Chapter Three

"Are we there yet?" asks Ulquiorra, for the sixth time. He gazes up at me with his gloomy green eyes, and I feel like sending him to outer space with an impressive kick. It doesn't matter if my energy is entirely expended with that swift action, but it matters a lot if he continues to bug me with his presence.

"Soon."

"I see," says Ulquiorra, flatly, and off he goes like the launching of a satellite, and then returns after completing a minor orbit around us and making a guest appearance at the far end of the clouds. I wish the clouds are alive. They can then gobble him up, and I'm not being evil here. The clouds are cushy, wispy little bits of water vapor and he can sleep peacefully on them or in them – it doesn't bother me of course, and I'd be at last free of kids who stick onto me like super glue. And I mean the incredibly strong ones.

"Are we there yet?" Ulquiorra finds the unnerving need to open his mouth to highlight his fear of being overlooked due to his size. To describe him as bothersome is like describing an open heart surgery as a mere laceration on the knee.

"Fuc-" I yell, and my verbal outburst is cut short by six pairs of eyeballs and a pair of glinting spectacles shooting my way. Said eloquent display then ends up as a lame finish:

"Fuchsia!"

Spouting a near vulgarity in such an incorrect and sprightly vibe makes me feel like I've just spun the Wheel of Fortune. My rendition of 'Fuchsia!' bears the ghostly ring of 'Big Money! Big Money!'.

"Fuchsia?" Inoue looks dazed.

I nod dumbly. "Fuchsia."

"What fuchsia?" she peers at me with doe eyes. I hurriedly look away – I have an ill omen about this.

"Fuchsia is pronounced as fyew-sha, not fuch-sha," Ulquiorra corrects our mispronunciation, and generally looking every bit the pompously tiny asshole he currently is. "Fyew-sha. Fyew-sha."

We then lapse into a tedious bout of silence.

…

Halfway during our journey to a place of some godforbidden distance, Ishida decides to have a soliloquy on my poor perception of time and space, before launching into an excruciating showing of disdain for my misadventures, and then contempt for himself, for recklessly tagging along in this 'dangerous wave of pines and thorns'. He gazes upon the bland, black rice sack Ulquiorra is dressed in, and laments:

"All I've ever wanted to be is a designer for children's wear."

It ain't much, but least I now know which potential name to strike off when faced with the inevitable decision to purchase clothes for tots.

…

Because we're all stifling yawns while flashing away at great speeds (the tiny piece and me), or strolling along at a leisurely pace (Inoue and Ishida), or backtracking to make sure everyone remains as a proper group of four and no one is suddenly taken away by tiny piece's kind (me), or impetuously winding my bones down with stupid, paralyzing knocks (that dastardly tiny piece), I decide to go on the offensive.

"Oi, brat."

Ulquiorra responds by staring me down from where he stands, which is rather amusing, because he only reaches up to my mid-thighs. "What is it, Kurosaki?" he asks. On top of that his imperious tone makes everything develop a magnified tinge of humor.

"How old are you?" I quirk a skeptical brow. "As in, really."

Inoue and Ishida lean in at the same time – I've asked the question everybody wants to know.

"I bet he's four," Ishida whispers in true conspiratorial fashion. I haven't a clue who he's conspiring with and against. Poor man's an island.

Inoue seems perturbed for a second. "He's a baby. He's an infant!"

Ulquiorra glares at Inoue, silencing her, then back at me. His index finger jolts out.

"You're one?!" I shout in disbelief. "Impossible."

Ulquiorra then holds up his middle finger. It resembles a sausage, all chubby and short.

"Two...?!" It is Ishida's turn to shout. "Oh...well...mayb-"

Ulquiorra raises his sausag-I mean ring finger.

"Three then?" Inoue giggles. "Three months old?"

Ulquiorra then holds up his pinky too.

"Four!" Ishida is ecstatic. I think he's crazy in a sensible and maddeningly mathematical kind of way, and by that I mean he's really a closeted nutcase, but dare not say so. It's obvious though. That guy probably carries with him a stack of poisonous needles everywhere he goes. Those deep pockets of his gloriously white outfit aren't there to look pretty. The spectacles are there to fool everyone. "Four years old!"

