over me. Make sure I was safe and eating and all." She carried on quietly. "At first I thought he was scary, but sometimes when he would fill me in on news, I would try to talk to him longer because I was more scared of being alone. It was like talking to a machine and not a person. Like, everything he did was so robotic and unfeeling. Even when I showed him any kind of emotion, good or bad, he wouldn't react. He was unresponsive, and so different from any other person I had ever met, and it scared me, but..."

A faint wind blew her hair around like waves of sunlight under the shade of the trees.

"I wanted to reach out to him. He frightened me, made me sad, made me angry, but he was always there, so I got used to his presence. It was comforting...well, when he wasn't being so cold." She added softly. "I'll admit there were times when he really was too harsh and unsympathetic. It wasn't like he was trying to be cruel, he was just so brutally honest...he was just following orders...he didn't believe in anything but the tasks that he was given. He had no purpose but to be a warrior. He didn't know anything about feelings, bonds, or anything like that. There was nothing in him..."

Tatsuki's eyes widened at the tears spilling out from her friend's eyes. They shimmered from the light that broke through the shadows. Their shine was telescopic, like the glint of a star cut deep into the darkness of night.

"It broke my heart to see someone like that..." She panted through deep breaths. Tatsuki immediately pressed to her side and held her shaking form. "It scared me to see someone so inhuman...I wanted to leave, I wanted to be back with everyone here, and I wanted Ichigo and everyone to save me, I wanted Sora..."

Tatsuki could feel herself shiver as the warmth from her friend's body seeped away into the air, leaving nothing but the frosty grip of pain.

"I wanted to get away from him, but...I wanted to help him, too." Orihime mumbled through the tears. "When he was about to disappear, he reached out to me, as if he finally understood what I was trying to tell him. At the time, I thought it was a signal for help: one that I was too late to reach back to help him for. That guilt ate at me for so long; for not being able to do anything for him. I felt so useless. I wanted to make him feel something, even though every part of me knew that it wouldn't happen. But when I saw his eyes just before, he left...I swear, they were just like Sora's when he broke free."

Orihime's recount of the story with her late brother always made something twinge inside of Tatsuki. A few girls who walked by from other lunch places shot looks of worry at Orihime, but Tatsuki shook her head at them, signaling that the problem was personal, and so very emotional.

"I know it's not right, but even if he is having a hard time here, I'm just comforted by the fact that he's alive. Seeing him live and struggle in the human world makes it seem like he can have a second chance at life..." She sniffed, drawing a few rolling tears off of her cheeks. "He's not so cold anymore. He accepts my gestures now, and sometimes returns them, too. He's still reserved, but he's so much more open. I know that means something..." She whispered so quietly that Tatsuki nearly didn't hear.

But she heard everything. From the sound of her crying to the heart-wrenching confession of an attachment to a man that she had every right to despise, and should have hated, but had no capability to do so. No one could have possibly known the depth of Orihime's feelings for the hollow man, but now Tatsuki did. She held that shaky understanding of such intense feelings; so intense that she felt her legs cutting out from underneath her, even though she was sitting, and still holding her shaking friend. Orihime took deep breaths to calm herself before taking a weak, breathless laugh.

"Sorry, your shoulder's all wet. People keep staring at us." She said regretfully.

"Don't pay attention to them." Tatsuki held her tighter. "And don't apologize for anything."

There was heartbreakingly cheerless laugh again.

"You sound just like Ulquiorra."

"Mm..." Tatsuki nodded slowly, patting her back comfortingly. "You broke the rule."

"Sorry. Thank you, Tatsuki..." Orihime mumbled into her shoulder.

Tatsuki said nothing, but held her even tighter, trying adamantly to use the notorious strength she had to squeeze the pain and tears out of her crying best friend.

The way she always did.

"Don't mention it, Princess."


"Welcome, King of Hueco Mundo."

The firm greeting held little cordiality, no matter how many times it echoed in the boundless court of the Soul Society. Likewise, Head Captain Yamamoto had no traceable expression dawned on that aged countenance, but he was foolishly unguarded.

Perhaps as a gesture of peace? Bah.

Such formality was meaningless, but Baraggan gruffly returned the gesture out of etiquette.

"To what do I owe this meeting?" The Head Soul Reaper inquired tonelessly.

"You accept visitors without any idea as to their intentions?" Baraggan grunted harshly.

There remained those ghostly, inanimate features.

"I was only informed that my presence was directly requested by the Espada King." He spoke swiftly. "I see no reason to oppose a visit from a comrade."

The word rolled off of his gruffly even voice with such sickening ease that it incensed Baraggan each time it reverberated off of the edges of the room.

"I wouldn't expect an ally to be received so coldly by the nation as a whole." Baraggan said sternly.

The aged Reaper closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing the light to capture the sunken features of his deathly appearance.

"Please forgive the Soul Reapers on account of their unkindness." He requested with what could be deemed sincerity. "I see that a good number of us still have yet to be accustomed to the presence of the Espada."

The black soul band glared menacingly under the holy light of the room, but only Baraggan witnessed the the wicked sheen. The Head Captain revealed piercing scarlet beneath pale eyelids.

"May I assume that the reason you're here is to discuss the tension between our sides?"

"That is correct." Baraggan returned. "I've spoken directly with the Captains beneath you, Commander. All justification for their reasoning leads back to you. I would like to confront the cause of prejudice towards the Espada."

"Prejudice, you say?"

