CHAPTER 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach...
Onwards...
XOXOXO
"What the fuck, woman? How can you concentrate with that crap blasting?" P shrieked over the intensely pop tune of Adam Lambert's "If I Had You" pumping from Tu's lime green Lamborghini.
Grimmjow smirked as he glanced up at the green-haired woman, who at the moment was poised over him, cotton-ball in one hand and an antibiotic cream covered cotton-swab in the other.
"What are you talking about? This is mood music! But of course someone like you wouldn't understand that," she fired back.
P snarled and balled his hands into fists as he glared machetes at her. Grimmjow could tell the pink-haired man wanted to wrap those hands around her neck and wring her dry, but their current situation kept him from doing so. Tu rolled her humongous eyes and aggressively pressed the peroxide covered cotton ball to the cut over Grimmjow's left eyebrow, making him hiss at the abrupt sting. His hand shot up of its own accord and gripped her delicate wrist.
"Your beef ain't wit' me," he growled.
Tu paused and arched a brow, an amused grin tugging at her full lips. "Aw, I'm sorry. Did I hurt the wittle baby?"
He pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, a scathing remark inching its way off his tongue. Before he could voice it, however, G strolled into view, wide, toothless grin marching across his thin face.
"Tu, that beast ain't in its cage, remember?" he lightly commented.
Grimmjow smirked at the way the woman's face twitched. She looked like she had indeed forgotten that small fact, so he decided to let her teasing slide. He let her wrist go and settled back against the side of her car. He was seated on an uncomfortable black milk crate, the thin material of his underwear doing nothing to protect his ass from the cruel plastic. During the lull following G's statement, he leaned over and grabbed his beer from the floor before taking a long swig. The bottle was still ice cold and perspiring, the taste still crisp and satisfying. He closed his eyes and licked his lips, thoroughly enjoying himself until the singing from Tu's car made him grimace.
"Tu this ain't it. If you're gonna play DJ, ya gotta find a better line-up," he grunted sourly, locking eyes with wheat-gray.
Tu sucked her teeth and pouted. "Well, what do you guys wanna hear? And I am not listening to that screaming shit G likes or the elevator music P prefers."
"There is nothing wrong with classical music!" P snapped, chest puffed with indignation. "It's a far cry better than that whining fool you're playing right now!"
Grimmjow smothered a chuckle when he caught sight of bright orange hair in his peripheral. Suddenly, the current debate wasn't so interesting anymore. O sauntered into view, gingerly rubbing the gauze covered wound on his arm. He was still shirtless, but Tu had cleaned the blood from the injured limb with a couple of alcohol pads, so he didn't look like he'd just fled a crime scene any longer. Watching the man move around took Grimmjow back four years when they'd all still been active agents, an incident that had occurred immediately after the Japan mission.
"Don't you fuckin' die on me, B!"
He remembered being a bit confused as he lay in a semi-state of consciousness. O's voice had seemed panicked and desperate, nearly distraught at the time. Even though they had been partners and a pretty tight unit, it hadn't quite explained the tone of despair the orange-haired man had been using. Sure, Grimmjow had been knocking on death's door with an iron fist after being crushed by a steel beam. His left lung had collapsed and he'd suffered a broken collarbone, as well as several broken ribs. He shuddered and absently rubbed the side of his neck. Christ, he could still feel the pain to this day. It had taken him months to fully recover, but as he'd lain there, almost unconscious at the time, O's voice had come in loud and clear.
"C'mon, c'mon! You can't do this to me!"
"O, did you find him?" G's voice crackled from somewhere.
"Yeah, I found him. H-he's down. Shit...I need help." O paused, but continued a few seconds after. "We're in the lower level, third corridor."
"On our way."
"B, help's comin'. Just hold on a little," O said, voice shaking and low. A minute or so ticked by before he was speaking again. "Fuck," he hissed. "Don't you fuckin' die on me, B! I need you here!"
After that, Grimmjow remembered a soft pressure against his lips before he faded to black. The next thing he recalled was waking in a Japanese hospital room under the name Katashi Ito. Mind-numbing pain had been his companion for the next few months, but through it all, his teammates had been by his side. However, O had gone back to his normal behavior of treating him no different than the others, which confused Grimmjow into keeping his mouth shut. He'd wanted to ask the orange-haired man about what he'd said in that building back then, but if the guy was pretending it never happened, then Grimmjow wouldn't burst his bubble and put him in an awkward position. Not to mention, he didn't really want to jump to conclusions about what he'd felt on his lips that day. It was extremely difficult, though, considering it went against his very nature.
