CHAPTER 41 (40 on AO3 ?)

Grief.

So fresh, it's beginnings could have come from mere hours ago. Resentment, pain, loss, regret, guilt... packaged together so tightly, so furiously ignored until it could only have degraded into something twisted and confused. Ichigo had seen it all his in face, all in that one instant, when cold, desperately angry eyes sparked against his, when Grimmjow wrecking-balled the wall, when every brittle emotion he'd been holding onto shattered under its own weight. And Ichigo knew, just knew, that had to be the tip of the iceberg.

One swing and the drywall had been busted through. But Petra hadn't given it her attention. It would be repaired. Grimmjow would take care of it. He would repair the damage he'd done. He always did. What mattered to her was her son.

What she paid attention to now was Ichigo.

She wet a dishtowel in cold water, wrung it, folded it, and handed it to him to sooth the light flush on his cheek.

"Come, sit." He sat. "Have some piroshki." Ichigo could have laughed. But he couldn't eat. "You will take a plate home. You will be hungry later."

He offered to finish the project they'd started, but she'd have nothing to do with that. "Grimmjow will finish it. He will want to. And I will let him. He is good boy."

They talked for awhile as she finished the snacks, filling Ichigo a container with two meals worth of buns, and wiping down the counter. As she saw it,the problem with Grimmjow was, he had too much power for one person, and it had always been a struggle to control. It was hard when you always had to remember that others around you were fragile. And things around you were breakable. When he was truly angry, it was like a bomb going off. Quick, violent, destructive. He'd put more than a few holes in the walls of his bedroom as am angsty teenager living under their roof. But Grimmjow was always quick to patch up the damage, with earnest apologies and a dip into his allowance. Anything it took to make it right again. And honestly, he'd always done a lovely job.

Ichigo found his mother's devotion to her son warming, really. But maybe just a little misguided.

He wasn't judging. They were guys. A little rough sometimes. Violent sometimes. The both of them. In their own ways. Ichigo's temper took awhile longer to trigger than Grimmjow's, but it was still there, and retaliating during a bad play was still an easy mask for letting off some steam.

"I have been to some of Grimmjow's home games, of course, with Guy," she'd said. "He tried to make it as often as he could. But it was also our tradition, that we have good friends come to watch with us at our home. He loved to show off his son. He was so proud."

Ichigo had agreed. Grimmjow hadn't gotten to where he was without sweat and hard work. And he really was talented. There was a lot there to be proud of.

"And it is still full house on game night," she'd continued with pride. "Everybody brings something to share and the house is so full of life. This was one of Guy's favourite things. Grimmjow though, if you ask him," Petra had rolled her eyes at the ceiling with amusement, "he would say we are just throwing party because he is not here."

Ichigo snorted at that. It sounded like something that might come out of his mouth.

It was ironic, that it was all the shit that he wouldn't say that was getting him into the most trouble.

X X X

Skates against hard ice, or rubber on miles of open blacktop. Sometimes, they both helped clear the mind when nothing else would.

He didn't know exactly how long he'd been driving. He just drove until the city lights turned to stars. Or until the stars replaced the city lights. Again, he didn't know.

But when his chaotic thoughts slowed long enough to realize how far he'd gone, he found himself somewhere just outside the city limits, speeding down a quiet, dark stretch of dual highway, hugged by rotting snowbanks, deep ravines, and shadowed pine trees.

Grimmjow let his foot sink like a lead weight, pushing the car from a buck thirty to one forty. Letting lose a moment longer before he'd have to reign it in for the next off-ramp. Settling right into the edge of a hefty street racing fine if he got caught. But there was no one to see it, and no cops in sight. Hardly anyone on the road as the forecast weather started to settle in. He pushed it down some more.

The night had gone shit side up so fast. He'd just lost it. Fuck him. That fucking anxiety he'd been dealing with at night had reared its stupid fucking head. He knew he shouldn't have invited Kurosaki over. He should have said he was busy like he'd told him he would. It might have all been fine. But his pa's fucking chair. And the workshop. And his job. And his ma. And Ichigo. And he'd said things he'd never meant to see the light of day.

It was a door best left closed, and Ichigo had gone and stuck his damn foot in it.

He felt the car growl and surge forward some more.

He never let anyone see him in pain. Not really. And when someone finally saw him at his worst, it just had to be Ichigo.

Somehow, it always had been.

His thoughts cut off, and Grimmjow tensed as movement in the dark far up ahead caught his eye. He let off the gas as he focused, scanning. Unsure.

Then it moved, bolting out onto the highway at the outer edge of his high beams and straight into the path of his car.

A deer.

He hit the brakes. Felt the tires lose their grip. Felt a spike of shock.

Grimmjow didn't have time to swear.

He lost the back end first.

X X X

Ichigo sighed as he shut the door of his apartment. What a shit turn of events that had been.

And it had unexpected side affects. Ichigo's main concern was for Grimmjow and his mother. But it had brought up a lot of feelings he hadn't anticipated. From the days and weeks and months after his mother had died. The years.

He'd been a kid. Doing what dumb little kids do when their attention narrows to one important thing in the world. Running out into the road to rescue some dog. And his mom had done what all good moms do. She gave everything up for her kid.

It all happened in a the space of seconds. Nothing particularly dramatic or fancy. But it did the trick.

He'd avoided talking to anyone on his way home, leaving Petra to herself to wait for her son to return only under her firm insistence. Now, he was just in one of the shittiest moods he'd been in in awhile. He flicked on the TV for company on his way through the living room to the kitchen, digging into the freezer for something cold to act as a compress. It hardly needed it, but it still felt a little warm.

