Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or places, etc. You're reading this on a site devoted to fanfiction. This should be a clear indication that I'm not pretending ownership and therefore should really, really not be sued. Many thanks.

Mini-Summary: Why is Szayel so upset? Will Ulquiorra take his medicine? Will Grimmjow learn about the cupcake? What's this about an apology? And... what is Nnoitra hiding? All these answers and more inside.

Chapter 15: Confessions of a Box-Kicker

Grimmjow shifted the bags from one arm to the other for probably the third time so far on this trip through the garganta, and stared at the package Szayel was holding. He'd almost forgotten to wonder about the contents, but seeing it in someone else's grasp had renewed that curiosity. He glanced to his right to make sure Ulquiorra was still keeping up, and reached out to drag him forward several steps.

"It isn't as though I'm not busy, Grimmjow," Szayel was complaining. "I would have thought that Ulquiorra could keep your inconsiderate nature in check, but apparently I was wrong." He moved the package to the other arm and shot a glare over his shoulder.

Grimmjow rolled his eyes as Szayel started up again. He'd failed to get a word in four times already, and was about to tune out the other Espada's whining about having to wander all over town to find them when there was a break in the wall of speech.

"Well?" Szayel was looking at him expectantly.

"Tch. I don't know why you're in such a pissy mood," Grimmjow muttered. "You got to stay home and avoid cabs and neurotic plusses and ten fucking flights of stairs. You had it easy."

Szayel stopped walking. "Don't go there, Grimmjow. Until you've held Cuuhlhourne's hair while he vomits up the entirety of a blueberry pie, taking breaks to rave to you about the positive impact this stomach illness will have on his girlish figure, you have no room to talk. Absolutely no room. And let's not even mention Ggio. He was--"

"Okay, okay," he interrupted. "I get it. We both have reasons to be mad." Anything, even a concession, was better than hearing about damn Ggio and whatever it was that was worse than replayed blueberry pie.

The Octava sighed and started walking again, oblivious to Ulquiorra's groan as the trio resumed the journey. "So how much money do you have left over? There should be quite a lot."

Grimmjow sucked in a breath. "None."

"What?"

He shrugged, figuring it served Szayel right to have no leftovers for Aizen. "We spent it all. The cab was pricey, and the ice cream. Doctor, all that." No need to mention the bean paste and sweet bread. No need at all.

"Ice cream," Szayel repeated with a frown. "That was not on your list for today."

"Doctor said it would be good for Ulquiorra's throat. Anyway, you said to eat lunch, and we did."

Szayel leveled a blank look at him. "You ate ice cream. For lunch."

"And we drank water." Grimmjow wished he'd kept the bottle for proof. Empty, it wasn't heavy at all. "Thought you'd be proud."

"I don't know about proud," Szayel murmured, studying each of them in turn over his shoulder, "but I'm surprised. Which of you forced the other to drink?"

"Both of us," Ulquiorra rasped, having mustered the energy to rejoin the conversation briefly.

Grimmjow nodded. "And it was a big-ass bottle, too."

"Ah." Szayel sounded pleased, if disbelieving. "Lots of water, and a dubious meal. Two things I hadn't expected you to..." His step faltered slightly and he slowed down until he was even with the other two, and then looped his free arm around Grimmjow's shoulders. "Wait one moment, Grimmjow. When you say that you and Ulquiorra drank a large bottle of water, how exactly do you mean?"

"We swallowed it," Grimmjow said, shrugging out of the contact. "Are you stupid? How the fuck else would you drink water?"

A peculiar grin crept over Szayel's face, and his voice took on a light and airy quality that was three shades of unnatural. "You mean, I'm sure," he said, "that you poured water from the bottle into two glasses, and then--"

Ulquiorra cleared his throat. "Where would we have found glasses?"

Szayel stopped walking entirely, and looked back and forth between them with an expression remarkably similar to the one Ulquiorra had worn just before falling off the doctor's table. "Are you telling me that you both drank straight from the same bottle?"

Grimmjow bit his lip and tried to squash the little voice in his mind that said something was horribly wrong. "Um, yes?"

"I see." Szayel clenched his fist and started walking again, his gait off by just a bit. They walked in uneasy silence for a very long moment before he spoke up again in a voice that seemed both calm and strangely forced. "And so you drank half of the water, Grimmjow, and then Ulquiorra drank the remainder."

"We alternated," Ulquiorra said.

