Disclaimer: Clearly, I don't own these persons, places, or things. You're reading this on a site devoted to fan fiction, remember?

Mini-Summary: Las Noches is well stocked, but there are some things that just can't be found there, including certain "human products" that Orihime claims she can't live without. With a sick Grimmjow on one hand and a shopping list in the other, what's an Octava Espada to do?

Bringing up the rear of the progression, Szayel looked ahead of him in the loose formation of Espada making their way toward the meeting room, keeping an eye out for blue hair. Nothing. He frowned. This was not a good thing, and Szayel almost turned around to fetch his nominal patient. Even sick Espada had to be at meetings. Aizen had not been pleased with him when he'd given his report after the 'hide and seek' incident, and Szayel had been warned to keep a closer eye on Grimmjow until he was fully recovered, rebellious or no.

Szayel hadn't seen the Sexta Espada since. He'd left the human-made medicine on a small table in Grimmjow's room along with an explanatory note two days ago, but it seemed Grimmjow was either sulking somewhere or taking the game too seriously... still.

As he filed into the room, he wished he'd been a bit faster and managed a spot nearer the middle of the group. Being safely unmemorable in the middle was the way to go, at least until Aizen's disapproval cooled and he went back to being the scientist/medic Espada instead of the Espada who had royally fucked up his patient. As he slid into his seat, he noticed Grimmjow already slumped forward at the table with his head buried in his arms.

Szayel let out a teeny sigh of relief that he wouldn't have Grimmjow's absence from a meeting added to the list of crap he was somehow responsible for. It was enough that he'd inadvertently caused mental trauma in the lower ranks. He didn't need more blame on his plate.

The gathered Espada only waited a minute or two before Aizen arrived, flanked as usual by his two stolen captains. He made his way to the table and sat, sweeping their faces with his eyes. Szayel barely managed to avoid a wince when Aizen paused on him, and was temporarily relieved when those eyes settled on Grimmjow instead.

"I'm pleased you could make it, Grimmjow," Aizen said by way of greeting. There was no response.

Szayel closed his eyes and silently begged someone to kick his patient under the table. Of all the Espada whose actions he could be responsible for, Grimmjow was probably the worst. Szayel could almost feel his number being burned off and given to another arrancar. "It-it's probably the medicine, Aizen-s-sama," he stammered. He didn't want to be Privaron, and that third digit felt closer than he was comfortable with.

Aizen continued to observe the slumbering Espada with something akin to amusement. "We'll begin, regardless." He motioned to his left, and Ulquiorra cleared his throat.

"It has come to my attention, Aizen-sama," the Cuarta Espada began in his typically reserved demeanor, "that the woman, Inoue Orihime, will require certain ... human products in addition to her food."

"Human products?" Nnoitra sneered. "What exactly are those supposed to be?"

Ulquiorra blinked at the interruption, but otherwise did not respond. "She has made a list of the items she would like purchased on her behalf." He produced a folded piece of lavender paper from his sash and laid it in front of Aizen before settling back in his seat.

Aizen plucked up the paper and unfolded it, scanning the list blankly. "And your--"

He was interrupted by soft, wet coughing to his right, and for a moment, everyone's attention was on Grimmjow, whose shoulders shook faintly with each cough. The ill Espada choked on a few indrawn breaths, but eventually settled down into a more regular, if thready and shallow, breathing pattern.

After a moment of silence, Aizen continued as though nothing had happened. "And your recommendation is?" he asked Ulquiorra.

Lifting impassive eyes from the still-sleeping Espada across from him, Ulquiorra answered. "I am not familiar with any of these items, Aizen-sama." He bowed his head regretfully. "It has been some time since I've gone to the human world, and I never had cause to enter a market."

Szayel stifled a groan. The last Espada--maybe the only Espada--who had been to a market was himself. Yammy had spent the time outside holding shopping bags and trying not to scare passersby. Whatever these "human products" were, he was sure he'd be the one who had to hunt them down. Wasn't it enough that he was supposed to keep tabs on Grimmjow? Now he'd have to go traipsing through a store in search of who knew what.

