Chapter Four

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Ulquiorra grumbled in his sleep, his head rolling over almost drunkenly. Consciousness was pulling insistently at his brain, and despite his valiant effort to keep it at bay, it was winning the battle. Something tugged at his mind, a memory trying to be recognized. The first thing he remembered was red. It was oozing onto a white surface, staining it, painting it as it went. Blood, he thought. The image reminded him of blood.

And then the previous night's events flashed before his eyes—the cool feel of the blade on his pale skin, the sweet release of the pain on his wrists, the metallic smell of the blood filling his nostrils…his mother's horrified face as she walked in and saw him…and then the darkness that followed.

Wide green eyes snapped open, only to flutter closed once more when the bright fluorescent lights wreaked havoc on his vision.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

What is that, Ulquiorra thought to himself in annoyance. His eyes peaked open once more, his view blurred slightly. All he could see was a jumble of colors: orange, pink, and yellow, white, blue…. Where was he? Something warm and wet fell onto his cheek, and he reached up to wipe it away—or at least he tried. His hands were being held in a vice-tight grip by something he couldn't see. One was warm and welcoming, the other cold and more like a restraint.

Slowly, his eyes came into focus, the colors morphing into shapes…hair…faces. His eyes first narrowed in on large, watery gray eyes, red and puffy from tears. They were familiar, of course; she was that girl from his school…her name, what was her name? He didn't dwell too much on it. His eyes then flickered to surprisingly warm golden eyes, also rimmed with red, but completely dry. Szayel.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

"Will someone please turn that off?" he said, his sharp tone marred by his hoarse throat. One of his restraints—the warm one—squeezed his hand, and he jerked it away from the unfamiliar touch. He heard a small sob, but was too preoccupied with the new addition to his arm to care much about it. He reached up, tugging at the needle sticking out of his arm until a cool hand slapped it away.

"Stop that," Szayel scolded quietly.

Vivid green locked with liquid gold as the two stared each other down in silence. He could feel the air around them thicken with tension, sparking with emotion—hatred on Ulquiorra's part, lust-darkened love on Szayel's.

"Tch, why don't ya two just make-out already?" an irritated voice griped from across the room.

The pale raven surveyed the room around him for the first time, noticing that he was in a hospital room—one filled with more people than he had ever talked to in his life; the girl's—he couldn't remember her name for the life of him, if she had ever told him in the first place—friends were all there, though he hadn't spoken a single word to them since they'd met. They all had looks of relief on their faces, save for the one glaring out the window, his mouth set in an irked scowl.

"Nnoi, be nice," the blonde standing next to him hissed, pinching his arm and earning glare before Nnoitora swept out of the room.

The skinny blonde rolled his eyes. "Don't mind him," he said, waving his hand ineffectually in the air around his head. "He just gets tense in hospitals." And with that, he jogged out the door after the other.

Ulquiorra watched him go, his expression bored, before turning back to Szayel. "Why are you here?"

Szayel, who had also been watching the blonde, looked back to him with a slightly annoyed expression, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose. "Why wouldn't I be here? You know how I feel about you."

Ulquiorra acted as if the pink haired teen hadn't spoken and turned to the redhead on his left. "Why are you here?" he repeated to her.

She blinked, and he could tell that his question had caught her off guard. "Oh, well, I…um…," she began, scratching her temple nervously at Ulquiorra's unrelenting stare. "I just heard about what happened and…I was worried so…."

"You were holding my hand," Ulquiorra interrupted. "Why?"

His answer came from behind her, loud, clear and irritated. "Because she's a nice person that worries when people get hurt. Is that a bad thing?"

He stretched his neck, matching the face with the voice: Ichigo Kurosaki. "I don't recall saying that it was a bad thing," he said calmly. "I just wanted to know why."

