Author's Note:

I apologize for the terrible length of time between updates; life has been crazy recently. First I had finals, and the weeks leading up them, which were insanely stressful. Then my shiny new laptop decided to turn into a brick, the day after finals were done. At least it waited until after finals, right? This chapter was written on my iPad, so I hope there aren't too many errors; my laptop will be an expensive paperweight for the next few weeks, at least. Once I get it back, I hope to return to a semi-regular update schedule, so please be patient with me!

Thank you to scarletsaber, LittleFoxDemon, and Kimikozumi for their lovely reviews! Also, major thanks to Nova Alexandria, who not only left a review, but was kind enough to point out errors I'd been making when describing the Japanese school system. It's thanks to her that a few elements of this chapter exist (hopefully I got them right this time).

If anyone is curious about the math problems Ichigo is trying to solve at the beginning of the chapter, leave a review/send me a PM and I can explain. If not, enjoy the chapter!

Chapter 6: Mean Value Theorem

"Alright, class. You may turn over your papers and begin working. You have fifty minutes, starting now."

Ichigo flipped over the test and stared blankly down at the first problem. Use the Taylor series for sin(x) to find the bound on the error when estimating sin(0.1), assuming that the series is truncated to R5. He frowned, tapping his pencil against the paper. Let's see. The Taylor series for sin(x) has the even exponents, right? No, wait, that's cosine. Sine has odd exponents. He scribbled the first few terms of the series on the paper before pausing to nibble on the end of his pencil. I know I know this. He'd completed at least a dozen error estimation problems the prior night; he could practically see the page of the textbook describing the process. The formula had been halfway down the page, enclosed in a pale blue box. Why can I visualize the damn box, but not the formula itself?

The scrape of chair legs distracted him from his musings. Ichigo glanced back in time to see Grimmjow tip his chair back and swing his legs up onto his borrowed desk, interlacing his fingers behind his head. The substitute soul reaper groaned quietly. Does he really have that low of a tolerance for boredom? Barely five minutes had passed since the start of the test. He could at least pretend to be working.

Fujimoto-sensei glanced up and narrowed her eyes. "Jaegerjaquez-san, sit properly," she ordered curtly.

Grimmjow heaved an audible sigh and dragged his legs off his desk, returning to a slouched position in his chair. "Stupid human rules," he muttered under his breath. For a moment, Ichigo entertained the forlorn hope that his teacher hadn't heard, but no such luck.

Fujimoto-sensei stalked over to Grimmjow's desk and propped her hands on her hips. "Do you have something to say, Jaegerjaquez-san?" Students surreptitiously swiveled their heads to watch, and the espada mumbled a no. She sighed. "Because you're new, I won't send you to the principal's office this time, but I expect you to behave yourself for the rest of the class. Understood?" He nodded sullenly. "Good."

Silence reigned for another ten minutes, in which Ichigo managed to solve two problems and decide that he had no hope of figuring out a third. He had just started work on Problem 4 – find the bounds where the alternating geometric series converges, or prove that it diverges everywhere – when he heard a soft hiss from behind him. "Hey! Kurosaki!" The tone was unmistakably Grimmjow's.

Ichigo groaned. What now? He threw a glare over his shoulder, silently ordering Grimmjow to be quiet, then turned back to his test. First things first: I need to prove that the terms of the series decrease as the series gets longer. Thankfully, that was easy to do for the alternating geometric series.

"Kurosaki!" Apparently deciding that Ichigo hadn't heard him, Grimmjow spoke louder this time.

"Shut up!" Ichigo hissed, glancing furtively over his shoulder. "Not now!" The former sexta's eyes glowed with an odd mixture of eagerness and frustration, but Ichigo wasn't in the mood to figure out why. The only thing he cared about at the moment was passing his math test – unless Aizen had broken out of prison and massacred the Gotei 13, he didn't want to hear about it. Grimmjow's boredom was nowhere on the list of things he was willing to deal with.