Aizen nodded, and set the paper down. "Szayel will fetch them later, and we will discuss whether they are indeed necessary. Stark?" he asked, continuing around the table.

"Well, speaking of the lady, Aizen-sama... I was wondering whether I could have permission to get my hand fixed." Stark idly rubbed at a spot on his mask. "Maybe my mask, too?"

"I was not aware that your mask had sustained lasting damage, Stark," Aizen commented above the muffled snickers from other Espada.

Stark shrugged and dropped his hand back into his lap, leveling a look at the top of Grimmjow's head that was far too laid back to be a true glare, but which nevertheless conveyed resentment. "He bites hard. Chipped a tooth, even," he insisted, pointing at the damaged area of his mask where, indeed, a tooth was visibly chipped. "I'm lucky he didn't go for a kill with that first bite or my temples would have been caved in."

Aizen merely continued to look at him.

"In my defense, I was preoccupied getting ice for my hand, sir," he mumbled. "And he does blend in, even with the blue hair. Yammy and Szayel didn't see him either."

"Perhaps more of your time in the human world should be spent on useful pursuits, and less on learning the intricate rules of 'hide and seek,'" Aizen murmured in response. "It is part of your punishment that your injuries heal naturally in time and not via interference from our dear prisoner. Do you have anything else to bring to my attention?"

Stark sighed, and shook his head.

"Very well. Nnoitra?"

"Why does Ulquiorra get to watch pet-sama? I'd do just as good a job, and from what I've seen, she's very lonely. My conversation skills are vastly superior to--"

"No." Aizen effectively silenced him by shifting his gaze to Halibel, who shook her head, indicating that she had nothing to say.

The rest of the Espada, excluding the sleeping Grimmjow, followed suit, and Szayel was more than content doing likewise, but Aizen's raised eyebrow silently informed him that it was in his best interest to bring something to the table.

"Um, patient report, then," he said. Szayel looked at Grimmjow, who had slept more or less soundly through the meeting to that point. Hopefully the Sexta Espada wouldn't wake up and contradict his story. "The Espada housed in the Eastern wing of Las Noches are sleeping better now that the coughing is mostly kept in check. Grimmjow's still reacting strongly to medicines, but I've kept him away from anything with a side effect we can't deal with."

Aizen shifted his attention to his immediate right. "And the current medication is...?"

Szayel smiled, finally getting into territory where he was on firmer footing. He'd only left two drugs in that room, and one of them had clearly said it was a non-drowsy formula. There was no effort at all in determining which of those two the Sexta Espada had taken. "One of the human drugs, Aizen-sama. Nyquil, which is supposed to help patients sleep through their illnesses while their bodies recover." He paused, looking at the mop of blue hair that still hadn't been raised off the table. "It seems to be working quite well, sir."

Aizen said nothing, but lifted a hand to tap Grimmjow firmly on the shoulder. The Espada stirred with a small groan, but didn't wake.

"Maybe poke him with a stick," Nnoitra suggested.

Ignoring the comment, Aizen placed his palm on Grimmjow's forehead with a frown.

"Cold," Grimmjow complained, flinching back into a semi-upright position to avoid the hand. He rubbed at his eyes blearily and cleared his throat.

"Good morning, Grimmjow," Aizen greeted him. "And welcome to the meeting."

Dull blue eyes blinked at that, and Grimmjow's face scrunched up in tired confusion. "Meeting?" he managed before doubling over in a coughing fit.

Raucous laughter sounded from the other end of the table, where Nnoitra clutched at his side with one hand and jabbed at Stark with the other. "Dumb fuck doesn't even know where he is," he wheezed. "That's some good shit, Pink. Some damn good shit. What'd you call it? Something about quilts?"

Feeling distinctly less comfortable now, Szayel corrected him. "Nyquil, actually."

"Nnoitra." Aizen's voice held more than a note of warning, and the Quinta Espada's laughter died almost immediately. Aizen waited until Grimmjow had finished coughing and was leaning back in his chair weakly, struggling for breath. He picked up the spoon from his tea and looked pointedly at Grimmjow. "Open your mouth and say 'ah,'" he commanded.