X X X

There must have been black ice hidden under the mask of fresh falling snow. Water, frozen in a paper-thin layer on the surface of the road. Just enough slip to give his winter tires zero traction when he hit the brakes.

He knew how to come out of a slide. He also knew he was going too damn fast in these conditions.

X X X

He set the coffee maker, brewing something warm and decaffeinated to help sooth him. Maybe help him fall asleep. It wasn't late, but he wasn't going to be good company for anyone tonight. He put his phone on the table and sunk into the couch, wondering how things were going to be the next time they met. A small injured part of him didn't even care that it didn't even care.

X X X

Hands moulded to the steering wheel like his life depended on it, he let off the brakes and kept his eyes where he wanted to go, turning the wheel towards the direction of the slide - fighting the momentum of the car's back end as it swung to the right, to force the car out of its impending spin. Fuck the deer if he hit it. Fuck his car. He needed to gain control.

As it pendulummed back around, Grimmjow felt it completely let go. In a screech of sideways tires meeting patches of road, the car spun out across both lanes, swinging around in a hard 360, G-forces throwing him against the driver's side door, the deer blurring out of his lights, only to return again as the front end came fully back around.

This time Grimmjow did swear as he saw solid deer and blazing white snowbank in his lights only meters ahead. He cursed again, cut the wheel, and aimed for the softer option. The world shook and rumbled, the front end lifting as the fender's corner clipped the bank, the car riding the snowbank, then cutting down into it, dirty snow flying up in a mess of cold spray along the windshield and passenger windows until the car lurched to an abrupt stop.

The engine gurgled and growled into the wintry nighttime silence without emotion as it sat with its brake peddle fully compressed to the floor.

Inside the car, the driver stared wide eyed and unfocused at the steering wheel, head dropped forward to rest on its curve. The sound of his heart beat and panting breaths seemed louder than the rumble of the engine as it idled like a contended beast that had no care in the world. Arms and legs starting to shake, and catching his breath in the adrenaline aftermath, Grimmjow let out a long, loud exhale.

He loved a good adrenaline rush. But fuck him. That was one mechanical bull ride he didn't want to take again.

He lifted his head to see where he'd ended up, and that nothing was coming that could hit him, and froze.

Huge and solid in the beam of his headlights, the deer, and it was a big one, stood feet off his fender. Its body lengthwise, but shoulders and head turned towards him. Antlers stretched up and out, branching off into hard, sharp points. It had to be three hundred pounds. A full grown buck.

And it was staring him down.

"Fuck me," he murmured.

Grimmjow watched as it raised one of its front legs up high, knee folding as it drew it up. Then it brought it down in one sharp and heavy stomp.

He knew it was only because the buck was alarmed. Only because it couldn't see beyond the bright lights or understand the noise or the predator it was facing.

But boy, did he feel judged.

Snow fell like ghosts out of the darkness in bright white crystal silence while the engine rumbled on in idle and the deer continued to stare. The snow falling gently past its muzzle swirled as it snorted. Then in a sudden crouch and bunching of smooth muscle, it bounded out of the light. Their paths uncrossing again as it disappeared back into the night. Both alive to walk away.

Grimmjow shook himself, as if from some weird dream, eyes still locked on the empty space ahead of him.

And then everything hit.

"Jesus Christ, fuck..." he breathed. "Fuck me... Fuck!" He smacked the steering wheel with both palms, hard. "You fucker! Fucking little prick..." he blew out an enormous and innovative list of decompressing, de-adrenalyzing curses...

At the deer, and at himself, and at life for the cute lil' jokes it played when you weren't fucking looking.

Bleeding out the delayed rush of energy in long exhales, he shifted in his seat and flexed his hands. Normally, he wasn't a that-could've-been-bad kind of person. Usually, he just laughed that shit off, and looked for the next rush.

But holy shit. That had been close. But not really that close compared to some of the stupid shit he'd done so many times for fun. That wasn't it. That wasn't why he was starting to shake. Or why a frozen pit was yawning to life in his stomach. Or why he was feeling a cold and clammy touch shiver its way beneath his jacket.

He'd left her.

Just like he'd left his pa. Just like that night. He'd lost it and just fucking bolted. Again.

Grimmjow plowed both hands roughly over his face and through his hair more to steady them than anything as he stared through the windshield and out into the emptiness. He reached for the phone in the centre console with fingers that weren't quite working. He took a few more calming breaths as he thumbed the screen.

When it finally rang and a familiar voice answered, he nearly couldn't speak.

"Hello? ... Grimmjow?"

"...Ma... I'm..." He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I'm..."

"Is alright, Grimmjow. I am just fine."

"No..." he choked, growing determined. "I'm on my way. I'll be there..." I'll be there soon. Be okay when I get back.

"No. You will not."

Her voice was firm. But her words were the force that further ripped opened that sharp pit of anxiety and made him feel like he'd been gutted from the inside. Had he screwed up that bad? Yes, he had. Of course he had. He'd screwed up large.

"You will go," she said firmly. "See Ichigo." Apologize.

The cold that had crawled like fast moving sheet-ice over Grimmjow's skin seemed to stall and recede by degrees. He pulled himself up from his worried hunch, back moulding against the seat.

"What?" For a moment, every ounce of resistance Grimmjow had in his arsenal reared up. No force on this earth was going to get him to apologize.

"Go." Don't even try to get inside this house before you do. "Talk with him. He is worried about you. And he is good friend. I am fine. And I will be here when you are done." We will talk then. Not before. "I love you, Grimmjow."

