Disclaimer: As per usual, I don't own anything.

Summary: So Szayel may need a break from watching his patient...but who would be up to the task? And what dark secret is Aizen hiding?

Notes: Some parts of this may be cringe-inducing. I apologize in advance.

And this is way long for a chapter of Thirteen. I thought about cutting the omake and using it later, but I left it in. It'll be like the extra long Christmas edition or something.

Secrets

Szayel slowly paced the length of Grimmjow's room, waiting less patiently than usual for his fraccion to return for their stint at patient care. At the end of each leg of his pointless journey, he took a sip from the latest bottle of homemade Pepto Bismol and carefully rearranged his footing to avoid a graceless spill onto the floor. Certainly, Grimmjow was too far gone to notice if he fell--and wouldn't have much room to mock anyway-- but the notion that he was tired enough to trip over nothing kept Szayel careful.

"Szayel Aporro-sama! Szayel Ap--"

"Shush!" he hissed, cutting off the chorus before it could really get started. "Whisper, damn you."

As thankful as he was that they'd finally arrived--and with the ice he'd requested, too--he wished he could find a way to program them to be silent unless called on. At this rate, they'd wake Grimmjow so soon that he'd come back from the meeting to see three grease spots on the ceiling instead of fraccion.

"Szayel Aporro-sama," Lumina and Veruna chanted softly, still jumping so that the ice in their bowls was tossed into the air before landing again with a clatter. "Szayel Aporro-sama. Sza--"

"What?" Szayel clenched a fist, and then released it.

"We're back," Lumina said.

"We brought ice," Veruna said.

Szayel closed his eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. He capped the bottle and set it on the shelf beside the fresh ones waiting for him. "Yes, I can see that. Put the ice on that table." He waited for them to comply and then face him, joined by his newest and hopefully more intelligent fraccion that he'd not gotten around to naming yet.

"Okay. You two," he said, pointing at the two rounder ones. "What is your job in here?"

They replied in tandem. "Stand here and watch the Sexta Espada."

"And?" It was very important they remember the other part, or this peaceful spell wouldn't last long.

"Put ice on him every thirty minutes," they said.

Szayel nodded. "Good." He ignored their squeaky giggle and the high-five they exchanged, and turned toward the third. "And you?"

The nameless fraccion pointed to the back wall, the farthest from Grimmjow one could get without leaving the room. "Wait back there. If he gets upset, send the survivor to get you."

"And?" He found himself more and more impressed with this fraccion. The intelligence level was higher than he'd estimated on creation, very nearly at the normal range for hollows.

"And keep watching from a safe distance."

Szayel smiled, and motioned for the dancing fools to pay attention again. "Where will I be?"

"Drinking tea!"

"Having fun!"

The third fraccion sighed. "Szayel Aporro-sama will be at the meeting hall, at the end of the corridor across from Aizen-sama's throne room."

Well. If nothing else, this one would keep the other two in line. There was, perhaps, a chance that this wouldn't be a complete disaster. He nodded again, and turned to leave before they could raise some stupid question.

"Szayel Aporro-sama!" Lumina called.

"Not so loud," Szayel snarled back, glancing fearfully at Grimmjow, who thankfully didn't stir. "What?"

The round little fraccion clutched his bony hands together and looked up at him, his eyebrows knitted together in worry. "Am... am I going to die?"

Szayel sighed, and pinched the bridge of his mask. "Maybe," he muttered. "It won't hurt a bit. In fact, it's good for you."

"Yea!" he cheered, jumping from one foot to the other. "I get to die! I get to die!"

Veruna pushed him aside and began wailing. "But I want to die! No fair!"

"Shut up!" Szayel shrieked, forgetting about Grimmjow entirely and just barely resisting the urge to give them both what they wanted right now. "If either one of you dies, I'll kill the other one when I get back. How's that sound for fair?"

They looked at each other for a moment, and then nodded, playing patty-cake as they galloped around his patient, who was now sleeping more fitfully.

Szayel gritted his teeth and made for the door, pulling the last of his caffeine tablets out of his pocket and choking it down dry. "You did this to yourself," he muttered. "You did this to yourself. You could have had competent fraccion like Halibel's, or Nnoitra's, or even Stark's. But no, you wanted to be able to eat the damn things..."

"I got a problem, Szayel."

He looked up, jarred out of his self-chastisement. It never ends, he thought.