"Wha?" Grimmjow looked at him as if he'd expressed a desire for a more vibrant color scheme in Las Noches.

Aizen shook his head. "No, 'ah,'" he corrected.

"Yeah, I got that, dammit," the Sexta Espada rasped. "What I don't got is a fucking clue," he sucked in a shallow breath, "what you're talking about."

Szayel cringed at his patient's breathing and his tone, and hoped he would not be held accountable for either. Really, however slowly, the medicine was working, and it said nothing about irritability, so this was just Grimmjow's own natural stubborn impertinence showing through. Surely Aizen realized there was nothing he could do about that.

"I am going to examine the back of your throat." Aizen waved the spoon at him. "So open your mouth."

To Szayel's surprise, and probably the surprise of everyone else at the meeting, Aizen included, Grimmjow wordlessly complied. Not one to waste an opportunity, Aizen grabbed the Espada by the chin and inserted the spoon, using it as a tongue depressor as he peered thoughtfully into Grimmjow's mouth. He used his handhold on Grimmjow's chin to tilt his head until he found the optimal angle.

"Hmm. Szayel," he began, releasing Grimmjow as he removed the spoon and set it on the table. "In addition to gathering the items on Orihime's list, you will take Grimmjow to a human doctor."

Szayel felt the floor drop out from beneath him, and struggled to hold back the frustrated tears threatening to make an appearance. He mentally cursed all humans and their thrice-damned illnesses to whatever corner of Hell was the least comfortable. "Yes sir, Aizen-sama."

"Now listen, Grimmjow," Szayel repeated for the third time. "Your name is Jack Grimm. Got it?" He waited for Grimmjow to nod. "You describe your symptoms when asked, you do as they tell you, and you don't say anything about Aizen or arrancar or Espada."

Szayel sighed, and looked from the glass doors of the walk-in clinic back to his fellow Espada, who leaned against a telephone pole catching his breath. It was downright bizarre to see Grimmjow without his jawbone mask, but it was really pointless to make a gigai that couldn't pass for human. He adjusted his glasses with a finger and gave their clothing a once over to make sure they conformed to the normal humans on the sidewalk. He was fine, himself, and aside from the flushed skin from his fever, Grimmjow also fit right in. He wasn't even the only one with blue hair, which was a bit odd.

"Grimm," he said, snapping his fingers for attention. "Where are you from?"

Grimmjow attempted a glare, but couldn't seem to put much energy behind it. "Australia. And you're my brother Cecil. You think I'm too stupid to remember these things?"

Szayel shook his head, trying to ignore the harsh coughing. "Just too sick, maybe." He looked at his watch. They had five hours to accomplish their tasks and meet Ulquiorra at the park. "Okay. Let's get this done."

He pushed the doors open and waited for Grimmjow to walk ahead of him to the sign in counter, intending to follow right behind. Before he could do so, however, a plump woman and three small children pushed past him, as well as an elderly man with a walker. Szayel glanced over their heads to the reception desk, where Grimmjow was being handed paperwork. As soon as he was able, Szayel joined him there in time to hear them wrangling over names.

"Look, woman," Grimmjow growled. "Jack Grimm, Grimm Jack, I don't care, all right? Fuck, just do whatever the hell you do in Japan." He broke off in a coughing fit.

Szayel snatched the pen from Grimmjow's fingers with a strained smile, and none too gently elbowed his patient to the side. "So sorry, miss. My brother is sick, and not thinking clearly. We'll just take this and sit down to complete it, if that's all right?"

After practically shoving his "brother" into a chair in the corner, Szayel settled in with the clipboard full of paperwork. "Real smooth, Jack-o," he muttered. "Aussies are unfailingly polite, from what I've heard. You could fake it."

"What does it matter? It's not even my real name, anyway." Grimmjow folded his arms gingerly over his chest. "And I thought you said we were from Australia."

