He'd been young back then; a kid looking to make a name for himself and prove his worth. In this city, it was easy to fall to the wrong side of the street. It wasn't an easy place to live, cutthroat, run by crooks with legal titles and too much money, but he'd never entertained the idea of getting out. That's just how it was and he hadn't been raised to want something different, something better. He'd wanted to work his way to the top, so that he could look down at everyone else. And he'd been on his way up, too. The reputation he was building for himself had won him an audience with a filthy rich politician who was also on the way up. Hired muscle, he was told, doing a few odd jobs, a few dirty jobs, and a few things in between, as needed. A contract had been drawn up and it wasn't long until he'd been given a title of his own; Sexta.

Grimmjow found himself wandering the streets late at night, only realizing how vigorously he was scratching at the scar of his arm, hand shoved into his coat, when a flash of fire lit his nerves and sent sparks behind his eyes. He hissed a strained sound, freezing mid-step while it subsided, and pulled his hand from inside his coat. When the sharpness of it had passed, he continued walking, the fine mist of near constant winter rain weighing his hair down and dripping in lazy rivulets down his features. He wiped at it, trying to clear his thoughts as much as the moisture, and looked up at a street sign as he started crossing the intersection.

His steps slowed, then stopped altogether in the middle of the crosswalk. This late at night, traffic was mostly nonexistent. The late hour wasn't safe for most people, for normal people, giving him the surrounding area of quiet and solitude as he realized where his wondering mind had led his wandering feet to take him. A cross breeze blew through the side street, chilling the already cool rain on his skin. It smelled like the dockside; salt, vaguely fishy, not unpleasant but not great either. The forecast kept calling for snow this year, but it had held off thus far and he was grateful for that. The cold was bad enough. Dirty, black, half melted snow coating the even dirtier streets would have been worse. He'd done enough struggling this passed year without that bad weather.

He wanted out.

The thought, simple as it was, hit him like a speeding car, blaring car horn and all. He wanted out; out of the city, out of his contract. Too much had been sacrificed already. It wasn't like he could just hand in his resignation, walk away, though. Running was out of the question, too. They'd hunt him down and he knew, intimately and personally, how good they were at that. He'd participated in it enough times; no one ever got away, nowhere was far enough, fast enough to get away.

Stuffing his hand in his pocket, he hunched his shoulders against the dampness of the air and continued across the street, heading in the same direction he'd been wandering, but this time with purpose.

••••••

Ichigo jolted in his chair as the top stair creaked, head spinning to look in that direction. "Shiro, were we expecting company?"

"No." Standing close by, Shiro straightened, moving toward the bottom of the stairs. A frown marred the android's features, but it didn't go into immediate threat mode. "Witness." It said a short moment later, just as Grimmjow stepped into view.

Blue eyes narrowed on the thing from where he paused on the last step, "Robot." He greeted back cautiously.

Exasperated and confused, Ichigo half shouted, "No, it's not calling you- What are you doing here?! Getting dragged here and sent on your way twice wasn't enough, you wanted–"

"I want in." Grimmjow said without preamble, eyeing the android for a second before he sidled passed it and further into the basement. His attention turned towards Ichigo, solid and determined.

"Shiro, over here please." Ichigo commanded, almost absently, as he watched the big man move closer to him. He threw a hand up, indicating the space around them, "Well, here you are. I don't know why, but you're in my home. What do you want?"

"Don't play dumb," Grimmjow all but growled, eyes flickering to the side to track as the android passed by him to stand behind its creator. He motioned between it and the living man seated before him. "You know exactly what I mean; I want in on this thing you have going. Aizen and his guys, the killer robot; I want in."

"I don't know what you think you know, but-"

"Fuck off. How long until this thing's figured out?" He threw a hand out, gesturing towards Shiro. "It's already left one witness. What happens when it leaves a second? Maybe the next wont be so willing to keep quiet."

"It left a witness because I made it let you live. I did an emergency override of protocol to keep you alive. It's something I'm considering rectifying." Ichigo shook his head, "I'm sorry, but-"

"That still doesn't change that someone one of these days is going to figure out something is after them. How long do you really think it'll take before they realize they're being hunted down? A few here and there is realistic enough, probably expected even, but that thing-" and he pointed at Shiro again, "Is wracking up a body count that wont go unnoticed. Not to mention its physical appearance. It couldn't even walk through a crowded street without drawing attention, let alone get close to Aizen and his men."

"You think you'd look any more inconspicuous attending Aizen's gatherings?"

