A/N: So… I know I said the last chapter was going to be the last, BUT! We ran into some trouble with the original fic part and decided to come back to the fanfic for a little refresher. Will this be the last chapter? I can't honestly say, but probably.

Once again, un-Beta'd, and only minorly edited, because I wanted to get it posted for you guys who'd been loving this fic so much lately.

"JAYgus feckin' Christ on 'is crutch, boyo!"

The sound filtered out of Urahara's training ground in Ichigo's voice, but with Eamonn's accent.

"I know! I know!"

"I'd've given me left arm fer a talent like dat back when me leannán... well y'know."

"Aye. Ah! I mean yeah! Ugh... You have to stop talking out loud through my mouth. I'm gettin' t'ings mixed up."

The dead man who knew both voices so well it hurt laid on the floor, both furred ears cocked in the direction of the open hatch. Normally it was closed, but...the scary-fast former Shinigami had been so kind as to prop it open to 'air out the space a little'.

Grimmjow was thankful, because he knew his presence would not help the pair below sort things out, if anything it would make it so much worse while their different reactions to him warred in the same body. Still, the hole in his gut ached with the phantom pain he thought he'd left behind when he became a Hollow, a solid ball of gut-pain right where his bellybutton had been once upon a time, which caused him to periodically circle the hole to try and catch more sound and sniff at the edges of it, unable to help trying to catch a whiff of him- any little whiff of him.

The pair was quiet for a bit, or at least as quiet as the Shinigami-hybrid ever was while training, but after the sounds of explosions and the whoosh of dust settled, Ichigo was speaking again, clearly around something, "An' it ain't like it matters, y'know. They're all on 'bout how 'm s'posed ta act."

"Right. Like they know what ya've been dealin' wit'. 'ow 'xactly, d'they expect ya te jest go back te bein' a normal bloke afta all dat crack?"

"Aye! I said that!"

"An' yer da's no help."

"'E never 'as been."

The accent was blurring further, and there was a pause, followed by the sound of a glass bottle being set down on the ground.

"'Ow's 'bout we bare-knuckle't fer a bit?"

"Aye. S'been a while."

The characteristic thud of Zangetsu being set down was all the further sound that filtered up through the opening. But the scene was fairly obvious. By now, Ichigo would have shed his kosode and shitagi. Dressed only in his hakama, he'd have his hands wrapped the way Grimmjow had showed him a month ago, and in a stance that had not been his own originally, he'd have one fist up near his jaw, the other extended out, shadow boxing in a tight circle, just the way Eamonn had always trained before Saturday matches in town. In that moment, the two incarnations became one, fluid and deadly, like a cross between a pit viper and a komodo dragon.

Just listening to it made that little ache in his gut twist into something big and brutal and violent that left him sinking all four sets of claws into the wood to keep himself from slithering down that ladder and bounding over to tackle the young man head-on. His ears flattened down against his skull, but when that cut off the whistle of air and grunts of breath they shot back up again while his tail lashed.

'Have patience, Hessian.' 'Wait for him.' Jesus, Mary, Joseph and all the rest of the Irishman's saints, but he'd been waiting for a century! How patient was he supposed to be?!

He wrenched his claws out of the floorboards and turned in a tight circle- six times he tried to make himself leave, six times he immediately turned right back around to put his nose up against that hole and tilt his ears for sound, a cat waiting with his nose at the mouse-hole, just waiting on the prey to venture out where claws could get it.

Damn, he hated waiting.

"Grimmjow-san, if you're going to clutter up my walkway, perhaps you could do it without scratching up my floorboards?" Mr. Hat-n-Clogs was wearing his 'murder' smile, the one that had both of his hands on Benehime's handle, and his face shadowed by the brim of his hat.

Grimmjow was rather severely startled- which led to him hanging comically upside-down from the ceiling, ears back and eyes wide. "Mother of the Irish Saints don't fuckin' sneak up on me! D'you know how hard it is not to immediately attack when startled?! I've still got Hollow survival instincts," he hissed as he climbed down with an embarrassed shuffle. "I uh. Sorry 'bout th'floor. I could...'unno, replace 'em for ya or somethin'," he muttered, ears back as he awkwardly tried to make nice. After all, he had to play nice to keep spying on his- on Ichigo.