Ulquiorra shakes his small head. "No."

"No?" Ishida is bewildered. "You raised four fingers."

"I saw that too," Inoue joins in.

"Yes, but no," Ulquiorra mutters cryptically, and lowers his hand. He wants to stuff it into a pocket but Ishida hasn't enough threads on him to sew them.

"Then?" I can't resist the opportunity to pounce on the depressed looking kid, and chuckle outright when his round shoulders jerk in astonishment. His face however, delivers the calmness of an ocean.

"I'm four hundred years old."

We lapse into another tedious bout of silence.

…

"Well," Inoue clears her throat, flinching at the actuality of her reacting first. "That's...erm, that's erm, that's erm-"

If that isn't some awkward sense of co-ordination I don't know what is.

"Old," Ishida kindly finishes for her.

Inoue bobs her head frigidly. "Yes. Old."

…

"So..." Ulquiorra the Old Hollow begins. He makes me regret not bringing a huge roll of duct tape from home. "Are we there yet?"

"Shut up."

"Honestly, Kurosaki, this is taking a long time," Ishida blurts out. "Are you sure you're heading in the correct direction?"

"Why don't you take control then, bloody Quincy?" I snap. Hooray for me! Abstain from placing the blame upon my shoulders; I'm fine, thank you. I simply am having one of those 'moments'. Those rare moments where I feel thoroughly unhappy with the world, and coursing through my bloodstream is everything save for pleasantries and patience and goodwill. They are exterminated by both the bile and spleen. Nothing augurs well. I'm just another moody adolescent stranded in my angsty world. Nobody understands.

"It's alright, Kurosaki-kun," says Inoue, soothingly. "We understand. Nobody's rushing."

"We have to quickly return to them!" I bellow. "We have to assist in the fight, one way or another. You know what that sadistic magician can do! Besides, Renji, Rukia and Chad are still in Hueco Mundo. And I honestly wonder what on earth made me walk away from that place with this..." I look askance at Ulquiorra, who is hopelessly lost in his tiny world. "This...kid."

"You're in no condition to fight, obviously," Ishida chides, and takes stock of my physical being. I'm knackered and scarred and bloodied and newly bruised, courtesy of a green eyed midget. "Two battles in one go. What more could you ask for? You intruding into the next one would only cause more damage, and by that I mean onto yourself."

To say I'm manipulative is going overboard, but I do know when to make full use of a remark made in my favor. "What else can I do? And we all know Aizen is one nasty sonofabitch."

"Aizen..." Ulquiorra mutters in a childish lilt. "Nasty sonofabitch."

Inoue and Ishida are mortified at the tiny piece's impressionable nature. I am slightly proud of him. He has come miles and depths since several hours ago; from a slave boy to a rebellious toddler. He has truly grown up. He has truly shrunk. He has every ounce of my support to stage a rebellion in Hueco Mundo. Down with Aizen! Down! An uprising is in the works, y'all! Rise up and take the power back you damn retarded Hollows! Make Aizen have a heart attack when he gets back!

"Stop cussing, Kurosaki!" Ishida whispers at a volume just right for Aizen and his cronies to hear him from wherever they are. "Can't you see he's copying your speech? And bits of ours! And why are you laughing to yourself?"

"Am I?" I hastily wipe away the wily smile on my face; I'm supposed to be fierce and moody. A man on a mission to cure the world of a disease named Aizen. "And may I inquire when has sonofabitch become a bad word? Bitch might be, but it also means a female dog, in case you are too much of a prude, Four Eyes!"

"You're teaching him all the wrong things, Kurosaki-kun," says Inoue, disappointed.

"Bitch," Ulquiorra mutters, to Inoue's further horror amid a stringent exhibition of unhappiness. "Aizen...nasty sonofabitch...Fyew-sha...Fuch-sha..."

