DISCLAIMER: I do not own 'Bleach'. All rights belong to Tite Kubo. I only own this fanfiction. Thank you.

Heart-Shaped Box

She could clean up the stains of coffee, even as they seeped into the wooden floor and cement outside her front door.

She could clean up the broken pieces of her cup, scooping them up in the front of her nightgown and whisking them off to the trash can in the kitchen.

She could even clean up her clothes, hastily dropping her shoes into the wash and changing into some blue slacks and a grey shirt with a cream sweater thrown over. But what she couldn't change was her expression, and her feelings. The look that had rested upon her face, as she'd gazed up to meet gleaming blue eyes and canines. The emotions there were impossible to ignore, as was the cause of them, as he now sat, looking around ever so calmly in her living room.

You came back for me.

No, no, no! It couldn't be! This was all wrong-this shouldn't have been happening! She wasn't supposed to be housing a wanted criminal in her home! Yet here she was, sitting down beside him on the couch, hands in lap and eyes doing all they could not to look at his face, even though he was turned towards her. "What, don't I even get at least some sort of 'hello'? Real nice way you treat your company, Princess."

Orihime swallowed hard then. He did have a point-she couldn't very well be rude, after he'd taken all this risk and rush just to come out here and-

Hold it. Wait a minute. That couldn't be right, what she had just thought. She did not honestly believe that he, of all people, Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez, would bust out of jail and make the long journey back to Karakura Town just for her sake, did she? There was no way on Earth that could be right! "M-my apologies, Grimmjow-san. It's just that-"

He leaned back into the cushions, folding his arms behind his head, wincing and cutting her off. "Lighten up. I was only kidding. Like you'd really be all over me, anyway." He cocked an eyebrow at her as his eyes darted in her direction. Now, that smug smirk was beginning to play upon his lips once again, and Orihime waited for the expected tell-off. "You're dying to know what possessed me t'break outta jail and come see you, of all people, 'stead of my old gang or something like that. Am I right, give or take a few words?"

At hearing this, Orihime felt her face flush, and he laughed. "So I was. You're becoming too easy for me to read. Gimme a challenge, huh?" Like when you used to visit me in my old ransack of a home, or when you left me behind, or way back when, the night that-

"You're injured." It wasn't a question. It was an obvious statement. Orihime was desperate to focus on something, anything other than the reason why he was in her home, of all places, and his wounds served as the perfect deterrent. He snorted. "Yeah, I am. What of it?" He leaned forwards, trying to look down the side of his own back. It wasn't really working. "That one's probably the worst of the lot-got shot while climbing that stupid-ass fence. Fuckers. I don't think it's fatal, though. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here. And it's been what, two days already?"

"Two days?" Orihime ducked down, nursing mode activated as she looked over the bullet hole thoroughly. It was bloody and inflamed, and starting to look a bit yellow around the edges as well-infection was beginning to set in. How could this man not be yelling his head off from the pain? "Grimmjow-san, that bullet's gotta come out. Your wounds need m-medical attention."

"And? You think I'm really gonna go to a hospital? Get to it, woman. I like your work better."

As hard as her heart thumped in her chest, Orihime knew that taking him to a hospital was out of the question. He was on the run, and if she came in with him there was to be much inquiry as to exactly how they had met, and why he wasn't ripping her head off or holding her hostage. So, with a soft sigh of resignation, Orihime stood up to go and get her supplies. At least this time I have better medicine and tweezers...

"Ouch! Jeez, still hurts just like last time. There isn't a better way of doing this?"

"Well, doctors may be able to administer painkillers or anesthesia, but since you can't really walk through the doors of the ER..."

"Feh. Whatever. Just hurry it up, will you? I didn't only come out here to play patient." Again, Orihime's heart jumped, and she nearly pulled too sharply at the thread she was trying to yank through. The last thing she needed was for it to break on her. Tying it off and snipping the end, she looked at Grimmjow curiously now, inquiries beginning to rise up in her throat. "So then, Grimmjow-san...why did you come out here? If not for your gang, then..."

