Morale was low in Hueco Mundo. The Winter War was lost and the regenerated Espada were in sour moods. Aizen couldn't help but notice. It was a dangerous place to be, with ten unhappy, well-armed and lethal-inclined Espada. A pep talk of monumental proportions was in order.

But who to give it?

Aizen sighed. He'd talked 'til he was blue in the face about their renewed efforts to fight down Soul Society, but no one – not even Wonderweiss, who went along with any suggestion programmed into his teensy little mind – was in any better spirits.

And the gods forbid that his Espada carry that attitude with them once they'd regained full power.

Aizen naturally glanced to Halibel sitting far down the long meeting table in the large conference room. She glared back at him. He had a good mind to let her out into the wilds of Hueco Mundo with Nnoitra in hopes that she'd calm down a little.

Then again, Aizen thought, he needed Nnoitra, and given Halibel's issues lately, she'd probably pulverize him into particles even Szayel couldn't find.

"~~~~~...ooo~~~~" Wonderweiss warbled from his stool beside him at the table.

Aizen looked to him – his finest work. What a dud.

But that wasn't what he said aloud.

"Thank you, Wonderweiss," he said, and then looked down the long table at the surely and tolerant faces studying him. "It's come to my attention that some of you are at less than peak processing capacity lately, and I want that rectified before we take on another battle."

Down the table, Nnoitra looked to Starrk. "Rectified. Rectified? That means something's wrong with my ass?"

"Yes," Halibel said curtly.

"While there probably is something wrong with your ass," Starrk said, "that's not what Aizen-sama meant."

Nnoitra nodded. "Oh. Then -"

"It means we have a situation that needs to be corrected," Aizen said dryly, not wanting to discuss the Espada Five's posterior. Wonderweiss slobbered a giggle. Aizen ignored him. "I know most of you are not at full strength right now-"

There was a collective murmur of angst.

"- so I'll excuse rank issues for the moment," he said.

A few groans and sighs escaped eight out of ten Espada.

"I'm bringing in someone to talk to each of you," Aizen continued. "Individually. Each of you needs a mental adjustment; Strength starts with a strong mind, so I want you to talk out any unresolved matters with someone who will listen and not judge."

Ulquiorra sat straighter, alert. "You're bringing back the Woman, Aizen-sama?"

Nnoitra snickered.

Ulquiorra gave him a sharp look.

"No." Aizen looked to each of them, avoiding Halibel, and then glanced back to Ulquiorra. "I've enlisted a specialist. Someone with training in the fields of psychology. These sessions will be confidential. Everyone will be required to go at least once. Some more than others."

Nnoitra glanced to Grimmjow. "Yeah, some of us could use a good talkin' to. Unresolved issues over losin'." He chuckled as Grimmjow gave him a growl. Nnoitra only grinned eerily. "Now that much I remember."

"Me, too?"

The all looked to the doorway behind Aizen where Luppi stood, looking freshly regenerated. Grimmjow muttered something that made Wonderweiss slobber more.

Aizen didn't look at Luppi because that would have required turning his back to Halibel for a split second and he'd been avoiding that lately.

"Yes, Luppi. You, too."

Grimmjow sent the former Sixth Espada a toxic glare.

Aizen stood. No one else did. He cleared his throat. Command was slipping. He rubbed his chest where the point of Gin's sword had left a grain of irritant. It itched.

"You're all expected to cooperate." His gaze settled on Halibel now. "That means you, too."

Nnoitra chuckled.

Halibel shot him a look. "Shut up."

A million thought-miles away in Seattle, Washington, Dr. Frasier Crane was wrapping up his radio talk show. He sat at his desk in the broadcast booth, smiling smugly as he hovered over the microphone.

"And so it is with a fond farewell for a few weeks that I bid you all good mental health," he said in his best Peabody Award winning voice. "Remember to listen to the show for my brother Dr. Niles Crane, who will be sitting in for me during this absence. Until then, dear listeners, until then, keep your spirits up."

He pushed the end button on his controls console and stripped off his headphones, looking to the window to the producer's booth where the show's amorous producer, Roz Doyle, was watching with less than her usual disinterest.

"That's a wrap," she said into the speaker to him.

"You know, Roz," Frasier said, collecting his papers, "this is the very opportunity my next book needs. Fresh material. Gets me out of Seattle and into a whole new realm of mental health treatment."

Roz rolled her eyes. "You don't even know what you're getting into, Frasier. All this Aizen guy's letter said was that he wants you to treat an assortment of maladies."

He smiled. "Sounds like a caring soul, to me."

Roz found the letter on her desk behind the glass. "'...want my army at peak performance before our next battle ...'" she read. She raised an eyebrow at him. "That's caring?"

"I think it's a military term he uses to rally his troops into fighting their issues," he said, smiling grandly and flicking off his console switches. "Sounds like a very concerned man."

"Or a cult leader."

He spared her a longsuffering look. "Be nice to Niles while I'm gone, Roz."

All Dr. Frasier Crane – noted radio psychiatrist – recalled of his trip to Hueco Mundo was that he had the severest case of jet lag in flight history. He was met in a Los Noches antechamber by Aizen himself, and Wonderweiss, who wore a heather gray t-shirt over his normal uniform that had the words I'm listening written in black letters.

"You're Dr. Frasier Crane?" Aizen said, not asked. "I see."

Frasier extended a hand, which Aizen just looked at. Frasier retracted the hand.

"I must say I'm honored you chose me to consult with your army," he said with a chuckle, smiling at Wonderweiss. "Although, one must admit, your invitation was quite vague." He looked around at the cavernous walls of the hall. "This is perhaps the largest institution I've ever treated in."

Aizen nodded. "Come with me."

Aizen led the Living psychiatrist down the echoing halls of the less damaged parts of Los Noches. Frasier walked at his side, glimpsing Wonderweiss.

"Is this one of your enrollees?" he asked.

Aizen looked to Wonderweiss, who was busy drooling, mouth agape. "He's the Hyogoku's finest accomplishment."

Some of the smile left Frasier's face. "I see ... Well, we all must begin somewhere."

They walked on for several long moments, Frasier impressed with the austere corridors and immensity of the compound, Aizen silently pleading with himself that the Espada would respond favorably to treatment.

"My, but this place is enormous," Frasier said three corridors later. "You must have some sound funding."

Aizen gave a nod.

"Your ranks – I think that's what you called them in your letter – are they open to counseling?"

Aizen felt the itch grow more intense in his chest. "We have assorted issues to attend, Doctor. Some of my top ranked will be opposed to counseling."

"Well, I've had obstinate patients before," Frasier said, nodding. "A good therapist can bring around the most recalcitrant of natures."

It was what Aizen wanted to hear. Kind of.

"So, you treat primarily ..." Frasier left off speaking as they passed an adjoining hall. Down it Ulquiorra and Yammy – who was much smaller than his steroid self had been during the War – were in discussion. Frasier stopped walking, frowning, trying to see better the Espada in the distant. "Are those the patients? My, but it appears ... you're treating ..." Words failed Frasier, which was a rarity. He looked to Aizen, and then Wonderweiss. "Bone-deformities?"

Aizen let it slide. "You could say that, Doctor. Come with me. I'll show you your quarters."

Frasier continued down the hall with Aizen and Wonderweiss. "I must say it looks like you have some extreme cases here. I understand why you call it a battle."

Wonderweiss drooled more at this. "~~~~...ooo~~~~"

"I see you got the t-shirt merchandising sent." Frasier smiled at him, eyes on the bone mask at the small Arrancar's head. "Brave child."

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