CHAPTER 2: SHAPE UP

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach...

Onwards...

I get up again

With my wounded body

Tomorrow's the only way to go

-Saber Tiger-

XOXOXO

Two-ninety-eight.

Two-ninety-nine.

Three hundred.

Grimmjow collapsed onto his back, his breathing harsh and stomach on fire. Getting into shape was never fun when doing so almost from scratch. A couple of years ago, three hundred sit-ups would have been considered nothing, but now...it made him want to kick his own ass.

He rested in that position for a while, staring at the ceiling as he lay on the hardwood floor behind his couch, feet tucked under the edge of the brown furniture. He would catch his breath and start a series of squats and lunges before doing a few sets of push-ups. He'd gone for a run about an hour ago and it hadn't been pretty, let him assure you. He'd been fighting to breathe after only five blocks, not to mention, battling a persistent stitch in his side that only served to make breathing even more difficult.

This is all my fault.

He'd been lazy when he should have been keeping up with some sort of training, if not for boxing, then at least for the street fighting. His body wasn't accustomed to strict routines and harsh regimens anymore. As Grimmjow rose from the floor, a realization ripped through him at the speed of light and with the force of a bullet.

Fighting was all about discipline.

Just like Pop said.

He chuckled under his breath and headed into the kitchen in search of a bottle of water. He was thirsty and probably extremely close to being dehydrated, which, in this heat, was absolutely unacceptable. His thoughts immediately went to the old man from the gym: Barragan. His words – well, not just his words – had been the kick in the ass that got him on the road to redemption. Grimmjow yanked open his fridge and retrieved a bottle of spring water before making his way back into the sitting room, where he flopped onto the couch and chugged deeply, his Adam's apple bobbing enthusiastically.

Grimmjow wouldn't admit it aloud, but Barragan seemed to be smarter than he looked. Grunting with distaste, he leaned himself back against the cushions of the couch, closing his eyes in the process. He hated swallowing his pride, even if it was inwardly, just to admit that the old man had not only bested him, but had pointed out his flaw within a matter of seconds. No one had put him in his place so thoroughly since his old man.

A sudden buzz sounded throughout the small apartment, making him jump and causing a splash of water to fall onto his chest, the cold liquid soothing. Grimmjow frowned at the front door, wondering who the fuck it could be; he hadn't had a visitor since he'd kicked Seri to the curb a few weeks back. He rose from the couch after setting his water on the low, wooden coffee table and made his way to the door, his stomach protesting vehemently at the movement. Once he threw open the heavy, steel portal, his nose wrinkled in confusion.

"What the hell?" he grunted.

Kensei grinned and pushed his way into the apartment, his ash-gold eyes dancing with mischief. "I came to whip your sorry ass into shape. Barragan's orders," his old friend stated.

Grimmjow slowly closed the door, his right hand going to the back of his head. Absently scratching, he considered Kensei. "That old man told ya ta do this?" he asked, trying to make sense of seeing his old fighting partner in his home.

Kensei nodded as his eyes took in his surroundings. "Christ, Jaegerjaques. Do you ever clean up?"

Grimmjow shrugged and made his way back to the couch, his bottle of water forgotten on the coffee table. A thought suddenly occurred to him and the dawning made him realize that that was probably the main thing confusing him about his old friend's visit. "How the hell ya know where I live?" he asked, lowering himself onto the hot furniture before turning his eyes in Kensei's direction.

"It ain't that hard to find you now that I know you're still around," Kensei replied, following in Grimmjow's steps, but perching himself on the arm of the couch.

"Who told ya?"

Kensei hesitated before answering. "Yachiru."

Grimmjow growled under his breath at the mention of his younger sister's name. He had always considered her nothing but a burden and a stain on his father's name. Call him unreasonable, but he'd thought the fact that his mom had gone and had a baby with another guy only a year after his Pop had passed, was pretty fucked up. It was like she'd spit on his memory. After that, Grimmjow hadn't said more than two words to his mother and he always referred to Yachiru as "it", never "her", or "she."

As soon as he'd been old enough to move out on his own, he had. It had been sheer torture living under the same roof as "Yachiru, the eye sore", but it had been even worse when his mom had finally moved in Yachiru's father, some pink-haired asshole that had a serious OCD issue. That had been the final straw, in Grimmjow's opinion.

"How the hell does she know where I live?" he asked, not remembering telling the little brat anything.

Kensei shrugged and picked at an invisible speck of lint on his red, Luisenbarn Gym shorts, his gaze averted. "I didn't ask all that. I just went to your old house lookin' for you and she gave me this address."

