Fuchsia Phoenix

by Emochromatic

Set after the Winter War, Szayel escapes to the human realm to start over. Eighty years later, he is discovering how tedious world domination can become. Enter a former acquaintance... Rated M for language and violence. Mostly. Shounen Ai. Nnoitra/Szayel.

14. Revelations

He was warm. And comfortable. Not a plush, enveloping comfort, but a pleasant solidity that made him feel secure. It might have been an alien sensation if it didn't feel so distantly familiar, like a primordial memory that had become ingrained as instinct. Murmuring sleepily, he snuggled closer to that source of warmth, his face brushing loose cloth.

Something about this feeling triggered alarm bells. It wasn't right… Szayel opened his eyes, blinking, then froze as he was faced with the waking sight of Nnoitra's chest underneath him.

"W-what?" he stuttered, wide eyed and confused. His head felt fuzzy. Why was Nnoitra here on his couch? This was his couch, right? All of a sudden he wasn't so sure.

Nnoitra opened his eyes, roused to wakefulness by his incoherent panic, and grinned up at him sleepily.

"Mornin'" he mumbled, yawning, then: "God I've wanted to be able to say that to you for so long."

Szayel felt his face heat as he moved to climb off of him, but found their clothes wouldn't separate. They were encrusted together by a layer of dried blood. All of a sudden, he recalled the circumstance that had landed them both in his suite.

"Oh…" he said, and began to fumble with his shirt, finally succeeding in separating them. He sat up, still straddling Nnoitra. It was impossible not to; he took up the whole sofa. As if remembering the whole unpleasant event that had precipitated this one, Nnoitra winced a little, plucking at his ruined costume, which he still wore.

"I need a shower," the bedraggled pirate announced, and hauled himself into a sitting position.

"The shower's over there," Szayel said, pointing to the door that led to his bathroom automatically. Then he hesitated as the significance of what he'd done sunk in. Nnoitra meandered over to it with a mumbled thanks, completely unaware of how private the room really was. A sanctuary, built precisely because of his former incarnation, and now he strolled right into it without a second thought. Szayel reflected on his feelings regarding the intrusion as he watched Nnoitra disappear into the bathroom, discovering that while he felt uneasy about sharing one of his most personal rooms with another, it did not pain him as much as he thought it would. This revelation was greeted with a mix of wonder and uncertainty. He didn't have long to reflect however, as Nnoitra called him a moment later.

"Hey, how the hell do you work this thing?"

Szayel slipped off the couch and padded over to the bathroom, passing through it to the shower area. Nnoitra stood naked under the showerhead, glaring up at it as if he could somehow intimidate it into gushing fourth water.

"Too many knobs and dials," he said, gesturing towards the admittedly complicated chrome array set into the wall.

"Well I did design it for myself, so I know how to manipulate it. I never intended for anyone else to have to," Szayel explained as he walked up to it, hand raising the proper lever to get the water flowing. Another twisted a knob to adjust the flow so that the spray broadened to accommodate Nnoitra's larger body. The taller man watched nonplussed as he fiddled with the shower.

"Never considered invitin' anyone over?" he asked.

"The thought never crossed my mind," the scientist replied coolly, "Now what scent soap and shampoo do you want?"

"There're controls for that too?"

"I like my shower organized and without bottles cluttering up the floor."

Nnoitra sighed, a little exasperated by his reply.

"Seems way too complicated to be enjoyable."

"As I said, I know precisely where everything is so… oh… perhaps I should just stay and show you…" Szayel said, giving in. He was already damp from the shower spray.

"Really?" Nnoitra remarked with interest at the pink haired man's change of heart. Szayel stripped off his clingy, stained shirt, throwing it aside.

"Really," he replied, and removed the rest of his clothes before joining him, trying not to get self conscious at the way Nnoitra stared. "Soap?"

"Nothing too flowery," Nnoitra said. In other words, nothing he usually wore. Szayel smirked and adjusted a dial next to the soap pump, exchanging his freesia body wash for a light, citrus scent. Lime and orange perfumed the air as he lathered it between his hands.

"Is that acceptable?" he inquired.

"Yeah," Nnoitra said, reaching past him to take some himself. Their skin brushed briefly, and Szayel was thankful he wasn't quite so jumpy anymore at the fleeting contact. Feeling his hands on his shoulders a moment later wasn't so accidental however, and he looked back at Nnoitra inquisitively.

"What are you doing?" he asked, managing to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

"Washing your back. You better do mine when I finish," he answered, fingers rubbing his skin. Szayel let him work, feeling him scrub his way gently down his spine. He paused midway down however, hands lingering just above his lower back.

"Hey…" he hedged.

"Yes?" Szayel drowsed, at bliss from the warm water running down his body and the agreeable feeling of Nnoitra's hands on his back.

"What is this?"

"What is what?"

"This."

Fingers, long and slim, explored the new anatomical feature they had discovered, and Szayel's eyes flew open with shock. He gasped as he felt those fingers slide in to stroke the wall of his Hollow hole, body jerking as an uncontrollable wave of desire surged through him, turning his legs to jelly. Moaning low and breathily, he felt himself collapse against the wall, only distantly aware of Nnoitra's shouts of alarm and confusion.

"Szayel! Szaye-"

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was in another place…

Cold, white ceramic tile made up the backdrop of the communal showers, an echo of the monochromatic color scheme that made up the whole of Las Noches. It was such a clinical color, devoid of any emotion. Practical perhaps in somewhere like an operating room where detachment was a necessity, but everywhere else… it was oppressive. One had enough starkness in the black and white canvas of Hueco Mundo's desert without replicating that hopeless feel indoors.

He found as he soaped his body and hair in the chilly predawn that he did not mind this color scheme in the baths so much. They were not something he was remotely attached to, and the distant feel suited his opinion of them just fine. They were an unpleasant necessity, not a pleasure. Sighing, he turned on the tap, feeling the water run down his back. That cursed, precious water that was the source of his misery. Or part of it at least. The other part he'd managed to work around by showering at odd hours of the day. Like three in the morning. But it was worth it, being able to bathe in privacy.

Szayel was just beginning to relax when he felt the approach of a heavy reiatsu. His spine stiffened as he recognized its owner, mind working frantically as he ran through all his options. Nnoitra walked into the room, towel slung across one shoulder, and stopped at the entrance. He lingered there, silent while Szayel scrubbed at skin still very slippery with soap, and Szayel felt it turn to gooseflesh as he became acutely aware of how the taller Arrancar watched him. He did not know what was worse; being observed wordlessly or the moment when the Quinta decided he'd had enough of merely watching and detached himself from the doorway to glide over to him.

"You're up early. Is this when you've started taking showers, Granz?" he asked, his voice low and amused.

"No. An experiment occupied my time until just a bit ago, so I've only now gotten a chance to bathe today," he replied, the lie flowing effortlessly off his tongue.

"I guess we keep missing each other then," Nnoitra said, coming up behind him. Szayel subconsciously leaned away from him, washing a little faster. His proximity was more than a little disconcerting; he'd just finished with one of his many partners. Szayel could practically smell the sex rolling off him.

"I guess so," said the scientist more calmly than he felt. His pulse skittered when he sensed Nnoitra draw up closer until their skin was almost touching, and shuddered as he felt Nnoitra's breath stir the hair on the nape of his neck.

"I know you've been avoiding me. Now why is that?" the Quinta asked, his voice dangerously smooth.

"Find another shower, Jiruga," Szayel warned, his tone firm, "I'm using this one."

Nnoitra chuckled darkly.

"No," he replied, and shoved his index and middle fingers into his Hollow hole, curving them inside of him and yanking up brutally.

"Ah~!"

Szayel cried out as a wave of agony coursed through him, and intermingled, an electric flare of arousal. His mind went blank and his eyes rolled back as his body crashed forward against the wall, seeking solidity. Nnoitra's fingers twisted inside of him again, pulling a moan from deep within as he writhed against the tile, hips grinding and bucking up into the stone in a desperate attempt at relieving the sudden, uncontrollable urge that seized him. His body was hot, aching; groin and nipples hurting with a primal need to be stroked, used… He panted, groaning as the friction took the edge off his desire, but his thoughts were still clouded with the want.

Nnoitra's body rubbed up against his from behind as he leaned over his shoulder to whisper in his ear sensuously.

"You like that do ya bitch? Look at you, so hot you're tryin' ta fuck the wall. Fuckin' slut. You want me in you so bad right now."

Oh shit, Szayel thought, the first coherent words that formed in his mind as he clawed at the stone tile. Shit shit shit! Nnoitra's tongue laved over the back of his neck as he pushed him into the wall, his other hand moving down to grip his thigh. Szayel mewled in short, panicked gasps as Nnoitra worked his Hollow hole mercilessly, breaking down any resistance before it could form.

"You're so slutty, just beggin' to be taken an' fucked with those clothes," he purred as he drew from him a particularly charged cry, "And your tattoo…" His fingers stroked the place on his inner thigh where he wore the gothic 8 that marked him as one of the Espada.

No no no! he thought, squeezing his eyes shut as Nnoitra pressed into him. This can't be happening. But it was. His body was indeed screaming to be fucked even while his mind was panicking, loathing his reaction. Oh god I'm going to be raped. The sensation of teeth on his earlobe alternately sent a thrill of desire and a chill of revulsion through him.

In the end, it was one thing that saved him; Nnoitra's own impatience to screw him. Abandoning his Hollow hole, he swept his fingers a little farther down, to another hole. It was a very narrow reprieve. His body still ached and pleaded for what Nnoitra would give him as the searing shocks that ran through him where their bodies touched attested to. But his mind, horrified by what was happening, cleared just long enough to mount a response. With a furious cry, he flipped himself, left hand coming up defensively between them, and shot a cero point blank at his ribs.