Nnoitra stood at the very edge of what could be called the entryway to the East wing, looking both angry and worried. The visible eye, and all the area around it, was red and puffy, as though he'd been scrubbing at it with a rough cloth.

"What is it?"

"That bastard infected me with 'is numo-bacteria," the taller Espada complained, walking alongside Szayel toward the meeting hall. He rubbed his hands over his temples and groaned. "Feels like I'm dyin'."

"What?"

Nnoitra almost clipped the top of his head as he pointed back the way they'd come. "Grimmjow!" he yelled, his voice shaking with something more than anger. "I was just in there for a few minutes, expressin' my concern fer 'im an' all, 'cause I'm a nice guy, an' he goes an--"

"Concern?" Szayel rolled his eyes. "Don't make me laugh. You wanted to irritate him. Or maybe just poke fun at him while he's so sick he can't fight back. Hell, maybe you were even curious about what it meant to be sick. But 'expressing concern'? No." He shook his head. "Not you."

"That doesn't matter." Nnoitra hunched his shoulders as they passed by the kitchen and were joined by Stark. "I couldn't wash 'em out in time," he continued, his voice low and urgent. "They're in me now--in my head--and you gotta get 'em out again before they eat my brain."

Szayel found himself at a momentary loss and wondered whether Nnoitra was actually making sense and he was just too sleep deprived and caffeinated to understand. "Wait. What's in you?"

Nnoitra exploded again, his arms flailing to the sides in irritation. "The numo-bacteria! Weren't ya listening? An' it's all his fault!" He gestured back again, this time bopping Stark on the head in the process.

Stark scowled and smoothed his hair back into place. "Wouldn't it be your fault for being where you weren't supposed to be?"

"Shut up!" Nnoitra spun to face them, causing them all to stop in the hall as he pointed at his face. "He spat in my eye!"

Szayel wiped spittle from his cheek and sighed. "Nnoitra, pneumonia isn't even contagious."

"What?!"

"That's right," he said. "There's no way you've caught it."

"Then why're we not allowed on the East wing?"

Stark stifled a yawn and scratched the back of his head. "Because Grimmjow needs all the sleep he can get, without people like you antagonizing him." He nudged Nnoitra with his foot. "Get a move on. I don't want to be late."

A few minutes later, Nnoitra turned sideways to look back at them. "But if it's not contagious, then how did he get it in th' first place?"

Szayel shrugged. "He probably had influenza first, and it developed into pneumonia. Influenza, unlike pneumonia, is contagious. Extremely so."

Stark pushed open the door to the meeting room and held it open as the other two entered. "Okay, then why didn't we catch the influza from him?"

"Influenza," Szayel corrected half-heartedly. "I don't know. He kept to himself a lot."

"So I'm not sick?" Nnoitra plunked himself down and traced a finger across the table.

Szayel dropped down into his own chair and looked across at him. "Not from Grimmjow you aren't." Of course, he might very well have caught the flu from being close enough to Grimmjow to be spat at so accurately. But then, Stark hadn't gotten ill, and he'd been playing tag. Or whatever game he'd brought back from the park. Best to hope Nnoitra wasn't sick and watch him just in case. It wasn't like he had enough to keep him occupied lately.

He looked at the otherwise empty room, and estimated the amount of time they had before the meeting started. The caffeine should have kicked in by now, but aside from a few twitching fingers he wasn't any more alert. He settled his head on his arms. "Wake me up when it's time, Stark."

..................

Someone was kicking him. None of his fraccion would dare to do so, and his patient didn't have the wherewithal at the moment. Szayel resolved to ignore the kicking for the time being, but a suddenly sharp blow had him sitting up with a yell. "Ow!"

Nnoitra was grinning at him from across the table. "Aizen-sama's askin' you a question."

"What?" He looked to the right of Nnoitra, saw an empty seat where Halibel should be. In fact, only Ulquiorra and Aaroniero had joined them at the table, leaving the rest of the chairs conspicuously empty. Szayel turned to his left and blinked. It was odd to see Aizen here without the partial obstruction of Zommari's shoulder.

"Welcome to the meeting, Szayel," Aizen asked him, seeming somehow both amused and serene. Szayel began to understand how that was so irritating to Grimmjow. "How is Grimmjow doing?"

"Grimmjow?" He reached over to take a sip of tea, stalling for time so he could wake up fully, but it sloshed over the side as his hand shook. "Sorry, sorry." He set it down again with a thump and tried to mop up the spill with his gloved hand.