He let out a huff. "You know, I ain't got any fucking idea, myself." She flinched as she pressed the needle point against the inflamed flesh. "Maybe I just wanted a change of pace, some fresh air. Maybe I wanted to see how this stupid rat-trap looked since the last time I was here." Orihime knew he was playing with her, giving her such simple and childish answers and she, in response, pushed the needle through painfully quick. He let out a hiss. "Fucking hell, what was was that for?"

"You're not being truthful, Grimmjow-san. Why are you really here?" Drawing the string upwards, she tied it off once again, being careful not to scrape her fingers with the needlepoint. Cutting off the ends once more, she looked at the wound, mentally counting out how many more stitches were required on this one. Probably two or three, then she could get to work cleaning the rest of them.

He groaned. "What, you were really serious about liking my honesty?" He knew he was going to have to tell her eventually. He just didn't realize it would be this soon. And, to put it simply, he didn't have any inkling as to what had really brought him to her doorstep in the first place. Had he just really, really missed her?

But then, isn't that what them saps call...

Orihime nodded, preparing to repeat the sewing process yet again. "Yes, I was. A-and you don't just surprise a girl-woman-by showing up at her house, especially when you're under lock and key!" She looked at him soulfully. "How did you manage to escape from there anyway, Grimmjow-san?" Her voice had softened.

Grimmjow sighed. "It was both tough, and easier than I thought it'd be. Those pricks don't have the right to call themselves guards. They couldn't even shoot me in the head properly, much less keep me from going ballistic on their asses." Orihime winced, and he gave her an annoyed glare. "Oi, you were the one who wanted details. Don't ask for them and then try to shy away. If you ain't holding back, then why the fuck would I?" It wasn't so much the details, as the thought of a dead Grimmjow lying on the ground that had made her cringe, inside and out. She wanted to volunteer this information, but something told her to wait, that now wasn't the right time. Not yet.

"After I managed to get out though, it was smooth sailing. Stole a car from some old man who was on his way to the convenience store, I think. But he reported it pretty quick, and the bulletins were already out for me, so I had to ditch it after flooring the gas, and hoof it through the back alleys the best I could. And hey, I made it here, so I guess I won after all."

By this point, Orihime had finished the stitching process, so now she sat there, needle and scissors on lap as she stared down at his body, laid bare before her. He'd taken off his prison top, just to make it easier for her, no matter if it was short. It was bloodstained and torn, and the fabric would just get in the way if she needed to get a grip on anything while taking care of the job. She couldn't help but marvel over his skin.

It was like a patchwork quilt of scars, and that single tattoo. Years and years of fighting, battering, abuse, torment-the toils of living the life of a lowlife. Well, okay, she wouldn't call him that, though he had done some truly horrendous things. Other people would, though. Just not her. 'Criminal' was simpler and suited them both better. At least, for her it did. She wasn't about to ask him which term he preferred best. That was just too weird.

She could make out the scar on his lower abdomen, the one in the front. It showed up on his back too, so whatever he'd been stabbed with had gone clean through. She shuddered-how was a bullet any worse than that?

Well, maybe he got shot before it happened, whatever it is. Which is why he isn't reacting as badly this time around to the impromptu surgery? Orihime felt that reasoning was probably the most accurate. But she wasn't about to ask him. Again, it wasn't her place. For all she knew, he'd just swung by here because he knew that she would patch him up without saying a word, and if so, then-

"Eh? What you staring at, woman?" She let out a soft squeak, caught red-handed-or eyed-gawking over his exposed flesh. Quickly gathering her materials, she stood up and made her way towards the bedroom, hoping that the flush in her cheeks hadn't been noticed, but knowing ultimately that it had. She just had to hope that he didn't go too harshly when poking fun at her for it afterwards.

"Hmm..." Grimmjow knew that she'd been staring at something on him, but what? Her finished handiwork? Again, he tried to check it out for himself, but couldn't reach around that far. He growled softly. He didn't think that was it, anyway. The look on her face was one of a far more...contemplative, saddened nature. What was she sad about? Seeing him beat up? Bah, this was normal for him! He wasn't some sort of china doll she had to worry about getting broken! He wasn't anything like her!