"Yes." Came the harsh answer through clenched teeth. "I refuse to allow such depravity to be imposed upon myself and my comrades. I will not stand for our continued humiliation, Commander. Otherwise, you'll find that this 'alliance' will be terminated, as will thousands of your subjects at the mercy of the Menos, without the protection of the Espada."

Unwavering steel gray clashed against bloody scarlet. While heated anger coursed through the Hollow King, the Captain-Commander of the Soul Society remained unerringly unperturbed.

"I will ask you to refrain from referring to my comrades as subjects, King." He spoke eloquently. "I'm not very fond of tyranny."

"A tyrant's rite of passage includes manipulation of the gentry." Baraggan said coldly. "Just as well as enslavement of the captured."

The glimmering scarlet sharpened like a drawn blade.

"What a strong convictions." He said smoothly. "You must have so much that you wish to adress. Perhaps a cup of tea would be suited to last for a long meeting?"

"That won't be necessary."

For one so quick to anger, Head Captain Yamamoto was infuriatingly unaffected as the deep red rieatsu swarmed like fire around the Espada King. From the center of his outstretched hand, black matter materialized from the air, morphing until sculpted into the shape of the dark, double-headed axe, Arrogante. The slitted ruby pendant at the center of the round black blades glimmered like the raging crimson encircling the king. Gripping the golden hilt of his zanpakuto, the Hollow King drew Arrogante in the direction of the indomitable Head Soul Reaper.

"I've always believed that actions speak louder than words." Baraggan droned without reserve, letting the light of his ashen eyes match the inviting gleam of his barbaric weapon. "So let's have a little spar while we're at it, Commander."

The blazing blood red rieatsu was nearly unreflected in the deep sangria of the Head Captain's aged eyes. Baraggan's fiery spiritual pressure was unmatched.

Until the eldest Reaper drew his sword from the wooden sheath of a staff. Immediately, Ryujin Jakka's sea of flames mercilessly cascaded forth from the wooden sheath, nearly flooding the court of peace.

"As you wish, King."


Tell me everything you think you know about what's going on with me."

Just as he expected, Grimmjow's words were replaying in his mind relentlessly. Even after a whole day of errands (considerably intensified without any superhuman capability to make the tasks any easier) with restocking library books and gym equipment, grading papers, and now carrying a heavy crate of mail at his side for delivery, Ulquiorra still couldn't escape the memory of his brother's sudden change of temperament.

The more he thought back to Grimmjow's docility, the more Ulquiorra likened the situation to that of a feral animal being ruthlessly tortured into helplessness. The thought alone of any of the Espada being lowered to the status of animals didn't sit well with him. After escaping the confines of bestiality through their evolution, none of the Espada would stand for being treated as anything lower than a rational creature. The zanpakuto of the Espada was doorway to their new evolutionized condition.

Did losing Pantera make Grimmjow lose a part of himself?

Ulquiorra smoothed out the noticeable indentation that his fingers created on the classroom door's steel handle (even with the necklace on). Judging from his sharp mannerisms, such as shoving the papers through teacher's mail boxes with more force than necessary, and the way frightened looking passers-by in the halls were repelled by his presence...

...he must have seemed pretty pissed.

That thought flitted away as he felt tender little palms touch the side of his cheek. He gave a sideways look to the toddler cradled in the crook of his other arm. Likewise, the little boy stared up at Ulquiorra with childlike wonderment in his large eyes, framed by fine locks of hair nearly as dark as his own. Despite the hostile aura probably still emanating from Ulquiorra, the child only reached up to brush his eyelashes, as if making sure they were real. Slowly, Ulquiorra felt his tension subside.

Babysitting wasn't in the job description for a class aid, but that didn't stop one of the frantic history teachers from practically begging Ulquiorra to watch his infant son until he was let out from a faculty meeting. He only obliged to end the pitiful scene the man was putting on, but this was one task he certainly wasn't accustomed to. Thankfully, the child was quiet and remarkably composed for his age, albeit a bit too exploratory. Just now, his dainty fingers were reaching to touch the silver pendant against Ulquiorra's collarbone, but were blocked by larger, paler fingers.

"That's enough." He said, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Small whimpers of discontent escaped the child's pouting lips. For whatever reason, the reaction prompted Ulquiorra to adjust the child lower in his arms to play with the three buttons at the collar of his tank top instead. Seemingly satisfied, the little boy busied himself with probing the gray fabric of his shirt.

Ulquiorra nearly sighed. Annoyingly dependent as kids were, he couldn't find it in him to be harsh with the child in his arms, especially when he was being so blissfully patient. Essentially, all humans were fragile to him, but infants were so helpless it was nearly scary. Still, it was odd how such an innocent creature made him feel calmer. Children radiated life; so weak and so delicately balanced on the pinnacle of life and death and of purity and corruption, that they're souls were beacons to ravenous hollows.

Though his appetite wasn't as great as other hollows, Ulquiorra was perplexed by how his survival was no longer dependant on souls.

Was it because there was no hole?

Like the boy in his arms, Ulquiorra's fingertips reached to the base of his neck. To this day, they still twitched at the sensation of something...there. Something with a calm, comforting, and confusing beat. Before the trepidation could flood his being, the child looked daringly up into eyes again, tilting his small head in curiosity. Upon eye contact, Ulquiorra was soothed. He settled the crate of mail down to floor to level the little one's eyes with his own.

