Chapter 15 – "Intermission"

Warnings: Language

I Declare: I am still in a state of non-ownership as far as Bleach is concerned.

Szayelapporo Granz slowly rose to his feet, with the help of an orderly on each side, his arms trembling with effort as he gripped the arms of the wheelchair. He'd just come back from another round of PT and was feeling particularly weak this time. Instead of invigorating him, the hot whirlpool bath at the end always seemed to drain him. The physical therapists assured him this was normal, especially since he was at the very beginning of his therapy.

Luckily, he didn't have many deficits related to being in the coma – and this was mostly because he'd not suffered traumatic brain injury or been in the coma for an extended period. His had been relatively short. And for that he was thankful. Thankful … that was a good word. Like right now, he was very thankful to be getting back into his bed. He was thankful for the glistening glass of iced tea that was waiting for him on the bedside nightstand. He was thankful for the warm soft sheets, the fluffy pillows, the bowl of mixed nuts that stood next to his tea. His world had shrunk down to these few simple things, temporarily, at least … and he was grateful for all of it.

Szayel was thankful for all the little things. He was supremely thankful to just be alive. A coma followed by a heart attack … by all rights, his family should be planning his funeral. But instead, they were planning a family reunion when he left the hospital and was feeling up to it.

As soon as the orderlies had him tucked back into bed, they wheeled the chair out the door. Szayel reached out to the nightstand, picking up his glasses and putting them on. Then he carefully picked up the glass of iced tea (at his weakest two mornings ago, he'd dropped the damn thing and had been painfully embarrassed as a housekeeper cleaned up after him), and sucked blissfully on the straw. He could feel the cold liquid as it made its way down his esophagus and splashed into his stomach. Heaven. He drank deeply, then laid back and used the remote to turn on the personal TV that was on an extend-arm next to his bed. He picked up the headset and put it on, then leaned back and relaxed on the pillows.

The past few days, since his cath lab procedure and subsequent awakening, had been very very busy ones for Szayel. The small incision in his right groin was healing very nicely – the only visible physical reminder of his cardiac catheterization. But inside the arteries that served his heart, the little stents did their jobs and kept those arteries open. It was amazing, really – he'd watched some caths on the internet and had been properly impressed by the skill and innovation.

Tests and therapy. That was his daily routine. In the evenings he fell asleep while trying to stay awake until Ichigo-kun showed up … something that, so far, had turned out to be utterly impossible. They wore him out during the day and he slept like a stone at night. When he awoke in the mornings, Ichigo was already gone. Today, he decided, he was taking a nap so that he could wake back up later and stay awake until the orange-haired man came on shift. That was the plan, anyway. It had to work today … tomorrow they were moving him out of 3C and onto another floor.

He closed his eyes, the soft sounds of the TV in his ears becoming less and less distinct. Part one of the plan was in progress.

XXX

The doorbell was ringing. It woke Ichigo from a sound sleep. Blearily he glanced at the clock on his nightstand … 6:30 pm. It was set to wake him at 8 tonight, and he really wanted to have that last hour and a half of sleep. But what if something was happening at work? To Shinji or Szayel? What if it was one of his beloveds? The last thought had him moving. Wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, he padded quickly out of his bedroom, down the hall, and up to his front door. He peered out the peephole.

It was Kuchiki-sensei. Ichigo pressed his lips tightly together, thinking. He looked out again as Sensei pressed the doorbell again. What he saw made him unlock the door and open it about a foot, standing behind it and bending his upper body to peer around the edge. Sensei was wearing a t-shirt and black jeans. Ichigo had never seen Sensei like this. Ever. "Sensei?" he asked. "Is … is something wrong?"

"Ichigo-kun," Byakuya said smoothly, nodding. "Yes, something is wrong. May I come in?"

"Of course," Ichigo said. "Please, come in and make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back," he said as he opened the door, gestured to the living room, and walked back to his bedroom – turning on a couple of lamps on the way.

Byakuya watched Ichigo walk away. He really did have an excellent body – tall, well-shaped, muscular but not bulky. Feeling an unwelcome and unfamiliar pang of regret, Byakuya pulled his eyes away and went into the living room. He sat down on the couch, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankles, trying not to think about the last time he was on this couch. Damn.

Ichigo reappeared, now dressed in a pair of skater shorts and a sleeveless white t-shirt. "Would you like some coffee?" he asked as he walked into the kitchen area, turning on the small lamp on the counter.