Her or her friends. So then, what was this feeling, as yet unnamed, rising up from his stomach to his chest, wrapping itself around his cold, hardened heart?

By now, Orihime had returned to the living room, and was now carrying Grimmjow's top in her hands, picked up from the table in front of the TV. "Umm...here?" He looked up. "That is, if you want it...? I mean, I understand that it is rather dirty, and if you'd like, I could wash it for you, so-"

He snatched it from her hands, allowing it to drape over his lap. "Like I'd give a shit 'bout that. Just sit down. This place of yours ain't very cheerful to be left alone in." He'd taken notice of a small shrine in the corner, dedicated to who he couldn't make out. He didn't really care, though. Memorials weren't his thing. He'd caused too many of them to be bothered with their existence any longer.

And when he died, he would just have to be the one who would wind up without one, wouldn't he? It was how it was meant to be. That's all.

"Okay..." Carefully seating herself beside him on the couch with her hands folded in her lap, Orihime did her best to avoid any thought about chewing her lips or anything similar as she and Grimmjow sat together, in a thick silence. Orihime pondered, if she had a butter knife, could she cut a piece of it off, and spread it on her bread? What would silence taste like, anyway?

Grimmjow had said that her house was unfriendly and not great for company, but the truth was, he just didn't want to be here alone. He couldn't explain it, but now, being here around her, with nobody else to hold him back or stop him...he didn't want her to leave. Ever. He didn't want to be separated from this strange girl, whose very absence had compelled him to break out of the high-security prison he'd been staying in for the last five years in peaceful silence. He wondered, if she'd never started visiting, would he still have come after her, anyway? He couldn't be sure. If that was the case, was he glad now that she'd shown up when she did?

So many questions. When was he ever going to get a solid answer, instead? Sighing, he raked his hand through his spiky blue locks, feeling the tensions of the girl beside him. She too, was stuck as what to say next. He figured he'd do her a favor, and pick up where she'd last left off. The watching, the staring.

"It was a fight." His words made her jump, as she turned to look at him. "'Course, don't know if I'm really expecting you t'be surprised by that. I mean, when wasn't I fighting, right? It was after I turned twenty-one. Left a bar one night with a couple of rookies, tryin' t'train to rise up into the Espada elite ranks. Amazingly enough, I wasn't drunk. Well anyways, we got jumped, by some punks from another prefecture, looking for a fight. Problem was, the bar was right across the street from a construction site. And one of those cocksuckers grabbed a broken pipe-looks like someone had cut it the wrong way, or just cut it on accident, and well...you get the idea."

He snorted. "Stupid twerps were so wasted, they couldn't even throw a punch. They got their asses handed to them that night. You don't fuck around in the Espada. And I ain't nobody's babysitter.

"It healed up, after a good look-over by Szayel and his lot, and some 'personal funding' by Aizen. Heh. At the time I felt so fucking smug and superior, like I was on top of the world. And look where that got me. Locked up in a stinking cesspool of shit and piss and pathetic bastards who can't even wipe their own asses without being scrutinized for conspiracies and plotting by paranoid guards who don't even know how to properly assemble and focus their attentions. Heh. You get what you give, right? I got shit, so I gave it back. And in the end-"

That was when he stopped, out of utter shock. A pair of thin, warm arms had wrapped around his ribs, clasping together at his side. That crazy girl was holding onto him like she was lost at sea, and he was the only rock, the only thing in general keeping her afloat. What the hell? "Woman, what are you trying to-"

"Nobody deserves to be hurt." These words hit him like a punch out of left field. He hadn't been expecting that one, at all. The hugging was one surprise, but coupled with her words? Insanity. Pure, utter, unadulterated insanity. He wasn't having any of it.

So then...why, why wasn't he pushing her away, or telling her off?

Orihime was just as stunned by her own actions, but the amazement was overthrown by the sheer ache she felt in her heart at hearing his words. She was forcing the tears to stay inside, as she held onto Grimmjow for dear life. She could feel the rough dampness of his skin-he must've been on the move non-stop, hence why the sweat on his skin hadn't cooled completely. The scars under her arms told one story after another, and it was all made up of tragedies.

