Chapter 2

...

Sparring with Ichigo was one of Grimmjow's favorite activities these days.

Not with reiatsu, or with swords—with Ichigo shackled as he was it would have hardly been fair. But in hand-to-hand combat, Ichigo was a close match to Grimmjow, close enough that he worked the captain to the bones every time.

Grimmjow had been at the top of his class in hand-to-hand combat disciplines back in his Academy days. Ichigo, on the other hand, didn't have formal training in any recognized fighting form or technique. He fought purely on instinct, like an animal turned loose from its cage, relying on sharp reflexes and intuition to evade and land hits.

Grimmjow loved every minute of it.

The first time he'd ended up in division four's infirmary after a good beatdown from Ichigo, Unohana had set his arm with a splint, turned to Ichigo sitting nearby with his chest puffed out, and said, "Ichigo-san, I would appreciate if you break no more bones."

Ichigo had taken one look at her smiling face, and shrunk in on himself, nodding in agreement.

"Hey, I didn't agree to that!" Grimmjow had protested. But then Unohana turned that smile on him, and Grimmjow changed his mind.

Today, Ichigo was distracted. He didn't see the knee to his sternum until Grimmjow was a hair's width away, and he went down with a heavy groan. Grimmjow didn't let up—he'd learned early on that Ichigo never stayed down until he was well and truly beaten—so he finished the move with a kick to Ichigo's gut that sent him flying, and then, before Ichigo can right himself, a flurry of punches to his chest.

Grimmjow let him fall onto his back, planted a foot in his chest, and put a finger to his throat.

"Bankai," Grimmjow growled the word that announced a victorious match in his favor. He held Ichigo there for a moment, but the grin and elation that usually accompanied a win wouldn't come. He let up. "That was too easy. What's the matter with you today?"

Ichigo rose to his feet. His lip was bleeding, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Sorry, Grimmjow."

"Tch. You owe me a better fight tomorrow."

They went to the river. Grimmjow would ordinarily use the bath house, but Ichigo wasn't permitted inside, so more often than not, they washed off in the river after their matches.

The sun was climbing higher towards midday, and in this heat it wouldn't take long to dry afterwards. They turned away from each other as they did their washing in silence. Finally, Grimmjow could take no more of the gloomy mood.

"What's got your panties in a twist, Hollow? You wake up on the wrong side of the roof?"

He could practically hear Ichigo prickle.

"Don't call me that."

"Fine. Ichigo. Seriously, what's with you today?"

It didn't seem like Ichigo was going to answer, so Grimmjow rolled his eyes and shook the water out of his hair before wading to the bank. Who knew what Hollows moped over.

"I'll be back before dark from now on."

Grimmjow looked up. Ichigo was still in waist-high water, his back turned to Grimmjow and his long orange hair gathered over one shoulder. Grimmjow could see straight through the Hollow hole in his upper back to the river on the other side. Freaky. Grimmjow had seen a million Hollow holes before, but it felt most strange and out of place on something that looked so…human.

"Eh?" Was that all? Ichigo was upset because…he'd stayed out after dark last night? Because Grimmjow had snapped at him for not coming right back after his day with Kuchiki and Abarai? "Whatever, brat. I ain't your mother."

Ichigo didn't answer to that. He started towards the bank, the water receding down his hips and thighs, and Grimmjow averted his eyes.

After they were dried and dressed, Grimmjow followed his stomach to the kitchens. Instead of tagging along on the rooftops as he often did, Ichigo walked beside him in plain sight.

People parted before them like a tide, and it was not entirely by Grimmjow's reputation and status. Eyes tracked Ichigo every step he took, and the whispers that Grimmjow's ears missed, Ichigo's caught.

"—monster—"

"—fucking joke, letting that thing stay here—"

Ichigo kept his gaze straight. His feet carried him forward, after Grimmjow whose blue hair and white captain's haori were anchors to Ichigo's wavering mind.

This close to noon, the mess hall was crowded. Grimmjow skipped the line to the front to take his food, and Ichigo went with him. The kitchens were off-limits to him, but still he paused in front of the dessert aisle where today's choices were skewers of syrup-dipped dango and little bowls of mango flavored jelly with sweet cream poured over them. The syrup glistened. The jelly smelled so fragrant it must have been made just that morning.