"Love you." He droned the sentiment back to her on near automatic, not as he had done with an almost desperate insistence a thousand times before. The phone went dark.

Grimmjow considered it all for one long, unsure moment. He hated that she wasn't the first place he'd be going. He hated that Ichigo would. Then he sighed.

This was a real instance where it wouldn't hurt to apologize. In person. And like, with words and shit. He had a strong suspicion it would hurt not to.

Thumbs working a little better now, he opened his favourite's contact list and sent a short text.

Sorry about earlier.

If he got a response, good. If not, too bad.

He stuck the car in gear and pulled away from the snowbank with a small thunk as the car was released. He didn't hear his fender dragging, so he kept going, with two goals in mind. First, he would swing by Ichigo's apartment and hope for the best.

X X X

The elevator walls could have been plain, mirrored, or on fire under Grimmjow's distracted gaze.

He'd taken a second and inspected the front end of his car after he'd pulled into Ichigo's apartment complex. There was some damage to the front bumper. Probably run him a couple thousand dollars to replace. Otherwise everything seemed fine. He'd take it into the shop, though, during their week off, to be sure.

The guy at the front desk was now a hundred dollars richer. It was turning out to be an expensive day, but nothing that could put a dent in Grimmjow's bank account.

And wasn't that the thing? He had money. He had bonds. He had respect and admiration. He had infamy. He had sex appeal. He had travel. He had a life to be jealous off. And his actual job... How many people got to go to work and punch someone in the middle of a shift? It was the best job.

So, he lost his father. So what? Right? Everyone lost their parents. He wasn't special. Except he was... because not everyone killed their parents. He had no right to feel anything. He had no business feeling sorry, or guilty, or like he was denied someone in his life. For fuck's sake, he had everything! Most people didn't have half of what he had. So, what fucking right did he have to feel sorry for himself, to want back the things he'd had, had lost; the things he wanted back because he'd screwed the royal fucking piss out of them and they were never coming back and… The loss, the guilt, the nightmares... He fucking deserved it.

And if Ichigo didn't want anything more to do with him... maybe he deserved that too.

It went round like that, as it had for months, until panelled doors parted and he found himself faced with an unfamiliar corridor, covering half the length of the hallway before he found the doorway he knew was right.

X X X

Ichigo jerked upright at the knocking, twisting around and disentangling his legs from the length of his blanket before separating himself from the couch.

Despite the distant feeling around his cheek from the cool compress, he had been quite comfortable. And the movie he'd thrown on had finally managed to distract him. But now he was puzzled and slightly annoyed. No one should be knocking at his door, because no one had been buzzed up. And at half past nine, it was starting to get late. No one he knew would be at his door tonight without an invite on threat of death. Especially Shinji, but he'd been so busy with his sex mentor lately that Ichigo'd had more time to catch up with his old friends outside of hockey. But it wouldn't be them either.

Unless it was the super. Or a neighbour in need. His pace quickened across the short space in mild concern. Maybe there was a problem.

With no sense of self preservation, Ichigo was already turning the lock as he looked through the peep hole to see who it was.

He pulled his eye away with a jolt.

Shit.

Adrenaline buzzed through his chest like a hive of angry bees.

There was a problem alright. A flaming bag of dog shit, right on his front door step. He didn't even realize how angry he really was at Grimmjow, or that he'd moved, as he yanked the door open so fast that the air rushed past him in a whoosh. And before he could think it through, his fist had already connected with the bluenet's jaw.

X X X

Grimmjow grunted at the impact, eyes snapping shut on reflex, then widening to find his world turned sharply sideways. It actually took him a moment to put all the information together and realize why he was suddenly staring down the hallway. And why his jaw was starting to pulse with pain.

Had he just been sucker punched? By Kurosaki? He looked back to the source of his pain in mild shock to see Ichigo watching him with unforgiving eyes. His hand was cradled loosely, knuckles possibly on their way to their own dull throb.

Grimmjow grunted.

Che. Someone was tetchy.

Grimmjow rubbed a hand slowly along his jaw as he tipped his head sideways and cracked his neck, trying to relocate things. Ichigo hadn't pulled his punch entirely, and it didn't feel like it all quite lined up. But he also knew what kind of power those nimble fists could pack. Compared to what Ichigo could have done to him, that hit had been like a gun loaded with blanks. His arms tightened anyway, his question ground out with controlled precision.

"Feel better?"

"Not really," Ichigo said sourly.

Azure eyes narrowed, a little watery, he noticed with annoyance, from the punch. From the look he was getting, Ichigo seemed to notice it too. There was a ghost of a smirk creeping onto his angry looking face as he spoke.

"Maybe I should punch you again."

Grimmjow's gaze stayed fixed on the pecker-head in the doorway as he swiped the back of his hand across his mouth in one hard gesture, the slight taste of blood sitting like an insult on his tongue.

"Hit me again..." He said it slow and he said it clear. "And you won't be needin' an ambulance." And yet, for a heavy threat, they both knew it was absolutely weightless.

"Yeah." Ichigo said flatly, a deep, bored apathy settling across his features. "That's gonna get you in the door."

Grimmjow opened his mouth but only managed to pull in air as Ichigo took one long step back. And then he was gone. The door suddenly shut hard in front of Grimmjow's peeved and confounded face, leaving him exhaling and standing alone again in the empty hallway. He blinked at the door, feeling suddenly and acutely stupid.

Well, that was worth the hundred dollar price of admission.

He muttered a curse. He'd come all this way. And it sure as shit wasn't to make threats, or to have a fist slammed in his face. Or a door.