Once he'd healed up from Japan, they'd all headed back to the US, only to discover that they were "killed in the line of duty." All of their assets had been frozen, basically leaving them with nothing. Left with nowhere to go, they'd banded together and dropped off the radar. All of them began using false identities and turned to the underground world. Using their occupational expertise, they'd kept the team together and took on hit jobs for a year. They never accepted a job that paid under 250,000 dollars, and had promised themselves that once that year was up, they would disperse and lead "normal" lives. However, it had been O's idea to prepare for an emergency, just in case shit came back to bite them in the ass. Grimmjow smiled to himself, glad that they'd taken heed to their old leader. If they hadn't, he was sure they would all be dead right now.
Speaking of O, the man walked over and peered down at him carefully, making Tu pause what she was doing to watch him as well. Grimmjow arched a brow and let his head list to the side.
What was this?
"Did you really stop for beer?" O asked. "I mean, of course you did, but...like that?" he continued, gesturing towards Grimmjow's lack of attire.
That made the blue-haired man crack a wide grin. "Yeah."
"Idiot," P grumbled from his position next to his car.
Grimmjow's grin spread as he turned back to O. "Want one?"
O gave an amused chuckle and nodded. "Definitely."
Grimmjow swatted Tu away, ignoring her outraged expression, and rose from the milk crate, taking a quick second to stretch his back before heading over to his own vehicle. A soft chortle left him as he remembered the look on the guy's face at the store he'd visited. He'd swung his car right in front of the entrance, Iggy Pop's "Lust For Life" blasting through the open windows of the vehicle. He'd casually made his way inside, fist clutching two twenty dollar bills as he made a direct line for the beer section.
"S-sir! N-no shirt, no shoes, no service!"
He'd ignored the kid, of course. He'd gone about his business grabbing the case of beer he wanted before nabbing a couple bags of ice for the Styrofoam cooler he kept in the trunk of his car. On his way out, he'd tossed the bills onto the counter and gave the worker a Cheshire cat grin and a wink.
Boxers and all.
He popped the trunk and retrieved another beer for himself as well as one for O. He was headed back in their direction, when G's face fell.
"Where's miiiine?" he whined.
Grimmjow arched a brow and didn't even break stride. "You got hands," he grunted.
The silver-haired man danced over to the powder-blue BMW and snatched a beer for himself, grin cutting his face in half. "Let's party," he said quietly.
"Yeah, but Tu quit her job as the DJ," O chimed in as he accepted the beer Grimmjow offered him.
"Thank God," P added.
"You know, sometimes I really hate you guys," Tu snapped, hands on her hips. "I mean, wha-"
"One big room...full of bad bitches...one big room...full of bad bitches..."
All heads turned to Grenade's sunflower-yellow Ferrari. The man slowly emerged from the driver's side before ambling to the hood again, where he climbed on and proceeded to roll up. It took a minute for the guy to realize that all eyes were on him, but once he did, he glanced up and looked around with a lazy grin.
"One big room...full of bad bitches," he recited along with the song, Southern drawl turning the phrase into a comedy.
With that, he lowered his eyes back to his previous task, head nodding to the beat.
Indeed, the atmosphere had gone a bit festive. Grimmjow supposed they needed it since the mood had been so intense not even an hour ago. The news of Japan being a setup had thrown him so off balance, it made him dizzy. Fucking Tsukishima. Grimmjow had known there was something wrong about that guy when he'd met him, and the feeling had only grown once they'd reached Japan and the guy had been placed in charge of the operation. He was sneaky and gave a false sense of security and optimism. It wasn't surprising at all that he'd turned out to be a snake in the grass.
Movement in the corner of his vision brought his attention back to the orange-haired man at his side. O had his head tipped back as he emptied the bottle of beer held to his lips. Eyebrows on the ceiling, all Grimmjow could do was stare. When he was done, O lowered the bottle and glanced at him, deep brown eyes glittering devilishly as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"What? You know how long I've been wantin' a beer?" he asked.
Grimmjow just shrugged and grinned. "I didn't say nothin'."
"Yeah, but your face spoke for you. Gimme another one."
That made him frown. "Somethin' wrong with your hands and feet? You're lucky I was in a charitable mood, gettin' that first one."
O smirked and headed over to Grimmjow's car, the muscles in his back still defined and shifting with every step he took. It took a hell of an effort, but the blue-haired man managed to keep his eyes from wandering to the man's rear. He didn't need that kind of stress in his life right now. It was enough that he was being chased by his former employers; adding attraction to a fellow teammate was a sure-fire recipe for disaster. He never denied his sexual preference for men, but he wasn't sure he should put the moves on one of his oldest friends and partners. In fact, he was pretty confident it was a bad idea. Even though he knew O liked men as well, no matter how discreet the guy had tried to be in the past.
