Disclaimer: See the part where it says "fan fiction?" Right. I don't own these characters or settings, and I'm not making a dime off of them. Please don't sue me!

Mini-Summary: Twelve: Orihime's cat still isn't friendly, but he sure seems to like Grimmjow. Also, how will the barely-recovering Grimmjow and the newly-sick Ulquiorra survive a day in Karakura all on their own without an able-bodied and sane supervisor? Will they even manage to get to the doctor?

Grimmjow and Ulquiorra's Excellent Adventure: Part One

Orihime sighed as she sat up and pushed her blanket to the foot of the couch. She glanced up at the window to check the position of the moon. Early. Probably around dawn if she were home. For some reason, it didn't matter at all what she resolved the night before, she couldn't manage to sleep in by even an hour. It was as if her body was permanently stuck in "get ready for school" mode, even when school as a whole dimension away.

"Good morning, Frill," she murmured, reaching up to pet the cat who'd draped himself across the back of the couch for the night. With a shrug of bony shoulders, the cat removed himself from her reach. At least he hadn't hissed. It was an improvement. And about the only improvement there'd been around here for days now since Ulquiorra had disappeared.

Orihime wasn't sure what had happened to change Ulquiorra's mind about destroying the cat, but she was very glad the Cuarta had come back for her dishes that afternoon, but not for Frill. Even if he was the least cuddly cat she'd ever laid eyes on, he was a sort-of-living thing that kept her company and gave her someone to talk to. Or to talk at, anyway. That was something.

Particularly since her melancholy keeper hadn't come back but twice before he was replaced by a tall, thin arrancar with a log-shaped mask and the cutest ruffles on his uniform. Ulquiorra hadn't exactly been talkative--far from it--but he was familiar. And he had a face. And he seemed to care whether she ate her food. This new keeper just dropped off a cart with a wave and was gone again until the next meal.

Orihime moved closer to Frill, her hand outstretched to pet him. The cat moved away with a hiss, jumping off the couch to slink underneath it. She sighed. If she was honest with herself, she was starting to worry about Ulquiorra, even if he did want to kill her unfriendly pet. Maybe he was upset about Frill's name. Had he asked to be reassigned because she'd offended him? He hadn't looked especially pleased by her comparison, but then, she didn't recall ever seeing him look especially pleased about anything. Or even marginally pleased. Or somewhat pleased.

In fact, now that she put her mind to it, he generally looked displeased, cold and untouchable. She couldn't imagine why he and Frill didn't get along, given their similar dispositions. If today was like any other, Frill was going to stay under the couch until after her first meal. Then he'd slink out for some water, spend the rest of the afternoon looking at her from a safe distance of five feet or so, and then creep back into hiding until she fell asleep.

From the corner of her eye, Orihime caught a patch of white ambling across her carpet, and blinked in surprise at the sight of Frill sitting in front of the door. She didn't have long to ponder it, though, before the door swung open.

"Damn," Grimmjow muttered under his breath, nudging the cat out of the way with his foot. "It got fat!"

Orihime looked at Frill for a moment, and then back at Grimmjow. "He's not fat! This is what a healthy cat looks like." It was not, in fact, what a healthy cat looked like. Frill still had a ways to go before she'd dub him healthy. Or friendly. But it was a start.

Grimmjow closed the door behind him and put his back to it and took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm short on time, so--" He stopped to look down at Frill, who was now rolling on the floor for a belly rub. "What the hell are you feeding it, anyway?"

"Just water," she murmured. Orihime tried to wrap her mind around the bizarre concept that she was having an impromptu--and almost polite--conversation with Grimmjow, of all people, about her cat. Her cat that was purring and being affectionate for the first time since she'd gotten him. "I put it in the little dish like you said." Her eyes shot wide open. "I mean," she corrected, "it, uh, seemed like the thing to do after he climbed in through the window all on his own." She willed Grimmjow not to notice the slip-up; it might work even without Jedi powers, given how distractible he seemed at present.