He smelled like masculinity and nature. She couldn't quite pin the first one-it wasn't necessarily a scent of hard work or the male gender. It was more like...just being him. It was a scent that was unique to him. Musky, bleeding, strong, hidden. It fit both sides of him to a T.

Wait...both sides?

That's right. There were two sides to this man she knew as Grimmjow Jeagerjaquez. The first was ruthless and bloodthirsty, always on the hunt and hungering for that next fresh kill or dead body. But the other side...the other side was the one that with her now, in her parlor, in her house. Her personal haven, away from the world. This was the one that listened to her when she spoke, regarded her as a human being, not just some static doll that would break at the first harsh criticism. This was the one that was letting her be so close to him, that was allowing her to see this side of him that didn't exist, wasn't supposed to.

And he'd been doing it for a decade.

After a few more moments of silence, Orihime continued on. "N-no matter what you may have done...no one deserves their suffering. I don't think that you woke up o-one day...and decided 'I'm gonna kill people', just like I don't think you chose...to be hurt. And who you are now...still doesn't deserve it, either. You're not a hero. But you're not the devil, either." Such innocence. Such naivete. Such protection. Such care. It should have made him sick.

But instead, Grimmjow found himself reaching out, to place a hand upon hers, at a loss for words. How could there exist someone who was so tender and compassionate towards a being as filthy as he? She shouldn't have even been touching him! He would contaminate her! But she continued holding him tightly, as if afraid he would disappear into the wind.

Now, he was holding her too, in his own way, but for the same reasons. Just what was going on here?

That night, he slept on her couch. As much as he hated the distance, it was only proper. She hadn't offered up her room to him, and as much as he could barge in and just make himself at home, or take what was his, this time around he didn't. He kept his tongue in check, and found himself staring up at the ceiling, arms folded behind his head.

It was so strange, to feel open space and see moonlight cast over various furniture, where there had once been cold stone and heavy bars. But it wasn't a change he disliked, either. It was just too much to believe at once. He fell into a fitful sleep, eventually curled up upon the blankets Orihime had given him, holding tight to the pillow at an angle under his head. The next morning would either bring more confusion, or solace, and he had to be ready to face them both.

In her own room, Orihime too lay awake under her sheets and comforter. How had things gone so crazy, spiraled so far out of her control? Was she just not paying enough attention? Was she simply blind to her surroundings? Or had she let things turn out this way, knowing somewhere inside of herself that she'd wanted to see the turnout, watch the truth underneath be revealed through such extreme circumstances?

Okay, perhaps she hadn't been counting on the events being this severe. But she knew enough to realize that placing bets on such an unsteady game like love, or a dark horse like Grimmjow, was beyond risky-it was liable to lead to death. How far was she willing to go, just for this one man? Look how far she'd come already: housing and healing a wanted criminal in her home!

Thus, the two fell asleep, visions haunted by unsteady images and clipped voices. Words they couldn't make out, and pictures that seemed human from afar, but grotesque once more closely examined. As the hours ticked by, so did their resolve dissipate, until ultimately, they gave up and allowed their subconsciouses free reign over their minds. What showed up then was impossible to remember, but important to recall. Warmth, embrace, safety, and the absence of the world. What an existence. What a concept.

Grimmjow still hadn't answered her main question, though.

A/N: And so ends another chapter.

Not a whole lot to say here-just some more interaction between Grimmjow and Orihime. Now that the prison is out of the picture [for the time being], anything can happen. It's just a matter of what, and when.

Hopefully, the storyline and characterizations are still up to par. It's the big two-oh [20], and we've still got a few more hurdles to overcome. Feedback is welcomed and appreciated, as always. If I'm doing well, or not so well, I'd like to know. As I've probably mentioned before, this story contained a lot of firsts for me, and was an experience to remember.

That's all I've got to say here. I'm still calming down from my B-Day yesterday ["Twenty-two, twenty-two, is when you said you would improve...haven't they told you, my love, you're six years past due?" Kudos and a shout-out to anyone who gets the reference XD], so...yeah. ;p

Enjoy, everybody.