"Yes, thank you," Byakuya replied, watching.

All Ichigo needed to do was hit the 'on' button, since the coffee maker was ready to go. He got out a couple of cups, sugar and some creamer, some spoons … and puttered around the kitchen until the coffee was ready for pouring. Then he brought everything into the living room and put it all on the coffee table in front of Sensei.

"I'll serve myself, Ichigo-kun, thank you," Byakuya said, leaning forward and doctoring his coffee as he spoke.

Ichigo did the same, quietly. They drank, the only sound in the room the sizzling sound the coffee maker made as it kept the coffee hot. The minutes ticked by, until Ichigo finally said, "What can I do for you, Sensei? You said … something was wrong?" He took another sip of coffee.

Byakuya held his mug in both hands, looking down at it. Then he said, "Yes. There is something wrong. There is something wrong with the way I treated you. I regret it. I regret that our budding relationship was sabotaged by my own fault. I regret that this has tainted our interactions – and I fear that it will cross over into our working relationship." He stopped, abruptly, sat motionless for a second or two, then lifted his cup to his lips again.

Ichigo stared at him. Nothing like getting right to the point! Sensei looked back at him as he lowered his cup, swallowing coffee, his gaze just as calm as it ever was, his handsome face almost expressionless. Almost. "What are you—"

"I am trying to say 'I'm sorry'," Byakuya interrupted. "I am saying it. I am grievously sorry. My actions were rapacious and ill-considered. There is no excuse for it. I do not want you to think that it was because I held you so cheaply. I … I lost my way." He was silent for a moment, staring at the floor. "I was the one who behaved cheaply. I lost my way."

Ichigo was speechless. He was stricken, wide-eyed, staring at Sensei with worry written plain upon his face. What was going on here? He'd never heard Sensei speak like this. Never. "Kuchiki-sensei," he said, rather hoarsely, "please stop. I … I understand. After such a long drought it's understandable if you dance in the rain."

A ghost of a smile. Byakuya said, wryly, "What a poetic way to put it. The reality, however, is much more tawdry."

"Don't dwell on it. People go to excess sometimes, it's part of being human," Ichigo said hurriedly. He was reaching for straws, now, this conversation was making him slightly uncomfortable and he didn't want to get any further into it. He – the king of 'unfaithfulness', some would say – lecturing Kuchiki-sensei? It was almost laughable. Almost.

"You're very understanding," Byakuya said quietly. "Thank you."

Ichigo nodded nervously. He slugged down the rest of his coffee, then stood up. "Need a refill?" he asked.

Byakuya nodded, too, and handed over his cup. He watched Ichigo move into the kitchen and busy himself with the coffee. He wasn't the best at reading other people, but he was getting the definite feeling that Ichigo … was out of his reach. He frowned. The head of the Kuchiki clan wasn't used to not getting what he wanted. But then he reigned in these feelings of entitlement and thought it through. He had caused the rift, himself. If Ichigo didn't want any more to do with him, it was his right.

He'd have to say it, though.

Ichigo came back into the living room and sat Byakuya's cup on the coffee table, settling himself on the couch, too. They each doctored their own cup again, then drank. Ichigo's nerves were cranking up with every second that passed. Finally Sensei spoke again.

"Ichigo-kun … I came here for another reason as well. I mean, not just to apologize … but to see if there was any way to rescue what we started. If there was any way to continue." He was looking at Ichigo with his customary calm, his gray eyes luminous in the lamplight.

Gods. He is so handsome, Ichigo thought, looking at him. But then he dropped his gaze. "I'm sorry, Sensei," he began. "Please don't think it's all because of your … relationship with Luppi. There are other reasons that—"

"Yes," Byakuya interrupted again. "I was uncaring and unfeeling on the day you went to visit your patient's grave. That was bad form on my part. I apologize for that as well."

Ichigo was starting to feel desperate. "No! That's not what I meant, Sensei." He rubbed his suddenly-sweaty palms on his shorts. Kuchiki-sensei was getting a little too close to the real reason. Now that they were no longer going to have a relationship, it was no longer any of his business. Ichigo would not tell him.

A few seconds ticked past. "Ah," Byakuya said, nodding. "There is … someone else."

