Chapter 2:

Yo Soy

The two men trudged inside, Ichigo grunting with the effort of supporting most of the taller Grimmjow's weight. The blue-haired man (well, it was more like teal, Ichigo decided) didn't look very big, but he was solid. Ichigo had had to hold back a gasp when he wrapped his left arm around Grimmjow's waist and felt nothing but warm, rock-hard muscle. There was virtually no give at all.

Ichigo felt his uneasiness grow. Where did this man come from?

He led Grimmjow into his living room and slowly disentangled himself from his grasp. He looked very worn out, and in the light of his living room Ichigo could see that the mystery liquid was, in fact, blood. It stained Grimmjow's white jacket a dark crimson at his left shoulder and down his tattered sleeve, from where it was beginning to drip onto the floor. Ichigo noticed with mounting horror that there was a ragged hole where the source of the blood was.

A bullet hole.

Ohmygod. Shit! "Um, just s-stand right here, ok? I'll, um, I'll be right back!"

He hurried out of the room and into the hallway that led to his bedroom, where the closet that had his towels and spare blankets was located. He threw it open and grabbed the thickest comforter he could find and a couple black, plush towels from the bottom that were an "apartment-warming" gift from his sisters. They would not stain.

Grimmjow looked about the room as Ichigo busied himself in the hallway. The pain in his shoulder had faded to a dull, throbbing ache, but he knew that he needed medical treatment sooner rather than later. He tried to remain absolutely still, as not to spread blood on the young man's floor.

He gazed about the apartment; it was small, but seemed like a palace to Grimmjow after life in a cage. The walls were painted a neutral light blue, and the floor was hardwood. Beat-up but soft looking dark brown lounge chairs were spread about, as well as a long couch. There was a thin black rug in the middle of the room, as well as a small glass coffee table covered in textbooks. There was a medium-sized television propped up on a plastic crate in the far corner, and picture frames covered the walls. Many contained interesting snapshots of the orange-haired boy and people who Grimmjow guessed were his acquaintances.

He tried not to be unnerved by the boy's flustered attitude and somewhat jerky movements. The orange-haired boy was all over the place, and Grimmjow was not used to it. He had lived so long only having been exposed to two kinds of emotions; Master when he was pleased, and Master when he was not. He had to remind himself that flustered might not always equal angry, so he probably had no reason to fear being punished or rebuked.

The young man certainly seemed harmless enough. Grimmjow had been surprised at the boy's strength as he supported most of his weight; his arms had been so lithe, his waist impossibly small for his age. Then again, Grimmjow had grown up surrounded by nothing but big, rough men and steely-eyed women who lived to destroy.

He remembered how his eyes had found the boy's shocked brown ones in the darkness. There was no steel there. Only softness.

As Ichigo sped across the hall again to get to the bathroom, he peeked his head out to make sure Grimmjow was still standing. To his great relief, the man had not moved. Ichigo squeezed into the tiny bathroom, balancing the blanket and towels in one hand while he rummaged wildly in the cabinet for his first aid kit.

He emerged a few seconds later and headed for Grimmjow, who stood motionless in the middle of the room and had not noticed his entrance. Ichigo realized that Grimmjow seemed to be looking intently at something; he followed the blue-haired man's gaze to a framed picture of Renji, Rukia, and himself at their friends Yumichika and Ikkaku's wedding.

They were laughing, hanging on to each other and throwing rice at the camera. Renji was placing a kiss on Rukia's cheek, and Rukia was holding the bouquet that she had caught. Ichigo had his arms around both of them. The look on Grimmjow's face as he stared was…bemused? Ichigo felt a strange feeling well up within him; never had he seen anyone look so lonely.

He padded up to Grimmjow and placed a hand gently on his uninjured shoulder to alert the blue-haired man of his presence. To Ichigo's shock, Grimmjow whirled around, lips pulled back in a ferocious snarl, nearly knocking the younger man over. He immediately dropped all of the supplies he had been holding in his haste to stumble away.

Grimmjow's eyes were wide, his nostrils slightly flared.

"I-It's okay! I'm sorry," Ichigo exclaimed, bewildered. "I didn't mean to surprise you like that."

