Archive of Our Own ^beta

The wind shifted from a steady breeze to a gust, and sand rippled against the ruins of Las Noches like waves. Grimmjow stood on a broken pillar and watched the sand swallow more of the rubble. He had dreamed of the day Aizen’s palace crumbled, but he had not expected it to feel so bittersweet. His fingers traced along the fresh scar at his shoulder until it bisected into the one left by Kurosaki. He had been lucky.

The wind changed direction and the heavy weight of toxic reiatsu slammed into him. Ulquiorra’s energy permeated the former throne room, dissolving the stone like acid before it fizzled into the air. Grimmjow wondered what would happen to someone who touched it or even breathed it in.

He shut his eyes and inhaled. The air burned his nostrils and settled in his lungs like lead. Ulquiorra’s reiatsu sat bitter at the back of his throat, and for a brief moment, it felt like he was standing behind Grimmjow. Grimmjow turned.

Only open sand greeted him.

He jumped down from the ruins, hitting the sand with a burst of speed. This wasn’t right. None of this was right. Ulquiorra was supposed to be with him, not lying half dead on a slab.

The remains of a wall leading to Szayelaporro’s palace appeared in front of him, and he skidded to a stop at the mouth of the stairs. Sand poured into the open, dark maw that led to Szayel's lab, and Grimmjow wondered how long it would be before the desert reclaimed Aizen’s fortress. He started down the stairs, boots echoing in the darkness. He could sense varying energy signatures deeper in the structure, but he ignored them.

The stairs opened to an antechamber with an automatic door that slid into the wall. Its gears creaked and the lights flickered on overhead while he followed the hall toward one of the experimentation rooms. It had been refitted as an acting base once the shinigami had retreated, leaving the remaining Espada to lick their wounds.

Grimmjow walked through an arch to see Nelliel in the corner with scraps of fabric spread out in front of her. He slid his hand into his jacket and tossed her what he scrounged from the ruins and continued forward. Not many supplies had been left, but there was enough to keep them running for a few more days. Maybe a week.

“Grimmjow.” Nell stood up, her eyes lingering on the fresh wound marring his chest.

“It’s all I could find.” He glanced over his shoulder to see her stand, long hair cascading over her shoulders. It seemed her reversion was permanent now. Good. They had no use for kids. “How is he?”

Nell tucked a lock of unruly hair behind her ears, nibbling her lip. “He still hasn’t woken up.” She looked away from Grimmjow, lashes dipping.

Of course he hadn’t. Grimmjow shoved his fists in the slits of his hakama and turned down the hall. “I’m going to see him.”

Nell hurried after him. “Grimmjow, we really need you to-”

Grimmjow rounded on her, baring his teeth. She skidded to a stop. He bit out. “Not right now.” None of them could tell him what to do anymore. There was no ranking system, no Aizen. The only reason he bothered to stay was for Ulquiorra.

Nell relaxed and nodded, stepping back. “Of course.” Her eyes softened, and he wasn’t sure what he hated more; her pity or her interference.

He straightened and turned back toward the hall. Another automated door stood in front of him to the makeshift infirmary. It opened with a metallic grind, and Grimmjow stepped inside to see Szayel sitting at a desk with several papers spread out in front of him.

Szayel lifted his head and turned tired eyes to Grimmjow. His brows dipped. “Grimmjow, to what do I owe the pleasure? Come for another useless update on our favorite comatose chiroptera?” He braced his elbow on the desk and rested his cheek in his hand.

Grimmjow curled his lip and stalked forward. “Still don’t know how your smarmy ass survived.”

Szayel flattened his other hand to his chest and preened. “Charm and wit, my dear gattino.”

The word was unfamiliar, but coming from Szayel it was no doubt an insult. The last few weeks had worn on Grimmjow’s dwindling patience. He considered tearing a piece off of Szayel; something that wouldn’t effect his work as their medic.

Szayel sensed his impending maiming and brushed his bangs aside. “You take all the fun out of surviving.” He flicked his hand to inspect his nails, muttering, “I had spares lying around, you should know that.”

Grimmjow respected Szayelaporro’s resourcefulness, but it ended there. He had no interest in how the mad doctor survived, only how he would earn his keep now Aizen was gone. The new order of their world felt tentative, like they were all standing on thin ice waiting to fall through.

Grimmjow stepped away from Szayel toward the curtain sectioning off the room. There was blood on it, old and long dried. Its stain pattern haunted the few hours of sleep Grimmjow managed. He gripped the edge and yanked it aside; the rings clattered against each other.

Ulquiorra rested supine on a dented metal table in his unreleased form. He was nude save for a thin sheet draped over his hips. Bruises and lacerations mottled his pale skin in various stages of healing. His left arm was missing, and his right leg, allowing the sheet to dip over the edge of the table. His gut was open, covered by a thin sterile dressing and skin from Ulquiorra’s back. His mouth was lax and a tube trailed from his nose into a machine on the wall with a pump. For secretions, Szayel said when forcing it down Ulquiorra’s throat.

Grimmjow moved toward the head of the table and let his eyes drop to Ulquiorra’s hollow hole. It had moved from the base of his throat to his chest during his last fight with Kurosaki, and Grimmjow wondered what that meant. He had never seen someone’s hole move before.

Szayel appeared at Grimmjow’s side. “The update really is useless I’m afraid.” His voice held little amusement, but it wasn’t sympathetic either. He sounded clinical.

“I’ll decide if it’s useful for not.”