"Leave it, Szayel."

"Yes, sir." Szayel took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. He didn't seem to be getting the benefits of the caffeine anymore, though the drawbacks were plentiful at the moment. Perhaps he should take more at a time?

Aizen cleared his throat and smiled at him.

"Right. He's not doing very well, Aizen-sama. The medicine..." Szayel looked around, wondering whether that was the right place to start. He'd had this rehearsed earlier, and it seemed to have evaporated during his little nap.

"If I may, Szayel?" Ulquiorra interrupted. "I was just there, Aizen-sama," he continued, without waiting for permission. "Grimmjow is speaking in French unless asked to do otherwise. His fever is near-constant, and he is rarely lucid. From what I can tell, Grimmjow is also having difficulty with the food he's required to take with his medicine. He seems to have gained an affinity for mathematics, however."

Oh no. Szayel glanced across the table at Nnoitra, who wore a grin so large the corner of it disappeared beneath his eye patch, and cringed inwardly. Maybe Ulquiorra would leave out the part about the hollow mask. Nnoitra, at least, didn't need to hear about it. It would only give him ideas.

"I see," Aizen said. He looked from Ulquiorra to Szayel. "And the pneumonia itself?"

Szayel almost didn't register the question for all the relief that flooded him. "Um, he's not coughing anymore," he offered.

Aizen raised an eyebrow at him. "Well that's positive," he murmured. "I'll have to pay him a visit after we're done here."

"What?!" The relief was replaced with panic.

"Have you tried giving him bananas, mashed up?" Aaroniero asked from the end of the table.

Szayel's head swiveled to the right. "Have I what?" This is a disaster. Aizen can't see Grimmjow like this. He'll punish me for sure.

The Novena Espada continued, unaware of Szayel's predicament. "According to Kaien's memories, that always seemed to work for the Shiba children when they were ill. I'd leave out the rum, though."

"Do we even have bananas?" Szayel asked. Aizen was going to kill him. Demote him. He wasn't sure which was worse.

"We do," Ulquiorra said. "I'll bring them next time."

Nnoitra snickered. "Bring some rum, too. For Pink."

Szayel looked at Nnoitra, and then down at the table. He'd been living off caffeine pills washed down with Pepto Bismol straight from the bottle. The booze might actually be a nutritious improvement. What did he have to lose if Aizen was going to visit the East wing?

"Nnoitra," Aizen chided, before turning back to Szayel. "There should only be a few pills left for him to take, correct?"

He nodded. "Only three, in fact. Then the medicine will fade away over the next week or so." Leaving Grimmjow an exhausted mess and me dead or demoted, he thought.

"Good. If no one else has anything to add?" The room was silent. "Very well, then. You're dismissed."

Szayel heard the others get to their feet and shuffle out of the meeting hall, but stared at the tea puddle. No matter how many permutations he considered for what could go wrong in the next hour, he knew he was missing something. He had four more bottles of his lab-made Pepto, and the formula was one he'd memorized while making his third batch. He had a feeling he'd be making more just to survive the next two days.

"Are you ready, Szayel?"

"Y-yes, sir!" He tried to jump to his feet but they didn't cooperate and he ended up stumbling. "Of course. Let's go, then."

They walked in silence quite a ways before Szayel gathered the courage to ask a question that had been bothering him. "Aizen-sama?"

"Hmm?"

"Where was Zommari? And Halibel? And actually, Barrigan, too? I thought Espada weren't allowed to miss a meeting."

"Oh, yes," Aizen said. "That's right. You slept through most of the meeting. Zommari and Barrigan are on assignment out in the desert, and have been for nearly a week. Halibel has been with Yammi, whom you've forgotten, on a brief leave in Karakura. They'll all be returning midday tomorrow. Stark will open the garganta for Halibel and Yammi, since the gigais aren't yet able to do so."

Szayel apologized, confused that Aizen didn't seem to mind his nap.

"You needed the sleep," Aizen said, waving away his apology. "You still need a good deal more of it, in fact."

He wasn't sure what to make of that, and spent the rest of the walk debating in his mind how irate Aizen would be on finding his patient even worse off than before. Granted, it was Grimmjow, who always gave Aizen problems and could rarely be counted on to follow an order, no matter how precise. But Szayel had long since given up trying to second guess Aizen, and there was no telling whether all of Grimmjow's negative attributes would blunt the punishment.