Something about this child's pure and curious gaze made him slightly more aware of the soft beating in his chest. The lost look mirrored his own internal disorientation. The infancy of the new feelings he experienced was somewhat reminiscent of a newborn experiencing every aspect of life. Such a fragile little thing was sensitive to everything it was exposed to; it was always learning, always changing, and always growing. Such was the essence of life that every human had.

Oddly, this boy relaxed and perplexed him in the same way that she did. He couldn't believe he was saying this, but it was probably because of the eyes.

Of all children with variant eye colors to be handed to him in Japan, this kid had to have stunningly gray ones. Glittering crystalline blinked up at him innocently, before his tiny fingers reached out to knot in the inky black of his hair.

The sigh finally escaped him.

You even act like her. Cluelessly innocent, no concept of personal space, too emotional, always pleading with those pretty eyes...kind of...

Cute? Murciélago offered innocently.

I wasn't thinking of that. Ulquiorra replied defensively.

You are now, though. He mused, evoking the image of a smirk pulling at his pale lips. His mute hollow, rather dormant now because of the soul pendant, was laying somewhere in the cimmerian nebula of his inner world.

Only because of your pestering.

Ah, my bad. The dark creature ruffled his wings as his dark claws reached behind his head in a carefree manner. I need something to entertain myself while being holed up in here.

How are you handling the restriction? Ulquiorra asked carefully.

It's no serious ailment to me, though I'll admit, I was worried if this handicap would put you in danger on the battlefield. Thankfully, it appears your skills are sharp as ever. He noted, relieved and impressed.

I can't afford to get lazy. Well, at least you aren't inhibited.

Even if I were, I doubt you would mind the challenge that would come with it. Murciélago hummed, crossing his legs insouciantly. To quell your curiosity, you actually do enjoy a degree of conflict. Internal and external.

So then you're also aware of these new...qualities of mine?

They're not new by any means. They've simply been...kept in storage.

From when? Ulquiorra asked curiously.

Murciélago let out a few growls of contemplation.

It's far more complex than our instinctual basis from our hunting period in Hueco Mundo. I theorize that they may be a conglomeration of characteristics from other souls. As for your preference for self-inflicted sufferings...that may just be masochism.

I'm not having this conversation.

Amused, guttural purring hummed from that charming, fanged smile.

Then I'll spare you the trouble (You're more of the dominant type, anyway). Jokes aside, there are a few surprising traits that I await for you to discover on your own. It wouldn't be very exciting if I were to tell you myself, so these lips are sealed.

Ulquiorra shrugged the matter off. Yet again, the boy's large eyes settled on the pendant, while his fingers reached out to grasp the gleaming chain. Feeling oddly obliging, Ulquiorra allowed him closer access to the necklace.

A purr of interest escaped Murciélago's pale lips.

Perceptive child. Even with this restriction seal, he can sense our spiritual pressure.

He must have a keener sense than other humans.

Murciélago hummed in agreement.

Human children tend to be more sensitive to aspects of the spiritual world. He can vaguely feel our power, but has no concept of its gravity.

He's only a child.

Indeed. But as you thought before, their delicate balance between the living and spiritual realm is what gives them such heightened perception. It's also what makes them so alluring to hollows...

Porcelain fangs glinted out of that dark, playful smile.

Oh, relax would you? Do you think I have no self control?

I refuse to be castigated on the charges of satisfying my hungry hollow. Ulquiorra warned.

I can't help it. Murciélago's ebony wings ruffled in another harmless shrug. Innocence attracts me. It's not often we find such purity in our filthy world.

Just as the boy's astonishingly resplendent eyes peeked our from underneath his thin eyelashes, a lustrous emerald gaze was reflected in their clear diamond surface. Was it Ulquiorra's or Murciélago's or both of theirs, the child would never truly know. That sad ghost of a smile appeared on his hollow's face. His glittering green eyes were closed off by dark lashes just as rested his head against the invisible limits of his darkened inner world.

You don't have anything to worry about. The winged being assured, running a dark claw through the black spikes of his hair. You're right. My appetite really has...faded away.

Despite having no voice to express any emotion, the words of his hollow were grimly despondent. Ulquiorra could feel his pulse become sedated as Murciélago's rarely soft purrs tried to assure him that he was alright. Something about the steady beat wasn't so comforting anymore, but rather...dejecting.

He would have said something else, but a husky voice interrupted.

"What's up with the kid?"

He turned calmly to find a familiar head of long dark hair and intense dark eyes.

"You didn't strike me as the caretaker type." Tatsuki crossed her arms and leaned casually against the wall.

Ulquiorra stared her down with an undisturbed expression, but felt an unexpected twinge of trouble. She arched a dark brow to top her awaiting expression.

Ulquiorra blinked calmly, settling the toddler in his arm again. "Not until now, I suppose."

"The teachers here really are demanding of you." She said with what was probably supposed to be sympathy. "Bet it's way more than you bargained for."

The way the words carelessly rolled off of her tongue made it seem like she was trying to elicit some sort of reaction from Ulquiorra. Why couldn't humans ever be upfront about personal matters?

"If you're simply pointlessly roaming the halls, it would be wise to return to class before the period ends." He informed dispassionately, taking note of the way her small fists tightened. Interesting how she knew how to control her anger, but never hesitated to make it evident. All of that discontent seemed to be directed at him. He had been near this girl's best friend longer than she probably would have minded; yet, he had only ever directly spoken with her once, and very curtly at that. From the not quite friendly expression on her face, he could tell she wasn't just stopping by for a quick chat.