"Yeah," Grimmjow added, his eyes on the Octava's fist. "He drank a third, I drank a third, and we kind of split the rest."

Szayel was silent for over a minute, walking with his back to them. "You drank after Ulquiorra did."

Ulquiorra frowned. "That wasn't okay?"

The Octava spun to face them, throwing the package to the ground and waving his hands in the air. "How could you possibly think that was okay!?" he bellowed.

"Shit, why wouldn't I?" Grimmjow yelled back. He was getting tired of people lording special knowledge over him, smiling and tossing out concepts like elevators and fucking bean paste. And this? No. Szayel was two whole ranks below him, and he'd had it. He'd finally fucking had it. "You never said a damn thing about it," he growled, slicing a hand out in front of him. "Not one way or the other."

Szayel scowled. "I didn't mention it because I never thought you two liked each other enough to share anything!" He punctuated his statement with a vicious kick to the box.

"We don't," Ulquiorra muttered, glancing at the package before shooting Szayel a warning look. "Things were expensive. We could only get one."

"And anyway," Grimmjow fumed, "you said this gigai would repel anything. Now you're saying you lied to me?"

"Anything human-borne, yes," Szayel clarified. He thrust a finger into Ulquiorra's face. "Does this look human to you?"

"Well, no." In fact Ulquiorra was looking particularly murderous at the moment, and not at all like a human, despite the gigai. Grimmjow decided that wasn't the point. "But that's not what you said!" he insisted. "You said 'indestructible' back there!"

Szayel's scowl deepened. "Yes," he spat. "'Immunologically indestructible,'" he quoted, putting a new boot-shaped dent in the package with each word. "That's exactly what I said. In respect to human," kick, "borne," kick, "illnesses!"

Grimmjow intercepted the last kick with one of his own and was pleased to see Szayel flinch back from it. "I ain't taking the fall if you break that shit," he growled. "The things I went through to even get that fucking package, and if you keep kicking it like that--"

"It's just books, you moron," Szayel snapped. "They wouldn't break if I dumped the box off the top of the fifth tower."

"How do you know that?" Completely defused by the comment, Grimmjow glanced at the dented package and tried to see whatever Szayel had seen. "You didn't even open it."

"Are you really that distractible, Grimmjow?" Ulquiorra stepped over the box and stood in place protecting it. He glared at Szayel. "Regardless of the contents, you will handle Aizen-sama's property with more care, Szayel."

Szayel scoffed. "You're both his property. We all are. Why don't you handle yourselves with a little care and stop spreading your damn germs to each other?" He threw his hands up in the air. "Shit, the second I fix one of you the other comes down sick. This has got to stop."

Grimmjow glanced up from the box, having missed the previous exchange. "Wait, how do you know it's books?"

"Oh, will you drop it about the books, already?" Szayel ran a hand through his hair irritably. "We've moved on. The point is that you're both idiots. The new gigai is fine against human-borne illness, but gigai to gigai is completely..." He trailed off, looking back and forth between Grimmjow and Ulquiorra with his eyes slowly focusing elsewhere. "Gigai to gigai," he muttered. "Gigai to--"

Suddenly, Szayel slammed his fist into his open palm, his distraction turning to excitement. "That's it!" He turned around and began walking briskly toward Las Noches.

Grimmjow stood there frowning for a moment, and then took off after him, shaking thoughts of books in boxes out of his mind. "Oi! Do I want to know what you're thinking?"

"Hm?" Szayel looked back, but was apparently too focused on this new train of thought to let him catch up.

Throwing a good deal of his remaining energy into closing the distance between them, Grimmjow clenched a fist in the fabric of Szayel's uniform and held on. "I asked what you were thinking," he repeated, keeping his feet moving as Szayel pulled him along.

"You couldn't possibly grasp it, Grimmjow, so don't bother." Szayel slowed down slightly, allowing him to keep up more easily. "After all, I lost you on a concept as simple as bacteria, remember?"

Grimmjow fought back the urge to punch Szayel's kidney out of his torso, and distilled his various questions into the one that mattered most at the moment. "Am I going to get sick again?"

Szayel finally stopped walking and turned around to face him. "Yes, you moron. At least have the decency to look ashamed at your stupidity."

"Hey!" Grimmjow grabbed one of Szayel's fingers and twisted it until the scientist's smug look was replaced with a pained one. "How the hell was I supposed to know?"

"How did you think people got sick?" Szayel asked, trying to free his finger without breaking it. All he succeeded in doing was tearing the fabric of his glove. "Let go, already!"

