Despite popular belief, Szayel didn't stay cooped up in his domain, hunched over his experiments for days at a time. The only reason anyone believed this rumor was because he was never seen around Las Noches. But as the famous saying goes, one should never assume anything. The Octava Espada simply excelled at staying invisible. He avoided the densely populated areas of Las Noches, like the Espada common room, in favor of more deserted ones.

Szayel had his reasons for avoiding the other Arrancar. If there were any other pastime more popular in Hueco Mundo than sparring, it would be spreading the latest piece of gossip spewed out from the rumor mill. And Szayel wasn't one to listen to gossip. He had been the subject of one too many rumors in the past, like "The Octava Espada is gay," "His hair isn't naturally pink," and "Cirucci dumped him because he was too girly for her."

But this time he couldn't avoid it. Szayel needed to get to Aizen's throne room and report how Orihime was doing, as part of his responsibility of being her guard. Unfortunately all the routes to that particular room were swarming with other Arrancar.

Szayel decided to take the shortest route and hope for the best, making his way through the waves of low-level Arrancar. He wondered more than once why they were even allowed in. They were no better than the Hollow outside Las Noches. He noticed a group of Arrancar talking in hushed tones. When he turned to them, they did not cease their banter like normal; instead a couple of knowing grins formed on their faces, their chatter even more frantic.

Szayel rolled his eyes. He was halfway to his destination when he bumped, quite literally, into Yammy. He was surprised to see a cold glare etched into the larger Espada's face.

"Hmph," muttered Yammy, and pushed past, continuing down the hall until he was out of sight.

That was usual. Szayel couldn't say the two ever got along—personally, he found Yammy lacking in mental capabilities—but there was always a certain, almost forced, respect for each other, if only because they were both Espada.

Shrugging off the incident, Szayel continued to Aizen's throne room. He was nearly to the door when Zommari stepped in front of him and bowed, his hands held together as if he were praying. Szayel frowned. What could the Septima Espada want with him? The only time they saw each other was during meetings.

"Octava Espada," Zommari said, his deep voice reverberating off the walls. "I congratulate you on your finding 'amor.' May it continue to bring you brightness all the rest of your days."

With a straightened back Zommari turned the corner and disappeared, leaving a very confused Szayel to ponder the words left to him.

He sighed and pushed through the throne-room door, half-wondering if this day would get any stranger than it already was.

Szayel found it quite tedious reporting to Aizen. He was on his way back to his domain, taking the longer but less populated route, when he heard an obnoxiously loud voice call out to him.

"Hey, Szayel!"

Grimmjow slapped him on the back, the force nearly caused Szayel to topple over. They weren't exactly on friendly terms, but they didn't share the same animosity that Grimmjow and Ulquiorra shared.

"Good to hear that you're a man after all!" said Grimmjow, giving Szayel a toothy grin.

Szayel stared blankly. "What are you talking about?"

"As if you don't know." Grimmjow slung his arm over Szayel's shoulder. "You're banging that woman right under Ulquiorra and Aizen-sama's noses. Talk about gutsy. Didn't think ya had it in ya!"

"WHAT?"

Grimmjow chuckled. "So, spill!" he said, a wicked glint in his eyes that concerned Szayel, "She's on bottom right? She seems like she would be, but you can never tell. Or do you prefer her to do all the work?" Szayel glared at his questions. "All right, you don't want to talk about it. Whatever. But, seriously, I had my concerns there for a while. I thought you were playing for the other team, if you get my meaning."

"You do realize, Grimmjow," Szayel said, grinning, "there are those who, as you would put it, play for both teams."

Grimmjow's face paled. Szayel raised an eyebrow, daring Grimmjow to prove him wrong. Noticing his hand was still slung over Szayel's shoulder Grimmjow pulled away, as if he had been burnt. Szayel laughed at the look on the other Espada's face, a mixture of horror and disgust.

"You're sick, you know that!" yelled Grimmjow, sonido-ing away.