Szayel sighed and moved toward one of the monitors secured to the wall. He rapped his fingers against the screen. It displayed a slow heartbeat. “His body appears to be healing. His leg is reforming, but the regeneration is slow. Nothing like what we are accustomed to our dear Cuatro performing.” Szayel pressed his knuckles to his lips before he added, “Excuse me, former Cuatro.”

Grimmjow shot Szayel a cold look. “Ulquiorra is determined.” Stoic, stubborn, stupid. His hand moved on its own to brush Ulquiorra’s cheek. Once warm skin felt like ice.

Szayel slipped on a glove and checked over the open abdominal wound. “In my medical opinion, I would say he’s spiteful.”

A snort rolled out of Grimmjow. “He’s that, too”

“And I suppose we have the girl to thank, catching him before he completely dissolved.” Szayel moved his hand to another cut. Ulquiorra remained motionless.

Grimmjow shut his eyes and pictured Orihime after he had killed Menoly and Loly. How she rushed to heal them. “She was making us even.”

Szayel clicked his tongue. “I don’t think that was her intention, but it’s a shame she could only leave him in this vegetative state.”

Grimmjow opened his eyes. “He’s healing. It’s just slow.” Though he had seen Orihime’s power himself. Her healing was almost instantaneous. Unless they had been interrupted? “He’ll come around, give him time.”

“Grimmjow.” Szayel straightened and removed the glove. His eyes flickered toward Ulquiorra before they shut. “I’ve given him time. And I have given you time to make your peace. Despite that woman’s intervention, Ulquiorra is no more.”

Anger pulsed through Grimmjow followed by a cold rush of fear. He snarled at Szayel, “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

To his credit, Szayel didn’t flinch. His eyes remained cold and his lips thinned to a single line. “The data I have gathered so far leads me to believe he will never regain consciousness.” He touched his glasses and turned toward Ulquiorra, gesturing. “Hollow anatomy varies by subject, and Ulquiorra has considerably advanced regeneration capabilities for a hollow of Arrancar level, but even he has limits. He is incapable of regenerating his internals on the scale we need him to.” The lights flickered overhead and sand trickled in from a crack in the wall not far from Ulquiorra’s head. Szayel’s brow scrunched. “He’s taking up considerable resources that could –”

Grimmjow snapped, “Don’t talk about him like he’s dead! He’s right here!” He clenched his fists and took a step toward Szayel. “Fix him!”

Szayel jerked back then narrowed his eyes. “I’ve been trying! What’s here is not Ulquiorra! It’s nothing more than a lump of meat and bone that is consuming very finite resources because you are unwilling to see the truth!”

“He’s still alive.” Grimmjow straightened to his full height, his entire body vibrating with raw emotion. “He will wake up.”

Szayel's shoulders sagged and he rubbed his temples. “You are so single minded.” He dropped his hands and stepped into Grimmjow’s space. “You need to mourn and let him go to the sands or eat him. I don’t care what you decide, but he is gone, Grimmjow. Whatever dalliance the two of you carried on with has ended.”

Grimmjow leaned in until their noses almost touched and spoke through clenched teeth, “He’s not dead.”

Szayel pulled away from him with an irritated huff. He combed back his bangs and shook his head. “Heaven forbid you ever be sensible in your afterlife.” He smacked his hands together. “He will never wake up.”

A rather interesting observation coming from a man meant to be trapped in his own purgatory. Grimmjow cocked his head. “Someone said you weren’t supposed to come back either and yet.” Grimmjow waved his hand at Szayel.

Szayel curled his lip. “I made plans, you neanderthal. Ulquiorra has never thought something through beyond ‘can I kill it’ and ‘I’m bored’ in his entire existence. He went into that fight with Kurosaki with every intention of self destructing.”

The implication that Ulquiorra was some suicidal idiot that threw his life away tipped the anger in Grimmjow over. He lunged for Szayel.

Szayel managed to duck under Grimmjow’s claws, knocking over a metal table in the process, with an ugly squawk. He backpedaled toward the entrance of the room and shouted, “If you hate hearing the truth so much, stop asking for it! And if you want to waste your time, do as you will!”

Grimmjow turned on his heel and took a step toward Szayel again. “Have you ever considered that you might be wrong about something?” Szayel had never cared for anyone else in his life. He had laughed when Yylfordt died.

Szayel crossed his arms and bit out, “Yes, I’m the bad guy because I want to unplug the nihilistic vegetable.”

“Stop calling him that!” Grimmjow grabbed a tray and threw it.

It hit the wall and Szayel sucked in a shaky breath. He rested a hand on his chest and inhaled, trying to fake calm. “Fine.” His voice quivered at the edges. “Fine. If you believe that Ulquiorra can come around, I suggest you find a strong stimuli.”

Grimmjow’s brows furrowed. “What?”

Szayel straightened his uniform. “In human medical journals, it is well documented that some comatose patients can respond to familiar stimuli such as loved one’s voices or strong smells of perfume or food. Anything to trigger a response in their deeper subconscious.” He dropped his hand and stared at Ulquiorra. “Orphan blood would probably wake him right up or perhaps puppy’s tears. Where has Yammy’s little rat gotten off to?”

Grimmjow’s agitation sent a spark of energy crackling along his arm, and he flexed his claws. Szayel’s eyes widened and he lifted a hand in placation.

Grimmjow stepped back to Ulquiorra’s side and brushed the blunt side of his claws down his cheek. “Not like we have any other options.” He wondered what would be enough to wake Ulquiorra. It would need to be something strong. “Maybe if I bring him sweets.”