It wouldn't kill him, he knew. Wouldn't even injure him badly, because his Hierro was so strong. But it sent him flying back and would hurt quite a lot. There was a circular burn mark on his stomach where it had struck the Quinta.

"You fucking bastard!" he screamed, covering up his own fear and weakness with rage, "Don't you ever try that on me again!"

Beneath the bravado, he was terrified. He used Sonido as soon as he'd uttered his threat, afraid that Nnoitra would recover before he could escape. When push came to shove, Nnoitra was three ranks higher than him. His spiritual pressure was denser. He wouldn't give him a chance to release his Resurrección, and it didn't matter if he was infected with his cells, not if he was too out of it to manipulate them. That feeling of losing all control over himself… of watching helplessly as his body betrayed him… The scientist nearly stumbled as he choked in horror on the knowledge of what had almost transpired. Reaching his wing, he threw the door open, staggered in, and slammed it shut again. On pure instinct he'd navigated his trapped halls without incident. But now he was here. Now he was back in his own domain where he could control everything. He was safe. Not even Nnoitra was fool enough to seek him out here when he wanted to be left alone.

A shuddering sob wracked his chest as relief and despair simultaneously struck him. Oh god I ceroed the Quinta. He won't let that go. But he'd had to… the alternative was… But he's going to be so pissed. How the hell do I face that at meetings?

This wasn't the end of it. No, it was the beginning of a new, unpleasant reality. He went and got dressed, continuing about his day as normal. And to anyone else, he might have seemed his typical, snarky, narcissistic self. He kept such appearances up especially during the meetings Aizen called, leaving not early but certainly promptly, or else finding an excuse to converse with one of the other Espada on his way out. Anything so as not to be left alone with Nnoitra, and in the end it was probably only he who noticed the difference. And Aizen and Gin perhaps, since nothing seemed to escape their notice…

"-el! Szayel!"

…

He felt familiar hands on his shoulders, shaking him. Someone calling his name. Nnoitra? He squeezed his blank, dead eyes shut and cried out, shoving his hands between them in a panic as he flinched away from the other man. Not again…

"Szayel, what the hell is wrong?"

What…'s wrong?

That Nnoitra would never ask, because he'd know. He'd be the one instigating it. No, this wasn't a repeat of that time. That event he'd almost managed to forget.

"Nnoitra!" he gasped, throwing himself at the human. His arms snaked around his torso, and his face pressed into his chest as the rest of his body shook, remembering in vivid detail the memory relapse he'd just suffered. Here in the present, the agony was gone, but his body still felt the pangs of arousal that had triggered it. Nnoitra's body stiffened at the wild, unexpected reaction, and he awkwardly reached up to pat the scientist's head in a vaguely reassuring fashion.

"'the fuck?" he mumbled, confused, and Szayel selfishly let him remain so for several minutes as he clung to him and collected his thoughts. When at last he felt a little steadier, he separated from him, looking down at the jade green tile that comprised his bathroom floor. It was difficult to meet his eyes after acting so out of character.

"Give me a moment. I'll… explain," he said.

"Please do. Like what the hell is that hole and what did my touching it trigger? You were moaning like… and then ya went catatonic on me."

Szayel closed his eyes, a hand fluttering up to cradle his temple as he sighed, trying to figure out how to phrase his explanation.

"Its my Hollow hole," he replied, "And wait!" he added, preempting the impatient what the fuck is that? he knew would follow.

Nnoitra waited, if just barely. Grateful, Szayel continued.

"You recall my childish analogy of what I was when we first met? A corrupted soul that turned into a bad, nasty soul eating monster? That was a very rudimentary example of a Hollow. Now, you'll have to take a leap of faith with me on what I say next. There is a chain, called the chain of fate, connecting your soul to your corporeal body. When it breaks, you die. Or rather… it breaks when you die and you become just a soul. In this state, a Shinigami comes and performs soul burial, which transports you to Soul Society, and it is there where you reside in one of the many districts until you reincarnate. Yes, Shinigami exist. Arrogant assholes in my opinion, but I digress.

The other possibility is that you are not purified and become a Hollow. In a normal soul, the chain of fate remnants disappear upon the funeral rites a Shinigami performs. In a Hollow, that chain degrades and consumes itself painfully, and when the last link is devoured, a hole fully opens in the chest where it once connected to the soul. The soul then becomes a Hollow, and gains a new appearance based greatly on personality as well as a mask that covers its face and conceals its former identity, for the face of a Hollow is the same as its human soul.

I, however, am not a Hollow. I am what is called an Arrancar, as I told you before. Aizen gave me a fixed form more powerful than that of my Hollow identity. In this shape, I lost most of my mask; these glasses I wear are actually a part of me. I cannot remove them. Part of my power was sealed into my sword; my Zanpakuto. And my Hollow hole changed location to its current spot, just above my groin.

As for the holes themselves, they are the most sensitive part of our bodies. Our Achilles' heel if you will. Hurt them, and the agony is crippling, but they are… sensitive in other ways as well, as you found."

Nnoitra absorbed all this quietly, waiting until he finished before saying anything. And when he did, it was with a bluntness the scientist found refreshing.

"So why did you go catatonic?"

"I… was remembering something unpleasant," Szayel replied.

"My touching you there triggered a memory."

"Yes."

Nnoitra was silent for a moment, but his lips tugged down into a scowl and his expression darkened.

"What did I do to you?" he finally asked in clipped tones.

"What?" Szayel said, caught off guard.

"What did 'Nnoitra Jiruga' do to you?" he repeated, elaborating, and Szayel frowned, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

"Nothing! I never said your past incarnation did it."

"Don't lie," Nnoitra said, a note of belligerence touching his voice, "I know there was history between you centering around the baths, and you were flinching away from me when you came to. You were whimpering in fear. God damn it what did I- he, do?"

"Alright!" Szayel cried, caving. He turned aside, frustrated that Nnoitra insisted on digging and uncovering old wounds. "It was you… him. And if you must know, he tried to ra-" He stumbled over the words, then shook his head angrily and forced himself to finish, "He tried to rape me. Ok? Happy?"

"No…" he said, sounding subdued now that he'd gotten his answer. Szayel glanced sidelong at him for his expression, crossed arms tightening, and discovered that he looked as if he was in shock. His face was blank and a little pale.

"How…" he began, then shook his head slightly like a dog clearing water from its fur, "What was our relationship?"

Szayel's mouth quirked into a sardonic half smile.

"You said it yourself when we first met; it was a love hate relationship," he said.

"How," he repeated, "How was that ever the first?"

"It was most certainly onesided," the Arrancar offered.

"I can see that! But how could you like him? Given what he did? And that's just one incident. What else happened? What other fucked up shit did my past incarnation do?"

"Nnoitra…"

"Who am I? To you, who am I?"

"It doesn't matter!" Szayel shouted, losing his temper. He didn't want to have this conversation, didn't want to be interrogated about certain details of his past he'd rather consign to oblivion. "It's in the past, it doesn't concern you. Forget about it!"

"It's my past," he retorted, voice smoldering with leashed anger. Szayel shuddered, hunching his shoulders.

"You're… not the same person…" he finally muttered weakly, "You're different."

"Am I?" Nnoitra asked cruelly, "Am I? Or am I just his substitute?"

"I like you so stop asking already!" Szayel flung back.

"Then answer me this. Something's been bugging me. I just remembered, you said I look exactly like him. Except I've got both eyes. Where was my Hollow hole?"

Szayel swallowed, wincing. He could see where this was going. Damn Takeda for being so acute.

"Your left eye…" he mumbled.

"The eye I wore an eyepatch over?"

"… yes."

There was a weighty pause as Nnoitra assimilated this piece of information, then his mouth curved into a bitter smirk.

"Knew it," he remarked with deceptive levity, "Fuckin' knew it. Eyepatch fetish indeed."

Szayel gave a frustrated cry and whirled around, banging a fist against the wall. A spiderweb crack branched out from where his clenched hand struck, belying his seemingly weak physiology in this form. Nnoitra watched him throw his fit, wordless, and the silence aggravated his mood more than his words.

"Why do you even care?" he finally asked, hurling barbs, "Why does it even matter to you who you are to me? Its still onesided, even now. You want my body? I don't care anymore. I want you too, but I've been holding out on the foolish hope that it wouldn't always be just me. So just fucking do it already. Fuck me, Nnoitra, and leave me alone. Then maybe I can get over you too."

He felt a wetness rolling down his cheeks that only intensified as he realized it wasn't the shower water. He was crying. In front of Nnoitra. He wasn't supposed to be crying; he was supposed to be angry and confident and self righteous. But here he was, leaning against the wall of his bathroom, tears rolling down his face with no sign of stopping anytime soon. He found he was too emotionally drained to even hate himself for being so weak.

"I don't want to love you…" he muttered brokenly, the words muffled through his crying.

"You're a moron, Szayel," he heard Nnoitra say behind him, his tone rough and still emotional from his outburst. I know, he thought angrily, I know. You don't have to remind me.

Hands pulled him away from the wall, turned him so they faced each other. He appeared indistinct to the scientist, whose eyes were blurred by liquid, a fuzzy silhouette in the lighting of the bath. Szayel felt warm lips press to his, and he kissed back passionately, seeking distraction from the heavy melancholy that bore down on him. There were no doubts, no hesitations in his body as he allowed Nnoitra free range, even encouraging his explorations as he leaned into his touch and let his own fingers roam his back to pick out the planes of his muscles and ridges of his spine. He'd given up on everything. Given in to instinct and desire and consigned the consequences that would follow to the distant future. He'd hurt all the more later looking back on this moment, but for now, he refused to think about all that. He'd take what he could get now.

