Alright, I'm going to have to go back to a three day schedule, at least until work lets up.

This chapter is kind of Emo-Grimm. I'm hoping I can do justice to him, provide an accurate portrayal of his thought process here. It's always interesting to see how authors deal with this scene and its aftermath - we only see the punishment, not the result. Grimmjow falls off the face of the planet for a month. What happens in that time?

The next chapter will be lemonlicious. I'm trying to deal with the chapters after that - I need to do some further editing before they'll be ready and I just don't have time right now. Work is kicking my ass. I'm going in on a weekend, even, to finish up a project, and that cuts into my writing time.

Chapter 19

He'd fucked up, miscalculated. His fracción were dead; wiped out of existence by those goddamn shinigami, and the worst was that he knew if they'd gone the first night, before they could get reinforcements in, his self-given mission would have succeeded. Of the seven who had gone to the real world, only two returned – himself and Vellena. All of their opponents survived, though it would probably be touch and go with the little shinigami bitch he'd put his fist through, especially with what Vellena had added to that.

If Tōsen hadn't shown up to bust up his little party when he did, Grimmjow would have succeeded in killing that little shit of a human boy, at least. But Tōsen showed up, and the party ended. The ex-shinigami retrieved him and the night elf, putting a halt to her own fight. She was going to win, too, which would have meant that his fracción's lives would not have been spent totally in vain. They could have achieved partial success.

The weakness of his fracción hurt. That they couldn't even manage to kill a handful of shinigami, that was embarrassing. Their loss hurt, as much as he didn't show it. They'd been together a long time, and now it was just Grimmjow. Their king; the last one standing. He'd be deprived of Shawlong's intelligence, Nakeem's servitude, Yylfordt's endless, entertaining sibling rivalry, Edrard's brute strength, and even D-Roy's idiot giggle. Gone, all of them, because they couldn't finish it quick enough, before those damn shinigami started suddenly increasing in power and overwhelmed them.

As Tōsen led them to the throne room (this couldn't be good), Grimmjow fumed silently. Vellena was expressionless, as usual. She hadn't said a word since apologizing – apologizing – to her opponent for having to stop the fight, and going off with Tōsen.

They arrived in the throne room. "Grimmjow, Vellena. Welcome…home." Aizen smiled, just as though they'd just returned from a trip to the beach or something. "Vellena, I'm sure you had fun in the human world?"

"It was an interesting experience, Lord Aizen" she replied, neutrally, respectfully. Interesting experience indeed. Grimmjow almost snorted.

"I'm glad to hear it. You may return to your quarters – visit the medics first if you wish. I would like to discuss something with Grimmjow." Through the sides of his eyes, he watched the night elf bow, and leave the throne room. Did she even know where she was going? He hoped he wouldn't have to go hunting around for her later.

Vellena ended up the last thing on his mind, then, as Aizen and Tōsen began playing good asshole/bad asshole. Grimmjow's night got worse and worse, with the shitty icing on the crappy day cake coming when Tōsen sliced off his fucking left arm and burned it. Screaming obscenities, Grimmjow would have killed the self-righteous justice-freak, but Aizen forbade it. Their lord and master made it clear if Grimmjow avenged himself, Aizen's sufferance would be at an end. The arrancar knew his life would end then, and he wasn't ready for that. Not here, not now, not executed like some condemned prisoner. He wanted to die in battle; hell, even against that kid would be all right with him. But not cut down without even a sword in his hand. Not that.

So Grimmjow subsided, took his licks, and did not kill Tōsen. He turned to leave, wanting to get out of there.

"I'm not done with you yet, Grimmjow." The arrancar froze at Aizen's words, turning slowly to face the lord and master that he secretly hated.

"Tell me about our guest. She alone returned to Las Noches with you. Tell me, did she fight well?"

Vellena was honestly the last thing on his mind right now. But he answered the question. "Yeah. She did. Took on some guy in a lieutenant's robes – he had a bankai though. She would have won if Tōsen hadn't shown up when he did." Aizen smiled at his response.

"It has come to my attention that you have an interest in our guest." Oh, he knew where this was going. Aizen had found out somehow, Grimmjow didn't know how, that he'd been banging the chick. Maybe he'd known all along – that guy somehow knew everything that was going on in Las Noches, no matter how well hidden. And now the bastard was going to twist the knife a little; going to assign his night elf to someone else, probably Nnoitra or something—the ex-captain continued, interrupting Grimmjow's train of thought. "You haven't totally lost your usefulness yet, Grimmjow. I have no objections to your extra-curricular activities. She could be useful to us. Bind her to us. Ensure her loyalty. And teach her what you can about our ways." Aizen smiled. "You'll have plenty of free time to do it in, after all."