Grimmjow glared for a few more seconds, then seemed to deflate before his eyes. "I'm sorry." He rasped. His voice seemed to be rough…from misuse?

"It's alright! Really," Ichigo said kindly as he stooped to gather up the first aid kit and spread the black towels on the couch. He took deep breaths in the hope that Grimmjow would see how calm he was and feel calmer himself. "Why don't you sit down? Just gimme a sec to get everything set up, and we'll take a look at your…wound."

Grimmjow stepped around him, never taking his eyes away from the boy in front of him. He sat down gingerly on the end of the couch where the towels were spread out; a barely perceptible groan escaped his lips as his tired muscles settled down for the first time in hours.

The apartment was warm, and smelled nice. It was light, and slightly sweet, a scent Grimmjow had never experienced before. He had smelled it emanating from the boy's hair, too, as he was led inside. Grimmjow idly wondered what it could be as the young man finished fussing with his first aid kit and came to sit next to Grimmjow on the couch.

Ichigo sucked in a breath as Grimmjow visibly tensed, eyeing him warily. With a patient sigh, he slowly held out his hands in front of him, displaying the items he held; disinfectant, forceps, and a needle and thread. There was a ton of gauze in a heap on the small glass coffee table behind him.

Ichigo smiled, trying to come off reassuring. "I'm just going to clean and stitch you up, then cover it in gauze…Is that okay?"

He waited as Grimmjow studied him, then gave a small nod, as an indication to continue. "Your name…"

"Hmm?" Ichigo said, setting down his materials and snatching his pink-rimmed reading glasses (a gift from Yuzu) off the table. "My name? I'm Ichigo. Ichigo Kurosaki."

Ichigo. Grimmjow sighed and willed himself to relax as he felt the sting of the antiseptic and felt Ichigo gently probe his wound for the bullet. His slender fingers traced the perimeter of his shoulder and upper arm, and the young man seemed pleased when he found no exit wound. The wound was bloody and Grimmjow's skin was torn, but it was not deep.

Then the boy let out a small aha! sound and looked up triumphantly at Grimmjow. "Lucky you, the bullet's not that far in. I should be able to get it out pretty easily."

Grimmjow just looked at him. Ichigo averted his eyes, blushing a bit in an embarrassed way, and reached for a small flashlight he had gotten out earlier. He held it between his teeth and leaned closer to the blue-haired man's arm, brows knitted in concentration. The pink glasses slid down his nose a few centimeters.

"This might hurt a bit," Ichigo said, his voice muffled by the flashlight. "I'll try and be quick."

Then he slowly inserted the forceps and grasped the bullet. Grimmjow hissed as the fire returned full force to his shoulder. He began to sweat as Ichigo worked; the burning pain kept growing. He forced himself to keep his arm relaxed and refrain from lashing out.

This boy was not like the pseudo medics his Master hired to tend to his occasional injuries. He knew Ichigo was trying to be gentle, and that thought gave him more comfort than the young man could ever know. He could tell by the way Ichigo's free hand unconsciously gripped his own, and by the sweat that sprang up on the boy's brow as he became aware of Grimmjow's pain. No one had ever tried to be gentle with him before.

So he struggled to stay calm, and instead focused on that wonderful, elusive scent that was so clear to him now that the boy was so close. What could smell so sweet…?

And then it was over. With a small jerk the bullet was out, and Ichigo was smirking triumphantly and placing it in a small bowl filled with alcohol. Grimmjow let himself sag into the comfortable chair as the boy quickly and expertly laced him up, then wrapped his shoulder and upper arm in a generous amount of gauze. He had no doubt the wound would heal; Ichigo worked with a practiced hand.

"You have a high threshold for pain…" Ichigo murmured. Where do you come from?

When he finished, Grimmjow ran his other hand over the bandage. The sutures beneath were even and smooth.

Grimmjow couldn't help but wonder where he had learned such things, living in a ghetto area like this. As if feeling Grimmjow's questioning gaze, Ichigo sat back with a stretch and smiled again. The boy sure smiled a lot.

"My father owns a medical center. Kurosaki Clinic, ever heard of it?"

