Chapter Fifty Two:

With a sigh, the Cero threw himself back onto the leather couch in his private chambers, staring at the walls. From what he had seen, his quarters were the biggest of all the Espada, most likely due to his rank. However, his room also resided closest to Aizen's, he wasn't sure if it was on purpose or by chance.

The room was entirely white, but with occasional flares of gold and black that appealed to him on an instinctual basis, bringing a low purr from the depths of his chest whenever he thought about it. This room had been designed for him. It was his colour scheme. Not Ichigo's. Red and orange, while being a pet peeve of his counterpart, was almost always his theme of choice.

His bed was the most plush thing he'd ever laid on in his life, he felt like he sank into its depths and was swallowed almost entirely to the point he never wanted to get back out. But the same couldn't be said for the rest of the room. It was perfect, it was comfortable and it was entirely his and yet if he spent any longer than a few minutes there he felt like he would explode. Boredom. Excitement. He grew too restless, he couldn't stand to sit around doing nothing.

It had been a few days since his encounters with Grimmjow and Nnoitra, Szayel, and Starrk. He had been unable to meet with Harribel, she had been too busy tending to the care of those held in the detention centre. From the murmurs he'd overheard from her Fracción, it appeared Renji was finally on the mend. Or at the very least, he was no longer in danger of dying any time soon. He was proud that he felt neither relief nor concern. The redhead wasn't his best friend. He wasn't his concern.

Shiro had successfully met with Zommari but as expected the Séptima Espada held little interest for him. He was... Too calm. Too tranquil. Too at peace. It was unsettling to be around. Made his hair stand on end. One visit was enough for a lifetime. He'd left the Séptima's palace with some riveting meditation techniques that he was absolutely never going to try.

Springing up from the couch, Shiro turned on the spot, hands clasped over his mouth as he tried to think of something to do. Something to entertain his time. He was reluctant to meet with Barragan, he was arrogant and old and ill-mannered. He had not forgotten about being called an 'ant' by the Segunda.

Barragan's attitude was Starrk's fault really. If the Primera was more willing to step up and perform his duties like he was supposed to, instead of delegating, then Barragan wouldn't have ideas above his station. Because he clearly believed his authority superseded that of the Cero and the Primera.

Sighing softly, he made up his mind. He had avoided Aizen for days, he'd been so set on proving he could stand on his own two feet he had refused to allow himself to go near the King's Suite. He wanted to see him. Maybe he would finally request that sparring match, additional training.

As he committed to the idea, Shiro hurried into the en-suite bathroom to make sure he looked presentable. The full body length mirror in the corner of the room was elegant and Gothic, swirling black metal work with jagged horns and clawed feet. It brought his trade mark manic grin to his face just looking at it.

Taking a breath, the Cero stepped up to the reflective glass. He avoided looking at his reflection too often, he didn't like how much he looked like... It was an unfortunate side effect of who and what he was and his albinism didn't set him apart from his polychromatic partner as much as he would have liked it to.

He was beautiful though. He wasn't vain, confident yes but he knew how people's eyes followed him across rooms. Just like they had with the other half of his being. High, proud cheekbones almost seemed chiselled by an artist, his white skin was like fine China or alabaster, no blemishes; no marks besides what was meant to be there. Soft, smooth. Crafted. He liked his eyes the best, because they were so different. The inky blackness of his sclera made his startling gold irises seem all the brighter, like glittering treasure glinting out of a dark cavern. They were wild, carefree but calculating and intelligent. Snowy white hair was still waist length, long and thick and silky to the touch but still with that messy truss of spikes on top of his head and around his face.

His eyes shifted towards his temple and a low growl escaped pursed lips. The single kenseikan Byakuya had gifted to Ichigo remained nestled in place. He'd tried to remove it the very same day he'd taken control. He had tried and tried and tried but it wouldn't budge. It was only after a burst of fitful, angry tears and a fist through a wall that Aizen had regretfully explained that the kenseikan had fused to his body and become his mask remnant, fragile material had hardened to bone. Shiro was under no illusions that it was probably Ichigo's idea of a sick joke, a permanent reminder.

Releasing a huff, Shiro tried to rearrange his hair to conceal the eyesore but quickly gave up. It was no use. The only benefit was that the kenseikan was as white as the rest of him, so it didn't stand out too prominently.