Grimmjow did so, having gotten what he wanted from the move. "I have no fucking idea how, Pink. It's not like we ever got sick before." And they hadn't. Not in Las Noches or out in the wilds. It was some human thing, and hell if he knew how people caught it. It could have been the bitch's coughing. Or their fighting. Or the grope fest that followed. Or even the--

"That's it," Szayel muttered, interrupting his thoughts. "Once the quarantine is lifted, I'm hosting a tutorial on illness. 'Germs,' I'll call it. Or 'Germs: How Not to Catch Them.'" He sighed. "I'll beg Aizen to make attendance mandatory for all arrancar."

"Yeah, have fun with that." Grimmjow tossed the scrap of glove to the ground behind him. "Half of them won't understand anything past 'really small bad stuff,' and the other half won't care."

Szayel snapped open the garganta and raised an eyebrow at him. "And which half are you, Grimmjow?"

"I'm the irritated, going to kill someone if I get sick again half." He walked through the garganta and glowered back at Szayel. "'Specially since you promised me I wouldn't."

"Well, you might not." Szayel ran a hand through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck before joining Grimmjow in the well-lit hallway. "You still have just enough antibiotics in your system that you might be safe. And there's a chance that the germs didn't transfer between gigais due to some structural differences between his old model and your new one." He let the garganta close. "I'll have to take some samples and run some tests to be sure."

"What kind of samples?" Grimmjow felt his arm twitch at the thought of Szayel wielding a syringe. "And what kind of tests?"

Szayel waved his arms in the air. "Oh, you know. Samples. Tests." He turned and headed toward the East wing. "Come on you, two. You need to rest while you can."

Grimmjow blinked and glanced around himself before smiling. "Heh. You left Ulquiorra in there," he called.

"What?" Szayel glanced back. "Shit!" He snapped open a garganta and took a few hurried steps toward it.

It wasn't really a laughing matter, given how little energy Ulquiorra had at the moment and how very big a garganta was, but Grimmjow found it difficult not to cackle, and impossible not to grin. It served the little bastard right. Both of them. Ulquiorra could end up trapped in the garganta unless someone with more reiatsu went in, found him in all that space, and dragged him out. And Szayel couldn't do much worse than dump Aizen's favorite in a black hole while he ran off to run tests.

They both peered in through the opening. At first, there was nothing to be seen, but then Ulquiorra appeared, trudging along toward them, his head down but radiating exhaustion and venomous fury. He clutched the battered package to his chest as he took careful steps along the tendril of white he was managing to maintain.

Szayel reached in and expanded the path, looking sheepish as he helped Ulquiorra out into the hallway. "I'm so--"

"You left me," Ulquiorra interrupted in the clipped tones of someone who was trying not to be violent.

Szayel tried again. "I am so, so sorry. We--"

"Save it." Ulquiorra shoved the box at him. "And take this."

"Right." Szayel nodded, running his gloveless finger along the frayed cardboard. He could almost make out one of the titles. Something about defiant children. He was afraid the box would fall apart if he gripped it too hard. "Well, while I gather equipment for samples and such, why don't you two settle down on the couch in the front room." He looked at each of them in turn to be sure they were listening.

Grimmjow grabbed Ulquiorra's arm and pointed him in the right direction. "Yeah. Whatever." He waited until he couldn't hear the click-clack of Szayel's regulation boots in the hallway, and then marched purposefully toward the woman's room.

"You have no right to be in there," Ulquiorra reminded him with what remained of his voice.

Grimmjow paused, one hand up against the door. He looked back at Ulquiorra's figure, slumped against the opposite wall. "That's right. You want to go instead? I'm sure she'd love to see you like this. Maybe you could even stand up straight for the occasion."

When Ulquiorra tried, and failed, to push himself fully upright in indignation, Grimmjow grinned at him. "I ain't going in, don't get your panties in a bunch." As tired as he was now, if he went in, sat down, let her get started... he'd never get out again.

He separated out the bag with the medicine and pamphlets, and set it on the ground. Once he was sure he wouldn't end up handing over the wrong stuff, he opened the door a crack and poked his head in. The view was a nice one. The woman was bent over on her hands and knees, her ass up in the air as she tried to reach under the couch for something. "Hey, woman! Got your shit."

"Ouch!" she yelped as she banged her head on a nearby chair trying to get up. "Oh," she said with a smile, rubbing her head. "That was a long trip! I thought you'd forgotten about it."