Grimmjow huffed and rolled his eyes, infuriated by Ichigo's casual dismissal. The substitute soul reaper's head was bowed over his test, orange hair falling in messy waves around his face as he deliberately shut out the rest of the world. Grimmjow grinned. Tearing the corner off of his blank test and rolling it into a ball, he flicked it at Ichigo.

The orange-haired teen yelped as the paper struck him in the back of the neck. "Damn it, Grimmjow," he growled, spinning in his seat to fix the espada with a livid stare. "Can't you behave for a freaking hour?"

"Kurosaki-san, no talking," Fujimoto-sensei warned, glancing up from her desk.

Grimmjow's next spitball sailed past Ichigo's ear and plopped onto her desk.

"Alright, that's enough!" Ichigo froze as the normally mild-mannered teacher rose with a face like thunder. "Kurosaki-san, Jaegerjaquez-san, report to the principal's office immediately." She shook her head sadly. "Kurosaki-san, I expect better from you." Ichigo winced. He actually liked Fujimoto-sensei, though he despised her class. She was always willing to answer his questions, and she had been incredibly patient with him as he struggled to catch up. But now her mouth was pressed into a thin, disapproving line, and her expression lacked any hint of warmth. Ichigo sighed. Damn it, Grimmjow. He scowled as he swept his pencil and calculator into his bag, yanking it over his shoulder and slouching towards the door. Grimmjow followed, looking vaguely guilty, and Ichigo's hands clenched. If I fail this class because of this, I swear you'll regret it.

"I'm going to kill you," Ichigo muttered for the tenth time, moodily kicking the hard wooden bench with his heel. "If I get suspended or fail my math class, it's all your fault."

Grimmjow folded his arms and slouched lower on the bench. "Shut up, Kurosaki," he snarled halfheartedly. They had been sitting outside the principal's office for nearly twenty minutes while Ichigo's temper slowly boiled over, and Grimmjow was sick of it. Ordinarily, he'd welcome a fight, but not like this. Pissing off the teen was one thing; it made the combat more enjoyable for both of them. But he didn't like the true undertone of fury lurking in Ichigo's reiatsu, nor the quiet sense of worry that the substitute shinigami was doing his best to hide. It's just a stupid math test; why is he so upset?

"You know, there really…" he started, trying yet again to point out that he hadn't meant to get Ichigo in trouble.

"Shut up."

Grimmjow hissed audibly, showing his canines. Fine. Be that way. If Ichigo wanted to ignore the arrancar that might or might not be hovering over the school, that was his prerogative. He can stew in his own ignorance if he wants to. He scowled. But he doesn't have to bite my head off when I try to tell him what I sensed.

Not that he had sensed much. Arietta, despite her numerous flaws, was skilled at hiding her presence. But I'm pretty sure that I felt a flare of her reiatsu. That by itself wouldn't be cause for alarm; she was too weak to be a significant threat, and too cunning to attack when at a disadvantage. There's no way she'd challenge a group comprised of me, Ichigo, that quincy, and the rest of the powerful humans around here. Every arrancar in Hueco Mundo knew about the group that had demolished half of Las Noches in the process of rescuing their friend, and no one wanted to tangle with them alone.

The problem is, I don't think the bitch is alone. There had been a second flare of reiatsu shortly after the first, noticeable only because Grimmjow had been on high alert after sensing Arietta. Even with his senses fully extended, he'd almost missed it; the power limiter tattooed on his shoulder severely limited his pesquisa.

Grimmjow ran his finger over the spiky black markings, frowning. I couldn't tell who it was, but it felt familiar. It was definitely an arrancar, though. The oily energy of a high-level hollow, mixed with a touch of acidic shinigami power, was unmistakable. Probably one of the idiots who thought they could defeat me, and now wants revenge.

In retrospect, he had been foolish to leave any of his enemies alive, but he had harbored a faint hope of rebuilding his pack. All of his fraccion had been enemies at one point, before he had taken control, but they had been loyal to him once he defeated them. There was no shame in finding a powerful leader to follow – survival was far easier with a group. Even Barragan had fraccion. Only Starrk had been essentially alone, and that was due to his overwhelming spiritual pressure. And he still had Lilynette, though she wasn't really a fraccion. Loners died quickly on the bloodstained sands.