Ichigo scowled and looked away, but didn't say anything else, though Ulquiorra could tell he wanted to. He'd had no idea the redhead was so fiery. Grimmjow, who was standing next to him, pulled him close and buried his face in his hair, exhaling gently. They began talking to each other in hushed voices. Ichigo seemed appeased enough, but Ulquiorra looked away, not being able to stand the sweet, gentle atmosphere that surrounded them.

The door opened, and a tall, brawny man with jet black hair and scruffy stubble walked in. Judging by his white coat, Ulquiorra assumed he was a doctor. He glanced around the room before his eyes landed on Ichigo, still swaddled in his lover's arms. His eyes widened for a fraction of a moment before he cleared his throat and spoke. "Ichigo, would you please take your friends and vacate the room?"

Ichigo immediately pushed himself out of Grimmjow's arms, an embarrassed blush and a look of horror decorating his face. "S-sure, Dad," he stammered, quickly gathering his friends and scurrying from the room. Judging by the thin line of Dr. Kurosaki's lips and the "We'll talk about this later" expression on his face, Ulquiorra could tell that the man had had no idea that his son was gay—nor was he exactly happy about finding out.

He irrationally found himself sympathizing with Ichigo. He scowled and shook his head, dispelling the disturbing emotion. Ulquiorra Shiffar did not feel sympathy for anyone, especially strangers.

"So," Dr. Kurosaki said, taking the seat that the weeping, big-chested girl had vacated, "how long have you been suicidal?"

Ulquiorra was slightly surprised by the bluntness of the question and the serious, unfazed gaze of the older man. He felt the emotion flicker across his face for the shortest of moments—much to his annoyance—before he composed himself again. "What leads you to believe that I am suicidal?" he asked serenely. "I could have been held down while someone else cut me."

The doctor raised a bushy brow, not believing this alternative one bit. "If that's what happened, then you obviously didn't put up much of a fight, seeing as how there were no bruises on any part of your body…. However…." He glanced down at his clipboard, flipping a page or two. "We did find a number of old scars scattered over your skin." He looked up into Ulquiorra's eyes, holding his stare as he spoke. "So either you play some sports without using proper protection…or this isn't your first attempt to kill yourself, though it is one of your most successful."

Ulquiorra snorted before he had a chance to stop himself, turning away to look out the window where the moon was shining down on him, seeming to mock him with its brightness. He knew where those scars had come from, and they certainly weren't from attempted suicides. "I've never tried to kill myself."

"Aside from this time, you mean."

"Tch."

Dr. Kurosaki sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He'd never thought the day would come when he'd meet a teenager more difficult than his own, but it seemed that day had arrived. "Look," he said, his voice much softer now, "I don't know what's going on exactly, but maybe you should talk to someone about these problems that lead you to do this. Your parents, for example." It didn't escape his notice that Ulquiorra stiffened at the mention of his parents, and his brow furrowed as he wondered what the story was behind that reaction. Instead of asking all the questions he had on the tip of his tongue, he forced a different set of words out. "As you know, I'm a parent as well—not just of Ichigo, but of his two little twin sisters as well—and I know that if my children had done something like this, I'd want to know what was causing it."

Ulquiorra felt his chest throb painfully, and he grabbed at it, confused by the odd sensation. When that didn't stop it, he curled in on himself. Once again, his efforts were futile.

Startled, Dr. Kurosaki instinctively reached out to help, only to pull back when the pale teen jerked away. He glanced anxiously at the monitor, noticing the increased heart rate. "Ulquiorra!" He seized the other by the arm and yanked him around to face him. He saw the confusion and fear in his eyes, and his panic evaporated as his mind switched back into medical mode. "Where does it hurt?" he asked calmly.

"My chest," the pale teen whispered.

Dr. Kurosaki pulled Ulquiorra's hand away, searching for blood. He looked back up into wide, frightened green eyes, his expression grim. "I don't see anything, but I'm going to have to lift up your gown to be sure there's no internal bleeding." He received an approving nod, and he lifted the gown, seeing nothing but a large, gothic four tattooed on the skin. It stood in striking contrast to his pasty skin tone. "Everything seems fine to me," he muttered. "Does it still hurt?" Once again, he got a nod. He sighed, knowing exactly what it was the teen was feeling. "It won't heal until you find someone to talk to about this. Do you have any friends that you trust enough to confide in?"