What can I say? The kid, despite being painstakingly irritating, is a fast learner of unorthodox speech. Thus I shrug nonchalantly. "It's hardly my fault if he opts to screen my every move and syllable, then pick out the best of the lot and parrot them. And he's bright, and already has a keen sense of justice. Can't you see? He is associating Aizen, his previous Lord whom he was most faithful to, with a derogatory term. His mindset is changing. Maybe we can have him switch sides. He's a lovely bulldozer."

"Damn it, Kurosaki, can't you ever be serious?"

"No."

"Fuch-sha..."

"Shut up, brat."

…

"Kurosaki," Ulquiorra states plainly. The knowledge that he still is as engaging as ever is very comforting.

"Hmm...?"

"...are we there yet?"

…

It is after a tiresome sequence of righteous bantering and childish acts of violence and inhumane comprehension of self-restrain that we are finally about to reach Soul Society. My endurance is pretty much at its end now, and if you think I'm weak and running low on fuel just because, think again. Try having to avoid a flying bullet targeted at your legs every now and then, then a woman squealing at the bullet's adorableness and berating you for tarnishing these immense moments, then proceeding to stare into your recesses with some limpid sort of, I don't know, affection maybe, and then, figuring out the correct direction to the West Gate. It isn't that difficult, save for the lack of markings one normally finds on the black granite roads on land. Sometimes I think I can pass for a pilot, if only huge vultures would stay away from my plane and send it swooping down.

"Why the West Gate? The South Gate is nearer," asks Ishida, him holding the rightful authority on directions.

"Oh Ulquiorra, don't run around so much!" Inoue joins in from the background, then takes to chasing the ill-mannered, speed monster of an Ulquiorra Schiffer, downsized version.

"Why do you bother asking? We're reaching anyway," I frown, and the happy frown takes up permanency on my face, as we watch Inoue stumble over her own feet and fall while hopelessly attempting to catch up with the Sonido prodigy. I feel ashamed when I pause in my tracks to watch the devastating scene happen again and again. It's a shameless kind of shame. It's like watching a truck crash into a motorbike from the opposite side of the road. I'm sure Ishida is too; he wants to intervene but doesn't. I suppose we're all guilty of the same thing.

"Are we there yet?" the tiny brat brakes himself, and stops short of slamming into my head with his sudden arrival. He sure is lucky that I'm as fit as they come. Inoue isn't as fortunate. She falls onto Ishida, who, weirdly, and I probably have to attach a greater importance to it because he really is looking weirdly flustered as he grips her arms to prevent them from colliding into each other. Aha. We may be onto something new here.

"Are we there yet?" Ulquiorra demands, and emphasizes his impatience by enlarging his green orbs. It makes his eyes pop from the sockets, and that's scary. "Are we there yet?"

"Yes. Soon," I hiss. "Stop asking me that. Aren't you tired of repeating yourself? It is the twentieth time!"

"It's only the tenth time," Ulquiorra says, and mirrors my body language of arms folded and even frowns a little. Once again he has proved his hand at compiling simple statistics, and once more I have demonstrated how inept I can be at tabulating scores when exhausted. "That means I have ten more tries before I reach your anointed quota, Kurosaki."

"Fuc-"

"Don't say that word!" Ishida warns. "He's only four-

"Fuc-!"

"-hundred years old," Ishida concedes. He looks resigned. I am resigned to my fate.

"Fyew-sha?" Ulquiorra asks, his huge green eyes shiny. "Fyew-sha. Fuch-sha. Aizen. Sonofabit-"

"Just...please, just," I raise both knuckles to my temples and rub them. "Just...shut up. Or go away. Or go bother someone else. Like Inoue. Or Ishida! He's very, very good at counting. He's so good at it that he hates himself."

Ishida promptly throws me a pointed glare.

"You're better, Kurosaki," Ulquiorra states, his earnest gaze fixed on mine. I have to admit I'm surprised at the offhanded approbation. Oh, the brat! Should I pat him on the back?

"Nah," I try to sound modest and wave his remarks away, "not as excellent as you. Although a computer could probably win us both with utmost ease."