Ichigo practically collapsed with relief. Maybe it wasn't the literal truth, but it was close enough. And it was an 'out'. "I, I'm sorry … there is. S-sort-of. I mean … I'm sorry." Several someones, in fact.

"No need to apologize," Byakuya said. "I understand. At least, I think I do." He drank some more coffee, names and faces offering themselves for consideration as Ichigo's new flame. No-one immediately sprang to mind. "I won't ask who it is, as that hardly matters. Instead, let me wish you well. And again offer my hopes that the unpleasantness between us does not bleed over into our work."

"Sensei," Ichigo began, looking the doctor right in the eyes, "For my part? – That will never happen. I respect you and your skills too much. You are the best doctor I have ever worked with, and I'm not just saying that to smooth things over. I mean it."

"Thank you," Byakuya murmured, lifting his cup.

Ichigo sensed it was time for sharing. If they were ending, even though it wasn't Ichigo's fault, it was timely since he had come to his recent realizations that he was sliding in too deeply with Kuchiki-sensei. "Sensei … I have always considered you to be the handsomest man of my acquaintance. And I have always f-fantasized about being with you. Even though this is not going to work out for us, I want to thank you for making that fantasy come true." He smiled, albeit nervously. "In spades."

The little smile quirked Byakuya's lips again. He saluted Ichigo with his coffee mug and shook his head ruefully. "Some lessons are especially difficult to learn. I will count this as one of them. But you are gracious and honest, and I will be the same. Maybe you didn't notice, but I, also, thought about you in my more private moments. Although I mishandled the situation and used you abominably, I am glad you are a forgiving person … even though I cannot persuade you to forgive, forget, and fornicate."

Ichigo huffed laughter through his nose. "That's a good one, Sensei."

"Thank you."

XXX

After Sensei left, Ichigo made more coffee and had some breakfast. He took a shower and put on some dark brown scrubs, brushed his teeth and riffled his hair with some gel. Good enough. He went to the living room and sat down on the couch, reaching under the coffee table for his scrapbook. Laying it reverently on his lap, he ran a hand over the cover as he thought about Sensei's visit. They were done. He'd known it was coming sooner or later because he just couldn't commit to something like that while keeping the faith with his beloveds … but he certainly hadn't thought it would end the way it did.

At the same time, he wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth. It had needed to end and now it was done. He could concentrate on honoring his fallen dear ones and taking care of the living. It was enough.

Ichigo took a deep breath and opened the book. The first picture to meet his gaze was Kira, of course. Then Keigo, followed by Hayato. Then Ramon. And Yukihiro. He stared at their pictures and smiled sadly. The next one was David. David Sansobella died when he was 26 years old, in the middle bed in Ichigo's room. He had died in strange, extraordinary circumstances … and it was David's death that had finally woken up Ichigo to the fact that he was helpless when it came to loving his patients. That he had really and truly loved David (and the others), even though the man had barely spoken ten words to him in his short life.

With the deaths of the beloveds that preceded David's, Ichigo had been miserable afterwards but hadn't really been able to figure out why it seemed to be hitting him so hard. The other nurses and staff were upset but not to the depths of grief that had stricken Ichigo. With Hayato it had been different – he'd awakened and they'd begun a relationship that had led to love. At least, that's what Ichigo had thought. He cared for his patients, of course he did, and he'd thought he was using the word 'love' in that platonic, world-wide view of loving humanity: a nurse's love, a friend's love. He'd been wrong.

David Sansobella was from the High City section of Salvador, Brazil. He had come to Karakura Town to play football (A/N - Americanese: soccer) with the J-League, having been scouted during one of the nationals leading up to the World Cup. He was that good. He'd signed on with the Kashima X-Pulse and had been an instant favorite, with his good looks and big beautiful golden-brown eyes … not to mention his almost-magical skill with a football. He was tall for a footballer (especially in Japan), and he stood out. His long hair held back in a ponytail … his caramel-bronze skin … his chiseled muscles … his ready smile, white teeth flashing as he laughed.

Ichigo had been watching the match in which David had received the injury that would land him in the Coma Care Center. He'd watched with dismay as the crowd reacted … the gasp that was ripped from every throat as Sansobella was knocked sideways into the stands, the shouts that had erupted as he lay there, still, unmoving, until he was surrounded by the coaches, players, and medical personnel. He'd been carried from the field on a stretcher, unmoving, his neck in a brace and an oxygen mask on his face … and the match had continued.