Turning on the spot, he swept back out of the bathroom, making sure the sash around his waist was tied securely before he left his room. The click of the door closing behind him was oddly relieving, knowing he wasn't contained within those walls. He felt his restlessness dim almost immediately.

He turned left, once again glad that his room was the closest to the King's Suite as his trip took only a matter of seconds. Shiro hesitated as he stared at the large doors, his heartbeat suddenly picking up at the thought of going in and requesting something of Aizen. Was it even his place to do so? Training with the man had always been Ichigo's past time, he'd never been given the chance... Was Aizen even interested in training him? Or sparring with him? Or spending time with him? Was Aizen interested... In him?

Shoulders slumping as a small sigh escaped his lips, the Cero looked down at his hands, teeth tugging at his bottom lip restlessly. Was it foolish to have believed they'd pick up where Ichigo had left off? He wasn't Ichigo... They were two different people despite all evidence to the contrary. Maybe Aizen had only ever put up with him because of Ichigo...

He could dye his hair. He could paint his skin. But he would never be Ichigo.

"What am I doin' here?" He breathed.

Zangetsu wouldn't talk to him, wouldn't even allow him within the Inner World. A great wall had been erected to keep him out. The stupid Zanpakutō was probably trying to find Ichigo. Trying to help him, to bring him back. Fat chance.

Ichigo's voice had been silenced when Ulquiorra had been defeated, he'd made sure of it. Snuffed him out, buried him so deep he'd never see the light of day again, drowned him so far beneath the water he'd never breathe again.

He wasn't used to being alone in his own head. It was... Lonely.

Shiro's gaze snapped up as the doors opened suddenly, and he took a hasty step back as his nerves kicked up a notch at the sight of the brunet Shinigami he'd come to see. Dark eyes were staring at him curiously, one perfect eyebrow quirked. Aizen was smirking.

"Tell me, had I not come to open the door... Would you have stayed out here all day?" Came the amused question.

"Probably." He muttered, looking away awkwardly.

Warm fingers tucked under Shiro's chin, drawing his attention back towards his creator, "What is troubling you?"

Realising there was no backing out now, he stood a little straighter, "I... I'm bored. I wanted to come and ask if ya wanted to spar with me? Or, give me some extra trainin'?"

Aizen looked surprised, apparently that request was the very last thing he had expected to hear in response to his question. The brunet sucked in a breath and glanced back towards his desk, "I fear I have a lot of work to be getting on with. Was your sparring session with the Sexta and Quinto unsatisfactory?"

"It was fine but..." Shiro hesitated, eyes trying to look anywhere but the other man's face, "Well... They aren't you."

"I see. It is understandable I suppose, they are both far weaker than yourself. I suspect Starrk would entertain you however getting him to fight is always something of an uphill battle in itself." The brunet hummed.

"I understand though, yer too busy. It was a long shot anyway-"

"I believe I can spare you some time." Aizen interrupted him softly.

"- I'm sorry for interruptin' whatever ya were doing, Aizen-sama. I'll let ya get back to... Wait... What?" Shiro stared up at him, blinking.

The smallest of chuckles escaped the lord of Las Noches, "I said I can spare you some time. It would be rude to refuse you, especially when no one else here can aptly provide the challenge you require."

"Thanks!" He exclaimed, cursing himself for getting so excited so quickly, he looked away shyly as his face flushed, "I mean... That would be great."

"We will use the training room on this floor, it is reserved for my own use normally, however Szayel created it to be... Self repairing. So, should we cause too much damage the room with repair itself with no need for concern." Aizen closed the doors to the King's Suite behind him and swept further down the corridor, leading Shiro towards a large black door he hadn't noticed before.

"A self... Repairing room? He can do that?"

"I do believe Szayel is capable of almost anything." Came the reply as the Shinigami unlocked the door and allowed them inside.

Shiro's eyes scanned the room curiously, it was huge. To some degree it reminded him of Urahara's hidden basement, only larger and scattered with tall red pillars and the occasional flash of foliage. There was another false sky overhead, but it seemed set perpetually to show a sunrise or sunset, Fingers brushing against some of the leaves on a nearby bush, the albino let out a cackle of disbelief at just how creative Szayel could be.