Szayel frowned. He didn't understand how he was the sick one. Grimmjow was the one talking about 'banging' some woman. No, not just some woman.

Orihime.

Szayel felt a vein popping out of his forehead. All around him the chatter of Arrancar filled his ears. Granted, some of what was being spoken wasn't far from the truth, but most seemed to follow Grimmjow's line of thought. With clenched fists he headed to his domain. Szayel searched a couple of drawers and, pulling out a pair of gloves, put them in his pocket. He slammed the door and rushed over to the only person he knew would start something this ridiculous.

"Have you ever played a game called telephone?" Orihime asked one day, while she and Szayel waited for Ulquiorra to return from a mission.

Szayel shook his head, shifting himself into a more comfortable position on the couch. How she could sleep on the thing was beyond his understanding. "Never."

She gasped. "Never? Well, I guess that makes sense," she said, pulling the blankets up to her chin. "I don't think Arrancar would have time to play games."

"Not unless you count sparring as a game."

Orihime tilted her head.

"Anyway," said Szayel, waving dismissively, "what's this 'telephone' game you were talking about?"

"Oh yes!" Orihime took her hands out from under the covers, gesturing as she spoke. "It's actually has a couple of names, depending on who you play it with. I've also heard it called 'operator' and 'grapevine' too. Anyway, what you do is have a group of people—at the very least ten, if you want the game to be really good—and you sit in a circle. Then one person is chosen, and they have to think of something to tell the others."

"Such as?"

Orihime shrugged. "It can be anything. Usually it's something about one of the other people in the group. For example, if I started the game, I could say, 'Szayel has pink hair.' Or something to that effect."

"You have a very unhealthy obsession with the fact my hair is pink."

"Well, I don't know many guys who could pull it off. I mean, think about it! Imagine if Ulquiorra or Grimmjow or even Aizen-san had pink hair!"

Szayel thought about it. He had to admit, the idea was pretty laughable, particularly in Aizen's case. No one would take him seriously, at least for a little while.

He cleared his throat. "We're going off on a tangent here."

"You're the one who started it! I was just happily explaining the game," said Orihime, a lilt to her voice. "Where was I? Oh yes! The first person thinks of a phrase, then they tell it to the person next to them, but they can only say it once. Then that person tells the person next to them and so on and so on. Eventually the phrase goes around the circle until it gets to the only person who hasn't heard, the person sitting on the other side of the person who started it. Then that person has to stand up and say what they heard."

"And the point of the game is…?"

"Well, what usually happens is the phrase at the end doesn't match up with the original. Now that I think about it, I guess that kind of is the point of the game. It teaches you how rumors are started, and how, by word of mouth, an innocent phrase like, 'Tanaka-san likes Honda-san' can turn into 'Tanaka-san has been cheating on Honda-san with Suzuki-san, and she's pregnant with his child.'"

Szayel's eyes widened. "I see."

"That's why I don't bother listening to rumors," Orihime said, nodding her head. "If I really want to know, I'll just ask the person myself." She leaned into the plush backing of the couch and gazed at the ceiling.

Szayel looked at Orihime, her eyelashes brushing against her skin with every blink, and smiled. "I agree completely."

Szayel found himself in front of Nnoitra's domain. It was more elaborate, more so than he ever hoped his could be. It was one of the many perks received as an Arrancar went up the ranks. Szayel knocked on the door and waited for it to open. He was tempted to knock again when the door opened a crack, just enough for Tesla's head to pop out.

"Szayel Aporro-sama," Tesla said, and lowered his head. But he didn't open the door any wider. "I'm sorry, but Nnoitra-sama isn't here right now. I'll be sure to let him know you stopped by." He paused a moment then smiled. "By the way, congratulations. When is it due?"

Szayel had been expecting to hear some of the same rumors he caught drift of earlier that day, but he suspected this was something entirely new. "Excuse me?"