The woman tried to look around him as she approached the door, and Grimmjow shifted his weight to block her view. He dangled the grocery bags out and waited while she took them. "Can't stay," he muttered, trying to look even a little upset about that.

"Oh," she said, her smile fading. "Well, maybe later?"

Grimmjow fidgeted a little, feeling Ulquiorra's reiatsu stir in irritation behind him. "Sure thing," he lied. "Can't wait." He shut the door in her face and shook his head before picking up the bag with the medicine. He had always supposed that, as a hollow, he knew what loneliness was. But whatever loneliness he was familiar with had nothing on hers. The woman was crazy if she thought he was decent company.

"You should not lie to her, Grimmjow."

"What do you care?" Grimmjow shoved open the door to Ulquiorra's room and held it open for his reluctant host. "She thinks your mask is frilly, remember? And I heard she slapped you once."

Ulquiorra sank onto the couch and leaned his head back with a small sigh. "She is already ours, already broken. There is no need for it. That's all."

Grimmjow stared at him for a moment, and then decided it wasn't worth the time to pry. He filled the glass on the table nearest Ulquiorra and shook out one of the pills. It was smaller than the ones he'd been tortured with, so maybe the doctor was right about them being weaker. He held it out between two fingers. "Here's your medicine. Take it with a full glass of water."

Ulquiorra didn't even look up. "I don't want any," he rasped.

"Yeah, can't say I blame you," Grimmjow muttered, letting the pill tumble back into its bottle. So Ulquiorra was going to play that game, was he? Well Grimmjow was an expert at it, and he'd be damned if he didn't win this round. "Medicine is awful stuff, and it's probably a waste of time, too."

He settled onto the opposite end of the couch, pill canister grasped firmly in the hand farthest from Ulquiorra. "You were asleep when the doctor was talking," he continued. "Blood work got you down." He glanced over at Ulquiorra, whose eyes were closed. He'd lose the game if Ulquiorra fell asleep, so he tossed the pills up and caught them with a clatter. Ulquiorra stirred, but continued to ignore him.

"Doctor said something about a full-body rash and being rendered speechless for life," Grimmjow said under his breath. "Not a problem, really," he continued with a shrug.

Ulquiorra slowly turned to face him, visibly disturbed. "What?"

Grimmjow waved a hand in his direction. "I mean, your uniform's got you covered head to toe, and it's not like you ever have anything important to say. So what's the harm?"

"Give me the pill," Ulquiorra said, a hand out and waiting.

Grimmjow scoffed. "No. You said you didn't want the medicine."

"I've changed my mind." Ulquiorra made a swipe for the bottle, but was too slow.

"Tough shit," Grimmjow said, lifting the bottle up over his head and out of the shorter Espada's reach. "No take backs. I'm going to throw them out the window."

Ulquiorra struggled to his feet to get more height on his side, but Grimmjow was also standing by the time he got to his feet, and had started backing slowly towards the window in a low-speed game of keep-away. "Grimmjow..." he threatened, before breaking off into a coughing fit and clutching at his throat. "Don't you dare..."

Grimmjow stopped under the window and held the medicine as close to the bars as he could without getting on his toes. His aim would see it sailing through the bars if he tried, and he could see as he glared down at his adversary that Ulquiorra was aware of this. There was something he'd been wanting from the Cuarta for a long time now, and this seemed like an excellent chance to get it. "I want a fucking apology," he hissed.

Ulquiorra backed up a step, confusion flitting across his face. "For what?" he asked.

"You want this medicine, you'll apologize for all the 'meals' you made me eat," he shuddered at the memory, "and then you'll swear to never cook for me again."

"I spent twice as long in the kitchen once you got sick," Ulquiorra replied haughtily, his tone ruined by the hoarseness of his voice. "Selecting just the right ingredients, in exactly the right quantities, being sure everything was perfectly prepared," he stopped to clear his throat with a grimace. "And you want an apology?" He shook his head. "I took excellent care of you when you were ill, Grimmjow," Ulquiorra insisted.

Grimmjow sneered at him. "Bullshit. The day I finally managed to eat Szayel's 'rice' and keep it down, you made me a plate of onion casserole." He bit back a gag. "It was nothing but onions," he ground out.

Ulquiorra somehow managed to simultaneously glare up at him and look down his nose at him. "There were leeks."

"Leeks are onions!" Grimmjow yelled.