"Ya know I don' like that kid."

"Yeah, I know."

The silence that followed was heavy and hung suspended in the air like puppets on strings. Grimmjow sat with a deep scowl creasing his brow and Kensei just sat, his expression drawn with unease. Shaking his head and sighing exasperatedly, Grimmjow broke the unnecessary silence. "So what does the old man want ya ta do with me specifically?"

Kensei appeared relieved at the change of topic, his face lighting up and resuming its previous mischievous glow. He reached into the left pocket of his shorts and withdrew a folded, white sheet of paper. Grimmjow frowned, but said nothing as he watched Kensei unfold the paper and hand it to him. A brief hesitation and Grimmjow grabbed the slip from the grinning, silver-haired man's hand, suspicion creeping up on him.

He glanced down at the sheet and his frown disappeared, replaced by disbelief. What he saw looked a little something like this:

Three Month Schedule

5:00 am – Warm up stretching

5:30 am – 2 mile run

7:00 am – Light breakfast

8:00 am – Calisthenics

12:00 pm – Lunch (nothing heavy)

1:00 pm – Weight training

3:00 pm – 2 mile run

5:00 pm – Cool down stretching

Note: No heavy food, maintain diet and drink plenty of water and electrolytes. Follow schedule everyday and break on weekends. Be as strict as possible, Kensei. I want to see results! I'll send the trainer by at 6 in the evenings to check on progress. Failure to adhere to this schedule will result in non-admittance to the gym. I don't accept weaklings.

~Luisenbarn

By the end of the note, Grimmjow was practically manic with anger. His jaw and left eyebrow twitching furiously, he gave Kensei his attention. Kensei's expression of trying to hold back raucous laughter, only spiked Grimmjow's anger and made him want to punch something.

Hard.

"Kensei, what the fuck is this?" he snarled, upper lip curling back the more he thought of what had been written on the paper he still clutched in his hand.

Kensei cracked a small grin and ran a large hand through his gleaming silver locks. "What's it look like?"

"I know what the fuck it looks like, but that ain't what I asked ya! I hope ya don' think I'm gonna do all a'this bullshit! I'll be dead by the end of the week!"

Kensei doubled over on his perch on the arm of the couch, his arm cradling his stomach as he guffawed noisily. Grimmjow didn't much appreciate being laughed at, so he leaned over and punched his friend's thigh to gain his attention. The loud laughter was abruptly cut off as Kensei straightened and stared back at him in shock. Grimmjow grinned wolfishly at the sight of "what the hell?" written all over the silver-haired man's face.

Instead of questioning him, Kensei leaned over and punched his shoulder and even though Grimmjow was obviously the more powerful of the two, the sharpness of Kensei's punch had left him astonished as he grabbed it and held it, trying to stave off the throbbing. They sat glaring at each other for a few beats until Grimmjow blew out a breath.

"Since when ya hit like that?"

Kensei grinned proudly, the previous scowl he wore disappearing in a flash. "Barragan taught me."

Grimmjow nodded, suspecting as much. The sharpness had been reminiscent of the hit he'd sustained by the old man, only not as lethal. Barragan obviously had years to polish his technique. Grimmjow ran a hand over his face and accepted his fate. "Fine, but don' think I'm gonna be able ta keep up wit' all a'this right away!" he snapped, embarrassed at the admittance.

Kensei shrugged. "Don't worry. I don't expect you to be able to keep up for at least two to three weeks under this kind of training. Actually, I'm surprised that Barragan is assigning you such a strict schedule. He's never done that with a newbie before."

"Oi, I ain't a fuckin' newbie!"

"Well, to him, you are. Doesn't matter that you used to box and know everything about the sport there was to know. He's only concerned with the here and now and the sight you presented him with was obviously unacceptable, or else we wouldn't be going through this, ne?"

Grimmjow frowned, wanting to deny it, but he couldn't.

Didn't mean he was going to admit it, though.

Kensei abruptly stood and made his way to the kitchen. Grimmjow heard the sound of the refrigerator opening and a few paces of silence before Kensei was shouting from the small space. "Where the hell is your food? And why don't you have anything to drink?"

By the end of his last question, Kensei had reemerged from the kitchen, a deep frown marring his face. Grimmjow cracked a feral grin. "I'm fuckin' broke."

Kensei lowered his eyes and shook his head, clearly speechless with the blunt reply.