"Move it, Hollow."

Ichigo turned.

A very tall Shinigami stood at his back. His eyes read disdain, as did the vicious curl of his lip. He looked down his nose at Ichigo, lingering for a moment on the Hollow hole in his chest in a way that made Ichigo wish he had chosen his yukata with the high neckline today. All around them, the ambient chatter had gone quiet, and too many people were staring at Ichigo. His skin prickled.

"Hollows only eat souls."

Ichigo frowned, but he stepped away from the desserts. The Shinigami was right, and food from the kitchens really wasn't intended for him.

"What the fuck is this shit?"

Grimmjow's voice rose above the crowd, which yielded before him. The captain carried his food, but it might as well have been Pantera in his hand, judging from the way the other Shinigami jumped back.

"Captain Jaegerjaquez." The tall Shinigami dipped his head to the captain. "I was simply…educating the Hollow. It is banned from indoor public spaces like the kitchens."

Grimmjow looked the Shinigami up and down. He didn't recognize him. Neither name nor division number came to mind. This pathetic weak fuck, who wasn't even strong enough to have a name in Grimmjow's memory, thought he could throw his weight around to tell Ichigo what he had rights to.

"I brought him. You gonna tell me what I can't do?"

"N—no, Captain." The Shinigami kept his head down, for Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez' temper was famous in Seireitei, and everyone knew to steer clear of his occasional foul moods.

But it was too late. Grimmjow smelled blood in the water. "Yeah? Tell me again whatcha think this Hollow needs educating about, huh?" Grimmjow advanced on the hapless Shinigami. He did not bother unsheathing Pantera—he didn't need his sword to deal with this trash. In a swift lunge like a wildcat pouncing, Grimmjow grabbed the Shinigami by the throat and drove him back into the wall. The crowd scattered like rabbits.

He squeezed. The hoarse, panicked animal sounds of a man being throttled by his own hand made his heart beat faster. Blood rushed in his ears. Colors bled sharper—the exhilarating red of the Shinigami's face turning to ruddy purple, the blue of his lips and the white froth upon them. Grimmjow's eyes gleamed manic, his face split ear-to-ear in a shark's smile.

There was a touch on his shoulder.

Ichigo stood at his side, one hand on his haori and the other, unseen, on Grimmjow's temper.

The mad light in Grimmjow's eyes quelled. His grip loosened and he dropped the Shinigami.

"Heh. Scram, ya little roach."

Grimmjow barely heard the coughing and gasping behind him as he turned to the dessert display. Which ones had Ichigo been looking at? Grimmjow wasn't sure, so he grabbed one of each.

"Come on, Ichigo."

Halfway back to the ninth division's barracks, Ichigo spoke up.

"I think that man was from your division, Grimmjow."

Was he? Maybe it was a good thing Ichigo had stopped him from crushing his windpipe then. A third incident report this month might have landed him in old man Yama's office with a lecture about how he shouldn't be thinning out his own ranks more than the Hollows.

They found an open spot in the ninth division's courtyard, and sat down in the shade of a broad-crowned maple. Grimmjow took out his meal and put the desserts down in front of Ichigo. The Hollow's eyes were very large.

Heh. Who cared about incident reports? The Captain Commander's lectures were all bark, no bite anyways.

Grimmjow's mind was only half on his own food. Syrup dripped onto Ichigo's fingers as he tore into the little skewer of pastel-pink and yellow rice balls.

On the subject of Hollow emotions, Grimmjow knew very little. Most Shinigami would agree that Hollows could feel rage and hunger, certainly, and perhaps fear. But joy, affection, loneliness, yearning?

Ichigo's expressions were muted at times, but not for lack of feeling. Why else would he forsake the comfort of a proper bed to sleep on Grimmjow's roof? Why did he seek out treats, even though he did not, as that weak fuck had stated back in the mess hall, need to eat food?

"Don't let weaklings like that push you around."

Ichigo looked up.

Grimmjow's lip curled at the memory of it. That weak as piss Shinigami, who ordinarily would be no more than a shit stain on the bottom of Ichigo's shoe, telling Ichigo he couldn't have something.

