Oh crap! I wrote this chapter way too fast, there definitely will be very sloppy places. Tell e where it needs revision

Some bad words come into play this chapter (damn Grimmjow and his mouth). And sorry for my inconsistent POV-ish things. I switch between characters, depending on what's easier. If it bothers any of you awesome readers, let me know!

to my lovely reviewers! Thanks so much for the reviews! it makes me fell happy and fuzzy- hey, if I felt warm and fuzzy inside, I would take that as a bad sign. i mean... fuzzy.

Disclaimer: insert le witty disclaimer here, bitches.

Chapter 2

-

Ulquiorra counted the seconds.

Five…

Four…

Three, two, one.

There.

He counted the seconds it took for the shinigami's expression of satisfaction fade from his visage, only to be replaced by one of shock and horror. His green eyes stared impassively down at the pathetic human on the ground, fear rolling off of him in waves. Ichigo was frightened. For the first real time since he had entered this world, Kurosaki Ichigo was afraid for himself. Ulquiorra didn't smile, but set his dark mouth in a disapproving frown, contempt and dislike written across his features.

Ichigo continued to stare, his knuckled whitening as he tightened his grip on his zanpakuto. Ulquiorra should be dead. He should be skewered on the end of Zangetsu like the Ninth Espada had don't to Rukia, so why wasn't he bleeding? Why wasn't he dead? Why was he still looking down with those hard, condescending eyes? Ichigo's throat worked furiously, his words dying with his hope. A bead of sweat burned its way down the side of his face, falling to the ground without a sound. He was acutely aware of the wind tugging at him gently, swirling around the two of them. Every second seemed to have been stretched across the span of several hours, slowing everything to a near stop. Lips trembling, he finally managed to find his voice again.

"What…? This… T-that's…" his breath came in harsh gasps, shoulders trembling violently, "… impossible."

Ulquiorra blinked. Trash. "I do not wish to repeat myself again, Kurosaki Ichigo. You cannot defeat me."

Brown eyes widened. His gaze traveled up the length of his zanpakuto and found the source of the problem. Ulquiorra had avoided the blow with the minimal amount of movement once more, this time opting to shift his posture ever so slightly so that Zangetsu ran straight through the hollow hole resting between his collarbones. So simple, and so effective.

Shit.

"You have failed once more, shinigami." The Espada was speaking now. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Grimmjow was conscious again, and was watching them silently. "Abandon your hope. Your side is far inferior to ours, and Aizen-sama will have the world in the end, no matter your futile struggles."

Quietly, he took a carefully measured step back, off the black blade, until he was just out of reach. Then, he shot a pale hand forward, plunging it again into Ichigo's chest, corresponding with the circular gap in his own.

Ripping it free with a spurt of blood, he straightened up. "I dislike repeating myself, shinigami, but it seems I must. Now die, and despair." Brown eyes glazed over in pain, and Ichigo collapsed forward in a heap as Ulquiorra's hand ceased to support him.

Ulquiorra turned, and began to walk away from the scene, but a trembling hand stopped him. He looked down again. Ichigo had raised himself up on one elbow, panting with the effort, and grabbed Ulquiorra's ankle.

"Stop…"

The arrancar closed his eyes as if to sigh, then pulled his leg away and continued to walk, ignoring the dying shinigami.

He walked straight to Grimmjow, who had seemingly lost all his energy and was curled on the sand, blood oozing sluggishly from the many vicious gashes. As Ulquiorra approached, he struggled to raise himself to his feet, coughing.

"Shit, Ulquiorra, shit."

"What?"

"You beat him like… like… fuck!" Seemingly running out of words to use, Grimmjow looked back up at the Cuatro Espada, but it was not respect or surprise written in the blue depths.

Ulquiorra dragged Grimmjow to his feet, his movements fluid and smooth. "Trash gets treated like trash. We are leaving."

-

"Stop."

They didn't.

"Stop, goddammit."

This was disregarded as well.

"For fuck's sake, just stop for one minute!"

Ulquiorra landed rather heavily on the ground and Grimmjow tumbled out of his arms, growling softly as he hit the stone floor. He coughed again and looked up at Ulquiorra. The Cuatro Espada was breathing rather hard, though he was struggling to hide it.

