Szayel preferred to use Morgan as his physical body, unless he needed to move about the Widow Mayes' premises or was on an errand to the house across the road. Then he used Reese.
While the handyman was more practical for public display, he'd learned, Morgan was stronger and had the physical emphasis he needed.
Nyles, on the other hand, was a sore disappointment. And nearly dead.
Morgan returned the escaped inmate within a reasonable amount of time to Reese's small living quarters and Szayel, using Reese, had reattached the large man's arm with his rudimentary packet of necessities kept in his arm, just beneath his spiritual skin. Nyles had not cleaned up well, but with a few replacement parts from other body areas within the inmate and salvaging a portion of his intestines, Szayel had made a passably working Nyles.
But not a very happy one.
Nyles sat against the wall that evening, shaken and pale as the Espada now possessing Morgan studied the newspaper.
"Reese," the Espada said within Morgan. He looked over to the handyman still draped in a chair, nicotine-deprived and weak with hunger. "You have a few tasks coming up soon," Szayel told him, "so you'll need to replenish your strength so you can mingle with the public." He looked back to the paper as the handyman shook his head.
"I don't wanna do this," Reese said. The last twenty-four hours had taxed his mental and emotional states, and he wasn't too sure anything he was seeing was real. "Don't send me back there." He did, however, have brief glimpses of memory as to what Szayel had used him for. "I don't want nothin' to do with the girl or the red-haired man. Leave me out of anything with them."
Szayel didn't look at him, still intently studying Hisagi's photo in the newspaper. "What you want is irrelevant. These living town people," he said, smiling smugly at the article he had had Morgan read to him earlier, "and this upcoming gathering for the picnic is perfect for my next experiment. I think you'll be my catalyst for that."
He set the paper on the table and looked to the window of the small kitchen area as the sky darkened with clouds. A smile twisted his face as he looked to the barely conscious form of Nyles at the wall. "I shall set to work on you presently," he promised. "It won't be my finest craftsmanship, but you need only have the vague appearance. My manipulation into her psyche should do the rest."
Nyles shook his head with the last of his strength. What little he'd heard of the conversations that afternoon had made him wish he was still dying in the field where Morgan had found him. "You're a sick bastard, you know it?"
Szayel laughed, a booming sound with Morgan's voice. "You don't like the idea of playing your part? This could be a great role. A challenge. I myself will help you, but your physical form must be adjusted."
He turned in the chair, Morgan's newly reattached arm still laced with red stitches as it hung over the back of the wooden frame. Morgan was still anemic and depleted, but the state left the inmate more easily controlled by Szayel. He flicked a few fingers at Nyles in an airy gesture.
"Your hair. Your face. Your build will serve," he said, more to himself than his horrified subject. "Your height will suffice." He frowned primly at Nyles, an expression nearly comical on Morgan's large features. "But you'll need to work on your stance and behavior. These shinigami are all confident, and you lack that." He looked back to the newspaper, ignoring the trembling now passing over Nyles as he suspected what the Espada had planned.
"Your face," Szayel said, studying the photo accompanying the article. "Yes, I can work with what you have. If only I had my laboratory. Ah, what I could do then!" He laughed, nodding at the paper. "Yes, what I could do, indeed..."
The afternoon progressed into evening, darkness falling too quickly as the storm clouds moved in and overtook the sunlight for a steamy heat until a slight drizzle started. The pressing humidity magnified into a sweltering thickness that neither Renji nor Orihime could ignore.
Every fan in the house was turned up to high or medium, the hum competing with the TV as Renji settled on the couch for selecting among the limited stations they received.
He'd had his last call from Isane – or anyone else from Soul Society, he figured – and the communicator had fuzzed into crackling silence for the last time half an hour ago. He was without communication to Soul Society, but it wasn't as hopeless a feeling as his last time he'd chaperoned Orihime.
Isane had promised reserves, of some sort, and Renji was confident it wouldn't be too long.
He hoped not.
He flicked through the TV channels, letting some of Reese's conversation from earlier play through his mind. The handyman had raised his suspicions, mostly due to the man's talkativeness, but also his change in habit.