"You are impressed." Aizen commented, circling around him slowly until he was stood in front of him.

"I am." He agreed, eyes flicking up to the brown ones which were watching him so closely, "Swords? Or fists?"

"Swords." The brunet replied as if it was obvious.

"Promise you won't use your Shikai." Shiro folded his arms stubbornly.

If Aizen was annoyed at the request he didn't show it, and instead released a soft laugh as he reached for his blade, "You have my word, my dear Cero, I will not be using my Shikai against you. It would be a waste against someone who has been loyal to me from the beginning."

A grin stretched across pale lips as he unsheathed Zangetsu in response, hearing the slow clawing of steel as Kyoka Suigetsu was flourished. His blood was already pumping faster, his heart skipping beats with exhilaration. He hadn't believed for one moment Aizen would actually consent to sparring, but now they were here face to face; blade to blade... He couldn't help but let his pleasure show.

They circled one and other, feet drawing slowly across the sandy outcrop as their eyes fixed into a deadly glare. Their stances weren't so different, after all Shiro fought with everything Ichigo had ever learned from the brunet. Both of his pale hands clasped the rigid hilt of his body sized blade, while only one of Aizen's held his katana aloft. Their biggest differences were sword size and weight. While Aizen would move more freely, swiftly and deftly Shiro would be forced to take slow and steady actions, deflecting and dodging until an opening became available.

At least, that's what he'd do if he didn't also want to enjoy himself.

Shiro lunged and Aizen parried the blow with ease, knocking the large blade aside with a single swing. The Shinigami fought back, each sword stroke coming down with ease against the deflecting arcs of the Hollow's blade. Their movements sped up, the clanging of metal on metal, the sparks that scattered between them were barely more than a distraction, but it was one they were used to ignoring.

The two men were almost flying across the sandy, rocky terrain of the room, they kept their balance, kept their posture and never once came close to stumbling. It was so reminiscent of what Shiro remembered of the training sessions Ichigo had gone through, he knew every move with a practised ease that flowed from the core of his very being. But the adrenaline still rushed forth.

Shiro's movements were different to Ichigo's, they were more jagged and less forgiving, each lash and strike as meaningful as the last and it showed. He had successfully managed to cut Aizen's arm with one of his attacks, although he wasn't sure which one, he could see the first darkening of redness seeping through the white sleeve of the Shinigami's coat. Aizen didn't seem bothered, and in quick succession gained his revenge with a full length cut along the albino's ribs.

They moved with raging finesse, fluidity of each move striking at odds with the heat of the battle. Shiro knew Aizen was playing with him, he knew the man could end it in a second if he wanted to. He hadn't grown so strong that he could defeat the strongest Shinigami to have ever lived. It would be arrogance to assume as much.

Grunting in discomfort, the Cero hit the ground with an eruption of pain in his gut. A well timed kick when his mind had wandered. He rolled to the side as Kyoka Suigetsu impaled the ground where his head had just been. Flinging himself up and out of the way as another large swing was made, he let out a mirthful cackle as he tackled Aizen directly. Zangetsu discarded, arms around the man's middle he managed to uproot him and throw him down.

Panting sharply as he stepped back, watching as Aizen eyed him with something between amusement and irritation, "What? Ya expectin' me to play fair or somethin'?!" He laughed.

"I suppose that would be a foolish notion."

Shiro's eyes widened suddenly when the brunet disappeared, his Shunpo was so fast. But Kyoka Suigetsu was stabbed into the sand where Aizen had just been, which meant...

He ducked the swing that would have connected with his jaw, darting back as he lifted his fists, blocking two- three more punches. They were bruising and he felt his muscles aching in complaint as he darted to the side, lurching forwards as he dropped and kicked a leg out, trying to sweep Aizen off his feet. He was sure he could see the man smiling. He missed, taking a hit to the shoulder that left him staggering back.

The albino was being driven back, he could tell by the way the room changed. He didn't dare glance behind in case Aizen took advantage of that fact, but his senses were telling him he was nearly at the wall. They continued to exchange blows, rarely managing to make contact but fast enough to keep the adrenaline surging. Shiro was having fun. He didn't have to worry about holding back or reserving his strength. Aizen was stronger than him. Aizen could take it.