The relief Grimmjow felt at Aizen's surprising pronouncement was ridiculous. It was followed swiftly by anger. The whip and the carrot. Aizen was always this way. Grimmjow hated it. He gritted his teeth, shifted uncomfortably, and ignored the steady drip of blood from his stump onto the cool stone floor of the throne room. Bind her to them, huh? Manipulate her emotions, more like. Make her fall in love or some other such bullshit. He didn't even know if that was possible. But Aizen would exploit any openings he saw, and create them where he didn't see them; that was just how the bastard rolled. He loved to use people's natural inclinations against them. And Grimmjow was naturally inclined to his attraction for the elf. Carrot and whip; this was as much punishment as it was reward. He hated feeling used. There was a trap in here somewhere. There always was.

"You may go."

That was all, he guessed. The arrancar made a pit stop at the medics to get the wound sealed and bound, grunting noncommittally as they nattered at him, telling him the arm couldn't be healed, or maybe they just wouldn't, he didn't know and didn't care. It was gone. They healed the damage from the fight with the Kurosaki kid; he refused to let them totally heal the slash on his chest – he wanted to keep that scar as a memento. They defaced his tattoo – news travels fast in a place like Las Noches, he guessed. If he'd known they were going to do that, he wouldn't have gone to them, perhaps that's why they left it to last and got the hell out of there right after they did it.

Confirmation of his loss of rank came when he arrived at his quarters to discover his door featureless white, the black gothic six already painted over. The paint already dry. 'Plenty of free time', Aizen had said. No longer an Espada, no longer the Sexto – he had known his rank would change eventually, but Grimmjow had always assumed it would go up, not drop away entirely. Fuck!

He entered his rooms, not bothering to turn on the lights. Not like he needed them, he saw pretty damn well in the dim moonlight from his windows. And he sat, trying not to think about his losses, or what would happen now. How long he sat there, he didn't know.

His door opened, light streaming around the figure that entered, then cutting off as the door closed. When his eyes adjusted once more to the darkness, he could see faintly glowing eyes, a tall, lithe form, the peaks of long ears… Vellena. He didn't want to see her now, but here she was. He'd have to deal with her tomorrow as it was.

"I'm not in the mood for company." Grimmjow said in a tone that invited no discussion. She did not move. She just stood there, in front of the closed door in the dark, staring at him. Not even blinking. "Didn't you hear me? Get lost." He snapped.

He saw her ears tilt upwards as she looked down at him. He hated being looked down on. Anger roiled in his belly. "Get up." She said, a cold demand.

"Fuck off." He replied. She closed the distance between them, booted feet falling with perfect silence on his floor.

"'Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez has lost his arm, lost his rank.' 'Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez is no longer an Espada.' 'Aizen sama let him live, ha ha, he should be happy he got at least that.'" She was obviously quoting others, delivering their comments in her dead voice, even the 'ha ha'. Damn, news got around. "There's some girly little shit running around with that symbol on his hip, calling himself the Sexta." That wasn't a quote, he was sure; that was Vellena's commentary. Damn, replaced already, and by that little fruit Luppi by the sounds of it. Sexta, hah, the little bastard. Oh gods, that was so revolting, replaced by Luppi.

"Did you end up here by mistake? I'm surprised you didn't end up in Luppi's room; I'm sure the six is already painted on his door." He snarled.

"No. I know my way here, and I followed your reiatsu." Both of those statements gave Grimmjow an inward pause, reminded him of Aizen's orders. She learned her way to his room already, and she was capable of being taught arrancar skills. Damn, he didn't want to deal with this. Not tonight.

"Get up," she repeated, a shred of anger audible in her tone. When he did nothing, she reached out, grabbing him by his collar and yanking him upwards. He didn't have much choice but to take his feet. "You are a soldier; soldiers do not wallow in self-pity when something doesn't go their way. You got demoted, so what? It happens. If you let that bother you, you're weak."

She didn't understand. It wasn't just his rank – part of his power was gone. He didn't know if he could release Pantera like this. Self-pity… that was insulting. His lips curled in a snarl and his hand closed around hers, pulling her grip from his collar. Something flashed in her eyes – victory? "Shut up." He growled.

"Make me." He was aware that she was goading him, that he was rising to her bait, but he didn't care. Anger, shame, outrage, a desperate need for acknowledgment, to regain power, all balled up inside of him, mixed liberally with the lust her presence never ceased to inspire in him. She opened her mouth, no doubt to rain down more taunts on him. He snarled, releasing her hand and gripping her by her collar with a yank. He shut her up, sealing her mouth with his.

Heat flooded him as she resisted the kiss, only to fold as he thrust his tongue past her teeth, tasting his blood, her blood. He felt a stab of frustration when he tried to bring his other hand up to draw her closer, only to realize it wasn't there. His frustration leaked out in the violence of his kiss, in his hand going to the back of her head, fist curling in her hair.

He wanted to hear no more words. Not tonight.