Szayel scoffed. “Really? He liked confections?”

It surprised Grimmjow, too. Looking at Ulquiorra, he didn’t seem like the kind of man who even ate let alone enjoyed anything. “And he likes tea. Not the shit Aizen served.” Something floral. “Rose tea.”

“Roses?” Szayel wrinkled his nose. “Next thing you’re going to say is he could smile.”

“Only when he wanted to, but it was never for a nice reason.” Grimmjow grinned at Szayel, chuckling when the other man shuddered.

Szayel glanced away. “There are no roses here. Even if they could grow, they would never thrive. I am told they are finicky things, delicate and demanding. Ah, I see why Ulquiorra likes them then.”

“He’ll hit you if he ever hears you say that.” Where could he find roses then? Ulquiorra never kept more than a few servings worth at a time, and he had finished it before Kurosaki and his associates stormed the fortress.

“Yes, well, he has to wake up to do that, and I don’t see that happening anytime soon.” Szayel smirked.

Grimmjow ignored Szayel’s jabs. He would prove the rotten bastard wrong soon enough. “I’ll leave for the living world. Gin used to talk about an ex shinigami who was good at finding things.”

Szayel muttered, “It’s not a good idea for you to go traipsing through the world of the living so soon after everything. I know you and Ulquiorra have been… intimate, but I promise, Grimmjow, there will be other liaisons in your future.” He stepped forward, lifting his hands to touch Grimmjow’s chest. “Perhaps even your near future if you cease trying to bury your claws in less… intimate places.”

The touch of Szayel’s fingers sent a shiver of cold disgust through Grimmjow. He moved without a thought, slamming Szayel against the wall with a hand around his throat. “Don’t think for a second you’re my type.”

Grimmjow felt Szayel’s throat work when he swallowed. Their eyes met and Szayel whispered, cold, “Conduct your silly errand then.” His fingers squeezed Grimmjow’s wrist though he had no hope of prying him off. “It’ll only hurt you more when he doesn’t respond.”

The way Szayel sounded so certain picked at Grimmjow’s frazzled nerves. As much as he wanted Szayel to be wrong, he knew there was a possibility he was right. That terrified him, and he looked away, tightening his grip on Szayel’s neck. No. Ulquiorra would not allow himself the indignity of losing like this. He was too goddamn proud.

Grimmjow dropped Szayel and watched him sink to the floor, sucking in a deep breath. “I’ll prove you wrong. Don’t even think about touching him while I’m gone.” He wouldn’t put it past Szayel to “help” Grimmjow with his grief.

Szayel shot him a nasty look and hissed, “Wouldn’t dream of it. I prefer my men alive.”

Ha. Szayel was an opportunistic predator, he took whatever he could get whether his prey was conscious or not. That sat sour in Grimmjow’s stomach, and he stepped out into the main room of their base. “Hey, brat.”

Nell lifted her head with a scowl. “Stop calling me that.”

Not until she earned that old tattoo on her back again. “Watch the good doctor. He’s thinking about euthanizing Ulquiorra.” Grimmjow strode forward and tore open a garganta. He glanced toward Nell, noting the crack in her mask. His brow furrowed. “Don’t let him.”

Nell’s expression darkened and she nodded.

Grimmjow stepped through the garganta and heard a voice at the back of his head plead with him. Don’t leave him alone. It was a baseless fear. Or he tried to convince himself of that. The two of them were a mated pair in spite, and Grimmjow had to hold onto any sliver of hope that he could wake Ulquiorra up.

Even if it meant swallowing his own pride.

~*~

The garganta opened above Karakura, and Grimmjow searched through the mess of energies populating the irritating city. It took a few seconds before he recognized a familiar energy; the healer woman, Orihime. He frowned and stretched his senses wider. He couldn’t find anyone of former captain strength or even Kurosaki. The woman’s energy reached out to him, tentative and delicate like the rest of her. It made his arm burn.

“Fucking fine.” Grimmjow descended from the sky toward the energy.

It led him to a shop tucked away from the main road. The place felt familiar, and he could feel the subtle traces of Kurosaki’s reiatsu in the air. Must have been a place the bastard visited a lot.

Grimmjow’s boots touched the dirt and a female voice called out behind him, “Grimmjow?”

He threw a look over his shoulder to see Orihime standing in the door of the shop. The former shinigami stood beside her with his hand on his cane. Ah, so he was masking his presence. Interesting.

The ex reaper placed his arm in front of Orihime and demanded, “What do you want, Arrancar?”

Grimmjow turned on his heel and kept his distance. He had seen the zanpakuto locked in that cane. “Not here to fight, and I’m not here for her either. The Espada dissolved.” The words felt meaningless. He had always known they would one day, but he imagined that day to be different. For the words to taste sweet instead of bitter.

“Mr. Urahara.” Orihime touched the shinigami’s arm.

The shinigami glanced at her but kept his focus on Grimmjow. Smart. “What do you want then?”

Grimmjow leaned his head back to stare at the bright sky above him and listened to the sound of the city all around him. For so long he had only heard the empty quiet of Hueco Mundo or the monitors around Ulquiorra. He missed the sounds of life. He tilted his head forward and met the shinigami’s eyes. “Do you have any rose tea?”

The shinigami –Urahara– lost the tension in his sword arm for a fraction before he blinked. “I… uh. What?”

The novelty of the question wasn’t lost on Grimmjow. He would have been floored to if a former enemy asked for tea. “Do you have any or not?”