"Actually," She said evenly, pushing herself off the wall to stand up straight. "I was planning to see you sometime after school, but now seems like the moment of truth. That and I'm not opposed to cutting art class."

Still unshaken, Ulquiorra only allowed his still gaze to slightly narrow in an inquisitive look.

"What business do you have with me?"

"Take a guess, Senpai." She offered in a deathly quiet voice. "Or do you prefer 'Espada'?"

The child tilted his head up to stare up at Ulquiorra's eyes, now finally glaring the way Tatsuki had intended them to. Though it appeared to annoy her, girl held her hand up peacefully.

"In case you weren't aware, I know about all of the otherworldly stuff my friends are involved in." She explained carefully and quietly, despite the halls being empty. "I know about the Winter War, too. So quit it with the dirty look; the kid will pick that up."

Ulquiorra found himself echoing Grimmjow's words.

"I don't know what business it is of yours."

...just as Tatsuki seemed to mirror Ulquiorra's earlier aggravation at them. Despite the tense set of her jaw, she closed her eyes for a short moment. When she opened them again, dusky eyes glared out from beneath thick eyelashes.

"Anything involving my best friend is of my concern." She said solemnly. "And I want to talk to you about her."

Ulquiorra tensed again. "Does she know you're here?"

"Not unless she has a tracking device on me." Tatsuki shrugged uncaringly.

Bold for a human. He thought, subtly sizing her up. When his gaze reached hers again, Ulquiorra bent down to retrieve the crate of mail.

"I have no interest in talking about people behind their backs." He muttered, turning on his heel. Just before he could reach the end of the hall, she sidestepped to appear in front of him. Her glare matched his for a tense moment before she sighed and held her arms out.

"Hand him to me." She said in a surprisingly soft voice.

Ulquiorra flicked his eyes to the confused toddler, before hesitantly slipping him into Tatsuki's awaiting arms. He whimpered fretfully, turning a tearful look back to his dark-haired supervisor, but was soothed as soon as Tatsuki traced her fingers gently in his own dark locks.

"You didn't strike me as the caretaker type." Ulquiorra threw her own words back at her as he set the crate on his shoulder.

"I work part-time at a dojo full of a bunch of kids hitting each other." She explained, holding the little boy with both arms. "What do you think?"

"I think you should find employment elsewhere." He replied impassively. "Perhaps somewhere that doesn't encourage violence among children."

"We teach self-defense, not how to hurt people or to pick fights." She shot back. "Nice scar, by the way."

His grip on the crate tightened.

Flipping back a wave of dark hair, she jerked her head to the rest of the hall. "Walk with me. You can deliver those on our way."

For whatever reason, Ulquiorra found himself obliging to the whims of this assertive high school girl, who expressed such blatant polarity from her soft-spoken friend.

"If your risking detention just to speak with me, then the matter better be serious." He said without looking at her. "Otherwise, I won't tolerate any of my time being wasted."

"It's no small deal, I assure you." She said nearly irately.

"Then spit it out already." He said guilelessly.

"Gladly. I've decided that I won't be satisfied until I hear an explanation directly from you." The tomboy replied. "About Orihime."

Figures.

"What about her?" He asked dully, placing a few envelopes in an awaiting mail compartment hung from a teacher's door.

"Are you going to take any kind of initiative with her?"

Ulquiorra stopped midway from dropping the final paper into the classroom mail folder to stare back at her. The light in her tawny brown eyes was less harsh than before, and seemed to glimmer hopefully, as if she was in desperate need of closure.

"What are you asking?" He threw back his own question. She sighed immediately, as if she had been expecting for her inquisition to be fruitless.

"I mean, what are your intentions with her?" She asked, awkwardly shifting the toddler in her arms. "If you're living in such close proximity to her, I want to know what kind of relationship you two have."

Relationship? That was...new.

"Well?" Her brow twitched in irritation and well-masked anxiety.

He only allowed the faintest line to crease his brow. Up until now, the only queries to his involvement with the girl surmounted to how he felt about her. Naturally, that led him to be far too engrossed in finding any enlightenment in his intricate dilemma to have considered taking any sort of approach. Once again, he found that his basis for any sort of reply was ruptured by a question he couldn't hope to find an answer for. What was there to say about their affiliation? After some consideration, he settled for the straightest answer.

"We're neighbors."

Tatsuki let out a light groan as she rolled her eyes. The little boy in her arms shifted attention back and forth between their exchange with infantine intrigue glowing in his large eyes.

"Come on." She muttered. "She says you're blunt, but I thought you would at least be serious about this."

"I don't see how stating a basic truth can be regarded as anything but serious." He replied plainly. "If you're attempting to gouge any information about our past involvement, then ask her."

"I already did, and the results weren't pleasing."

"Then perhaps you should leave it be."

"I won't."

"Why?"

"I don't take her crying lightly."

The both stopped dead in the hall. When Ulquiorra gave her a sideways glance, he found that any hostility was washed away with genuine worry for their redheaded topic of discussion. She sighed silently and rested her chin atop the child's messy black locks. Those lost gray eyes looked up to Ulquiorra, and found that the hard emerald gaze had softened significantly. Tatsuki followed his gaze to meet the same sight.

"Can we start this over?" She asked quietly, still avoiding his eyes.

"Fine."