"What is it?" he asked monotonously. The smooth voice hitched slightly once.

"It hurts like a bitch." Grimmjow growled weakly, then added as an afterthought, "And you're tired."

Ulquiorra shook his head. "Not. I'm not tired."

"Pfft." Grimmjow snorted. "You look tired like shit to me. Or as tired as shit can get, I wouldn't know."

"Your crude manner disgusts me."

"Whatever. You're tired. Admit it, you pasty little fuck."

Ulquiorra didn't answer, but sank slowly to the floor beside his companion, still trying to calm his breathing. Grimmjow stared at the ceiling, using his finger to trace a random pattern in the dirt. His eyelids were heavy; he was sure he had never felt this tired in his life. He swallowed the desire to flinch as pain lanced up his chest and shoulder, where Nnoitra's blade had cut him. Heaving a sigh, he turned his head slowly, painstakingly, to look at Ulquiorra again. The Espada was leaning against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. The green eyes were half-lidded and cloudy; for once, Ulquiorra had lowered his guard, even if it was involuntary. Grimmjow smiled thinly. It was now that every trait of the pale arrancar was refined, the frail body looking even more fragile, and the melancholy expression looking even more forlorn, every sharp angle of his body outlined in the darkness. He wanted so badly to take that delicate body and just break it, snap the thin bones to pieces, rip apart those stringy muscles and just smear all that red blood over white skin until nothing was left. He wanted to devour everything about Ulquiorra, and leave nothing but a lot of blood and a few dark memories. He needed to-

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. What the hell was he thinking? This had to be nothing but out of control hormones, he couldn't think crap like this. Shit. His hand clenched around a fistful of his tattered jacket as he squeezed blue eyes shut, willing the incriminating thoughts away. It was simply his hormones running havoc in his system, nothing more. He growled softly, breaths coming in shallow gasps as he both tried to stave off the pain from his actions and the emotions that were currently tearing him to pieces.

In a flash, Ulquiorra was up and alert again, his green eyes probing Grimmjow's. Grimmjow opened his mouth. "What?"

"Does it hurt?"

Blue eyes widened. "Like hell it does! You try to get beat up that badly and have it not hurt."

"I was not implying that." Ulquiorra said, sitting back, "I was merely inquiring as to your condition-"

"Oh, speak a language we all know, will ya?" Grimmjow sighed and stared back up to the ceiling. Ulquiorra remained silent, but he stayed alert the entire time, listening carefully for any sound out of the usual. The silence stretched awkwardly between them. At length, Grimmjow spoke again.

"Remember what it was like before Aizen?" he asked softly.

Ulquiorra looked at him out of the corner of his eye, his expression giving nothing away. "No. I am an artificial Espada, created by Aizen. I cannot recall what was before."

"You didn't get me, didja?" Grimmjow said, "I- we, existed before that shinigami came along, didn't we? I know I was something before, and you must have been something before all this. Being and Espada isn't the beginning of your life, or memories, Ulquiorra, I thought you would know as much."

Silence greeted his words. Ulquiorra's mind was turning Grimmjow's words over and over, processing, analyzing every syllable. In the end, he decided it was a question worth answering.

"I was made to obey. There is nothing left for me in this world except Aizen-sama. He created me, and he can destroy me at a whim. I will serve his needs and purposes until that day comes, and when it does, I will continue to abide by his needs and wants."

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed slightly. "So you're just gonna suck up to him all your life? You are the goddamned Cuatro Espada, and you're so gutless you can't even make a goal for yourself. Don't you want anything? Doesn't life mean anything at all to you? Are you just going to cower at his feet like a fucking dog until he goes and hacks you into nothingness?" it didn't matter that his voice could barely go over a whisper. The silence seemed to magnify the words, however quiet they were. "That is just so fucked up. You don't even want to remember, do you? Think that's a sin against what you are right now. You'll just be a fucking doll for the rest of your miserable life, having your memory erased whenever seen fit or doing crazy shit just because Aizen-sama feels like it. I don't even want to call you an arrancar anymore; you just make me so damned sick."