Nnoitra growled against his mouth and he opened it with a groan, inviting him in. No, demanding him to enter. He moved his hips in a rolling motion, drawing attention to them, and Nnoitra obliged, hands skillfully working him as he moved his own pelvis against his. He felt himself braced against the wall, then his legs lifted so they dangled over his waist, and Szayel wrapped them around his hips, straddling them as he was lifted and his body crushed against Nnoitra's. His lips separated as Nnoitra's mouth found his chest and that damnably glorious tongue swept over his skin, dragging a heated moan from him. The smaller man curved backwards, face tilted up to the ceiling in an expression of ecstasy as the shower water sprinkled it gently. His damp hair brushed his shoulders, a curtain of dark pink.

"Nnoitra…" he breathed as his fingertips dug into the flesh of his shoulder blades, and the other man rumbled something back.

Then a spasm ran through Nnoitra's body, and he felt himself lowered suddenly. Confused, he looked up to him for an explanation, and met with a distressing sight. Nnoitra was gritting his teeth, holding one shoulder to staunch the flow of blood that had reopened from his recent bullet wound. It blossomed around his fingers, bleeding crimson as it ran down his arm and dripped off to vanish down the drain.

"Shit…" he cursed at his injury, eyes narrowed in pain and a little fear. The blood flow showed no signs of slowing, close to the surface because of the heat from the water. If left untreated, he was in real danger of bleeding to death.

Szayel's melancholy and desire vanished in an instant, replaced by concern.

"Oh my god, I should have put sutures in at least."

He tugged Nnoitra away from the shower, flicking off the hot water as they left. A line of blood and pink tinted water followed their progress across the floor. Szayel fetched a fluffy white towel and passed it to Nnoitra to staunch the blood, not caring that he'd have to throw it away later. Wrapping one around his own waist, he ordered him to stay put.

"I'll be back in a moment," he said, and left the room.

The scientist didn't keep much medication on him because he wasn't built the same way as humans. He didn't need it for the most part, however, Nnoitra did. Accessing his intercom, he contacted Lumina and Verona.

"I need you two to bring me some Regro gel and a set of casual clothes in Nnoitra's size, though my first request takes priority."

He stood there by the sink, waiting for them to bring him what he'd requested, and reflected on his feelings.

He'd told Nnoitra to take him… to get it over with so he could get the lanky man and his ever-present grin out of his head… but he couldn't. He couldn't do it. He cared too much already. Just seeing Nnoitra bleed, he knew he wouldn't be able to give him up so easily. It was like a drug addiction, his relationship. Unhealthy, onesided, and ultimately painful. He was losing himself; the recovery would take years, agonizingly gradual. And as long as Nnoitra lingered, he wouldn't let go because there would always be that tantalizing possibility.

Szayel understood why humans immortalized love in songs at that moment. Why, along with death, the race seemed so singularly obsessed with it. Because it was all-consuming. It consumed you while you were caught up in it, helpless and hopelessly enslaved, and even when it let you go, it kept a part of you. He would never be completely whole again.

There came a knock on the door, then rustling footsteps as the twins left, and by the time he opened it, they were gone from the suite. On the floor sat two items; a stack of clothes and a jar of blue gel. He picked this up and carried it with him back into the shower room. Nnoitra still stood where he'd left him, holding the white towel to his shoulder, though by now rosettes of crimson had bloomed through the pristine cloth. He removed this, letting his fingers spark pink.

"This will sting just a bit," he warned softly, "I'm going to cauterize the veins."

Nnoitra flinched when he inserted his index finger into the wound, burning the broken blood vessels shut. The scent of seared flesh wafted up as he opened the jar, and an astringent smell replaced the first. He scooped up a gob of it and smeared it into the wound. It would firm up to the approximate consistency of flesh in a few minutes, filling the gap and sealing it from outside infection. The gel contained a cocktail of painkillers, antiseptics to kill bacteria, and hormones that would trigger his body to regrow the skin and muscle cells while preventing the formation of scar tissue. His body would metabolize the gel as it regenerated itself, eventually leaving nothing behind but whole skin. Szayel watched it solidify while he capped the jar and wiped the excess gel that remained on his fingers onto the towel already stained with blood. It was certainly colorful now, red white and blue.

"That'll take a month to heal," he informed him, "So try not to put stress on the arm. The gel is resilient, but it can still split, and that will delay your recovery even longer. My Fracción also brought you a set of replacement clothes, so those are waiting outside the bathroom for when you want them."

"Hey," Nnoitra said when he made as if to leave, "You're goin'?"

Szayel sighed, stopping.

"I really shouldn't stay. I've proven to myself that when it comes to you, I let my emotions get the better of me. And I am unaccustomed to dealing with such a surge."

"Well I know for a fact I won't be able to use the bathtub," Nnoitra said flatly, practicality cutting through his vacillations.

"You want to bathe?" Szayel asked.

"Look, maybe ya don't know better, but having your own shower in this city is a luxury. It's so cramped for space, you have to be rich or have old wealth and property passed down. Having your own hot tub? Unheard of for anyone in the middle class or lower, since they take up so much room. Of course I won't pass up the chance."

It hadn't occurred to Szayel that bathing privacy wasn't a right. Somewhere in his mind, he'd seen his experience in Las Noches as a form of persecution. A loss of rights. But it seemed in Japan, that was not the case. No, of course it wasn't. Now that he thought of it, communal bathhouses were ingrained in their cultural identity. He was the odd one out.

"I won't bring anything up or pull any shit on you, Szayel. I think I've had enough angst for one mornin'," Nnoitra said, laying to rest any lingering hesitations. "Truce?"

Szayel combed a hand through his still damp hair.

"Very well. You have your olive branch, Nnoitra. But finish showering first; I don't want you confusing my bath. Its sensitive to the scents on your body, and I'm not quite sure what it will make of blood. Worse, I dread to imagine what it would try to complement that with. Pomegranate perhaps?"

"Dark chocolate," said Nnoitra decisively, and turned on the water.

"How cliché…" Szayel muttered as the scent of citrus filled the air.

"You know its true," the taller man replied, "And by the way, it's your turn to wash my back."

Szayel bit his lip and took some soap, his stomach fluttering as he was presented with that broad expanse of muscled back. Tentatively, he ran his soapy fingers over the taut contours of his shoulder blades before he began on him in earnest, somehow resisting the temptation to throw caution to the wind and initiate something himself. Underneath it all, there was a lingering aversion. That memory had stirred more than a temporary, terrified relapse. His hands still lingered over his body, a phantom possibility.

He didn't want to let him go yet. The fear then was of a beginning; the fear now was of an end. When they both slipped into the tub, dripping lime and orange scented water, the bath put forth a calming mint, almost as if it could detect the anxiety he felt. And perhaps it could, but he was in no mood to ponder the particulars of his unique bath. Feeling the soothing warmth seep into his body along with the cooling tingle of the mint oil, Szayel finally began to relax despite his frayed nerves.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"So this is what you've done with all those plants," Nnoitra remarked as he explored the suite. He'd already toweled off and dressed and now walked around his living area, investigating his belongings. Szayel still had a towel around his hips and was busy drying his hair with another.

"Everything looks so neat. Elegant. Dang, and the accents… Looks nothing like a bachelor pad."

"I have never understood how one can surround themselves in slovenliness. And as I don't form personal attachments, I do not have sentimental bric 'a brac cluttering my home. When I tire of something, I get rid of it; thus, everything is precisely how I want it to look," Szayel replied as he hung the slightly damp towel on a hanger and strode over to his closet.

"So if I gave you somethin' pointless, would you keep it or chuck it?" Nnoitra asked as he leaned in to finger a vanilla vine he'd managed to coax into growing. He'd had to turn up the heat in his suite to manage it, thus giving it a tropical feel.

"That… depends," Szayel said, hesitating a little, "After all, I kept the plants, didn't I? If it enhances or at least doesn't detract from my living space, then I will keep it."

"No tourist souvenirs or charms for you then. Oh wow, you have an aquarium. I didn't expect you to take me up on that suggestion."

"They do not require affection from me, and I have my Fracción handle maintenance issues such as cleaning the tank. And they are very beautiful; there are several that fluoresce under blacklight, so when I turn the lights down, they shine in the dark. I will admit that it is rather therapeutic to watch them if I am suffering through a particularly dull meeting."

"Geez, no cats or dogs then either?"

"They are messy, clingy, needy, smelly animals. They shed all over the place, make noise, require patience. I do not tolerate such high maintenance subordinates."

"God Szayel, it's a freaking pet not a servant."

"Same concept," he remarked as he rifled through his extensive array of clothing.

"Actually, I think they're supposed'ta teach you to be more selfless and empathetic."

Szayel's hands stilled and he looked back at Nnoitra incredulously.

"Then I am definitely not a pet person. Fish and plants are ideal because they neither require nor expect a sentimental relationship. They are beautiful to look at, and you do not have to worry about dealing with personality quirks. Humans domesticated animals to be useful to them; they serve my use in being interesting ornaments. Nothing more."

"I swear Szayel, you need a dog or something. It'll give you unconditional love. You don't ever have to worry if it doesn't like you or if it will betray you or-"

"Stop, Nnoitra," the scientist interjected, turning to face him, "I do not suffer from lack of self image or want for devotion as most humans who turn to their pets for affection do. If I want something to kick around, I'll make it myself. Please cease in trying to humanize me."