XxxxxX

"I don' need a fuckin' babysitter, Kensei," Grimmjow growled as they maneuvered through the aisles of the local supermarket.

Kensei dropped a box of some type of healthy breakfast cereal into the cart Grimmjow was pushing and Grimmjow neatly grabbed it and tossed it back onto the shelf from whence it had come. Kensei glared at him and sucked his teeth. "Grimmjow, you have to-"

"Fuck that. I ain't eating somethin' only squirrels would eat." He retrieved the box Kensei had initially grabbed and studied the front of it. "Ya gotta be kiddin' me! This shit's got more nuts than a pecan pie. An' who gives a fuck about fiber? I ain't constipated," he grunted tossing the box back on the shelf again. An elderly woman with long, pale gray hair and dark blue eyes shot him a disapproving look and Grimmjow glared right back, unfazed. "Somethin' wrong? Need help finding the salt-free shit?"

The woman jerked as if he'd smacked her. "Why, the nerve..." she uttered before hobbling up the aisle.

Grimmjow shook his head and continued pushing the metal cart, ignoring the chastising glare coming from his friend. When Kensei stopped in front of the cart, essentially blocking Grimmjow's path, he was forced to lock eyes with the silver-haired man. "What?" he growled. "I hope yer not about ta lecture me."

Kensei blinked, maintaining his glare. "Don't talk to people that way. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Why dontcha tell that old broad not ta look at me like that? She fuckin' started it."

"How old are you again?"

"Fuck off," he grunted, his attention being captured by something bright red, yellow and green. When he noticed his favorite cereal, he grabbed two boxes and threw them into the cart. Kensei, swift as a snake, scooped the boxes out of the cart and tucked them neatly onto the shelf. Grimmjow growled like a dog at the nerve of the guy. "What the fuck ya doin'?"

"You're supposed to eat light and healthy, not try to send yourself to an early grave by consuming vast amounts of sugar," Kensei admonished, his voice the way one would scold a small child.

Grimmjow grabbed one of the boxes, but Kensei had already anticipated that move and had a hand on the end of it. They tugged a few times, until Grimmjow gave in. He knew a stalemate when he saw one. "Why don't we negotiate?" he offered cordially. Kensei narrowed his sandy-brown eyes, but didn't respond. "I get my Lucky Charms and a box a'that other crap ya call cereal. Deal?"

Kensei remained silent, his expression that of someone weighing his options. Finally, he nodded and let go of the box of Lucky Charms. Grimmjow rolled his eyes and dropped the box into his cart, conveniently forgetting to grab the other kind of cereal. Unfortunately, Kensei had anticipated this as well. He grabbed the cardboard and squirrel food cereal and dropped it into the cart with a smug grin before turning away and meandering down the aisle.

Grimmjow wanted to kick his friend in the back of the head, but decided he wasn't in the mood to go to jail again.

Grimmjow's stomach rumbled unpleasantly when they happened upon the frozen section. The assortment of frozen dinners and pizzas made his mouth water. He couldn't cook to save his life, so the invention of the TV dinner was a miraculous thing. He went to grab a few boxes of T.G.I. Friday's meals, but his hand was slapped away from the handle of the glass and metal door. Whirling in Kensei's direction, he growled again, wondering why the fuck he couldn't get what he wanted.

"I remember your utter failure at cooking, so I'll cook. You can't eat this kind of stuff anymore, Grimmjow," Kensei said.

His face slackening with angered frustration, he slammed his hand against the glass door, making a middle-aged woman with dark brown hair and matching eyes glance at him fearfully. Grimmjow ignored her in favor of cursing his friend out. "Ya can't be fuckin' serious, Kensei! I can't live like that! I'd wither up and float away by tomorrow!"

Kensei barked a laugh, his eyes glinting. "Stop over-exaggerating," he said through a chuckle. "You'll be fine and in time, you'll even get used to it."

Grimmjow clenched his fists, refusing to be moved on the issue. He wasn't some eighty-year old man in need of monitoring. He was a twenty-five year old man in his prime and if he wanted to eat frozen sodium, then by God, he would fucking do it. "I'm getting' a DiGiorno, at least. I don' give a horse's nut what ya say, either," he grumbled, marching past Kensei and abandoning the cart.

Kensei snorted and reluctantly followed behind him. Grimmjow was on a mission. He was going to get a pepperoni DiGiorno and he would savor the hell out of it. He was going to get a six-pack of good beer to go with his feast and if Kensei said anything or tried to stop him, things would get very physical. Plain and simple.