"Huh," he grunted. He cast one last look over his shoulder at the door, as if to be sure it was closed, and then stepped over the cat as he rushed to the couch and sat down next to her. "Look, I really don't have much time, so let's make this quick. I need you to tell me how to call a cab, how to count money," Grimmjow paused to shove Frill off his lap, "and how to get a package using something called a receipt."

Orihime blinked. "O-okay..." The day had started weird, but it kept getting odder. Maybe she had slept in after all, and just hadn't woken up yet. Any minute now there would be a racehorse-shaped robot dipped in chocolate. Since she had a dream visitor who would actually talk, she decided to figure out what all the noise last night had been. If this was actually a dream, he'd tell her. Probably with a smile. "Um, there's been a lot of coughing next door. Are people getting sick or something?"

"No."

She smiled as gently as she could so dream-Grimmjow wouldn't take offense like Ulquiorra had. "That's a lie, isn't it?"

Grimmjow folded his arms over his chest. "Sure is, but I'm sticking to it. Spill. How do you call a cab?"

"Well you use the phone, of course." Clearly, she realized, this was not a dream. He wasn't smiling, there were no dinosaurs, and the look he was giving her told her she'd just said something completely off the wall. She reached down to run her fingers along Frill's back, and the cat moved closer to Grimmjow.

"What the fuck is a 'phone,' woman," he groused, running a hand through his hair in frustration, "and why do you think I know how to use one?"

"Oh," she said, thinking of Rukia and juice boxes. "We're starting from scratch here, aren't we?" She turned around and reached over the back of the couch to the pile of contraband a yawning arrancar had smuggled in for her during the beginning of Ulquiorra's absence. Her fingers brushed a pad of paper, and she grabbed that and a box of crayons.

Orihime flipped open the pad of paper and started to draw. "Okay, here's the garganta you pop out of." She tried not to squirm when Grimmjow scooted closer to see her drawing better. While a confused Grimmjow would be considerably more violent than a baffled Rukia, he hadn't hurt her at all the last few times he'd come, except for the wrist that once. But he'd put the bird back, so that was all right, even if it was because of a fever. "This is the park where Ulquiorra first showed up, okay?"

"Uh-huh." Grimmjow pushed Frill off his lap again, and ignored both the resulting thump when the cat hit the floor and the plaintive mew that followed.

Orihime made a valiant attempt to not be jealous of the attention Frill was giving him, and failed. "And over here," she pointed to the area to the side of the page, "there's a big, person-sized, clear box. It has a phone in it."

"Phones are that big?"

She looked at him with her head titled to the side. "No, they're actually pretty small. But you'll have to stand in the box while you use the phone, so it has to be big enough."

"'Kay." Grimmjow swept a foot to the side, sending Frill stumbling away as he tried to rub against the Espada's legs. "What next?"

Orihime flipped to a new page and drew a phone. "You'll put the money in here, and then you pick up this curved part and push the buttons down there." She scribbled a number down in the margins. "These are the numbers you'll push, in this order." She paused to emphasize her point, and waited until he looked at her. "Grimmjow, if you push the buttons in the wrong order, you won't be talking to the cab company, and you'll be out of money to try again."

Grimmjow waved a hand impatiently. "Got it, got it. Push the number on the buttons." He tapped a finger on the drawing where the buttons were, as though dialing. "See? Come on, what's next? I'm short on time, remember?"

"Now you need to put this curved piece up against your face like this," she said, tracing the shape of the receiver on his face over his hollow mask. She was pleasantly surprised when he didn't smack her for invading his space. Maybe if Ulquiorra ever came back he'd let her touch his mask, too. And maybe, she thought, Ulquiorra isn't coming back because you said his mask was frilly. She sighed. How was she supposed to know how fragile Ulquiorra's feelings were if he never showed them to her in the first place?

Grimmjow's growl and snapping fingers brought her mind back to the task at hand. "Right," she said, taking her hand away from his mask. "Um, after the ring, you'll hear a voice on the other end of the line."

"What ring? What line?" Grimmjow rubbed his temples. "I thought we were talking about a phone."