They arrived far too soon for Szayel's comfort, and he realized in a panic that he'd not yet told Aizen about the latest development with Grimmjow's mask and hallucinations, to say nothing of the mess his fraccion might have made in his absence.

He darted forward and stood between Aizen and the door. "Aizen-sama," he started shakily, "you know, he's not exactly sane right now. It might be best for me to go in first, and maybe wake him up--"

"Move." Aizen's glare cut him off mid-sentence.

"Yessir," Szayel said in a rush, flinching as he took a quick side step out of the way. He hoped never to catch that particular expression from Aizen again. It promised terrible things while somehow remaining somewhat mild.

Szayel watched mutely as Aizen pushed open the door and silenced the fraccions' chorus before they'd gotten three syllables out. He followed about three steps behind, expecting the worst at any moment. To his great surprise, the worst didn't make an appearance.

There was a lamp knocked over, and there were puddles on the floor where ice packs had gotten discarded from what was likely a juggling contest. If that was all the damage his fraccion had caused, then things were beginning to look up.

Grimmjow was still asleep, miracle of miracles, and on his stomach no less. He'd have to be turned over for more ice when his fever spiked again, but he wouldn't be able to see as much of the room, which Szayel had found made the hallucinations less severe. In fact, judging from the last few weeks, it was fairly unlikely that Grimmjow would wake up in that position for anything less than a firm shaking. And since it was doubtful that Aizen intended to shake Grimmjow awake, Szayel decided to hang back near the shelf to drink some more of his stomach-calming beverage while Aizen made his inspections.

Aizen paused about three feet from Grimmjow's side, and stared down at the Sexta Espada long enough that Szayel almost though he'd leave satisfied by the superficial examination. Then he took the last couple of steps forward and Szayel realized that the worst was indeed going to make an appearance.

Grimmjow twisted around with a flash of red that shot out from his hand with a cero's strength and a bala's speed, and the bottle of faux Pepto slid to the floor as Szayel's fingers lost their grip. He didn't notice the pink liquid splashing up at him as the bottle shattered, because somewhere in the flurry of movement near his patient, Aizen had caught the blast, drawn his zanpakuto, and called out its release command.

When the after images from the cero/bala combination started to fade from his vision, Szayel could make out Aizen pinning a snarling Grimmjow down with a hand on one wrist and holding Kyoka Suigetsu horizontally across the Sexta Espada's eyes. Grimmjow's free hand gripped Kyoka Suigetsu's crosspiece, and still glowed a faint red that indicated another blast being charged.

Szayel felt a burning sensation deep in his chest, and remembered then that he needed to breathe. His patient and Aizen held their respective positions for a short but tense moment before Grimmjow's hand loosened its grip and dropped, uncharged, to his side. Aizen held the sword there a full minute longer, and then calmly stood straight to sheathe it. One of his sleeves was burned away entirely, and the exposed skin was slightly singed.

His heart thumping somewhere in the vicinity of his throat, Szayel tried to make his mouth form the abject apologies that rattled through his brain, but all that came out was jumbled consonants. He was feeling just a touch miffed that his life didn't have the decency to flash before his eyes when he noticed that Aizen hadn't yet shifted his attention from Grimmjow.

Instead, their leader leaned forward again and gently ran his hand over Grimmjow's eyes to close them, and then traced his finger along one of the gashes on Grimmjow's face. "What happened here, Szayel?" His tone was, on the surface, curious, but it held a deep undercurrent of danger also.

Szayel found that his voice worked again, and made quick use of it. "H-he was trying to tear off his hollow mask, Aizen-sama. I, um, didn't think the rest of the Espada needed to know."

"But you were going to tell me," Aizen murmured, still looking down at Grimmjow.

"Y-yes!" Szayel yelped. "It slipped my mind earlier, but see--" He scrambled to flip through a stack of notes he'd been taking from the beginning. "It's in my notes, right here, see?" He held out the correct page, pointing a tea-stained finger to the lines in question. "I was just going--"

Aizen waved him off without even glancing at the notes. "That's enough. I'm relieving you of this duty until tomorrow morning, Szayel. You're clearly too exhausted to continue without a break."

Szayel stood there looking from Aizen to Grimmjow to his notes. This was, in a way, the very thing he'd been desperately hoping for. Yet it was also the worst possible thing he could imagine at the moment. "But he's... I've still got to... I mean..." He gestured toward the medicine bottle.