Unfortunately, none of the arrancar who he'd defeated had been interested in following him. After he'd eaten a chunk of them, they'd been no threat, so he'd left them alone. Maybe I'm getting soft. Maybe he should have killed them all once they declined his offer. But no, I'm as foolish as the morons who think they can defeat me just cause I'm injured. He rubbed his aching shoulder and wrinkled his nose. I'm strong, I'm powerful, I don't need them… I don't need anyone.

"Kurosaki-san, Jaegerjaquez-san, the principal will see you now." The mousy secretary poked her head out of the office, giving them a sympathetic smile as she waved them in. Ichigo grumbled something under his breath as he strode through the doorway, permanent scowl fixed firmly on his face. Grimmjow rolled his eyes and followed, dragging his feet. This whole school thing is starting to feel just like Las Noches.

The principal even had the same supercilious look as Aizen, as though he knew best and wanted to make sure that everyone knew it. gHe smiled genially at Ichigo when he entered, motioning for him to take a seat in one of the plastic chairs in front of his imposing oak desk. Then his eyes landed on Grimmjow. "You must be the exchange student Urahara-san told me about," he exclaimed, holding out a hand for Grimmjow to shake. "It's a pleasure to meet another one of Urahara-san's prodigies."

Prodigies? Grimmjow blinked dazedly as he accepted the principal's hand. His grip was warm and firm as he smiled at Grimmjow with the open, honest gaze of a born con man. What does he mean, prodigies? And how does he know Urahara? Ichigo looked as stunned as Grimmjow felt, which was hardly reassuring. Beneath the tasteful cologne, the man smelled entirely human, with no spiritual pressure worth mentioning, so he couldn't be one of the enigmatic scientist's agents. So who is he? Did he know what Grimmjow was?

If he did, he showed absolutely no sign of it. "Please, Jaegerjaquez-san, take a seat. This won't take long." Grimmjow perched on the edge of the uncomfortable chair, legs curled beneath him and ready to pounce, and the principal smiled paternally. "I understand that you two were sent here by Fujimoto-sensei?"

Ichigo grimaced. "Yes sir." He cast a disparaging glance at Grimmjow, but refrained from saying anything more.

The principal's smile grew strained. "Would you care to elaborate, Kurosaki-san?"

Ichigo's shoulders slumped as he sighed. Throwing another frustrated glance in Grimmjow's direction, he gave the principal a terse explanation of the mess in math class. There wasn't much to tell, but his cheeks were crimson with humiliation by the time he finished. Grimmjow winced. He'd been in that position before, when Aizen had called him up in front of the espada and ordered him to explain his actions, and he had always hated it. Judging by Ichigo's expression, he found it equally painful.

When the awkward recitation finished, the principal – Grimmjow still didn't know his name – sighed. "Kurosaki-san, I thought you told me that your days of getting in fights were over." Grimmjow suspected that he wanted to sound fatherly, but he mostly came across as condescending.

"They are, sir," Ichigo muttered, folding his arms over his chest and prodding the floor with a toe. Grimmjow smirked. So, Ichigo had been a troublemaker when he was younger? No surprise there. He's born to fight. But the principal was obviously clueless if he thought that Ichigo had stopped brawling entirely. No, he's just got more interesting opponents now… like me.

The principal nodded. "Good, good. So this won't happen again." It wasn't a question. As Ichigo nodded slowly, the principal turned to Grimmjow. "Jaegerjaquez-san, I must say that I am disappointed. Urahara-san assured me that your time here would be productive, yet I find you already in trouble. Would you care to explain yourself?"

There it was again, that mention of Urahara. Grimmjow frowned. What had the former captain told the principal? It couldn't have been the truth, unless the man was a superb actor; everything in his manner suggested that he was simply reprimanding a student. So he must believe I'm a German exchange student, apparently a prodigy according to Urahara. And I guess I'm not the first one who's shown up here. Maybe shinigami also went undercover at the school, though Grimmjow had no idea why they would bother.