Szayel deliberated for a second, and then decided it wasn't worth the lesson in geography and popular culture. Thankfully, it was an easy task to go down the list of illnesses and check the "no" column to each and every one. He resisted the temptation to check "yes" for "chronic headaches," figuring that was for headaches Grimmjow had suffered, and not headaches he'd caused. A peek at the note card he'd brought with him supplied the fake address, phone numbers, and other medical data needed to complete the paperwork, and then it was a matter of waiting.

...waiting in a room that was, statistically speaking, filled with sick people. One of the three children he'd had to hold the door open for had vomited no fewer than three times since they'd arrived. Another of them was coughing. Everyone else in the room was sniffling, sneezing, blowing their noses or just looking miserable in silence like the old man. He found himself glad they were on the opposite side of the room, even though the Espada next to him was probably sicker than the rest combined.

"Hey, Szayel," Grimmjow muttered under his breath. "Is it cold in here, or what?"

"Not in the slightest, Jack," he said.

"Fine. Cecil, or whatever stupid name you came up with," Grimmjow conceded before succumbing to a series of wracking coughs. "How can you not be cold in here? It's fucking freezing."

Szayel frowned, and put a hand to Grimmjow's cheek. "That's the fever talking. Try to ignore it." Szayel himself closed his eyes and resolved to ignore everything, including the fever-ridden Espada shivering next to him.

It wasn't a full half hour before Szayel felt a hot weight against his side, and looked over to see Grimmjow curled up in the chair with his head drooping to one side. Szayel sighed and didn't move when Grimmjow shifted to rest his head on the slighter Espada's shoulder. This, it seemed, was the price of being the only Espada who could be deemed a medic in any capacity.

He considered his chances of getting a double prescription for whatever Grimmjow had, since it was seeming more and more probable that he'd come down with it himself within the next week. It was unlikely they'd agree to that request, he concluded. But there was a good chance he could replicate the drug once they had it, and simply produce enough for two or three or however many arrancar got sick.

So this was a "walk-in clinic." From the name, he'd assumed it meant something like fast service, but apparently, it just meant anyone could walk in. Already the place housed five more humans than it had when he'd turned in Grimmjow's paperwork. With yet another sigh, he closed his eyes again and continued waiting.

"Pneumonia," Szayel muttered, staring at the scribbles on the paper the doctor had handed them. When had humans come up with that one? "Figures it would be something I've never heard of. And this," he waved the paper, "I can see a 'C' clearly, and I think there's a "t" in there towards the middle." He squinted, removed the glasses his gigai had to wear, and squinted some more. "How can anyone read this?"

Finally, the window in front of him opened, and a perky young woman smiled at him. "What can I do for you, sir?" she chirped.

Szayel reluctantly handed her the paper, hoping he had witnessed this task of "filling prescriptions" correctly during his last visit. "I need this as soon as possible," he said, taking a backward glance over his shoulder to make sure his charge wasn't getting into trouble in the aisle devoted to something called "contacts."

"Patient name?"

"Uh, Jack Grimm," he answered.

"Not a problem," she replied. "I'll call your name when it's filled."

The window shut before he could correct her assumption. Shrugging, he turned to find Grimmjow studying a box with a slightly horrified expression. "What's that?" he asked.

Grimmjow held it out for him to see. "It's soap. You're supposed to soak these plastic discs in it and then shove them in your eyes. Like soap in your eyes isn't painful enough, they invented this shit to make it worse."

While he knew humans did some weird things, that didn't sound right to Szayel, and he took the box from Grimmjow to read carefully. In a minute, he'd spotted the problem. "Actually, those discs are to help you see, and this is for washing them before sticking them on."

"And how is that any better?"

Szayel blinked. "I'm not sure. But it isn't on this list, so put it back." He dug the list in question out of his pocket and studied it. The handwriting was neat, if a bit curlier than he was used to, and he could make out each and every item. This did not, however, help him determine what each item represented. Unfortunately, the more specific items were less intelligible than the others. Conditioner made sense to him. Seaweed mask, however…

"Hey Pink," Grimmjow groused. "You going to let me see that, or what?"

"You want to help?" Szayel eyed his fellow Espada warily. This made even less sense to him than 'grape dubble bubble' toward the bottom of the list.

