"Sir, I just heard." Stark stood with the support of a pole which had his IV bag on it. He stood next to Aizen at the entrance to the private room where a young man with a mop of blue hair slept on.

"Stark, should you be up?"

"I'm fine," he lied. Two weeks ago he'd woken for the first time after being shot. Just five days ago he'd started walking on his own again. The bullet through his chest plate had done some serious damage. But looking to his boss now, he knew he was needed.

"Stark."

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm glad you're alright."

Stark turned to him. The words were alarmingly uncharacteristic. But then, the way Aizen was staring at Grimmjow, Stark thought he understood: It had been a terrible few weeks for them all, and now at least, Aizen knew one of the people close to him was going to be alright.

"What about Yammy?"

"He's already awake, back at the Casino. He has a concussion and a sprained wrist."

"Good. Did he tell you anything?"

By the way Aizen's face creased, Stark suspected yes. It took a moment, but Aizen began.

"He said Grimmjow has stopped talking. According to Katagiri, it's been quite a while since he said anything."

"Shit." Stark hung his head. He'd woken to chaos. He'd learned just how desperately Aizen had tried to get Grimmjow back, failing each time. He saw the strain of it in him now, in his features, his shoulders.

"I'm ready to get out of this place, sir. Let me come back, help out with the kid."

"Thank you, Stark." Aizen stepped inside the room and brushed a hand through Grimmjow's hair as he slept on. "I'll sign the release papers for you both. It's time to go home."

"Is he alright to be walking on his own?" Yammy had an arm around Stark—a man he'd stabbed not long ago on order from Aizen so he could infiltrate Katagiri's organization. If Katagiri hadn't been so smart and immediately sent him away up North to test his loyalties and abilities, he could have rescued Grimmjow long ago.

Now they both watched Grimmjow limp before them in his walking cast, shoulders hunched, hands stuck in his pockets and not making eye contact with anyone. He'd been silent the whole ride home from the hospital, as had Aizen. The moment Aizen had tried to help him stand from the bed and get dressed, Grimmjow had shirked away, grabbed his clothes and locked himself in the bathroom while he changed. None of them could even figure how he was walking. They'd seen the state of him just two days ago when he'd been rescued. He was transformed from the man he'd been before he'd been captured. And on top of everything Katagiri had done to him, the fall from the balcony had broken his toes on his right foot and cut open his heel. He'd banged up one arm and shoulder and had a mild concussion not to mention numerous cuts and bruises.

Now he walked at a slow pace ahead of them, following Aizen into the elevator. He leaned on one side. Yammy and Stark took the other. They all ascended to the penthouse. When Grimmjow entered Aizen's suite, he looked around. The main room with the pool table and bar had been transformed. Between all the fits of rage that had escaped Aizen, it was practically a whole new décor. Once he'd taken all of this in, he looked at Aizen briefly, as if scoping him out, assessing him.

"You should rest, Grimmjow."

His eyes turned toward the bedroom. He moved slowly in that direction but when he entered he didn't go near the bed. He went straight for the shower. The door shut firmly. Aizen heard the lock click in place.

He returned to the other two. Yammy had eased Stark onto one of the comfortable chairs near the tv. Aizen nodded for him to sit as well, poured a drink and joined them.

"Are you going to tell him?" Yammy asked.

"Not yet."

"He should know," Stark argued. "You don't want him to find out Katagiri is still alive from anyone else."

"I said not yet. If all goes according to plan, I won't have to."

"So you've put out the hit, then?"

"Or course. He's got a broken neck, it should be easy to create a complication."

Katagiri's neck was fractured, but instead of being paralyzed it was a wound that could heal over smoothly if he was properly treated, which he no doubt was being in a private facility. Aizen spoke as if his fate was sealed but both Stark and Yammy knew it was not. Katagiri had proven to be a formidable enemy and his torture of Grimmjow had affected Aizen more than the mobster would admit. He'd made hasty decisions and paid a high price for it.

"And how about Grimmjow, sir? What can we do for him?"

"I don't know." Aizen drank deeply. "He's not reacting like I expected."