"To be as straightforward as possible," Tatsuki began, facing him with that earnest dark gaze. "I know whatever happened in Hueco Mundo is between you two, and only you can really talk to her about it. I'm asking you to make clear just exactly what there is between you two. I don't want Orihime hurting herself trying to figure out her feelings for a guy that won't even approach her. Be honest with her."

Tired eyes drifted slowly to her, for once, prompting her to be silenced by his words.

"If I had any grasp of this 'relationship' with your friend, don't you think I would have already disclosed the matter with her?" He told her, upfront. "If I haven't given her any explanation), then it's because I have nothing to give. How do you expect me to approach her empty-handed?"

Something flashed in her dark irises before she closed her eyes for a brief moment.

"There is something there. I can tell. You may not know it, but that's only because you've never spoken to her directly about this." Tatsuki explained. "Trust me. She's just as confused as you are."

His grip on the crate was dangerously tight. Nel had said the same thing not long ago, and that memory brought back all kinds of internal discord.

"I know the only thing people ever see is that smile of hers, but that's not how she feels on the inside. There's a lot of turmoil underneath that happy facade. I've seen it." She explained, insistent on letting him feel the weight of her words. "Ulquiorra, Senpai, Ul, or whatever you're called...I don't know anything about you. All I know is that you're someone important to my best friend. I care a lot about her. I've always protected her. But you've left a really big mark on her. That's territory that I can't touch. You two have to resolve it. If this...thing between you ends badly, then I don't know if I'll be able to save her."

End badly? How? What does that mean?

"Don't be scared."

"...a cureless pain..."

Ulquiorra blinked away the memories, and stared straight into her eyes. The sunlight streaming through the window lit up their soft autumnal glow, so much different from the allegiant hardiness they usually had. He felt his gaze soften fractionally.

"That woman is much stronger than she looks." He intoned sincerity into each word.

How could he ever dare to claim falsity in her will? Countless harsh word after harsher statement, he had done all he could to make her thoughts and beliefs bend to the will of Aizen, but she refused to break. He had said so many things that he now deemed terrible to her, each memory feeding that festering feeling of guilt that had taken residence in him, but was overstaying its welcome. Was this guilt the result of years of sins committed during his time of heartlessness? Was he now seeing everything that he was blinded to with her light?

"I know that." Tatsuki said, holding the baby closer to her chest. "You probably know it better than me, but once that strength is worn away at..."

Her eyes fell downcast, hidden under a protective hood of thick dark lashes.

"You'll see that she's also more broken than she looks."

The boy reached up to pat the dark bangs above her sad eyes, prompting her to wind her arms around him tighter, and run a hand smoothly through his dark hair.

"She tells me you've visited once." Tatsuki said softly. "Has she ever spoken to you about Sora?"

Silently, he nodded his head.

"After he passed, she was alone for a long time. She values people and life. To this day, she holds her loved ones in the highest regard." She whispered. "Her heart reaches out to everyone she cares for. If anyone is suffering, it tears her apart. Whatever is happening between you two is will seriously affect her whether it ends well or not. That's also dependent on whether she sees you as a friend, or...something else..."

Something what?

"If it's bad, then I'm afraid of what will happen to her. Please don't let it come to that."

Something constricted within him, and his eyes retreated to the floor. She was asking him to protect her friend from something he had no idea how to face. Her features flooded with apology and sympathy: kind gestures that never solved anything.

"I'm just saying-"

"I know what you're saying." He affirmed quietly. "You're not the only one who's lectured me over this matter. I don't need three people to confirm that I'm indecisive, nor do I need anyone telling me what choices to make."

At this point, frustration was seeping through the cracks of his collected demeanor, more so than he had ever allowed to throughout the years. In response, she let out a guilty sigh.

"I can see how that would get annoying." She admitted. "But I'm not lecturing you or pressuring you to make any certain decision on my whim. That's not my place."

His eyes drifted back up to her sincere gaze.

"I want what's best for Orihime, but I can't decide that for her. Only she can." Tatsuki said softly. "Same for you. Don't let other people sway your decisions. They're for you to make only. Never forget that."

Tatsuki took a step closer towards him, drawing their gazes into a deeper embrace. Hers held a tentative curiosity that outmatched the slight worry in her eyes.

"Try to answer this question if it's not too personal." She requested of him hesitantly. "Do you...think a lot about her?"

"Finally. Something that I can actually answer." He flicked a stray dark lock of hair from his eyes.

"Then out with it." She muttered, trying to conceal the anxiety in her suddenly small voice. "Well?"

He nodded temperately, feeling his tough exterior relax as the unrestrained truth flowed free.

"More than anyone else I've ever met." He said softly.

It seems that speaking of deep sentiments was enough to bring a blush to any human's face. The toddler in her arms reached up to fervently observe the faintest scarlet sketched on her pretty features. She blinked a few times before letting out a little breath.

"Kay, that's uh...pretty heavy." She whispered in a daze. "Well, I expect you to address that with her."

"You expect a lot from me." He said, his tone even despite the cumbersome weight set upon his shoulders by his own words.

"Of course I do. I'm trusting you with something that means a lot to me. Don't let me down."

It meant to come off as a demand, or even a threat, but they both heard the silent prayer behind the ultimatum.

"I've said all that I wanted to." She concluded solemnly. "Whatever happens next,"

Her dark eyes pressed down on him with more strength than gravity. She held her arms up, leveling Ulquiorra's jade eyes with those so hauntingly reminiscent of crystallized rain clouds.

"Is in your hands."