Grimmjow's jaw bunched as he ground his teeth, his single hand clenched into a fist at his side. The quiet stretched for a moment, just long enough to be out of place given the heated nature of Grimmjow's attitude up until this point. He muttered a curse under his breath, attention straying towards the android for a brief second, but he straightened resolutely, "Yeah. I could. I could get you all the information you needed."

"What are you talking about?" Ichigo started to wipe a hand down his features, like all this was too much effort, before his hand dropped sharply to the arm of his chair and his eyes widened. "You––" The panic was easy to read in his voice, the single word croaked out like he'd suddenly forgot how to breathe as he stared up at Grimmjow like he was truly seeing him for the first time.

Grimmjow nodded, easing his hand up into view, "I work for him-"

"Shiro!" Ichigo jerked back in his chair, "Terminate–"

"Wait! Wait, wait," Grimmjow backed a few fast steps away, hand still held up in a placating gesture, features twisted into a defensive sneer. His heels hit the baseboard of the staircase. "Wait, I can help! I want that bastard dead as much as you, or I wouldn't be here. I would have told him. I could have cleared my debt with information like that, but I didn't."

Ichigo's hand was up, arm outstretched across the android's thighs, halting Shiro where it'd started to storm around him to fulfill the command. Shiro could have lunged from where it stood, could have barreled right through Ichigo's arm and had Grimmjow's throat in its hands before Grimmjow had time to react, but it didn't. It stood, ready, tense, held back by nothing other than Ichigo's will. And, if anything, it looked frustrated and unhappy about it.

"I want in." Grimmjow said again, nearly desperate, but with grave force in his voice.

Ichigo took a constricted breath, but what he was being told made sense. He knew Ichigo was alive, he knew where Ichigo lived; Grimmjow could have gone to his employer with what he knew at any time, but he hadn't. If he had, Ichigo's home would have been overrun by now. When he spoke, his voice was tight and low, "And what do you get out of this? Revenge? Is revenge enough to keep you from selling me out?"

"Isn't that what you're getting out of it?" Grimmjow quipped back, jaw clenched tight.

"No, it's different. It's-" But Ichigo stopped, a scowl on his features and a ragged breath puffing through his lips. "Yes. It's revenge. But it's more than that, too. It's about making sure he never does this to anyone else, he never hurts anyone else."

Sudden fury lit Grimmjow's spine, "Like this?!" He asked in a snarl, yanking his unzipped coat aside. The empty sleeve fell away and he let it slump before shrugging out of the other sleeve. "You think revenge isn't good enough? You think I haven't been hurt enough by him to want him dead?!" He grabbed the loose neck of the tank top he wore, struggling to yank it over his head. When it dropped to the floor between them, he glared Ichigo down. "What about this?" He asked, anger making his tone a brittle growl.

Silent, Ichigo stared. What he'd seen the first time had only been the tip of the iceberg. Scars seamed nearly the entirety of Grimmjow's exposed torso from where grievous damage had been done. A wide, angry mark crossed from one hip to the opposite shoulder. Another jagged mark looked like it had been dangerously close to circling his throat. No doubt it had been life threatening. The wounds were healed, but the scars left behind were ragged and bold still.

"Just because I can walk doesn't mean I can't hate him. It just means I haven't lost my use yet, but he took my arm, Kurosaki. He took my arm, because he's almost done with me. It's either him or me, 'cause if he lives, I don't have much time." The chest below that scaring was heavily muscled, heaving with the outrage Grimmjow felt. His voice had dropped to a too steady growl. "What more do you need before you'll believe me?"

Slowly, Ichigo's outstretched arm fell away from where he held Shiro back, "Stand down." He all but whispered, distracted. "I didn't know, I-" He blew out a deep, quiet sigh, then nodded slowly, "Fine. Ok. You're in. Don't make me regret this."

Grimmjow stood rooted for a long moment, narrowed gaze studying Ichigo like he thought maybe this was a sick prank. When he was evidently satisfied, he shook his head slightly and bent to retrieve his discarded shirt. He didn't bother with reassurances, and instead began the awkward process of pulling his tank top over his head. He wore it, despite the winter temperatures, because it was the easiest thing he owned to get on with only one hand while he retaught himself simple tasks like getting dressed. Picking up the coat, he hung it on the banister of the staircase, not eager to put the damp thing back on. "What're you workin' on?" He asked as he turned back to Ichigo, nodding toward the table where whatever project was being worked on was laid out in a collection of metal parts, wires and nuts and bolts.

Ichigo sighed, "Go home, Grimmjow. It's late."

"Doesn't look like I woke you, so if you're trying to make me feel bad, you'll have to try harder."

"Why do I need to make you feel bad in order to get you out of my house? Which you broke into, by the way."

