Chapter 2

I'm in heaven, I have to be. Either that or I'm more tired than I realized.

I'm floating on clouds and as I clutch the soft sheets closer to my skin I moan. The feeling as the slide against my body is amazing. They're made of silk, nice expensive silk and soft feathered pillows I've only dreamed of having. Like Isabel, she has feathered pillows.

No silk sheets though or a bed made out of clouds.

Fuck, what I wouldn't give to make this fantasy into reality, to have bed made out of clouds instead of stone and feather pillows and soft silk sheets. But I can't and as much as I want to linger in between the realm of sleep and reality I have to get up for work soon.

It may be the weekend but I still have to work.

Mr. and Mrs. Hofmann, the kindly owners of Classic American, said something about a rich family booking the restaurant for a party or something and wanting all hands on deck as early as possible. And even though it's normally my day off, the extra hours really sound appealing right now.

Will I be able to keep my job after the move?

With a groan of utter defeat, as yesterdays worries coming rushing back with that thought, I wrench myself from dreamland and back to my harsh reality. I need to change into my work uniform, grab a bagel or something for breakfast, and high-tail my ass to work before I'm late and Mr. Hofmann sends me packing.

I really don't need that.

I launch off my bed, eyes still half closed and still more than a bit asleep, because the fear of that is very real, and scrabble to my closet and to pull out my uniform.

I circle the room twice before I realize that something is wrong. Horribly wrong but by then all I can do is stare at the crisp white walls in contemplation. Did Isabel paint my room white well I slept as a sign for me to pack my bags and get out?

And did she steal my furniture and replace it with these tacky black ones? God, she really has no creativity when it comes to decorating. If it weren't for Luz and her love for mixing and matching and all things color, I'm pretty sure the whole house would be white on black.

Did she remodel the entire room?

Where the fuck is my closet?

I look around the room once more and only then notice that the cloud bed and silk sheets and feathered pillow weren't a part if my imagination. They're actually there, a rumpled, disheveled mess but right fucking there and I wonder how Isabel managed to switch my bed with me still on it and how she could afford such expensive bedding.

Man, when she wants to get the point across she really pulls out all the stops. I bet my entire check that my things are packed and waiting for me downstairs too. I thought she was going to talk to father before making any decisions?

Wait, this is Isabel I'm talking about. How could I forget?

Knowing her, my shit's probably half way to Africa by now. Or Mexico, depending on my father's current location I'm guessing.

I don't have time for this, god dammit!

I have to get to work soon! My internal clock is screaming that I'm late, late, late even though I'm not sure what time it actually is and there's no clock—analog or digital—for me to check. But relief washes over as I room I spot ink black curtains across the room—on the opposite side of where I remember the window being—and scrabble to them.

I'm not exactly sure what I'll find when I wrench the curtains back but I'm hoping for the foggy grey skies of an early morning and dreading the bright sunny skies that means it's past ten and I'm definitely late. Why didn't I set my alarm? Not that it would have matter since Isabel would have probably taken that too.

Still…

Again, I'm not sure what I'll find once I throw those curtains open but when I do peek outside I get stuck on stupid for what feels like hours.

The neighborhood's gone….

And so are the trees and grass and cars and just about everything for miles and miles.

How did Isabel pull that off?

I'm beginning to think that I'm the one that was moved and not my stuff….Or the neighborhood because there's no way that Isabel would have been able to cover the neighborhood for miles and miles in sand. Desert sand and strange white builds that just go up, up, up, past the fluffy white clouds and bright blue skies.

Where the fuck am I?

The air of déjà vu hits me full force but I ignore it because, one thing's for sure, with skies that bright, I'm definitely late. Its past noon, no doubt about it, and I'm sure I can kiss my job good-bye now. Mr. Hofmann absolutely hates people who are late because—to him—being late means you're lazy and he won't stand for laziness in his restaurant.

He tends to fire lazy people on the spot.

"Son of a bitch."

I throw the curtains close as the curse leaves my lips and dive back into the soft (marshmallows and clouds and heaven) bed. Might as well, since I have no idea where I am and I'd rather sleep than deal with the (cruel, harsh, unfair) world at the moment.

I'll deal with this shit when I have enough energy.

It doesn't take long for the comforts of what has to be a thousand dollar bed to lull me back into to the state of not awake but not asleep as I once again strive to forget. Just for now, just for a bit. But, just before I'm about to slip completely into the lands of dreams a loud bang sounds across the room.