Little hands reached out to touch him, so he wordlessly took the child from her awaiting arms. Immediately, the little boy let his fingers explore the dark waves of Ulquiorra's hair. Gently, his other fragile hand reached for the base of his neck, gingerly feeling the spot where the hole had been filled with a center of life. Tatsuki watched the interaction with a softer light in her warm brown eyes.

"Enjoy him while you can, kid." She ruffled the child's messy array of black hair. "You won't see anyone else who looks like him in Japan. Or who has a steep grip like him."

Ulquiorra remembered to loosen his grip on the mail crate, one side mercilessly crushed by his inescapable grasp. Tatsuki flipped a long strand of ebony behind her shoulder, before lifting the heavy crate off of his shoulder with ease.

"Scary dent." She muttered, settling the burdensome box against her hip. "I'll take this to the office, and tell them that you finished as much as you could."

"I'm capable of doing so myself." He informed, though was really quite indifferent to the matter. "You need to get back to class."

"Not unless I'm filling out a request of a certain class aid?" She shrugged suggestively. Ulquiorra fought off the urge to roll his eyes.

"The bell's gonna ring soon anyway." She sighed as she walked past him on her way to the office. "Orihime's probably worrying, too."

"Then don't keep her waiting." He replied back.

Tatsuki pivoted back to give him a look that was, yet again, reminiscent of someone he couldn't think of at the moment.

"Same to you."

With that, she disappeared behind a wall corner, leaving Ulquiorra alone with about three minutes to mull over her words before heading off to patrol with his siblings.

A soft yawn poured out from the little boy's mouth. His head laid against the hollow of Ulquiorra's neck, breathing slowly and warmly against the cold skin of his chest, listening to the hastened tempo of his pulse like a lullaby. Their identically black locks mixed with each other as Ulquiorra held him closer to feel his own heartbeat. Iridescent silver blinked drowsily before falling under a dark blanket of delicate eyelashes.

He was fast asleep in matter of seconds.

Wordlessly, Ulquiorra took off to scour the school for the boy's father. He didn't fail to notice the bright sheen of the landscape from outside of the window, and the way it glistened after the fall of an evanescent sun shower.

I'll never escape your light, will I?


Rays of sunlight poured out from the diminishing layer of rain clouds, making droplets on the grass glitter like a field of sequins. The scene would have been more pleasant had the color green not reminded him of his exceedingly unpleasant encounter with his brother this morning.

Grimmjow dismissed the irksome thoughts and revved faster through the meandering pathways of the inner city. It was nearly time to start patrolling the area, but he was still in a less than content mood since this morning. The anger had subsided a while after he had stalked off, leaving enough room for an ungodly amount of pensiveness. Riding his motorcycle usually allowed him to clear out any troublesome thoughts from his head, but the indecipherable feeling evoked from his confrontation with Ulquiorra wouldn't leave him alone.

They had gotten into harsher, cruder, bloodier arguments before; yet, this one lingered like the clouds overhead. This one was different from the others, too. Never before, during any of their few moments together, had Grimmjow witnessed such an expression on his disimpassioned comrade's face before.

Concern. For him.

He felt like punching a wall, if not his green-eyed brother. He wouldn't stand for being pitied by that stone-faced bastard, or anyone else for that matter. Just the thought of those infuriating puppy eyes set him aflame; he fucking hated dogs.

Slips of electric blue whipped back with the wind as he sped further down the barren streets. As he rode down a narrow pathway to a plaza, his eye caught sight of a familiar coffee shop. Even if the steaming beverage brought his dark-haired source of anger to mind, he could use a cup to calm himself down a bit (the stuff really was kind of addicting...).

Parking under the shade of a large tree, Grimmjow mounted off his bike to approach the glass doors of the shop. All he had to do was walk through those doors, pay for a large Expresso to drown his trepidation in, and leave with a clearer mind, just in time to be able to get through his annoying city patrol; so long as nothing distracted him, all would be okay.

The first thing he encountered as he pushed through the glass double doors, was an occupied table at which a waterfall of copper spilled over small shoulders, and framed a very familiar and very pretty face. He froze as wide gray eyes peeked up from underneath long eyelashes.

"Grimmjow?"

Fuck me.

After an painfully slow and awkward set of minutes, dialogue, and eye-exchanges, Grimmjow had wound up waiting in the chair next to hers after taking his order.

"I thought you'd be out on your patrol with Ichigo?" She inquired innocently, but the mention of that brat was enough to tick him off.

"It starts later." He answered curtly, really not in the mood to discuss the matter any further.

She seemed to pick up on his moodiness, and simply hummed serenely in response, going back to whatever she was doing in that little notebook of hers. His irritation only elevated in her presence, not on account of her, but rather the anemic man that came to mind any time he saw her. Grimmjow tapped his foot impatiently against the tiled floor, doing whatever possible to make time pick up its agonizingly slow pace.

All the while, the only sound that came from her was the rough scraping of graphite against the paper. Judging from the rapid little flicks of her wrist, she was sketching something rather than writing. Last time, he had caught her working on a piece outside of the store. Distractedly, his eyes studied the movements of her pencil and the dark paths it created on the pristine white paper. From what he could scarcely see, it was a purposeless conglomeration of markings; just an abstract design inspired by the boredom of having to wait in a busy shop for a stupid cup of coffee...

"You wanna see?" She asked, smiling amicably and tentatively pushing the paper closer to him.

He then realized that he had been unconsciously leaning forward to analyze her sketch.

