Started April 4th.
Completed April 5th.
Authoress: Desperatembrace
Disclaimer(s): I do not own Bleach. If I did, Nel would be shown a whole lot more often. Nel is love.
Warning:
Violence
Alternate Universe
Language
Sexual Content
Yaoi
Chapter 4
"Helper"
When Grimmjow exited his room the next morning, he didn't expect his amnesiac charge to be awake. But the orange haired man was most definitely awake. He was turned around on the couch, his chin resting on the back of it, staring at Grimmjow as he shut the bedroom door.
Ichigo's eyes never left Grimmjow's form. He kept very silent, just staring at him. After a few moments of this, the blue haired man became uncomfortable, and in turn, irritated.
"What?" He snapped, startling Ichigo. The orange haired man glanced off to the side guiltily, quietly murmuring, "thank you." Grimmjow paused, his brows furrowing in confusion for a moment. "For what?" He asked.
Ichigo leaned away from the back of the couch, revealing his arms crossed over a leather-bound sketchbook. The same one that he had bought for Ichigo the previous night.
Grimmjow's eyes widened slightly, remembering. He then softened his gaze, regarding the sketchbook and then Ichigo before replying, "yeah, yeah. Whatever."
He walked off into the bathroom to get ready for the day.
Grimmjow had shown Ichigo where to find pencils and pens, on the shelf full of knick-knacks. He often had to use writing utensils himself for work, so he had plenty. Ichigo's eyes had lit up in excitement, eagerly grabbing some pencils and sharpening them to a sharp point.
It had been a rather lazy day, Ichigo lying around in the living room making random sketches and doodles in the sketchbook. Grimmjow habitually pulled out the prescriptions that he'd gotten the night prior and shoved them Ichigo's way.
They spent the day watching movies, listening to music, just enjoying each others company silently. It had been a rather unproductive day, but it was a good change of pace compared to Ichigo laying in bed unable to move and Grimmjow nursing him to health. It was also better than running around all over the city for mundane things.
Grimmjow found himself liking the unusual calm that the day produced. He was used to running around trying to finish projects for work or staying at work really late.
Lately, he had become accustomed to taking care of the amnesiac and trying to nurse him to health. It was a strange feeling, but most definitely not unwelcome.
He found himself becoming more attached to the orange haired man, becoming unable to imagine a life without him. Yes, they occasionally got into fights and arguments, but days like this, days full of silent compatibility, days of quietly enjoying each others company made it all worth it.
It scared him a bit.
He had never been so attached to anybody. He had always pushed them away and liked it like that. He wasn't a people person. What little friends, acquaintances or companions he had were rather distant. It was the way things had always been.
But this man, this orange-haired brat, was getting underneath his skin at a startling rate. He enjoyed teasing him, enjoyed arguing with him, enjoyed talking with him, enjoyed being around him. He had never found someone so... enjoyable.
He's very interesting, he mused as he watched Ichigo lean closer to the sketchbook, furiously trying to get the perfect shape. I like to be around him. Even if he is a brat. He added the last bit to save what little dignity he had for himself.
He buried his face in his hands, a tired sigh escaping his lips. What the hell is going on with me? He thought as Ichigo glanced up and smiled. I really can't get too attached to him. It'll just end badly.
And so he decided to distance himself from the amnesiac.
Over the next few weeks, Ichigo had began to become antsy. Grimmjow had started going back to work and he was left at home, with little to do but draw. His sketchbook was almost completely filled. Grimmjow had even taken to leaving his spare laptop out for Ichigo to mess around on, but even that didn't keep his attention for many days. He began to grow worried.
Grimmjow didn't talk to him much anymore. Granted, he never really talked much from the beginning, but he most definitely noticed the change, and there was much less conversation.
He became a bit worried about what he was supposed to do, also. He stayed at home drawing all day while Grimmjow had to go to work and earn money. Ichigo wasn't doing anything productive even though most of his wounds have long healed (save for his broken arm). He wanted to help out. But with what? He didn't have any memories, and therefore no job. As far as he knew, he didn't have any knowledge on how to do household chores. And he did feel rather guilty about the maid quitting because of him...
How could he help Grimmjow out? Each night the man came home later and later, downright exhausted and still had to do things around the house.
One night his concerns were solved when Grimmjow came home and began preparing dinner, throwing a bunch of vegetables and meat into a large pot for a stir fry. Ichigo sat at the island counter, watching him tiredly pour in various spices to bring out the flavor.