Urahara settled his cane on the ground though his grip remained tight on the handle. “Is that all you wanted?”

Grimmjow scowled and ignored the heat creeping up his throat. He mumbled, “That and maybe some… sweets.”

The cane tapped the ground. The shinigami looked amused. “Rose sweets?”

Orihime brightened. “Oh! I know why he’s asking about those! They’re for Ulquiorra!” She clasped her hands and smiled. “He’s woken up then?”

Grimmjow paused. Ulquiorra had allowed Orihime to see him eat? Other than Aizen’s mandatory teas, it had taken Grimmjow months to see Ulquiorra even drink anything. A little part of him felt jealous.

He dropped his eyes to the ground and muttered, “No.”

Orihime’s smile faltered. “Oh. I’m sorry. I had hoped he would have recovered.” She drew her lip between her teeth. “He looked so sad at the end.”

Sad? Grimmjow had been unconscious when Ulquiorra fought Kurosaki, but he could tell Ulquiorra hadn’t held himself back based on what remained of the landscape. He had always been so reserved, choosing his battles carefully. Had something changed?

Grimmjow watched Orihime hug herself and realized she felt guilty. For an enemy. For a man who had kept her prisoner for months. The very man who gave her an ultimatum: come with us, or watch your friends die. The sympathy of humans always astounded him.

“His regeneration is working, but it’s slow. He’s been unconscious since I woke up. Szayel thinks if I brought him something he liked, he might start responding.”

Orihime’s eyes softened, and Grimmjow could see the ache in her soul. Weeks before he would have found the sentimentality of it disgusting, but a small part of himself reached out to her. She understood what it was like to lose someone and have them come back. Grimmjow needed someone else to believe Ulquiorra wasn’t gone.

The shinigami sighed, drawing Grimmjow’s attention. “I might have some dried petals in the kitchen. Let me check.”

Grimmjow’s eyes darted to Urahara. “Thanks.” It felt clunky on his tongue; it had been a long time since he was grateful to anyone but himself.

Urahara waved his hand and disappeared into the shop. Grimmjow ran a hand through his hair, unsure what to do now. He glanced at Orihime who smiled at him like he would break. He wasn’t that weak.

“St-”

Orihime’s eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands together. She moved toward Grimmjow without fear. “You said you were looking for rose sweets? I remembered Ulquiorra liked rose macarons!”

Did he? Grimmjow couldn’t recall Ulquiorra eating anything with him other than chocolate cake, but to be fair, he only ever brought Ulquiorra cake. “What?”

The edges of Orihime’s eyes crinkled when she smiled. “They’re like cookies in a way, soft and chewy with cream in the middle. I know how to make them. Oh, and we could candy some roses for him, too.”

The new information seemed like a lot to Grimmjow. Candy flowers? “Roses are flowers.” Though he supposed if they could be made into tea, why not candy?

Orihime tilted her head, and Grimmjow decided he didn’t care for the sympathetic look she fixed him with. “They are, and they’re edible.”

“And you think Ulquiorra would like those?” If it would wake him up, Grimmjow would try anything.

“I think so.” Orihime nodded. “I know I would like if my,” she looked Grimmjow over before giggling, “boyfriend candied me some.”

The brazen disregard for how threatening he had been, and still was, made Grimmjow bristle. Had she forgotten her time in Hueco Mundo? Or the fact he drug her from her confines to revive Kurosaki? “We’re not anything like you humans. We’re...” What were they? They had never discussed it. Partners? Lovers? It occurred to Grimmjow he might never know.

He was saved from his spiraling thoughts when Urahara returned. “Don’t tease the Arrancar, Ms. Inoue.” He flicked his gaze to Grimmjow from under the shade of his hat. “He’s asking for our help, after all.” He handed over an unmarked tin. “Your rose tea.”

Grimmjow took it and licked his lips. It felt heavy in his hands, and he wondered how something so small could feel so important. “Thanks.” He slipped the tin into the inner pocket of his jacket. It sat awkwardly against his chest.

“My pleasure. Now it sounds to me like you and Orihime have some grocery shopping to do.” Urahara pushed his hat down, narrowing his eyes to slits. “Best be careful of unsavory characters out there, Grimmjow.”

The threat was not subtle, but received. “Yeah. Got it.”

Orihime grabbed his wrist, and she tugged him away from the shop. The fear he had seen months before was gone, replaced with far too much trust and confidence. She tugged Grimmjow harder and began to ramble, “We’ll need eggs, sugar, and food grade roses. And then almond flour for the macarons.”

Grimmjow listened to her rattle off several more ingredients and something about a mixer. He had never contemplated how to prepare food before, but it sounded complicated. “You know what you’re doing?”

Orihime blinked at him as they walked into a different shop. It reminded Grimmjow of the ones he stole cake from when Ulquiorra was in a good mood. “I do. I have tons of cookbooks.”

Grimmjow followed her, sneering when a human lingered too long. The average person couldn’t see him, but they could feel his presence. So what if he let a little of his stress out in harassing the living?

He watched Orihime collect things from shelves and frowned. “I’ve never cooked anything before. Bit of a moot point.” He tapped the jaws on the outside of his right cheek.

Orihime tilted her head. “Well we’re going to make this together so there’s no reason to be scared you’ll mess up.”

Grimmjow stiffened. “I’m not scared!”

Orihime giggled and put her items on the counter, producing money from a little purse. She ignored Grimmjow until they were outside. “Then you don’t have to worry if you mess up. We’ll try again.”