And he also didn't come here to give up so easy, or tuck tail and run. He had an apology to give and Ichigo was damn well gonna listen to it... even if... even if Grimmjow didn't really know what he was gonna say. But whatever it was, it wasn't gonna be through a door.

He raised his fist to knock. He wasn't gonna yell. That would make a scene. But his fist fell back down as he realized he hadn't heard a click from the lock.

His arm suddenly felt heavier than lead as he reached for the knob and gave it a twist and a push. It opened. Ichigo was sitting on the edge of his sofa, jagged tips of his hair bright like fire, lit from behind by the light from the kitchen across the apartment, beyond the sofa, the softer glow of the flat screen on the wall to his left not quite reaching his face.

Grimmjow stood there. Nothing to do really but stare at Ichigo's stern profile. And feel unwelcome and invisible. He glanced around the apartment, noticing that the layout was open but very different from his own, maybe a few square feet smaller, and a little darker and cozier than his own place. It was tidy though. Comfortable. He brought his gaze back to the reason he was in this apartment in the first place, and growled out his best attempt to open a friendly dialogue.

"You gonna sit there and ignore me?"

If anything, Ichigo's expression turned even more pissed off. Good job, Grimmjow. He stepped inside, keeping his hand on the door's handle until it had shut quietly. He didn't come up here to raise a ruckus.

"Kuros- " he began, then cut himself short with a grunt. He probably needed to get to the point. "Okay. Look. I didn't come here to fight."

Ichigo said nothing. Didn't even flinch. Grimmjow growled out a sigh and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, finding the strength in neither of them for what he needed to do.

"Ok. Maybe..." Fuck. "Maybe I need to see a shrink." Not likely.

He watched Ichigo's eyebrows plunge like a fucking bungee jumper, his eyes sliding narrowly to the side in a filthy look.

"Or an exorcist."

For fuck's sake.

"Yeah, okay. That too." He huffed, crossly. "Can I come in or not?"

Ichigo turned his head to fully stare him down (or possibly castrate him), eyes and voice full of grit and annoyance.

"Which side of the door do you think you're standing on, dick-head?"

Grimmjow didn't have anything smart to say to that. He just seemed to be thinking and doing all kinds of wrong today. His gaze momentarily dropped to the mat beneath his feet as he grappled for a response that wouldn't continue to pull out angry rebukes from the oranget. But Grimmjow's own anger was still fighting with a range of other emotions. He wasn't really at his best. Maybe he hadn't been for a long time. And maybe the consequences of that were finally becoming apparent. Something he was beginning to realize in a hazy, angry way.

When he looked back up, Ichigo was standing, moving away from him. Putting space between them, as if Grimmjow was best tolerated from a distance.

"Want a coffee?" His voice was clipped, and a damn sight snappy to boot.

"...Sure," Grimmjow muttered. He didn't want one, though. It just felt more welcoming to take the offer, like as angry as he was, maybe Ichigo still wanted him to stay. It was probably just social convention, but he was on so much unstable ground right now that he'd take it.

"It'll be a minute. You might as well sit." His tone offered no room for argument. Or chitchat. Or real conversation. Or anything remotely good. Bossy asshole.

In one rare, brief moment of being at a pure loss, Grimmjow gave in and sat. Ichigo had already walked into the kitchen and set about pressing buttons on the single serve coffee brewer, anyway. So what else was there to do? It didn't take a moment for the sizzling sounds and earthy aroma of fresh coffee to make their way through the room and over to Grimmjow.

A long and awkward minute later, Ichigo came back around the island and stopped at the end of the couch, where Grimmjow had planted himself as instructed. He'd never felt quite this uncomfortable around Ichigo. Not in this way. Right now, he felt like he was in a room full of angry lawyers. And it was weird enough, all on its own, just being in Ichigo's space. It gave the oranget the unfair advantage of being on home ice. And Grimmjow felt smaller somehow for it. Less in charge. And he didn't like it. It made it all the harder to say what he knew he needed to say.

"Yer place is nice," he muttered, keeping Ichigo mostly in his periphery.

He heard Ichigo mutter a short thanks back. But he didn't look at him. And he didn't smile.

Dallying, Grimmjow surveyed the table top with its hot beverage. Then he frowned as he noticed something odd about his drink. Ichigo had a proper coffee mug but...

"Why did you..." His eyes darted from the table to Ichigo with a flicker of suspicion, "...put my coffee in a travel mug?"

From above, Ichigo levelled him with a look that was both meaningful and humourless before he circled the table and settled himself on the opposite end of the couch.

"Did I?", he answered blandly.

Huh. Grimmjow could only tolerate so much of being punished for being a dick and made to grovel. In fact, no one had ever made him grovel, so how Ichigo fucking Kurosaki was mastering the art now was something he might actually need to talk to a shrink about. As if he would ever.

"Now I'm not sure which of us is being the bigger ass-hole here."

He caught the minute but satisfying flare in Ichigo's nostrils as he lifted his coffee up to his mouth and blew on it, closing his eyes before taking a sip.

"I'm not sorry I punched you."

Fucking touche. Grimmjow chuffed and glared sharply at him, lip rising and shoulders pulling back so hard his neck joints popped as his ego bucked.

"Che. I've been kissed harder."

There was tortuous silence again. Aiming loosely for a nonchalant sort of dignity, Grimmjow reached out and took a sip of his own drink, though he wasn't thirsty; something to do to fill in the space. He sipped, and then he coughed out a mist of the liquid onto his own chin, cringing his eyes shut, tongue lolling out.

"That's fucking jet fuel," he complained.

"So, don't drink it."

He groused about it some more as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shoved the coffee away from his senses.