The principal eyed Grimmjow expectantly, and the former sexta sighed. "Sorry, sir. It won't happen again." It was what he told Aizen every time the megalomaniac shinigami was irritated with him.

Aizen had never liked the response, though, and it seemed like the principal didn't either. "Jaegerjaquez-san…" he sighed, rubbing his temples with his index fingers. "If you were truly sorry, you wouldn't have done it in the first place."

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. Of course I'm not sorry, I just want you to stop talking. It was tempting to say that out loud, but he suspected that Ichigo would slaughter him if he did so. For some reason, he didn't want to make the substitute shinigami to be furious with him, though a certain level of irritation was enjoyable. Yeah, I really am getting soft. But ignoring his instincts never ended well, so he kept his mouth shut.

The principal sighed again, steepling his hands in front of his face. "I cannot let this go unpunished," he informed both of them. "I want you two to spend an extra hour today cleaning the school and grounds; I expect them to be spotless once you're done. Feel free to spend longer if necessary – it will work off some of that excess energy you clearly have." He favored them with a wry smile. "Kurosaki-san, I'm sure Fujimoto-sensei will allow you to complete your test after you finish cleaning." Ichigo bit back a grimace.

A tantalizingly faint flare of reiatsu made Grimmjow's head jerk up. Ichigo narrowed his eyes, while the principal, oblivious, blathered on about the value of hard work and discipline. Grimmjow tuned him out, expanding his pesquisa in an attempt to trace the spirit energy before it dissipated. Come on, where are you? The miasma of spiritual pressure around the school impeded his senses, obscuring the trail and hiding the rapidly-vanishing flare. Grimmjow's fists clenched. Yet again, he couldn't tell who was out there or where they were.

"You okay?" Ichigo muttered out of the corner of his mouth. Grimmjow nodded shortly. Ichigo gave him a skeptical look, but turned his attention back to the principal in time to give a "Yes, sir" in response to the man's latest question.

The principal stood, offering a hand to Ichigo, and Grimmjow realized that the meeting was over. He shifted impatiently from foot to foot as Ichigo and the principal exchanged pleasantries, practically snarling as it dragged on, until the principal finally dismissed them. The foreign spiritual pressure danced on the edge of his perception, making him twitch like sand fleas had invaded his fur; the sensation only grew worse as they walked through the school.

Finally Ichigo snapped, "Okay, what's up?"

"I don't know!" Grimmjow whirled and threw a punch into the wall. "There's something out there, but I can't sense it clearly, and it's driving me crazy!" It almost felt like the strange presence, whatever it was, was taunting him. He wouldn't put it past Arietta to do something like that, but the reiatsu didn't hold her scent. No, it's someone else, I think. Though she might be mixed up in it too.

Ichigo winced as the tiled wall fractured. "We just got out of the principal's office, do you really want to return?"

Grimmjow growled wordlessly and stalked down the hallway. "And now it's gone." The spiritual pressure had vanished as if it had never existed, and any remaining traces were buried under the combined reiatsu of all the powerful humans around. "Why the hell can't any of you control your damn spiritual pressure?" It was an unfair accusation, and he knew it, but that didn't damp his frustration.

"You're not doing such a good job of that either," Ichigo returned dryly. "If not for the power limiter Hat and Clogs gave you, your reiatsu would be visible for miles."

Grimmjow blinked in surprise, coming to an abrupt halt. Taking stock of his energy output, he realized that Ichigo was right – his reiatsu raged around him in a furious storm constrained only by the power limiter. He was pleased to feel how much it had recovered, but his lack of control embarrassed him. If he'd lost control like that in Hueco Mundo, he'd practically be begging to get attacked. Hastily pulling his reiatsu back under his skin, he muttered a gruff "Shut up" and hurried down the corridor.

Ichigo snorted. "Where are you going? We've still got Geography, then it's time for o soji." At Grimmjow's confused look, he explained, "Everyone spends a bit of time to clean the school." He made a face. "And then we've got more cleaning, I guess, though I don't know what we're supposed to do for that. Maybe clean up the chem labs or something."