Grimmjow scowled, but there wasn’t much else for him to say. He followed her into another shop that was covered in flowers. The intermingling smells tickled his nose, and he didn’t care for it. Orihime spoke to the woman behind the counter who disappeared to the back for a few seconds. She returned with several pink roses that she let Orihime pick through.

“These are for a friend of mine.” Orihime glanced at Grimmjow then back to the clerk. “He’s been sick, I hope they’ll help him feel better.”

Grimmjow swallowed. He hoped so, too. He didn’t want Szayel to be right.

Orihime collected the roses and they walked out. “That should do it. We can head back to Urahara’s. He has a much bigger kitchen than I do.” And it would be easier for him to watch Grimmjow. “Also the freezer for the, oh!” She tripped and pitched forward.

Grimmjow caught her around the waist and took the bag of groceries. “Careful. You’re not much use helping if you knock yourself out.” He frowned and righted her, holding the bag. Let the humans see a floating bag. He didn’t care. If she broke their supplies, they would need more, and he didn’t want to trust Ulquiorra to Nelliel longer than he had to.

Orihime flushed. “Thank you! I’m so clumsy.” She giggled and hurried them back toward Urahara’s shop.

“Yeah. Being top heavy will do that.” Grimmjow grunted and adjusted his grip on the bag.

Orihime laughed. “You’re probably right!” She opened the door to the shop. “Mr. Urahara? We’re back!”

Urahara poked his head out from behind the corner. “Welcome back! I take it you want to use my kitchen?”

“If it’s not too much trouble?” Orihime bowed.

“No trouble at all.” He smiled then fixed his eyes on Grimmjow. “Right?” The distrust was palpable, and Grimmjow wondered if maybe Orihime was just stupid.

“I’m not going to eat her if that’s what you’re thinking.” Grimmjow huffed and followed the pair into the kitchen.

“Oh, is that something I need to think about?” Urahara flicked open his fan to hide his face.

Grimmjow tsked and sat the bag on the counter. “I’m just here to get these things for Ulquiorra, then I’m gone.”

Urahara cocked his head. The suspicion wafting off of him didn’t put Grimmjow at ease, but he couldn’t blame the man either.

“Alright. If you need me, I’ll be in the living room.” Urahara snapped his fan closed and left.

Grimmjow sighed and turned to Orihime. “How do we make these things?”

“First, we set everything out!” She opened the bags and began to lay out the ingredients. Grimmjow watched her turn the oven on then search the cabinets for a baking sheet and a device she called a mixer. “And then we measure. Here.” She passed a cup with numbers toward him. “We need one cup of flour.”

Grimmjow opened the bag of flour to pour some into the cup. It poured faster than he expected, coating the counter. He could hear Ulquiorra reprimanding him in his head, and was grateful none of the other Arrancar had followed him.

Orihime giggled and turned to start on another part of the recipe. She spoke up, “I remember Ulquiorra liked to have these with his tea.” She cracked three eggs into a bowl. “It was really weird at first because he tried to hide that he liked them, but I started noticing he liked things because he would do this with his tongue.” She turned toward Grimmjow and mimicked Ulquiorra’s finicky tongue flick.

Grimmjow snorted and dumped more flour on the counter. He swore and put the bag aside. Gentle touch, he needed to remember that. “He does that with everything he likes, but if you call him out on it, he denies even doing it.” Or refuses to answer.

Orihime took the measuring cup to add to the bowl then handed him a bag of confectioner sugar. “It helped seeing him like that. I thought he was scary at first, but over time I realized he was just lonely.”

Grimmjow held the bag in his hands, surprised a human could see what he had known for years. Ulquiorra was the most withdrawn person he had ever met, but he had started to change the longer their… relationship went on. But Grimmjow knew centuries of nihilism didn’t break over night.

He added the sugar to the bowl and watched Orihime mix it into a batter with a spatula. “It took a lot of effort for him to reach the level you saw. I thought I was the only one he let in.” The jealousy he felt earlier was oddly absent.

Orihime lowered her eyes to the bowl then flicked her gaze back to Grimmjow. “I could tell the two of you had something going on. The way you moved around each other when others weren’t watching. Even when I saw you two fight when you had me heal Ichigo. You looked upset.” She opened a plastic bag, spooning the batter into it.

Grimmjow furrowed his brow while his memories went back to that fight. He had been upset with Ulquiorra because he knew Orihime had been an integral part of Aizen’s scheme. Ulquiorra had always followed orders to avoid trouble while Grimmjow hunted it down. Taking Orihime had been a mistake, but so had Ulquiorra trying to kill Kurosaki.

Grimmjow placed his hand on the counter and leaned forward. None of that mattered now. If he had it to do over, knowing what he did, he would have let Ulquiorra kill Kurosaki, or he would have demanded they run. Aizen would have killed them all in the end. He had never intended to let a threat to himself like the Espada live.

Gentle fingers slipped around his hand, squeezing. Grimmjow turned his head to see Orihime watching him. “What?”

She looked away and began to pipe the batter onto strips of paper. “Can I go with you to see him?”

The request caught Grimmjow off guard. After being imprisoned in Hueco Mundo for months, she wanted to willingly go back? To visit the man who had trapped her? Grimmjow wondered if her sympathy ran that deep, or if she really was just stupid.

He stared at the pink discs and thought about Ulquiorra, what she would think to see him still so damaged. “I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

Orihime put the bag aside to look at him. There were tears in the corners of her eyes. “Please, Grimmjow? I wasn’t able to finish healing him before. It had just been enough to keep him from disappearing.”