"I think you gotta fuckin' substance abuse problem."

Another ball shattering silence followed. The irony of that comment was not lost on Grimmjow. Well, it wasn't as if he was here for a hoot. But it was just an apology and it should have been over already. And he could feel Ichigo watching him with growing annoyance as he studied the featureless coffee table which seemed to be somehow utterly fascinating.

"Why are you here?" Ichigo finally bit out. Because without prodding or a written invitation, they were clearly going to sit here all night.

Grimmjow huffed, a little affronted, and looked him over narrowly. Wasn't it obvious?

"I came here to apologize, okay?"

"Oh, well..." Ichigo said, the blandness in his voice unsurprisingly caustic, "You'll understand my confusion, since I haven't heard the words apology or I'm sorry,"

"For fuck's sake, Kurosaki," Grimmjow grumbled. "I'm workin' up to it, okay?"

Ichigo didn't say anything more, and Grimmjow could see how hard he was biting back on being a complete and sarcastic bastard, giving Grimmjow one single chance to put on his big boy pants. He huffed a hard sigh - man up, Grimmjow - and hoped something good would finally come out of his mouth.

"Look... " Fuck this was hard. "I shouldn'ta snapped at you..."

"Snapped..." Ichigo tested the word out thoughtfully, just wrapping his tongue all around it. "Really."

Grimmjow looked up to catch his eye with a hurried mutter, calledout and contrite.

"With my fist."

Ichigo's eyes fluttered closed as he dropped his head, damning and hard as they returned to his guest.

"M' ...sorry... 'bout it."

After a beat, Ichigo drew himself up and let go a long-held exasperated breath as he considered the man next to him. That had to be the slowest, most resentful apology ever. But it didn't change a thing.

"I can't believe I'm saying this... But Grimmjow... I don't even care about that."

Grimmjow's eyes lit in confusion as he wondered what the fuck he was doing here. What else was there to apologize for?

"Then what the hell do you want from me?"

What indeed. Ichigo almost snapped at him right there, but he didn't. He was pissed now that after all these months he was starting to get the picture. But they finally had a chance to really talk, and Ichigo was going to use it.

"Your mom, Grimmjow. You're mom, she's..." He twisted to re-arrange himself enough to face Grimmjow fully. "Do you even talk to her? Because from what she said to me tonight, you avoid nearly everything to do with your dad."

Grimmjow blanked. Because Ichigo and his ma must have spent time together after he'd left. And talked about him. And his pa. And his personal life. And shit... Now he was getting a talking-to? Like he was five?

"We are not talking about this, Kurosaki," he warned. "I don't care what she said, you need to stay outta it."

Ichigo felt his temper jerk, his own experiences with loss quickly eating away at his own control, like acid on metal chains.

"Oh, come on! You're sad because you're dad died, Grimmjow. You miss him. And that's all there is to it." That was not all there was to it. And if he wanted to learn anything he would have to drag it out of the stubborn dick.

"Don't..."

"There isn't anything to gain from carrying around your guilt! Making yourself miserable doesn't bring them back!" He was yelling? "It happened and nothing you can do can ever change that! You just have to keep on living!" He was staying calm so... why was he yelling? "And you can't honour them when you're wallowing in guilt!"

"That isn't..." Azure eyes glittered with refusal. Body tensing. His voice strangling. "You don't know shit!"

He knew he'd have to push. And his heart jogged faster as he did. Where the line was, was recklessly unclear.

"Then tell me what happened!" Ichigo yelled, exasperated and wanting nothing more than to grab on and shake it all out of him. And whatever did come out of him... it had to be healthier than whatever was happening inside his head. He braced for it as he saw something behind the enforcer's defensive shield over-tighten in an instant, then in the next moment, shatter, leaving him suddenly wrenched open before Ichigo to seethe in visible torment.

"We had a fight!" Grimmjow snapped viciously. "Alright?!" He mouthed a silent snarl and turned his face away, eyes slammed shut and fists rising to jerk against his forehead, clenching and catching in his hair in an attempt to contain it all, even as the words rushed out like dust and dirt and tumbling rocks. "He told me how disappointed he was with everything I've been doing with my life an' I told him not to talk to me. An' then I left." The veins in Grimmjow's temples were serpentine and throbbing, and his jaw clenched as he dragged in a constricted breath. "I knew he was upset when I left. I heard him... call for me... And I kept.. I kept going. I... I left him there. I left him... And his heart gave out. And he fucking died alone on the fucking floor cuz'a me!"

Grimmjow turned a haunted, half manic look on a stunned Ichigo, hair ruffled like he'd been in a line brawl.

Ichigo wanted to hug him. Or maybe punch him. Then hug him again. At an outsider's glance, Ichigo would have said Grimmjow wasn't so much beating up on himself as he was everybody else. But now he knew better. He was being the biggest asshole to himself. And the fallout of that was hurting the people around him.

"And I can't tell her. He was everything she loved," the enforcer choked out, eyes glittering in anger, fighting back tears as foreign as dessert rains, for a moment barriers faulting and internals spilling out like oil through the cracks, "And I took him away from'er..."

Ichigo felt his throat tighten up in twisted mess of empathy and burning frustration, all the emotions he'd thought shelved from his childhood hitting him like a tidal wave. And in its wake, it left nothing but fresh devastation and anger. The hand in Ichigo's lap tightened to a fist, the other braced and digging into the cushions of the sofa.

"You're a selfish ass."

"What-?" Grimmjow's head shot up, damp and stress-red eyes jumping to meet his in confusion and betrayal, as if Ichigo had casually levelled a gun to his head.