Three weeks later, Ichigo had a new patient in his room. David had been slammed into a row of seats after he flipped over the 'fence', headfirst. His head had been trapped between two seats as his body had continued to move, twisting and fracturing his cervical vertebrae, injuring his brain stem.

The man who arrived by ambulance to Ichigo's room that day looked nothing like the smiling football player. His hair had been shaved off for the craniotomy (brain surgery), his eyes were swollen shut, there was still residual bruising and swelling all over his face and neck. Purple and yellow, the bruises were healing, but slowly. He was intubated, the tube taped to one side of his mouth. (He was scheduled to have a tracheostomy the next day.) His eyelids had been taped shut for the trip. He was strapped to a backboard and still had a cervical collar in place.

Carefully the EMTs and orderlies moved David into bed, settling him carefully, log-rolling him (so that the head does not move on the neck) off the backboard. Ichigo hooked him up to the monitor, hung his IV bags, arranged his limbs comfortably, and watched as Respiratory Therapy (RT) got him hooked up to the ventilator. Aizen-sensei was there as well, writing up orders and supervising the move-in. It took a while, especially when you consider the labs that had to be drawn and the admitting documents that needed to be taken care of. But it did finally all get done.

David had been moved into the only empty bed in Ichigo's room. The other occupants were Hisagi Shuuhei, still sleeping his deep sleep, and Ulquiorra Schiffer, another fairly new arrival, he'd only been on the ward for two months. Both slept easily in their beds flanking the new arrival, Ulqui's respirator whooshing softly as it worked.

Ichigo stood at the foot of David Sansobella's bed, looking at the "big picture". Straight limbs, monitor reading all right, ventilator showing good numbers, vital signs within low limits, foley catheter bag hanging off to one side of the bed with darkish yellow urine in the bag. Satisfied with that everything overt had been done, Ichigo walked around the side of the bed and approached the head. He leaned in closely, observing his patient's face. The bruising and swelling looked pitiful, painful. There was no movement, not even a twitch. All was quiet.

"Sansobella-san," Ichigo said in a low voice. "My name is Ichigo. You have been moved to the Coma Care Center, and I am your night-shift nurse. I'm so sorry about what has happened to you." Slowly, carefully, he peeled the tape off David's eyelids. "I'm going to give you a bath in a little while, but for right now, I just want to look you over. Please excuse my familiarity." He was always formal, at first, with new patients.

With exquisite care, he pulled down the blanket and opened David's gown, examining every inch of his patient's body, cataloging any and all marks, bruises, scars … everything, tattoos and birthmarks included. If it wasn't already on the chart they'd received from Tokyo General, he added it. It took a while, and he had to have help from the orderlies to log-roll David up on his side in order to examine his back, buttocks, etc. While there were there, Ichigo bathed David's back side as well.

When they were gone, he continued giving his patient a very complete bath. He didn't know what conditions were like in Tokyo General, but it looked like someone had tried to take decent care of David. Of course, that person wasn't Ichigo Kurosake, though. When he got done, David was clean, including his mouth and ears, nostrils, fingernails … everything.

David Sansobella was in Ichigo's room for almost two full years. During that time, Shuu had awakened and been released. Flush with the success of Shuuhei, Ichigo was happily looking forward to the day when David and Ulqui would also awaken. He was constantly alert for signs of wakefulness in the two remaining patients. He was tireless in his physical therapy efforts with the two men. Neither would suffer any deterioration when they awoke, he'd make sure of it.

Renji watched Ichigo with worried eyes. He remembered how Ichigo had reacted after the murder of Keigo. He knew that Ichigo felt things deeply, and that he was on cloud nine after Shuuhei's successful reawakening and rehab. He was worried. Neither patient was showing any indication that they would ever wake up again. The only positive sign had been that David had been taken off the respirator. He breathed on his own with an oxygen boost, but no longer required the vent. But that didn't mean he was going to wake up. It just meant his brain stem had recovered from the battering it had taken.

It was late. Ichigo was charting everything he'd done for his patients that night. He'd just come back from lunch and was feeling pretty good. About everything. Suddenly he stopped typing, head tilted, instantly alert. Had there been a sound? He waited, listening. No. Probably from outside, or in the hallway—

"Help." Very quietly. So softly that if Ichigo hadn't been really listening and if it hadn't been in between 'whooshes' of Ulqui's ventilator, he'd not have heard it. "Hhhelp."

