I don't own Bleach of its characters. Hello all! I do apologize for taking a little longer than expected to get this next chapter out, but real life gets crazy! I get them out as fast as I can, do bear with me. School starts Monday, two semesters left and I have my Associates! Woot! I keep a heaping mound on my plate but I truly try to update as quickly as I can. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter, the title was inspired by the Clutch song. I'm a big Clutch fan. I've been thinking a lot about my next story when I wrap this one up, and I've thought about just letting my Itunes inspire random little stories, some may be one shots, or others may be like a 2-3 chapter mini series. What do you think? And shout out and thanks to Misc. Ink for beta-reading!

Chapter Twelve: Mice and Gods

Ichigo scowled on the inside; his face plastered with a fake one thousand watt smile as he shook hands with various rich bastards who didn't really know two shits about art besides that it looked nice on a wall and furthered their images while their women companions flirted with him and blatantly eye fucked him. He supposed that this was all just part of the job; after all, it was their name brand patented leather pocketbooks that financed his own lifestyle. Even so, it didn't mean he had to like it, just suffer through it until it was over.

Tonight was the official opening of 'Urahara Shop,' Kisuke's ever so humble name for his art gallery. Since he and Yoruichi traveled in high status social circles, Yoruichi decided to throw a black tie gala for the opening. Ichigo wasn't the only artist there tonight displaying work stuffed in formal wear. It had been two weeks since he spilled out what was going on to Yoruichi, and while he was returning to his normal patterns of interaction, this was a bit much. He had to resist the urge to pull at the silk neck tie that felt like a noose. As if sensing his discomfort, Yoruichi and Soi Fon glided up to him, Yoruichi winking a glittering eye at him.

Ichigo didn't like the playful smile that graced her lips. She had something up her sleeve or knew something he didn't, or worse, it was both those things. He kissed Soi Fon's hand in greeting as Yoruichi curled her arm in his, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"Your painting is going to be the highlight of the night. Would you be a dear and come unveil it?"

Ichigo sighed, this was the part of the night he was dreading. He didn't particularly care for the spotlight being on him. Yoruichi pinched his inner arm, reminding him to smile. He plastered the fake smile on his face and offered Soi Fon his other arm, who threaded her petite arm in his. He thought of what a spectacle he must look like, walking up to reveal the painting that hung on the wall, hidden from view by a silken sheet, with two extremely gorgeous and glittery gowned women on his arms. This was probably some scheme of Yoruichi's.

"Ah, our man of the hour!" called Kisuke boisterously from behind a small silver plated podium set off to the side of the room. Everyone turned to look as they entered, the two women releasing him to go stand on either side of Kisuke.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I proudly present to you, Ichigo Kurosaki, one of my own mentees, revealing his painting, entitled Misery!"

Ichigo simply bowed to the clapping audience, as he might of at home in Japan, before clutching an edge of the beige sheet that was loosely hung from clips above the painting. He gave a light tug and it cascaded down as gently as snow to the cold marble floor, the audience gasping at the canvas taking up the wall.

People began milling around it, inspecting it and hushed conversation about the art began buzzing around the room. A worker came up and took the sheet from Ichigo, and caterers discreetly flowed around like phantoms, offering crystal glasses of golden colored champagne. Ichigo was sure to grab one from the nearest waitress and downed it, grabbing a second before his shoulder was being tapped by some portly old man with a beard that uncannily matched his gray suit.

He was in a quiet discussion with the man off to the side of his painting when his heart stilled in his chest, his eyes widening comically and he forget how to breathe when one voice in particular rose above the crowd.

"There's a harmony in the monochromatic color scheme, and a balance between the light and dark tones. However, there is a chaos present in painting; you can see it in the vigorous brush strokes, evidence to the torrent of emotional storms the artist was experiencing during the creation of this piece."

Ichigo turned slowly, his mouth going dry when his eyes confirmed what his ears heard.

Grimmjow.


He stood there with Yoruichi on his arm, who was grinning like a cat that got the canary, but was careful not to look in Ichigo's direction. Grimmjow was dressed for the part as was Ichigo, but somehow looked completely at ease in his tuxedo as if he wore one every day of his life. Armani never looked so good on someone, Ichigo decided. His gaze remained thoughtfully on the painting.

"What a coincidence that the majority of the color in this painting matches your hair and eyes," remarked Yoruichi, pretending to have extraordinary interest in the painting but the smile in her voice was clear.

"Indeed," agreed Grimmjow in a low baritone, his turquoise eyes snapping over to Ichigo's.

Ichigo watched, rooted to his spot like a deer in the head lights. It was as if the connection between his brain and his legs wasn't working correctly, the synapses misfiring so that he could neither run to or away from the suave cowboy when Soi Fon reclaimed her girlfriend and Grimmjow was now making a beeline for him. He did his best to school his face into a neutral expression, but the fear of not being prepared for or in control of this current situation was there just beyond the chocolate color of his eyes.

"Grimmjow Jeagerjaques," Grimmjow said with a smile that had the ladies in Ichigo's line of sight swooning as he introduced himself to the man standing with Ichigo. If this had been a different situation, he'd have rolled his eyes.