"You heard me." The enforcer only stared back at him, eyes searching, growing even more angry and defensive, but also hopelessly lost. "You found a way to make this all about you." The look on Grimmjow's face went from lost to stunned. "You say you're there for your mom? But how can you be, when you've never even told her what you've been feeling?"

"I am always there for her!" Grimmjow's voice scratched its way out, strangled with emotion in an angry, defensive growl.

"Sure. You've been there for her." Ichigo's tone actually hurt. It mocked. It judged. It pushed at barriers without mercy. "Any time she needs help, you're there, right? You do errands for her all the time? Work around the house? Right?"

Grimmjow didn't answer. Ichigo was surprised he was even still sitting there, and not halfway out of the lobby. It was either a good sign, or... probably a very bad one.

"A handyman can do that, Grimmjow."

Grimmjow felt like he'd been paralyzed, staked down by too many thoughts entirely, not a single one able to fit through the door. He was just stuck to the couch. Staring. Mind shorted out. He had to be caught in another nightmare, a confusing, spiralling piece of shit type of dream.

And when did their argument switch to Spanish? Because he was not following. That was as far as Grimmjow's brain could get. He sat rigid and still on Ichigo's couch, staring at Ichigo, stomach and hands curled up tight in furious denial.

Ichigo could see Grimmjow's throat tighten, could hear a sound edging its way through that was far enough from human to give Ichigo a prickling sense of danger. But he felt his own anger peaking and it wouldn't be ignored. Grimmjow's outburst, his pain, that dark angry energy, it was twisting things inside Ichigo, throwing him back in time, rattling old chains, the years of work he'd put in. So easily. It scared him as he heard his own words. Words from a time when he had been someone else entirely. But it reminded him of just what he'd been facing.

You spend all your time trying to be a good person, a good son, a good brother, helping everyone, taking care of everyone. But you can't ever bring her back. You can't ever give her back to them. The moments they should have had. The memories they should have made. The relationships that never were.

His focus was Grimmjow, but all those old feelings came spiralling up like bugs from a hive, flying into the middle of everything.

You lost her too. Take that pain and use it. Own it. Turn it. Don't let it use you.

"She's hurting, Grimmjow!"

"I know!" he snapped back hotly. Reflexive.

"And it isn't just because your dad's not there! How can you ever understand someone else's pain when you never even had the balls to admit to yourself or anyone else for that matter why you're hurting in the first place?!"

"Kurosaki... Just fuckin'..." There was a deep warning in the enforcer's quiet voice. You've gone too far. Wrong way. Turn back. It resonated like a thunder clap from a coming storm with dangerous energy lurking in its eye.

Ichigo's fist slammed sideways into the back of the couch, jerking them both from the impact.

"No. I won't shut up! You need to shut up! And for once, listen!"

A muscle around Grimmjow's eye cramped, but he didn't make a motion to move or speak, jaw and everything else so morbidly tense, he wasn't sure he even could.

Ichigo doubted that would last long, so he gathered his words quickly. It wasn't hard to do. He'd heard many of them himself.

"You say you're miserable because you caused your father's death and made your mom a widow. But you manage to walk around acting like your pain is the only pain that exists."

Grimmjow only looked at him, up and down, once. As if trying to make impossible sense of him.

"You've never even talked about any of it with her, have you? I could see it tonight, Grimmjow. It was written all over her face. And that was before she told me you don't talk about it. She's worried sick about you, the one person in this world that loves you more than her own life and you won't even open up to her."

Some of his words made sense. Some of his words were just noise. But that last bit. That last bit was a lightening strike down the centre of a tree.

Grimmjow felt everything inside him lock up.

This was not what he came here to talk about.

"Leave her outta this..." he growled.

"Leave her out?" Ichigo nearly deflated from pure frustration. How stupid...? Blockheaded... Stubborn... Sonofa... "Grimmjow, according to you she's the whole reason you're so God damn miserable!"

Grimmjow lowered his head, eyes still angled up and locked on Ichigo.

He just came here to apologize.

"I'm not fucking tellin' you... "

"Just admit it! You both lost someone you loved. It sucks and it hurts! And even if it ended on bad terms, it was nobody's God damn fault!"

Grimmjow's eyes widened with anger and he lurched.

"You don't fucking know anything! So, quit acting like you do!" He couldn't do this right now. And the best defence was always a strong offence.

"I don't?" Ichigo was out of his seat. Out of his mind, maybe? Yelling at the Sexta of all people, like he had either a special hall pass or bullet proof armour. "Well no, of course I don't, because nobody but Grimmjow Jagerjaquez could possibly know more about the crap life can heap on you than Grimmjow fucking Jagerjaquez!"

He was yelling. And he didn't care who heard. As long as Grimmjow did.

"I know exactly what it's like to lose a parent!"

Instinct kept Grimmjow silent. He knew that much of course, but...

"And to feel like it was your fault. Because if I didn't do what I did, my mom would still be alive. I took our mom from my sisters, and a wife from my father."

No. No he didn't. He'd worked through all this. Years ago. The pain. The guilt. It was not his fault.

"So don't tell me I don't know what you're going through!"

The words seemed to echo around them both, alive and stalling everything in the apartment for a long moment. They were both unable to find words in the aftermath. Maybe even afraid they'd set each other off again.

Feeling the apex of the rush of anger hiss out of himself, Ichigo broke the silent standoff first, a fresh thought coming to him, one he maybe should have seen miles ago.

"Grimmjow..." He said his name as if he was just coming to hear it for the first time... "Do you think... you could have PDST?"