Grimmjow had seen Ichigo in his true state, unfettered and wild, his face a terrifying white mask with great horns, his Cero more destructive than the sun. The magnificence of it was forever etched into Grimmjow's mind. That shit stain Shinigami wouldn't have been able to breathe in such a presence.

"Take what you want, Ichigo." Strength like what Ichigo had was for taking. The weak had no right to deny the strong.

"It was only dessert, Grimmjow."

"I don't care." Grimmjow stared at him fierce. "You take what you want, and don't apologize for it."

Ichigo gave him that look Grimmjow was so used to by now—bright-eyed but stoic, his face a mask as surely as the white horned skull he no longer wore.

…

Ichigo did not go to the mess hall with him that night to fetch Grimmjow's dinner, but Grimmjow brought back a custard and chocolate filled taiyaki nonetheless. The Hollow was sitting on Grimmjow's roof when he returned with the setting sun at his back.

Grimmjow held up the treat, and Ichigo dropped down to the ground to take it. He sniffed the dessert first, and Grimmjow realized this might be the first time he had ever seen one. Taiyaki was a less frequent snack on the kitchen's rotation.

"It's called taiyaki," said Grimmjow. "It's got…custard or some shit in it."

Ichigo took a bite. With the outer shell broken, the treat oozed custard and chocolate onto Ichigo's fingers, but the Hollow didn't seem to mind, because he closed his eyes as he chewed and made a low rumble deep in his throat.

"Heh. You like that, huh?"

Grimmjow entered his quarters, and left the door open in case the Hollow might prefer to spend part of the evening inside rather than up on the roof like a creep. He was rewarded when Ichigo came in to finish his treat.

There were expense reports to finish, things that actually needed a captain's signature and approval and couldn't be punted down to the seated officers of his division. Grimmjow knelt at his desk with a sigh.

This was easily the worst part of his job title. Ordinarily, a lieutenant would be responsible for the bulk of mundane paperwork, but Grimmjow's stubborn refusal to fill the vacancy in his division meant there was more to delegate on the lower seated officers, and some he couldn't avoid doing himself.

It wasn't his fault the Shinigami ranks were full of weaklings. Grimmjow wasn't about to settle for second-best just to fill a position.

His lieutenant had to be strong—willful, dangerous, unwavering in battle. Grimmjow demanded a lieutenant capable of holding his own, with the strength to stand on his own two feet without his captain's aid. For as long as nobody met that standard, the position would remain vacant.

Ichigo had finished the treat.

He sat now in front of Grimmjow's desk licking custard off his hand, pink tongue laving over fingers and down his palm and narrow wrist. His fingers were long, graceful and possessed by the youthful masculinity Ichigo's human form wielded so effortlessly. They belonged clasped around the hilt of a sword.

Grimmjow had no idea where the Hollow's zanpakutō was kept now. Did Ichigo miss it? Grimmjow could not imagine being forcibly parted from Pantera for any length of time.

Ichigo was looking at him with a questioning tilt of his head.

Grimmjow started. How long he had been staring at the Hollow?

"You're distracting me, brat."

But Grimmjow's tone had no bite to it, so Ichigo ignored him and came closer. He sat down beside Grimmjow and looked at his work.

Could he read?

Grimmjow watched his face, but the Hollow's eyes passed over the papers with neither purpose nor comprehension, and his attention faded quickly. Oh. Of course he couldn't read. It wasn't as though Hueco Mundo had books.

"They're expense reports," said Grimmjow, because he sensed Ichigo was wondering what he was doing. "It's paperwork I gotta do, because I'm Captain. I hate this shit."

Ichigo gave him a look—slight frown, a brow raised—that read plainly, 'So don't do them.'

Grimmjow smirked. "Would be nice if it were that simple. You know how much paperwork I had to do when I first met you?"

Ichigo raised both brows.

"Yeah, shit loads. Old man Yama and the pencil pushers at Central forty-six wanted everything about our encounters with you documented. There's a nice fat stack of papers about you stashed away somewhere."