Nnoitra frowned, but quit in his proselytizing, settling for watching the vibrant fish in their pristine aquarium swim around lazily while Szayel turned back to selecting his outfit. After a few minutes, he meandered over to comment on his progress.

"What's takin' so long?" he asked, standing behind his pink haired partner as he browsed his extensive inventory.

"Deciding what to wear," Szayel replied wearily.

"You aren't even going out in public."

"That is no excuse not to dress well, and as you said, I am not going out in public so I do not have to concern myself with hurrying up in my decision."

Nnoitra hmmed, then reached over him to pick out a shirt.

"This one," he said, taking down a nice white dress shirt with silver hemming, "Wear it."

Szayel blinked, accepting the shirt he dropped into his hands, and held it up to inspect it. The stitchery crisscrossed the background in a pattern of diamonds, not just the cuffs, though it was certainly more pronounced on these. It lent it a shimmery look without actually glittering; a subtle texturing to lend interest to the otherwise simple garment. The buttons up the front were of lapis lazuli. While he contemplated this selection, Nnoitra had already moved past him to pull down a pair of slacks and a blue tie with the same silver stitching as the shirt.

"This is actually something I would wear, Nnoitra," he remarked as he dressed, mildly amused.

"I was surprised you had normal clothes," the human replied with a smirk. Szayel finished buttoning up his shirt and fixed the tie, tugging it into place as Nnoitra handed him a pair of glossy black oxfords. He slipped these on, bending down to lace them up before straightening again.

"You look like a nerd wearing this," Nnoitra said, and Szayel adjusted his glasses in a stereotypically intellectual fashion.

"Well pardon me for being one," he drawled sarcastically, and Nnoitra laughed, leaning in.

"No need for apologies. You're a damn hot nerd."

He captured his lips for a moment, but it wasn't a hungry kiss. It was more playful, and indeed he withdrew after a few seconds.

"So… I guess I won't see you for awhile?" he asked. Szayel shook his head.

"Not for a month or two. To create a gigai that synchs well with my spiritual body and mimics that of a human's as accurately as possible, I must grow it up from a cellular level. And I can only speed up the process so much. Besides, it will be more plausible if I am absent for awhile, seeing as you told Hiroko I took a round of bullets meant to kill."

"You're gonna miss Halloween then?"

"Most likely."

"Shame," said Nnoitra, "I already had your next costume in mind."

"What?"

"A nurse."

"How unimaginative and predictable, Nnoitra. I'm far too intelligent to be a mere nurse. At the very least I'd be a doctor, and even they aren't too bright."

"Dissing our medical system now?"

"Please. I could pass the MCAT dying of bubonic plague."

"Pink haired freak. I bet you could too."

He ruffled his still damp hair, raising a perfumed cloud of citrus and mint, and Szayel didn't protest it if only because he hadn't brushed it yet.

"Life'll be less interestin' without you around," the taller man remarked, and Szayel shoved him out of his closet with an exasperated look.

"I'm positive you'll find some other… outlet in my absence."

"You sayin' I'll cheat on ya?"

"Are you going to claim you won't? Or aren't already?"

Nnoitra looked awkward for a moment.

"Er…" he supplied helpfully. Szayel shoved him harder, thinking of Kimiko.

"Don't answer that by the way," he cut in quickly, feeling a jealous twinge, "I've told you before I don't want to know about your other affairs."

"Right," said Nnoitra, tactfully avoiding the subject as Szayel maneuvered him towards the door, "So see ya in two months?"

"Give or take a few weeks," Szayel replied as he opened the door, and Nnoitra stepped outside, "If you absolutely must contact me in the mean time, go through my Fracción. I'll have them send you their numbers."

"Will do, Szay. See ya when I see ya."

"A most apt expression," Szayel remarked with a faint smile, "Until then, Nnoitra."

He closed the door gently, knowing Lumina and Verona would escort him out unseen, but lingered there for a minute longer with eyes closed. Nnoitra had said in his teasing way that life would be duller without him, but the truth was it was Szayel's life that would be dull. Maddeningly dull. Recollections of the crippling ennui that had plagued him not two months ago sent a shudder of dread through him.

A whisper from beyond the doorway caught his attention, and his eyes snapped open at the phantom words.

Call me Nobu…

His hand quickly found the doorknob, and he wrenched it open. The hallway was bare; deserted. Szayel slumped against the doorframe, staring at the empty stretch before him. All in his head then. Just his imagination, overworking. But why those particular words? Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed the door again and wandered over to his couch, noting with detachment that they'd managed to get bloodstains on this too and the upholstery would have to be changed. Overwhelming in his mind was a single, lucid thought;

I need to find a new hobby…

-.-.-.-.-.-

Amazing how time could pass so slowly. The scientist had encountered a new phenomenon in his first two weeks; that not only was it possible for one to be bored to tears and subsequent catatonia, but that it was also possible to be so bored that one was too bored even to rouse themselves to alleviate that boredom. With morbid curiosity, he pondered the human expression "bored to death" and wondered if it had any validity. However, this was an experiment he never had the opportunity to test, for the realization that his plants were wilting dragged him off the cough to see to their wellbeing. And in watering them and coaxing them back to health, he managed to shake off some of the torpor that suffocated him.

He did have things to do; things he knew Nnoitra would never have the spine to and Hiroko did not have the influence to pull. But he did. He'd said before, he would not tolerate his interests meddled in. Retaliation was in line, and such a satisfying task it turned out to be, occupying three of his weeks. He filled the downtime by picking out a fetching shade of dark red upholstery for his couch and painting his walls a lovely soft amber with geometric designs of white that hinted at an almost tribal flair. The green of the vines that trailed down from pots he'd mounted on stone ledges he installed throughout the room added beautifully to the effect, especially the two elegant palms that flanked the couch and the orchid he'd stationed on the mahogany writing desk over by his computer. His collection of tropical fish expanded to include three new vibrant additions.

But none of his remodeling was quite as satisfying as the news of a handful of deaths that reached him those three weeks later:

"Four incidents of bacterial meningitis were reported today. The disease, which kills in a matter of hours from onset, is currently being looked into and the source of the outbreak traced and investigated, as it is a pressing health concern. If you experience symptoms of high fever and an acute headache stemming from the base of the skull, and stiffness of neck, please contact your local health provider. The names of the victims are-"

Szayel clicked off the broadcast smiling, his golden eyes half lidded. The names were inconsequential to him now; they were only four dead souls. Garbage not worth further consideration, bound for Hell. The bacterial meningitis would not be traced back to him or any of his affiliates, but the Black Dragons would know it to be no accident. The very infrastructure of their mob, the four key members; all eliminated in the matter of a day. No warning. It was a devastating disease, agonizingly painful and lethal if not treated swiftly. The victims would watch their own skin corrupt and turn necrotic as the bacteria ate the flesh, their consciousness feverish and fading, unless of course they'd died in their sleep.

Indeed, meningitis was extremely uncommon these days. So uncommon, it had been the perfect choice. Being the bacterial variety, it would not spread beyond his very specific zone of infection. Lack of experience with the disease led to a delayed response, and a delayed response with this disease meant death or permanent disability and disfigurement. Tempt not the gods of death. To a gang that had been forewarned via a gruesome message, such an occurrence would not be happenstance. No, it would seem like divine retribution, and thus a very effective form of psychological intimidation. With the core of their organization destroyed and the ordinary members shaken by superstition, they would not rise again. Nnoitra, now spared on two occasions, was untouchable.

Just in case, he'd had his Fracción send him one of his specially fitted shirts a week earlier. An ironic gesture, considering he'd told him they would stay off the underworld market as long as possible. He'd even thoughtfully provided one for Hiroko as well, figuring he might as well cut loose if he was going to play favorites.

It was truly an incredible feeling to set someone up, to manipulate from the shadows the lives of others… to murder, knowing he'd never be caught. A rush similar to the one he'd felt toying with Namikawa. For a moment, he contemplated designing a new disease. The population was increasing again, crowding the cities of the world like a mold colony overgrowing an agar plate. Despite all his advances, their exponential growth could not be sustained forever. Humanity was parasitic; it needed culling, whether or not it wanted to admit it. His advances in technology had indeed been a balm to the suffering world, but far more effective in promoting peace and health had been the plagues he'd set upon the planet to ravage its burgeoning population.

Race was not so much a dividing factor when black, white, and every heritage in between sickened and died in equal droves. Religion was not flaunted above others in the face of the sweeping insensitivity that claimed all without exclusion. He was the great equalizer, in a sick way. The architect of the modern world. And they praised him for it.

Yes, for a moment he considered designing one of his sinister puzzles and watching the world fall to hell. But then he paused. Thought. And realized he couldn't. A wry smile twisted his lips. That wasn't an option anymore, now that he was no longer so impartial.

"Congratulations, Nnoitra. You just saved your species from the sadistic game of a bored shadow dictator."

Saluting empty air, he walked over to his desk and drug out a bottle of rum from one of the drawers. Once he got over his intoxication, he'd have to think up a new pastime.

-.-.-.-.-.-

"Master Granz."

He looked up as Lumina's voice interrupted his thoughts. The male Fracción stood attentively a few meters away, respectful of the bubble of privacy his creator liked to maintain.

"Spit it out, Lumina," he ordered curtly, leaning back in his chair, pen balanced against his lips. The blueprints he'd been sketching on the table lay temporarily abandoned.

"Takeda-san is currently in contact with Verona and requesting to speak with you."

"Nnoitra?"

The Fracción observed how his master's face brightened, the look of intense concentration melting from it as he rose, and nodded, grinning internally at his reaction. Szayel-sama was not easily distracted from his work, until Nnoitra came into the picture.