When he reached for a certain spice however, Ichigo shot up from the counter and snatched it out of his hands. He ignored Grimmjow's befuddled expression and untwisted the cap as he leaned over and smelled the stir fry before sniffing at the spice. His own expression twisted into a grimace, quickly twisting the cap back on and putting it back on the spice rack.
"Don't put that in there." Grimmjow just continued to stare at him. Ichigo stepped back with a blush when he realized how close he was to the blue haired man. "Sorry..." He looked up, the blush slowly disappearing from his cheeks. "You can't put that spice in there." He pointed to the one that he had just deposited back in the spice rack. "It'll make it taste too sweet."
Grimmjow finally snapped out of his confusion, pinning him with a questioning look. "And how the hell would you know that?" Ichigo paused at the question, thinking it over.
He didn't really know himself. He just... knew. He thought a bit harder, the nostalgic feeling trying to make its way back. Ichigo focused even harder, vaguely remembering doing the same thing in the past, leaning over the meal to get the scent and then smelling the spice to see if it matched.
His eyes were hazy, absorbed in the small flash of a memory. Grimmjow snapped his fingers twice, gaining the orange haired man's attention again. "Hello? Did you hear me? How did you know that?"
Ichigo furrowed his eyebrows a bit, slightly annoyed that Grimmjow had cut off his memory. "I think... I used to do that in the past. Use the smell to decide on the spices..." He trailed off a bit, trying to grab hold of the memory again.
Grimmjow's eyes widened in recognition. "You're starting to remember? How much?" Ichigo let out an annoyed sigh when the memory danced out of his reach again. "Not much. Just a vague memory of cooking..."
The blue haired man stared at him for a moment, torn between the feeling of excitement and irritation. He was finally remembering something..! But... it was only a vague, hazy memory. It didn't have much use in bringing back the amnesiac's memories altogether.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, contemplating. Maybe he wasn't going to regain his memories. Maybe he was going to continue on in his life without remembering who his parents were, who his friends were, all of the experiences that he had. How would it be to live such a life? To continue on without knowing anything about your childhood? Without knowing anything about--
Grimmjow was pulled out of his thoughts when Ichigo loudly yelled. "Ahh!!" Grimmjow turned to Ichigo with a questioning look on his face, pulling out of his thinking pose. "What the hell is it now?" He growled.
Ichigo was startled for a moment before smiling excitedly. "I know how to cook! I can help out around here now!" Grimmjow stared at him, blinking his eyes in confusion.
Is that what...? The blue haired man let out a quick exhale of breath, his mouth twitching upwards in amusement. "Why are you so adamant on helping out around here...?" He questioned aloud, more to himself.
Ichigo didn't answer and just kept on staring at Grimmjow happily, willing him to accept the proposal. He stubbornly stayed silent, staring at Ichigo without any expression.
After a few moments, his will finally crumbled as he let out a sigh. "Alright, fine. You can cook for the both of us from now on. But it had better be good. You can start cooking tomorrow," he said as he eyed the stir fry. He snatched up a large wooden spoon and stirred before nodding, turning off the stove-top. "We've got a meal to eat."
They sat down to eat dinner, Ichigo happily shoving food in his mouth. He took a large gulp of water when an un-chewed portion of food got lodged in his throat. It didn't dampen his mood, though. He could finally help out!
Over the course of the next few days, Grimmjow had taken Ichigo to nearby convenience stores and shown him around them, so that he could go shopping himself. They were all within walking distance and Grimmjow had begun to trust that Ichigo could take care of himself. He found that out the hard way when they had gotten into a fight over whether Ichigo could really fight or not. He had finally admitted to the small memory from the doctor's office a few weeks back and had another memory of another fight in his childhood.
Upon relaying these memories, Grimmjow had snorted, saying that Ichigo couldn't hurt a fly. Ichigo had flared, insisting that he could take anyone on at any time.
That had ended with Ichigo getting a rather large bruise on his not-broken arm.
And with Grimmjow receiving a busted lip.
Needless to say, Grimmjow began to realise interesting things about Ichigo. The primary being how predominant his personality was becoming. When Ichigo had first woken up a couple of days after the incident that he was found, he was a blushing, shy boy who wanted nothing but to go back into an eternal sleep. Now, he was a fiery, defensive fighter who had no qualms about punching his savior for insulting him.
Not that Grimmjow held any grudges against him.
One quirk about Ichigo that he noticed was his use of hats. Ever since he had bought a hat for Ichigo all those weeks ago, Ichigo had kept it atop his head. He especially insisted upon wearing a hat when he went to the store for grocery shopping. He had eventually gone out and bought a few more hats for variety, getting tired of seeing the same hat on top of the man's head. It was interesting to say the least.