He returns my comment with a look that can only be best described as...happy? Is it alright if I think of his imperceptibly upturned corners of the mouth as displaying happiness? The crinkled folds that melt into one another as his round green eyes narrow barely, and his serious charcoal brows seem to lose their tormenting knot. The dwarf of a glimmer that simpers about him. Sheesh. All the tell-tale signs of discreet happiness, if anything.

…

Never before have I been as glad to have the White Way Gate viewed in its entire stretch, and beyond the humongous door lies Seireitei. I surmise we could obtain more useful information here, and have everyone enjoy a safe and brief respite before charging off to wherever instincts take us. With any luck, someone might offer surrogacy services for this kiddy escapee from Las Noches.

"Are we there yet?" asks the pipsqueak hobbling about in a rice sack. If I send my knuckles plummeting down on his head would he revert to his original self? Although quite a threatening outcome, it is almost gratifying. Suppose he won't act like a goddamn loser of a kid anymore. Suppose I won't end up growing accustomed to his tiny presence. "Are we ther-"

"Yeah," I affirm, fatigued. "Damn we're finally here. Another word from you and I'm sending you to Division 12 to be dissected, understand?"

Holding immunity to all words and intonations used, Ulquiorra doesn't budge an inch, and continues to use his magnificent eyeballing powers to return my threat. Some nerves of steel, huh. I decide to temporarily ignore him, and move on to matters of paramount significance, such as:

"Report on the distance covered please."

"What do you take me for?" Ishida questions with iron-like undertones in his voice. "A fuel mileage meter?"

"Let's go in!" Inoue says happily. "Let's go-what are you doing, Kurosaki-kun?"

I grab the lower ends of my black hakama, and tear off a sizable portion. "Making a veil."

"Whatever for? You're getting stranger by the minute," comments Ishida, disturbed by the brutish manner I employ in his favored craft. "We should check you in at the Fourth Division as soon as possible."

"Right," I smirk proudly. "Wait till we get this tiny runt into Seireitei first."

"Why didn't I think of that in the first place?" Inoue pounds a fist into her palm, an indication of her mind shifting gears. "Will they refuse him entry? But he looks normal now."

"Refuse him entry? Inoue-san, that's taking things lightly. They're going to have him locked up," Ishida chirps. "And examined from head to toe. Oh no."

And I can't believe my ears. Are we about to launch into a debate whether it was the correct decision to have him brought here in the first place? Whether it was alright to jump into a hole, then look upward in hindsight and blame the hole for being there?

"So you're basically insinuating that I suffered all these incessant knocks just to have him put behind bars?" I say to furiously shaking heads, and beckon Ulquiorra to come over. "Don't you dare use your speed before that giant guarding the gate, understand? Just be normal. Just walk. And don't stare."

Ulquiorra totters toward me on his short, stumpy legs; he really is obedient when he wants to.

"What are you up to?" Ishida isn't too convinced. "Now, don't be silly."

"Silly? I'm not the one who's looking silly," I laugh silently, and place the piece of black cloth on Ulquiorra's head. It is wide and long enough to cover his tiny head. "Make sure the cloth stays on your head the whole time, understand?"

The veiled Ulquiorra only nods, and from behind the opaque cloth I can picture him glaring scathingly at me, as though I have stolen his candy from the candyman, and in an eerie bout of causative thinking it is true. By the indivisible power of Schiffer's Law, I have after all, nicked the now child-like Espada from Aizen the activist of all things bad and none good. It is amazing how someone can be as evil as him. He is capable of rewriting spiritual history independently. Heck that, he deserves an entire library of textbooks to his name. He makes historians delighted and excited by his presence. He fools young, naïve girls like spitting seeds from an orange. You can't get anymore badass than that.

"I'm doing this for your own good, twerp," I say sternly, then turn to the side and cackle. He has successfully transformed from a half-bodied rice sack to a 20 kg sack of rice.

With that, we begin to advance toward the West Gate, three humans and a veiled little Arrancar in tow.

…

"Ichigo! Is that you?" Jidanbou calls out from some hefty meters away. I am forced to remember his cries from months ago, when I defeated him to have the gate opened. They were like a siren that never ceased. So much for depicting a colossal portrayal of 'all brawn and no brains'. "You humans! You humans!" he cries, and swings his axes in the air wildly.