"You got somethin' on your mind," Grenade stated matter-of-factly, words slow as molasses and voice a deep rumble.
Grimmjow whipped his head to the left, shocked to see the brunet standing beside him. He hadn't even registered the guy moving from his car. Grenade had the joint he'd rolled tucked behind his right ear as he leaned against O's car.
"What's goin' on, B? You've had your head in the clouds for a while now."
Grimmjow clenched his teeth together and shifted uneasily. Grenade was entirely too perceptive for someone who got high on a daily basis. But then again, the man was an explosives expert. It was his job to notice the small details the average eye overlooked.
"Don't really wanna talk about it," he muttered.
Grenade gave a careless shrug and reached for the joint behind his ear. After giving it a swift lick, he reached into the pocket of his t-shirt and retrieved a lighter. Before he lit up, he sent Grimmjow a piercing glance.
"Maybe you should," he drawled.
Grimmjow watched uncomfortably as the brunet ambled back to his Ferrari. No one else seemed to witness the man's sudden round-trip journey from his car and back, which just unsettled the blue-haired man all the more. Grenade was scarily fast when he wanted to be, not to mention quiet as a church mouse. But what had he meant by maybe Grimmjow should talk about what was on his mind? Did the guy have an idea of what was running through his head? Grimmjow took another look at his brunet teammate and scowled when he noticed the man talking casually with O. O had gone and half-way chugged another beer, large hand going to the back of his neck as he laughed at something Grenade must have said. His cavernous dimples winked and his intelligent brown eyes captured the light from the hangar ceiling, giving Grimmjow a rolling chill all over. Frowning, he turned away from the sight and pulled deeply from his own bottle. The mood he was currently in made him yearn for something much stronger than beer.
XOXOXO
He was buzzed. Hell, after downing five beers in a row, he was lucky to still have the ability to see straight. Ichigo reclined on the hood of his Audi, uninjured arm thrown over his eyes as he listened to the tunes coming from Grenade's Ferrari. Anytime he removed his arm and opened his eyes, the room spun like those gravity rides at amusement parks and fairs. It was his body's way of dealing with what was going on around him, however. Once the adrenaline had worn off and he'd had time to fully take in the situation, it had hit him like a ton of bricks. He was on the run again, his life no longer his own. One of his oldest and closest friends had been killed, and he was forced to start from scratch, all over again. He had to fight just to gain the right to exist. It was all kinds of fucked up. He'd been in the middle of coming up with a clever plan to get inside Headquarters without it failing spectacularly, when his brain had just shut down on him, refusing to function. Left with dead space in his head, he'd gone with his next best option: drinking himself into a sleeping stupor.
Thankfully, B had done the impossible (or in the blue-haired man's case, the totally expected) and grabbed an entire case of beer to bring along to the meeting. When his wild teammate had offered, Ichigo had gratefully accepted. It was a testament to his state of mind that he went without visually molesting the object of his heart's desire for the next couple of hours. He didn't even bat an eyelash when he noticed the other man's frigid blue orbs all over him. He still didn't understand why, but apparently thinking and comprehending had gone out the window for the rest of the night.
The hangar entrance was closed and locked up, and it seemed like everyone was ready to call it a wrap for the evening. It was silently agreed that they would pick up with forming a plan in the morning, and Ichigo was perfectly fine with that.
A loud yawn preceded Tu's worn out voice. "So what, are we sleeping in our cars? What happened to the mats we had before?"
Ichigo eased his arm away from his eyes in time to see P adjusting his glasses as he peered down his nose at the green-haired woman. "They're over there," he said, finger pointing to the opposite side of the huge room.
Tu glanced around and groaned. The mats were piled against the hangar wall, dusty and abandoned. Ichigo wanted to add his own groan to Tu's when he realized that she would need help dragging them over, not to mention cleaning them.
"You saying I stuffed all those sheets in my trunk for nothing?" she whined.
With a hefty sigh, Ichigo peeled himself from the hood of his car and carefully stood. He swayed dangerously, but evened himself out after seconds. After blinking several times, he glanced around and sucked his teeth at the bodies splayed over the gathering of luxury vehicles. Grenade was curled into the fetal position on the hood of his Ferrari, G was tucked neatly into the driver's seat of his Benz, chair pushed all the way back and feet kicked up on the dash, and B was spread-eagle on the roof of his BMW, mouth opened unattractively as he snored loud enough to almost dwarf the music still rumbling from Grenade's car. Ichigo chuckled, amused. B was an animal...but he was a cute one.