Orihime frowned, and decided against an explanation. "Well, you'll hear things when you have the phone against your face. A voice. And then without moving the phone at all, you talk. And they can hear your voice the same way you can hear theirs. Tell them that you're at this address," she kept talking while she wrote it down, "and that you want a cab. Then just follow the instructions."

Grimmjow blinked down at the picture with the address and numbers scrawled along the edge. "And the curved bit?"

"Oh, you put that back where you found it." Orihime watched Frill prepare to jump back onto Grimmjow's lap, his hindquarters twitching as he tensed up. Why not her lap? It was softer, and she wouldn't push him off the way Grimmjow did.

Grimmjow exhaled and leaned back against the couch. "Got it. Now about--" He stopped to glare down at Frill, who'd finally made the leap and then started unapologetically kneading the fabric under his paws. Grimmjow scooped the cat up and held him up so they were nose to nose. "Go. Away." He dumped the cat in Orihime's lap. "Now, counting money. Talk."

"That's pretty complicated," she said, putting her hand on Frill's neck under his mask as she'd seen Grimmjow do when he first brought the cat and acting like Frill let her touch him all the time. "You should just hand them the money you have. They'll take what they need and give you the rest back."

"I'm just supposed to trust them?" He sounded incredulous, like the idea itself was an insult.

She smiled, running her free hand along Frill's mask. "Unless you have an hour to figure out all the different bills and coins, then yes. You'll have to trust them."

He grumbled a bit, something about wasting time and not agreeing to do this in the first place, but glanced at the door and dropped the argument. "Okay, fine. Packages."

Maybe it was just that no one had talked to her in what seemed like forever. Or maybe it was Frill actually sitting still to be petted. Whatever it was, she bundled up her caution and tossed it aside. Grimmjow must have really needed the info to be here, after all, and he wouldn't get it if he hurt her. "What is all this for?"

Grimmjow shook his head. "Nothing. Hurry it up. How do you use a receipt to get a package?"

Orihime felt her mouth form a pout. "I never had many visitors before, but now I don't even have Ulquiorra anymore because I made fun of his hollow mask and it hurt his feelings." She let her momentum roll over Grimmjow's attempted interruption. "No, now there's just this guy who talks in two voices when he says anything at all. Which isn't often, I might add. But today I finally have another visitor and you're rushing things!"

"That's because I don't have time for this shit, woman!" He fidgeted for a moment, and then sighed. "Look, I'll bring you back some food or something if you'll just tell me how to pick up a fucking package."

"And you'll stay a while after you get back?" She could see his jaw muscles twitch as he ground his teeth, and wished she could retract the statement.

"Fine, I'll try," he muttered. "Whatever. Now talk."

Orihime blinked and decided to press her luck. "I want sweet bread and red bean paste."

"Okay." Grimmjow drummed his fingers impatiently. "Come on, come on. Pink's going to be back any minute now and I'm not allowed in here."

She wondered briefly who "Pink" was, but let the thought slide. "Go to the post office. The receipt will have the address you need. There'll be a person behind the desk, and you'll hand them the receipt. Say you're there to pick up a package, and they'll hand it to you. You're supposed to say thank you afterward."

Grimmjow scrunched up his face in disbelief. "That's it? I hand them some stupid piece of paper, and they hand me something better than the paper?"

"Well you're not getting it for nothing. It's just that someone else already paid for the package. You're just collecting it."

"Huh." He reached over to the notebook and tore out the two pages she'd drawn on. "Okay," he muttered, folding the drawings up and sliding them in his sash before standing to leave. "Bread and bean paste. Got it."

He was almost through the door before she thought to call after him. "Sweet bread and red bean paste!"

"I said I got it!" he yelled over his shoulder just before slamming the door.

Orihime looked down at Frill, who still hadn't moved since she put her hand on his neck. He didn't look very comfortable, but she had a feeling he'd be under the couch before she could blink once she let him go. Instead, she switched hands and ran her fingers along his sides.