He was up in a flash, at David's side. His eyes were open. One stared off, sightlessly, toward the upper lefthand corner of the room. The other, bloodshot, stared up at Ichigo when he rushed up.

"David!" he shout-whispered, joy blooming in his heart. "David … you're awake! Welcome back, Sansobella-san."

"No. No." The eye stared up at Ichigo, not blinking. "Help. Can't. Move." The whispers were soft, gasping, hard to understand, and spoken so slowly.

Ichigo swallowed hard. He didn't want to lie to his patient. He'd come to care for the tall man who slept so soundly, his sweet sleeping face still handsome, watching over him night after night. Ichigo had watched some of David's old football matches and had been amazed by his skill, by his grace and utter beauty as he played. He looked down at that eye and said, slowly, "I'm sorry, Sansobella-san … your spinal cord was injured in your fall. Do you remember it?"

"Can't. Feel." Still that one horribly-bloodshot eye stared into Ichigo's.

"Yes. Yes. I'm so sorry, David-san," Ichigo said, putting a hand on David's face where he could feel.

"No. No." The eye closed. "No."

"Sansobella-san … it … it's good that you're awake. Rest easy … I'll call your doctor," Ichigo started to move away.

"No. Wait." The eye was open again, fixed on him. "H-help."

"What do you need? Are you thirsty?"

David's golden-brown eye rolled upward, he blinked, and a tear slid from the outer corner.

Ichigo immediately felt ashamed. Thirsty? For gods' sakes. He leaned forward, contrite. "Forgive me, David. What can I do for you?"

"Help."

"Yes."

"Not. Like this. Not … like this." He stared at Ichigo, his face crumpling, wincing, a sob forced its way out.

Suddenly Ichigo was crying, too. "I'm so sorry. We'll do everything we can. We will. There are treatments … technology …." Ichigo's voice trailed off. He stared miserably at David, despair welling up inside. There was no way this man would ever be a football star again. No way in hell. He'd probably never even walk again. But … what was he asking for? Ichigo swallowed hard. "What … what do you want, David? I – I'll do anythi—"

"No. Hocko." His eye closed even as another tear leaked out of it.

Hocko? Ichigo tried to get more information out of David, but he couldn't or wouldn't respond. Ichigo wasn't even sure he should chart what happened, but of course he ended up doing so, minus what their conversation had entailed. Not word-for-word, anyway. Finally, he realized that "Hocko" was a name. Jaco.

It took three weeks and a lot of research for Ichigo to find out who Jaco was. There was nothing else from David … despite EEG changes and repeated attempts by Ichigo and the other team members, he wouldn't speak again nor open his eyes. Ichigo was frantic with worry.

Finally, he found Jaco. Also known as Jaoquim Carlito Azevedo … David's best friend for most of his life in Brazil. They'd parted ways when David left for college in Porto Alegre, keeping track through social media but not meeting in person since high school. Ichigo found him still living in Salvador. Their first conversation was stilted, having to be translated by Azevdeo-san's computer. Ichigo had no idea about Portuguese and "Jaco" had no idea about Japanese.

'Senor Azevedo," the computer related to Jaco, "This is Kurosaki Ichigo, I am a nurse in Karakura, Japan. I have been caring for your friend, David Sansobella."

"Is he awake?" Jaco asked, his face serious and set.

Ichigo was surprised. Very. "Er, yes. He … he's asking for you."

Jaco was nodding his head. In a pained voice, he said, "I wondered if this would happen. I'll be there as soon as I can." And he cut the connection.

Ichigo stared at the screen. He frowned. But there was nothing else to do but continue to take excellent care of his patients, and wait for Jaco-san to arrive.

He was there within a week. Ichigo hovered worriedly in the background as Jaco-san approached David's bed. He was lying on his side, facing towards the windows. Soft scraping sounds as Jaco pulled a chair over to the side of the bed David was facing. He sat down. "David," he said softly. "I am here." This was in Portuguese, of course, but Ichigo got the gist of it.

A soft sigh from the bed. Then, "Jaco," very quietly, very relieved, almost joyful.

Jaco's eyes filled with tears as he looked at his friend. He reached out and grabbed up his friend's hand, clasping it tightly in his, holding it up so David could see. "I'm here," he repeated. "Like I promised. I am here, my friend." He smiled through his tears.