Grimmjow shook his head.

"Well, it's a pretty nice place. I was raised there as a kid, and my dad taught me a bunch of medical stuff. I'm glad I was able to put it to good use." Ichigo got up, covering his mouth as he yawned, and moved around the table, cleaning up bloody tissues and spare string. He placed the forceps and needle in the bowl with the bullet, and crossed the room into the kitchen, placing the bowl into the sink.

As soon as he re-entered the living room, Grimmjow's sharp blue eyes were on him. "Thank you, Ichigo."

Ichigo mentally slapped himself as Grimmjow's low voice spoke his name. "N-No, um, no problem. Really. Grimmjow." He breathed. You're an idiot, Ichigo. You are.

He stood there smiling stupidly for a few seconds, before he noticed Grimmjow was still wearing his bloody white jacket and stained pants. The clothes could hardly be called white anymore, though. And who the heck wore clothes like that in the middle of winter?!

He gestured towards the older man's clothes, not noticing the tiny flinch the action provoked. "Would you like to change out of those clothes? I think I have something comfier that'll fit you…" He trailed off as Grimmjow looked at him, surprise written on his face. "My friend Chad is about your size, and he leaves stuff here," he finished.

Grimmjow's mouth twitched, the first sign of a smile Ichigo had yet seen. "Yes. I'd like that." His gut churned with excitement. To be out of his Master's clothes was another step closer to being free! And this boy was willing to offer things to him so willingly; the former fighter was starting to feel a bit overwhelmed by these experiences which were so foreign to him.

Ichigo returned, arms laden with a pair of black sweatpants and a rose-colored tank. As the clothes were placed in his arms, Grimmjow looked up at his host.

"Why?" he asked.

The young man before him adjusted his glasses, then pulled them from his face and tucked them into a pocket. "Why what?"

"…Why are you helping me?"

"I couldn't have just left you on my porch, now could I?" he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Yes. You could have. Grimmjow placed the clothes on the couch next to him and slid out of his jacket, taking care to watch his shoulder. He pulled on the tank and went to undo his pants. And I would not have blamed you for it.

He didn't notice Ichigo as his face turned a bright shade of pink and he spun around to give the blue-haired man some privacy. "No shame, huh?"

"Shame?" Grimmjow answered truthfully. He had lived like a dog. There was no such thing as privacy or personal space.

"Uh, never mind. And sorry about the tank. I threw my red boxers in the wash by accident…"

Grimmjow had no idea what Ichigo was going on about, so he opted for the default answer: silence. After a few moments, the young man looked back to see Grimmjow gathering his old clothes into a pile.

While the fighter was occupied, he couldn't help but notice how the thin shirt hugged Grimmjow's cat-like form in all the right places…and only accentuated his sculpted muscles. Ichigo could see strength contained there, and knew by the way Grimjow carried himself that he had seen many a battle. The mysterious man was like a panther; lithe and beautiful and quietly dangerous. Ichigo made a note to himself to never piss the man off. And to stop gaping at him like a fool.

Then Grimmjow turned around, and Ichigo gasped. Around Grimmjow's neck…was a collar. It was heavy-looking, made of thick leather, surrounded on the outside by a thin, flat length of metal. Inscribed on the side was an intricately formed number six.

The fighter noticed Ichigo's stare, and brought his hand up to his collar, that which marked him as property. That which stole his humanity from him.

"Ichigo," he said. The boy's astonishment unnerved him. His tone was almost pleading, though he knew not for what. "This is what I am."

(A/N: Wow!! I logged in today and saw all the reviews and just HAD to write the next chapter! Thank you so much for all the enthusiasm, guys ^^. ...Don't get used to a quick update, though. OTL

Also, I know Grimmjow's not very snarky…remember, he's not used to nice people ahaha.

If anyone has questions about the characters, or is confused about anything, feel free to ask. I'm trying out this type of plot for the first time so I want to make sure everyone's on the same page (ha ha).

Also, Ichigo's glasses: http: / / ./2006/06/jojo002ac4vn . jpg (remove the spaces.) :D

Please continue to enjoy and leave me a little review to nom on on your way out!)