"Yes, sir."

"Then summon her."

The dark haired man nodded deferentially and departed to fetch his twin, and moments later, Verona entered the room. Without preamble, he strode over to her and pushed her out of her gigai, watching the Arrancar stumble backward as he entered it himself.

"Yes?" he asked, wincing when Verona's voice spoke his words.

"Szayel?" Nnoitra asked, looking puzzled.

"In the flesh… in a manner of speaking. What is it you want?"

"Er… that's kind of freaky. One moment she was herself, then she was you?"

"It's a gigai," Szayel said impatiently, "My Fracción cannot go about invisible in the human world if they are to serve as my proxies. Therefore, I can possess her."

"Oh. That's still pretty freaky."

"Nnoitra, what is it you contacted me about?" Szayel repeated, and Nnoitra rolled his eyes.

"God. Impatient aren't we? I was just wondering how progress on your new gigai was comin' along."

"It still has a few more days," the scientist replied, "Why do you ask?"

"Ah, damn. Well I wanted to know if you'd be able to go to a festival tomorrow evening, but I guess not, eh?"

"Oh."

Szayel blinked and bit his lower lip, considering.

"Actually…" he hedged, "I might have something."

"Really?"

"Yes," Szayel said, frowning slightly, "Another gigai. There is only one problem with it, but… it should suffice for one evening."

"Problem?" Nnoitra asked, sounding curious.

"You'll see. Do not concern yourself overmuch; it won't detract from anything, I promise. Now what is this festival?"

"Oh, it's a traditional one Karakura City puts on every November. Kimonos and lanterns and a parade and all that jazz. I dunno, I thought ya might enjoy it. People set up all sorts of booths, and its fun to go around to them all and see what people are offerin'."

"What time?"

"Festivities start at six and the parade ends at midnight."

"Where do we meet?"

Nnoitra grinned, his face lightening as Szayel settled the date.

"Be down by the beginning of the boardwalk with your flashy parasol or somethin'. I'll find ya."

"Its not that flashy," he protested, defending the honor of his accessory.

Nnoitra smirked.

"See you tomorrow evening," he said, and disconnected. Szayel groused, but wasn't nearly as upset as he pretended. Glancing over at Verona, who waited patiently for him to finish, he promptly stripped off her gigai and tossed it her way, feeling the electric twinges of an improper synch numb his nerves. Possessing a gigai not designed for him did have its unpleasant side effects. She slipped back into her human body and made as if to leave, but a word from him stopped her.

"Wait."

She paused, looking at him expectantly.

"Yes Szayel-sama?"

"I have a task for you, and try not to seem too pleased about it when you hear the details."

"What do you command of me?"

Szayel rubbed his temple in anticipation of what was to come.

"I need… a kimono," he said edgily, "And all that statement entails."

The scientist observed her face, and to her credit, Verona kept her face neutral as she replied, "Of course Szayel-sama." However, she couldn't quite mask the glimmer in her eyes as she turned and left the room. Szayel watched her leave, exhaling. Tomorrow would be a trying evening. With that thought in mind, he went to go dig his gigai out of storage.

-.-.-.-.-.-

Standing there in the twilight, with the light not yet completely faded from the sky but dark enough that visibility was greatly limited to the pools illuminated by one of the many colorful lanterns that decorated the streets, Szayel waited. He felt slightly ridiculous as he spun his parasol gently, for it was absolutely no use to him at night, unless it started raining. It drew a few odd looks he knew; furtive side glances from passersby, but the vast majority that flocked to the festival did not seem to care. The effervescent cheer that pervaded forgave all eccentricities and even encouraged them, as festivalgoers donned painted masks from all walks of lore. It was a night to laugh, not judge.

Szayel watched them pass; a colorful, vivacious stream. Yet standing apart from them, he neither felt a stranger nor claustrophobic as he had at the party. The aura of the festival was a different one. Simultaneously spirited and relaxing. Welcome even, perhaps. So it was when Nnoitra found him and strode over to him with a smile on his face, he did not startle.

"Szayel, hey!" the tall human called. Szayel turned to greet him as he approached, balancing on his raised wooden clogs.

"Good evening, Nnoitra," he replied, and Nnoitra drew up to him, tilting his head in amusement.

"Decided you like crossdressing after all, eh? I'm not complaining; you look fantastic. Very elegant. Is that a wig?"

"Ah…"

Szayel reached up to touch his hair self consciously. It was much longer than his usual hair, and drawn up into a geisha bun, though he'd allowed a few tresses to hang loose and frame the sides of his face. The kimono he wore was of violet silk and beautifully patterned with sprays of white, orange, and magenta blossoms. The obi was a burnt orange with gold embroidery. Tendrils of green wove between the flowers, contrasting with the predominantly warm color scheme. It was undoubtedly a woman's kimono, and it hugged his slender frame attractively, emphasizing his figure.

"I said there were some problems with it. Differences…" he said, observing how Nnoitra's eyes lingered on the subtle curve of his hips where the kimono tapered to cling around his legs and ankles.

"Differences? You look like more of a woman than ever. Actually, I think you might even be more convincing in this getup. Ha. You're even wearing the false boobs."

Without warning, he reached over and groped his chest playfully, jesting, but his eyes soon widened as he realized his error. The roving hand was back at his side in a flash, and his mouth half opened in confusion.

"'The hell?" he stuttered, and Szayel felt his cheeks heat in mortification. That… had been unexpected, although he probably should have anticipated it. Trying not to stutter himself, he ended up parroting his earlier words.

"I said there were differences…"

"Differences?"

Szayel lowered his parasol, covering his face, which was by now as bright as the lantern he stood beneath.

"I… look more feminine because… well, this body is female," he murmured weakly.

"So you're…?"

"For all intents and purposes a woman, yes. Please do not remind me; the situation is awkward enough for me as it stands."

"Holy shit, Szayel."

He felt long fingers lift his chin, tilting it towards the light, and warm brown eyes examine his face. He saw reflected in their depths the differences he'd observed in his mirror, and knew the changes he now picked up on. The softer planes of his face, no longer so masculinely angled. The rounder, larger eyes and longer lashes. The added fullness to his lips, and the graceful curve of his throat, uninterrupted by the bump of an Adam's apple. Even his voice was slightly higher, though not too different from his typical speaking voice.

"Holy shit," Nnoitra repeated, and Szayel turned away, uncomfortable.

"Staring is rude, Nnoitra," he reprimanded a little sourly, and Nnoitra started as if shaken from a trance.

"Sorry," he said, shaking his head before extending an arm, "Walk and talk?"

Szayel accepted the proffered limb, allowing himself to be led through the river of festivalgoers that promenaded down the boardwalk. Nnoitra waited a minute before asking the question Szayel knew he wanted the answer to. He could see it in his face, they way his mouth pulled down slightly, as if concentrating on something intently.

"So why d'ya have a female gigai that looks like you?" he finally asked, dropping the burning question.

"Because I was attempting to probe the female psyche."

"No perverted motivations?"

Szayel resisted the alternating urge to hide his face as his cheeks flamed brighter or smack him. Instead, he replied in a snappy, waspish tone.

"It was an experiment to determine how best to market products to females that I tried a couple decades back. I made this body genetically similar to myself as a human male, only swapped out the chromosomes and lengthened the hair so I wouldn't have to look at an identical face. The other changes you see were wrought by the female hormones. I spent a month in his body and forced myself to interact in a social setting for the duration of that time. Specifically, I was a visiting college student. It was…" Szayel paused, thinking back on his experience, and winced, "To this day, I am thankful not to be female. There are certain wonderful privileges that come with it I'd rather never experience again. But for what its worth, I can honestly say I understand the psychology of a young woman better than I would care to, and subsequently, I was able to dominate competitors in that field as well."

"Hold on, you went about like this for a whole month?"

"That I did."

"In a dorm with other girls?"

"That would follow."

"Bathing?" Nnoitra asked.

"There was a shared shower in the dorm, though occasionally I would be dragged off to a bathhouse as well, yes."

"So you saw them-"

"Obviously Nnoitra! What do you think? We bathed in our underwear?" Szayel snapped testily, and Nnoitra smirked.

"No, but that sounds kinda sexy too."

The pink haired Arrancar scowled and smacked his shoulder hard, and Nnoitra winced, rubbing it ruefully.

"God, sorry. Don't be so violent. What, ya PMSing?"

Szayel stiffened, his amber eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Don't. Even. Fucking. Joke," he threatened through clenched teeth, and Nnoitra had the grace to look shocked.

"Woah wait, no joke? That too?"

"Yes…" he groaned, one hand cradling his forehead while the other subconsciously brushed his lower stomach, "Everything. It was an experiment for the sake of science and good profit that is now thankfully concluded."

"Everything?" he asked in that damnably suggestive tone of his, and Szayel spun around and slapped him across the cheek, seething.

"No, not everything you perverted piece of shit!" he hissed, quite riled up by this point, "But close enough! Now drop it before I drop you where it hurts in public!"

Nnoitra touched his stinging cheek, looking stunned for a moment, then smirked. If he was the type to nosebleed, Szayel got the impression he would be at that instant.

"Daaaamn. Bitch slapped. Violent female."

Szayel made a frustrated sound and turned his back on the taller man.

"I am not female. I am still male," he reminded him irritably as he spun his parasol rather wildly to vent.

"In a female body. With female hormones."

"And what does that matter! If I'd known you'd be an asshole about it, I wouldn't have come."

He sped up, but his outfit wouldn't let him walk very fast, and Nnoitra easily caught up to him. Szayel curled his lip in disgust, turning his head away, but Nnoitra only switched sides to catch his eyes.