There wasn't the usual smell of old cigarette smoke about him, and the absence made Renji realize that that had been the smell he and Orihime had detected when Mayes had been burning brush.
It was cigarette smoke, not brushfire smoke that he'd smelled upstairs after returning with Orihime from Sylvi's house.
He slowed his thoughts, pointing the remote control at the TV and clicking through the few stations faster. That was what bothered him more than the handyman's attempt to better himself. Of course, it could be cigarette smoke he'd smelled from Mayes' brushfire; maybe that was where Reese had been, cleaning up his act and burning his unused cigarette stash. It would explain the smell.
The living room was dark except for the light from the TV and the small lamp on the stand beside the sofa that had a dim watt bulb in it. He was still running on the very basics of clothing, and had nothing along the line of sleepwear.
What he did have was a pair of black sweat pants. The house was far too hot to don a shirt, but he found a gray cotton one that he left unbuttoned. Supper had been a drive to town for pizza and sampling of the mini pies Orihime had made. He was still unsure about which he liked best, and surprised that there was actually a dilemma over the choice. He found himself rethinking other parts of the afternoon.
He looked up as Orihime appeared at the bottom of the stairs. He grinned at her hesitation, trying to give her attire of lavender shorts and camisole a better glimpse without appearing to. She wore an open kiwi green blouse over the camisole, modesty making her choices, and her hair was still damp from her shower and starting to billow in the muggy night.
He patted the couch cushion beside him. "Come on over. The kitchen is still too warm."
She nodded, but then ducked into the kitchen.
Renji frowned. "Hey, Orihime, I meant ..."
She reappeared with a plate of cookies and two glasses of lemonade almost immediately. "Are you hungry?"
He wasn't, but nodded anyway as she sat next to him and handed him a glass. She drew her legs to her side and took a long drink of the beverage.
"Set it over here," he said, taking the glass from her as she started to put it on the floor by the couch. He took a cookie as she seated the plate better on her lap.
"Thanks." She took a minute to get comfortable, her elbow edging his side twice as she murmured apologies, balancing the plate piled with cookies. She looked to the TV as his arm went behind her along the top of the couch. "What are you watching?"
"Some movie that's been on for a while, I think."
They finished off the movie and moved on to the only sports channel that came in in the hollow. A moment later they found a rerun of a college soccer game.
Orihime let herself settle at his side, feeling a contentedness she hadn't in a long time, and allowed herself to let go of the possibilities plaguing her new physiology. It was being corrected, she reminded herself. Urahara's protocol was in place and she was far away from any spiritual pressure. Even Renji was in gigai.
A very good gigai, she decided, looking up at him as his arm rested closer along the back of the couch.
He glanced to her. "Too warm?"
She shook her head. "No. It's fine."
He nodded, watching her knees angle toward his leg as she offered a cookie to him. "Ready for the picnic?"
She nodded, her nearly dry hair just under his chin as she found another cookie. She blamed most of the pink heating her cheeks on the warm day, but not all of it. She'd lived alone long enough to face down a few situations involving the opposite sex, usually ones involving a nosey, persistent classmate that followed her home after ignoring a brush-off at school.
She was accustomed to being alone in her own small apartment in Karakura Town.
But here, now with Renji beside her, brought a quickness to her heartbeat she liked, and she blamed none of that on whatever Hollow tendencies she was fighting off.
"Thanks," she said as he handed her her glass and took a long drink of his own.
"Isane called while you were in the shower. My communicator is dead," he admitted with a sigh, "but she said someone's coming with your school paperwork and a few more supplies. I'm not sure exactly what that includes, but I guess we need it. Probably pick up the reports, too."
"Oh, do you know who?" She took a long drink of lemonade.
"No, that part had too much static to hear." He finished his drink. "Don't worry about it. It's just paperwork."
She nodded. He set her glass on the stand and caught most of a grin as she waited for him to continue. "You ready for school to start?"
"Yes. I don't want to fall behind in classes."
"You won't." He picked a strand of auburn hair that lay on her shoulder. "You're a good student, right?"