Disappearing? Had Ulquiorra really been that close to being gone? A pang cut through Grimmjow’s chest straight into the emptiness in his gut. It made him feel sick. He gripped the counter edge until the cheap wood creaked under his fingers. He whispered, “If you want to.” Who was he to stop her? Kurosaki had found a way in, she would, too.

Her fingers wormed their way between his grip and the counter. He felt her lace their hands and watched the unshed tears sparkle on her lashes. They made him ache. “Thank you.”

She’s so fucking pure, it hurts. Grimmjow swallowed and wondered if any of them had ever known the innocence of someone’s affection like this. If they had, they wouldn’t have been hollow. Or maybe that was the reason? Anyone who lost someone like Orihime would no doubt drive themselves to the very edge of insanity for the loss.

Kurosaki’s hollow side made painful sense in that moment.

“Let’s make the filling, okay?” Orihime slid her hand out of his and he felt cold.

“Okay.”

He watched her while she talked him through making the filling. It felt surreal, and a very deep part of himself felt grateful for her kindness, for her sincerity. In a world like Hueco Mundo, people like her never survived, or they were broken like Nelliel, left to rot. It left an odd feeling inside him, and he wondered if things could change for them.

The macarons finished baking, and Orihime put them in the freezer. While they waited for them to cool enough to put the filling in, she showed him how to candy roses. It was a simpler process than he imagined. When Ulquiorra woke up, Grimmjow wouldn’t mind doing this for him.

“There, it should all be finished.” Orihime disappeared into the room with Urahara and came back with a white box and spool of green ribbon. “It’s his color!”

Grimmjow eyed it and couldn’t place the odd feeling in the pit of his throat. “Yeah. It is.” He helped her put the macarons and roses in the box then laid his hand on the box’s top to help her make a bow.

Urahara stepped into the room and fanned himself, mumbling, “I’ve heard Halibel is running Hueco Mundo now, Grimmjow. I’ve also heard she’s asking for peace after Aizen’s loss.” He beckoned them to follow him out into the backyard.

Grimmjow snorted. “Halibel doesn’t scare me, and there’s no reason you need to make that threat. Orihime’s fine. I only ever needed her to get my arm and rank back and to fight Kurosaki. Rank’s meaningless, arm works fine, and Kurosaki’s a bitch who couldn’t even show up to see me.” The pair of them exchanged a surprised look. Something was going on. “What?”

Orihime fidgeted with her hair. “Ichigo… lost his powers.”

“When he dealt with Aizen.” Urahara nodded.

Grimmjow stared at them and let the information sink in. After a moment, his shoulders trembled with barely repressed laughter. “Fucking kidding me. Day just gets better and better. Come on then.” He snapped his fingers and a garganta opened. “Ladies first.” He glanced at Urahara. “I’ll have her back by the end of the day.”

“You better.” Urahara lifted his cane.

Grimmjow smirked. “Or what? You’ll storm the fortress? Joke’s on you, Ulquiorra demolished it.” He trailed after Orihime, slipping his hands into the slits of his hakama.

The garganta stretched ahead of them before it opened into the antechamber. Nelliel appeared from around the corner, and Grimmjow watched her eyes light up.

“Orihime!” She threw her arms around Orihime and nearly took them both to the ground.

Orihime shouted, “Nell! It’s so good to see you!”

Nelliel let her go, holding her arms. “I didn’t think I would see you again!” She glanced at Grimmjow who huffed, looking away. “Did he bring you here? Does Ichigo know?”

Orihime shook her head. “I asked to come, and no but someone does. And don’t worry! Grimmjow and I have been baking all day. It’s fine.”

“Baking?” Nell shot Grimmjow another look.

Grimmjow flared his nostrils and shoved the both of them toward the hall. “Come on, the two of you can do whatever this is in the infirmary.”

Orihime chuckled and held up the box to Nell. “Yep. We made candy for Ulquiorra!”

“Really?” Nell didn’t hid her surprise or the way she looked at Grimmjow. “I’m impressed Grimmjow can make anything besides messes.”

Grimmjow elbowed her with a growl and stalked into the examination room. The table and tray had been returned, and Ulquiorra’s curtain redrawn.

Szayel looked up from his paperwork with a yawn. His eyebrows rose a fraction when he noticed Orihime. “I see. Going to try the fairies again, Grimmjow?”

“Shut up.” Grimmjow took the box from Orihime and pulled the curtain aside, placing the box on the side table.

Orihime’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with her hand. Fresh tears glittered at the edges of her eyes, and Grimmjow wondered if this was too much for her. Before he could comment, she stepped forward and laced her fingers with Ulquiorra’s. She lifted their hands, but Ulquiorra’s arm hung limp. The bony juncture of his wrist looked too sharp to Grimmjow, fragile.

Orihime’s expression shifted from pained to determined, and she looked at Grimmjow. He nodded and stepped away from the bed while Orihime raised her hands.

“I reject!”

The familiar orange light of Orihime’s spell lit up the room and engulfed Ulquiorra. The wound to his abdomen closed, and the sheet filled out as his leg reformed. The space where his arm had been jutted out a piece of bone as his humerus reformed. Muscle knit back together and pale skin trailed after it to recreate Ulquiorra’s arm.

It took several minutes for Ulquiorra to finish, and Grimmjow kept his attention on Ulquiorra’s face. The light faded, and Orihime held Ulquiorra’s hand again. He remained unmoving, mouth slack, and eyes still closed.

