Marigold

Hueco Mundo was just as desolate as he’d always imagined.

After the successful defense of Karakura from Aizen’s invading forces, Izuru had expected that they would return to Soul Society. The group that had gone into Hueco Mundo itself hadn’t even occurred to him- they were some of the most powerful captains, after all. The thought of them needing relief was laughable.

The fact that he was here now made him more than a little nervous.

The conflict itself was over. Kurosaki and his friends had defeated most of the Espada, or at least that was what they had been told. So a few of the vice-captains had been sent in as a makeshift cleanup crew, just to be sure that things would stay quiet. The way things looked now, it was almost impossible to believe it had ever been anything but.

The first thing he had done was check on Abarai. Izuru hadn’t been surprised to see that he was one of the ones who had defied their initial orders- in fact, he would have been surprised if he hadn’t. That didn’t make it any easier to think of what he had been through, or to sit by and watch the best of the Fourth work on him and his friends. But they were masters of their job, and Abarai was tough. In all honesty, it was a waste of his energy to worry himself.

He was probably going to need every spare bit of energy as it was.

Izuru curled his fingers around Wabisuke’s hilt and hiked up his hakama with the other hand, trudging up a sand dune. His legs were already screaming in complaint at the shifting sands- anyone who could walk reliably in this place, let alone fight, must have calf muscles the size of tree trunks. He had thought the Espada’s monstrous strength to be completely manufactured by Aizen, but he was beginning to have his doubts.

The others were probably back in the shattered palace- Las Noches, he thought they had called it. That was where the fighting had taken place, so it made sense that if any of the arrancar were left, it would be there. Izuru had taken the first opportunity to point out that maybe someone should check for stragglers and headed out to the empty desert.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help. But the thought of fighting again, of stumbling across a half-dead arrancar still trumpeting their loyalty to Aizen regardless of the fact that Aizen himself was gone, that he had skipped out with the others as soon as it was convenient- it was just too depressing. Too familiar. No, he would leave the fighting for those who got something out of it.

The sand shifted under his heel, and Izuru slid backwards a few paces before gaining his balance again. He picked up a foot to step forward, and realized just a moment too late that the sand was still shifting.

Sand was not nearly the soft cushion that it looked like. Izuru stared up at the black sky for a moment, thanking whatever higher power had seen fit to smile on him that there hadn’t been anyone around to see that, and picked himself up. The sand was clinging tenaciously to his hakama, and it took a few hard swipes to clean himself off.

Izuru was in the middle of straightening back up when a prickle ran down his spine. He froze in place, hand moving back to Wabisuke immediately. It was reiatsu- the undeniable mix of Hollow and something that meant arrancar. It was flagging, barely there, but still present. Izuru straightened up the rest of the way, bringing himself to his full height and stretching out his fingers before taking hold of Wabisuke’s hilt more securely. He had hoped to avoid this, but it looked like there was no hope for it.

He steeled himself and took a few quick steps forward, managing to get up the sand dune without sliding back too much. This arrancar might be wounded, but there was no sense in not being as prepared as possible. The high ground would work to his advantage.

When Izuru crested the top of the hill, he saw him. He was tall, probably about Abarai’s size, with short hair, half the color of blue steel and half matted to his head with what looked like dried blood. The wound was obvious over his shoulder and bare chest, the blood staining the skin down to the gaping hole in his stomach. The moonlight glinted off a thick plate of bone over his jaw as he lifted his head towards Izuru.

And then their eyes met.

Izuru was aware of his knees sagging just slightly, the sand shifting under him. It was like being hit by a tidal wave- the reiatsu that had been lurking below the surface had exploded into life, thickening the air between them with palpable menace.

And then, just as fast as it had appeared, it was gone. The arrancar took a step forward and nearly tripped, blood-stained white hakama tangling around his legs. He looked back up at Izuru, exhaustion visible in the too-human face.

“You’re pretty far outta your element, shinigami.”

His voice was coarse, brash and swaggering even as he shook with the effort of holding himself up. Izuru just firmed his grip on Wabisuke’s hilt, keeping his face impassive.

“I don’t need to be comfortable to do my job.”

The arrancar laughed, a harsh, barking sound, and kept advancing on the sand dune, sinking into the sand with every hard step. “Oh yeah? You the garbage man?”

Izuru held still, not betraying his increasing discomfort. “You could say that.”