There had been no tears of either relief or terror from Grimmjow. He'd been completely emotionless since waking up in the hospital. He barely looked at Aizen, and when he did, there was no sign he sought comfort from him or anything else.

"Stark, you can recover across the hall." Aizen only inhabited half of the upper floor. He didn't need that much room, and so the other half across the hall from the elevator was open and used for circumstances such as these. "Yammy will keep an eye."

"I can work," Stark argued.

"No. I will need you at full strength soon. So do whatever it takes to get there."

"Yes sir."

They parted ways. Aizen returned to the bedroom, but only stood in the doorway long enough to listen to the running shower. He left, and gave the man inside the bathroom his privacy.

Everything hurt. The hot water striking his scraped and bruised skin. The weight on his broken foot. Every joint that had been rattled in two jarring falls. His ribs. His back. His wrists.

But if he hadn't gotten out of there, he'd feel so much worse and he'd still have to endure everything Katagiri had made him do.

He shut off the water and just stood there. He didn't want to leave the shower, leave this room and face the three beyond. He didn't want them to see him or talk to him. Not even Aizen—no, especially Aizen.

He felt cold and not because the hot spray had died. He felt utterly frozen from the inside out, numb and distant. It wasn't right, none of it was. This wasn't how he was supposed to feel when he finally escaped. It wasn't supposed to keep hurting after Katagiri was dead.

He shut his eyes. He didn't want to think anymore. He didn't want to do anything but be alone, pass out, drift away from it all.

With much effort he dried off and redressed. The bandages from the hospital were loose and wet. He dropped them in the trash and covered himself with a long sleeve shirt that masked the stitches and marks on his battered wrists, where the cuffs had dug deep when he'd hung from Katagiri's bloated form.

He shook the image from his mind. No more—no more thoughts, or pain or feeling at all. Just emptiness, that all he wanted. He limped from the closet to the bed. He lay above the sheets, his body sagging as if it had suddenly gotten ten times heavier. He didn't fight the exhaustion anymore, shut his eyes and went limp in seconds.

"Grimmjow."

His name hung in the air. Aizen watched blue eyes slowly come back to life, his features straining in discomfort almost at once. It might have been the sprains and bruises, or it might have been the memories. Aizen continued to wind bandages around Grimmjow's wrist, replacing the ones from earlier. Grimmjow watched on in silence from where he lay.

"You've been out for several hours. It's good, you need the rest."

He set his wrist down and turned to the bedside table. Grimmjow's eyes followed. "It's time for your antibiotics. You should eat, afterwards." He got no answer but cracked a bottle of water and picked out the pills Grimmjow needed to take. He silently sat up enough to swallow them back without choking. After he had, however, he just sagged back onto the bed.

"I'll bring the food in, then?"

No answer. Aizen dragged a small table to the bed. He and left, but brought him back a tray with a variety of food choices. Grimmjow looked it over a moment before sitting.

His arms shook when he tried to push himself up again. He winced once or twice, but sat, bracing one hand on the table.

"You haven't eaten for quite a long while. You should feel better after."

After a moment of surveying the food, Grimmjow took a spoon and attempted a bowl of thick soup. His hands trembled as he brought it up to his mouth, but he seemed used to this challenge. He leaned over the table further to shorten the distance between the bowl and his mouth.

Aizen watched as he ate, hunched in pain and barely controlling his motor functions. After several spoon fulls, he released the spoon and took the glass of water. This he chugged back, but when it was gone, it was clear he was done eating. He lay back on the bed.

"Grimmjow, you must be hungrier than that. What would you like? You can have anything you want."

Of course, no answer came. Aizen pulled the table back. He moved over to the bed and sat on the side.

Grimmjow went stiff. He was on his side, back to Aizen. His fingers clenched in the sheets. His breath quickened.

"I won't touch you if you don't want me to. I won't do anything you don't want. That is, if you tell me. I need you to talk to me, Grimmjow."

Still no answer, though it was clear, he was listening.

"Is it that you can't talk? Or you won't?"

Aizen leaned over him, trying to see his eyes. Grimmjow refused to meet them, and stared adamantly at the door.

Aizen let out a sigh. "When you've had more rest, we'll discuss this again. I will leave the food, in case you change your mind."