Szayel stepped over to remove the tubing from his nose, muttering about necessity. He sounded almost smug when he said, “No change. I told you, Grimmjow.” Then the monitor chirped louder and faster. Szayel jerked his head toward the screen then back to Orihime, hissing, “Strega.”

The way Szayel looked sparked some hope in Grimmjow and he asked, “That’s a good sound, right?”

Szayel bunched the tubing in his hand. “He’s still unconscious, but sure, ignore what I think and celebrate that you healed an invalid.”

“It’s a good thing no one asked your opinion then, Szayelaporro.” Grimmjow shouldered past Szayel to lean near Ulquiorra’s ear. That meant Orihime had done something, there was a chance. Grimmjow wouldn’t waste it. “Hey, fucker, you need to wake up. I learned to make candy for you!”

The somber emotions of the room broke with Orihime dissolving into giggles. Nell covered her mouth and looked away, but the sentiment to join was there.

Orihime gasped, “Grimmjow! You can’t talk to him like that!”

This was the happiest Grimmjow had felt in weeks. He glanced at Orihime and grinned. “Why not? He is a fucker.”

Orihime shook her head and squeezed Ulquiorra’s hand. “You have to say something nice. Like, Ulquiorra I taught Grimmjow how to make rose macarons just for you.”

Grimmjow rolled his eyes. “Hate to break it to you, princess, but he and I don’t really talk like that to each other.”

Szayel snorted. “Maybe the shock of you being sweet will rouse him? I’m sure I would suffer a fright if I ever heard you say something saccharine.”

Grimmjow bared his teeth. “Fuck you.” He turned back to Ulquiorra and dropped his voice. “Come on, the whole room knows you’ve got a sweet tooth. You need to wake up to get rid of the witnesses.”

Orihime fixed Grimmjow with an unimpressed look before she said, “Maybe we should brew the tea? The smell might help.” She laid Ulquiorra’s hand down and went to open the box.

Szayel sighed and walked back to his desk, sifting through the mess of files and boxes on its surface before he produced a kettle. “Give me the tin.” He held out his hand to Orihime who passed it over. He carried the items to the corner of the room and filled it with water and placed it over a heating element. “If he still doesn’t wake up, will you finally see this is futile, Grimmjow?”

Grimmjow scowled. “What makes you think he’s gone?”

“Science.” Szayel searched through his cabinets until he found a tea sieve. “I don’t let my emotions rule me like you. I can see that’s a dead man, but you can’t.”

“You never believed in anyone but yourself, Szayel.” Grimmjow frowned.

“And you say that like it’s a bad thing.” He crossed his arms.

Grimmjow watched him and the room lapsed into silence for several long minutes. The kettle began to whistle, and Szayel poured the water into a cup, placing the sieve inside. He passed the cup to Grimmjow.

The smell of roses wreathed him, and he held the cup between his hands, leaning against the wall by Ulquiorra’s head. Doubt crept in, and Grimmjow wasn’t sure what he would do if Szayel was right. He knew Orihime could heal the dead. He had seen her do it to Kurosaki.

But Kurosaki was an amalgamate.

Grimmjow put the cup aside and leaned down, resting his elbows on the table. He couldn’t give up. Not yet. “Come on, asshole. You’re starting to piss me off.”

Orihime scowled though it didn’t carry any threat. “Maybe don’t call him names? I wouldn’t want to wake up if my boyfriend called me mean things.”

As if Kurosaki even had the balls. “This is how we flirt.” Though it usually contained far more teeth and considerably nastier words. “And I thought I told you not to compare us to you humans?”

Orihime shrugged. “If you’re shy about calling Ulquiorra your boyfriend, that’s on you. I still don’t think you should be so mean to him.”

Grimmjow’s lips drew into a line, but he sighed. “Can you even hear me, little bat? You’re making me go through all of this as punishment for the Kurosaki thing, aren’t you?” He knew Ulquiorra was pissed about the negacion cube. He had been banking on a good fight from it, but Ulquiorra was petty and lazy.

Ulquiorra remained still. Doubt crept back into Grimmjow followed by the slowly blooming sensation of reality. Ulquiorra was gone. Whatever had made him a person had disappeared. He straightened up and decided he would give Ulquiorra one more day. If he didn’t wake up, then Grimmjow would put him to rest.

There was no point in holding a vigil. He no longer wanted witnesses.

Grimmjow looked at Orihime. “I think it’s time we took you back before that ex soul reaper comes looking for any excuse to feed his sword.”

Orihime lifted her eyes to him and squeezed Ulquiorra’s hand. “Okay.” She stood up and leaned over to kiss Ulquiorra’s cheek. A tear spattered against his jaw, rolling down to drip onto the table. “I hope you wake up soon, Ulquiorra. There’s some stuff we need to talk about.”

Grimmjow glanced at the pastry box. “Do you want to take some of these candies with you? No one else will eat them.” The idea of them spoiling sat heavy on Grimmjow’s mind.

Orihime nodded and divided out a few of the macarons. “Thank you for letting me see him.”

Grimmjow shrugged. “You were one of the last people to see him… whole.” They stepped out of the room and down the hall before he opened a garganta.

Orihime didn’t look at Grimmjow while they walked. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save him. He was hurt worse than any of us realized, and by the time I knew what was happening, most of him had turned to dust.”