He turned on Ulquiorra, his eyes hard. "It's your life, aren't you supposed to do something with it?"

For a moment, Ulquiorra sat still, frozen in chock at Grimmjow's outburst. Then, seemingly recovering, he rounded on the Sexta Espada.

"You don't understand, do you?" Ulquiorra said softly, as if the quiet muffled their voices as much as it amplified them. "My first priority will be Aizen-sama, and my second priority, and my third, and fourth. You can deny your existence, but that is all we are… dolls to a higher and crueler being. Pretend all you want, Grimmjow, but ultimately, you, like me, are Aizen-sama's plaything. He will manipulate you as he is me."

"… You are so full of shit. Can't even fight back." Grimmjow rolled over painfully, glaring hard. "I'll tell you who's the trash, Ulquiorra. That'd be you. Just think 'bout it."

The silence swelled between them again. Ulquiorra remained impassive, staring straight ahead and moving only to blink. His mouth was still set in a downward curve, gaze disapproving. With a sigh, Grimmjow curled up, wincing painfully as he felt some skin give way on his shoulder. Soon, the silence began to annoy him again. He decided to ask the question that had been gnawing at the back of his mind.

"What do you see in Aizen, anyways?"

Garnering no response, he sighed somewhat shallowly. Then, he started as Ulquiorra spoke.

"I see whatever he chooses me to see." despondent eyes were fixed on the ground as he answered.

Grimmjow snorted. "There you go, spouting that bullshit again. I just don't see what is so great about him."

Ulquiorra watched him carefully. "Don't you?" Grimmjow tried to sit up. Lying on the ground was beginning to feel very undignified. Ulquiorra watched him silently, unresponsive even when Grimmjow hissed in pain. Slowly, he managed to sit against the wall beside Ulquiorra.

"Dammit. Help me for a second, will ya?" he growled as his shoulder began to gush blood again, the red darkening already stained clothes. Ulquiorra blinked, then leaned across Grimmjow to check on the shoulder. Grimmjow snarled softly as cold fingers probed the wound, gently mopping up the blood. Suddenly, he sucked in his breath (adding to the agony and humiliation) as Ulquiorra shifted, baring the curve of his long, pale throat. Grimmjow bit his lip, willing those thought away, but to no avail. He couldn't' stand the attack his hormones were putting on his at the moment. Growling, he grabbed Ulquiorra's shoulder (more pain on his part) and swung the smaller arrancar around. He saw green eyes widen dramatically and felt a deep sense of satisfaction at the sight. Keeping a firm grip on the back of Ulquiorra's neck, he brushed his lips against the Cuatro Espada's before tilting his head and deepening the kiss. Ulquiorra's lips were so cold, but it wasn't unpleasant. In fact, he wondered why he hadn't tried this before. Ulquiorra tasted numbingly sour, yet strangely like nothing at all. Running his tongue along the bottom lip, he tangled his hand in the tousled dark hair, never slackening his grip. Not that it was very strong in the first place. Just when he really began to enjoy himself, he was aware of his companion's struggles. He ignored all this until he registered what Ulquiorra was saying.

The dark haired arrancar was making the most uncharacteristic whimpering sounds as he struggled to fit words in. "No… Stop, no more, no more… please…" Grimmjow could almost taste the fear and distress. At once, he released Ulquiorra, who leapt back, somewhat lacking the usual grace and agility. He fell back, panting hard. Eyes glazed over in fear, he raised a trembling hand and wiped at his mouth. For several minutes, he did nothing but sit on the floor and shiver. Then, he rose to his feet, avoiding Grimmjow's gaze.

After an awkward pause, he said, "We're leaving."

Grimmjow blinked. He was sure Ulquiorra would kill him. "Where to?"

"To get you healed."

"That woman again?" the Sexta Espada asked, a hint of exasperation in his voice. Ever since she had come to Hueco Mundo, their entire world seemed to have revolved around her. Heal this, fix that, do this, stay there… Grimmjow was beginning to suspect Aizen was coming to rely on her, or at least expect her to do things she wouldn't or couldn't.