"Maybe the woman didn't tell you yet," Tesla said. "And here I've gone and ruined the surprise." Confusion was evidently still on Szayel's face, because Tesla added, "You know, the baby. When is it due?"

"Tesla, either open the door and move out of my way, or I'll move the door for you," said Szayel, what little patience he had evaporating. "And once I have, I'll strap you to one of my tables and dissect you for forty-eight hours straight. It's your decision."

Tesla stood there, obviously debating whether such a fate was worse than the one he would incur if he disobeyed Nnoitra.

"Let him in, you idiot," Nnoitra said from inside. "It's only Szayel. Leave us."

Tesla nodded. He opened the door all the way before exiting the room.

"Szayel, what brings you to my do—?"

Nnoitra wasn't able to finish his question. He had been punched firmly in the gut, the force throwing to the other side of the room. Szayel brought his arm back to its position behind him. So that was why the others found sparring so enjoyable.

Szayel eyed the Quinta Espada's domain. He did his best to ignore the bits of clothing around, particularly a top that looked very similar to the one Harribel wore.

"What the hell was that for?" Nnoitra asked. He stood and brushed himself off, still clutching his stomach. "And how could you hurt he? My hierro—"

"—is the strongest of any of the Espada," Szayel finished for him. "We know. But, just like any defense, it's not entirely infallible. All you need do is to find the weak spots and attack. It's like there's no defense system to begin with." He lifted his left hand, showing Nnoitra his glove. The pattern was different than his normal one.

"You made a glove to break through my hierro's defenses? What the hell. Why would you need to make something like that?"

"You can never be too prepared," said Szayel. Nnoitra raised an eyebrow. "But that's not why I'm here."

Nnoitra walked over to one of the chairs and sat down. "What is it?"

"Why did you spread that ridiculous rumor, the one about Orihime and myself?" Szayel couldn't bring himself repeat the whole thing.

Nnoitra grinned. "The one about you banging Pet-sama?"

"Must you put it in such crude terms? Then again, this is you we're talking about," Szayel said, not bothering to hide his disgust. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"I'm not the one who started it. That rumor, I mean." Nnoitra stood. "Actually, it's a really funny story—"

"I'm not laughing."

"And here you always said you were the one with a sense of humor! Anyway," Nnoitra continued, making his way over to Szayel. "I was with Harribel in her domain about a week or so, you know, having a little—"

Szayel's face turned green. "Spare me the details," he said, holding his hand up. "What about it?"

"It was afterwards, and suddenly we heard this pattering on the ceiling. Well, her domain is one of the few with a window, so we looked outside. And guess what? It was raining."

"I hope there's a point to this story."

"I'm getting there, I'm getting there, if you would quit interrupting!" Nnoitra snapped, "As I said, it was raining. I suggest we ignore it and get back to what we were doing, when all of a sudden Harribel tells me that Pet-sama is outside in the rain. I didn't believe her. But, you know, she does have eyes like a hawk. And you know what? She was right! Then a few seconds later I see a pink-haired speck joining her, and I knew it was you. I asked Harribel what was going on and she said, all calm and serious, 'Szayel and that woman are holding hands,' and DAMN! I tell you, I nearly fainted. I told her, 'He's holding hands with a woman? That's like Szayel and Pet-sama getting it on or something!' And then, well…"

Szayel didn't like where this was going. "Well?"

"One of her Fraccion came in—the one with the big boobs—to let Harribel know she had a mission. I guess she only heard the last bit of our conversation, and…you can guess rest."

"I don't believe you."

"Fine! Then don't believe me," said Nnoitra, shrugging carelessly. "But if the rumor isn't true, why do you care? If you had banged her, you wouldn't have cared, and even if you didn't you still wouldn't have, just like with all those other rumors." Nnoitra paused, his eyes wide. "This isn't about you, is it? It's about Pet-sama! You couldn't care less if someone were to sully your name, unless they said you were a bad scientist or something. But if it's her? Now that's a different story."