"Hey look, I'll stop interrogating you about your gender swap, 'kay? Lets just enjoy the festival together," the human said semi seriously. The scientist frowned, still irritated, but nodded.

"Fine. But I want you to know this isn't easy for me, alright? And so far, you've done a wonderful job of aggravating the situation."

"Sorry," he said, arms snaking around his chest from behind as he kissed the top of his head.

"You say that so easily. You don't really mean it," he muttered, but didn't try to pull away. Nnoitra's lips lingered in his hair a moment longer before he released him, only to tug him over to the first of the cheerfully lit stalls.

"Fine then. I issue your masculinity a challenge it can't turn down. We're going to pig out on festival food, and you don't get to complain about the amount."

"And I suppose I'll be covering that cost?" Szayel remarked dryly as Nnoitra sidled up to a takoyaki vendor. He looked down, amused.

"Nah. Food's on me," he said, and just to prove it, paid while he shoved a boxful of steaming takoyaki balls into his hands. "Eat."

Szayel stared at the pile, then looked up at him.

"You aren't going to help me?" he asked as he watched his companion buy another.

"Got my own. Ya gonna wimp out on me now?"

Szayel scowled and popped the first one into his mouth, chewing.

"Sadist," he grumbled.

"Nah Szay, that's you," was Nnoitra's cheerful reply as he hauled him off to the next stall.

He didn't jest either. Szayel was made to consume three sticks of dango, green tea mochi, yakitori skewers, a bowl of ramen, an pan, onigiri of various fillings, and meat buns, not to mention western fare such as an elephant ear. By the time he'd somehow managed to finish off the fried pastry and lick the remaining cinnamon and sugar off his fingers, he was ready to pass out from a food coma.

"I'll give ya'a break," Nnoitra offered generously in response to his breathy moan.

"The human stomach is built to expand to accommodate only two liters, Nnoitra," he replied weakly, "I think you're really pushing that limit."

"Lightweight," he teased, but allowed the smaller man to lean against him while he walked them over to a bench on the boardwalk. They stared out over the water, which shimmered with the reflected lights of lanterns strung along the bows of the ships that lay moored there.

"You're just a pig," Szayel protested darkly, closing his eyes. All his blood was rushing to his stomach to digest the meal he'd just consumed, and he felt a little lightheaded.

"Hey," Nnoitra nudged him in the ribs, "Don't fall asleep on me yet; its only eight o clock."

"I wont…" the scientist promised reluctantly, "Just let me sit here for a bit."

"Pansy."

Szayel didn't even have the heart to mutter a threat, only grunted in a somewhat irritated fashion.

"Fine. Be surly. But at least talk. How have ya been? What've you been up to while you haven't had the opportunity to stalk me? Done anything of note recently?"

Szayel grumbled indistinctly and was rewarded with another rib nudge. He batted the offending elbow away, opening his amber eyes to look up at his tormentor.

"Heard about the meningitis outbreak?" he asked, purposefully picking a potentially sensitive topic.

"Oh shit, that was you?" Nnoitra said, eyes widening a little.

"Yes. They won't be bothering you again."

Nnoitra shook his head, disbelieving.

"You always take things to the extreme," he remarked.

"Not to the extreme," Szayel objected, "The necessary. They were threatening an investment of mine, so I eliminated them. It's just good business."

"An investment? So I'm an investment?"

"Of time and emotion, and I'm an 'interest' to you. Oh do stop whining Nnoitra; it's hypocritical," Szayel said wearily.

"You're goddamn scary is what you are, and would be even if you were human."

"Humans are terrifying creatures as well. Sometimes I believe more terrifying than Arrancar. Is my masculinity resolved now?"

"Well ya know what they say… revenge is a bitch."

"Shut up."

"Shut me up."

Szayel looked up into Nnoitra's face with a start, surprised to see it slightly serious. He wasn't smirking or gloating or otherwise looking how he would have expected him to at that moment.

"Pardon?" he asked. Nnoitra's face remained strange for a moment longer, then morphed into the grin he'd grown used to seeing.

"I said shut me up," he said playfully. Szayel gave him an odd look, still caught off guard by his unfathomable expression from a minute earlier.

"Refrain from uttering such an ambiguous order that may be interpreted multiple ways, or I may just take you at your word, Nnoitra. Or rather, my interpretation of that word."

"Aww, don't be so bitchy, Szay. I was kidding," he said. Szayel pursed his lips.

"Liar."

"So what else have you done, other than murder my would be assassins?"

"Well, I did do some remodeling."

Nnoitra snorted, then laughed out loud, unable to hold it back.

"Oh god, that's just so you. Like those one of those chic supervillans, all 'Gahaha world domination!' one second and the next fretting over getting their Giorgio Armani suit dirty. All you're missing is the cat."

"At least we have fashion sense."

"You're such a girl, ya know? Even without the gigai."

"Hmph. I also got back to inventing just so you know."

"Oh? What'cha workin' on now?"

"Just a pet project. I was sketching out the preliminary design yesterday. It's another amusement park ride; a free fall chamber."

"Sounds fun."

"It will probably never be approved, because if it ever fails, there are no safety measures to protect the rider. As I said, its just a pet project to occupy time."

"Seems like a waste if you don't do anything with it."

"Of all my inventions that you see, there are thousands, no, millions more that never made the cut, Nnoitra. Part of science is experimenting and building faulty models and seeing what works and what doesn't. Those failures then evolve and become successes and remain obscure to the public, but they are crucial nonetheless. An old… nemesis for lack of a better word once told me it is impossible to be both a scientist and perfect, and much as it pains me to concede him a point, he was correct. The process I go through to bring each new invention to life is oft fraught with failure and difficulty. It is not perfect, nor am I. But I make my work as close to that ideal as possible without actually crossing that line. Therefore, my idle inventing is not a waste. Someday I may reuse the blueprints I discard tomorrow for something truly ingenious. Until then, it remains possibility."

His words seemed to have a sobering effect on their overall mood, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Nnoitra appeared thoughtful, only stirring when Szayel closed his eyes again.

"C'mon. Gotta keep movin'."

Szayel sighed and allowed Nnoitra to pull him to his feet, swaying slightly on his raised clogs. The worst of his feeling of bloatedness had passed, and walking wasn't nearly as painful as it had been half an hour ago.

The taller man pulled him through the clusters of people dressed in bright, patterned kimonos and darker garb alike. Laughter brightened the air all around them, as plentiful as the glowing globes that hung on strings from the multitude of stalls. Children ran underfoot, navigating the human labyrinth with wild grins and bags of sweets and ribbons streamers fisted in their sticky hands. Szayel watched them as they passed, as if they were specimens of some exotic breed of animal. Nnoitra caught his staring and slowed for a moment to observe his face.

"Kids," he remarked, and Szayel looked up at him questioningly, "You like 'em? You don't strike me as the type."

"No, but where I used to live, children were very unusual. Arrancar very rarely have children. In fact, I'm not entirely certain it is possible, or if it is… it is difficult to conceive. So it is interesting to watch them at least, as it is new to me."

"You must've had a childhood though, right?"

"When… I was human, yes. But that was so long ago I do not remember. Memories of our lives as humans fade, for some more than others. That is because Arrancar are not singular entities; we are thousands of souls contained in one body. I happen to be the dominant consciousness."

Nnoitra looked nonplussed at his explanations, even a little blank.

"So... you're not yourself and you don't have a childhood. Shit, you just keep on getting weirder."

"I am myself," Szayel protested, "Does my past change who I am now?"

"I suppose not," Nnoitra admitted, still seeming a little disturbed, but a flash of inspiration sparked in his eyes. "Although, since ya don't remember anythin', we're gonna have to take a crash course in it."

"What?" Szayel asked, quirking an eyebrow in puzzlement.

"Games," Nnoitra declared, and tugged him towards the game booths.

A paper paddle was promptly thrust into his hands, and he gazed down at it uncomprehendingly as Nnoitra led him towards a tank of water.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he inquired, holding it up to the light to better examine it. It was composed of a thin sheet of paper over a wooden loop; a very simplistic device.

"There are fish in the pool, stupid. Pick one and try to scoop it out. If you win, you get to keep it."

Szayel glanced down into the water and discerned the graceful shapes swimming in the water.

"What's the point? I already have an aquarium full of them at home," he remarked. Nnoitra rolled his eyes at him.

"It's a game. It's fun. It's not supposed to have a point. Ya know, some of the best things in life don't have a point."

"Everything has a point," Szayel objected.

"Just scoop the damn fish."

Frowning, Szayel knelt and eyed the fish swimming in the water. They were young koi, about the size of goldfish, and most wore the familiar orange, white, and red mottling. However, there were a few oddities here and there; an albino koi with pink eyes, a solid orange one with a yellow stripe down its back and on the tips of its fins. And then there was a black one with pale eyes and a silver dot on its head. He felt drawn to the striking coloration on this one, and concentrated on it as it swept the pool lazily. Angling the paper paddle, he waited until it was beneath him and flipped the paddle under its belly.

The paper broke and the fish escaped through the ring, splashing him across the face as it reentered the water. He stared at the black fish, mouth agape as it swam away impertinently, then down at his broken instrument.

"Wha-?" he mouthed.

"Tough luck," said the booth owner.

"Want to try again?" Nnoitra asked with a smirk. He shoved another paddle into his hand before Szayel even had a chance to reply. Szayel raised it again, waiting, only to meet with similar results when he tried to capture his prize. Nnoitra handed him a third scoop, looking gleeful as Szayel's face twisted into a scowl of concentration.