Urahara's smile became a promise that the former Espada would indeed be fixing the floor, and he stepped over where the cat had been laying with an exaggerated movement, "Consider it practice for your continued stay in the Human World."

Then he descended into the training ground to confront his favorite student.

Grimmjow sat with his head in his hands and cursed every filthy word he'd ever learned all across the spectrum of languages. He recognized a debt when he saw one! As such the blue-haired feline didn't even notice when the object of his obsession climbed the ladder, smoke between his teeth, and back in his gigai.

He leaned against the wall, arms crossed loosely over his chest, watching with a dual perspective, "Ya've picked up quite teh list there, boyo."

"Lafat learned to enjoy ozzer languages vhen 'e vent West," He stopped, cleared his throat, and pushed down the accent that bubbled to the surface at the sound of his shatz. "I...kinda followed 'im. An' the rest. Din't feel right t'leave our crew, even...after."

He rubbed the back of his neck.

Unspoken was that he hadn't been following Lafat, but the handsome Irish lad that smuggled him west with Ryota and Kilgor to hide the Turkish slave somewhere his former owners couldn't locate him, or the Scottish theif who'd stolen him.

For a second, Ichigo's eyes went wide, then he schooled his features, attempting to play off not knowing those names. But he did. And the way he looked off to the side, playing with the end of the cigarette to buy time. Realizing he at least owed the Arrancar an answer he hummed, then, reluctantly, he pushed away from the wall. "Ah, well... Slán."

His ears flicked forward and his clawed toes curled into the wood. "Ah- you're going? Already? Aren't ya gonna- rest or at least drink somethin' before ya head out?"

The redhead lifted an eyebrow, "I've had. Why?"

"Oh. Jus'...don' need ya collapsin' on th'roadside an' havin' ta fetch ya fer tha' psychopath ye call yer swordsmaster," he muttered, his tail curling around one leg, looking off to the side as his ears tilted further back.

He wanted him to stay, he wanted to talk about- about everything, about the dual soul thing, he wanted to talk to Eamonn again-

But he couldn't ask for that. Not only was he expressly forbidden by Hat-N-Clogs and the kid's sire, it...well, it wasn't fair to ask Ichigo to step aside so Grimmjow could use his body as a go-between to talk to his long-dead lover. It wasn't fair to any of them. So he bit his tongue and slunk further into the shop with his tail between his legs to see if that gigai was ready to hold him. At least if he was doing physical labor around here, he wouldn't have to think.

"'E loves ya, boyo."

"No, 'e loves you. An' I thought I told ye te not do that!"

Ichigo lit his smoke, regardless of Tessai's rules about it, and shook his head to try and stop himself from watching Grimmjow leave. The former Espada was the only one able to help everything make sense. Talking to him, sparring with him, being near him, smoothed out the ragged divide that was the line of reincarnation between himself and Eamonn. He couldn't understand why, but then again, he really didn't need to. The advantage to his method of getting stronger, the why didn't matter, only the how and the what. Sucking casually on the cancer stick, he realized he still hadn't left, and gave up fighting it.

'Aye, an' I'm you,' came drifting through his thoughts unbidden.

A furious growl ripped through the shop an instant before the former Espada did, his teeth bare and his eyes glowing, tail lashing, claws curled into fists so hard both hands were bleeding.

"URAHARA! VHAT ZHE FLYIN' ENGLISH FACH 'AVE YOU MADE?!"

His hackles were all the way up, his nostrils flaring. He was no longer caring about playing nice. Not with the affront of a human body in that room.

The shopkeeper's fan was out a nanosecond before the Arrancar's teeth were in his face, "Whatever do you mean, Grimmjow-san, do you not like it?"