"I'll give him tonight's dose and tomorrow morning's. Go to bed, Szayel." Aizen began to move about the room, righting the lamp, straightening the furniture, and opening cupboards to retrieve clean sheets. He looked up once and paused. "That's an order," he reiterated. "I'll take care of this."

"Yes... yes, sir," Szayel mumbled, motioning for his fraccion to follow him out of the room. They were all three silent and wide-eyed, and the four of them stood out in the hallway for a long moment before Szayel thought to direct them to the labs.

After watching them long enough to be sure they were headed in the right direction, Szayel turned to his own room, and pressed the eight to open his door. His bed was immaculate, and there was a fine layer of dust on his tables and shelves. He moved around in a daze, bumping into things on occasion as he undressed and tossed the Pepto- and tea-stained garments in the hamper to be picked up by lesser numeros later.

Szayel lay down on his bed and stared up at his ceiling. Despite being exhausted in all ways that mattered, he had a feeling sleep would be difficult to come by. He kept seeing the bala-cero in his mind, and wondered how his patient had come up with it when he hardly had the energy to swallow his medicine. And for that matter, how was he going to explain to Aizen that Grimmjow was probably just aiming at a hallucination--and that he would never think of attacking their leader--when most of Las Noches knew very well that Grimmjow would love to attack Aizen.

And, and, and. These side effects were supposed to get worse until late tomorrow evening, and then slowly get better again. With energy attacks thrown into the mix, Szayel wasn't sure he'd survive "worse." Still, he didn't have to worry about it until tomorrow. And since he shared a wall with Grimmjow, he'd be able to hear any confrontation during the night that would require his attention.

He brushed his nose and turned over to fall back asleep, but the intruder wouldn't leave. Now it sat on his ear. Szayel finally sat up, and turned both eyes toward what turned out to be one of the hollow messenger bugs. He felt so refreshed that a little seed of worry started to gnaw at his insides. If he'd slept enough to feel better, the he might have left his patient in Aizen's care for too long.

Szayel kicked both legs over the side and stretched before pulling on a fresh set of clothes. Seeing its job accomplished, the messenger flew out through his wall, and Szayel stood for a moment before allowing the full scale of yesterday's events to catch back up to him. There was a chance, he concluded, that the whole thing had been a massive side effect of too much caffeine. If that was the case, his patient would have been alone for far too long and he had cause to worry. If it was not the case, however, and the visit had happened, then Szayel felt he was still entitled to a healthy amount of anxiety.

He snatched up a bottle of Pepto as a talisman against whichever stressful situation would greet him behind door number six, and ventured in.

His talisman almost slipped from his fingers to join its destroyed brother on Grimmjow's floor when Szayel closed the door behind him. The table was neatly stacked with empty dishes, and the bowl of ice was nowhere to be seen. That could only mean that the fever was gone and that Grimmjow had eaten something. Given Aizen's previous record for getting Grimmjow to do as he was told--however reluctantly--this wasn't terribly shocking. The rest, though...

There was Aizen, sitting on the freshly made bed and leaning up against the wall. There was Grimmjow, curled up on his side with his head in Aizen's lap, a hand loosely clenched in the fabric of Aizen's hakama. Grimmjow's face was bandaged where he'd scratched himself, and his hair was damp--fresh from a bath if the wadded up towel nearby was any indication.

As Szayel watched, stricken dumb by the sight, Aizen's fingers slowly wound though the blue strands, working their way from forehead to nape and flitting over the jawbone mask on their way back up for the repeat stroke. His other hand followed with a little comb, gently picking out any tangles he came across.

Szayel tried to speak, but ended up sounding more like Wonderweiss than anything else. One thing he knew, despite everything bizarre he'd been seeing lately, and that was that there was no way Grimmjow would tolerate someone petting him. And he'd probably go ballistic if that someone were Aizen.

"...how?" he finally managed to choke out.

Aizen looked up from his project, as though there were nothing wrong with the picture. "What's that, Szayel?"

"He's not..." Szayel tried to ignore Aizen's hand smoothing down Grimmjow's hair, and wondered whether he could be having sympathy hallucinations after being around Grimmjow for so long. "He's not crazy. How is...?"

"Ulquiorra suggested an ice bath." His hands never stopping, he nodded towards his zanpakuto, propped against the wall nearby. "And last night, of course, I eliminated certain of the mental side effects."