Probably more than just a fat stack. With all that Kurotsuchi had been experimenting on Ichigo, there was probably an entire filing cabinet full of information about him. Did Ichigo consider the implications of this?

Grimmjow knew, without having to ask, that Ichigo either didn't know, or didn't care. Every shred of information the Shinigami were collecting about him—about his reiatsu, his powers, his limits, his weaknesses—the ultimate purpose of it all was to learn how to destroy him, and any other Hollows like him that may be out there.

Grimmjow's stomach turned uneasily. What was the end point of this all? When Seireitei had learned all they wished to learn from Ichigo, what did they plan for Ichigo then?

They would not turn him loose back into Hueco Mundo, that much was certain.

"Ichigo…" Grimmjow swallowed. "Why did you let yourself get captured?"

Perhaps the rest of the Gotei were arrogant or stupid enough to believe they had entrapped and subdued Ichigo with the cleverness of their kidō spells, but Grimmjow knew better. His memory of that moment was clear as day.

Ichigo in his true form, staring at Grimmjow from across an invisible kidō trap. The intelligent glint in his yellow eyes and the intent behind them as he knowingly, deliberately stepped into it. His placid acceptance as the Shinigami approached and tethered him.

Why?

Ichigo frowned, but he stayed silent. Ichigo had a voice, but he chose when not to use it. Often, it was when Grimmjow wished to hear him speak. What went on inside that head of his, when he chose to be quiet? Grimmjow sighed, but then Ichigo opened his mouth:

"I wanted to go with you."

What…the fuck was that supposed to mean? Go with Grimmjow? They had been virtual strangers at that point.

Grimmjow turned away with a scowl. "You are a dumb fuck, you know that?"

Ichigo accepted the insult without a flinch. He stretched out on his back beside Grimmjow and crossed his arms under his head. Grimmjow got back to work.

As it turned out, there wasn't much left for him to do at all. Third seat Shuhei had filled out most of the forms already, leaving Grimmjow to just review and sign.

New uniforms? Tch. What did they need new uniforms for? The current ones were fine. Grimmjow stamped the form unapproved. Repairs for the training grounds—approved. Expanded funds for the Seireitei Communication Monthly? Grimmjow reached for the unapproved stamp, but then he glanced down at Ichigo, who had closed his eyes and was breathing slow and deep. The Hollow liked to curl up with those magazines whenever he got his hands on them, and he would spend hours leafing through the pages looking at pictures, especially the comics.

Grimmjow stamped it approved.

By the time he had finished the pile, the hour was late and Ichigo was fast asleep. Grimmjow nudged him with his foot. "I'm going to bed. Get out."

Ichigo opened one eye and scowled, turning his back to Grimmjow. Grimmjow kicked him harder, and when Ichigo didn't react to that either, he reached down to pick the Hollow up by his yukata and forcibly march him out.

Quick as a snake, Ichigo turned his head and sank sharp teeth into flesh. Grimmjow hissed and pulled his hand back. Red bloomed on his knuckles.

"You vicious little asshole." Grimmjow grinned. Ichigo may be captive, but he certainly was not docile, and he reminded Grimmjow of this every so often.

But Ichigo did get up. He yawned—Grimmjow's blood still on his teeth—and stretched before taking himself to the door.

Grimmjow wondered if he was irritated enough to sleep in his own quarters tonight, but a few seconds later he heard Ichigo landing on the rooftop. What did he do up there at night, the little creep? Slurp up Grimmjow's reiatsu while he slept?

Grimmjow stuck his knuckles in his mouth and sucked off the blood. A tiny echo of Ichigo's reiatsu whispered across his tongue, and Grimmjow let it linger a moment before dissipating.

Definitely tasted like Hollow, and yet…not unpleasant.

…

Grimmjow woke with gnawing unease in the pit of his gut.

He pulled the covers over his eyes to block out the sunlight and for a long moment, he lay in bed trying to identify the cause. Today was Sunday. He had no training sessions with the lower seated officers scheduled. He had finally completed those expense reports Shuhei had been on his ass about for a week. There should be nothing weighing on him, no urgency to get up.

It was too bright. Why was the sun up so high? That Hollow brat usually would have woken him before now.

Grimmjow sat up in a flash.