A week or so passed and Ichigo went back to the doctor with Grimmjow to get his cast removed and to relay his memory recovery. About the same thing happened again, with Ichigo not allowing the doctor to touch him and Grimmjow holding him down. Except, instead of holding him down so that he wouldn't run away, Grimmjow had to hold him down so that he wouldn't punch the poor doctor. The doctor had stayed far away from the orange haired amnesiac when talking to Grimmjow about what needed to be done from then on. He no longer needed prescriptions--his arm was healed, so all that was left was his memory recovery.
It was going just fine, although a bit slower than the average rate. It was a bit alarming that each memory he regained wasn't specific, though. It was always vague. He couldn't remember any words being spoken, he could never see the setting all too well, and the faces of the people involved were blurred. It scared him a bit, made him feel empty. As if the emptiness was inching itself up his skin and absorbing him slowly, continuing each time that he couldn't properly someones face. The doctor had assured him that it didn't require much worry, the fact that he was getting memories back was already a very positive thing. It showed that he was indeed going to regain his memories-it just might take a bit longer than predicted.
Another thing about Ichigo was that he was a fast learner. While Grimmjow was at work, Ichigo still felt sort of useless. So he began to look up housework. He popped out the laptop and began searching, quickly learning how to do basic household chores. Cleaning, folding, washing and drying dishes, doing the laundry, how to use a vacuum cleaner, the best solution to use to mop the floors, just... everything. He read small articles one day and was a pro the next.
Grimmjow honestly wondered how the hell he did it. He himself might fold some clothes messily one day, and the next he would be absolutely clueless on how the hell he did it. The best he knew was to read the instructions on the laundry detergent and he could work the washer and dryer. That was it. Ichigo on the other hand, became useful around the household, basically becoming a live-in maid.
There was another quirk that Grimmjow had noticed about Ichigo. This was the weirdest one about the boy yet. Ever since Ichigo had taken up the job of preparing meals for the both of them, there would be one constant difference about the kitchen. Every time Grimmjow would walk into the kitchen, he would notice the knife block turned around, where the handles were unreachable.
After noticing this a few times, he decided to experiment. What would happen if he were to turn it around again? So he turned it back to its former position, where the knife handles were protruding from the wooden block to allow access to the small blades.
The next day when he checked, it was turned back around. Grimmjow's brows furrowed. What did this mean? Why would he keep on turning it around? Deciding to experiment further, he turned the block around again, and stayed somewhere close to the kitchen to watch Ichigo's reaction.
After a few hours of loitering around, dinner time finally came, and Ichigo stepped into the kitchen. Grimmjow stood next to the kitchen doorway, watching how Ichigo reacted. At first, Ichigo didn't notice it and immediately began pulling out pots and pans and taking food items out of the fridge. When he looked up for scissors to cut open packages, however, his gaze landed on the handle-out knife block.
The effect was instantaneous. He froze from behind the island, his gaze locked onto the block. His hands began to shake and the package that he held fell to the floor. His jaw clenched and his eyes dilated as he took a couple of steps back.
Fear.
Fear was coursing through Ichigo. Outright, body-mangling, paralyzing fear. Grimmjow nearly stepped into the kitchen to ask him what was wrong, why he was shaking. He was too shocked at Ichigo's actions to connect the dots between the reaction and the knife block. Just as he had thought about stepping inside, Ichigo slowly began to make his way around the island counter, his steps, slow and unsteady. He wobbled ever so slightly, getting closer and closer to the block.
When he finally stood in front of it, he reached out a shaking hand, pausing an inch or so in front of the block. All of a sudden, his hands snapped to the sides of the block and he spun it around, snatching his hands back to his chest as though they were burned. He stepped back a couple of steps, staring at the back-turned knife block for a few moments before he shut his eyes for a moment. He opened his eyes and then turned around.
And he just walked back to the island counter and began preparing dinner. As though absolutely nothing had just happened.
Grimmjow felt goosebumps run up his skin; dread, fear and paranoia eating away at his consciousness. He stayed still and silent next to the doorway, stepping back further into the living room. He was startled, but he quickly connected the dots. Ichigo had a specific case of Aichmophobia. A massive fear of the pointed object called a 'knife'.
He kept silent about the whole ordeal, never telling Ichigo that he knew about what had happened. He just let things go about the way the were supposed to.
And it was just fine that way.
One day, as Grimmjow was stretched out on the couch, the topic of the past had come up between him and Ichigo. The orange haired man had caught sight of the rather large scar on his abdomen as his shirt had ridden up and questioned about it.
