Thanks to Zaraki Jaegerjaquez and ChunkFunkMunky for the reviews! I appreciate it!


***1"***

"Gin." Tosen follows Gin just as he goes to terrorize some of the Espada. Today's hit list is Zommbari, Szayel, Grimmjow and if the stars align, Ulquiorra. The fourth Espada's aggravation depends Grimmjow's mood 'cause goodness it's delicious to turn the manic against the hollow of nothingness.

Now there's Mr. Four Eyes behind him and the fun ain't possible when the Man of Justice walks the same path as him.

"Gin."

Gin tucks his hands away and smiles. If hiding his hands ain't a habit, it's becoming one now. The scrapes and mud are creepin' in on him all the time.

Tosen's voice drops into the slaughterin' tone. "Gin."

The shinigmai stops in mock surprise. "Tosen! I didn't see ya back there."

"You have an incredible habit of lying." Tosen pauses and Gin shrugs. Then he realizes that in this scenario, shruggin' means absolutely zilch.

"Nah. It's okay." Gin hurries to fill the silence and nasty expectations. "I don't lie 'bout the serious stuff."

Tosen's eyebrows do a loop de loop and he sets his hand on his sword like posturing is gonna make Gin a scaredy cat. "Let us prove that wrong. Where are my things?"

"'xcuse me?"

"My stool and my curtains." The shinigami waves in the direction of the hole in the ground that he calls a 'room'. "An arrancar notified me that he saw you carrying them away."

A huge grin crackles across Gin's face. He can't help it. There is too much fun in reckless danger. "Why would I need your old stuffy stuff?"

Tosen's hand tightens on the hilt. "Give me one good reason to believe that you would not take my things."

"'cccccccaussssse…" Gin drags out the words and ends the sentence all nice and short. "I don't want 'em."

"Stealing is wrong, you do realize that."

"I don't got yar stuff. Maybe your arrancar took 'em and is blamin' me." Gin smiles and inches closer and closer 'til he's sure Tosen can tell what meat Gin's had in his sandwich. Gin's eyes crack open a teensy weensy bit to add to the effect. The other shinigami doesn't flinch. Of course, he's as blind as a bat.

Gin says in a fake whisper, "Or maybe he's a watchin' us fuss and laughin' at ya right now."

There's a scamperin' and a yelp. The little peepin' tom is running and running far.

Tosen squints. "I am not done talking with you."

Gin doesn't feel anything as the ex-captain disappears. Sure that little bug will die. Sure it'll be nasty but in the end, his evidence will be ripped out along with the arrancar's soul.

'Cause above everything, Tosen didn't like people messin' in his business.

The shinigami waits a minute rubbing his arm and the spiritual pressure of his victim explodes like a ripe tomato. He shakes his head and resumes the terror of his own playthings.

Grimmjow didn't feel like playin'. Throwing a bookcase at Gin's face indicates his feelin's much quicker than Grimmjow's endless new inventions of swearwords. The shinigami decides although his plan to bother Ulquiorra is dead but it could still be a zombie.

"Ulquiorra!" Gin sings and the Espada stops dead. Well, he's already dead but so is most everything else so it's not new.

Ulquiorra carries a package and Gin leans down to inspect it. "What cha got there?"

The fourth Espada is practiced at not showing any speck of emotion but the shinigami's smile grows just a tiny bit as Ulquiorra flinches back for a moment. The papers in his hands remain loose as Gin runs his fingers across the tops.

"To Aizen, To 'osen, To me, To Aizen again." He looks up. "Looky you sneakin' up close to us. Ya wormin' in for spot zilch?"

Ulquiorra blinks and shifts the papers so they don't slip out of his hands. "I do not have any desire to usurp Starkk or Yammy."

Gin steps back and scratches his arm. "I know ya want more."

"I do not." There is a switch in Ulquiorra's face. Minute. Microscopic. Motivating.

The shinigami ain't stopping any time soon. "Do ya know that the Sexta wants ya kicked out complet'y?"

"Do you have a point Gin?"

"Ya." The smile grows. "Do ya wanna hear it?"

"No although now I have a question for you."

Ulquiorra doesn't see the point in waitin' ta ask if Gin wants to know it 'cause he keeps plowing through Gin's surprise.

The Espada points down at the shinigami's upturned sleeve. "Have you had that infection looked at? It looks deadly to a human."

Gin follows the white finger to his own arm that he's still scratching without noticin'. The skin is leaking blood and his arm is red and angry. Has he been workin' at it all day without noticing? What's up with that?

"Nope." Gin pulls down his sleeve. "I'm breakin' out 'cause I'm around ya."

It is a sad response and even Ulquiorra prolly senses it. The shinigami backs off and the Espada straightens. The game is over and the wrong side won. Gin zips off. The more he says, the more in the metaphorical hole he'll be.

Once he notices it, the itchin' don't stop. His arm burns so much that he doesn't go to tend the garden. It gnaws away at his skin like a dog on a bone. He sits on his bed and resists the urge to scratch it, his fingers hovering inches above the area.

Healin' it doesn't work. The spiritual pressure healing takes is like setting off a firework.

Hours later, he gives it a try anyways. The warm glow cools it off better than a breeze in summer but the moment that he releases the magic, it comes back madder than before. It's unhealable for him, somethin' only Unohana could wish away.

The rash grows and then spreads to his wrists. If Gin isn't hiding a little patch of sunshine in the basement, he might have gone to Aizen to see if the captain's knowledge might work in his favor.

Now there's a spot on his chest. They're popping up everywhere like his daffodils in the pots 'xcept it ain't very positive.

Gin ends up skippin' the daily Espada meeting and tells one of the swarm of underlings that he's gonna have to a pull an all nighter to get a report done in time. Thankfully he's got a report under his bed. He has saved it for occasions like this since it's all about the correlation between babes and hollows. Real riveting stuff Aizen wouldn't spend more than a minute on.

The shinigami sprawls out on his bed dumpin' his robe on the ground. He'd have to have someone iron it later, not that he actually cares 'cause the room so hot he's toasting up. If the spots are black, he'd look like a Dalmatian havin' a bad hair day.

It ain't gonna kill him.

Gin stares at the ceiling with all its little cracks.

He's gotta make it to September 29th.

A little itchin' isn't slaughtering him tonight.

Ulquiorra, on the other hand, could kill him.

He's gone past his door twice. Nah, the padding of quiet feet makes it three.

It's not like the Quatro is stronger than the captain but the itchin' is making him loopy and tired. Shinsō didn't like it when Gin shot him off and missed.

The sword might throw a rare hissy fit like Rangiku did when the sake ain't strong enough or that little piece of rice fell where it ain't suppose to go.

Ah. Yes. Gin forgets about the burning coals on his skin.

Ulquiorra's presence leaves and shakes him out of his daydream.

It'd be an interesting fight but one that he didn't want.

It might damage those bulbs workin' their way out of the ground.