Ulquiorra shook his head, curling up even more.

"What about that pink-headed kid that was holding your hand?"

The raven teen scowled, offended that he was even considered to be friends with that menace.

"Or not," the doctor said, scratching his head in frustration. "Well, you need friends, Ulquiorra. They're the medicine of life…the medicine you need right now."

Ulquiorra snorted and turned back to face the wall. He didn't need friends. What he needed was for everyone to leave him alone.

He was thankful that all of the lights in his house were off when Sado, a large, Hispanic friend of Orihime's—he'd finally learned her name—dropped him and Szayel off on their street. He wasn't sure that he had it in him to face his father's cold anger or his mother's concerned tears. He'd seen enough tears that night.

He thanked Sado for the ride, ignoring Szayel's goodnight, before making his way to his door and fishing around for his key. He cursed under his breath when he found it wasn't in his pocket; he'd left it on his nightstand. He sighed and looked around.

Sado was still there, watching him. He'd never understood why people sat there, wasting gas, just for people to get in their houses. It was all so stupid and meaningless.

He didn't know how long he sat there, staring at the car as he tried to decide what to do, but Sado finally rolled down the window and leaned toward him. "Locked out?" His voice was quiet, but the deep timbre still carried in the dead silence that was midnight.

Ulquiorra nodded.

"Well, you can stay with me tonight if you want. I live alone, so it's not like you'd be a bother to anyone." Ulquiorra was surprised that he wasn't asked why he didn't just call his parents or ring the doorbell. Sado just…knew. Was this what it was like to have a friend?

Ulquiorra took his time getting to the passenger side door, but the large teen didn't look the least bit impatient with his slow pace. As he buckled his seatbelt, another thought occurred to him.

"Actually, I want you to take me somewhere else first."

"Are you sure you should be here?"

Ulquiorra glanced at Sado as he slammed the car door closed. He didn't miss that he'd said you and not we. "Are you implying that you're over the age of twenty-one?"

Sado shook his head, still staring at the entrance where a large, bespeckled bouncer was standing. "Not at all. I'm only sixteen."

"And I'm seventeen," Ulquiorra answered. "I'm familiar with the owner, so we should be fine." Without saying another word, he began toward the door.

"What a small world," Sado replied. "So am I."

Ulquiorra soon found out that the burly Hispanic wasn't lying when he was greeted loudly at the door by more than half of the people populating the club. He hadn't struck Ulquiorra as much of a talker, so it puzzled him that he was so well known.

"Where's Urahara?" Ulquiorra asked Renji, the redheaded bartender with a voice loud enough to rival bullhorn.

"Did someone call for me?"

To his embarrassment, Ulquiorra found himself jumping back in surprise as the blonde club owner literally popped up from under the bar. "I did," he said, wiping some nonexistent dust off of his black T-Shirt.

"Mmm, and what can I do for ya, Mr. Shiffar?" Urahara asked, hiding behind his fan that never seemed to leave his person.

"I need to speak with Kenpachi."

Blonde eyebrows rose as Urahara looked Ulquiorra over, the look far from cheerful. He snapped the fan closed. "Are you sure about this?"

Ulquiorra nodded while Sado looked on with a perplexed expression.

"Alright then, follow me."

Sorry, I know this one is way shorter than what I usually write, but that's just because I wanted to piss you off with my mean cliffhanger. xD I would appreciate it very much if you didn't kill me. I also apologize for how long it took me to get this out (especially since it's so short) but I've been uber busy with last-minute summer assignments (which is still not done) as well as other stories. Sorry!

Review! Tell me what you thought of this effed up chapter that didn't really turn out the way I wanted.