He stopped a few yards from him, inclining his chin in a gesture that both showed off the remnants of the Hollow mask on his jaw and exaggerated his height advantage. “Then save it for the garbage.”

Izuru flexed his fingers on Wabisuke’s hilt, keeping his eyes on the arrancar as he took a few more steps up the dune. “My duty is to eradicate or capture the remainders of Aizen’s forces. Which of those I choose is entirely up to you.”

At that the arrancar paused, turning his face slightly toward Izuru again. “Then save your energy,” he said, the arrogance disappearing. “I don’t give a shit about Aizen.”

He couldn’t quite identify what it was. It wasn’t that his expression had changed that much, or any real emotion had entered his voice. But there was something about those words- something that rang so familiar, something that had passed his own lips not too long before. That brittle undercurrent to each word, when that arrancar in Karakura had spoken of… the former captain of his squad.

Hatred. Bitterness. Abandonment. Loss.

“You know that he’s left,” Izuru said. It wasn’t a question. There was no need for it to be.

The arrancar trudged past him, not answering.

For a moment, Izuru found himself seriously considering just letting him go. What was the use? He found it impossible to believe, even with just those simple words, that this arrancar- an Espada, no doubt of it anymore- had any loyalty left for the man who had made him. And with the wounds that covered him, it was a slim chance that he would even survive for much longer. He was no threat to anyone, not like this.

If he just left now, the Espada would simply die. No one would ever know this had happened.

Izuru turned, watching him. His eyes fell to the number tattooed on the arrancar’s back- a large six, looking as though it had been scratched out once and redone.

It took a moment to sink in. Out of all the arrancar Aizen had created, all the ones Soul Society had fought and defeated and those they hadn’t even seen, this one before him was number six. Only five were ranked stronger. And after all the adulation from the lesser arrancar, all the lies he and his brethren had been told, here he was. Dying like a stray dog in the desert.

“Wait,” Izuru said suddenly.

The arrancar stopped, looking back at him. “What?” he called back, visibly irritated.

Izuru took a few quick steps, catching up with him. “I’m expected to capture if possible,” he said in a rush. “Come back to Soul Society. You’ll get medical attention, food, clothing. Maybe the chance to get a shot back at Aizen.”

The arrancar just stared at him for a long time, long enough that Izuru began to question if he had understood a word he’d said. Then he laughed- hard enough that the bone façade covering his jaw split in two, laughing along with his human mouth like a puppet to a puppeteer. “Me,” he repeated. “Go to Soul Society. With a shinigami.”

“I’m sure you’ll have information that would be valuable to them,” Izuru said, feeling more and more ridiculous with each word. “There’s no reason for you to die here. If Aizen is your enemy, then… well, he’s ours too. And-” He spread his hands, realizing he was still holding Wabisuke. “I’m a vice-captain. I can make myself responsible for you.”

The arrancar stared at him, then shook his head, barking out a laugh- more restrained than before, but no less incredulous. “Cute. But no thanks. I ain’t shackling’ myself to Soul Society on the word of some little shinigami.” He turned away again.

Izuru stared at his slowly retreating back. He wasn’t fully aware of moving until his feet were carrying him closer to the arrancar. One hand pulled Wabisuke from the sheath.

“Don’t even try it,” the arrancar said, hands pocketed in the folds of his hakama.

“I can make myself responsible for you,” he said again, raising Wabisuke in front of him. “Aizen may have abandoned you, but that doesn’t mean you have to walk alone.”

He paused, turning a little to look at him again. The mirth from before had disappeared, replaced by a tired frustration. “Look,” the arrancar said, face drawn, voice impatient. “I got no quarrel with you. Get out of my way.”

Izuru drew himself up, squaring his shoulders. “My name is Kira Izuru,” he said, voice stronger than he had expected himself to muster. “Vice-Captain of Third Company. Former second-in-command to Ichimaru Gin.”

For a moment, the arrancar just looked at him, eyes unreadable. Then one corner of his mouth drew up, and one hand pulled out to take hold of the sword hilt at his side.

“All right then,” he said, starting to smirk. “Let’s see what you got.”

“Raise your head, Wabisuke,” Izuru said quietly, and the blade lengthened and grew, forming the executioner’s blade. The arrancar kept one hand on his sword hilt, but it was obvious he was in no sort of fighting stance- his shoulders were back, chest thrust out, hips set wide. Izuru hesitated for a moment.