Ten minutes later, and with a growing mound of broken scoops by his ankle, Szayel was completely absorbed in his game. Nnoitra watched his pink haired date hunch over the fish pool, golden eyes fixed on their prey with a hunter's intensity. He nibbled his lower lip unconsciously, an endearing quirk he probably wasn't aware he indulged whenever he was focused on something intently. His left hand angled in a practiced motion; graceful but with a sinuous tension that betrayed the energy coiled in that seemingly delicate arm. Szayel was having fun, of a sort, and it was amusing to see him worked up over something so "pointless." Nnoitra admired the exposed curve of his neck, taut with anticipation; he so rarely revealed it, as if he sought to hide his body. Yet the clothes he wore clung so tightly, they left little to the imagination. Just enough to tease, really. He was a paradox.

Szayel hissed the moment before he struck. Quick as a flash, he slid the paper paddle under his nemesis and flipped the black fish out of the water- and this time the paddle did not break. It flopped into his lap, gasping for oxygen, and the booth owner quickly came over with a bag of water. He dropped the elusive koi into the bag, tied it with a ribbon, and presented it to Szayel.

"Here Miss. Finally got him, eh? Ha! It's good to see a determined young lady like yourself."

Whatever Nnoitra had been expecting, he didn't see. Szayel's face was suffused in a giddy light of triumph, his cheeks flushed pink with his victory. He did not frown in distaste at the damp spot on his kimono where the koi had landed, nor did he appear miffed at being mistaken for female. (Though in this form it wasn't exactly a mistake.) No. Instead, he raised his prize victoriously and smiled; a rare, candid smile. Free of sarcasm or guile.

"Got the little bastard," he crowed, as pleased as any ten year old, and Nnoitra found himself smiling back.

"Told ya it was fun. Now how about we find somethin' else?"

Szayel rose, eager now.

"Like what?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

"We'll just have to see."

They flitted from booth to booth for the next two hours, playing as many games as they could find, rigged or not. Some Szayel excelled at, especially those that required a precise hand and an eye for angles. Others he had to try at, and it was these that absorbed him obsessively until he got a feel for the trick behind them and subsequently mastered them. By the end of their spree, Szayel towed quite an assortment of prizes ranging from plush animals to streamers to sticks of incense. And Nnoitra of course was enlisted in carrying them. It was the taller man who was forced to beg for a break this time, though he did so tactfully.

"Hey, Szay. Why don't we drop by Hiroko's stall?"

The pink haired man- woman –paused, blinking large, amber eyes.

"Hiroko's stall? She's here?" he asked, surprised.

"Most of the small shop owners are; it's traditional to sell your wares at the festival. It's just about the only time the big corporations are expressly banned from selling or advertising. All these stalls you see are individual businesses or artisans, though the game booths are put on by the city. Funds from those go towards next year's parade and decorations and such. So, wanna stop by and say hello?"

"Sure."

Nnoitra seemed to have some sort of innate tracking device, for he never lost himself in the crowd. In a matter of minutes, they stood before a familiar face, who busied herself behind the makeshift counter of her booth. In the back, two of the more charismatic members of her organization assisted, but all three of them looked up when they arrived. Only a flicker in her eyes betrayed her surprise.

"So you're the one Takeda weaseled out of work tonight to see. Good to have you back, Granz; tall and lanky here's been moping."

"Hiroko," said man complained.

"San," she reminded, twisting a washcloth threateningly.

"He's been moping?" Szayel asked, leaning in conspiratorially.

"Two months with him getting none? This is Takeda we're talking about. I would certainly think so."

Szayel felt his face color. Behind him, Nnoitra laughed.

"I-we-" he stuttered, caught off guard by Hiroko's comment, and the woman quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

"Takeda?" she inquired of her employee. He grinned, draping himself over Szayel's shoulders, having set his pile of prizes aside.

"His ass is still virgin," he said, smacking it lightly. Szayel glowered back at him.

"Oho? You two still haven't done anything? Takeda, you're losing your touch."

"Mrs. Hiroko! You needn't encourage him!"

"On the contrary, I think I do," she crooned, smirking, "You're a good catch, and looking particularly effeminate tonight if I might add. How are you restraining yourself, Nobu?"

"With great difficulty," he replied as one of his hands snaked down to his groin. Szayel yelped as he felt fingers brush him through the cloth of his kimono. His nerves skittered at this new sensation as a tingling started between his legs, and his cheeks turned even redder as he registered his gigai's reaction.

"Nnoitra," he warned, tone severe. The taller man sighed, but obligingly moved his hand back up, wrapping his arms around his chest instead. Hardly an improvement, but this at least did not make him feel so hot.

"Love life aside, it's good to see you're well recovered Mr. Granz. I'll take the opportunity to thank you now for saving our Takeda again, even heavily injured."

"Of course, Mrs. Hiroko. It is my duty. As long as I'm attached to him, I'll see to it he remains alive."

"No need to worry about the Dragons though; their mob is defunct."

"I am well aware."

She looked him in the eye, silent for a moment, then nodded.

"To be honest, I suspected as much. Even while hospitalized, you still get your way. The shirts were appreciated as well. Nobu told me the significance behind them."

"You are a high risk figure Hiroko-san, as you are not only mob Mistress but a public figure, exposed at all hours of the day."

"How considerate of you," she remarked sarcastically, grinning.

"Not at all. I'm merely looking out for my investments as I already told Nnoitra."

"That's more like it," the woman said, straightening, "Now why don't you drop off your things like Takeda already has and get back to the festival? The parade should be starting soon."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Nnoitra replied as he let Szayel go to set the last of his winnings next to the others.

"Have some fun, kiddies," she called to them as Nnoitra led him away, and there was no replacing the suggestion in her words.

"Perverted old woman," he muttered. Nnoitra's smile widened. Szayel cut him off with a cold look.

"No," he said, and skipped out of Nnoitra's reach, deciding to take initiative and dictate their next stop. He chose a mask shop, drawn by the beautifully painted wares.

There were masks of every possible variety, and they hung from the walls, row upon row of brightly painted carvings. Some included other additions, such as feathers and glass and still others what appeared to be inlay of actual precious stones.

"Hobby or profession?" he inquired of the man behind the counter.

"Both," was his reply, "Outside of the festival, my masks aren't cheap, but I discount them for the festivalgoers, or those who seem like they truly appreciate my art."

"They are gorgeous," Szayel said, leaning on his elbows as he gazed at the wall of jewel colored wares. Nnoitra finally caught up to him and slunk in, having been taken by surprise by his unexpected jaunt and separated by a sudden flux of fairegoers.

"Would you like to buy a mask, Miss?" the shopkeeper asked.

"I think I shall."

His eyes scanned the myriad masks that hung from every possible free space, though he did note the empty places where a few customers had presumably taken a fancy to one of them and bought it. Nnoitra joined him in his search, reaching out to point at one after a few minutes.

"Look. There's a phoenix mask."

Szayel glanced over to where he pointed and saw that it was true. The firebird stared back at him, a triumph of gold and scarlet and copper. Black paint rimmed the eyeholes, and black feathers speckled with gold paint trailed from where on a person's face there would be lashes. It was truly beautiful, with leaping flames twisting up the cheeks and a headdress of orange and red feathers, but even as he admired it, he shook his head.

"This one's a piece of art, not something to be worn. It is best left on a wall to be admired."

"Hnn," said Nnoitra, giving him a strange look before he resumed searching. Szayel admired a green quetzal mask with a pair of trailing red plumes that began at the bridge of the mask's beak and cascaded over the back, almost like the antennae of a moth. Underneath the eyes were layered short green feathers. His eyes found a pink starfish mask next where the carved arms of the marine creature appeared to embrace the side of one cheek. It looked to be decorated with two varieties of coral; the spiky, organic white and the shiny red of the polished kind.

"Hey, what about this one?"

He pointed to a peacock mask. If the phoenix had been sumptuous, this one gave it a run for extravagance. One half of the mask was a collage of glass; green, blue, and indigo, overlain on the wood. The other half was painted black with gold and iridescent green twists of paint along the jaw that clustered heavily around the eye in a feathery pattern. Embedded in the center of the forehead was a star sapphire, and peacock feathers adorned the top of the mask, mimicking a tail in their elegant, fanlike sweep. Again, Szayel admired the artistry shown in its make and privately marveled at the price tag surely attached, but shook his head.

"The peacock is the symbol of another; a man I'd rather not think about. Ironically, it is considered to be another immortal bird in mythology. No, I think I've already chosen my mask."

He pointed to a mask hanging towards the right of the entire display, and Nnoitra followed his finger with some surprise.

"That one please," he asked of the stall keeper. The man went and took it down from its hook, setting it before him.

"That's incredibly simple for you," Nnoitra remarked upon it. Szayel held it up, examining it studiously.

"The word you're looking for is minimalistic, or perhaps refined? Not everything I own is extravagant."

It was indeed on the plainer side, but it had an elegant beauty in its simplicity. Carved of ebony and polished to a matte gloss, it had more weight to it than some of the other masks, yet it was fitting. A black jackal mask with an Egyptian flair; sleek and regal. Gold foil edged its eyes, a brilliant kohl that trailed down each cheek in three, distinctive triangles. The eyebrows were marked as thin lines of gold paint. Two dots of mother of pearl inlay were worked in just under the inside of the eyeholes and glimmered there mysteriously, like two pearlescent tears on the verge of forming. Szayel removed his glasses and pressed the mask to his face. All that showed through were his amber eyes, which glowed brightly in contrast with the black of the wood.

"Wow," Nnoitra said. That gaze was ancient. Eerie. Szayel removed the mask, smiling mysteriously.