"It's not finished yet, but what do you think so far?" She angled it so that it was facing him correctly.

"The hell is it?" He asked, his eyes still stuck on trying to comprehend the orientation of lines she had been working on.

"Hmmmm...I'm not sure." She chirped, poking the end of her eraser to her cheek. "I didn't have any plan to draw something specific. I guess that's just a habit of mine to doodle when I get bored."

"So you carry a sketchbook with you on the ready?" Grimmjow flicked inquisitive eyes up to her, to which she laughed lightly.

"I've actually been doing that for a week now." She replied with a sheepish smile. "My art class had an assignment to find inspiration for a new piece. It was due today, and thankfully I got a great grade on the piece I picked. I feel like it's one of my best."

"Where is it?"

By evidence of her blinking, silvery owl eyes, she was completely caught off guard by his question. While his inner intrigue in this art by humans was what enticed him to ask such a sudden, his impish side had it's part in playing with her meekness.

"H-huh?"

"Lemme see if it's as good as you say." He arched a challenging brow. "Should be fine, right?"

"O-oh..." She practically melted, glancing around helplessly for a distraction. "I-it's really not that great."

"I'll be the judge of that." He shrugged nonchalantly, feeling a grin spread on his lips out of enjoyment from teasing her.

"W-well you see..." She stammered, distractedly drumming her fingers on the spiral binding of the sketchbook. Grimmjow settled his eyes intently on the thick black cover.

"It's in there isn't it?"

Ten seconds later.

"W-wait! Please give it back!" She protested, struggling to reach the book hanging suspended from Grimmjow's hand.

"Come get it from me." He waved it playfully above her outstretched arms, smirking mischievously at her struggle.

"But you're too tall!" She cried, helplessly clinging with one hand to his jacket to reach higher.

"Let's see..." He smirked, dangling the edge of the cover, watching each page after page fall to a new drawing.

"Ah! Wait!"

"Is there something you're trying to hide?" He asked, grinning impishly. "What kinda dirty little secrets ya got, Princess?"

Even if her panicky discomposure was entertaining, he didn't see any need for her to be so fretful about any of the pictures. Quirky as a few of them were, they were all actually quite well-drawn. Grimmjow actually found himself absorbed in each individual piece, intrigued how none of them looked like in any way, but displayed their own alluring spell. For such a ditzy girl, a few of her works looked surprisingly poignant.

Especially the last one, that actually made his eyes widen. A little squeak of shock and embarrassment escaped her gaping lips, and her hands dropped to his shoulders. Grimmjow leveled the paper with his eyes, taking in its entrancing character by each shade, shape, and line.

The centerpiece was of a trichromatic pair of wings.

"U-um..." She slipped her hands off of him to fidget with them at her chest. "That's my latest one..."

"Just wings?" He said, unable to take his eyes off of the drawing before him.

"Y-yeah." She tried for a sheepish smile. "M-maybe I was thinking of birds when I started drawing it. O-or maybe...b-bats? Sensei couldn't really tell either..."

Neither could Grimmjow. They were certainly a unique set of wings; their shape, color, and texture were unique to their own character; sleek, prismatic, and, despite being majorly opalescent, had a magnetic darkness to them. The background was amazing, too; from the bleak darkness of a cave, only dimly lit by the luminescence of emerald-like cryastal structure, the light source at the top created by the sun drew in a more resplendent sheen, creating the essence of dimension and moving through space to find light. Likewise, each column of emeralds that lines the dark cave walls beamed more and more incandescent as they got closer to the sun.

"...s-so maybe they're actually dinosaur wings?" She suggested, nervously chattering on while Grimmjow was too absorbed in the drawing to listen. "I mean, I've drawn them before, so it's possible. Right?"

"It's Ulquiorra."

His words left no room for other speculation. How could it not be? The wings were too much like Murciélago's, not in their form, but in their aura. He had only seen Ulquiorra's release form once, and those dark wings had been burned as twin silhouettes into his mind; they were as intimidating as they were beautiful. The pigmentation, sans the luminescent oranges and reds of the setting sun, was like him, too. The shades of green mirrored each color of his comrade, from his mysterious darkness to the rare and brilliant illumination from whenever he was around...

...her.

The girl in question balked, and her eyes widened before the glimmer of truth settled into their silvery expanse. Grimmjow slid his own azure gaze over to meet hers, though he felt that the knit of his brow wasn't as tight as usual.

"It is." He said astutely.

It was only then that he finally took note of the odd texture to her eyes. They were as bright as ever, but some clouded look gave them a nebulous dimension, somewhat akin to the sun demurely peeking out from ethereal wisps of clouds after rainfall. Had she...cried?

Nevertheless, that ever lovely smile was there as she nodded her head. It just dawned on him how beautiful she really was.

"Yeah." She whispered dreamily. "My friend said the same thing. I think so, too."

"What made you draw this?" He asked seriously, genuinely curious as to what could have possessed her to give so much time to this piece. She tilted her head in contemplation, her deep eyes shining brighter as the seconds ticked by. Something clouded the gray, and she shook her head temperately before giving him an apologetic smile.

"I still don't really know." She said softly. "One day, there were a lot of weird feelings bubbling up inside me, and I needed a way to pour them out. That's what art is for: to express how you feel and do it in a way that other people can feel it, too."

Feelings?

For Ulquiorra...?