Szayel blinked at that. He wasn't sure how that was possible, but he could kick himself for not asking earlier, like at the very beginning of this ordeal. That question answered, he was left with only about a hundred more questions and no idea which to ask.

What was going on? Wasn't Aizen busy running Las Noches? Didn't he have somewhere else to be all night, something else to be doing? And how was Grimmjow even still alive after trying to cero Aizen to a crisp? How long had he been asleep, and had he woken up in an alternate dimension? What was Aizen still doing here? And what were his fingers doing petting Grimmjow, and why hadn't they been bitten off for the offense?

He stood there for a minute processing his thoughts and trying to figure out which question needed to be asked, all the while watching Aizen run his fingers over the hollow mask, through the hair, and along an eyebrow that somehow wasn't scrunched up in a frown.

Szayel finally settled on a single word. "Why?"

Aizen smiled briefly and got up, settling Grimmjow back onto the pillows and tucking a corner of the blanket up under his chin. He slid his sword back into his sash and smoothed his hakama before opening the door to leave.

"Despite appearances, Szayel," Aizen said, looking back over his shoulder, "Grimmjow is one of my very favorite Espada."

Szayel stared at the closed door for a long while, his mind racing yet again. He looked back at Grimmjow, and then at the door one last time before tilting his head back and eyeing the ceiling.

"I'm going to need so much therapy when this is over."

OMAKE: The Most Fragmented Omake Ever: Word Travels Fast in Las Noches

Stark pressed the six and entered the room, careful to shut the door behind him as quietly as possible. All of last night there'd been no screaming, and most of the morning, too. Something was up, and he was tired of wondering whether Szayel had finally snapped and smothered Grimmjow to death with a pillow.

"Hi, Stark," Szayel murmured from his seat.

He sniffed. There was a definite hint of ozone in air, like a cero let loose in close quarters. "Has someone been firing ceros in here?"

"Yes." Szayel didn't look up. "Grimmjow."

Stark looked at the walls, at Szayel, at the floor and ceiling. "There isn't any damage. What was he aiming at?"

"Aizen."

Stark thought about that for a moment. "I think you're bullshitting me."

"I'm not." Szayel offered him a half-empty bottle of something thick and pink. "Want some Pepto?"

"Some what?"

"It calms upset stomachs," he said.

Stark rubbed his stomach and shrugged. "Mine's fine, thanks." He pulled up a seat across the table from Szayel, and glanced over at Grimmjow, who was sound asleep and should have been very dead if Szayel was correct. "Aizen? Really?"

Szayel nodded. "He caught the full blast with his arm. Lost a sleeve." He took a swig of the pink stuff, and swallowed. "I don't know how Grimmjow even got enough energy saved up to fire it." Szayel looked over at him then, meeting his eyes squarely for the first time since he'd entered the room. "Aizen said Grimmjow was one of his very favorite Espada."

"Now I know you're bullshitting me."

"I wish I were."

Stark scratched at his stubble. "That doesn't make any sense. He said that Grimmjow was--"

"One of his favorites," Szayel interrupted.

"...his--"

"Yes," Szayel confirmed.

Stark felt a little quiver reach down into his innards and shake things up. He reached over and snatched the bottle from Szayel's hands. "How much of this do I take?"

Szayel shrugged as though the dose didn't matter. "Oh, a capful."

Stark took two to drown out the unease. "How is that even possible?" He wiped his mouth and passed the bottle back across the table. "Grimmjow hates him."

..................

Tesla frowned up at Apache from his spot hogging the entire length of the sofa and every pillow in the fraccion lounge. "There's no way," he scoffed. "That's gotta be a lie."

"It's not," she insisted irritably, dragging a pillow out from under his head and fluffing it before settling down with it into a nearby chair. "I heard it from Sun-sun, and she got it from Charlotte, who heard it from Circuii. And Circuii was talking to Dordonii, who passed it along from Canterbaine. Canterbaine found out from Lilinet while they were eating in the kitchen, and Lilinet got the news straight from Stark, who heard it while visiting with that freak Szayel, who was there when it happened.

After about five minutes during which Apache tried to get comfortable in the cement chair with only the one pillow and Tesla attempted to untangle the line of gossip, two things were certain. One pillow was never enough with Las Noches furniture, and he had to get going, pronto.