I can only curse as I jump—startled by the noise—off the bed. Or at least I try to jump off the bed but the silk sheets stop me as they tangle around legs. Instead, I tumble off the bed in a jumbled mess of failing limbs and curses.

The crack of my head connecting rather harshly against the—weirdly—white tiled floor is deafening and any curses that I'd been about to say are forgotten because all I can think to do is moan in pain. I clutch at my head as soon as the shock wears off enough for me to move.

Dear god, that's painful.

The world spins, my head throbs, my ears ring and when I open my eyes all I can see stars. Now, I'm not weakling that will cry over a single paper cut. I'm not a stranger to pain—physical, mental, or emotional—and have a high tolerance for it after having struggled, suffered, and gotten into some many near death accidents in my life.

So if you see me on the floor in pain it usually means I might want to get checked over by a doctor or rushed into the hospital.

Once the world stops spinning and the stars return to space I crawl, rather pitifully, back onto the bed and curl up into a ball because my head still throbs something fierce. Man, I'll be annoyed if I do have to go to the hospital, I fucking hate hospitals.

They smell like antiseptic and sickness and death and I just can't stand the long hours waiting in the emergency room. I fucking hate waiting and being stuck in a room full of sick and wounded people all day isn't exactly my cup of tea.

"Is it still alive?"

It?

The distinctly male voice comes from the direction of the earlier bang and I really hope he's not talking about me because—irritated and hurting as I am—I won't hesitate to rip into him. Where the fuck are his manners?

Didn't his mother raise him better to call a girl 'it'.

Well, he's definitely never getting laid.

Or married.

Wait, why is he just standing there instead of trying to figure out if I'll live. Not that I want to be pampered or anything but isn't it normal to at least ask if someone's okay after seeing them crack their head open on the—ridiculously—tiled floor?

Who the fuck puts tile flooring in a bedroom anyways?

The bed shifts next to me but I don't think I can handle moving again just yet so don't turn to look at whoever's now sitting next to me. Not until cool, strong (ice and stone) arms slip under me and pull me up and by then all I can do is groan in pain as the shift in elevation causes my head to throb violently.

"Ah! What the fuck, asshole," I growl out and I would have said more if my stomach hadn't begun to rebel the sudden movement. That's the thing about me; pain makes me nauseous, makes my stomach churn and makes me want to upchuck into the nearest trash can.

I try my best to curl in on myself but begin held—bridal style, I might add—doesn't really allow for it and the rocking motion of walking is doing nothing to help my queasiness. It would serve the fucker right if I threw up on him though. Teach him to touch someone without asking.

God, I can feel my skin crawl.

I hate being touched.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

I'm not sure why I warn him but, maybe it's a good thing that I did because the rocking stops before I can taste last night's cookies again. Delicious as they had been going down, I highly doubt they'll taste the same on their way out.

Up until this point I've still kept my eyes closed but when I hear whispers erupt around me, my curiosity gets the better of me and I open my eyes to bright white and ink black. It's everywhere I look and now I'm truly starting to wonder just where I've woken up.

I've seen Hospitals with more color than this.

The ground, I've been place on the ground I realize as my gaze, hazy and a little doubled, lands once again on the white tiled floor. It feels cool and refreshing on my bare legs and I press my palms to it when the world begins to tilt dangerously.

The whispers continue around me but I can't separate the voices enough to make sense of what is being said. And it's not until I see shoes in the edge of my still blurry vision that I realize someone's standing in front of me.

"And who is this?"

The only reason I can make those words out at all is because all others die away the moment it sounds and I don't have to look up to know that they belong to the person in front of me. I still do, though, and as my eyes continue to meet white—white pants and robes—a vague sense of déjà vu hits me. But it's only as my eyes land on a red sash amongst all that white that déjà vu runs me over.

I've seen that look somewhere…

'Aizen,' my mind whispers and before I can think much more on that a hand, soft and warm, slips under my chin and tilts my face up. My eyes lock with deep brown ones filled with curiosity and I would have batted the hand away if my whole body hadn't frozen.

If my mind wasn't screaming, 'What the fuck" and I wasn't trying desperately to pinpoint the exact moment I'd gone batshit insane. Because there's no way, it can't be, but it is and, wow, he's hotter than I remember and shouldn't he be locked up somewhere under the soul society right now?