"O, my love, for helping me, I'll give you one of my pillows," Tu chirped thankfully.
He just nodded, body moving on autopilot. He was exhausted and his aches had aches. However, he had to admit that the sound of a pillow and a soft mat had more appeal than an underwear model at the moment. He trudged across the hangar with Tu, sorely tempted to hunch his back and drag his knuckles like a caveman. The next ten minutes saw himself, Tu and reluctantly P carting heavy blue mats closer to their cars, but still relatively out of the way. They lined them up against the wall directly across from their vehicles before Tu skipped off and popped the trunk located in the front of her Lamborghini. She tugged free a plethora of rose-colored sheets and pillows, most of them landing on the floor at her feet.
"Tu," Ichigo started, thoroughly confused as he rubbed the back of his head. "Were you at a slumber party or somethin'?"
The green-haired woman giggled and tossed a pillow in his direction without answering. Shaking his head slightly, he clutched the pillow and accepted a sheet before slouching over to the plush mats. He plopped down onto the nearest one and barely had the sheet and pillow situated when his eyes slid shut.
XxxxxxX
Mouth dry as sand and injured arm screaming profanities at him, Ichigo cracked an eye open. There was something way wrong with the way he was positioned. For one thing, as he shifted, his neck stiffened and made him grimace. For another, there was an unforgivable weight pressing against his right side, making him overly hot and his exposed skin stick to the mat. What the fuck was going on? He turned his head, peeved when he noticed a shock of blue hair resting comfortably...on his fucking pillow. No wonder his neck was so cramped! Not only that, but when he turned his head to the right, the peaceful face of Grenade made his eyes widen and his heart almost stop. Normally, this would be an ideal position, stuck between the two sexiest men he'd ever had the fortune to meet. Not right now, though. He carefully sat up, temples throbbing from his overindulging the night before. He peeked over Grenade's solid body and arched a brow at P spooning Tu, arm firmly around her waist, while G slept with his arms behind his head on the outermost mat.
What the fuck was going on?
Ichigo eased onto his back again, only to freeze when Grenade shifted, turning his face away from him. He was in the middle of blowing out a relieved breath, when B also shifted, his body turning towards Ichigo and heavy arm draping across Ichigo's hip. Air caught in his throat as he tried not to choke and hyperventilate. He tentatively glanced over at his blue-haired teammate, heart racing madly. B was still deeply asleep, but the arm he had thrown over Ichigo tightened as he sighed and gave a slight moan.
This is ridiculous! Ichigo thought, mind in an absolute frenzy.
And then fate decided to be a sadistic bastard. Grenade shifted positions again, facing Ichigo once more, only this time, his arm came across Ichigo's neck in a light embrace. He too was still asleep.
Help, Ichigo inwardly whimpered.
He was literally tucked between two very gorgeous men, one of which he was pretty sure he was in love with. If he moved, they would wake up and the situation would be more than a little awkward, but if he remained where he was, his libido would make him do...bad things. He swallowed thickly and tried to relax his breathing. Having a heart attack wouldn't solve the matter at all.
Suddenly, the flick of a lighter and the rasp of burning paper made his head twist to the left. G sat Indian-style as he gave Ichigo one of his infamous toothless grins. He blew out a cloud of smoke before tilting his silver head to the side, eyes slitted shut.
"Mah," he started quietly. "I didn't know ya were so greedy, O."
Ichigo's mouth fell open in shock as he gasped, completely offended. "I didn't ask for this, you asshole!" he hissed.
G cackled and climbed to his feet before carefully stepping over the sleeping bodies and standing over him. He held a thin hand forward and arched a brow. "It's better to get outta there now before those two wake up, dontcha think?"
Ichigo pondered the predicament and totally agreed with G. He slowly extracted the arm B held hostage and reached up, grabbing the silver-haired man's hand. G planted his feet and yanked Ichigo from between the two taller men. Nervous, Ichigo glanced back at them and sighed heavily when all they did was turn away from each other and remain asleep. He felt like he'd just dodged a forty caliber bullet. Now, he just had to deal with G's infernal teasing and God-forsaken grins.
"I hate you," he whispered vehemently as he stalked past the still quietly cackling man.
Ichigo went to his car and checked the time on the dash after turning the key in the ignition, then turned the battery off once he registered the glowing green numbers. It was ten in the morning and his belly was throwing a hissy fit at the alarming lack of food. His mouth watered at the tantalizing thought of coffee and pancakes and bacon and scrambled eggs... A loud gurgle erupted from his gut and made G glance at him with another one of those grins.
"Hey, O," G started.
"Shut up, G. If you piss me off, I'll kick your ass."
