CHAPTER 10

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach...

I'm lazy as shit so...from now on, whenever there's an action scene in this story, just think of this song: "Kodo (Inside the Sun Remix)" by Yoshida Brothers. Consider it the theme song for The Cleaners.

Onwards...

XOXOXO

Heart pounding and chest heaving from adrenaline, Ichigo gripped the steering wheel and glared from the corner of his eyes at the line of government vehicles speeding along beside him. Normally, a person in his position would feel panic or crippling fear; Ichigo felt neither of those. He was wired with excitement, of course, but bigger than that was the sheer rage coursing through him.

How dare those assholes shoot at his car?

Another bullet pinged off of his bulletproof windows, and the rage surged like a geyser. He heard another shot embed itself in the side of his car before he swerved, turning the wheel sharply as though threatening to ram the vehicle shooting at him. A snarl twisted his lips as he glanced from the crowded road ahead and glared to his right where the idiots were lined up trying to either run him off the road or shoot him dead.

This was not to be tolerated. He didn't give a rat's ass who they worked for or what they even wanted at this point. He was ready to make life severely difficult for these idiots. A horn blared as he careened around the civilian in front of him, but he only felt a brief moment of remorse. Just as he went to swerve towards one of the silver cars again, it slowed and came up behind him, sandwiching him in with the others that had adjusted their positions. Ichigo growled and glared into his rear view mirror. He understood this tactic, and it pissed him off all the more.

They were playing a nasty game of cat and mouse, with him as the fucking mouse. So, they thought they could toy with him, huh? Ichigo quickly studied the road ahead of him, mind whirring like a printer. It was a three lane highway, and he was in the middle, silver cars surrounding him on all fronts. If he stayed where he was, they'd finish him off good. However, they weren't even giving him time to grab his gun from the glove compartment, so all he had up his sleeve were evasive maneuvers. And that was going to be a tad difficult with cars gunning for him from every direction, not to mention the agitated civilians on the road. What to do, what to do? he wondered, thoughts frantic. He saw P up ahead, as well as Tu and G. He figured B and Grenade were behind him, but what could they do to help him?

His question was suddenly answered as a powder-blue BMW skidded between his car and the silver car to his right. B's windows were tinted too darkly for Ichigo to register the man's expression, so all he could do was stare in disbelief and grudging admiration as B rammed the silver car, making it fishtail and slide over to the shoulder, where it barreled into the guardrail. Ichigo grinned and took the invitation, tires skidding as he sped over to the vacant space. He stomped on the gas and shifted gears, speeding ahead of the rest of the silver cars, engine sounding like something big and predatory.

Grinning like a mad man and hooting with glee, he caught up to the rest of his team, just as a loud, jarring explosion scared the shit out of him and almost ran him off the highway. He turned in his seat to check out what had happened and spotted Grenade's yellow Ferrari weaving into view. Facing the road again, Ichigo cheered like his team had won a championship. He should have known the explosion was Grenade's doing. Ichigo's heart was pounding like a war drum as he slipped between civilian cars with practiced ease. This was definitely a messy game Tsukishima's people were playing, and if he didn't use his cards correctly, he was going to end up a ball of flame like the unfortunate soul Grenade had wiped off the map. Ichigo checked his mirror again, and grimaced at the sight of two burning cars along the cement guardrail. He really hoped civilians hadn't been involved, but in this case, he didn't see how it could be avoided.

B's BMW was next to him again, this time on his left. His window was down and he was gesturing wildly at Ichigo. Before Ichigo could make heads or tails of it, his heart dropped out of his chest as a silver car nailed B's from behind, sending it into a frightening tail-spin. He wanted to shout, rage, do something, but all he ended up doing was watching in horror as the blue BMW veered across two lanes of traffic before crashing through the metal guardrail and into a tree. Ichigo didn't even think twice before he spun his car around, dodging oncoming vehicles like his life depended on it. He raced over to the crash site, heart in his mouth. All he could think about was B's safety. Was the man OK? How bad was it? Shit!