After being asked about it, Grimmjow had merely looked up and replied, "I will tell you everything you want to know about my past, including this scar, if you can tell me about yours." The comment had kind of hurt Ichigo, and he had grimaced, looking off at anything other than Grimmjow.
He murmured a small, "never mind then." He began to walk away, clutching the bottom of his shirt as a frown began to spread across his face. Seeing how upset Ichigo was, Grimmjow released a sigh and called him back.
Ichigo came back and plopped himself down in the leather chair, leaning back nonchalantly as if he didn't even care if Grimmjow was opening up to him. He watched the blue haired man expectantly, waiting for him to talk.
Grimmjow sat up and leaned against the back of the couch, frowning a bit as he watched Pantera jump into Ichigo's lap (something that she had not done willingly for him) and eagerly rub her head against his hand. Ichigo began to rub her head, massaging around the ears as she began to purr.
The blue haired man watched the cat with an irritated expression for a moment before lifting his gaze up to Ichigo's, only to have a scowl spread across his face. Ichigo was smirking victoriously.
The bastard.
"Long story short; my early life was a major piece of shit. I ended up getting pushed down stairs and had a huge chunk a broken artistic vase embedded in my abdomen. The end."
Ichigo felt a shiver run up his spine. Grimmjow was with-holding information. A great deal of it. He watched the teal-haired man for a moment, finally deciding that it was none of his business but still sympathetic nonetheless. "I'm... I'm sorry."
Grimmjow shrugged slightly. "It's fine. Everybody goes through shit sometimes. Some just more so than others." Ichigo merely shook his head and repeated himself. "I'm sorry."
The blue haired man let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, leaning back into the leather couch as Ichigo began to calm down a bit. They sat in silence before Ichigo spoke, eager to get rid of the quiet.
"I'm... I'm a bit scared to remember my past."
Grimmjow looked up, slightly startled and curious. "What?"
"I'm scared of my memories returning. Every time something invokes nostalgia, I hear a voice in my head telling me that I can't remember yet, urging me to move along."
Grimmjow's eyes furrowed. "A voice?"
"Yeah." Ichigo fidgeted in his seat, slightly uncomfortable with the topic at hand. "It's like a conscience or something, I guess. It has a really hollow voice and always pops up whenever I feel like im going to remember something."
Grimmjow brought his hand up to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully. "Sounds strange. Kinda freaky, if ya ask me."
Ichigo scowled, a little upset at how insignificantly useful Grimmjow was. He mentioned it for two reasons. Number one, to get Grimmjow's mind off of his no-doubt horrible past, and number two, to get a second opinion on the matter to make sure he wasn't going crazy.
Number one, accomplished.
Number two, failed.
Ichigo gave an annoyed sigh. "I'm... I'm just going to go make dinner." He stood up and made his way to the kitchen, thankful to any and every god out there that his arm was no longer broken when he accidentally slammed it into the doorway. He let out a loud curse, turning around and flipping Grimmjow off when he gave a loud, barking laugh.
Later that night, when Ichigo sat on the couch, fixing to go to bed, he was absorbed deep into his thoughts. He was starting to become rather frightened. He knew that people weren't supposed to hear voices in their heads. It was abnormal. So why did he have a voice? Why did he have a voice in his head that didn't belong to him?
When his mind began to become fuzzy, he decided that it was time to sleep. He fell into a deep sleep and was drawn into a dream.
A dream of the past.
He was standing in the kitchen, alongside a tall woman. He was only about 9 or 10 at the time, so his eyesight only barely made it over the kitchen counter. He was affectionately talking to the woman about something--the words were unheard. As Ichigo relived the memory, he could also feel things around him, all of his senses other than his hearing seemed clear, as if it were happening in real life--but the feeling of nostalgia bumped that theory.
As the scene continued on in the dream, the sounds began to become clearer, breaking through the silence and growing in volume.
"What are you cooking..?" He could hear his younger voice ask the question as a smile spread across his younger-self's cheeks. The brown haired woman turned to him with a kind smile on her face.
"Just a simple casserole. Enchilada-style!" Her eyes squeezed shut as her smile widened when Ichigo licked his lips excitedly.
"Would you teach me how to make this? No. Teach me how to cook!" Ichigo felt his face crease into a pleading expression, his hands clasped together pleadingly. The woman laughed.
"Of course, my dear Ichigo." She pulled a stool to the counter and instructed him to step on it, handing him a wooden spoon. She guided him in how to stir it and then pulled out a large variety of spices, setting them all over the counter.