"Martin Bandeaux," said the man, taking Grimmjow's extended hand and shaking it, smiling at the calloused, firm grip before Grimmjow released his hold.

"Mr. Bandeaux, I do so hate to appear to be rude, but I must steal Ichigo here away for a moment, if you don't mind," Grimmjow said formally, the words feeling as foreign in his mouth as a different language as he did his best to keep his slang in check. His smile was back, but his eyes blazed with a fire the man didn't feel he should challenge.

"Not at all," he chuckled nervously, backing away slightly. "Mr. Kurosaki and I will continue our conversation at a later time."

"Thank you," Grimmjow smiled, and the man turned, heading off to get himself a drink.

Those eyes were back on Ichigo, who shivered involuntarily at the intensity within them as they raked over him.

"Terrace, now," Grimmjow growled lowly, grabbing Ichigo's elbow and steering him in the direction of their destination as if he were a petulant child. Ichigo squelched the urge to punch Grimmjow straight in the nose for that, quickly glancing over his shoulder to see if anyone noticed this strange behavior. All he saw was Yoruichi, who smiled like the Cheshire Cat and waved her manicured fingers as if to say, 'toodaloo!'

It dawned on Ichigo as Grimmjow wrenched open one of the French doors to the terrace that this was all her meddlesome doing.

That bitch!


As soon as the door clicked shut and they were out of sight, Ichigo yanked himself from Grimmjow's grip, his expression instantly morphing into that of anger.

"What the hell is the meaning of all this, Grimmjow?!" he demanded, squaring his shoulders.

Grimmjow spun around, surprising Ichigo with his speed. His eyes were pools of blue fire. Ichigo knew this was going to happen, here and now.

"Don't you DARE act like I'm the one in the wrong here, don't you fuckin' dare," Grimmjow warned with a snarl. Grimmjow didn't trust himself, so he stood in front of the doors, unsure if he would punch or kiss Ichigo if he got within reach right now.

Ichigo's mouth snapped closed, in a gesture that conceded the point. Grimmjow took it as an invitation to keep talking while he had the chance.

"Look, Yoruichi told me about the Renji guy. She didn't go into detail, just that he fucked you up bad. But I'm gonna tell you somethin' my Pop used to say. He'd say 'Yesterday's fer mice and Gods.' You and I, we are neither, so all that past shit doesn't apply to us. I get it; it's fuckin' insane to say you wanna be with someone after only knowin' them fer nearly two weeks. But if I'm not mistaken, you know as well as I do that somethin' passed between us that was real, that could be worth it if we tried. I came all this way to tell you that I want to try."

Ichigo watched his face, and saw nothing but seriousness. Ichigo gave what Grimmjow said a few beats of silence to sink in; speaking only when he was sure he could keep his voice level.

"Grimmjow, we are from two different worlds, how do you think we are going to make this work? I know your life is in Montana, that's something that was built and handed down through generations. I'm not selfish enough to ask you to leave that."

Grimmjow crossed his arms, arching a brow.

"I'm selfish enough to ask you to leave New York. Do you really need to reside here? Please forgive my ignorance of art, but can an artist not travel as he so chooses? And as fer me, Ichigo, I don't need to be at Espada always. Ulquiorra is more than capable of runnin' things in my absence, my crew are good people who love their jobs and we're all family. I can travel with you where ever you want to go, and money ain't an object," he added when he saw Ichigo opening his mouth to object.

Grimmjow sighed, running a hand through his bright locks and disheveling it from its tamed, slicked back style.

"I'm pretty sure I've talked now in this moment more than I probably ever have in my life," Grimmjow started, holding Ichigo's gaze. "I won't lie, I'm fuckin' pissed you ran out on me by jumping to some unfounded conclusion. But I ain't pissed enough to let you run outta my life without a fight; I was raised to know a good thing when it comes along, Ichigo. The ball is in yer court now, its yer decision on whether or not whatever this is between us is worth pursuin'. And before you try to lie to yerself and say there is nothin', you better consider that paintin' in there that seems to have made you so famous and how it came about bein' created. I'll be at Morgans until Wednesday."

Grimmjow turned abruptly on his heel and stalked off, resisting the urge to shove down the people in his path. Ichigo stood there, statue still, and watched him go. Tears he didn't realize had formed in his eyes made their presence known to him by threatening to spill over. He angrily swiped his handkerchief from his pocket and quickly dabbed them away.

Yoruichi appeared in the doorway, a sad smile on her face. Ichigo wanted to be angry with her, but he knew she only acted in his best interests. Everybody was right; he needed to figure out what he wanted. He sighed and straightened his spine, moving toward Yoruichi and took her arm in his, giving her a weak grin when she gave his bicep a reassuring squeeze. One thing at a time; Ichigo had to finish surviving this night before he could focus his energies elsewhere. He led Yoruichi back to the party.


End chapter. Oh my! What will Ichigo eventually decide? I just want to thank all you faithful fans, and all you new readers! I have gotten so many great reviews, favorites, follows, and even some really encouraging PMs. You guys don't know how much it means to me. I do this for fun- but it's always great to hear that it's good, well written, and that other people enjoy it. You guys make me smile. XD