"Not always." She smiled, turning more towards him, her left knee resting on his thigh. "Oh, sorry," she said, moving the plate of cookies as the last few slid to one side and nearly off the plate.
He set the plate on the lamp stand beside him. He looked down at her bent knee as she eased it from him. "You don't have to move," he said, his hand catching behind her knee.
She let her leg lean to his, too warm at the proximity but unwilling to move away. She felt his fingers tense behind her knee as he leaned to her, kissing her softly for a slow moment. Unconsciously her hand caught the edge of his shirt, pulling him in to her as the soccer game turned to a commercial break, her eyes closing to the dim light of the TV. Her other arm circled his neck, fingers traipsing along the black jags of tattoos, the taut skin there smooth beneath her touch as his grip on her knee tightened.
He tasted of lemonade and cinnamon, she thought, like the cookies, lips growing firmer on hers after the first contact. Orihime wondered only briefly why her reservations dropped so easily with him, feeling his lips move to one corner of her mouth in a slow kiss that made her throat flush warm.
It wasn't until she felt his fingers lace the back of her leg above her knee that she entirely recalled she wasn't in Karakura anymore. Or even Japan.
She pulled away slightly, catching her breath as her eyes opened to his. For a moment she stared back, the hitch in her breath making her swallow quickly.
"You smell good," he said, kissing her eye. "Oranges or something." He knew it wasn't strawberries.
She blinked, smiling. "Apricot." She sat up more as his arm slipped from her leg to her back, pulling her from what had become a slouch on the sofa.
"Apricot."
She nodded, sitting straighter to kiss the side of his mouth as he turned to intercept the touch. She remained close, liking how his arm anchored her to his chest.
"Renji," she said reluctantly. "I think I should go to my room now."
He didn't nod, but it was in his tone. "You sure?" He brushed a strand of hair from her face that had fallen over her eye. "We can just sit here. Watch the game. Nothing else, Orihime."
She nodded, glimpsing to the TV where the soccer game had resumed. "I think I should go up."
He watched her fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, waiting, wishing she'd take a bolder opportunity. Even a small one. "All right."
He let her sit back, grinning more when he realized the thump against his chest was her heartbeat, too. "Okay."
It was another moment, and a quiet kiss, before Orihime stood up with him, taking half a step back from her impulse to sit down and pull him with her to the sofa. She blushed full force at that thought, and turned to collect her glass.
"I'll take care of those," he said, catching her hand. "I'll be down for a while yet."
She nodded, smiling up at him as he took her other hand and kissed her once.
"Sleep well."
"You, too, Renji."
The somewhat clumsy moment passed, and they went their separate ways, as much as they were able to in the house.
Orihime to her room.
Renji to check the door locks for the night, and rethink a cold shower. He didn't think he was due one, not quite yet, but the day was hot and humid, and it wasn't likely to get any cooler sitting in the dark. Thinking.
About her.
He shook his head and checked the door locks.
Orihime headed upstairs, leaving Renji in the darkened living room as rain poured outside, the heat of the day still crowding the house, and mostly her, or so it seemed. She smiled as she climbed the stairs.
Camping with Renji was low key, consisting of a pizza, leftover baked sweets, and a rerun soccer match, but she liked it. A lot. Maybe it was just the change of scenery, a new house, that made it seem natural to be with him.
He wasn't new to her; that was certain.
Maybe it had been something forming in the background for the last few years. She nodded, passing down the hall, closing the door to her bedroom and flicking the lamp on at her bed.
The storm moved in more now and took over the night sky, threatening power outages and heavy rains, but all it really did was provide a steady downpour into the humid dark.
She smiled and pulled off her over shirt.
A loud crack of thunder echoed through the room, followed by several streaks of lightning out the pulled curtains of the window. She went to the back window and lowered the glass pane more as raindrops bounced in.
A series of thunder rolls rumbled as Orihime readied for bed, promising herself certain dreams for the night.
Through the thunder, neither Orihime nor Renji heard the painful cries of the man across the road as Szayel conducted his next bout of impromptu tissue manipulation.