Crisp. Clean. White. Grimmjow didn't recognize a single one of these descriptors as anything to do with his waterfront loft with a view of drug dealers and gang violence.

He saw no immediate threat. The mint on the pillow next to him and the restaurant guide on the night stand were pretty clear signs he was in a hotel room. There was no doubt in his mind what hotel.

"That mother fucker." He groaned and pushed himself up.

He froze. The pain from last night came back to him all too swiftly and he lay back down for a moment to catch his breath.

Everything hurt. Worst of, was of course from what Aizen had done, and he was a little worried he still wouldn't be able to walk when he tried. In addition however, he felt the beating he'd taken before that. They'd kicked him around pretty good before he'd gotten away. Pulling back the sheets revealed dark purple bruises all over his rib cage.

"Shit." He rubbed a hand over his head and paused when he felt the bandage there. In fact, as he shifted around, he felt very clean beneath the sheets—not covered in dried sweat and…other fluids. He whipped the sheets back and now found the will to sit. "That fucker!" he exclaimed. "He fucked around with me after he drugged me."

He began to pat himself over, not sure what he was looking for but disturbed to have been handled while unconscious. As far as he could, tell, he'd only been cleaned and patched up. That was not, however, enough to subdue his anger. He pushed himself to the side of the bed despite the pain and planted his feet on the ground. He saw his clothes had been neatly folded and placed on the dresser. He made that his goal, set his jaw and stood.

Sound made it past his clenched teeth and he needed to stand still for a moment and let the pain settle into a manageable ache. When that happened, he proceeded on unsteady legs to the dresser. He was cursing Aizen with every step. He swore countless times while getting into his clothes—which he noticed by the tag, had been dry cleaned. He staggered to the bathroom and splashed water over his face then tried to tame his bed head. It wasn't much good—he let it be and returned to the main room.

He wanted to make his exit but he eyed the mini fridge. He figured Aizen could at least give him a drink—one not laced with sleeping pills—after the night he'd had.

He swallowed the liquor he found, hissing at the burn on his dry throat. He tried to supress the images of the night before that flooded his mind. He was pretty sure he'd be working on suppressing it for a long time.

"That bastard." He muttered one last time before opening the door and finding the man in question right before him.

"I assume you were talking about me."

Grimmjow blanched but Aizen made no move to stop him. "I see you're on your feet."

"Yeah, no thanks to you. Why the fuck did you drug me?"

"You were getting unruly."

"You coulda just let me go."

"You were in no shape to leave. Besides, it took all night for Stark to cover up for you. You couldn't leave my protection until now."

Grimmjow wished he could yell something back but it actually made sense. However, the man could have just said all of that last night.

"I guessed you would feel more comfortable in the hotel room than on my office couch."

"Ah…yeah, thanks." He really just wanted out of this conversation now but Aizen followed him as he made a very slow, painful trek down the hallway to where he saw elevators.

"I'll have one of my men take you where you want to go."

"No thanks."

"I insist."

"I said—"

"Or, perhaps you should stay here a little longer—until you're feeling better."

"Fine, I'll take a ride."

"Good. Make sure you thank Stark for all his hard work." Aizen swept off down the hall. Grimmjow had expected him to follow him all the way downstairs. He sighed and kept on with his snail's pace, using the wall as support. Stark was waiting for him in the foyer.

"This way." He never said anything about Grimmjow's state. He wondered how many others Stark had had to drive home like this. They pulled up to his place without Grimmjow having to explain where it was.

"Thanks for save," Grimmjow muttered. He wasn't entirely insincere—he did understand how much trouble he caused but he was in no mood to think of Aizen as his savior.

"Just don't do it again. See you soon."

Grimmjow caught the door at this. "Uh, actually, I don't think I want to do any more deals with Aizen."

At this, the slightest smirk crossed Starks lips. "I wasn't talking about street deals."

Grimmjow slammed the door shut. Stark drove off and Grimmjow threw the finger at him as he sped away. Then he trudged up the steps to his apartment that was situated above a restaurant.

The restaurant had been closed down three years ago due to health violations. The owners had fled leaving everything behind, including the apartment above, where they had lived. Grimmjow, fresh in town at that time, had taken over. He sometimes forgot he was a squatter, but that easy, since he'd made a good deal with someone on the hydro commission and got free heat and lights. He was completely off the grid, completely alone, and completely satisfied.

