"He is wounded," Ulquiorra said flatly to the soldier at his side.

Blood slowly soaked through the soldier's dressings. He wouldn't live long if a miracle didn't ensue soon. Unfortunately, their position was far from base, deep in the woods. Why the group strayed, only General Aizen knew. This was how he remained in control of his men, by keeping them ignorant. Now, he and Ulquiorra and Grimmjow were all that remained and a nylon tent was all that protected them on foreign soil.

Grimmjow attempted to fold his arms across his chest but the confines of his bandage were too tight. So he arrogantly stated, "I can see that. But what are we gonna fucking do about it?"

Outside the thin tent, a wolf cried to the full moon. The beast didn't frighten either man half as much as the threat of an enemy attack. They each had a knife and rifle. Their ammunition reserves emptied somewhere along the quest. If they found themselves surrounded, they would surely die. But all three men vowed to go out with a fight.

Aizen writhed momentarily, uncomfortable with the blood loss and the sing of the bullet still buried somewhere in his side. "There was a village not far from her," Ulquiorra began, "I'm sure someone must know of a doctor."

Grimmjow reached for his side knife to cut apart his dressings. He hastily lapped up the dripping blood with the dirty bandage and reached for new material. "I doubt anyone will want to help a man in a German uniform."

Ulquiorra didn't respond to this. He didn't intend to smile and ask for help. He intended to use all of his military training and cunning to get a doctor to help his fellow soldier, whether that person liked it or not. He solemnly pulled a lantern from the floor. Ulquiorra left the tent without as much as a goodbye.

General Aizen had been quiet since the attack on Grimmjow. Retreating from such a sporting fight wasn't in his nature, but in a small way, he felt responsible for the wellbeing of his troupes. He glanced down at his wounded soldier, fighting of the desire to call him pathetic. Grimmjow had been trained much better. Instead he lit another lantern and solemnly stated, "Ulquiorra will bring help. I'm sure of it. Remain calm, it will slow the bleeding."

Grimmjow knew he could sneer and make sarcastic quips at Ulquiorra but not with his commander. He nodded quietly, keeping the 'well that's fucking great' he had poised on his tongue lodged in the back of his throat, which was hard to say the least. At the moment, the reoccurring image of his attacker flashed in his mind over and over: the orange hair, the chocolate eyes, the enemy uniform, and the rifle in his hand that fired that damned bullet.

***

Orihime stoked the fire one last time before retiring to her room in her silk nightgown. It was a dry and cold night, but her wool blankets would be warm against her bare skin. She left the door across her room open as always. Someday, he would be home, and she didn't want his room growing drafty.

She carried a candle with a dying flame to her room at the end of the hall. She missed his voice, his laughter, his smile. She couldn't believe Ichigo had been at war for three months now. She hoped work would distract her, but nothing took her mind off his absence. They weren't lovers, but most of the villagers still frowned upon a young, unmarried woman living with a bachelor like Ichigo and his inconstant moods. Even in the year 1914, European small towns like this were narrow minded. But at least they were safe from the German army.

Orihime pressed her lips to her cross and wrapped it about her neck. With Ichigo gone, she didn't have much protection left on which to depend. She slipped into bed, chanting a silent prayer to her ceiling, requesting a blessing for Ichigo, the villagers, and all the children at the boarding school she nursed at.

She blew out the candle at her bedside and shut her eyes.

In her dreams, it was always the same. She was always on her front porch, knitting a throw blanket, when the soldiers came, carrying his badge with his name. They didn't say a word. They just left her there to mourn.

As she encased herself further in the warmth of her thick blanket, the sound of glass shattering pierced the night. Though her village did not fear a German invasion, she had reason to be frightened. With her only friend at war, Orihime knew better than to underestimate such a terrible force. She was no warrior. She could try to punch and scratch any attacker, but in the end, she knew she would be overcome. So she did the only thing she could think of.