Grimmjow shrugged. "It'll get me out of here faster, won't it?" He snatched the list from Szayel's fingers and studied it, his brow growing steadily more scrunched up as he neared the bottom of the list. "What the hell is 'body butter?'"

Szayel grabbed the list back with a scowl. "I don't know. But since you want to help, I'll put you in charge of shampoo, conditioner, and deodorant. They're all in one aisle, so you won't be wandering around."

"What's she need deodorant for? She doesn't smell half bad."

It took him a second to process the comment, but when he reached the end of the aisle, Szayel stopped and turned so suddenly that Grimmjow plowed into him. "She doesn't smell half bad?" he repeated incredulously as Grimmjow recovered. What the hell kind of comment was that?

Grimmjow blinked at him, his eyes still brightly feverish but his expression and stance taking on a more defensive quality. "I mean, she's got a kind of sunflower seed and honey thing going on, but it doesn't stink."

Of its own volition, Szayel's left eyebrow rose up above the rim of his gigai's glasses. This was not the sort of awareness he'd come to expect from the Sexta Espada, and he didn't want to imagine the sort of lurking one would have to do to smell their prisoner through that door.

"What? You can't smell that?" Grimmjow returned his earlier incredulous look with disbelief of his own. "Walking down that hallway's like walking through a field of fucking granola bars."

Szayel's right eyebrow joined his left. "I would find this more amusing if I didn't think you were serious, Grimmjow." A small part of him wondered whether Aizen would let him conduct studies on arrancar sensory perceptions, starting with Grimmjow. The larger part of him shrugged this off as a distraction, and he turned the corner to find the hair care and basic toiletry aisle.

He watched as Grimmjow wrinkled his nose at the bottles, but dutifully squatted down to start reading labels. That smaller part of him refused to let go, and was starting to tinker with variables and possibilities for control groups. "Out of curiosity," he started.

"No. I'm not telling you what you smell like. Go find those tambourines or batons or whatever they were called."

"Tampons," Szayel corrected, though he knew it was pointless to bother. "Just stay put, all right? I'll come get you when everything else is ready, so you can rest a while before we walk to the park."

Leaving Grimmjow behind, he looked around for an assistant of some sort. It was equally pointless to comb the market for these other items, especially ones like the body butter, which could be in any number of sections. For all he knew, it was in the produce aisle right by butter beans or in the dairy aisle behind the yogurt.

It took him only fifty dollars to bribe a clerk into collecting the items he indicated, and Szayel arranged to meet back with the clerk at the pharmacy only moments before the intercom announced that "Jack-san's" prescription was ready.

"Please go to the next window to hear about directions for use and possible side effects, sir," a new, but every bit as cheerful clerk announced when he arrived.

Shrugging, Szayel walked the three steps to his right and stood by until an elderly man in a white coat approached the window carrying a white paper bag. After hearing the more common side effects, he began to tune the man out, dismissing the side effects as either deserved or only marginally bothersome.

Headaches, Grimmjow would just have to deal with. He'd caused enough of them lately that a little payback was only fitting. Dizziness and motion sickness would at least keep the Sexta Espada in bed and docile, which was more than Szayel could say for his own medicine. The changes to senses of taste and smell were more intriguing than worrying, and Szayel made a mental note to watch for these things as they might lead to a new area of research. He didn't much care how dry Grimmjow's mouth got while taking this drug, and any anxiety the Espada felt was well deserved as far as Szayel was concerned.

And on, and on. It was starting to seem like the medicine itself would cause more problems than the pneumonia had in the first place. Maybe Stark had it right, and their prisoner could just heal the both of them so things could return to what passed for normal in Las Noches. Given what she'd healed before, during, and after ryoka incident, it wouldn't…

"Wait a minute," Szayel interrupted as something the pharmacist said caught his attention. "Right after nightmares, what was that?"

The man blinked at him, and glanced down at his note card. "Hallucinations."

Yes, there actually is a drug with all those lovely side effects and many more, and the letters Szayel can make out are correct. The metal taste in your mouth truly stays put the whole time you take it. Bleck!