Tesla sat up and threw a couple more pillows her way. "I'll see you around, Apache."

"You're not staying?"

"Can't!" he called over his shoulder as he raced out. "Nnoitra-sama's going to be pissed!"

..................

"Well that's what Tesla says, but I ain't buyin' it." Nnoitra rotated his mug and glanced around the kitchen table at the others. "Ulquiorra's his favorite Espada of all time, an I can live with that, since he's all obedient an shit. But that fucker!?" He slammed a fist into the table.

Aaroniero nodded. "We agree. If obedience is no longer the requirement, then we should be Aizen-sama's ultimate favorite." He held up two fingers and nodded slightly. "We're twice the Espada he is."

"Yer a freak in a glass tube, an don't forget it." Nnoitra took a sip of his tea. "I'm the strongest," he insisted. "It should be me!"

Halibel rolled her eyes. "Based only on superlatives? By your reasoning, Nnoitra, the favorite could be any of us."

"Yes," Barrigan said, leaning back as though in his throne. "As the oldest and wisest of us--"

"As the most logical," Zommari interrupted, his hands meditatively over his knees.

Nnoitra jumped to his feet, banging the table hard enough to slosh everyone's drinks. "Logic is crap, and so is wisdom!" He jabbed a bony finger at himself. "I'm--"

"Going to finish your conversation elsewhere, Nnoitra," Ulquiorra interjected smoothly from the doorway. "It is time to prepare the prisoner's evening meal."

They looked at the newcomer, then back at each other, silently debating whether Ulquiorra should be told.

..................

Forty minutes later, Ulquiorra stood in the empty kitchen, stirring a pot of tomato puree with sweet red pepper and paprika, while monitoring the simmering strawberry-red bean mixture on the next burner over.

He still wasn't sure how to deal with the news. Grimmjow's replaced me? A bit of the puree sloshed onto his uniform before he noticed the increased speed of his stirring. "Is this what betrayal feels like?" he asked the smaller pot.

Ulquiorra put the spoon down and took a wet rag to the spot on his uniform. It didn't make sense. There was no physical evidence of this event, and it was highly unusual for Espada to jump two ranks at once. He repeated the list to himself as he rubbed at the spot. "Szayel, Stark, Lilinet, Canterbaine, Dordonii, Circuii, Charlotte, Sun-sun, Apache, Tesla, Nnoitra... that's eleven degrees of removal from the actual words spoken by Aizen-sama."

He glanced down at the stain, and saw that his cleaning attempts had succeeded in enlarging it and turning it from deep red to orangeish-pink. He also noted that its placement over his rank tattoo was singularly unfortunate.

"Perhaps if I see Aizen-sama and ask him about it..." he trailed off, glancing from the stain to the pots on the stove. His mind made up, Ulquiorra turned the heat down to a simmer, put the lids on the pots, and left a note by the stove guaranteeing swift doom to those who tampered with his cooking. The prisoner's dinner could wait until he cleared this up.

..................

Aizen felt a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he watched Ulquiorra leave the meeting room with something of a spring in his step despite his ruined uniform. It was a stark contrast to the dejection the Cuarta had dragged himself in with, and over so simple a problem, too.

"I see why he's a favorite, Aizen-sama," Ichimaru murmured from Ulquiorra's usual spot. "But Grimmjow? Say it ain't so!"

Tousen sat forward at his right with a scowl. "Yes. I find this lack of judgment to be appalling."

Aizen shrugged and leaned back. "Where else can one find quality entertainment in Las Noches? It's always something new with Grimmjow, and the unpredictability is refreshing..." He trailed off, running his fingers in circles along the tabletop. "Refreshing and amusing."

Ichimaru grinned at that. "So y'like it when they stand up t'you? So differ'nt from before."

"Mhm," Aizen agreed with a nod. "As long as it's balanced with obedience, I don't see a problem. He'll come around." He pulled a book out from his sleeve and pushed it across the meeting table to Ichimaru. "As soon as he's well again, I can start putting this advice to good use."

"What's this?" Ichimaru frowned at the cover of the book, and read aloud. "Setting Limits with Your Strong-Willed Child: Eliminating Conflict by Establishing Clear, Firm, and Respectful Boundaries...?"

Tousen breathed a long-suffering sigh from his side of the table. "Now you're treating them like children?"

Aizen smiled again and took the book back from his subordinate. "If it works, Kaname, then it works."