Shiro used Sonido and blasted towards the brunet, he mimicked one of the attacks he had used against Ulquiorra as he wound his legs around the Shinigami's waist and grabbed at his arms; eyes widening as he was intercepted, his own wrists becoming ensnared in the clutches of strong hands as his back struck the wall and dragged a gasp of pain from his lips.

Neither of them moved. Shiro hardly dared to breath as he realised how close his face was to Aizen's. He could feel the warmth of the Shinigami's breath rolling across his skin, the heat of his palms around pale wrists as his arms were pinned above his head. Shiro's eyes searched Aizen's, nervous, tentative, uncertain. There were no answers in the depths of dark brown, no reassurances, no promises.

His heart was pounding so hard against his breastbone he was sure it was audible, although the deafening rush of blood in his ears made him less certain. He could feel warmth rising in his cheeks, his stomach was tying itself in knots.

Gulping silently, he leaned forwards and closed the distance. His eyes slipped shut as he pressed a shy, tentative kiss against Aizen's lips. The moment might have lasted forever, or it might have been less than seconds but he pulled back when he felt no response and found himself looking anywhere but at the man in front of him.

"Sorry... I... I got caught up in the moment," he muttered as his heart sank, "Ya can let me go, I'll uh... I'm sure ya have other stuff to do, ya don't wanna be-"

Shiro was silenced by the roughness of the kiss against his lips, his eyes widening in surprise before fluttering closed as he felt a demanding tongue forcing its way into his mouth. A quiet moan was dragged from him as their tongues tangled in an urgent battle. Aizen's lips felt hungry against his own, he was released from his grasp and immediately sank his fingers through the soft brunet locks of hair of the man before him, back arching as he felt strong hands gripping his legs, keeping them in place.

His head was spinning with more thoughts than he could handle, he could feel his reiatsu spiralling and clashing against Aizen's with little reluctance or resistance. He felt elation and excitement and exhilaration all at the same time, his head light as he forgot entirely how to breathe. This... This was everything he had wanted. Everything he had hoped for. Everything he had waited for.

It was only when Aizen parted their lips that Shiro remembered to draw breath, as shaky and shallow as it was. His face was flushed when he opened his eyes, his pupils dilated with desire and arousal.

"Forgive me." The brunet whispered against his lips, "I would have you here and now, but I fear we are about to be interrupted."

He barely concealed the groan at the promise in his voice, when he too sensed the approaching reiatsu of the Segunda Espada, Shiro bit his lip and let out a soft sigh, "We can just think of it as extended fore play, I guess."

"That notion assumes I intend to pick this up where we are leaving off." Aizen's smirk was teasing as he lowered the albino's legs to the floor and stepped away.

"Cruel." The Cero shook his head, "Ya really are cruel."

"Have you ever known me be anything else?"

"No." He mused, toothy smile stretching wide, "And I'd never ask ya to be anythin' else either."

Aizen looked stunned for a moment, but the expression was soon concealed as he retrieved Kyoka Suigetsu from her resting place and sheathed the blade at his side. Shiro walked past and grabbed Zangetsu, slinging the sword over his back before he looked down and examined the shallow wound across his hip. It was already healing.

"You fought well." Aizen's hand rested on his lower back for a fleeting second before the touch was gone and the man was striding towards the entrance where Barragan's reiatsu was hovering, waiting for them.

"Thank you, Aizen-sama." He bowed his head, following after him obediently, his hands clasped behind his back comfortably.

As the training room was sealed shut behind them, Shiro finally set eyes on the large form of the Segunda Espada. Barragan seemed to match his height, though he suspected the Segunda might have been taller before his back had begun to curve with age. Tilting his head back slightly as he found himself being inspected in return, he refused to back down or look away. He was sure the older Hollow's reiatsu was terrifying to some, but to him it was little more than a dark cloud on a stormy day. A challenge proposed by someone tired and weary.

"We shall retire to the King's Suite to hear your report, Barragan." Aizen's voice was formal again, unlike the relaxed tones of the training room, but the heat was still lingering in his eyes.

"Of course." A curt nod of the head and the albino was happy to finally disengage from his staring contest with the other Espada as he turned on his heel and walked ahead of the pair.