Well, she thought, there's been all kinds of improvement today, and the day is just starting. She wondered what else could get better. Maybe Ulquiorra would come back and she could apologize, tell him his hollow mask wasn't frilly at all. That it was a very nice hollow mask, she'd always admired it, and she'd been mistaken before.

And maybe while Grimmjow was at the post office, he could mail the letters she'd been writing in crayon at the back of the notebook. She glanced up at the door, and frowned. She should have handed them to him before he left. Drat.

Grimmjow pulled the accordion of paper open, turned it around a few times, and then let it pull itself shut. The lines on it meant nothing to him, but Szayel had insisted he spend the time walking along the garganta looking at it. At least he hadn't said anything about the map being good for him. He rolled his eyes and felt in his gigai's pocket for the folded up drawings the woman had made. If he'd had to pick between her paper and Szayel's, he'd have dropped Szayel's stupid map in a heartbeat. Instead, he opened it again and pretended to be engrossed in the names of all the bridges.

Up ahead, Szayel was pressing a cloth bag into Ulquiorra's hands--sans black nails, Ulquiorra had been unhappy to discover on getting in the gigai--and coaching him in proper hydration and pills that had looked like colorful hard candy when he'd peeked in the bag earlier.

"You'll take one of these every two hours, or more as you need," Szayel said, only then releasing the bag. "Unwrap it, put it in your mouth. Do not swallow it whole," he cautioned, holding a finger up for emphasis. "Do not chew it up. Just let it dissolve on your tongue."

Grimmjow craned his neck to get a better view as Ulquiorra opened the bag and drew out a paper-wrapped oval. He had to agree with Ulquiorra on the fingernails. His hands just didn't look the same without the black tips. In fact, except that he was still unnaturally pale, Ulquiorra could have passed for human just about anywhere. It was jarring.

"It burns," Ulquiorra croaked, grimacing around the cough drop.

Szayel shrugged. "It's good for you."

"Don't trust him," Grimmjow called from behind them. "That's a trap!"

"You shut up," Szayel snapped. "You're supposed to be studying that street map so you don't have to wander around too much. You're not at all as rested as you should be at this stage of your recovery."

Grimmjow flipped him off and continued to ignore the map in question. It wasn't worth the energy to get into an actual verbal brawl. He'd be better off saving that energy to get through another forced tour of Karakura. Aside from being able to breathe this time around, he wasn't feeling especially up to a long trip through town. He attributed it to putting up with Ulquiorra all this time.

The Octava turned to speak to Ulquiorra again. "Those will help you stop coughing, without any side effects. And they should numb your throat, too."

Ulquiorra rolled the cough drop around with his tongue, his expression bordering on disgust but not quite attaining it. "This tastes more terrible with every moment."

"Well, there's eucalyptus," Szayel started ticking off flavors on fingers, "triple mint, cherry, elderberry, strawberry, honey ginger, and something called 'citrus splash.'"

Ulquiorra did not look impressed by the variety. "And this one is?"

Szayel glanced at the wrapper in Ulquiorra's hand. "Triple mint. I think what you're tasting is the menthol. They all have that." He stopped walking and looked around, assessing their location. Apparently satisfied, he nodded. "You've got some of each in there," he said, pointing to the bag. "Let me know which ones you hate least and I'll get you more of them." He paused. "Anything else?"

Grimmjow rolled his eyes at the question and scratched his cheek. Last time he must have been too distracted by the whole not breathing thing to notice how weird it felt to be mask-less. He wondered how Ulquiorra was dealing with it, then remembered he didn't actually give a shit.

Ulquiorra cleared his throat with grimace, and reached up to grab at his neck as though that would ease the pain. "Actually, Szayel," he said, "why Cory Shipper?"

Szayel grinned proudly at that. "It sounds vaguely like your name, so there's a better chance you'll remember to respond to it."

"Don't complain," Grimmjow muttered, leaning over to close some of the distance. "He calls himself Cecil. Yours could be a lot worse than Cory."

Glaring, Szayel snapped open the garganta and gave them both a push. "You have until this afternoon. Drink lots of water, and don't kill each other!"