Orihime pulled the cover past her head and remained as still as possible. She wasn't sure if there even was an intruder. It could have been a village kid playing too close to her house. Still, she could not risk herself. She had to stay alive for Ichigo. She had to stay alive for the children at the boarding school. She had to stay alive.

The footsteps leading from the broken glass in the kitchen entered the living room.

***

Ulquiorra treaded softly past the splinters of the window he smashed with the blunt end of his rifle. He crawled in, avoiding the shards, and gazed around the tiny kitchen before heading toward the living room. Ulquiorra wished he could remember a house like that, with hand painted tea cups and white cotton curtains and the smell of baked bread all around, although there was nothing in the oven.

In the living room, a fire roared in tiny wood stove. The furniture was quaint and well kept. By the door, two petite leather slippers sat in an even line by the mat. The shoes and the faint aroma of sweets and floral trinkets told Ulquiorra this house belonged to a woman. But if a woman was here, her keeper, her man, could not be far. Atop the chest behind the sofa was a photo of a soldier near a grand ship. It was black and white and already fading. Had the war raged on that long? It took a moment for Ulquiorra to register the face before him. It was the same soldier who shot his comrade. Maybe frightening his girl was a just revenge. He pulled the photo from the chest and brought it with him as he continued further into the house.

Ulquiorra fallowed the sent to a closed door at the end of the hall. He pressed his ear against the door. There were shoes at the door, there was bound to be an owner. Still, the room was silent…unless she was hiding.

Clever girl.

Without warning, he kicked in the door and yanked the blanket from the bed. The girl gathered herself quickly into a tight ball, gripping tightly to a charm about her neck. How quaint. He began to speak in German at her. She cringed at the sound of his voice. She obviously didn't understand his strange tongue. However, the girl perked at the word arzt, the German word for doctor.

She scurried to her closet to retrieve a black leather case. She pointed at the bag then at herself, screaming in broken German, "Arzt. Ich…brauche…einen arzt." She repeated again in English, "I-I-I'm a nurse."

Ulquiorra decided to speak in a common language to make the transaction go smoother. "This man," he pointed at the photo, "I have seen his eyes and I remember his face. If you do not come with me I sweat my army will have him picked apart piece by piece." Ulquiorra wasn't one to make empty threats, but he was desperate. Luckily, the orange haired soldier was useful leverage.

The young woman gripped her bag tightly and came to her feet. Her head dropped in cowering fear. She wise was not to tempt the German devil before her. Ulquiorra caught his own reflection in her wild grey eyes. He looked so animalistic with his black hair and icy eyes. He towered over her elf-like frame in height, but he was still only lithe muscle. He wasn't as bulky as General Aizen or Grimmjow. The woman could have done some serious damage if she tried hard enough especially since he hadn't had much food in the past week.

He headed for the door, expecting her to be close behind. He paused at the frame when he noticed she was still at the closet with her case. "Well, woman?"

"M-m-may I bring my coat?"

He nodded gruffly. He stopped again, but this time of his own accord. "A handkerchief, give it to me."

The young woman quickly snatched the one she kept in her brazier. It was highly unbecoming to reach in her nightgown in front of a gentleman, but given the circumstances, she figured manners could wait. Ulquiorra pulled the cloth from her hand and brought it to her face. He wasted no time in wrapping around her eyes and leading her out. If Aizen let her live past healing Grimmjow, Ulquiorra couldn't risk her knowing their location, which wasn't far from the village.

***

Orihime couldn't describe what she was thinking when she allowed herself to be the German's victim. All she knew was that if Ichigo's life was on the line, she would risk her own. A part of her wanted to challenge this svelte man in his enemy uniform, but if he had a weapon, she would fail. She guarded herself solely with her fur trimmed coat and cross. The only thing that truly irked her was that she didn't have time to dress. She had heard the cruelest and most grotesque stories of German soldiers snatching up village girls, having their way with them, and leaving them to die naked in the woods. She knew exactly what a starving man would think when he saw her voluptuous form in her thin gown.