When he passed the crash, doubled back and skidded to a stop beside B's car, he grabbed his gun from the glove compartment and slid over to the passenger seat of his Audi. He tentatively opened the door and glanced around. Good. No silver cars had pulled over with them, but even if they had, Ichigo was prepared to shoot it out in broad fucking daylight. Steam hissed and billowed from beneath the crumpled hood of the BMW, the smell of burning rubber almost too thick to inhale. He grabbed the handle of the driver's side of B's door and yanked, revealing the blue-haired man slumped over the steering wheel. The airbag had deployed and cushioned his face, but blood still tracked down from the left side of his head and from his nose. Ichigo wished he could check for more damage, but he had a feeling they didn't have time, so he reached inside and felt for a pulse. After a few harrowing seconds where he tried to calm his own heart rate, he found B's.

He was still alive.

Ichigo sighed with bitter relief. He couldn't even begin to describe the level of anger surging through him at the moment. He didn't want to shake B – hell, he didn't really want to move him – but time was of the essence. He glanced around at his surroundings again, just to be sure he didn't have company, before he lowered his head and rubbed the back of B's neck.

"Hey, B, can you hear me?" he murmured, voice stern, tone gentle.

B didn't respond. Ichigo sighed, frustrated. How the fuck was he supposed to do this? Thankfully, two things happened. Grenade's Ferrari pulled over behind their cars, and the door opened, Grenade's head peeking over it. Just as the brunet asked about B's welfare, B groaned. Ichigo turned to the man, startled at first, then overcome with a mixture of relief, annoyance and exasperation. Hopefully, the man remained conscious long enough for Ichigo to trundle him into the Audi. Ichigo gave Grenade a thumbs-up and faced B again, whose blue eyes were fluttering open, teeth bared in a pained grimace.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he moaned, low tenor sending shivers down Ichigo's back. Probably not the best time to grow a boner, but B's voice was unreasonable. "There's an elephant on my arm."

Ichigo scowled, confused. "What are you talkin' about?"

B finally registered Ichigo's presence and looked up at him, eyes glazed with agony, but face impassive. "Did you fuckin' hit me?"

"What?"

"You heard me, asshole," the blue-haired idiot growled, words sluggish. "Yer always fuckin' wit' me. I swear ta God, O, if you-"

Ichigo shook his head and held up his hand. "Oh my fuckin' God, we so don't have time for this right now, B. You can dig deeeeep into those pockets of delusion later, in a nice, safe place, K? I promise."

He reached into B's car, frustration making him grumble and inwardly rant. B clearly had a concussion. Shit, the man probably didn't even know what day it was if he was thinking he was so out of it because Ichigo had hit him. Part of that was a tiny bit hilarious and satisfying as all get-out, but they were pressed for time. As a matter of fact, just as he grabbed B's left arm to help lift him out of the BMW, a pinging sound off the back window made Ichigo duck and search the area in shock.

That was a bullet, right?

He spotted a silver car pulled over a ways back on the shoulder, a head of white hair peering down at them from behind the open passenger door. Ichigo didn't recognize the assailant, but he knew without a doubt that their time had run out. Luckily for him, Grenade was providing cover fire. Reports from a large caliber gun rang out around them, encouraging much needed haste in Ichigo's movements.

"Let's go, Dory. Time's a'wastin'."

He was somehow able to get B to climb out of the BMW and into the Audi, where Ichigo pushed the passenger seat all the way back. He ransacked B's glove compartment for anything necessary, along with the car keys, before piling the miscellaneous crap onto the man's lap and slinking over him. He slammed the door and flopped into the driver's seat of his car, wasting no time burning rubber away from the scene. He glanced into the rear view mirror to make sure that Grenade was right behind them before shifting gears and flying down the highway.