Grimmjow shrugged, "You don't, but I don't particularly feel like trekking back across the city in the rain, and you're awake and working, so I don't see why you're in such a hurry to kick me out." He neared the table, bending a little lower to peer at some of the various parts laid out. He ran a finger along the curve of a band of metal. "Not another robot, I don't think." He mused, then moved passed and pulled the only chair out from where it was pushed in against a desk, rolling it across to the far end of the work bench and Ichigo's project. He sat himself down and stuffed his hand in the pocket of his jeans. "I can stay out of the way."

Ichigo watched him with a dry look, then sighed heavily and dropped his hands to the wheels of his chair to bring himself back to his lowered work bench. "Did you break my door or one of my windows?"

"Neither, I didn't break anything. I'm just good like that, even with only one hand to work with." The grin on his features was disgustingly smug.

A moment went by where Ichigo struggled not to realize what an attractive guy Grimmjow was, then he rolled his eyes. "Well that's something, at least. Shiro, go make sure the alarm is set, please."

The android gave their guest a critical look. "Endanger him, and I will kill you this time." It warned, then headed up the stairs, its steps deceivingly light.

Grimmjow stared after it and grunted, "More eloquent than I remember…"

"Told you it was learning. We're still working up to being conversational, but it's getting there." Ichigo arched his spine and rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks and stiffness. The cold winters were especially tough on him, not just because of how they limited how much he could get around, but because old injuries and the damage done to his spine ached and creaked. Being stuck in a seated postion didn't make it easy to stretch and work out some of that discomfort, but using his brace and putting the extra strain on his body left him more sore. After a few minutes of shifting, he pushed out a mostly silent breath and decided he was about as comfortable as he was going to get, and only then realized he was being watched. He scowled. "What?"

"Nothing." Grimmjow shrugged. "You ever going to answer my question?"

"What question was that?"

"What are you working on?"

"Ah. That one." Ichigo motioned vaguely to the table, "Hoping to come up with a better version of my brace. I've been modifying the plans from the first prototype in my spare time. I need something that gives me more mobility for a longer period of time, preferably with less cost. I'm not sure how feasible that is, though. I might just have to suffer the cost of using my body in ways it's no longer capable of functioning." He scrubbed a hand across his features, then braced himself against the arms of his chair and pushed himself more upright to try resettling back again.

Shiro stepped back into view, cold, gold eyes finding Grimmjow, before moving to its creator. Satisfied, it started for its cradle, but Grimmjow waved to it.

"Hey, robot." The man said, then held his hand out towards Ichigo, "Does he have painkillers or something? Medication, you know? He's making me uncomfortable just sitting here watching him be in pain."

"I'm fine," Ichigo informed him with a scoff, but was ignored.

Shiro's pale features twisted in disapproval, "I don't take directions from you." But it moved and knelt by Ichigo's chair, slim fingers turning the man's chin so that he faced the android more directly.

"I'm fine, Shiro-" Ichigo tried to brush the hand away, but the android persisted. "Shiro-"

"Hold still." The android's distorted voice demanded, and Ichigo sighed yet again, before relenting and waiting. It didn't take more than a few seconds. "Analysis complete. The witness appears to be correct." Shiro stood and crossed the room.

Grimmjow, brows raised slightly, gave it another once over before asking, "It can do that? Just by looking at you?"

"It reads vitals." Ichigo told him. "It needs to be able to recognize at least basic human functions in order to complete its missions, so I programmed it with the software needed for that. It's capable of reading heart rate, blood pressure, how fast or slow someone's breathing, pupil dilation, that sort of thing. And it's learning to use its ability to distinguish these signs and form an educated guess as to the cause of abnormalities it finds." A slight smile creased Ichigo's lips, "It never crossed my mind that I'd end up playing guinea pig to my own creation."

Shiro returned with an orange prescription bottle that Ichigo accepted, shaking a few pills out into his hand with a quiet, "Thank you, Shiro."

"…creepy." Grimmjow decided.

Ichigo shrugged, throwing the pills back and reaching for a half full bottle of water. "Not really. It's just science. And it's not all that surprising, really. Shiro's designed to be intelligent enough to figure out how to react appropriately to situations I can't tell it how to respond to. It's only natural that these characteristics would carry over in other situations as well."

"So…" Grimmjow mused, leaning back in the desk chair, he used a finger to point towards Ichigo's chair. "That brace you were using the other day is the prototype, right? Does that mean Shiro's a prototype, or…?"

"Oh, no." Ichigo laughed a short breath of amusement, setting the water bottle back down. "My other projects take a backseat to Shiro. It's very advanced. What version are you, Shiro?"