Grimmjow's eyes iced over like a shallow lake flash-frozen by a sub-arctic blast as they jumped up to meet his. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Ichigo wasn't quite ready for his reaction, but he could sure see the moment it all materialized.

"For christ's sake..." And that was it. Grimmjow was up and gone. The enforcer nearly repelling from the couch and turning in a blind rush to leave. But he barely got a step into his retreat before Ichigo was on that too, his determination a relentless thing grabbing at him from all directions.

"Quit running!" he shouted. "Just think about it. Irritability, anxiety, nightmares, flashbacks. Does any of that sound familiar?"

Grimmjow said nothing as his head snapped around, hate filled refusal darkening his irises at the accusation, posture growing impossibly more tense as he met Ichigo's eyes. That was for the weak. And he wasn't weak.

It was worse than bad. But it was an answer.

"You need to talk to someone," he said in an earnest rush. "It's going to eat you from the inside out if you let it. Carrying this shit around by yourself all the time..."

Grimmjow's face darkened, twisted and fighting to keep what little composure he had.

"You just worry about yourself," he warned, barely keeping himself from yelling through his teeth. "And let me take care of me and mine."

But Ichigo was as persistent on the subject of Grimmjow's personal life today as he was with a puck on the ice. He stepped forward.

"It's poisonous, Grimmjow! Can't you see that?"

Grimmjow surged forward to meet him, nearly rushing at him, hands thrown up and shaking by his shoulders, hovering in restraint by both of their heads, fingers curled and clawed.

Proximity. He wouldn't cross.

"Fuck. You make me crazy!" He slammed his hands down against air. "Why the hell you think you gotta interfere, huh?! I didn't ask for this!"

"Yeah, well, sometimes it sucks, but it's what friends do!" The twist in Ichigo's features looked nothing like friends.

"Then maybe I don't wanna be friends...!" He spat it right in his unfriendly face.

Ichigo felt something splinter and crush inside. A delicate thing, broken and unreparable. Hope. Possibilities. As if he was going to stand around and... He couldn't stand to watch this anymore. He couldn't chase and chase someone that didn't want to be caught. Not if Grimmjow wasn't even willing to try. He delivered every ounce of his anger in three sharp words.

"Then get out."

For the most part, the hockey world thought it knew Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. He was a tough guy, his emotions mostly comprised of every hockey pump-up song and cabinets full of panther lust aftershave. But Grimmjow, for a moment, just gawked back at him like a wounded baby deer. A very angry wounded baby deer.

"Feh. Whatever."

And before Ichigo could really grasp what had happened, Grimmjow was turning his back on him and bee-lining for the door. He only had one thing left to say before he slammed it.

"See you at the rink, Kurosaki."

Ichigo picked up the nearest thing he could grab and flung it at the door. It bounced in an unsatisfying way, hot coffee chugging out of the open spout as it shuttled across the floor and stilled.

"Don't forget your coffee," Ichigo muttered, wishing wholeheartedly that he could have screamed it down the hallway.

He wanted space?

Ichigo would give him acres of space.

Keeping Score
CANVAS

And I know, and I know
We were waiting on a miracle
Did you know, did you see
There was only one way this could go
You finally got everything out

But I'm not keeping score

I gave it all til I gave out
'Cause I'm not keeping score

X X X

It was Kensei that Ichigo finally called. Days later. So he'd understand the tension between the two of them when he saw them again. And Kensei who let out a regretful sigh of agreement.

"A year and a half of repression will do that to you."

X X X

They wouldn't talk again for two weeks. Even at work. Unless, of course, grunting was a form of talking.

X X X

Grimmjow didn't even register that his eyes were wet until he got into to his car and realized all he could see through his windshield was the starburst blur of the parking lot lights. He swiped them dry and sped for home. Fuck Kurosaki. And the horse he tried to ride in on. Grimmjow didn't need saving like some weak minded loser. And he was not a damsel. And he didn't need his personal matters being interfered with.

All the shit his teammate had said was just an overwhelming jumble, anyway. He growled, shaking his head, like he could just blank it all out completely, like shaking out an Etch A Sketch.

And then, he was home. Staring at the familiar front door, before pushing through. First thing he did was call for her. Dreading. And furious that he was even feeling that way at all.

"Grimmjow," she called back. She hugged him when he entered the kitchen. Pulled him close.

She sat them both down, kiddie corner, at the little dinner table, the extendable flaps down and away. And when he broke, it was with as much resistance as he'd ever had. Because it didn't matter if he hurt. He didn't want to break her heart.

"He was not ashamed of you one bit," she said sternly, reaching up to cup his cheek. And to bring his eyes steady with hers. "You are great at what you do. This enforcing. It is part of who you are. Your father, he was not against you being a tough guy on the ice. What bothered him, was... how people see you. He did not like the way the media talks about you. Seeing you as this one thing. Because he knew how special you are. How talented. How many more sides you have. You are his son. An intelligent, strong, talented boy. He wanted the world to know it too."

To see the son he created thought about the way Grimmjow was thought about by the world... It hurt his father? Grimmjow hadn't understood that then. Hadn't realized how deeply his father felt. Back then Grimmjow had been bulldozing his way through his career, careless, wild and free. In some ways, he still was. In all ways, really.

"I told him not to talk to me..." he repeated what he'd already told her, voice wavering, because she had to feel it too. To get it. "I was a complete shit..."

"It was not your fault, Grimmjow." He looked at her, ready to argue his case until his last stubborn breath, but stalled at the shine in her eyes. At the story behind them that was struggling to come out, because he wasn't the only one hurting. He wasn't.