The garganta slammed shut behind them and Grimmjow stared at the space where it had been for a moment before scowling. "There's no need to push, you bastard!" he yelled, knowing full well Szayel couldn't hear him. Seriously. It'd serve him right if they did kill each other.

Ulquiorra got to his feet and brushed himself off. "Grimmjow," he rasped. "Where is this 'phone' item we are supposed to use?"

"Let me check," he muttered, digging the first drawing out of his pocket and turning it until the trees on the picture lined up in the same configuration as the ones in the park. "That way," he said, pointing to the left. "In a clear box."

"Is that you, Ulquiorra?"

Ulquiorra groaned. "Not now," he mumbled.

Grimmjow spun around, looking for the voice's owner. It didn't sound like any of the shinigami he'd encountered, but it didn't hurt to know where your enemies were.

"Hey, it is you!" A portly plus in a baker's hat was waddling slowly toward them, wringing his chain in both hands. The nervous gesture looked entirely out of place next to his cheery demeanor. "Like what you did with your hair. Looks nice without the hat!"

Grimmjow's open-mouthed stare was interrupted by a pale hand grabbing his sleeve and dragging him toward the phone booth at a jog.

"Ignore him," Ulquiorra ordered. "He gives up after a few minutes."

The plus wasn't at all discouraged by the cold shoulder. He followed after them, his pace quickening to match theirs and his voice as loud as could be. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Ulquiorra?! Where've you been? We missed you last week!"

Grimmjow jerked his arm out of Ulquiorra's grasp and slowed to a walk again. There was no way he was wasting valuable energy running from a plus in the park. And actually, there was no way a plus should be chasing him in the park in the first place. He wondered just what the hell Ulquiorra did during his assignments here beyond drink too much soda. "You're being stalked by a plus," he accused. "Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?"

"Ulquiorra, wait!"

Grimmjow looked over his shoulder and felt the beginnings of a headache as he tried to make sense of the situation. This was worse than trying to understand the woman talking about curving lines in a clear, ringing box, or whatever. The plus had indeed given up on following them, and was instead jumping up and down on a picnic table twenty feet away, his hands cupped around his mouth as he yelled.

"The phone, Grimmjow," Ulquiorra reminded him, grabbing his sleeve again and staring ahead in an even more determined fashion than usual.

The plus jumped even higher. "Any progress on your cupcake?!" he shrieked.

Ulquiorra tripped over nothing and nearly dragged them both into a heap on the grass before Grimmjow managed to correct their footing.

He looked over at Ulquiorra, who refused to meet his eyes. "What the hell is this all about?"

"Listen, we're making another pass this Friday!" the plus continued, oblivious to the effect of his words. "Upped the baking powder to two cups! There's green sprinkles! You should come!"

..........

Sitting on a bench at the street corner fifteen minutes later, with the phone located, the number dialed, and the curved bit put back where he found it, Grimmjow still couldn't figure out why a plus would be waiting in the park to ambush Ulquiorra with an invitation to a baking party, tempting green sprinkles or no. And he got the distinct impression that Ulquiorra didn't want to talk about it. There had to be a simple reason behind it all, but it just wasn't coming to mind, which was odd, because he usually came up with simple explanations where others made things complicated. He was starting to worry that the pneumonia had done worse things to him than give him a temporary fit of compassion, when Ulquiorra cleared his throat.

"Our plan is to visit this clinic, retrieve Aizen-sama's package, and purchase any medicine that is prescribed before returning to the park, correct?" The shorter Espada rubbed his fingers along his throat before digging into the bag for another cough drop.

Grimmjow looked up the street for their cab. "We've also got to eat something and buy some food for the woman," he said, having given up on figuring out the plus situation.

Ulquiorra was silent for a moment. "There is food in Las Noches. Why does Szayel think she needs additional supplies?"

"How do you think I know anything at all about cabs and receipts and phone numbers?" Grimmjow rubbed his eyes, starting to feel the lack of quality sleep. "And what do you think that information cost me?" he continued. "The woman wants sweet bread and red bean paste for dinner. Pretty sure we don't have that back home."