I mean, last I'd heard and read, he was sentenced to eighteen thousand and eight hundred years in Muken. So why is he here? Dressed in his old Lord Uniform staring down at me like I'm a bug under his shoe?

"Who are you, dear child?"

Ah, okay, awkward….

I must have hit my head harder than I thought if I'm actually seeing the ex-lord of Las Noches looming over me.

"Trixy, Trixy BuenaSuerte," I finally answer when his hand begins tightens around my chin. It's a threat; everything in me is screaming that it is, so I answer before his anger can get the best of him. He always did have anger issues.

At least I thought he did.

But, anger issues aside, you're probably wondering what I've been blundering on about or at least really confused so let me explain. I'm currently sitting—well, kneeling actually—in front of Aizen Sosuke, the great (ex) lord of Las Noches.

Weird, isn't it?

I must have knocked a few screws loose when I hit my head. And isn't that the way to go? Knocked insane after taking a tumbled off the bed? I always thought that, when I finally lost it, it'd be because I caved from stress, or it would have been because my psyche shattered.

Somehow, multiple personalities sounds a lot more exciting than seeing Aizen.

Don't get me wrong, he's great, being all-powerful and all, but Aizen can get a tab bit annoying. What with his constant need to take over the world. I know he only attempted it once so far but I have a feeling he might just give it another go soon.

Or maybe he already did…I'm actually not sure, I stopped reading the manga after the winter war for, ah, personal reasons. Okay, I'll admit, after my, um, love interest—yeah let's go with that—died I couldn't really bring myself to keep reading.

There's something about your favorite character dying that can really ruin a series for you.

"And where did you find this…Ryoka, Ulquiorra?"

Ryoka?

That means something, something important. I know it does but give me a second to stare at Aizen in stunned curiosity because I think I just heard him say Ulquiorra. I would ask if you heard it too just to make sure I'm not going crazy but we've already established that I have.

"I found it sleeping in my private quarters."

There we go with 'it' again. Can they not tell that I'm a girl or something? Do I have to puff out my chest just so they'll be able to tell? I mean, my breast are noticeable enough if you ask me and they're not exactly hidden behind my tank top.

Wait…was that Ulquiorra just now?

"Looks like, Ulquiorra's been hiding a toy from us."

Toy?

I can't really decide if that's better than 'it' or not.

As Aizen's hand finally slips away from my chin I turn to look behind me. And, maybe, it's because I'm not really surprised that my sanity is now non-existent that I don't even blink at who I see behind me. Or maybe it's because all the white manages to blind me.

It's everywhere and, not for the first time, I wonder over Aizen's obvious love for the color—or lack of.

Behind me, littered across the room, stand the Espadas. From the first to the last and I stare almost dumbly as I look them over one by one. They look so healthy—so alive compared to when I last saw them, beat and broken and inches away from death.

"Shit, what the hell's going on?"

It's a mumble meant for my ears along as I rub my head to sooth the building headache. I can feel a bump growing where my head met tile and I hiss as I try to rub away the pain. Doctor, I need a doctor and a bucket load of pain pills.

"I was hoping you would be able to answer that, little one," Aizen says and I turn back t o look at him as he continues, "Would you mind telling me how you got into my palace undetected?" It sounds like a request but if I know Aizen—figment of my imagination or not—nothing is request.

It's a demand and I curse under my breath when I realize that I really shouldn't be kneeling in front of this man. It shows weakness and that's something I don't think this man should think I am, because Aizen has no use for weak things.

Hold on, I thought we established that Aizen and his band of minions where just a figment my crazed mind? If anything, I should ecstatic to be hallucinating about them and do everything I've wanted to do to and with them. They're just an illusion, right?

Then why do I feel like if I don't stand up and hold my own I'll be incinerated on the spot or worse?

It takes of lot of strength and concentration to get to my feet and stubbornness alone is all that keeps me standing as my head begins to protest the change in elevation. I can feel myself swaying a bit but I ignore it as I meet Aizen amused gaze straight on.

He still looms over me and not for the first time I curse my short stature.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I say when he quirks a brow and I remember I've yet to answer his question. "I honestly don't know," I add when I stop something dark coming over his expression. "I just, kind of, woke up here."

In Las Noches.

But I won't tell them I know yet.