Grimmjow finally approached the section containing the pizza he was searching for and once he retrieved the one he wanted, he hugged it to his chest, prepared to fight the devil himself if he had to. Kensei stared for a few seconds before bursting into hysterical laughter. Grimmjow was confused, but also wasn't about to put his prize back.

"This is mine," he growled, stating his claim, just in case Kensei didn't get it.

Kensei couldn't stop his laughter for the next two minutes, leaving Grimmjow with no other option but to stare at him and wait out the giggles. Once the silver-haired man sobered, he straightened his back and gave Grimmjow an amused look, his lips quirked into a half-smirk. "Go for it," was all he said.

Grimmjow nodded and tossed his treasure into the cart before ambling off down the aisle again.

At least he was able to get his fucking pizza.

XxxxxX

Grimmjow stared at the contents of his refrigerator morosely. He couldn't even fathom the last time he'd seen so much food, but sadly, it was all the shit he hated. He hated green shit and the fact that Kensei had damn near filled the cold, metal box with the shit, depressed the hell out of him. He didn't like certain vegetables and had been quite adamant about his dislike for okra. He couldn't stand that shit. It looked like snot and boogers mixed together with celery. Disgusting. How people could eat that shit amazed him. Just the sight of it made his stomach turn and made him involuntarily gag.

Not only that, but he was very strict about eating meat. He loved beef, chicken, pork, seafood, all of it, but Kensei had restricted him to fish and the occasional piece of chicken from the looks of the freezer. Grimmjow huffed a breath, dismayed at the turn of events.

He was going to die by next week, he just knew it.

Kensei entered the kitchen and shut the refrigerator door, even though Grimmjow was still standing there staring at it. "That's not going to change the fact that you have to eat healthy for a while."

"I don' wanna eat healthy."

"Stop being a baby. At least I'm letting you have a farewell party tonight."

Grimmjow brightened at the thought of the high-grade beer in his fridge and the pizza currently baking in the oven, making the entire house smell like hot, mozzarella cheese, tomato sauce and pepperoni. He would eat and drink until he burst tonight. He was so not looking forward to waking up and doing such a rigorous workout.

He was probably going to die by the end of tomorrow.

Grimmjow trudged into the living room and slumped onto the couch, grabbing the remote for his ancient TV. There has to be a game or match on somewhere, he thought. He flipped past a sappy romance, the sound of "I'll do anything for you," simultaneously irking his nerves and making his left eyebrow twitch. He went past a badly done western and then past a horrible horror flick. Finally, he rested on a basketball game. The score was 89-101 and the winning team was being merciless. Grimmjow set the remote down beside him on the couch and hunkered in, preparing to enjoy the rest of the game.

Fifteen minutes later, Kensei entered the living room carrying the cardboard case of beer in one hand and the pizza on a silver platter in the other. He looked like a natural waiter. "Heh, all ya need is the white dress shirt and black slacks," Grimmjow nonchalantly commented.

Kensei grinned. "Yeah? Well, all you need is a suit and cigar. You've already got the pot belly."

"Fuck you and gimme my gotdamn food and beer."

Kensei placed the items on the coffee table and took a seat beside Grimmjow on the worn, brown couch that had definitely seen better days. They immediately tucked into the food, Grimmjow with a more desperate urgency than usual. This would be his last decent meal in God knows how long, and he was going to cherish it like it was a precious jewel.

Silence reigned, punctuated with loud chewing and smacking and the occasional belch from Grimmjow, while Kensei watched in awe. Grimmjow only had eyes for the goods littered on his coffee table. He didn't let up until the pizza was gone and he was on his third bottle of beer. Smiling with esteemed satisfaction, he reclined against the couch cushions and rubbed his stomach. Kensei shook his head and straightened up the debris left in Grimmjow's wake.

"Seriously, you eat like a toddler," Kensei said.

Grimmjow shrugged and noisily sucked a piece of pepperoni from between his teeth. "I'own care," he muttered.

A loud cheer from the TV drew his attention to the conclusion of the basketball game he'd been watching before Kensei had shown up bearing gifts in the form of good pizza and beer. The winning team had added thirty more points to their previous score, while the opposing team had been held under one hundred.

Sad, really.

Grimmjow found himself zoning out as he thought about what lay ahead of him. He was worried, but at the same time he was more than excited. Sure, he didn't think he was going to make it past the first day, but he wasn't a quitter and he wasn't about to let some old man and his schedule get the best of him. He would attack this challenge with everything he had and then some.