This was a clusterfuck of epic proportions. First, they were blindsided on the road, then B ended up incapacitated, and now they were still in the middle of the car chase from hell. It was like they were filming an episode of Cops. Ichigo glanced over at B, who was slumped in the seat, cradling his left arm and glaring grisly murder at him, blue eyes glittering with the ghost of pain poorly repressed.

"Are you serious right now?!" Ichigo snapped, a little offended.

B huffed and made a big deal about turning away and staring through the window. His pout was annoyingly cute. And...there was the fact that B looked damned good in the passenger seat of Ichigo's car.

Ichigo opened his mouth to complain some more in order to hide his boiling lust, but was interrupted by the blast of a horn from his right. A silver car was there, drunk-weaving as a dark-haired man with a hauntingly familiar grin hung out of the passenger window and steadied a goddamn-fucking rocket launcher on the roof.

"What...the...fuck?" Ichigo breathed.

"Oh, look at that," B muttered.

Ichigo's heart rammed against his ribs as he stomped on the brakes, swerving dangerously into the right lane behind the car, tires screaming like pterodactyls. Ichigo didn't wait for the man in the other car to point the launcher in their direction again before he dipped through the traffic in a mad race to just get the fuck out of the way.

"My arm, asshole!" B yelped as he braced himself against the door with his uninjured one.

"Sorry 'bout that! Hold on!"

Ichigo had spotted the oncoming exit a little before the rocket toting jerk had shown up, so he braked hard and turned off, ignoring the blaring civilian horns, and smiling when the silver car continued speeding ahead on the highway. Ichigo managed to get around the civilians waiting at a traffic light before drifting into a motel parking lot that wrapped around the square building. He spotted a nice little niche in the corner of the lot by a green dumpster and a bunch of neglected bushes and trees. Perfect. Hopefully, they'd be able to hide out there for a while, which was probably better for B, anyway.

Speaking of B, he was back to giving Ichigo his most unimpressed face. Ichigo sighed as he parked and shut off the engine. He sagged into the seat, heart still pounding, but gradually slowing down. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes and just allowed himself to breathe and reflect on his near-death.

So...yeah...that had just happened, hadn't it? Whoever Tsukishima had sent after them was really trying to wipe them out. It was kind of frightening, but mostly irritating and infuriating. Essentially, they had done nothing wrong to deserve this kind of "cleaning," but Tsukishima obviously felt otherwise. And since the jerk had placed himself pretty high up on the totem pole back at the agency, there was really only one way to get out of this mess alive.

But shit, he was tired.

Ichigo opened his eyes and side-eyed B. A whole host of things flared up all at once: residual fear from when he'd seen B's car plow into that tree, determination as he'd driven across a whole lane of oncoming traffic to reach him, relief from knowing that he was OK – that they were OK, and, of course...lust. His eyes roamed over B's broad, supple chest, down over those rock-hard, chiseled abs before he finally felt a hint of shame at eye-raping the man while he was in the throes of a concussion. Ichigo sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that day. This wasn't how he'd pictured getting B alone.

"I think I need ta lie down," B grunted, shaking Ichigo out of his musings.

When he gave B a stern once-over, he realized that his blue-haired teammate looked like he was on the verge of emptying his stomach all over Ichigo's Audi. Unacceptable. Ichigo hurried up and grabbed the car keys before swinging out of the vehicle and heading over to the passenger side. He made it just in time. As soon as he opened the door, B leaned over and puked all over his sneakers. All Ichigo could do was stare down at the putrid mess, left eyebrow twitching with barely repressed rage.

If he had any luck at all, it had to be bad.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, ignoring the hushed voice in his head, coaxing him to choke the life out of B. That would be counterproductive, at best. Finally, when he felt like he could speak without clenched teeth, he opened his eyes and forced calm into his voice.

"Let's go inside."