"Anubis," he said, "The Egyptian god who embalmed the bodies of the dead so they could pass on to the afterlife. A lonely profession, don't you think? Osiris received the souls once they'd passed on, but Anubis was the one to prepare and judge the dead. He weighed their hearts against a feather, and if they were heavy with sin, he threw them to the Devourer. No glory for the Embalmer; only corpses."

"Morbid," commented Nnoitra.

"Yes," Szayel agreed with a laugh, "But look doesn't he seem sad? What happens when the judge is no longer impartial?"

He ran a finger over the mother of pearl, then reached into his obi, taking out his violet card.

"I am aware that you discount your masks, but I cannot with good conscience pay less for this than what it is worth."

"You sure?" the man asked, scanning the card, "Because you're someone who I would gladly discount one of my masks for."

"Positive," Szayel replied, "And do the same for his."

"Huh?" Nnoitra said, startling out of his reverie.

"I can see you've been eyeing that boa mask."

He smiled ruefully as the stall keeper went and took it down, turning it over in his hands when it was given to him. The wood was ridged, carved to mimic scales on one side while the other was smooth wood with painted scales, and glossy. The cheekbones were made flattened and the eye slits narrow, so that it changed the shape of the face of the person wearing it. Painted a startling bright green, texture was added through use of variegated darker greens and browns and the scales edged very finely with yellow. The result was a striking mottled effect that only enhanced the jewel tones. The eyebrows were ridged with dark green and brown, and a yellow stripe was painted down the snout for dramatic effect. Emerald inlay under the eye slits, accented with gold paint at the corners, completed the mask.

"I don't have any special story behind liking this," he admitted as he put it on, "I just think it looks cool."

"That's all that's really needed," said the maskmaker as he returned Szayel his card, "So long as you buy it because it strikes a chord."

They left the booth, masks donned, and Szayel stowed his glasses in his obi along with his card, as he'd found it to be remarkably good for that sort of task. Which was just as well, for he hadn't brought a purse or a bag with him. Noticing, Nnoitra commented on this.

"No glasses?"

"Genetics favored my female gigai. These glasses are ornamental. I wear them out of habit."

"Why don't you manipulate those genes and make them perfect?"

"Because it amuses me to leave certain details up to chance."

"Mr. Control Freak, leaving something up to chance. Hypocrite."

"I never claimed not to be one," Szayel said.

"Hypocrite," Nnoitra repeated. Szayel smacked his arm lightly.

"Quiet. I probably just paid several hundred for that mask you're wearing. You owe me some gratitude."

"Oh? How'dya wanna be repaid?" Nnoitra asked slyly. Szayel stopped and turned around, amber eyes glimmering. He appraised the taller man with his serpentine mask, then tilted his head, eyes narrowing. Stepping in, he went up onto tiptoe as he closed the height gap between them somewhat, and his slim fingers rested on his chest, burrowing into the cloth assertively. One hand came up to lift off his mask, and Nnoitra found himself staring into those intense, half lidded eyes at close range. Then he spoke, moving those enchantingly full lips of his… hers.

"With your silence please," he murmured, then let the mask slide back into place. He eased off of Nnoitra and skipped ahead to where the parade was forming to march down the waterfront, and the taller man was left feeling mildly stunned at his unexpectedly dominant display. Equally disorienting was the ghostly feeling of breasts pressed softly against his chest in that instant… Nnoitra shook his head to clear it of the haze and whistled low to himself before following his partner over to where he stood, figure curvier in the mellow light than it had any right to be.

Nnoitra paid his debt while they watched the parade, keeping all commentary to himself, and Szayel enjoyed the companionable silence. It was nice to talk to someone after months of near silence, but standing there in the lantern light, just taking comfort in each other's presence was equally pleasant. After awhile, he felt his eyelids begin to grow heavy, and he leaned against Nnoitra's shoulder. The taller man looked down at his drowsy companion, over at the parade, and then back down again. It was bright and lively, but the hour was growing late. He shook the pink haired man- woman –and Szayel sighed, opening his eyes.

"Don't crash on me just yet, Szay," he admonished, breaking his silence, "You still haven't seen the fireworks."

"Fireworks?" Szayel asked, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

"Yeah. They start up ten minutes to midnight and finish at twelve am, when the parade ends. You have to stay awake for 'em; they're really pretty."

"Urgh," Szayel complained, eyelids fluttering, "I need cold water."

"We can do better than that," Nnoitra said, towing him away from the parade and back over to the stalls. The one he led him to contained a strange machine that spun gossamer wisps, like colored cobwebs. A woman stood behind it, a paper cone in one hand, and she twirled it around the rim of the inner chamber where the wisps formed. It gradually built up into a pink, fluffy cloud that smelled sweet, which she offered to Nnoitra. He passed it to Szayel, who examined it while he paid.

"Cotton candy," he remarked by way of explanation. Szayel pulled a clump of it off, noting it was sticky to the touch. He pushed it into his mouth and felt it melt on his tongue.

"Sugar spike on a stick. This'll wake you up long enough."

Szayel pulled off another wad and stuffed it into his mouth. There didn't appear to be any dignified way to eat this confection, and for the first time that night, Nnoitra deigned to help him eat it. Szayel smirked.

"So I take it my masculinity is no longer in question?" he inquired.

"Nah, I'm basically broke," was Nnoitra's cheeky reply, and Szayel scoffed.

"Serves you right."

Nnoitra winked and took a bite out of the cotton candy cone.

"Whatever," he mumbled through a mouthful of fluff.

They finished it all too soon, and Szayel was left to suck the last of the sugary treat off his fingertips reluctantly. His mask hung to one side of his face, out of the way, as did Nnoitra's. The black haired human watched him, looking amused.

"What?" Szayel asked, defending his childish actions, "It's messy."

"That it is," Nnoitra agreed, "But that's part of the fun."

Szayel hmmed, unconvinced. Nnoitra still watched him, amused, and Szayel couldn't shake the impression that he was laughing at him internally. That was, until his expression abruptly morphed into something else. That same, serious look he'd worn earlier when they'd sat on the bench, overlooking the water. Szayel watched, transfixed as he leaned down and kissed his slightly parted lips chastely, shivering when his tongue slid out to lick his cheek. Then he'd straightened again, as if nothing had happened, and smiled at his shocked look.

"You had some cotton candy right here," he explained cheerfully, tapping the mirror of the spot he'd licked on his cheek.

"N-Nnoitra…?" Szayel stammered, touching the still damp patch, then his lips, which had grown supple under that enigmatic kiss. His body warmed, a sweet heat spreading from that place of fleeting contact to all his extremities, but Nnoitra made no further moves.

An explosion, loud as a thunderclap interrupted anything else he might've wanted to say, and they both looked up as the first firework blazed across the black canvas of the night sky, drawing cheers from the crowd. Motion stilled as thousands of eyes gazed heavenward, except for the parade, which continued its progress down the boardwalk. But it seemed distant; dreamlike compared to the stillness of the rest of the world. Another explosion sounded, yielding a second, shimmering flower, the third and fourth unfurling shortly after.

"Hush. The fireworks are starting," Nnoitra said as he draped an arm around his shoulder to pull him closer, and that was the end of it. Szayel's body still prickled, but his thoughts did not linger long on the strange sensation and his companion's peculiar actions. His mind hovered up in the sky, eyes filled with the greens and reds and lilac fires that lit up the night until midnight. And even then when the last spark had faded, his thoughts drifted in a smoky haze, still echoing with the sound of canons.

---

A/N:

So yeah. Angst and fluff. And oh lord I had to stop so many times when I was writing the beginning of this chapter because I was like, "Aaaaangst. Zomg... /wrist" Ha... Jk. I'm not emo. (Very much the contrary in fact...)

I thought I hated this chapter, because god did it take so much effort to write and I really hate it when my writing takes a lot of time. I've been writing this since the 13th of August off and on. Mu. But reading over it, it isn't as choppy and stylistically horrible as I thought it was when I finished writing it half brain dead. Typing it up really sucked, but at least I was doing it at a comfortable 63 degrees rather than 90 degrees. Uuurgh. That frathouse was... really really hot. But I digress. The rest of this note I'll keep shortish and sweet and on topic.

I should have titled this chapter Sexual Tension. Pfft.

Bacterial meningitis really does exist, I'm not fooling with you. It truly kills that fast. Go look it up if you're interested. Make sure you are vaccinated, folks. (And if any of you anti vaccine people are out there reading this... er... no comment. Actually, yes comment. You are putting people around you who can't get vaccinated for medical or age reasons at risk. Shame on you.) I am morbidly fascinated with disease, haha. I had to work something in there. Moving on.

Szayel has a female gigai? Yup. I refer to him in it as a he? It's awkward to call him a she, since he's not. Can she get preggy? Lol. I'll probably never explore that, but for the record... if she menstruates, then she can get pregnant. How easily? I don't know.

Mayuri's name means peahen in Sanskrit. It is a female name, which I find amusing. But anyways, I made his symbol the peacock based on his name, hence that ref. And yes, the peacock is an immortal bird in Hindu mythology, as well as a few others. Irony? Oh yeah, baby~ See how I worked Egyptian mythology into it too on a whim, since I used to be huge on mythology and still sort of am. Ho ho. (I'm so bored...)

Read and REVIEW if you like it. Please. D: Rawr. Shameless begging yes. Thank you to all those who read and continue to review this fic. And thanks for the fanart Xylexia! Omg, you're amazing! *Heart* I- I feel so flattered that I'm not the only one drawing scenes. xD Next chapter should be up soonish (within the week) since its already written. I'm trying to restrain myself from typing it up since I want to put some time between my random updates. x_x Till then~