Grimmjow reluctantly turned his steps in the direction of Ichigo's classroom, pace slowing noticeably. "Do we have to? I bet no one would notice if we left after everyone else leaves." Cleaning had always been the job of lesser arrancar, not espada.

A sardonic smile tugged at Ichigo's lips. "Trust me, they'd notice. Almost no one leaves school after o soji; everyone has mandatory club meetings and extracurriculars. Unless you want to hang out here for an extra couple hours…" He spread his hands.

"Mandatory clubs, mandatory cleaning, mandatory classes… don't you people ever get to do anything for fun?" Even the espada had been able to manage their own time, as long as they finished their missions for Aizen. Grimmjow tended to spend his free time brawling or flirting, but apparently neither was acceptable here. Stupid human customs. It was becoming a constant refrain. Of course, he could just ignore them, but for some reason that idea didn't appeal to him.

"Don't complain. It's your fault we're in this mess," Ichigo snapped, running his fingers through his hair. "If not for your inability to sit still for five minutes, we wouldn't have to spend an extra hour cleaning today. I swear, you're worse than a toddler."

Grimmjow bridled. "I am not!" He gave Ichigo a shove, sending the orange-haired teen stumbling. "I'm no cub, and I had something important to tell you, okay?" Flattening his palm against Ichigo's chest, he pinned the substitute shinigami against the wall. "If you'd just listened, rather than ignoring me, we wouldn't have gotten in trouble!" By the time he reached the end of the sentence, his face was only a foot away from Ichigo's.

Ichigo folded his arms and glared at Grimmjow, unperturbed by the espada's proximity. "The middle of a math test is a terrible time to tell me anything, moron!" he snarled back, eyes flashing. "Next time, wait until it's over!" He pushed Grimmjow's hand away, and the former sexta let it fall to his side.

"Yeah, because the arrancar outside will happily wait till you're done with your stupid test," he sneered. "Or would you rather get ambushed without warning?" Not that he truly thought the latter had been likely; the reiatsu flare had been too faint for that. But he didn't understand how Ichigo could prioritize a test over knowledge of possible danger – it was an incredibly foolhardy decision.

Ichigo's eyes narrowed. "You wanted to warn me about arrancar outside?" he asked slowly.

"Duh," Grimmjow drawled, borrowing the human expression from Jinta. "I told you I had something important to tell you."

"So why didn't you tell me that earlier?" Ichigo snapped, ducking around Grimmjow and resuming his walk towards his classroom. "Don't you think that would have been useful to know earlier?"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. "I tried, but you wouldn't let me," he pointed out. Ichigo hesitated, and Grimmjow grabbed his arm. "Plus, by the time I got the chance, I couldn't sense them anymore." He hated to admit that, but it was the truth. There would have been no point in warning Ichigo about a nonexistent threat, especially when Grimmjow hadn't been positive that it had ever existed in the first place. Damn Urahara and his damn power limiter. I want Pantera back, dammit! I want to be whole again. His hand drifted towards his hip, and he grimaced. I hate feeling this fucking powerless; it sucks. His nerve endings vibrated with the need for release; he felt like he'd been injected with one of Szayel's vile pepper-up potions. His regenerating spirit energy, trapped by the power limiter, clawed at the inside of his skin as it tried to escape.

When he felt this antsy in the desert, he'd find someone to fight or fuck, and take the edge off the sensation that way. But I'm not going to get that anytime soon. At least not the latter. He might be able to draw Ichigo into another sparring match, which would satisfy the former urge for a time.