Grimmjow slept on and off the rest of that day. The next day, he made his way out to the rest of the apartment on his own. He ate a portion of the breakfast Aizen brought up. He showered. He ignored all of Aizen's attempts to speak with him. He walked the length of the apartment, as if testing his strength. Then he returned to the bed, with no will to move from where he was.

He lay on his side, watching the door, which cracked open on occasion so Aizen could check on him. He stared at that door, until the day faded, evening set in and the room grew dark. He drifted into a light, uneasy sleep. His waking mind and the dream world melded. When he finally succumbed fully to dreams, they were more like memories—things he wished were only nightmares and not his reality.

He came too, tearing at the sheets. His chest heaved beneath his shirt, sweat plastering it to his body. He collapsed back in agony, his chest so tight and the air so thin he thought he was going to die.

Pills. He remembered watching the doctor pass something to Aizen—something that went under his tongue and should calm him. He rolled and reached for the bedside table. His hands were shaking, he knocked his glass of water over. There was nothing there. The drawer—he yanked it open. Nothing. Fuck.

He gasped but it felt like nothing got in. His hand was still on the drawer when he fell back on the bed. The jolt toppled the lamp. In seconds the bedroom door opened.

Aizen hurried to the bathroom at the sight of him. Grimmjow couldn't move. It was the worst panic attack he'd experienced since that night he'd stopped talking. Aizen didn't return with pills. Instead he had a syringe. Grimmjow started to pull back his arm but Aizen caught it and positioned the needle tip anyway.

"It's okay," he assured when it pushed under his skin.

He held a cotton swap against the spot while the medication took effect, spreading through Grimmjow's body within moments of administration. His frantic breathing began to calm. His chest stopped expanding as rapidly. He panted but got oxygen now. He was completely exhausted in the aftermath, laying on his back, one hand still closed over his chest from the pain that was just slowly ebbing away.

"The doctor said to use this when the attack is too severe," Aizen explained in a bit.

Grimmjow sat up very slowly. He wiped his face that had become wet with sweat. Aizen had cleaned up the lamp and glass and held out a plastic bottle of water to him. Grimmjow took it and sipped slowly. His hands were shaking and still felt the memory that had brought this all on.

He lowered the water bottle from his lips. Aizen took it back when he saw it slipping.

"Grimmjow you can tell me," Aizen pressed when Grimmjow drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He shook his head into this knees. Aizen still waited, but Grimmjow wasn't moving. He was shut off completely and he intended to stay that way.

Instead of helping, Aizen's presence just seemed to make things worse. He sighed and left the room, and not long after, the shower came on.

In the morning, Grimmjow emerged from the bedroom fully dressed. He made his way to the bar and sat on the stool, pouring himself a drink.

"Not the best breakfast in the world." Aizen joined him. He had fresh wrap for Grimmjow's wrists. Grimmjow slowly stretched out his hand and lay it on the bar top so Aizen could bind it up. He watched him over the top of his glass, drinking deep.

Aizen did each wrist in silence, eyes traveling over the scar tissue that had built up around the fresh wounds. His face was a permanent frown around Grimmjow now.

Grimmjow looked away from him. He stared at the counter surface but was reminded of the one Katagiri had bent him over. He swirled on the stool and saw the couch, remembering nights underneath Katagiri on a couch much the same.

They were the same: Katagiri and Aizen. They were both deadly, powerful. They both liked sitting high up in their penthouses. Their lives were parallel, their taste for Grimmjow the most unifying feature about them. How had he ever given himself over to that lust willingly? How had he ever allowed Aizen to bring him into such an existence?

"Grimmjow!" Shattered glass cascaded down shelves of expensive bottles of liquors. The room filled with the sharp scent of alcohol and Grimmjow stared at the shattered mirror that had been behind the shelves of the bar where his glass was now embedded. He didn't remember standing. He didn't remember throwing it. He raised a hand to face, shaking where he stood. Aizen watched him and tried to approach. Grimmjow's hand flew up, defensive. He backed away from the bar and the man until he was at the apartment door.