"That's preposterous," Szayel said with a roll of his eyes. "That has nothing to do with it. Personally, I'd rather not have Aizen-sama and Ulquiorra after my head—"

"Yes, I'm sure you'd like to keep both of them intact."

"Besides," said Szayel, ignoring Nnoitra's comment, "Orihime's just a participant. She means nothing to me."

He was through arguing with the Quinta Espada. Szayel turned on his heel, ready to return to his domain.

"Nothing to you, huh? Bullshit! I've known you for a lot longer than you'd like to admit, and I've never heard you refer to one of your little guinea pigs as 'participants.'"

Szayel stopped in his tracks.

"What, you didn't think I was listening to your rant about the importance of semantics?" Nnoitra asked. "'Never refer to these trash as participants. It elevates them to our level. It makes them equal with us. They're specimens, and perhaps, if one shows potential, then they can be called a subject. But never, under any circumstances, will we ever have the pleasure of having a participant in our realms.' That's what you told me, wasn't it?"

Szayel's voice sounded odd and distant. He didn't face Nnoitra. "Then it would appear I was wrong." He closed the door to Nnoitra's domain behind him.

"Yeah," Nnoitra muttered. "I guess you were."

"Szayel-sama?"

Szayel glared TREA out the corner of his eye. "What do you want? If you're going to ask me again to build you a humanoid body so you can 'attract the ladies,' don't bother. I'm not in the mood."

This was why Szayel despised rumors. They were always more trouble than they were worth.

"Is Orihime-chan going to visit me any time soon?" TREA asked sadly. "It feels like it's been forever since I've seen her."

Szayel frowned. "I don't know. I suppose it's not outside the realm of possibility."

Silence settled over the room. Szayel had never appreciated it as much as he did now. Unfortunately it didn't last.

"You really like Orihime-chan, don't you?"

Out of all the rumors Szayel had heard, and all the supposed things he had done to Orihime, TREA's words couldn't compare. And yet they affected him more strongly than anything else. "No, TREA. She's just a partici—sub—" Szayel paused, searching for the find the right words. "She's important to Aizen-sama and to my experiment. That's all."

"Right." For some reason Szayel could imagine the cube rolling its eyes, only it didn't have any eyes to roll. "You keep telling yourself that, Szayel-sama."

"And why exactly, TREA, do you think I like Orihime? What evidence do you have that would suggest this?" Szayel asked, walking over to the cube.

"Well," TREA said, "you're really nice to her—"

"It's part of the experiment."

"And you give her an awful lot of things—"

"Experiment," Szayel repeated firmly.

"Not to mention you start perspiring, your pupils dilate, and you put out pheromones at ten times the normal rate. But other than that?" said TREA sarcastically. "I guess I have nothing."

Szayel crossed his arms over his chest. "What? How the hell do you know that? Besides," he said, slightly accosted, "that's not true!"

"There's no need to drown in a proverbial river in Egypt," TREA pointed out. "There's nothing wrong with having feelings for Orhime-chan. I think it's a good thing." The machine paused. "Whatever you decide, Szayel-sama, if you ever do decide to acknowledge your feelings, just make sure to treat her well. I don't want to see Orihime-chan hurt. She's too kind a soul to have to deal with rejection."

"Rejection?" Szayel asked. "What does her powers have anything to do with it?"

TREA groaned. "Not that kind of rejection. Sheesh! Do I have to spell it out for you? I guess those glasses really are just for show."

Szayel waited the machine to continue, but it remained silent. Apparently TREA was done dealing with him and had shut itself off.

With a shrug Szayel made his way to his private quarters for some rest. He never felt like sleeping before—there were usually too many things to keep his mind stimulated, under normal circumstances—but today was anything but normal. He opened the door, looking at the bed, when he noticed someone sitting in the chair at his desk.

Szayel's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing here?"

"Hello, Octava Espada."