I wave a hand. "Yo! We're back!" Inoue and Ishida wave theirs too. Ulquiorra looks set to wave as well, but I forbid him.

"Hold onto your veil, brat!" I whisper sharply, poking him in the sides (finally!).

"What brings you here today, humans?" Jidanbou asks. I can't stop comparing his size to Ulquiorra's. It sends tingles down my tummy. "You look to be in bad shape, Ichigo!"

Ditto. "Same goes to you," I say, and attempt to block him from scrutinizing the veiled tiny piece beside me.

Meanwhile, Jidanbou is on the verge of an epic breakdown. "Me too? But I thought I cleaned up good."

"Uh..." I stammer.

Ishida glances fiercely at me. "Say something to appease him!"

"Inoue?" I beg her for help, and really should learn to hold my tongue the next time, especially in front of this sensitive giant.

"Kurosaki-kun?" she responds in a trance-like state. "What is it?"

Christ!

"Uh, you did. Good job. Very good job," I say in pacification, and clumsily pat Jidanbou on his thick shin. "Can you let us in?"

Jidanbou smiles a diffident smile at my friendly gesture, then answers,

"No. Why?"

Already I feel the walls of endless doom creeping up on me and caving in on me. I chose the West Gate because I figured we'd all be familiar with one another, hence the leniency in gaining us entry to Seireitei. And then he goes on and dismisses it with a simple 'No'. A 'No'! What am I supposed to do now? Engage him in another fight? Though it would take only seconds but I am dangerously succumbing to instantaneous unconsciousness anytime, anywhere.

"Because..."

"Because..." Inoue adds.

"No need for because!" Jidanbou laughs deafeningly, and his spacious chest heaves up and down like dancing tremors. "I was only having you on! Ichigo, you are as cute as your name!"

Really, is there a need to do that?

"You mean you'll let us through? Without defeating you or any of that stuff?"

"Yeah," Jidanbou nods like a swinging pendulum, his long sideburns tied up in pony-tail tufts sway along in tandem. "No matter what the folks inside may say, you humans are good. And you!" he looks at Inoue with gratitude. "Treat it as a form of payback for stitching my arm back then."

Inoue blushes. "You're welcome."

Said giant then turns to the gate behind him, and with a ferocious roar unheard since Heaven and Earth were separated at birth, he yells:

"Heave-ho!" Deep breath. "Heave-ho!" Another deep breath. "Heaaaaaaaave-ho!" And up goes the gate.

"Run along, humans!" Jidanbou urges us on like a Shepard with a wood staff to hit our asses if we stray away from the herd. "Run along!"

"Come!" I grab Ulquiorra's soft hand and pull him into action, running past Jidanbou and through the gateway alongside Inoue and Ishida.

"Wait, Ichigo!" Jidanbou stops me, and points at the veiled brat. "What's this?"

Three lively hearts freeze at once, excluding Ulquiorra's. I'm fairly sure he lacks one.

"What do you think?" I spin around slowly, taking my time to deliberate for a perfect, foolproof reply.

Jidanbou continues to eye Ulquiorra suspiciously. "You smuggling something in?"

"Yep."

Two inert hearts forget to beat.

"Ooh!" Jidanbou winks surreptitiously. "May I know what?"

Often in ludicrous situations such as this, when you conjure a lie big enough, people will believe it. Lesson taken from Aizen. And when the lie itself is completely out of hand, people will think you're witty and snarky and honest. And when you tell the truth, which isn't a legal kind of truth, they don't bother to censor your words anymore.

It's either do or die trying. "I'm smuggling Arrancars."

We slip into an exorbitant period of uncomfortable silence.

"Ichigo!" Jidanbou says cheerfully, and we release the choking breaths held back by nervous anticipation. "You really are as cute as your name!"

…

A/N: Is it me or are canonical fics tougher to write? I wish to adhere closely to the main plot but ughh sometimes I forget what the other details are. Growl. I tend to jumble up the sequence which events happened. Thank god for Bleach Wikia, lol. Thanks for reading too. Lately it seems my writing is rolling down the hill.