Though she could not see a single thing through her black handkerchief, she felt for her buttons with her free hand and made sure they were fastened well past her protruding cleavage. Her other hand was gripped harshly by the intruder's slender fingers. He stopped her at the door, forcing her to put on her slippers and exit with him. She could hear the forest all around her. It wasn't safe to be out at night. Aside from the German beasts, wolves and bears were a constant threat. Every now and again an animal would sneak into the village and the men would hunt it down.

She subconsciously clung tighter to the German as he led her blindly through the woods. It surprised her a little that the man didn't shake her off after the disgusted face he made upon his first arrival. Still, if it wasn't for him, she would have fallen many a time. The woods were full of treacherous roots that grabbed at her tiny feet and pulled her down with gravity's help.

After what seemed like miles, the man stopped. He took a moment to debrief her on the situation, "Inside this tent are men who want nothing more to end your life. But you can help us yet. You want your man to live, yes?"

Orihime nodded and felt a tear gather in her eye. It was one thing to be faced by one German, but many? It finally occurred to her, she was in the belly of the beast. And there was no turning back now.

"Then you will do as we say." He untied the cloth and watched as she adjusted her eyes to the darkness of the woods and flame of his lantern.

"What of me?" she mumbled.

"That's not up to me," he replied.

"Is that you, Ulquiorra?" a man shouted in German through the tent.

Orihime could pick up some of the words but could definitely recognize a name at the end of the sentence. "Ulquiorra, is that your name?"

The dark man leered down at her, still with a disgusted sneer. "What of it?"

"Get in here, Ulquiorra, before I fucking bleed to death," the voice screamed screamed.

Orihime ignored the obvious pain of whoever was behind the tent door and glared at her kidnapper. "I will never forget your name, and you will pay for what you've done."

Ulquiorra brushed past her to open the tent door. Huddled inside were two more Germans: a grandiose man with auburn hair and a wounded man with wild steel blue hair. Her eyes immediately latched on his incredible wound. I'm sure any other woman would be pleased to see his appealing display of muscles, covered only by his bandages and uniform pants. But the nurse inside her only saw a poorly dressed wound in need of dire attention.

Orihime jumped when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She followed it to the face of the bigger of the men. He smiled in a sort of desperate way. It was obvious that he was in no hurry to kill her before she saved his man. "What is your name?" he asked in German.

"She doesn't speak German, sir," Ulquiorra offered.

"Oh that's fucking great, Ulquiorra, you brought us a fucking French whore, didn't you," the wounded man spat.

"Now, now, Grimmjow, we mustn't let our guest think that German soldiers are foul mouthed buffoons." Too late, she thought to herself. The man with his hand on her shoulder spoke only in English, a common language between them, from that point on. "What is your name?"

"…Orihime."

"I am General Aizen, the commander of what remains of this troupe. The man behind you is Ulquiorra, and this pathetic mess is Grimmjow. We're in debt to you for the time being. Now, we will excuse you as I'm not a too terribly enraptured by the sight of blood. If you desire anything, Ulquiorra will be just outside."

Orihime knelt down by Grimmjow's side and brought her face closer to the wound. It smelled infected already; she could tell by the rancid smell of blood and puss. "Do you have an alcohol?" she asked quietly. He motioned to his pack without a word. Orihime found a small bottle whiskey at the bottom. It was already half gone. She frowned at the sight of this. She wasn't sure if it would be enough to completely heal his wound. Her warm hands unraveled the soiled clothes and stared at the garish wound. "I have to extract the bullet. This will hurt."

Orihime opened her case and retrieved a plier-like tool. She pushed it through the gaping hole with a gross squish. The pair shuttered at the sound. She felt the tip of her pliers hit something hard. From here, she had to pry the handles slowly apart to get a good grip. As she did, Grimmjow screamed in agony. "French whore!" he yelped, slapping her hand away from her work.

She frowned up at him. On a better day, under better circumstances, she would find his chiseled face becoming. She would have reveled at the sight of his rugged jaw line and his piercing blue eyes. But for now, she was scared of his wrath and angered by his insolence. "This would go a lot smoother if you let me work."