"You were not authorized to speak with her," Ulquiorra said.

Grimmjow smirked. "Has that ever stopped me before?"

Ulquiorra's frown deepened and gained a hint of accusation. "You're the one responsible for Frill, aren't you?"

It was Grimmjow's turn to frown. "For what?"

"The cat," Ulquiorra muttered. "I thought you were too ill to be the culprit, but apparently I was mistaken."

Grimmjow folded his arms behind his head and leaned back against the bench. So she'd named the thing after all. Interesting, but not interesting enough to make this trip worthwhile. If Ulquiorra was feeling up to this kind of conversation, then he wasn't feeling sick enough to see a doctor, which made this even more a waste of time. "Don't know anything about a cat. Sorry."

"That is a lie, Grimmjow." Ulquiorra shook his head. "You gave the woman that scrawny pest, and," he cleared his throat, "you probably suggested the name, too," he finished in a rasp.

"Hn." Grimmjow shifted his weight to lean to one side and put his foot up on the wood. If Ulquiorra knew about the cat and the cat was still there, then Aizen didn't care one way or the other. So he wouldn't be getting in trouble for bringing it to the woman in the first place. And he had to admit it might be fun to own up to the deed, if only because the whole situation seemed to piss Ulquiorra off so much. "The cat, yeah. That was me." He scratched at his cheek idly. "But why'd she name it Frill?"

Ulquiorra turned away to watch a troop of school children cross the street at the next intersection. "Why does the woman do any number of inexplicable things? I have long since given up trying to understand the workings of her mind."

Speaking for so long turned out to be enough of a trigger for a coughing spell, and Grimmjow leaned back with a smile to watch his fellow Espada hunch over clutching his throat. After a few seconds it looked like Ulquiorra had moved from coughing to choking and, his smile evaporating, Grimmjow slapped his companion's back a few times, sending a glistening purple oval flying into the grass at their feet.

Ulquiorra remained curled over his knees, breathing hard and alternating between clearing his throat and groaning. He wrapped both hands around his neck as though that would help. "Fuck." The groans turned into something even more pathetic sounding.

Grimmjow found himself alternating between shock at hearing that word out of the tightest-laced arrancar in Las Noches and disbelief that Ulquiorra managed to nearly kill himself less than an hour out of the garganta. He listened to Ulquiorra for a moment. If he could get that kind of breathing accomplished, then whatever Ulquiorra had was more of a throat thing than a lung thing. Grimmjow wasn't sure that made it any more pleasant, considering the half-whimpers all this throat-clearing was causing. "Those are good for you, huh?"

Ulquiorra sat up slowly, his cheeks faintly flushed from exertion and something very close to an actual expression on his face. He looked down at the offending cough drop as though it were a tablet of poison actively seeking to harm him. "I would hate," he wheezed, "to experience something Szayel thought was bad for me."

"And that's probably the only thing we'll ever agree on," Grimmjow said. Now if only the cab would get here so they could get all this over with. He didn't look forward to the clinic, but it sure beat watching cars race by while Ulquiorra got over the whole homicidal cough drop thing.

Ulquiorra caught Grimmjow's eyes. "We were on the subject of motives, Grimmjow." What voice he'd started the day with was almost entirely gone. "Why did you give the woman a pet?"

Shit. Now he remembered why he'd planned on denying it all. Ulquiorra couldn't be allowed to know about the fucking birds. He'd never hear the end of it, especially not now that he was trapped in the same room with him for another week and a half. Grimmjow weighed his options and chose distraction. Ulquiorra's defeat via cough drop was bound to work in his favor here.

"You know," he started, "the woman's convinced she hurt your feelings. I tried telling her you didn't have any, but--"

Ulquiorra grabbed his wrist and dug his fingernails in. "Why the cat?" he whispered.