"OF COURSEI DUN LIKE'T! ZAT FACE IST DED, ZHAT FUCKINGK BODY ROTTED UNDER TIMBER UND POISON! 'OW AM I SUP'OZT TO VERE ZHAT UND PRETEND IST ME?!" He wasn't just upset; he was bristled out from head to toe, right down to the tip of his tail.

He couldn't do that. He couldn't do what Urahara was asking. He could not climb into that body and wear that face and have to see himself in the mirror- no. No, he would throw himself into the middle of Vasto Lorde territory first.

"Well, you can't very well go walking around Karakura Town with sky blue hair and a hole in your stomach, now can you?" Urahara was unapologetic, and clearly wasn't about to change the gigai. "You won't stand out nearly as much as you think you will."

Ichigo, confused and conferring with the spirits, plural, that lived within his mindscape, wandered away from the argument and into the room where Grimm's gigai awaited him. He nearly choked on his cigarette and wisely decided to put it out before going any closer. Doing anything else wasn't even considered. The cherry was pinched, and his feet were moving, even before he'd consciously registered what he was seeing.

His fingers reached out on their own to brush the coal black bangs away from the proud brow. They traced the Germanic nose, long and noble; ran over lips thin but expressive; and strong jawline, especially where it was hidden normally by the mask that marked him as Hollow. He wasn't even aware of the tears that formed in his eyes until one dropped onto a high cheekbone, drawing a salty line down the indentation.

"A chuisle mo chroí, cronaím thú." His voice was caught somewhere between his throat and his stomach, and he spoke softly, still running his hand over the fake body.

In some distant fashion he was aware that the grief he felt was Eamonn's, and not his own, but since he'd begun training with the Irishman, working with him, meditating on the memories, and accepting that his reincarnation was real, it was getting harder and harder to separate the feelings. He was beginning to know Guntar as well as Eamonn did, and seeing the quiet German laid out like that only drove the point home like a railway spike through his heart.

"I don't 'ave to look like me- but I can't be HIM! How did you even know vhat I used to look like?! I might not beleive in God, Shinigami, but even I know zhat is an affront to 'im. That body died over a 'undred years ago. How could I possibly ever vere it again?"

Urahara could have made it easier on him, he could have spoken plainly that he didn't actually control the appearance of the gigai, but something in the way both his student and the Espada were reacting to the whole situation made him keep his tongue. He merely tucked his hat a little farther down, and gave his newest freeloader a look.

"Ichigo-san seems to have taken a liking to it."

He whirled, and finding Ichigo no longer there, bolted to the room, only to stop in the doorway, tail swishing as he bit his lip at the expression on Ichigo's face.

"I am sorry, mein shatz. I did not mean for yoo to see zhis," he murmured gently as he padded in to kneel next to the body with him.

"I never got te say g'bye." The voice was all Eamonn, but it was clear that the two souls were in conjuction over it. "They wouldne... Ryota an' Carlos, they held m' back. T'was te dang'rous te go afta ye. I couldne talk fer t'ree days fer screamin'. Why'd ye do it, Güntar? Why'd ye shove me out teh way? I could've died wit' ya."

He looked up, the brown of his eyes soft and reddened with tears.

Tired blue eyes rose to his, and he smiled sadly. "You really have'ta ask?" He swallowed thickly, painfully, and reached up to wipe away the tear tracks with one softly furred palm. "You were th'only thing keepin' me sane out there. Ya were the one bright spot in m'life, a life where m'sister was dying, an' m'mother takin' care of 'er far away from me. I wasn't even sure I'd be able t'throw ya far 'nough...but I hadda try. 'Cuz I love ya, idjit. I loved ya then, an' I still love ya now. Can't ask me t'watch th'man I love die when I gotta chance t'save 'im. Aye?"

He fought down the lump in his throat. Now was not a time to break down. Even if it hurt worse than the beam that had punched through his middle.