"Fifteenth." The android answered, then gave Grimmjow another withering look. "You took my chair."

Grimmjow grunted, using his feet to pivot the office chair from left to right a few inches. "Yeah? Looks like you're still learning manners. I can tell you two don't have house guests often, but I'll forgive you for not knowing, since your-" He gestured at Ichigo, "-person is a shut-in. You're supposed to offer guests a seat, robot, it's called being polite."

Ichigo smiled at the banter. The exposure to someone other than himself would be good for Shiro, he decided. "Are you feeling tired, Shiro?"

"No." The android said casually, "I just don't like him."

"Oh, wooow…" Grimmjow drawled, "I just got insulted by a fuckin' tin can."

Ichigo sighed, "Don't say that word, I don't want it learning to talk like that." Grimmjow gave him a look, but he was otherwise ignored.

Shiro scoffed, curling its lip. "There's no tin in my composite. I could list the materials for you, but I'm guessin' you wouldn't know half of 'em."

"Ok, that's enough." Ichigo interrupted, rethinking his previous thought. Maybe this wouldn't be so great for Shiro after all. "Anyway."

"Yeah, anyway." Grimmjow agreed, if only because the android might have been right and he didn't want to find out. "So where're the fourteen other robots?"

"Here and there." Ichigo answered, "Most of the parts- salvageable parts, anyway- have been recycled into other projects. Some went into Shiro, some are still piled in storage until they're needed for something else." As he spoke, he used the edge of the table to pull himself closer to begin working again.

Just like that first time Grimmjow had sat in the basement with him, Ichigo easily lost himself in his work. There was less pressure on Grimmjow this time, though, and no real need to keep a steady conversation going, leaving Grimmjow free to watch him work and get a feel for his very secretive new associate. Ichigo's concentration and drive was something to be admired. He was very much the type to fight through whatever troubles he came across and dive headfirst into his difficulties once he put his mind to something. All very well, but Grimmjow didn't know the first thing about what Ichigo was doing, and what he was working on wasn't nearly as awe-inspiring, or complete and impressive, as the android was. It wasn't long before Grimmjow found himself bored and weary, but at least the basement was dry and warm and, maybe more importantly, secluded away from his coworkers.

Used to toiling away into the early hours of the morning, Ichigo didn't notice as the pauses in conversation went from seconds to minutes, from minutes to hours. It wasn't until his vision was grainy with fatigue and he'd nearly soldered a metal fastener to the stainless steel table that he realized how late it was getting.

Grimmjow had been quiet for some time by then, he thought, but keeping track of time while he concentrated wasn't a strong suit of his.

Glancing over, he took in the way Grimmjow lounged in his work space, slouched in the only office chair in the entire house, with his legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, and his chin low. A few strands of unruly hair hung in his face, dry now that he'd been out of the rain for a while. His eyes were shadowed, but Ichigo was fairly certain they were closed. The man looked exhausted, his features sunken and sallow now that he was relaxed enough not to put up a front.

"You think he's asleep, Shiro?" He asked, stretching his arms over his head before crossing them. He needed a break too, if he were being honest, and sleep was a rather inviting idea. He glanced behind him to one of his monitors, squinting to see the small clock more clearly from across the room, to check what ungodly hour of the morning it was.

Grimmjow didn't respond, didn't even move, and Ichigo smiled a touch. That was answer enough, really.

But Shiro cocked its head and looked over, "Looks that way." It said in its odd, distorted voice, stirring like it had gone dormant and had been disturbed by Ichigo's too obvious question.

Ichigo nodded, then pointed across the room at a rack that hung on the wall not far behind where Grimmjow sat, "Grab that wrench for me."

The android shifted, then turned, silent as it crossed the room, and started reaching for a wrench it was most familiar with, since it was the one used most often when fixing its shell.

"No, not that one. Good guess, though." Ichigo motioned towards the right, "The big one, the one we almost never use."

"This?" Shiro pulled the heavy, two foot long tool from the wall like it weighed nothing, arching a brow over at its creator.

"Yeah, that one. No, don't bring it over." He waved Shiro back another step, "Move a step to your left, there, perfect." The android looked confused, a frown marring pale features, as it waited for more instruction. To it's left another pace was the occupied office chair, in the corner where Grimmjow had assumed he'd be out of the way. "Great. Drop it." Ichigo smiled when even more confusion settled across its features while it tried to puzzle out the reasoning behind this. "It's fine. Drop it, please."