Ichigo, oblivious to Grimmjow's internal musings, nibbled on his lower lip. "And you can't sense them now, either." He closed his eyes and Grimmjow felt a rising tide of dark spiritual pressure flow past him. The hollow-infused power sparked against his skin like static electricity, sending heat straight to his groin; he inhaled sharply and gritted his teeth. Kurosaki, what the hell do you think you're doing? It wasn't his fault that Grimmjow was on edge, but that flood of reiatsu was like waving a steak in front of a starving lion. What was worse, Ichigo clearly had no idea of the effect he was having. Fuck, kid, I swear to the kami…

Thankfully, Ichigo furled his power after an agonizingly long moment. "I can't feel anything right now, either, but I'll keep an eye out," he declared. He offered Grimmjow a quick smile. "Thanks." Pulling out of Grimmjow's grip, he strode down the hall, leaving Grimmjow staring after him with a flustered expression. Does he really… Is he really that fucking oblivious?

When Grimmjow found himself looking for excuses to brush up against Ichigo as they slogged through their hour of cleaning, he growled internally. Stop it, he ordered himself, resisting the urge to leer at Ichigo's butt as the teen bent over to empty a trash can. This is stupid, and you know it. He wasn't interested in an unwilling partner, and Ichigo had shown no signs of interest. Besides, I just need a quick, hard fuck to get this rid of this pressure, and then I'll be fine. I can get that anywhere. He was only fixating on Ichigo because the substitute shinigami was both powerful and nearby. His innocent attractiveness didn't hurt either. Still, I don't care. He's a shinigami, remember? He'll always be your enemy. The reminder did little to dampen his libido.

Thankfully, the grimy task took care of most of that. By the time they were done, Grimmjow's back ached and his hands were caked with dirt. "This is disgusting," he complained, making a face at the pile of dirty cleaning rags. They had been scrubbing down the gear used by the physical education classes, which had left the stench of sweat ingrained in his skin; he desperately wanted to shed his gigai and leave the noisome human world far behind him.

Ichigo looked as grumpy as he felt. Sweat matted his hair into spikes, and a smudge of dirt on his cheekbone made him look like he'd been punched. "Again, this is your fault," he reminded Grimmjow acidly. "Be glad it's only an hour."

"Even cleaning Urahara's shop wasn't this bad," Grimmjow muttered, swiping a hand across his forehead. The smell of failed experiments was far preferable to the reek of sweaty teenagers, and the shoten had been mercifully free of giggling onlookers. Grimmjow bared his teeth at the trio of boys from the kendo club lounging nearby. Stupid humans, thinking they're oh so superior. I'm a king, dammit! They have no right to laugh at me.

The rational part of his mind tried to point out that the boys were paying no attention to them, and were probably laughing at something else, but he ignored it. He was hot, tired, and frustrated; he didn't have to listen to reason.

"Can you sense anything?" Ichigo asked abruptly. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he cast furtive glances at the groups of students lingering nearby.

Grimmjow frowned. "No," he started. Then he paused. "Actually…" There was something out there, like a sound pitched slightly too high to register in normal hearing. It made the skin on the back of his neck itch, but he couldn't get a clear fix on it. He snarled. "Nothing recognizable."

Ichigo nibbled on his lower lip, staring around with a pensive expression. "Damn." Stooping low, he gathered an armload of athletic equipment, and sighed. "Come on, let's put this stuff back."

The inside of the supply closet was cramped and dark, lit only by a flickering fluorescent lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. The air tasted like dust and stale sweat, but Grimmjow found his attention caught by the unique scent carried by Ichigo's reiatsu. In the tight confines of the tiny room, it felt almost overwhelming. He hastily dumped his load of gear in the proper bin and backed up until his shoulder blades hit the wall, ignoring the instincts that urged him to do otherwise. He's a shinigami, dammit!

Ichigo lifted an eyebrow at his odd behavior, but said nothing. Silence reigned for a long moment as the substitute shinigami arranged the equipment in the bins, staring at it with an abstract gaze that suggested his mind was somewhere far away. Grimmjow could see his lips moving, but he didn't say anything until he placed the last lacrosse face mask onto a shelf. Then he sighed. "Could you… would you be able to sense more if your powers weren't restrained?"

"Duh," Grimmjow snorted. "But I don't think your scientist friend would be willing to take off the limiter."