"I see." Was all he could quietly concur with. Grimmjow shifted his examining gaze between the girl and her work, trying to find some connection between either visions before him. How was it that a human girl, who barely knew his thick-skinned comrade, could spill his essence out onto a thin slice of paper, and have it breathe with the life that Ulquiorra lacked in his dead eyes? For some reason, Grimmjow didn't feel angry at the thought of his dark-haired brother anymore. Not when this girl had repainted his image in such a different way. How had she done all of that with just a paper, a pencil, and a few colors?

It was remarkable.

"Not bad, Princess." He murmured, somewhat in a daze.

Bright scarlet shaded itself on her cheeks, but her smile softened. "Thank you. Oh! Now I remember!"

Half-alerted by her gasp, Grimmjow turned his head to find her pretty face lit up brighter than any lights in the city.

"I didn't get to say it the last time we saw each other here." She explained with an elated smile. "Thanks for helping me on that one drawing with the leaves. I got a perfect score for that, but it made me feel kinda bad that you didn't get any credit for your work on it."

His brows instinctively knit in annoyance, but the memory was clear in his mind. He hadn't really considered it a gesture of assistance, more so as a means quell his own odd discomfort over an imperfect picture; although, her positive reaction seemed to some kind of extra merit.

Not that he would ever let her know that.

"Please. It's still your work." He muttered, looking away from her smile. "I don't need any credit."

"You still helped me." She said gratefully. "Shading isn't my best skill, and I wouldn't have gotten that good grade without your help. So...let me credit you, at least."

Her eyes were so purely honest that it was hard to look into them. So he avoided her gaze by glaring at her sketchbook.

"Do whatever the hell you want." He muttered.

"Oh, okay...ummm...you won't tell anyone about that drawing, right?" She asked, batting pleading eyes at the masterully crafted image.

"Who the fuck would I tell?" He shrugged uncaringly. "What's the big deal anyway? It's just a drawing."

She shook her head. "It's a lot more than that. Art always is. You're one of the few people to see it, and this piece is really important to me. Especially everything it was inspired by..."

By Ulquiorra. Why the fuck can't you say that out loud? He's already got you wrapped around his finger.

"If those feelings are so important, why not face them instead of piling them up in this book? That doesn't resolve anything." He shot at her, though without the normal bite in his voice. "These drawings can't satisfy you forever since you'll have to face your problems eventually. You can't just run away..."

His voice trailed off as he really started to listen to his own words. Their former distortion within his mind, by the works of his defensive ego, vanished by looking into her glittering eyes; they were clear enough for him to see his own reflection in, like mirrors. Even her silver doe eyes blinked, wide and taken aback by his words.

Then they flashed with a brilliant sheen of remembrance.

"Okay." She whispered softly, giving him a mind-numbingly gorgeous smile. "I'll follow your advice, but you still have to promise not to tell anyone."

Blinking slowly, he eventually caught his senses and let his features return to their familiar scowling set (which was suddenly hard to accomplish).

"Whatever, Princess." He rolled his eyes, slipping his hands in his pockets. "I'll keep your little secret. Just don't...bring this up again. Or else you're dead." He threatened her a not quite threatening manner.

"Yes sir!" She saluted with a firm voice, before bringing a finger to her smiling lips.

"A secret between artists." She said in a hushed tone.

Before he could even blink in surprise, a faint beep sounded from her purse. As she flipped the pink device open, her eyes widened at the message.

"Uh-oh. I'm a half an hour late to my friend's house and she's worried and mad." She said in a calculating voice, as if trying to concoct a plan of survival. "I better go now. See you!"

Within a few zippy seconds, she took back her sketchbook and dashed towards the entrance. Before leaving through the twin glass doors, she pivoted to shoot Grimmjow another heart-stopping smile.

"I've been in a weird mood all day today, but talking with you made me feel better. Thank you, Grimmjow. Bye-bye!"

Two dazed minutes later, Grimmjow was back on his bike, and riding out through the streets to make his way to his patrol site, which he was half an hour late to, as well. No doubt his other redheaded human acquaintance was furious beyond any quivering member of the Reaper unit's control. While the thought was pleasant, he found that he couldn't linger on it for so long. His sudden distraction was too strong to pull away from. He hadn't even bothered to pick up the coffee that was supposed to clear his mind and relax him.

Something else took care of it.

"Don't mention it, Princess." He murmured, riding off to a new path lit by the sun.

To be continued.


A/N: This is the first time I've ever left a chapter on somewhat of a cliffhanger O_O

I had actually planned for this chapter to be much longer, but the ending was proving to be too complex to write without any planning, plus I was getting impatient with myself. Hopefully this leaves you all wanting more. The next chapter will continue off on the events of this one, which will include Baraggan's confrontation with the Head Captain, a little action, and our long-awaited Ulquihime moment. I'll try my best to find the motivation to organize and write it all.

Let me know which part of the chapter you liked best. As confusing as it was to write all the angst, I still had fun with it all: conflicting emotions, symbolic children, best friends, motorcycles, etc. And I greatly appreciate all of your ideas and thoughts! (SUBLIMINAL: REVIEW...)

P.S. I would really appreciate any thoughts on how I'm handling Ulquiorra's character. He's getting to the point where he's realizing so much that he's never noticed before, and he's becoming more and more questioning of himself and everything around him, while still trying to remain in his comfort zone of apathy. I've never written from a heartless man's POV, so critique me. (Thoughts on Grimmjow and Tatsuki would be great, too!) Thank you for reading!