"And scallions--"

Grimmjow cut him off with a warning shake of the pill bottle. "Also onions," he snarled. "And before you defend your culinary abomination by mentioning the chives or the shallots, let me tell you what those are, genius! Fucking onions!" he screamed down at Ulquiorra. "I've never smelled so many onions in one place. I wanted to claw my own nose off."

Ulquiorra was silent for a moment, his expression betraying a hint of hurt feelings. "Stark said you liked onions," he murmured softly.

"Not anymore," Grimmjow growled. "You turned me off of onions for life."

Ulquiorra shifted his eyes from Grimmjow to the medicine that was still too close to the window for his comfort. "Fine," he rasped tersely. "I apologize. And I will not cook for you again unless ordered to do so by Aizen-sama. Now give me that medicine."

Grimmjow paused, racking his brain for anything else he might use this moment to get. "And I want to know about the cupcake."

Ulquiorra bristled at the reminder. "Well, I want to know why you gave the woman a pet."

There was a long silence as both parties insisted on being contrary.

"You first," Grimmjow said, finally getting tired of standing with his arms over his head.

Ulquiorra shook his head. "The medicine first, then the pet, then the baked goods."

"You're just going to find a reason not to tell me."

"Between the two of us, Grimmjow, whose word is worth more?"

He had to concede that particular point. It wasn't all bad, though, since he'd won the game of 'get Ulquiorra to take his medicine' and also gotten an apology out of it. Sidestepping around Ulquiorra, he opened the pill bottle and shook out a single tablet. "Here," he muttered, waiting until the other Espada had sprawled on the end of the couch to hand it to him. "With a full glass of water."

Having learned his lesson with the purple cough drop earlier that morning, Grimmjow watched Ulquiorra carefully as the pill was choked down and followed by several painful gulps of water. When he was sure the coughing spell was actually a coughing spell and not a sign that Ulquiorra was about to die from lack of airflow, Grimmjow sat back down on the other end of the couch.

"You could say thank you," he muttered.

Ulquiorra set the now-empty glass down and leaned back weakly against the cushions. "And you," he gasped, "may begin your explanation of the cat."

Grimmjow sighed, and dragged his blanket up around his shoulders as he pulled his feet up onto the couch. "Okay," he started, "so there were these birds, all right?"

Aizen sat on his chair overlooking the sand and idly wondered when Szayel would be making his appearance. He knew the Octava was back, having felt the garganta open. Twice, even, which implied that something had gone wrong the first time. It was only a matter of time until Szayel had finished transporting Grimmjow and Ulquiorra, and he was almost as eager to get his hands on the latest parenting book as he was to hear what was plaguing the most obedient of his Espada.

The door to the observation room opened, and Szayel hesitated more than usual before taking the first step inside. He kept his head down until he was within two feet of Aizen, and then dropped to his knees. The package was nowhere in sight.

"I'm so sorry, Aizen-sama," Szayel started, his voice trembling slightly. "I k... k-kicked... your box." He sucked in a deep breath. "I kicked it several times." Szayel wiped sweat from his forehead before continuing in a rush. "I was frustrated, and I just, I had to let it out on something. And the box was there, so I threw it to the ground and I... kicked it. A lot." He reached behind him and held out what remained of the package.

Aizen took the box and examined it, observing the place where the cardboard was torn, the many places where it was scuffed, dented, and otherwise damaged. He turned it over in his hands, and it almost fell apart. Silently, he returned his gaze to the top of Szayel's head.

"They both tried to protect the box, Aizen-sama, but--"

"That's enough, Szayel," he interrupted smoothly. "The rest of your report?"

"...Aizen-sama?"

He could see--anyone would be able to see--that Szayel was waiting to receive his punishment, was hoping that the punishment would be lessened by his honesty in reporting the error. "It strikes me that the last few weeks of your life have been rather like a punishment in and of themselves," Aizen murmured. "I see no reason to add to your... frustrations." He would prefer it, after all, if Szayel could continue to refrain from kicking his patients instead of inanimate objects. "The rest of your report?" he prompted.

"Yes sir." It seemed the Octava was breathing a little easier now, but he still seemed too highly strung. "Grimmjow and Ulquiorra shared a bottle of water while in Karakura. I am going to run some tests to see whether Grimmjow has been reinfected.

"And what does Ulquiorra have?" he asked, drumming his fingers on the arm of the chair.