"You're a human," Aizen says after a short pause and if my head didn't hurt enough for me not to care I would have tensed as he begins to circle around me. "And yet you here, in Hueco Mundo," he continues and I'm not quite sure what to make of his words so I give the obvious response.

"Of course I'm human. What else would I be?" I ask and when Aizen turns a smirk my way I begin to think that this is all an act. Aizen was always one for dramatics and I have no doubts that he's mentally scripted just exactly how he's going to 'reveal' the existence of souls and hollows and Arrancars and just a whole bunch of shit I just don't have the patience to listen to.

"Oh, a Vizard, right? I forgot about them," I say nonchalantly and have to keep myself from smirking when Aizen pauses in his circling. "They're the human looking ones that possess the powers of an Arrancar or something like that, right?"

It's nice to know I one upped Aizen and I probably would have done a little happy dance if it weren't for my throbbing head and the hand once again gripping my chin. Aizen looms over me as he tilts my head back once more.

"Who do you work for?" he demands and I can't keep from flinching out of his grip when it tightens to a bruising grip. He only lets me go because the quick movement throws off my balance and I stumble back.

"Me, myself, and I," I growl out as I rub at my chin.

Just what I need more pain.

"What are you doing here?"

"Well, it's not exactly like I can choose what I want to hallucinate about," I mumble under my breath as I continue to rub at my chin. "Believe me, if I could I'd be on beach with a margarita in one hand and a book in the other," I continue to mumble as I turn back to the crowd behind me.

What?

Margaritas are delicious, nobody can deny that.

"And you, you'd definitely be there with me," I whisper as my eyes land on my 'love interest'.

He stands tall, back straight and head high as he watches my every move while I gaze at him. He looks so alert and on guard and not fucking dust that I just know that I have gone crazy. Bullshit aside, this is nice, to see him alive and well, because it chases away the images of dust and blood and pain and tears.

It lifts the weight of grief and I can't help smiling as I continue to gaze at him.

At least hallucinations are great for something.

"This bitch is crazy."

I don't take the words as an insult, I can't because they're a fact and I won't begrudge someone for pointing them out—offensive wording or not. Instead I turn my gaze to the one who spoke and nod my head in agreement.

"Yeah, I lost my marbles sometime last night," I say as I spot Nnoitra. He looks just as healthy and alive as everyone and for some unexplainable reason it makes me smile too. It makes me happy to see him and Harribel and Starrk and Szayel and god damn all of them alive and well.

Except Luppi, who sits atop of a white pillar and almost out of sight.

I could have lived without ever seeing him again.

I hate him more than I hate useless (Kurosaki-kun) Orihime and her constant crying. We get it, you love him now why don't you go tell him that and quit pining after him? Seriously, it gets annoying. If you love someone just do it, go for it, confess.

Worst case scenario, they reject you and you move on.

Why live in uncertainty and anxiety when everything you've ever wanted is right there, hallucination or not? Speaking of which I got a love interest to confess to. Yeah, I know, it's an illusion but, come on, let me be happy in my delusion.

Just for a bit, just for now, just until reality comes back to bite me in the ass.

When I turn back to him, his green (emerald) eyes are on me and it's with a small amount of self-consciousness that I realize they never left. Though I'm pretty sure it's because I'm the most exciting—well, oddest thing to have happened.

A human appearing in the Las Noches Palace without anyone noticing?

I'd dare someone to top that.

I take careful, measured (wobbly) steps towards him and he watches every move even though I'm about as fearsome as a mouse. They're probably expecting me to turn out to be dangerous which is laughable if you think about it.

I'm can't even walk straight!

I'm not sure what I'll do when I reach as the nervousness begins to build up and my palms get sweating and a lump forms in my throat. But my mind is shouting , "kiss him!" so maybe it's a good thing that I got interrupted on my way to him.

Well, not interrupted so much as my attention is drawn to a clear crystal box and the bandaged figure in it. Wonderweiss, it's Wonderweiss before Aizen turns him into his weapon of mass destruction. Sweet baby Wonderweiss who will die at the hands of Head Captain Yamamoto—well, because of Head Captain Yamamoto's power.

"You too," I whisper and it's only then, as my hand is inches from touching the crystal box that I realize I've changed course and moved towards Wonderweiss. "I'd definitely take you to the beach and we'd build sand castles and swim and play all day, Wonderweiss."