"Probably not," Ichigo admitted, slumping against a large crate. "I hate the idea that we're being watched, though." He tapped his fingers on his leg, scowling.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. "Your powers aren't restrained. Why can't you sense them?" Any halfway competent shinigami with more than a drop of reiatsu ought to be able to detect the presence of an arrancar or two.

"I've never been very good at that," Ichigo admitted sheepishly.

Grimmjow barked a laugh, prowling closer to the embarrassed teenager. "Captain-class shinigami and you can't even sense a measly arrancar?" he taunted.

Ichigo's spiritual pressure flared with annoyance, and Grimmjow sucked in a breath. "Shut up," Ichigo snarled, pushing himself off of the crate to stand nose-to-nose with Grimmjow. "You're not doing any better!"

Grimmjow was too busy imagining what Ichigo's skin would taste like to reply. The dark reiatsu swirling around them sent sparks through his bloodstream; his own spirit energy rose in response. As Ichigo's ire faded to puzzlement, Grimmjow took a shaky breath. Maybe teasing him wasn't such a good idea… The young vizard's reiatsu was as intoxicating as a shot of pure whiskey. Grimmjow's canines ached, urging him to sink his teeth into the nearest bit of bare skin.

He took a small step forward. "Grimmjow?" Ichigo asked hoarsely. A faint tinge of pink stained his cheeks, but he didn't back away. "Are you…"

Whatever else he had planned on saying vanished beneath a startled squeak as Grimmjow slanted his mouth across Ichigo's. For a brief second, Ichigo's lips softened beneath Grimmjow's, sending fire through the espada's nerve endings. Then Ichigo yelped and pulled away. "What the hell?" Without waiting for an answer, he yanked the door open and stormed away.

Grimmjow shrugged ruefully. He'll punch me later, but that was totally worth it. Adjusting his slacks into a more comfortable position, he hurried after the substitute shinigami. Shinigami or not, he tastes delicious. He swiped his tongue over his lips and grinned. Yep, delicious. Now, if I can just convince him to mess around, I can get this stupid attraction out of my blood, and everything can go back to normal.

"You are an arrogant, selfish moron!" Grimmjow rubbed his temple as the shout pierced through his aching head, glaring up at Ichigo, who had sent him to the ground moments before with a nasty hook punch.

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it," he sneered back, levering himself to his feet. He could already feel a bruise forming on his temple, but it would heal before the day was over.

Ichigo crossed his arms over his chest. "Keep dreaming. Maybe if you'd asked first, but no… you couldn't be bothered." His fists clenched like he was considering hitting Grimmjow again, and the espada took a prudent step backwards. "Did you ever consider that I might not want you to kiss me?"

Grimmjow's eyes narrowed. He couldn't be sure, but it sounded like Ichigo would have been receptive to his advances if he had asked first. Okay then, I'll try that next time. The substitute shinigami hadn't drawn Zangetsu and sliced him into pieces, at least, so there was a chance. "Sorry?" he offered.

Ichigo rolled his eyes, letting his hands relax. "No, you're not," he muttered. "Goddamn arrogant espada." Grimmjow shrugged. Can't really argue there. He knew his own strengths and weaknesses, and arrogance – though he preferred to call it confidence – was certainly among them. Ichigo sighed. "Just don't do it again, okay?"

"Sure." I'll ask first, anyway. He didn't want to be turned into an espada fillet, after all.

"I guess that's good…" Ichigo began. Then he froze. A wave of gleeful reiatsu poured over them, making the hair on Grimmjow's spine rise. If he'd been in his resurrection form, his fur would have been standing on end – never a pleasant sensation under armor. In the human gigai, without Pantera or his powers, he felt as helpless as a newborn cub.

"Do you feel that?" he hissed, hand groping for a nonexistent sword. He knew there was no point in asking – Ichigo's expression told him the answer – but the words escaped him anyway.

Ichigo nodded. "Yep." He glanced around. "Your friend again?" He didn't sound worried, but his hand lingered near the pocket that held his substitute shinigami badge.

Grimmjow bared his teeth, fingers clenching and unclenching as though he could summon his claws just by wishing. "Probably."

Before he could say more, a voice cackled, "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"