Ulquiorra nodded jerkily. "Yes. Now get up."

When Grimmjow showed no signs of trying, Ulquiorra grabbed him again and slung him over his shoulder. Without further ado he started off for Orihime's cell on the fifth level.

-

Crash.

The door was smashed open, crashing into the wall rather unceremoniously. Ulquiorra heard the soft cry of shock that came from the prisoner. With slow and deliberate steps, he walked into the center of the room and dropped Grimmjow on the floor, who protested feebly.

"Heal him, woman." Ulquiorra said shortly. Orihime's eyes widened. Her caretaker seemed to be in a foul mood today, so she opted not to disobey.

After she had healed his completely incinerated arm, the deep gashes that marred his body proved to be far simpler in comparison. It took a minimal amount of time to heal Grimmjow, but by the end of it, Ulquiorra's patience had already run thin.

"Woman, I'm in a hurry."

She glanced fearfully up at him, stone grey eyes meeting his for a fraction of a second. "Y-yes. I'm trying…" she said faintly, still clearly afraid of him.

He watched for a little while more, then, "Kurosaki Ichigo is dead."

She barely reacted to the sound of his voice. The changes were subtle, but Ulquiorra' sharp eyes caught them all. Her face twitched briefly, eyebrows contracting as grief and anger flashed across her features. Balling her hands at her side, she bit her lip, forcing away tears that should have long since dried up. Ulquiorra's mouth curved downward a little less. Humans were so amusing, upset by a mere string of words. It was always easy for him to ruffle her, abusing her mentally rather than physically.

"It was as I told you. He came here with no hope of reaching you alive, let alone leave here. It seems he overestimated his own power, like the worthless trash he brought along with him. Even if you disagree with me, and even if you are not upset by the fact that they same here with the wrong measure of their strength, you should at least be angry with him for leading so many to their deaths, as strange as that notion may seem." He continued, watching her eyes brimming with tears that refused to fall. He knew, however, that as soon as he left, they would come cascading to the floor like a monsoon, never ending and harsh. He knew how this game worked, and he was playing his part.

"He- he should be fine now." She whispered, still avoiding his gaze. On the floor, Grimmjow groaned and sat up, still looking somewhat drained but fine in all other aspects.

"Damn, I'm stiff." He said, rolling his shoulders experimentally. His gaze lighted on Ulquiorra. "Are we leaving?"

Ulquiorra nodded. "Come."

-

Ichigo lay still, breathing in the scent of earth and blood. His blood, he remembered with a pang.

Disappointment. All he felt was disappointment. It was not disappointment at his lack of strength or his defeat, he was sure of that. He was not disappointed that he was losing his life, and he was not disappointed that he couldn't rescuer Orihime.

He was disappointed with Ulquiorra.

The thought squirmed uncomfortably in his mind, twisting under his skin with the deep pools of self-loathing that had already gathered there in the duration of their fight.

And then, he realized he was disappointed with Ulquiorra's actions.

It was painful, to watch the Espada walk away, hands thrust coolly in his pockets, back stiff and straight. It hurt even more to watch him walk away with Grimmjow this time, completely ignoring Ichigo. And then he remembered the terrible rage that had erupted in him, tearing at him, clawing at his insides. It writhed in its attempt to escape him, but he tamped it down, willing the guilty thoughts into the dark recesses of his mind, where it now was beside his Hollow. But all the while, it pushed at him, fighting to break free in any form he could produce. He had never realized it before, but this kind of ache was different than anything a zanpakuto could ever do to him, and would take far longer to recover from than any wound.

And yet, the only real reason he continued to chase after Ulquiorra was because he was disappointed. He wanted this arrancar to acknowledge him, to see him as something more than nothing. Ichigo wanted to kill himself for it, but he was almost wishing Ulquiorra would take the time to call him trash again.

He wanted to hear that voice, saying that goddamned word that Ichigo needed so badly.

Trash.

Yeii!! Fluff from Grimmkitty.

This chapter really didn't have much in it... just some lame character development. the Ichigo monologue at the end was so uber weak, too...

le sigh oh well...

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