Title: Winning His Heart (Working Title)
Disclaimer: I don't own bleach. I disclaim all rights. I don't own the characters, either. I'm merely borrowing them for my fan-fiction.
Fanfic Author: xancrish
Rating: PG-13 (for now).
Pairing: Ichigo/Grimmjow
Genre: AU, Slash, Romance
Warnings: A little blood, possible dark themes, cheating.
Summary: Kurosaki Ichigo is the young CEO of one of the leading conglomerates in Japan. He is smart, talented and spirited, leading a contented life and surrounded by love of his family and friends. Engaged at twenty-two, to the very much sought after doctor, Inoue Orihime, he was a man envied by many. So what happens when the seemingly clean sheet life of the young Kurosaki is ransacked by the appearance of a blue-haired foreigner, one Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez?

The long arm of the analog clock ticked by and the short arm followed, slowly but steadily. With each hour passing, the shadows inside the large, airy room loomed over the occupant heavier and heavier. It was five, an hour after the promised time. Then, it was six and the sun was starting to hide behind the tall towers that could be seen through the floor-length window. Seven and lights that seemed like different colored fireflies decorated the darkening city; eight and a million heads could be seen swarming the roads, returning home from work; nine, ten, eleven – the mass thinned leaving behind them a white fog in the cold night. Twelve, one….two….everything was silent.

A sharp noise woke her up from the fitful sleep she had fallen into. It took her a moment to realize what had caused the noise, and a small thrill went through her body. She pushed herself up from the white lounge settee, where she had been waiting the entire evening and rushed towards the front door. Her heart beat louder than the ticking reminder of the late hour, and her breathe was labored, as if she had run a mile. Her sweat made the door knob slippery, and the lack of sleep made her a little disoriented, but she managed to open the door, her mind slowly registering what she was seeing on the other side.

Orihime covered her mouth, before a scream could escape her. She didn't dare utter a sound, scared that hearing her own voice might make the nightmare more real. She wondered whether she had known all along that something was off, and realized that yes, she had, but not to this extent.

An orange haired man stood there in the threshold, barely illuminated by the ceiling light. His arm was around an unfamiliar tall man, supporting his seemingly limp body. The former's eyes were barely open, glazed and without emotion, though his hands were outstretched as if screaming silently for help. The worst part was yet to come. Both the men were covered in red, from head to toe, their clothes ripped, body scared and bones in odd angles.

Orihime moved into motion feeling like she had been knocked over by some invisible force. She grabbed the limp man's other arm, heaving with all the energy she could muster and pulling him along inside the house. When she had settled him on the same settee she had been obliviously sleeping on, she rushed towards the other man, and held him upright when he tripped on his own legs. She couldn't really tell the extent of damage on his body, but she felt the pain the man felt, just by looking at his glazed brown eyes. She had no time to wonder what had happened to get him in this situation, or who his company was. For if she let her mind loose, she feared the horrendous conclusions she might come to, and panicking was not an option at the moment.

She guided the orange-haired man to bathroom and settled him on top a stool, and rested his head on the wall, who by that time had lost consciousness. With the light switched on, her eyes fell on the bloody gash on his forehead, and she winced, involuntarily. Her hand quivered as she reached out to push the rebellious bangs out of the way. She undressed him, hands working with practiced precision, and she discovered more and more of the cause for the man's pain. His right wrist was hanging limp suggesting a radius fracture; his torso, covered in severe lacerations, gashes in the abdomen and left thigh, and twisted left foot - physical attack, or impact. Whether or not he had a concussion could only be confirmed after she could clean and dress him enough to take him to the hospital.

She wetted a fluff cloth and moved to dab the head wound, when a strong arm grabbed her wrist. She jerked in surprise, but calmed a second later when her eyes fell the now wide-awake brown ones. The man coughed, removing his hand to cover his mouth, and a little blood dripped through in between his fingers. When she brought a hand to wipe the blood away, he once again rejected help. She didn't understand, so she just stared, standing froze, her mind slowing with the inability to do anything useful. As the man gazed back at her with his fiery eyes, Orihime remembered who exactly this man was to her. She felt as if she were waking up from a dream. Dark emotions seeped through her and her hands trembled as she brought them around the others shoulders, unbidden wetness dripping down her face.

Not an instant passed by and she was harshly pushed away with a strength that came as a surprise to her. The man sat hunched, his one good hand holding her shoulder away, looking at her with determined eyes. She wondered where he got it from - the energy to go on after all the injury he had taken, to which she wouldn't get the answer for a long time to come.

"No," he said, finally. His voice was a shadow of what it had once been, husky and broken. "No," he repeated, "G-go."

"Wh-what are you saying?" said Orihime, lips trembling with emotion, "Why don't you let me treat you?" She couldn't stand this standoffish act a minute longer. She hated being helpless.

"Grim-," he coughed again, and once again, Orihime stood helpless, hand outstretched but unable to do anything. "Grimmjow. That man. Help him. First." Each word was said with a pause in between them, indicated the effort it took to utter them.

"No," she shook her head, adamantly, "He can wait. I can't leave you like this." More tears dripped down her face. How could he ask something like that of her? How could she leave him, when her, her– when he was suffering? "I will finish heal you quickly. Clean and dress the wound, call the ambulance and – "

"No!," he shouted, glaring at her in obvious outrage. "Help him!"

She wiped away the betraying tears, urgently.

"I will call Urahara Sensei. He will be able to treat him better than me. Now let me just see those wounds." She was pleading now.

"No. No. You," he voice sounded somehow stronger, and she discovered the stubbornness in them, "Don't call. No one. Else. To know. You. Help."

Orihime clenched her hands, fingers digging into her own flesh, painfully. She sensed that the man was not going to give in. For whatsoever reason, he wanted her and her alone to take care of the tall, blue haired-man who was presently sprawled over in her living room, and Orihime could do nothing but consent to it, if she were to the stubborn man at all.

"But, Ichigo-kun – " she made one last attempt.

"Go!"

She left abruptly, confusion and desperation swirling in her as she let the man she loved to suffer, while going on to help someone she didn't even know. Her eyes fell on the blue-haired, languid figure. Grimmjow, was it? She couldn't stop the feelings of contempt that spread through her.