Somehow, he was pretty sure last night had fucked all of that up.

He sank on the couch and struggled out of his boots. He lay back and listened to the fan whir above his head, eyes shut. He needed some time to put that night behind him, starting with sleeping for about a week. The last thing he did before he let himself succumb was reach under the cushion for what was stashed there. Once the revolver was safely in his grip, he felt more at ease. He let his mind drift from his pain and quickly fell asleep.

It was three months later before he met Aizen again. He was back to normal. He'd buried that night as deep as he could and as soon as his body had been able, he'd gotten back into the thick of things. Since then he'd made some very good deals and a few more connections that were opening doors for him in the underground society in which he lived. It was good to know people—lots of people. The more people he knew, the less he could be associated with one particular group. And it was that neutrality that drew his clients to him and got him jobs.

But eventually one of those jobs put him right back in Aizen's path.

And his bed.

It was a simple task, really. He was hired to get a message to hooker. She in turn would deliver it to a client, he assumed, but that didn't matter. He didn't know, and that was how he and his employers liked it. The only complication was that she worked for a club—a high class one that didn't let just anyone in back with the top class girls.

So he had to settle in for a few hours, at one of the best strip joints around. It was, of course, owned by Katagiri. He didn't see that as a particular risk, however, since most things sleazy and successful were owned by Katagiri.

He installed himself near the stage, bought a lot of drinks, flashed a lot of cash and eventually got the whisper through red painted lips that he was welcome to a private show in back.

Once there, he picked her out from her description, handed over a bundle of cash that his employer had provided, and followed her to a luxurious room full of debaucherous toys and furniture.

"How do you like it, hun?" she whispered seductively in her see-through lingerie.

He was half tempted to take what he paid for but he cleared his throat and explained to her who he was. He gave her the message. He also had a hefty payout for her from the man who'd hired him. When he started to leave, she gripped his wrist to stop him.

"Wait up, hun. If you leave so quick someone might get suspicious. Besides, you're a handsome devil. Why don't we have fun while we wait?"

He looked over her well-proportioned body and tried to see past the countless other hands that had held her and dicks that had penetrated her. He was still weighing his options when the first shots sounded in the hall outside.

"Fuck."

"AHHHH!" He clamped a hand around her mouth and looked around for the safest place. He of course didn't have his weapon—he'd never have been allowed in here.

"Is there a way out of this room?" he asked, withdrawing his hand.

"No."

"Do you think this has anything to do with the person you're passing the message to?"

"No."

"Well we gotta either hide or run."

"Under the bed," she suggested. He looked to the heart shaped mattress. He saw the solid wood panelling beneath it. That was not an option. When he turned back and saw the smoke, the decision was made for him.

"Run it is." He gripped her hand. "Take those shoes off."

She kicked off her stilettos and they prepared to make their break.

It was chaos in the halls. Whoever had done this, had meant to really hurt Katagiri. The entire building must have been burning. It looked like most civilians had cleared out but he could see several hunched figures holding weapons. Continued gunfire sounded somewhere in the thick of smoke. The girl gripped him tighter as they ran through a wall of black. They came out the other side but stumbled right into the middle of a fight.

"Ah!" Someone grabbed them. The girl slipped from him. He heard someone call her a whore and tell her to run then a fist was in his gut. He rolled away from the next strike and in seconds lost the men in the smoke again. He had to hope the girl was going to find her way out on her own. He got tangled up in discarded clothing then finally got back out into the main room. The stage was in flames, the bar an inferno but he saw the exit.

That's when someone clubbed him over the back of the head.

When he woke up, he had a vague memory of a tile floor and heated voices—the face of Stark streaked with soot and several others cocking guns and running. But he wasn't sure that was real, it could have been a dream. He certainly hoped it was a dream when he saw the elaborate footboard, posts and satin sheets on which he now lay.

"Wha…" his voice failed to complete the rest of the word. He felt the scratching hoarseness and the rattle in his chest. In fact, air didn't seem to be getting in very well and the moment and he started to gasp to try to fill his lungs.

That was when he noticed the figure rise from the desk on the other side of the room.