I know he's not actually a baby but that's always been the way I've seen him.

"How do you know his name?"

Aizen's eyes are pins in my back but I ignore them as I shrug and skim my fingertips against the box. I let my fingers linger there even as I can tell Aizen's getting impatient and it's only when I hear footsteps heading in my direction that I answer.

"Somewhere, somehow, my reality is some else's fiction," I whisper as I draw away from Wonderweiss and those words feel so right as I say them. It's as if they explain everything and lift whatever confusion lingers as I turn back to gaze at Aizen. "I know everyone's name, Lord Sosuke Aizen."

But this isn't reality.

Is it?

"And how the fuck would a human know our names?"

It's the same voice from before, the one that called me crazy and bitch and a toy but the way he says human makes sound like the dirtiest curse word I've ever heard and I don't know if I should be impressed or offended. Sure, offended is the logical choice but there isn't anything logical about this.

"Shut up, Nnoitra," I hiss as I whip around to glare at him and when his eyes widen I smirk. There's just something so satisfying about catching everyone off guard that I don't think of the consequence until after I find myself restrained. "Ah! What the fuck?"

A cold hand holds my arms behind my back in a strong, unyielding grip and I can't keep from struggling even as I'm pulled into and equally cold chest. Another hand wraps around my chest and even after I see the pale white skin I don't stop struggling.

Don't touch!

"I will ask you again, who do you work for?"

Aizen's voice booms across the room and I can't help flinching as its super fucking scary. I've managed to piss him off and that realization alone has me pushing into the arms behind me. I'm not cowering, not really. I'm just trying to get as far away as possible from him before he blows.

"And I told you, I work for no one but myself," I growl at him and meet his glare head on even though I'm still desperately trying to back away. "So why don't you calm your tits, call off you're henchmen, and then will discuss this like grown as adults."

Luz always did say I needed a brain to mouth filter and as I watch Aizen's face increase to a shade of red I've only seen on fire trucks I'm inclined to believe her. Especially when the hand holding mines turns into a bruising grip. I can hear someone snickering in the background and I'd bet my entire paycheck that it's Nnoitra.

At least I won't be dying alone.

For his part Aizen says nothing, simply nods his head at his ever loyal lap-dog and motions for me to speak. I shove his hands off me instantly, eager to break contact, and brush imaginary dust off my clothes as I stand tall. I may not legally be an adult but I can't see why Aizen would need to know that.

"How did you get here?" he asks and I meet his gaze for a minute before taking another look around the room. Everyone's got curious eyes on me and for a second I wonder how much of anything can be blamed on loss of sanity.

If I was hallucinating wouldn't I just be seeing them and not Las Noches?

"I'll tell you when I figure it out," I say and meet his gaze head on even as his eyes start to narrow.

"Who do you work for?"

"This again?" I question. "Why don't you just ask me out-right if I work for the Soul Society? Not that I do. I mean, what would the Soul Society do with a human?" I ask and I'm not really looking for an answer as I give Aizen a confused look. "And don't say Ichigo because we both know he's not exactly human, is he?"

Aizen's silence is answer enough and I nod my head in understanding. Someone with that much power can't be human. Well, they can't be a hundred percent human and while I'm not sure just exactly what he has in him I know he's at least fifty percent Shinigami. He's also part Vizard and he has the other type of power that popped up in the chapters after the war.

Can't remember what it was called though.

"What are you doing here?"

"Honestly? Turning oxygen into carbon dioxide and trying to figure out if I've really lost my marbles just from hitting my head on your tiled floor," I say and take another look around the room. "It's really stupid to have tile in bedrooms, you know? One fall off the bed and suddenly you find yourself in the Bleach universe talking to the almighty lord, hell-bent on taking over the world. Not exactly how I planned to spend my Saturday."

"Bleach…Universe…?"

The way Aizen says the words, slow and pronouncing every syllable as if they're from a foreign language has dread piling up in my stomach as I turn back to look at him. His face is pinched in confusion and I can feel the blood draining from my blood as I realize that he really has no idea what I'm saying.

"Yeah, Bleach. You know, the name of your, well, Ichigo's story really," I explain, desperate for him to understand but as the confused look reminds on his face I know I'm in some deep shit.

How can he not know the name of his own story?

How come everyone looks as confused as him?

What the fuck is going on?