tampered | Log; complete

When; September 4th
Rating; PG~?
Characters; Szayel Aporro Grantz [

unresearched] & Inoue Orihime [

soten_kisshun]
Summary; Szayel Aporro can be a good nanny when the mood strikes. And if there are things he can get out of it in return. Or it annoys people like nothing else. Or if he's being a bastard. Or all of the above~
Log;

He really didn't understand what Ichigo's problem was.

Orihime was fine, well, affected by the plauge but in his hands far better off than not at all, and far better off than leaving her to shinigami medics. Or at least, that was his arguement. Especially given by how many were acting as if it was the real thing.

It was amusing him, this babysitting. He was glad it was originally Ulquiorra's job, sure, but for the time being taking care of Aizen's so called pet was interesting.

The Octava was surprisingly well prepared to handle visitors of this nature, too, and he set a plate of light foods down next to the bed he'd ordered her too when he'd noted the signs of the curse. He'd been kind, and for that, there should be no complaints. He'd allowed her to tell everyone she was alright though affected. She probably didn't even realize his little trick, how no reiatsu escaped these rooms he'd sequestered himself too, but that was merely a precaution he took all the time. Nothing personal, but he didn't want unwanted guests, ever.

He glanced apathetically at his self-given charge for a moment, uttered a low "eat," that left no room to argue, and left to refill the water glass.

Really. He was going out of his way with this plan. They should appreciate it.

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Pain.

Thick and excruciating, it was the only thing that was being recognized in the girl's mind. At the moment, it was the only thing that mattered to her; the only thing her body would acknowledge. She could have been anywhere, and it would have made no change. She would still have been riddled with this agony.

A girl named Tomo had told her it was a curse. In the deepest recesses of her psyche, she swore that curse was the perfect word for it..and that no other "Affliction" that hit the City preceeding this, or from hereafter could not truly be called a curse. It could only attain that status if it met or surpassed the torture of this day. All other things would just be labelled as an 'inconvienience'.

Her eyes flopped toward the sakura-haired man in the room with her, as he mouthed something. She tried to make out what it was, and after a long moment, her fever-addled brain was able to interpret his words, or rather word to her: "eat". Her eyes struggled, feeling as if they were floating painfully in her head, swimming toward the plate of food that was close to her. Part of her truly wanted to eat, so she could have a bit more energy to fight the sickness that pervaded her. But, she was unsure if she could even get a morsel past the fat sponge that her tongue had become due to the ailment, so it was mostly wishful thinking.

It was irritating to think of how many people he could play with, how many people were affected by this, could be dropping dead at that moment, but the Octava stilled the urge to play. He had Orihime.

It was his plan, his idea, his everything. And he would let a chance to cultivate information slide to have her in his merciless hands.

He could be kind.

He knew the symptoms, knew the cures. Knew the way to draw it out and let it linger. He knew a lot. He shared little.

The water glass was thrust into her hands with little concern to the way it spilled over the edge, splashed onto his fingers that found their way to her forehead. "Are you aware," quiet, so quiet, apathetic and dull, a dangerous voice to trust in, "that Cirucci is trying to insinuate that I would rape you?" That smile slipped out, the one that sent his underlings running out of the way, made Espada wonder what exactly his mind thought of. "But, pet," he hissed that word, not the ideal label for a subject like this but it worked, he gave Noitora that, "I'm going to take care of you."

It was something of a death sentence, the way Szayel Aporro said it.

In the haze of illness, the words were reaching her garbled, almost as if coming from the speakers of an old radio. But, for what she understood, it was not good what he was saying to her. She had heard the syllables that she had needed to..and they made her feel even more vulnerable than her current state already had.

Rape.

Pet.

She knew what the arrancar thought of her, and she knew how they felt about dealings of the carnal nature. Though she could not ward away the fright that began to well in her stomach, something in her was not truly surprised at this prospect being present, or the fact of how she was referred to.

Going to take care of you.. These words normally were meant to make someone feel comforted, and more at ease, but when he said it, they gave none of those sentiments. The cool water that was brushed across her forehead was the only absolute, the only good she felt.

He smirked, moved from her side to stand at the window.

She wouldn't die. He'd get what he wanted. Simple, simple.

Though he did have to question why she didn't attempt to heal herself. Was she really that weak? It only served to remind him why humans irritated him so. She was being pitiful.

He glanced over, eyes on hers. "You don't have to worry while you're here."

A hand was planted upon the bed, and pushed the woman's form up to a sitting position. It was like watching a ragdoll, the arms limp and floundering, the form bending over on itself, at an odd angle.

Said arm, shaking like a leaf, was reaching for the glass of water that had been left there. Sponge tongue or no, she wanted to try to drink it. There was no harm it could do, only help. In a drawn-out motion, fingers wrapped slowly around the glass, and the limb retracted, shuddering and weak, but finally bringing the clear liquid to her lips. She, though with difficulty, took a long draught from the glass, her mouth feeling better as the cool temperature passed through it.

"....I...know." She managed to force out, not looking at her 'caretaker'.

There was something to be said for watching her struggle to sit up, all without asking for his assistance. From fear or simply because she didn't want it, it didn't matter.

He'd never be Noitora.

"Then stop acting like I'm going to kill you. You're not a pawn piece." Chess. Mice. Bait. He stalked and hunted, had caught the first part of his prey. Now all that was left was keeping her long enough. "Shall I heal you?" Szayel Aporro smirked, stepped closer.

Her eyes, once again, widened at this. He could heal her? This prospect was golden...no matter who he was, he offered to take the affliction from her.

"...You would heal me...? If..you can, please.." The girl took his offer with no hesitation, throwing all cautionary gestures aside in favor of self-preservation.

At least she was smart enough not to refuse him. He stepped closer, closer, cat and mouse, smile still hovering and oh so dangerous. It was simply what he was.

He brought his hand back to her forehead, stared her down, eye to eye. "When you ask like that, I'll do anything." Smirked and brought his other hand up to pat her on the head, fingers brushing against the hairpin there briefly. "Now, let's see if we can't get you to cheer up. I'd hate for you to leave with bad memories."

The Octava's eyes were blank, and the smile faded into apathy, but he allowed his reiatsu to escape him, to reassure her. He didn't mention the things it would leave in her system, didn't mention that the main reason for this was to irritate the others. He just let his reiatsu do it's work.

She felt the power leak into her, spilling through her veins and filling her with a strange warmth. Her eyes closed against the new sensation, as she took a deep breath, the sickness subsiding to a degree. It surprised her; the fact of an Arrancar healing the plague that had stricken her form with unbelievable agonies.

She'd thought he would have found her plight amusing, not something to be pitied or aided. Her body relaxed, as the Arrancar's technique did its work, and the pain faded. Maybe she had been wrong to fear him; he had all the chances in the world to harm her, and he'd instead cured her of her ills. Feeling her body begin to give into the exhaustion it had gained from fighting the disease, her senses dulled, and slumber was fast upon her. Her last words to him were ones that most never thought would be said to an Arrancar.

"Thank you...for saving me."

She was so easy to work with. So easy to use and pull forward.

Thanks? Perfect, his checkmate against the others. Ulquiorra had taken a similar route, but the Octava was much more giving, much more than the fourth.

Fingers slipped one of her hairpins free, turned it around in his hand as he turned to walk away, leave her to rest. It was time to let her go back to the substitute.

Log; complete

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