“Somethin’ wrong, shinigami?” The arrancar took a step forward, raising his hands loosely in front of him in a casual stance. “Where’d all that fight go?”

For a moment, Izuru just watched, Wabisuke held firmly in front of him. The arrancar took a step forward, rising to the balls of his feet, and jabbed his fists lightly into the air, boxing an invisible opponent. His eyes flicked up to Izuru’s a split second before that invisible opponent became real, the next punch blindingly fast and aimed directly at his face.

It would have been easy enough to dodge it, especially since he had seen it coming, but Izuru chose to wait until the last moment. That way, the arrancar’s fist clipped his hair, and he ended up within strike range. Wabisuke’s blade had tapped each knee before the arrancar went to take a step back, and before his foot hit the sand, the flat of the sword slid up his arm in a quick caress.

The arrancar settled back on his feet, and there was a look of faint unease on his face. One short moment of silence passed before one knee hit the sand, then the other. His arm sagged forward, dragging him face-first to the ground.

Izuru took a step back, lowering Wabisuke. The arrancar struggled vainly, his one unaffected arm flexing and straining. For muscles that were obviously already overworked, it seemed only one strike was necessary- he was pinned to the sand.

“What the hell was that?” he spat out, head lifting just enough to fix his eyes on Izuru’s face- startlingly blue eyes, reflecting in the moonlight.

Izuru lifted Wabisuke slightly. “My zanpakutou’s ability is to double the weight of whatever it touches,” he said simply. “To bow my opponent’s head to the ground, as if in penitence. His name is Wabisuke.”

“You’re a sneaky little bastard, aren’t you?” Despite the words, there was a light of something dawning in the arrancar’s eyes- not admiration, but at least a measure of respect. “All right, you got me. Go on ahead.”

It was almost reflex that he lowered the blade, letting the sharp edges cup the arrancar’s throat. Those eyes never wavered.

“You’re not afraid,” he said.

The arrancar’s lips curled slightly- not a smile, not a smirk, but a tired kind of expression that stung him. “You win. I lose. This is how it goes. What’s there to be scared of?”

Izuru held Wabisuke in place for a moment, then pulled it back, flicking the blade through the air and resheathing it. Then the steady gaze wavered, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

“What’re you doing?” the arrancar demanded, squirming around in the sand.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Izuru said simply. “I have no reason to.”

The arrancar gaped at him.

He leaned down, then took hold of one arm, taking a deep breath and lifting him to his knees. The arrancar went to wrench out of his hands, then wobbled and nearly fell again. “I don’t need your-”

“It’s not pity,” Izuru said quietly. “It’s planning. We have the same enemy- it doesn’t mean we have to be allies, but there’s no sense in us fighting each other.”

At that, he paused, looking back up at him. There was something measuring in his eyes.

“You said Ichimaru was your captain.”

Izuru stiffened slightly. The arrancar nodded, looking grim.

The silence that fell was uncomfortable- almost unbearable. The gaze had steadied again, and now it was Izuru who was forced to look away, taking hold of the arrancar’s arm and tugging him carefully to his feet. He didn’t resist this time.

“I’ll go with you,” he said abruptly.

Izuru looked over at him, studying his face. “To Soul Society?” he pressed. “They may imprison you. Interrogate you.”

The arrancar shrugged. “Either that or I die here. It doesn’t make much of a difference to me.”

It was a strange feeling that took hold of him then. There was a certain amount of relief- it was at least a guarantee that the arrancar wouldn’t die just yet. Maybe they would learn more about Aizen’s plans. It could be of enormous benefit to Soul Society, and Izuru would be looked on favorably for arranging it. On the other hand, it was almost sure that he would be imprisoned and probably experimented on by the Twelfth squad. It wouldn’t be much of an existence.

But it would be one.

Izuru turned to face him. “Then I’ll take you,” he said decisively. “I’ll take responsibility for you.”

The arrancar laughed, and took a careful step, stretching his too-heavy legs. “Don’t work too hard, shinigami.”

Izuru went to follow, then paused. “Wait.”

“What now?” Sharp blue eyes found his.

Izuru hesitated a moment, then pressed on. “What’s your name?”

“You wanna know my name?” The arrancar turned back to face him, hands in his pockets, a faint smirk on his face.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I do.”

The arrancar widened his stance again, thrusting his chin into the air proudly. “Grimmjow Jaegerjacques,” he said. “Don’t forget it, Kira Izuru.”

“I won’t,” Izuru said, and he knew it was the truth.