Ichigo assumed David was smiling back at him. He backed away, giving them privacy … although his internal alarm was going off. It could no longer be trusted, however, not after what happened with Keigo. He sat down at his desk, charting for all appearances … but he was listening. It was all too low for him to hear … and it was probably all in Portuguese, so it wouldn't have mattered.

Jaco stayed for an hour, talking with his friend in low tones. Amazingly, Ichigo heard several soft bursts of laughter. Reliving their childhood escapades, he assumed. But the sound calmed him. Azevedo-san made his goodbyes with some uncomfortable bows. His eyes were red from weeping, but he was calm. He even gave a little smile when he clasped Ichigo's hands, thanking him. Then he was through the door and gone.

Ichigo hurried to David-san's bed, his heart thudding in his chest. But David merely slept, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, the faintest of smiles on his face. Ichigo turned him back onto his back, very gently, and stroked his cheek. As far as he could tell, David looked happy. Ichigo's heart sang. Maybe this would give David the impetus to accept his limitations and go on to live a fulfilling life. He would help him. In any way that he could. "Rest now," he said quietly. "All is well, David."

"Si," David whispered, his good eye open a slit. "Ari. Gato." He gave the tiniest of smiles. And went back to sleep.

It wasn't until two hours later that the alarms went off in Ichigo's room, signaling the asystole of David's heart. (A/N – remember? Asystole means no heartbeat.) In spite of the rapid response of the Code Team, there was no bringing David back. He died peacefully, in his sleep … slipping away quietly. Ichigo was late in sending him off with his blessing and best wishes for a happy afterlife, but he said the words anyway. David was one of the beloveds.

It was over a week later that the letter arrived in Ichigo's mail. It was from Jaco. He apologized, explained their promise to 'help' each other if either ended up like David was … and his role in carrying out the poisoning. He said David had instructed him to write, and to say again, thank you. That he'd thought perhaps Ichigo would understand … because Ichigo had said he loved him. And for the same reason, he merited an explanation. Jaco was sorry for bringing pain … but he would do it over again, a hundred times, to keep his promise to his best friend. Thank you. Goodbye.

Ichigo had sat for hours, staring at the moon and the river, trying to figure out how he felt about what had happened to David. About whether he should call the police. Finally, he did nothing. It was too late, anyway. But he still didn't know how he felt about it all. He was crushed to have his beloved one taken from him … but happy to think of him out of his prison of a body. In the end, he'd talked to the Abbot about the issue (without specifics), and had ended up feeling somewhat better.

And so David Sansobella secured a place among Ichigo's departed beloveds … and drove home the previously only briefly touched-upon idea that he truly loved these men. And would do anything – absolutely ANYTHING – for them. He had been an accomplice to murder. And like Jaco, he would do it again, if it was what his beloved needed. A hundred times.

XXX

He got to work right on time, received report, and hurried to his room. For some reason, thinking about David had made him edgy. Or was it something else? What was today … it was Monday, in about an hour it would be Tuesday.

All was well in his room. Shinji slept quietly, lying on his side, his eyes closed, breathing comfortably. In the other bed, however, Szayel was awake, reading. He looked up with a smile and put his tablet down as Ichigo came in. "Evening, Ichigo-kun," he said, looking expectantly at the oranget.

"Szayel-san," Ichigo said with a big smile. "I'm surprised to find you awake. Isn't tomorrow your big day?"

"Yes, yes," Szayel said, taking off his glasses and folding them up. "Moving out and moving on. That's why I decided to stay up tonight … so I could see you and thank you properly."

"Well, you look great. The guys been treating you all right?" He walked up to the bed and looked up at the monitor as he asked the question.

"Yes. Very much so. Renji is a lot of fun to be around … Chad's quieter … but they're both great nurses."

A tickle of alarm skittered across Ichigo's spine when Szayel said the word 'Chad'. He felt, suddenly, as though his senses were heightened, like there was some danger in the room that he could not see. Some presence. A hazard. He glanced over at Shinji, who hadn't moved, of course. All was well. "One moment, please, Szayel-san," Ichigo said, hurrying out of the room. He paused in the hall, looking to the left and right, even going so far as to sniff the air for smoke. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Quietly, but still filled with something like foreboding, he went back into room 313.

"What is it, Ichigo-kun?"

"I don't know," Ichigo said, coming back to the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just got a weird feeling."