Shiro could hear the two men walking behind him, he could still feel Barragan's eye on the back of his head, drilling a hole into his skull. It raised irritation, feeling his fingers twitch at his sides as the desire to demand an explanation became harder to ignore.

Sucking in a calming breath, he ran his tongue across his teeth and pushed his temper aside. It wouldn't do him, Barragan or Las Noches any good to become impatient and angry. He couldn't imagine Aizen forgiving him if he accidentally destroyed the King's Suite with a single swing of his sword. And yet, just as the thought occurred to him Barragan's voice reached his ears with startling clarity and he found his grasp on his self control becoming dangerously lax.

"I hear you have ventured to meet and greet every Espada other than myself, Cero, and yet even now when we come face to face you say nothing. Thought you might have had better manners than that, coming from Soul Society."

He closed his eyes, willing his tongue to stay behind his teeth. He could smell the challenge, the lacklustre jibe to make him rear his head. He wouldn't fall for it. He wouldn't show himself up.

"Barragan Louisenbairn is my name, if you were interested, ant. And if there is no interest in my name, feel free to call me 'your majesty' as my Fracción do." The gruff pitch of the older Hollow's voice seemed designed to rile and annoy.

"Why?" Shiro scoffed suddenly, looking over his shoulder at the other Espada with narrowed eyes, "Why in the name of Hell would I call ya that?"

Barragan's gaze turned to the silent Shinigami at his side, "Does he not know who I am? Do you teach your pets so little these days, Aizen-sama?"

The albino saw the slight twitch at the corner of Aizen's eyes, the tension in his shoulders but it was nothing to match the sudden flare of anger within his own body as he stopped moving and turned to face the Segunda, "If ya are askin', am I aware that ya were once the... 'Undisputed' king of Hueco Mundo then the answer is yes, I know that. If ya are askin', am I aware that ya were the original ruler of Las Noches then the answer is yes, I know that too."

"Shiro." Aizen's voice was a subtle warning.

He glanced at the brunet and then glowered back at the Espada, "If ya are askin' why I still refuse to call ya 'majesty' despite knowin' what I know then the answer is simple. Ya lost yer throne. Ya lost yer palace. Ya lost yer court. As far as I'm concerned there is only one king in Hueco Mundo. And it ain't Barragan Louisenbairn."

"And who would that be, ant?" Single eye narrowed with fury, one of Barragan's hands shout out and grabbed a fistful of white shihakusho, "You?"

Letting out a burst of manic laughter, Shiro offered a wide smile of disbelief, "Ya stupid or somethin'? I mean him." He pointed at Aizen.

Something seemed to snap inside Barragan at his answer and the albino found himself pinned up against the wall by a hand around his throat, fingers gripping tightly at his skin. The Cero Espada barely flinched, body reacting on its own from the pulsing instinct coursing through him. Shiro grabbed Barragan's wrist with one hand and with the other forced his elbow joint to dislocate.

The sickening crunch of bones breaking merely called to the bloodlust and as soon as his feet hit the floor, Shiro threw his head forwards, smashing his skull against Barragan's face with as much force as he could muster.

He lunged, gasping in surprise when strong hands grabbed his arms and hauled him back. He could smell Aizen's scent washing over him, and at the same time watched as Starrk appeared in a loud crackle of Sonido and rested a hand on the Segunda's shoulder.

"Enough, Barragan." The Primera stared down at him meaningfully.

"I will not suffer this insult!" The older Hollow barked, snarling at Shiro.

"Do not... Attack him again." Aizen's voice was a quiet whisper in his ear but it was enough to make the albino second guess his primal urges.

Shiro felt his muscles slacken and he stopped struggling. As his breathing slowed and the adrenaline wore away, he noticed Starrk's gaze and was sure that for a fleeting moment he saw displeasure. For some reason he felt a pang of sadness at that look and lowered his sights to the ground in front of him.

"Starrk will be accompanying you back to your palace, Barragan. You will remain there for the rest of the day. Whatever business you had with me will wait." The surety in Aizen's tone made the Segunda growl and concede, "Shiro... Please return to your room and get cleaned up."

As he felt those strong hands release him, the albino glanced up at the brunet. There was no anger in his eyes, no disappointment, but there was something lingering in those chocolate brown orbs that he couldn't quite read.