He froze, seeing Aizen, and taking in a few more details of the room. It was elaborate, luxurious and lived-in. It was not a hotel suite. When he looked to his left and saw the massive glass windows and the towering view of the city, he knew where he was.

He was in Aizen's penthouse. And he was in Aizen's bed.

"This should help." He turned back to find Aizen holding a bottle of water out to him. He didn't seem too threatening but Grimmjow eyed the uncapped lid and shook his head.

"I assure you it is only water, this time."

Grimmjow glared but he accepted it. What would be the point of drugging him after he just woke up? As he swallowed it back he looked down on himself and realized he was still filthy, covered in soot and ash from the burning night club. Aizen obviously didn't care it would ruin his sheets.

"You didn't seem to appreciate being cleaned up last time, so I thought I would leave you be."

"Damn straight," he rasped out. He tried downing more water to clear his throat but it was really his lungs that were the issue. It didn't matter, he'd sort it later. Right now he had to get out of here. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and tried to stand. He got half way up before his head swam and he stumbled back down.

"You have a concussion and pretty bad smoke inhalation." Grimmjow held his head, waiting for the nausea to pass. "You're lucky Stark recognized you back there."

At this, Grimmjow raised his head.

"Was that you, then?"

"Of course."

"Shit." He'd nearly been taken out as collateral damage in Aizen's raid on Katagiri.

"You really should rest," Aizen spoke again but Grimmjow shook his head.

"Thanks for not murdering me." This time he succeeded in getting to his feet. "But I'd rather go home."

A hand came up against his chest to stop him.

"I'm afraid you can't leave."

Grimmjow had been worried about that. He glanced back at the bed nervously but Aizen just smiled. "Yes, I wouldn't mind another taste of you, but that's not the reason. We're on lockdown. No one goes in or out of the Penthouse or office until Stark clears up the mess downstairs."

"What mess?"

"Nothing for you to worry about. Katagiri just made a sloppy attempt at retaliation." Now Grimmjow thought maybe he had woken up earlier, it wasn't just a dream. "So you might as well get comfortable because it's going to be a while."

Get comfortable? That wasn't possible, but when Aizen pointed to a door and mentioned shower, he did feel tempted. But he looked back at Aizen with distrust.

"I'll leave you alone, if that's what you want." He didn't wait to see what Grimmjow would say. "I have business." Grimmjow watched him go. He waited a moment, then made his way to where Aizen pointed.

The bathroom was white and bright and just as luxurious as the rest of the place but Grimmjow's eyes didn't linger on the Jacuzzi tub or the lotions and soaps and plush towels—he saw himself in the mirror and understood why he felt like shit.

They must have left him for dead when they knocked him out and in the mean time he'd gotten more smoke in his lungs. His eyes were blood shot and his nostrils black. He let water run into the sink and pulled a folded was cloth from the counter to run over his face. It came away black but his skin remained sooty. He gave up and began to strip for the shower.

He sank against the tile once he was in the shower. The spray of water coursed over him but he was finding it hard to keep steady. His head pounded and his lungs burned. He let his head fall back so the water pressure could reach his face. When he found the strength, he began to scrub himself. His hair was the worst. He was pretty sure he'd have to wash it several more times before all the crap was out of it.

He coughed harshly for several minutes when he was out. He sat back against the side of the tub and gasped. He'd never realized smoke could make you feel this way.

Then he looked for his clothes.

They were gone. In their place was a black, silk robe.

"No fucking way." His voice was barely audible now. But his choices were this or nudity. He looked around as if Aizen might be lurking somewhere in the spacious bathroom but he was alone.

He emerge cautiously, still suspicious of the other man but the bedroom was empty. He did a quick scan for other clothing then headed for the door. It was locked.

"Shit." He was locked inside the bedroom. He gave the door a shake but it was no good. The only other exit was a balcony which was not an option at this height. He sighed and looked back to the bed. It had also been changed so that the filth from his clothing was gone.

No. He wouldn't give in. He turned all around. The room was well furnished including a desk, chairs and a couch. He made his way to the latter instead and sat. His cough returned full force and by the time it ended he was wheezing.

He was glad he was already sitting down when he felt the room start to fade.

Thank you Shiva for being my first reviewer! I appreciate it! I'm not sure how much interest there is in this story but I will keep posting since I have written quite a bit already. Thanks for reading!