Ichigo.

It was unusual for Ichigo to have let him sleep in so late. Unless he had knocked and Grimmjow hadn't heard—but he would have heard. Grimmjow slept light.

Grimmjow found a slipper and hefted it in his hand before throwing it up. It hit the ceiling with a loud smack. There. If the Hollow was still on his roof, he would have heard that for sure.

"Oi, Ichigo!"

There was no answering noise, no scrabble of feet on the roof tiles, no scratch at his door. Grimmjow scowled.

It wasn't that he was worried where Ichigo might be. But Ichigo seemed to like routine, and the one he had with Grimmjow was familiar. Ichigo would wake him with a noise at his door, around seven o'clock. Grimmjow would eat breakfast, and then they went sparring in that grassy field near the river. Post-spar bath in the river, then lunch, and the rest of the day varied depending on what duties Grimmjow had and whether Abarai and the Kuchiki girl came by for Ichigo.

That was how most days went.

Unease gripped him. Ichigo never missed their morning spars, and he was the most persistent and annoying alarm clock Grimmjow had ever had.

Grimmjow dressed and went outside. He didn't bother checking the roof; Ichigo never ignored him. He hadn't answered when Grimmjow called, so he wasn't there.

Seireitei bustled in mid-morning. A squad of eleventh division members ran past on their morning jog, the mess halls and kitchens were bustling with people grabbing breakfast to-go, and the central courtyard played host to a group of students on tour from the Shinō Academy.

"Good morning, Captain Jaegerjaquez!" The tour leader waved at Grimmjow from across the courtyard. Grimmjow kept walking.

By late morning, Grimmjow had already been to the mess hall, the courtyard, the sixth division barracks, and the thirteenth. Ichigo was in none of his usual favorite places, not even that bakery where he had been explicitly banned from.

"Fucking Hollow," Grimmjow growled to himself. Where the fuck had he gone off to that he would miss their morning spar?

A familiar thought rose to the surface of Grimmjow's mind, one that he usually kept barricaded behind distractions and self-assurances: There was no more dangerous place to be a Hollow than in Seireitei.

Grimmjow shook the thought loose. It was broad daylight. No one would dare try something right now, when all of Seireitei was awake and out. The last time Ichigo had been missing, just two days ago, he had only been with Aizen.

Aizen.

Grimmjow still didn't understand why they had been together, but…was it possible Ichigo was with him again?

Grimmjow's feet were already taking him towards the bridge where he had found Ichigo and Aizen before. It stood over a creek bordering the courtyard of the ninth division, shadowed by weeping cherry trees, a quiet, scenic little area which saw little foot traffic. But as he approached, there were no figures standing upon the bridge.

Grimmjow cursed, and was almost ready to turn back and check his quarters again, in case Ichigo had returned there.

A splash of bright orange caught his eye below the bridge. Grimmjow knew that color.

He advanced, and standing there at the creek's bank like a statue gazing into the water, was Ichigo.

"Oi, Ichigo." Grimmjow leapt down from the bridge onto the bank beside him. Once again, he was made a fool—Ichigo was fine. What had Grimmjow thought was going to happen to him? "What the fuck are you doing here? You missed our morning—"

Ichigo turned to look at him, his jaw tight, his eyes wide. Grimmjow stopped.

He glanced the Hollow over from head to toe, but there was no injury on him. Ichigo appeared untouched. "What were you doing here?" Grimmjow asked again, slowly this time.

With a small frown, Ichigo turned his gaze askance. Grimmjow sensed there would be no answer forthcoming, so he rolled his eyes and sighed. Whatever. The Hollow was fine, so what did it matter what he was doing here all by himself?

Grimmjow, on the other hand, had been running all over Seireitei this morning searching for him. His stomach reminded him it was near noon and he hadn't even had breakfast, thanks to this brat.

"Let's go, Ichigo. I'm starving."

…

Ichigo was pensive for the remainder of the day. He spoke little and seemed to have only half a mind when Grimmjow spoke to him. Grimmjow's patience ran dry when the Hollow declined Abarai and Kuchiki's invitation to the shopping district that afternoon.

"Why didn't you go with them?" he demanded. "I could use some peace instead of you hovering over me all afternoon."