That was all he could manage before he turned on his heel and toed out of the sneakers. He reached down, holding his breath as not to inhale the vicious fumes of vomit, and lifted the sneakers with two fingers, quickly chucking them into the dumpster. The socks he wore were splattered as well, but he needed something on his feet until they made it to a room. As B eased out of the car at a snail's pace, Ichigo counted backwards from ten. His temper was threatening to boil over, but he was trying to keep it in check. B hadn't really blown chunks all over his feet on purpose. He was concussed and probably dizzy as a kid who'd just discovered the joys of spinning in pointless circles. That thought in mind, Ichigo gripped the elbow of B's uninjured arm and guided him towards the back entrance of the motel. They trooped to the front desk, where Ichigo produced one of his fake IDs and matching credit cards, and prayed no one would look for them there for at least a day or two. Actually, two might be pushing it.

As they waited for the clerk to come back with the keys, Ichigo took in his surroundings – a habit of his that usually kept him ahead of trouble. There was an elderly couple seated on the comfy-looking couch across the way, blatantly staring at him and B. His hackles immediately raised in defense, even though he knew that he and B looked like something straight out of a crime sitcom. He was barefoot, and B was bleeding and hunched over. Feeling the crushing urge to say something, he turned to the couple with a subdued - and what he thought was friendly - smile.

"He's really drunk. ...And he fell," he explained.

He was sure by the way the two looked at one another that they didn't believe a word he'd just said. Normal people would have gone to the emergency room if his story was true, but ah, well. At least the couple wouldn't assume they were criminals. At least, Ichigo hoped not. He was tired and needed a shower and some food. Takeout sounded marvelous.

The clerk came back with their keys and slid them under the slot of the office window. "Here ya go. Check-out's at eleven AM."

Ichigo nodded, ignoring the derisive look from the dark-haired clerk, and gripped B's elbow again as he stared down at the room number. One-sixty-seven. Good, at least they were on the first floor. Ichigo didn't think this motel had an elevator, and he was in no way, shape, or form prepared to deal with stairs and B at the same fucking time.

Just no.

It was slow going to the room with B dragging his feet, but they made it, and as soon as the door slam-locked, Ichigo was tempted to swan-dive onto the bed. It was a pretty big bed too, considering the seediness of the motel. However, he looked over his shoulder and sighed at B. The man was barely hanging onto his balance, swaying in place, face still a horrendous, bloody mess, and eyes hooded and glazed. Ichigo shook his head and helped the blue-haired man to the bed before trudging into the bathroom for a couple of wet rags and a towel. When he came back, B was stretched out on his back, arms splayed and mouth cocked open as he snored.

"You're such a baby," Ichigo grunted as he strolled over.

He sat beside B and studied the man's face for a bit. B's head was tilted to the right, exposing his strong-looking neck. Blood had collected on his shirt and stained the side of his face and neck, but it did nothing to take away from his handsome features. Ichigo brushed aside bright-blue bangs and smirked. B was a gorgeous specimen of man, and if he allowed himself the moment, Ichigo was proud to consider this man his. The kisses they'd shared replayed themselves as Ichigo tenderly wiped at the blood on B's face and neck. He wished B wasn't out of commission because he'd really like to pick up where they'd left off on Bullet.

With yet another sigh, Ichigo finished up cleaning the blood from the blue-haired man and went about taking off B's shoes and socks. That was all he could really do without disturbing him, so he went about his business, which began with a hot shower.

XOXOXO

When Grimmjow came to, he was in an unfamiliar bed, and there was a warm, solid presence along his right side. He blinked up at the...mirrored...ceiling...and grinned at the head of orange hair he spotted. So, O had kidnapped him, eh? Once he gathered his bearings, it was easy to tell that they were in a motel. A crappy one, at that. He went to pull O closer, and that was when it started.