"The only work a girl of your nature should be doing in your kneeling position, is wrapping your lips around my-" It was Orihime's turn to do some slapping. She wrenched her hand back and whipped it clear across Grimmjow's face. At this, he gripped her hand and looked her dead in the eye. "If you want to live after this simple game of doctor, I suggest you apologize."

Only if you apologize to me first, she thought. But she let her pride dim. She nodded at him and looked back at the wound. "I'm sorry," she mumbled. He let go of her hand, allowing her access again to his wound. With a quick pull, she retrieved the bullet, covered in blood, and blunt at one end. She dropped it on the ground before grabbing the whiskey. "You weren't saving this, were you?" He continued glaring at her work quietly. Grimmjoy didn't want to admit it, but he feared another slap from her tiny hand. They were small, but they stung like hell. Mercilessly, she doused the wound in liquor. Grimmjow cried again and again while she blew light puffs of air over the hole.

With the bullet gone, the wound oozed freely, spouting puddles and puddles of blood. But it didn't intimidate Orihimi in the least. The bullet was gone and antiseptic was on its way to seal it. She knew it was just flushing out bad blood. It made quite a mess and she was out of dressings. Annoyed that these so called soldiers were out so far without any supplies, Orihime removed her jacket and pressed it against the wound. In the corner of her eye, she could clearly see Grimmjow taking small peaks at her body.

Grimmjow couldn't help by noticed what lurked beneath her bulky coat that she was now using as a sponge. The white nightgown clung to her form exquisitely, especially around the more buxom areas of her chest. Grimmjow knew he was no gentleman, and if he wanted her he would have her, without the slightest protest from his fellow soldier or commander. She was the enemy and it was his job to destroy her.

Orihime pulled the jacket away and looked at the now empty wound. Now came the really painful part. Wielding a shiny silver needle and some stitching wire, she attacked the hole quickly. Grimmjow cried out, gripping the tarp on the floor tightly. Orihime did the only thing she could think of, she extending her free hand to the man, the way she would with a child, and said, "Squeeze as hard as you'd like. I don't mind." Without thinking, Grimmjow latched on and viced her tiny hand in his large palm. Admittedly, it did make him feel better. The needle in her hand drew back and forth, poking tiny wounds above his slowly closing injury. "Almost done."

Grimmjow was instantly relieved at this.

The pain was excruciating but he was more annoyed by the intoxicating scent of her. He had been without the company of a woman for months now, and his hunger still raged on. He knew he would have to resist this foreigner, but her sweet smell called to him, that at her feather-like touches. Granted, these touches were no caresses, but after hails of gunfire, he'd take anything. He was beginning to enjoy the warmth of her skin in his palm. Not to mention the perfect view of her chest was a welcome distraction from the piercing of his skin.

"There. I'm done." Orihime rose to her feet and wiped the crimson spots from her hand on her dress. "Don't worry. You don't have to say thanks."

Orihime turned to exit but stopped at the sound of Aizen's voice. "We are going for food. Remain with the girl until our return."

Orihime refused to wait around for their return, upon which she was sure she would be killed. She began to unzip the tent when Grimmjow grabbed her ankle, pulling her to him. "I'm not that incapacitated. I suggest you stay put until the General returns."

Orihime plopped onto the ground at his side, arms folded across her chest and pouting like a child. Grimmjow had strained to grasp her ankle, trying to return to his original position only stretched his stitches further. He grimaced. Orihime noticed him wincing and automatically went into nurse-mode again. It was hard to ignore someone in pain when her basic instinct was to heal. She placed a soothing hand over the stitches and calmly commanded, "Don't move. Your wound is still fresh."

Grimmjow rolled his eyes, "I don't take orders from a woman." He attempted to rise again, this time straining more. The stitches stretched, slicing into his newly forming scar. When the pain came again, "Place your hand over it again." She raised an eyebrow at him. "…Please," he mumbled reluctantly. "I hope you're not under the impression that if you are an aid to us we'll let you live." She pulled her hand away quickly. "…But it wouldn't hurt your chances."