Ichigo narrowed his eyes at him, and then he was gone in a flash of sonido.

Grimmjow stared at the spot he had been, replaying his last words over in his head.

Well, shit.

Who knew the Hollow was so sensitive?

…

Grimmjow attempted to meditate with Pantera that evening, but found his focus wavering as every few minutes, he opened his eyes to glance out the window. He had left it open. Sunset had come and gone, and the day's light was quickly fading into dark blues and purple.

It would be dark soon, and Ichigo still wasn't back. Had his little comment this afternoon really pissed off that Hollow that much?

Grimmjow sheathed Pantera. There was no way he could meditate right now. He didn't look forward to a repeat of the other night, searching for Ichigo after dark.

Dumb fuck Hollow. Grimmjow rose to his feet. If Ichigo was going to be such a little bitch over an offhand comment, he should at least have the good sense to pout about it in his own room at night. Or on Grimmjow's roof. Either would do.

He was just about to pull on a robe to go out once more when a shadow passed in front of the open window. Ichigo slipped inside.

"Done sulking?" Grimmjow asked scathingly. But the weight on his chest lifted; breathing seemed to come easier now.

Ichigo nodded slowly, his handsome face so solemn that Grimmjow couldn't help but crack a smile. Damn, but the Hollow was nice to look at.

"I brought you dessert," said Grimmjow, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the table. "And I expect a good match from you tomorrow—"

"It was Aizen."

Huh? The fuck was Ichigo talking about?

"This morning. I was with him at the bridge again."

Again? What the hell was Ichigo doing with Aizen again? Was that why Ichigo had been so fucking touchy all day? Grimmjow couldn't see why. Aizen was as mild-mannered as they came, and though Ichigo was probably right to be wary around other Shinigami, Aizen was hardly going to attack him unprovoked.

"Okay. He gonna take you on playdates too now like Kuchiki and Abarai?"

Ichigo whirled on him. "I did not want to go with him!"

"Then don't go with him. What's the big deal?" Grimmjow shrugged. "So what did you do with him?"

Ichigo unclenched his fists. He seemed to think hard about this for a moment before shaking his head. "We talked."

"That's it?"

"Yes."

"What about?"

"Our zanpakutō."

That caught Grimmjow's attention. Ichigo rarely spoke about his sword, but from what Grimmjow understood, an Arrancar's zanpakutō carried a similar significance to a Shinigami's. But whereas Shinigami bore the names of their zanpakutō proudly, and the most famous among them were known to all, Arrancars guarded their sword's names with jealous secrecy. Grimmjow had seen Ichigo's zanpakutō before, a long, slender, all-black blade stunning in its deadly grace. He had felt it split his flesh and taste his blood, but he had not heard Ichigo call it by name.

"Yeah? What'd you tell him?"

Ichigo scowled. "Nothing. But he showed me his zanpakutō and its release."

Grimmjow raised a brow. "Kyōka Suigetsu? He showed you his shikai? What was that like?"

"It was…beautiful." Ichigo looked down at his feet. "Like shimmering water."

"So I've heard. He gathered all the captains once for a demonstration, but I wasn't there." Grimmjow barked a laugh. "I'm surprised he would show you."

Ichigo still looked constipated. Grimmjow thumped him on the back.

"Unclench already. Aizen's harmless." Well, not harmless exactly—he was still a captain, and had the power to back that up. But Ichigo had less to worry from him than most everyone else in Seireitei. "But whatever. Quit going off with him if you're gonna be bitchy all day when you do."

Ichigo nodded. He went to the desk and picked up the sweet bun Grimmjow had brought back from the kitchens for him. Holding it to his nose, Ichigo took a sniff and his shoulders lost some of their tension. When he looked back to Grimmjow, he was smiling with just his eyes again.

"Goodnight, Grimmjow," said the Hollow, and he went out the window.

Grimmjow blinked.

Ichigo had never said a pleasantry like 'goodnight' before. More often than not, he simply entered and exited rooms without greeting or segue. Another thing he'd picked up from Abarai and Kuchiki, perhaps?

Heh. That Hollow was becoming more human-like by the day.