"No! Ye left me t'live wit' teh bint wot was runnin' 'round on me like I was some culchie she could tak' fer a lamb! Wit' ye I was happy! An' now 'ere she comes sniffin' 'round teh boyo like'n te git 'im in teh same fix I'as in b'fer ye came 'long! Ye selfish, gobshite! Ye t'ink I don't see ye sniffin' 'round like sommat crawled up ye nose an' tak'd a shite?! Was a time where ye'd've swept me off m'feet an' made off wit' me like a wild t'ing!" Eamonn-as-Ichigo cuffed him, "I may not 'ave all o' me mem'ries in place, but I know enough te know t'ings make sense when yer 'round. Regardless o' what m'da an' teh ot'ers t'ink."

His ears straightened up for the first time all day. "Ya mean it? Fer real? I mean- yer not th'same. I ain't gonna sweep ya off yer feet as though ya are the same man ya were unless tha's what'cha wan'. I've changed too, Eamonn. M'not th'man ya loved anymore. I'm...well fuck, I'm a Hollow!" He slapped the air in his missing stomach for emphasis. "I don' know if ya would...or why ya'd wanna...still be wit' me."

"Well... let's jest keep teh eatin' te goin' down on me an' not actually chewin', aye?"

Ichigo's cheeks enflamed at what his mouth was saying, but the twinkle in his eyes was somewhere between promiscuous coal miner and on-the-verge-of-his-sexuality teenaged soul reaper.

"Oi, even after a hundred years ya din't think I'd ferget how NOT t'bite, do ya? There'll be no chewin'...but plenny o' tastin'," he promised with a wicked smirk, leaning in to kiss his nose playfully.

Within Ichigo's mind there was a warming, like the sunshine coming out from behind the clouds on a chilly day, and the redhead wrapped his arms around Grimmjow's neck, he murmured into one of the long, green-furred, ears, "Cúram do buachaill, mo chroí; mo shíorghrá."

There was a subtle change in the reiatsu, just a shiver, like the sensation of a stone settling into place to form a solid seal. Ichigo's arms tensed a little, a nervousness hovering in the middle of the embrace, and he held his breath, waiting for something. He kept his eyes closed because he couldn't stand to see what he knew he'd see, and the bottom of his stomach felt like it was filled with lead.

Grimmjow nuzzled into Ichigo's cheek, holding him about the waist softly as he felt the reiatsu ripple. And entirely against his will, tears began leaking from under his lids.

"He's gone, int'e? Fer good this time?"

"M'sorry."

He hugged him a little tighter, a little harder up against heirro-reinforced iron muscle, Adam's apple bobbing as he pushed his face into the orange hair and inhaled his scent. "S'ok. M'pretty sure after hangin' round this long, he figgered he's done what he can. He never was one t'lollygag when it was time t'go," he said a bit wistfully, tears still dripping down his chin.

It was just as Ichigo tightened his own grip, holding the Arrancar close while he cried, that the door burst open with a flare of angry reiatsu, and freezing cold.

"Just what do you think you're doing to Ichigo, Hollow!"

The redhead whipped around, glaring, but before he could open his mouth, the petite Shinigami had drawn her sword, calling her shikai and prepared to slice the former Espada down where he still had his arms wrapped around Ichigo's waist.

Grimmjow did what was instinctive to him- two things, in fact. First, he poured all his reiatsu into his heirro, like he'd seen Nnoitra do to enhance his.

Then he whirled his body around, flipping them both and presenting his armor-plated back to the blade, snarling when it shoved through and using his legs to push Ichigo out of the path of it should it come entirely through his body, which, a second or two later, it did.

"The feck you think you're doing, Rukia!?" The Visored growled, a touch of Hollow under his voice colored with the infamous Irish temper.

He didn't even think before he'd flash stepped between his friend and... his... well... Grimmjow. He'd sort out what the feline was to him when this was over. His hand grabbed Sode no Shirayuki's blade and broke the ice of it. He knew from sparring with Toshiro that it wouldn't actually hurt the zanpakutou, but it would make Rukia take a step back. Unfortunately, he didn't realize to what extent the small fukutaicho was worried for him. Because she did move backwards, but she didn't back down.