"Now look, dear. I'm going to teach you a magic trick that my mother taught me. The best way to make a dish turn out delicious is to use your nose and your tongue." She poked the tip of his nose and his lower lip, making Ichigo scrunch his face comically. The woman just laughed.
"First you have to taste it." She poured the sauce into a small bowl and pushed it his way, watching as he tipped it up to taste the sauce. He pulled the bowl away and frowned.
"It doesn't taste right." She laughed her melodic laugh again. "Exactly. Now, we have to add spices to make the magic. Smell it and then smell the spices." She did a small demonstration. "Then, put in the spices that match the smell the best." Ichigo eyed her warily, unsure of how such a thing would work. Deciding to put faith in her, he did as he was instructed.
She wouldn't let him continually taste it when he felt the need to add more spices. When they finally mixed it all together, she poured it into the bowl again, pushing it to the orange haired boy with a smile on her face. "Taste it."
He swallowed the sauce and then widened his eyes, a smile spreading across his lips. "It tastes really good!" The brown haired woman smiled. "See? Magic." She hugged Ichigo close, the young boy wrapping his arms as far around her as he could.
"Yeah. Magic. Thanks, mom."
"Now remember," she murmured in his ear. "Just because you know this trick, it doesn't mean you will be a master cook." She giggled lightly, her breath tickling his ear and causing goosebumps to raise on his neck. "You have to practice from now on. Okay?" He nodded, burying his head deeper into the folds of her shirt.
Ichigo, trapped in the small body of his past, could feel happiness swell, spreading all around him and engulfing him. His mom. His mother. He knew his mother, now. He knew her face and could remember one of his most precious moments with her.
Pulling away from Ichigo and brushing a loving hand against his cheek, she leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on his forehead. "Now watch the food, okay? I have to go check on your sisters." She smiled and turned around at Ichigo's replied nod. She walked away a few steps, Ichigo still smiling whole-heartedly. When she got even further, however, he could feel dread clawing at his sides. Something was wrong.
He could feel the dream starting to continue into another scene, things beginning to pull to a different location. All of a sudden, everything froze.
His mother, the timer that had been counting down the minutes until the sauce was to finish, even the clock. Everything just stopped moving. Ichigo looked around anxiously, still trapped within his 9-year-old self's body. Everything that he could remember... was fading.
Not fading, exactly. More like... burning away. Ichigo could feel fear spread through his limbs. Black was crawling into the kitchen, eating away at all surfaces. The black began to turn everything to ashes, crawling closer and closer to where he and his mother stood.
His mother.
Panic seized Ichigo. He had to save his mother. He couldn't let her suffer. He had to get her away from this. It was dangerous. She had to get away.
Now.
He ran to his mother and began tugging on his mother's arm frantically to pull her away from the oncoming blackness. But she wouldn't budge. Time had frozen her and she couldn't move.
The blackness inched forward until it was only a few inches away from consuming his mother. And then....
Nothing.
Everything disappeared. The memory was gone. The image of his mother, the kitchen, of the oncoming danger was gone. Everything had turned to a blank white, and Ichigo found that he was in his normal, older body now. He was confused. He was about to call back on the memory when the voice from before interrupted and stopped him.
I'm sorry, King. But I can't let you do that. You cannot see that particular thing just yet.
Ichigo froze, focusing intensely on the voice. He could hear an echo--a water drop splashing into an even larger body of liquid. The air seemed to vibrate, ripples spreading out around his feet. He glanced down into the water that had taken up residence on the ground without his knowing, not noticing that there wasn't a reflection in the water. He crouched down, pressing his hand into the water.
"Wh..." He swallowed, pressing an urgent and wondrous question forward. "Why... who are you? Why do you exist within my mind?" He continued to stare into the water.
I'm here...
There was a pause, as though the entity were thinking of a suitable answer. All of a sudden, on the other side of the water a hand reached forward, pale in contrast and mirroring his own. A perfect reflection. He was finally gifted with an answer from the mysterious voice.
To protect you.
As he sat alone in the dark living room, Grimmjow's expression darkened. He listened into the receiver of his cell phone, waiting for the police to pick up so that he could finally report Ichigo as "found". The man was healed and gaining his memory back. He had no need for Grimmjow any longer.
A voice, huh? He let out a sigh for what seemed the millionth time that day, sucking in a breath as a click sounded from over the line and a female voice calmly spoke.
"This is 911 services. What is the problem?" He began to rattle off the story to the woman on the other line as a thought reverberated through his mind.
This could be a pain in the ass.
-Chapter End-
A/N: Review?