"It was few weeks before," she began. "Guy got winded coming up from basement. And when I asked, he just kissed me, the devil, and said that seeing me stole his breath away." Her fond laugh was subdued by regret, as she look right into his eyes. "He laughed it off. And I believed him."

Grimmjow looked back at her, wide blue eyes flickering over her face, skin a little pale, but every ounce of his attention on her. On her words.

"I think your father knew something was wrong. But he did not get checked. And for long time, I felt I should have pushed him to go. If I had just pushed him, Grimmjow." She squeezed his hand, stilling him as he flinched like he meant to set her straight. She took a deep breath, letting the feeling she had already come to terms with go again.

"And yes, Grimmjow, he worried for your health. I know you think you are young and invincible. Hn?"

She brought her hand up, laying her palm against his face, skin cool on his cheek. Grimmjow chuffed and rolled his eyes, a little shaky, but an action that was as close to normal as he could manage right now.

"Yes, you are big. Strong. But you are human, Grimmjow. You are not superhero. Be too rough on your body, and soon your body will betray you. Never doubt this. Your father was so proud of you, Grimmjow." She took that gentle hand and gripped his chin harshly with it, tightening fingers and curling thumb deceptively strong, every word bitten sharp and clear. "So. Proud. Of. You."

The flicker of an uneven tremble, the one that turned to a wobble in his bottom lip, like the first dark, fat drops of rain spotting against dry pavement, right before the whole sky opened up... It was long overdue. Petra Jaegerjaquez knew her eyes were warm and sad. But she let it show. To have to see her son break down. To have to let him. To have avoided what he needed most for so long. From her. She was just as much at fault for this as her boy.

"I miss him."

Her little boy's voice barely reached her ears. It sounded impossibly hard for him to get the words out.

It was all he could say for the moment. His voice strained and strangled in a throat that tightened and crushed whatever thoughts he wanted to turn into voice, back into silence.

The tremble that ran over his shoulder, that hitched his breathing, that wrung his eyes shut, it crept over him slowly at first, like the first splintering cracks at the breaking edge of a glacier, moments before it all sped up as it cracked and gave and plunged into frozen waters.

She was up and rounding the table as he crumbled forward, shoulders shaking, elbows landing hard on the table and hands curling up against his eyes as he fought to keep the impossible floodwaters back. As soon as he felt her unhesitating touch smooth across his back, he turned in a desperate rush and encased her from where he sat. Gentle with her, even as emotion overwhelmed him in ways that frightened him, and he buried his head against her body. Her fingers carded and caressed the short hair on the back of his head, clutching him to her while the convulsive sobs muffled themselves against her sweater.

Imagine Dragons – Demons

I wanna hide the truth. I wanna shelter you
But with the beast inside, there's nowhere we can hide
No matter what we breed, we still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come. This is my kingdom come

When you feel my heat, look into my eyes
It's where my demons hide
It's where my demons hide
Don't get too close. It's dark inside
It's where my demons hide
It's where my demons hide

They say it's what you make. I say it's up to fate
It's woven in my soul. I need to let you go
Your eyes, they shine so bright. I wanna save that light
I can't escape this now. Unless you show me how...

Log minutes passed over them both unnoticed. Until Grimmjow was calm enough to realize something and set his ma straight.

"Can't blame yourself," he mumbled, looking up to her in shifts, his mouth turning up when he finally focused, a telltale smirk pulling at its corner. "You raised a dud."

"Oph." She rolled her eyes at her son, mouth crinkling, and smacked her insufferable boy on the arm.

"We raised a man."

X X X

And when he finally drifted off, in his childhood bedroom, bein' a man about it and giving into his ma's insistence without a real fuss... just this one time, it wasn't with any sort of bone deep feeling of weights being lifted or a conscience being settled. It wasn't even really with any magical new sense of purpose.

He was just tired.

Dog tired.

X X X

Wake up.

Wake up...

Wake up...

YOU HAVE TO WAKE UP !

He tore his way through the heavy press of thick covers, clawing his way out in pure panic, lungs gasping in a frantic reach for air, sheets kicked away and thrown aside, and bare feet slamming against the morning-cold tiles of the wood floor before he even knew where he was or if he was even awake.

The familiar voice that had jolted him out of his dreams, fading by degrees between each hard and rushed breath, clung onto him like a chilling echo in the dead quiet of his darkened apartment.

His head was spinning from it. Images fresh and so real. Too real. He hardly noticed the pull of stiff muscles and tender bruises as he fought to calm himself down. Breath still rushed, but slowing now, he shivered once under the cool air that seemed to press down on him and creep across the hot skin of his shoulders and back in an unnatural caress while the fan overhead spun around with barely a hum.

He'd been driving. Again. Streets and buildings washing by like pale, warped ghosts, caught far beyond the distorted lens of his own angry world.

A flicker. A shift. And then...

He'd been running up the driveway. Another shift, and then the pavement had become sticky, his legs dragging like lead. The lights of the house began to draw away, always away, as he tried to get there. He called out again and again as he tried to get to them.

He pushed forward, never gaining more than an inch at a time. But his eyes never strayed, staying desperately fixed on his goal, only the nothingness of swirling darkness and ether surrounding them.

And then, the familiar dark shadow appeared in the doorway, as it always did, hard outline illuminated from behind in cold white light, waiting for him in stillness and silent patience... even as the door receded and the driveway stretched and stretched. Everything he needed pulling away far beyond his reach.

And always he screamed in helpless rage. Into the silence. Into the dark. And pushed harder. Watching as the silent figure grew distant and dim, swallowed away into the ether.

But this time...

It spoke.