"Now that ain't nice at all. And after all the trouble I went through ta get ya outta that tangle of man? Tsk, tsk. Yer manners are terrible, O."
"G, I'm starving, my arm is killing me and I have the hangover from hell. Why would you provoke me?"
G edged closer, that mysterious grin spreading. "'Cuz yer so cute when yer mad."
Ichigo sighed and leaned against the side of his car as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just-just stop talkin'."
G chuckled and shrugged his shoulders, but surprisingly did as Ichigo requested. He went over to his own car and slid inside, fiddling with something on the dash. Ichigo reached into his shorts pocket for his cell and almost panicked when he didn't feel it there. Then he remembered that he'd fallen asleep pretty quickly, not to mention, he slept kind of deeply, so it stood to chance that the device was still on the mat. Sighing, he ambled back to the space he'd once occupied and rooted through the sheet. After a minute of that, he found the phone and tucked it into his pocket. A sudden twinge in his neck made him glare down at his blue-haired pillow thief. Feeling bitter and resentful towards his teammate, he reached down and yanked the pillow from under that pretty blue head, then whopped the stunned man directly in the face with it. Grinning like the Grinch, he sauntered away, smug and thoroughly enjoying B's disgruntled cursing.
"What the fuck?" his sleep-thickened voice echoed through the hangar. "What the fuck!" he repeated as he sat up and looked around.
Since Ichigo was the only one awake and looking right at him, it was understandable when the man climbed to his feet and stalked towards him. Not one to back down from a fight, he stood his ground as B approached him, aura electric and ominous.
"What the fuck is your problem, O?"
"What's my problem?" Ichigo snapped incredulously. "Are you kidding me? After you slid your heavy ass onto my mat, then stole my fucking pillow, you have the nerve to ask me what my problem is?" he shouted, not even realizing that he was on his toes and pushing his face into the other man's.
B regarded him with sleepy, sea-blue eyes, the bridge of his nose wrinkled. His bright blue hair stood in all different directions, but for some reason, it looked good on him, which only further pissed Ichigo off. His riotous orange hair never looked that good in the morning.
"My back was hurtin' on my car! What'd you expect me to do?" B growled.
"You're unbelievable! Instead of apologizing, you're justifying the fact that you kicked me out of my own space! No one told you to fall asleep on top of your car, you fuckin' idiot!" he almost screamed.
By now, the rest of the team had awakened and was ambling past them wearing varying degrees of amusement and annoyance on their faces. Tu's eyes were almost still shut as she made her way to her Lamborghini, and Grenade yawned luxuriously as he scratched his lower back and headed for his own car. The only one that seemed to be fully awake out of the trio was P, who was in the process of fitting his glasses back onto his face. He stalked over to Ichigo and B and stuck a hand between them, wise enough not to fit his body there in case fists started flying.
"OK, children. There's a lot of work that needs to be done today and fighting each other over a blankey and a pillow will solve nothing," he stated.
B bared his teeth at Ichigo, upper lip curled back. "I ain't a idiot," he grumbled before turning his back and going back to the mats.
Ichigo blinked. Where the hell was B's hair-trigger temper? He was sure they were seconds away from tearing each other apart. In fact, he was positive of it. Somehow, though, B let the subject drop without even one of his infamous smart remarks. The blue-haired man settled himself on a mat, draped a sheet across his lower body and put an arm over his eyes.
What the hell?
Ichigo turned confused eyes in P's direction, who merely shrugged and went to his car. After dipping inside, he re-emerged with his cell.
"I need to make some calls and get in touch with some people. If we're really gonna go to Langley, then I need a laptop and some equipment," he said as he ran a hand through his hair.
"Yeah, we're gonna need weapons, ammo, all that good shit," G added.
"Oh no," Tu started with a roll of her eyes. "This means we're going to a geek convention, doesn't it?"
P puffed his chest and glared at her. "It's not a geek convention. We're going to see a friend of mine."
Tu paused and gave P a blank stare before drawling, "Like I said. We're going to a geek convention."
"Shut up, woman," P snapped and turned his back on them.
Ichigo, however, was still stuck on B's curious behavior. The man lay on a mat, arm over his face as if blocking out the world. Maybe he was, but Ichigo wanted to know why. The blue-haired man lived to fight and cause trouble, so why hadn't he jumped at the opportunity to get in some old-fashioned brawling with Ichigo? It was mind-blowing.
"I'm not really dressed for the March of the Nerds," Grenade said from the hood of his car, breaking the sudden tension in the room.
His comment drew laughter from G and a shake of the head from Tu.
Good old Grenade.
Next time...