Well that was straightforward. Also serious, given how rarely the Cuarta used physical means of persuasion. Maybe the woman had hurt his feelings. At this rate, between the cough drops and their own mutual antagonism, they might kill each other before they even got to the clinic. Of course, there was an honorable way out of this situation, one which would completely defuse Ulquiorra's ire and restore a semblance of peace for the duration of this nightmarish trip.

Grimmjow gritted his teeth and prepared himself for the worst. "So what's this I hear about a cupcake?"

Before they could get into the sort of fight Grimmjow would relish if they were both in top condition, a honk brought their attention to the street, where a man sat in a car with his window rolled down.

"You the ones who called a cab?"

OMAKE: Meanwhile, in Las Noches:

Tesla's voice was scratchy as it drifted up from the huddled bundle of fabric on the bed in the corner. "Aa... Aaroniero..."

At the sound of his name, he turned around with a sigh, putting the newly rinsed basin on the table. This was the last fraccion on his list before delivering the prisoner's meal, and somehow this one always took longer than any three others combined. "Yes?" his high voice replied.

"If..." Tesla rolled over to face him, his good eye filled with tears. "If I die," he whispered, "t-tell Nnoitra-sama that I--" The wavering voice broke off with a wet gurgle as the medicine Tesla had just managed to choke down made a return trip onto the bed.

Aaroniero clenched his fists. Now he'd have to change the bed sheets. Again. "You aren't dying, Tesla," he ground out.

"I'm not?"

Not yet, little piggy, Aaroniero thought. I'll kill you and be done with it, though, if you don't stop undoing all my work. Still, he knew that better than to voice those thoughts. Instead, he came up with something that sounded reasonably kind. "No," his low voice said. "Though it probably feels like it."

Tesla wiped the purple remnants of medicine from his lips with the back of his hand and gagged a little more. This time, nothing came up. "I haven't," he hiccuped, "caught the numobacteria?"

"The what?"

"What Grimmjow had," he clarified. "I didn't catch it?"

Aaroniero remembered Szayel telling him about that, actually. He bit back a laugh at the thought of Nnoitra with his head under the kitchen faucet, his spoon-shaped hood channeling a steady stream of water all down his uniform. "Pneumonia doesn't catch, Tesla. It develops."

Tesla peeled off the medicine-soaked sheets and held them out toward the laundry bin. "From what?"

Aaroniero took the sheets and dumped them in with the rest, then motioned for Tesla to get up so he could collect the rest of the sodden bedding. It would help if he could remember what exactly Szayel had said about how one got pneumonia. He decided to approximate an answer. "From coughing. Probably."

Tesla stood shivering against the wall as he waited for the bed to be made. "Probably?" He reached for the basin and threw up the rest of the medicine and what was left of this morning's meal. Setting the basin back down, he groaned and then wiped his mouth.

"I'm not a scientist, all right?" Aaroniero fumed. "Or a doctor. Or even a sympathetic bystander. It catches," his low voice continued, "from coughing." His high voice took over as he jerked bedding into some semblance of order. "Are you done vomiting yet? You need to drink a replacement round of this medicine Szayel made."

Tesla moaned, his eye wide as he backed away from the table with the medicine. "No more," he whimpered. "Please."

"It's not my fault you can't keep it down," Aaroniero muttered. "Ggio and Lilinette only had to drink it once."

His eye locking in horror on the bottle of violet liquid, Tesla swallowed hard and stalled for time. "Nnoitra-sama isn't sick, is he?"

Aaroniero shook his head. "He won't open his door. I'm guessing that means he's fine." He shrugged. "Or dead." One look at Tesla's face told him that was the worst thing he could have said.

"Nooooooo!" Tesla wailed, making a break for the door. "I'm coming, Nnoitra-sama!"

Aaroniero reached out and grabbed the fraccion by the arm as he passed, yanking him away from the doorway and wrestling the sobbing wreck into the newly-made bed. "Forget it," his low voice murmured in what he hoped was a soothing tone. "I said nothing."

Tesla remained inconsolable.

"He's fine," Aaroniero tried again, this time with the high voice. "He's fine!" He sighed, settling in for what promised to be a long shift. If he had temples, he'd be massaging them.