"Goose walk over your grave?" Szayel said with a little smile.

"Huh?" Szayel explained the saying. "Oh. Maybe." They talked about Szayel's treatment, his physical therapy, the move to a regular ward tomorrow, his plans for his recovery. They were moving on to talking about what Szayel would do with his life now, when Uryuu came in to ask Ichigo to help him with one of his patients.

He was in with Uryuu, helping him turn the patient – who was a big tall man – when Uryuu said, "This guy reminds me of Chad. Tall and dark-skinned like he is." Just conversationally. But the name hit Ichigo just like before. He leaned against the patient, holding him in place, and rubbed his forehead where he suddenly had developed a headache. Chad.

Don't forget.

Don't forget to tell … Chad.

Don't forget.

Ichigo frowned. Tell Chad … to … dammit! It was coming, it was on the tip of his tongue, but then Uryuu said something else and the thought disappeared.

Fuck!

Back in his own room. Ichigo crossed to the window in order to close the blinds. He paused to look out at the night sky. Szayel was in the bathroom. Ichigo was waiting to help him back to bed when he was done. He stared out at the stars, then looked down where he could see the north parking lot and the train tracks that led into the trees to the north, silver in the moonlight.

Feeling vaguely ridiculous about his silly feelings, Ichigo turned around and straightened Szayel-san's bed linens. When Szayel called out that he was ready, Ichigo helped him walk to the bed and helped him get settled again.

"Ichigo-kun," he said, once he was safely and comfortably back in bed. "Can we, uh, have our talk now?"

"Of course, Szayel-san," Ichigo said, sitting on the edge of Szayel's bed. "What would you like to know?"

"Well, like I said before … I heard you talking to me when I was, uh, asleep. And you said you, uh, you loved me. I, um … was wondering what you meant by that." Szayel was looking down at his hands as he smoothed the sheets over his thighs. A hand came into his field of vision.

Ichigo's. He clasped one of Szayel's hands in his and squeezed softly. "I meant exactly what I said, Szayel-san. I do love you. And having you awake and well – I haven't been this happy in a long time."

Szayel looked up. Ichigo was smiling, meeting his gaze with quiet assurance. "By love, you mean …."

"I mean 'love'," Ichigo said, chuckling softly. "Is it that hard to believe, Szayel-san?"

"But … but how can … I mean, I guess I mean I don't understand. You don't know me. I might be a real asshole, I might be some kind of deviant. I … I just don't know …." Szayel's slight frown was puzzled, worried, slightly pained.

Ichigo was comforting. "I can see where you would question my words. But rest assured it's true. However, you don't have to do anything about it. It doesn't come with any ties or responsibilities, you don't have to feel forced to return it, you don't have to feel pressured to become my 'boyfriend' … nothing. I will never see or speak to you again if that is what would make you happy. Because that's all I care about … that you are well and happy." He squeezed Szayel's hand again, then released it.

Szayel thought about all that. Love with no expectation of it's being returned? "So … if I left tomorrow and went home to another person, you'd be okay with that?"

"If that's what made you happy, yes."

"And conversely … if I left tomorrow and then called you, asking to meet for coffee—"

"I'd ask when and where," Ichigo said, smiling.

Szayel was quiet, thinking about this. "Is this a nurse thing?"

"This is a 'love' thing," Ichigo said, chuckling.

A tentative smile curved Szayel's lips. "You're a crazy guy, Ichigo-kun," he said.

"'Fraid so," Ichigo said, grinning.

Quiet for a moment. Then they heard the soft sounds of Shinji vocalizing from behind the screen. "You've got work to do," Szayel murmured. "Thanks for clarifying. I'll, um … I'll think about things and—"

"Don't worry. I don't expect anything out of you, remember?" Ichigo said as he stood up. "Rest easy. Focus on your rehabilitation and recovery. I'll be here to help in any way that I can, all right? You need anything, you can count on me."

"Thank you."

"Any time."

As Ichigo walked around the screen to check on Shinji, Szayel relaxed on his pillows, staring at the ceiling. He didn't know what to think about it all, but he was filled with comfort. That was the only way he could describe the feelings settling softly in his chest. Like … everything was going to turn out all right. He smiled and closed his eyes.

XXX

End Chapter 15

Hey! What about Chad?! ;) Stay tuned, fearless reader! More to come.

Ahvienda