"Yes, Aizen-sama." He shot Barragan a deathly glare as he passed him on the way to his room, slamming the door shut behind him as he turned the key in the lock.

Shiro froze, back against the wooden door as he found himself staring at the same four walls he had been desperate to escape only a short time ago. Letting out a slow breath, his smile dropped from his lips and turned into a frown as he slid down until his buttocks hit the floor. Arms wrapping around his legs as he hugged them into his chest, the Cero Espada felt a wave of restless discontent flood his senses.

"Back where I started." He muttered.


Gasping, Byakuya threw the bed covers back and jumped out of bed. His eyes were wide and frantic as sweat dripped down his face, slicking some of his hair to his skin. One hand clutching his chest, the nobleman felt his cheeks burn with humiliation as he realised it had just been a dream. Just another nightmare.

Hanging his head, the Kuchiki heir dug his fingers into the loose material of his sleepwear. It was a simple brown yukata, Grimmjow had allowed him to borrow it for comfort. He squeezed his eyes shut, teeth clenched tightly as he berated himself for allowing another nightmare to creep up on him. To afflict him so strongly.

Flinching when he felt two hands come to rest on his shoulders, the raven haired Shinigami released a reluctant breath as he was forced to acknowledge the presence of the blue haired Arrancar who was stood right behind him. He hadn't even heard him enter the room.

"Another one?" Grimmjow's voice was low, sleepy.

Byakuya felt terrible to know he had woken him again, it had become a common occurrence, "I am afraid so. My apologies for-"

"Shut up." He could almost hear the eye roll, "I thought we were past the dumb apologies for shit you can't control."

He couldn't bring himself to argue and just nodded instead. He was so tired, it was unbelievable. In fact, at this point Byakuya almost believed he had slept better while chained to the wall by Ulquiorra, instead of suffering the horrific dreams of Ichigo's agony.

"Get back in bed before you catch your death. It's cold tonight."

The nobleman didn't have the energy to resist as he was forced back under the covers, his body melting back down into the mattress as he stared up at Grimmjow. The gentle side of the Sexta's personality seemed to be far more prominent now than it had before, he merely hoped the man didn't suffer any aggravation from the other Espada for his trouble.

"Right, I'm gonna help you get a decent sleep." The blue haired Arrancar prowled around to the other side of the bed and kicked his sandals off as he slid onto the bed along the side noble, Grimmjow was careful to remain on top of the covers.

"What are you doing?" Byakuya frowned.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to violate you in your sleep." An eye roll was offered again as Grimmjow pulled the Shinigami into his arms, one of his hands coming to rest on top of Byakuya's head, "It's an old ritual... Nothing special but it will let you sleep."

Steel eyes seemed confused, but too tired to debate what was going to happen, in fact he was so tired he couldn't stop his next words slipping free, "I trust you."

The Sexta's breath caught in his throat, but he refrained from reacting to his words any more than that, "I'm gonna send a small pulse of my reiatsu through you, startin' at your head. It'll work its way down. It'll act as a ward, keepin' away nightmares and restlessness. I ain't doin' this every night so enjoy it while it lasts."

Byakuya closed his eyes, forcing himself to relax. He was nervous about such a 'ritual' being performed on him but he knew his current lack of sleep would only end up causing him more harm than good if they didn't take some form of precaution.

He felt the thrum of reiatsu as it trickled over his scalp, it felt warm like firm fingers massaging intricate patterns into his hairline, weaving down his face, down his neck and his throat. Tingling, tickling, swirling energy strummed a gentle wave through his chest, tracing its way around his organs and his muscles, diving lower across his stomach and hips. He felt numb, like his body wasn't entirely his own. Like he was sinking, and rising at the same time.

"Relax, Byakuya. Let it take you. Go with it." Grimmjow's voice was distant, little more than an echo on the breeze.

Byakuya felt his hands hit the bed on either side of his body, and he felt the heat of the Espada's taut form pressing against him, embracing him, fingers never straying from the top of his head or his chest where the other hand had come to rest. The heat, the warmth, the soft sinking feeling of waves crashing against rocks as the wind whistled through cherry blossoms overhead. He was gone. And it felt good.