The pain of a thousand agonies erupted in his face, his head and his left arm. All he could do was gasp and hiss as he was bombarded with misery. What fresh hell was this? If he wasn't a better man, he would have started crying. As it was, he curled onto his right side and squeezed his eyes shut as he grunted pleas for mercy into a pillow. The commotion must have brought O out of his slumber because he sat up, rubbing his eyes in a way Grimmjow would've found cute if he wasn't in the middle of dying.

"B, what's wrong?"

O and his bedroom voice, dammit. Too bad Grimmjow couldn't really enjoy it.

"I think I'm dyin'," he blurted through the pain.

A brief moment passed before O chuckled. "You're such a drama queen. Here, can you sit up? I got you some pain killers and water. There's food too, if you want it."

"Fuck you. I ain't...a...drama queen."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Come on, sit up."

Grimmjow slowly did as O said, head throbbing like an open wound. A wave of dizziness and nausea hit him so hard, his eyes almost rolled back. Instead, he took a few fortifying breaths and gulped down the saliva that announced the arrival of rising bile. After a couple of beats, his rebellious body stabled enough for him to squint at his teammate.

"Why does my arm feel like Thor hit it with his hammer?"

"Your shoulder was dislocated. I fixed it," O answered with that wolfish grin he wore when he was being particularly bad. "Oh, and your face looks like you got mouthy with Kimbo Slice, but overall, I think you came out OK."

"Somethin' tells me yer enjoyin' this."

Grimmjow didn't wait for a response as he grabbed the opened bottle of water and two pills from O. He downed both and glanced around the room. It was your typical motel room. Mirrors all over the place, updated, flat-screen TV, cable box, two night stands, small, round coffee table in the corner near the AC/heating unit, large wall-sized window with drawn, ugly, paisley-patterned curtains, and a large bed with equally ugly blankets. Like he said: typical. One thing he spotted that was different was the microwave and mini fridge near the bathroom door.

"That's somethin' new."

O grinned and fluffed the pillows behind him before lying back and resting his hands on his stomach. He stared at the TV that was playing an old action flick and shrugged.

"Yeah, I figured we could use them."

"I think I need more sleep before I can even think about food."

O nodded again and peered at him from the corner of his eye. Grimmjow smirked at the obvious display of nerves. Dammit, why did he have to be all fucked up? There were a million things he wanted to do to O in a situation like this. Better yet, make that a million and one, he thought as he let his eyes hungrily take in every bit of the orange-haired man, especially the spot between his legs.

"You better be glad I'm in so much pain," he grumbled as he lay back down.

O arched a brow. "Oh, yeah?"

"I'd fuck the shit outta you right now, O."

And there it was. O's cute little blush that he always tried to hide was burning on his cheeks like a beacon in the night. He stammered over some nonsense, but Grimmjow cut through all that. He was on his back again, but his head was turned towards O, eyes fastened to his full lips.

"Can I at least have a kiss?"

O's lips thinned into a line as he fought and failed at holding back another blush. How cute is this guy? Grimmjow thought as he watched O turn to him and rise to his elbow. O's honey-brown eyes glinted in the dimness of the room as he gazed down at Grimmjow. After what felt like forever, O finally reached over and caressed the side of Grimmjow's face, thumb gentle as it moved over Grimmjow's cheek and lower lip. It made things move around in a fuzzy frenzy in his gut as he stared back. And then, O slowly leaned over and connected their lips.

It was soft and agonizingly tender at first. O's lips moved over his in a tentative dance until Grimmjow lifted his right hand and cupped the back of O's neck, bringing that lithe body closer. O made a noise that was a mixture of a moan, a sigh and a whimper, and it made Grimmjow's soldier peak with interest. He grunted and deepened the kiss, parting his lips and tasting O's with the tip of his tongue. O opened his mouth without hesitation and added fire to a pit of oil. Grimmjow groaned and tightened his hold on the back of O's neck, the whisper-soft strands of O's hair sliding between his fingers. His stomach was hollow, but his groin was boiling. Each time they kissed, it felt like the first. O's taste was branded in his DNA by now, and damn, what Grimmjow wouldn't give to have the full use of his left arm. It was still too sore, though. He made due by scooting closer and pulling O deeper into the kiss.