He ran. He ran from every choice he'd made that had brought him here. He ran from every word he'd ever spoken in love to the man behind him. He ran down stairs as if he ran from a fire. And he couldn't stop running. Not even when ice cold pain shot through his leg because of his broken foot. Not even when his chest burned from exertion he'd not been able to experience in weeks. Not even when he burst out onto the streets in bare feet.

Aizen must have told the men not to touch him, because though they easily followed him, they never made their move. He watched them from the corner of his eye until he cut left into an alley and shoved through a door to an old building he'd used for some deals. He cut through it and out the other side, hopping onto a dumpster and dropped behind a partition to another street.

He lost them. He knew this city too well.

But Aizen knew him, and he when he finally stopped running—when he smelled the harbour, saw the yellow caution tape and the black charred building—he saw the figure waiting for him.

His feet slowed. He collapsed to his knees trying to catch his breath and stared up at the remains of his former home. Nothing was left except the frame of the building. He hadn't been back to see it since that night—that night when he'd thrown away his independence for this man. He'd killed Grimmjow Jaggerjaques—the freelancer, the punk, the man who needed no one. And now he was the ruined thing Aizen and Katagiri had made him into.

"...you did this to me…" He bowed his head, hearing his own voice for the first time in weeks. "You made me into this."

Aizen walked toward him, slow. He stopped above him and spoke evenly.

"I know I did."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"YES I DO!" Grimmjow lurched back up to his feet to face this man. "You think I could still love you? After what they did to me? Aizen he raped me! Again and again! And they laughed, those sick fucks. Katagiri, those masked men—they loved every fuckin minute of it. And they used things—things like you have in that room of yours. That's all you've ever wanted to do with me too, isn't it? ISN'T IT?"

The slap stopped his screams. He staggered and slowly raised a hand to his face, feeling the burn in his skin. Aizen lowered his hand, eyes on fire.

"You have no idea what I went through trying to get you home."

"What? They had me for three weeks! What could possibly have taken you that long?"

Aizen said nothing.

"That's what I thought."

Grimmjow turned. Aizen caught his arm.

"Don't touch me!" He swung. Aizen caught the punch and twisted his arm until he was turned around and Aizen restrained him in a backwards embrace.

"Get off of me!"

"Enough, it's time to go home."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, ever again."

"Yes you are. It's not safe for you out here."

"It's not safe for me with you."

He thrashed enough he managed to get away again, his shirt collar tearing in the process. He heaved and took several steps away.

Aizen's eyes were wide, angry. "You really think that? You think I'd hurt you like he did."

"You already have! That first time! That first night!"

"THAT WAS NOTHING THE SAME AND YOU KNOW IT!"

Aizen advanced. Grimmjow tried retreating but his arm was caught, he lost his balance and they fell back, Aizen slamming Grimmjow into the ground. He screamed in rage as Aizen trapped his wrist to the Earth.

"Let me go!" His breath came in gasps. He writhed beneath Aizen. "LET ME GO!"

"NEVER! No matter how much you scream at me. No matter how much you fight me, I won't let you go, Grimmjow. Because I promised I'd save you, and I will. I will save you from what that bastard did to you."

"You can't! No one can! Now let me go!"

"Like I said a long time ago, Grimmjow, you are worth saving." Aizen sat back, releasing Grimmjow's wrists. Grimmjow rolled onto his stomach and dragged himself away, getting onto his hands and knees. He was exhausted and sat back, unable to get up again.

"I don't want to go with you," he said, quiet now. "I want my life back."

"I know, but you won't find it here."

"I'm not going."

Aizen sighed and stood. Grimmjow heard a car rumble to life—Aizen must have signalled the driver over because his sedan rolled to a stop just near them.

"Katagiri is still alive."

Grimmjow's head shot up at this. He stared up at Aizen in disbelief, but saw nothing but the truth in those eyes.

"No…"

"He is. You have no choice. You have to come with me."

He opened the door. Grimmjow stared inside. He was a long time sitting there, before he pushed himself to his knees and stood on shaking legs. He stared Aizen down, angry in different way now, cold and simmering, but he grabbed hold of the door and got inside.

Apologies for the disgustingly long delay between chapters (in both my fics...) Much more recovering ahead for Grimmjow (and Aizen)

~ZQ