Szayel hesitated. "I'm not sure at the moment, Aizen-sama. I needed to get the tests set up, and to deliver your package, and to check on Zommari, who is doing much better, by the way, and--"

Aizen waved a hand to cut him off, putting a hint of reiatsu behind the gesture since Szayel still hadn't looked up. Opening the box was as simple as pulling at a torn corner, and Aizen lifted out the food encyclopedia. It was unlikely Ulquiorra would be near the kitchen any time soon, but at least this might help him pass the time in quarantine. He held the book out. "This is Ulquiorra's."

Szayel finally raised his eyes, and reached out for the miraculously undamaged book. "I'll give it to him when I go to collect my test samples, Aizen-sama." Seeming to sense that he'd been dismissed, Szayel stood up and bowed. "I'll be back with a complete report as soon as I can, Aizen-sama. Thank you."

Aizen watched him go, the book held close as though it would escape if given a chance. The Octava hadn't taken up the viscous pink concoction again, and was apparently avoiding the caffeine pills. He had a full time assistant in Aaroniero. His regular duties as an Espada had been put on hold for the quarantine. Even so, Szayel was precariously close to the edge. Aizen didn't think it would take much to push him that last little bit.

He drummed his fingers a few more times and then considered the possible alternatives to having Szayel working first hand on Ulquiorra's mystery illness and Grimmjow's tedious recovery. For the time being, perhaps Aaroniero would be better suited to it. The Novena was already in the East wing twice a day delivering Inoue Orihime's meals. It wouldn't be any trouble at all to make that extra stop.

And then when this had all blown over and his arrancar army was a hardened, disease resistant force, perhaps he could dangle a few of the previously forbidden experiments in Szayel's face as a reward for surviving this ordeal. Yes, Aizen decided. He'd dangle them away, and even let his scientist pick one to perform, too.

OMAKE: The Hiding Game

Nnoitra stretched out on his couch, trying to get as much airflow as possible to cool off. Nothing happened. It was still hot as hell in here, and the tiny window wasn't doing much. Normally when it got hot, he had Tesla stand in the corner and fan him, but that was out of the question now. Maybe a wet rag would help. He rolled over as he did every time he contemplated getting up for a rag. Rolled over, and promptly fell right off the couch and onto the floor. Cursing, he scooted back and glared up at the couch.

He'd moved from his bed to the couch once the quarantine started, because the couch was in the corner farthest from the wall he shared with Barrigan, and because he felt there was a chance the older Espada would get sick, and also because he was afraid the bacteria could ooze through walls. He'd take whatever protection he could get here where no one could see him acting scared, and if that meant cowering with as much distance between him and everyone else as was possible to obtain without sharing airspace, then he'd do it.

Even if it put his "bed" right against the wall like this and he ended up falling off every time he turned over. He stretched out on the floor and wished he wasn't so sore and headachy. Damn them all, anyway. The weak-asses who got sick were to blame for this need to change his sleeping arrangements. He should have grabbed Tesla before the quarantine and made him serve as a buffer between him and the floor.

He wondered whether his fraccion was sick. Probably. As fraccion went, his was pretty smart, but also pretty weak. The devotion made up for it, of course, but still. When Szayel and Stark had opened the betting pool, he'd put good money on Tesla being laid up with something awful.

There was a knock on the door and Nnoitra felt Aaroniero's reiatsu. The last several times, Nnoitra had debated over whether to answer or not and decided that once in a while, silence was golden. If he didn't answer, he wouldn't be bothered. This time, though, he was feeling pissed off enough to do something about the racket.

"I'm not sick!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. To his utter horror, nothing came out but a faint wheeze.

"I'm not sick," he repeated to himself--softly, because it hurt his throat less this way. He wasn't sick. Really. Not at all. This was just a temporary throat tickle, the way the room was just a little warmer than usual. And sure he was sore. He'd fallen off the damn couch more times than he cared to count. And the headache was caused by all that banging on the door.

He was stronger than any bacteria the world could throw at him, and since he wasn't sick, it didn't matter that he couldn't get his voice loud enough to yell through the door. And it didn't matter that he was now cold enough to pull the blanket down off the couch and curl up in it on the floor where he'd fallen, because he was just too sore to get back up. There was no way he was sick. He was the strongest Espada in the whole damn place. In all of everywhere. And strong people didn't get sick.

Nnoitra clutched at the blanket and shivered, wishing it was just a little warmer in his room. Maybe he should have grabbed Tesla earlier, before the quarantine, and made him serve as a living blanket for when it got so cold and drafty.