O's hand was wayward.

It started ghosting over Grimmjow's chest, then down to his stomach, then over to his right side, where it slipped under his shirt and traced sweet torture over his belly again. The skin to skin contact broke the dam of ardor he was trying to keep at bay. He scowled with pleasure and arched into O's touch, simultaneously thrusting his tongue deeper into the other man's mouth. O moaned, that wily hand forming a claw against Grimmjow's abdomen.

"Fuck," O murmured, lips still connected, but just barely. "I want you so bad."

Just as Grimmjow went to enthusiastically agree with that statement, as well as make good on it, his head started throbbing in earnest. He grimaced and shut his eyes, damning every being in charge for doing this to him at a time when all he really wanted to do was fuck the hell out of his hot as hell boyfriend.

...O was his boyfriend, right?

Another nasty throb made him wince and give a strangled groan as he backed away from O's drugging lips. He'd have to think about that later. Right now, he needed another nap and time to give the pain killers a chance to do their thing. Probably should've eaten something first, but meh. Nausea and food were never a great mix.

"This is the worst," he grumbled as he lie back.

O huffed a breath, but lay his head on Grimmjow's chest. "Yeah, this is the pits."

Grimmjow chuckled and absently ran his good hand through O's hair. "I'll make it up ta ya."

"Swear?"

"Nah, that's a promise, O. Now, lemme sleep. Maybe when I wake up, this stupid headache'll be gone, an' I can give ya a real reason ta yell at me."

O snorted through a chortle. "You're such a fuckin' perv, B."

"Heh. You ain't seen nothin' yet."

Grimmjow meant that with every fiber of his being. O thought he was a pervert now? Give him a few hours of rest and some food, and he'd show O just what that word meant. Sure, he might still be sore come waking time, but he'd completed missions under worse conditions. Besides, there was no telling how long it would be before they had this kind of privacy again, so there wasn't a chance in hell he was turning down this golden opportunity. He sighed and toyed with O's hair some more before gradually dropping off to sleep.

XOXOXO

"What do you mean, you lost them?"

"Aaroniero and Yammy are dead," Byakuya stated with a calm he didn't feel.

"...That is unfortunate." Tsukishima sighed and after a small pause continued. "Return to Langley. We need to regroup and find them."

"Yes, Sir."

Byakuya ended the call, outrage rolling over in his gut. The plan had been doomed for failure from the start, and he'd seen no reason to go after the group of dangerous former agents so recklessly. Tsukishima had insisted and lost two assets in the process. Nothing about this mission felt clean; in fact, it left him with questions and confusion, two things he never associated with his line of work. He liked to go into a situation with both eyes wide open, which meant no unknown factors and mysterious aspects.

This was intolerable. Byakuya sped away from former agent, B, AKA Grimmjow Jaegerjaques's powder-blue BMW. The car was totaled, the front crumpled like a soda can, but there was no body. Tsukishima's dark-haired minion, Nnoitra Jiruga, had mentioned something about former agent, O, AKA Ichigo Kurosaki, nabbing the blue-haired former agent from the wreck and speeding off to whereabouts unknown. It was maddening. Byakuya hated being forced into a tangled web such as the one Tsukishima weaved. It left him feeling out of control and unacceptably stupid.

Byakuya did his homework. He carefully studied his targets before silently ending their lives. His mentor compared him to a ninja, which was fanciful, but Byakuya also liked to believe it was accurate. His targets never knew he was there, even while he observed them. This sloppy mess that Tsukishima had going on was angering on an entirely different level.

Byakuya punched a button on the dashboard of his government issued SUV and snapped, "Call Kisuke Urahara."

Next chapter: shenanigans! Hurr, hurr, hurr! Thanks for reading!