Dust. He had turned to dust? Did that mean there were specks of Ulquiorra lost on the wind? Had Orihime missed pieces, and that’s why he couldn’t wake up? What would have happened if she had been too slow to catch any of him? Would he have reformed elsewhere or moved on?

Grimmjow shut his eyes and didn’t step out of the garganta with Orihime. She turned around to look at him, but the portal sealed shut, and he made his way back to Ulquiorra’s bedside.

Szayel and Nell had both disappeared in the interim, and Grimmjow felt thankful. He pulled Szayel’s chair beside the table and sat down. He picked up one of the macarons and sniffed it. He took a bite and the loud flavor made him spit it out.

“How in the hell can you eat this?” It was sweet but herbal and… uhg, he hated it! He turned to shut the box.

A raspy voice mumbled, “Easily.”

Grimmjow jerked around to see Ulquiorra sit up. He pressed a pale hand to his forehead before fixing a glassy eye on Grimmjow. He blinked a few times and muttered, “You never liked sweets unless you were stealing from me.”

Grimmjow’s pulse throbbed in his ears. This had to be a dream. “Ulquiorra.”

Ulquiorra blinked at him and said, tired, “Grimmjow. You aren’t dead.”

The chair crashed to the ground with a sharp clatter as Grimmjow threw his arms around Ulquiorra, dragging him to his chest. “You stupid fucker, no, and neither are you.”

Ulquiorra stiffened. “Grimmjow.”

Grimmjow pressed his face to Ulquiorra’s neck. “Shut up!” His grip tightened, and he shuddered when Ulquiorra settled his hand between Grimmjow’s shoulder blades. “Just shut up.”

Ulquiorra’s breath ghosted against his skin while his fingers slid into Grimmjow’s hair. “You seem upset.”

Grimmjow pushed them apart, and the fuzzy confusion in Ulquiorra’s eyes began to sharpen. Realization took hold, and Grimmjow watched Ulquiorra begin to work his way through his last memories.

His eyes turned back to Grimmjow, and he mumbled, “Grimmjow?”

“No more talking.” Grimmjow pressed their mouths together and sank against Ulquiorra, half dragging him off the table.

Ulquiorra’s nails dug into Grimmjow’s jacket before his hands relaxed, and he kissed Grimmjow back. Ulquiorra’s mouth was dry, not that Grimmjow cared, he was awake.

Ulquiorra’s hand moved to cup Grimmjow’s jaw and push him back. Their eyes met, and Ulquiorra’s gaze focused. “Did you really bake with our former prisoner?”

Grimmjow turned into the affection, kissing Ulquiorra’s palm. “Yeah. Don’t people in the human world like getting roses?” He grabbed for the box and held it out to Ulquiorra.

“We are not human, Grimmjow.” Ulquiorra took the box to open. He picked up one of the macarons.

“No, but you like roses anyways.” Grimmjow watched Ulquiorra inspect the cookie. His heart thudded against his ribs.

Ulquiorra held it to his mouth and flicked his eyes to Grimmjow. “Thank you. For this. For…”

“Don’t have an aneurysm, just got you back.” Grimmjow sighed. “You’re the only person around here worth my time.”

Ulquiorra’s lips twitched. “So I am.” He took a bite. His brow furrowed and he spat the macaron out. “That is horrid.”

Grimmjow frowned. “Fuck you, Ulquiorra Cifer.”

Ulquiorra glared at the macaron before he tossed it across the room and pushed the box away. “Not until you bring me something decent.”

“Pampered brat.” Grimmjow flicked Ulquiorra’s nose. His taste buds must have been fried. “I’ll bring you all the stupid junk food you want if you swear not to die on me again.”

Ulquiorra wrinkled his nose and their surroundings caught his attention. He turned his head, taking it all in. His voice was small when he asked, “Has Aizen died?”

“Rotting in soul society I think.”

“Then I find that request amenable.”

“Fucking better.” Grimmjow leaned back in the chair, feeling exhausted. The future glared at him from the distance, and he found it less lonely. “Not like we have people after our heads anymore.”

“There will always be others after us, Grimmjow.” Ulquiorra drug the box back and sifted through the macarons for a few of the rose petals. Ha, glutton. He held one up to Grimmjow. “Petals?”

Grimmjow shrugged. “Human custom to buy your lover roses. Orihime said humans candy them.”

Ulquiorra’s lashed dipped. “So we are lovers?”

“You’re the one who didn’t want to call it anything but sex.” Grimmjow shrugged.

Ulquiorra made a noncommittal noise before he put a petal in his mouth. He spat it out, too. “There’s fish paste in that.”

Grimmjow laughed. He wondered what Orihime had dribbled into everything. “Right, and you’re going to the world of the living with me to take it up with the girl.”

Ulquiorra wiped his mouth. “If you learn to bake me cake.”

It sounded like a fair trade. He watched Ulquiorra settle on the table before he leaned over to kiss Ulquiorra’s temple. “Deal.”

Ulquiorra shifted off the table, his legs wobbling, and climbed onto Grimmjow’s lap. The sheet draped dropped to the floor, and Grimmjow wrapped an arm around Ulquiorra’s shoulders.

Ulquiorra laid his head on Grimmjow’s chest and mumbled, “I thought you were dead.”

Grimmjow tightened his hold then relaxed his fingers to draw shapes on Ulquiorra’s skin. “And I knew you weren’t.”

Ulquiorra shut his eyes and pressed his nose to Grimmjow’s neck. His breathing evened out, and Grimmjow shut his eyes.

They had been lucky.