"I won't have him brainwashing you with some kind of whatever this is that's got you acting so weird!" She matched him nearly at the same level of ferocity.

"He isn't the one doing anything! If anything he's the one that's been helping me sort it out!"

"I don't believe that for a second. Ever since the celebration in Soul Society you've been weird. Drinking, smoking, talking with strange voices in your head. The last time that happened you were almost eaten from the inside out! And he," she jabbed her broken blade at Grimmjow, "used to be an enemy! How do we know that he hasn't decided to back to his old ways now that his home land is out from under the Quincy!?"

Grimmjow rolled onto his side, and he couldn't help himself- he knew he shouldn't, he knew it'd incite her rage more, but he started to laugh. It hurt, and it made te blood spurt, but he couldn't stop once it started- it was hysterical laughter, the kind that rose in pitch and desperation in equal measure as he laughed harder and louder until he ran out of air to laugh with. Even then he couldn't quite stop for another minute or two, shaking and pressing his hand to his wound.

Because, and she naturally had no idea, the fact was he had gone back to his 'old ways'- just not the way the shinigami popsicle bitch meant! He'd gone back to his old accent, his old memories, he'd slid himself right back into his beloved's life like he belonged, just like he had when he was alive. Thinking about it started him off again, but he still wasn't recovered so it dissolved into an intense coughing fit after only a few expulsions of air.

Rukia looked like he'd gone crazy, and Ichigo put his hand to head in an all too familiar gesture, a smile pulling at his lips.

"'Ave ye lost yer mind, leannán?"

"Aaaaagh, I zhink I 'ave, shatz. I zhink eet ist somvere doun a mine-shaft. Mebbe even zhe deepest vun," he grinned back, eyes glittering. "Zhe canary, she fly off vitzh eet."

"Urhara-san...?"

Rukia stepped back, dismissing her shikai, watching the two of them warily. She held her sword at the ready like she didn't quite trust either of them, and nearly tripping over Renji, who was just outside the door, she bolted for the shopkeeper like the rabbit she always drew. After a moment of debate the Sixth's fukutaicho followed his childhood friend, calling her name, but the rest was lost to Ichigo's ears as he turned fully back to Grimmjow.

He offered his hand to help the feline to his feet, a nervous smile on his face.

Grimmjow grasped it in his and hauled himself to his paws. "She's right, in a vay. I 'ave returned to my 'old vays'," he snickered. "It vas so fachink funny I couldn' 'elp it." He brushed off his thighs and pressed a hand back to the hole in his armor again. "But mebbe we oughta get zhis seen to, ja?"

Ichigo rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the gigai. "Gri-uh... Güntar, I guess, right?" He glanced up then back down again, nervous because even though he had the memories, they weren't really his memories. "I know... you and Eamonn... we... were... but I don't... I mean... do you think we could..." He scrubbed his face with a growl, hating that he sounded so insecure. "Can we start over?!"

"Yeah. We can start over, don' worry 'bout it. I'm not really Güntar anymore. Ain't been since m'soul chain ate me. An' I ate yer wife's lover." He snorted. "Who then wen' on t'turn out more fuckin' powerful than me, talk 'bout irony. Palefaced black'aired son of a bitch. But yeah, we c'n start new." He reached up and petted his cheek gently, careful of the claws he'd yet to dismiss.

The redhead smiled, and turned his head into the touch that was both familiar and not, "Good. Is tú mo ghrá, leannan."

Grimmjow leaned their foreheads together and smiled back, eyes closing. "Ich leibe dich, mein schatz. An' nothin' can change that."

A/N: Translations! ((As usual, if you are a native speaker and I have it wrong, please tell me? ^_^0))

"A chuisle mo chroí, cronaím thú." - "Pulse of my heart, I miss you."

"Cúram do buachaill, mo chroí; mo shíorghrá." - "Care for the boy, my heart; my eternal love."

"Is tú mo ghrá, leannan." - "I love you, Lover."

"Ich leibe dich, mein schatz." - "I love you, my treasure."