Thoroughly at a loss, Shiro opened its hands and let the wrench fall to the stained concrete at its feet. The tool clanged loudly, the sound sharp in the close space, and bounced once during the echo.

Not but a few steps away, Grimmjow jerked in his chair so hard it nearly rolled out from under him and he barely made it to his feet, a wild, lost look on his face. "Fuck-! What-" He caught sight of the android staring back at him, then the wrench, then his eyes coasted to where Ichigo was losing a battle with laughter. Blue eyes narrowed, "Fuck you, Kurosaki."

"Hey! What did I say about talking like that?"

Grimmjow flipped him off, "Your precious virgin baby robot is going to learn it one way or another, might as well be from me."

"That's for me to decide, not you. Besides, it was an accident," Ichigo's attention turned back to Shiro, his mirth obvious. "Right, Shiro?"

"My creation? Of course not," Shiro nodded towards Grimmjow, bending to pick up the wrench it had dropped, "His probably was, though."

"Ouch." Grimmjow dropped his hand to his chest like he was taken aback and offended.

"Where did you learn that?!" The android didn't answer, turning away from him while it put the wrench back, apparently picking up on what the point had been. "We don't say things like that, Shiro, it's incredibly rude…"

"I'm aware." Shiro turned a wide grin in their direction and Grimmjow burst out laughing.

Ichigo scowled at them both.

"Looks like your robot's not so innocent after all," Grimmjow said, still grinning and amused, "He's been hanging out in bad neighborhoods while you send him out to work."

"Tell your people to hang out in more respectable areas, then."

"I'm sure they'd listen." Grimmjow said sarcastically, glancing back to find that chair and pull it to him again. He sat down, arching his back with a low groan. His amused expression fell. "You could have just said something."

"You were pretty out of it," Ichigo told him, shrugging.

"So you decided to scare the shit out of me?" The expression Grimmjow turned on the smaller was sharp, but his face was drawn, tired. "I don't appreciate that."

A bit of regret bubbled in Ichigo's stomach and he winced slightly, conceding with a barely there nod. Quieter, he asked, "What do you do with your nights? You look like you hardly sleep. Aizen keeps you busy?"

Grimmjow scoffed, "Not these days." The big man rolled his shoulders like he was trying to work an ache out of them, wincing at the discomfort the motion spread through his left shoulder where damaged muscle, tendon, ligament and bone were still on the mend. "I don't sleep well anymore, so mostly I walk the streets."

"Don't you…?" Ichigo hesitated, "You do have a place to go at night though, don't you?"

"Like am I homeless? No, I have an apartment downtown. A pretty nice place, I was makin' good money, you know." It was Grimmjow's turn to hesitate, a look of distaste creeping into his expression. He stood again, suddenly restless, and slowly paced towards the far wall. "Aizen knows the address. It's-" He shook his head, eyes cornering to see Ichigo watching him. The stump of his missing arm itched furiously and he rubbed at it, trying to ignore it. "You got gunned down, but they made it public, right? You didn't get dragged out of your bed in the middle of the night by people you knew and worked with. They cut my arm off with a fuckin' sword in the middle of my kitchen, telling me how considerate they were being because the blood would be easier to clean off the tile than the carpet. There were a lot of things being said, shouted- Fuck, I was begging. But that's-" Grimmjow shook his head slowly, "That's what I remember best. Blood comes off tile easier than out of carpet. They even called someone to clean up while I was in the hospital. I got back and it was spotless, not a single stain, looked like nothing had happened, but it doesn't feel like my place anymore."

He hadn't slept in his own bed since. When wandering the city at night got to be too exhausting, he'd make it as far as the sitting room, drop onto the couch, and usually ended up passing out while trying to stay awake.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Ichigo couldn't figure out how to respond. He had his own horror stories and nightmares, but he'd had more time, and he'd never called those who hurt him and his family friends. That was a betrayal he couldn't imagine. "I- Uh," His voice caught slightly and he swallowed again, "I don't have an extra bed or anything, but I have a couch that doesn't get used much, if you want…"

"You askin' me to stay the night?" Grimmjow looked over, the smile on his features amused and maybe a little too relieved to have a topic change.

"No," Ichigo snapped but it was heatless. He started wheeling himself towards the lift near the staircase, Shiro trailing behind him. "I'm making an offer, not a request. You're free to turn it down, but you look like shit and you were falling asleep in my basement."

Grimmjow scoffed, "Don't get your panties in a twist." He followed at Ichigo's side, stepping onto the small platform and backing himself into a corner of it. His eyes focused on where Shiro was taking up position to work the hand crank, but most of his attention wasn't really there. "You got an extra blanket?"

Beside him, Ichigo smiled.