Orihime placed a tentative hand on his forehead. She could see him struggling with more inner pains than he let on. "You have a fever. How long were you wandering with your injury?"

Grimmjow placed a hand on top of hers to keep her healing hand from moving. "Over a day." She didn't move. He could only assume she was assessing his situation. "Well, woman? How do you intend to make the pain subside?"

"I don't!" she cried. "I have mended your wound, as commanded by your general. You are German scum, and I will no longer be your slave."

Grimmjow continued the fight, trapping her hand the whole time. "Listen, any other woman in Germany would beg to be in your situation. I suggest you act more gracious, seeing as I have let you live this long."

"Well you're not in Germany-" Orihime hitched her words when she noticed a bead of sweat dropping from Grimmjow's temple. "German pig!"

"French whore!" Another drop formed on his forehead

"Evil of the earth!"

"Devil's pet!" Another drop rolled down his chin.

"You're the devil himself!"

Grimmjow let his knife insult next. He slipped the blade out and held it inches from her throat. "Choose your next words carefully."

She looked down at the blade then back at the perspiration building on his face. "I'm only trying to help," she said coldly.

"By insulting me?"

"You can sweat out an infection when no medication is available."

"Sweat?" Only two things could make Grimmjow really sweat: war and women and both were readily available to him. "You want to make me sweat?"

She noted the tone in his voice, feral. "Make yourself sweat."

Grimmjow took a moment to consult the angel and the devil on his shoulders. Unfortunately, the haloed one was unavailable, leaving him to seek the confidence of his inner demon. The woman took pity on him when he was in pain, and that was obvious. The second obvious thing was that his infection pained him. And since Grimmjow was all about self satisfaction, he concocted a delicious plan to help ease his pain.

He put on his best acting face and let out a wail of deep agony. "German pig!" she called.

"That's not working anymore!" That hadn't worked the way he had intended. He decided on baiting her slightly. "Heat. Make it hotter in her, woman," he commanded.

Her coat was still blood soaked. Orihime turned to the only resources she had left, her own two hands. With her free hand, she began stroking his shoulder roughly. She pulled the blanket he sat on out from under him and placed it over the two of them. With the coarse, military-issued blanket over the pair, Orihime continued her gestures, discovering his bare chest and arms. As she continued, she couldn't help but feel Grimmjow was getting closer. At first, she assumed it was due to his fever, as if he too longed for heat to heal him. This was until she felt something hard poking her stomach.

This man was truly despicable. But if he would use her to his advantage, surely she could do the same. Her hands ventured lower, avoiding his wound, but stopping short of his slacks. She looked him in the eye with the coldest stare she could muster. "I'll make you sweat yet, German pig." Her tiny fingers latched onto his zipper. Grimmjow's breathes were ragged. "On one condition…you free me."

Grimmjow considered his options. The girl was smarter than she looked. But was one night with a stranger work letting an enemy live. "I'll make you a deal, woman. If by morning I am cured, I will let you live."

"I can't assure that."

"I suppose you'll have to make me sweat hard then." It was a challenge, she wasn't ignorant. But if it meant survival, she didn't care anymore. She already felt like a traitor for stitching him up in the first place. Besides, as soon as she was free, she would have the entire Allied Forces tear apart the forests until the Germans were found. Without another word, she slid the zipper completely down and reached in. "You French girls are quick to cut to the chase. Even Germans enjoy a little foreplay."

She pulled her hand away and rolled her eyes. There was no pleasing this man. She straddled his hips and glared down at him with both fists on her hips. "Alright, German, just tell me what you want me to do!"

Grimmjow gripped her tightly by the hips. "You are not to call me by my name. You are not to look me in the eye. You are not to kiss me on the lips."

She pushed off the straps of her nightgown abruptly. "Well then, pig, shall we."