That week, while he was still getting used to the burning on his back from where his proud gothic six used to rest, he hardly even spoke. Hour after hour he spent until his fist ached and the bandages that were tied tightly over the seared opening were soaked in sweat. Still, he carried on.
He was, after all, an arrancar. One-armed or not, he was still one of Aizen's best and strongest and he would. Aizen would regret his decision sooner or later. When he did, Grimmjow would be ready. He'd stretch an arm out, sometimes envisioning the little creep who had taken his seat at the Espada table from him, sometimes thinking of Tousen's self-satisfied face, sometimes even thinking about that goddamn shinigami whose fault this all was in the first place. It was then that Grimmjow would fire a cero blast, icy blue and full of the force. He'd imagine that burnt and missing chunk he had blasted out of the wall as one of their faces, the skin melting off into nothingness.
It felt good. It felt more than good.
It wasn't until seven days had passed when Grimmjow leaned against the wall, shutting his eyes for a few seconds that someone showed signs of notice of his presence at all. He breathed deep, the sweat that lined his forehead acting like a coolant as it caught the chill air of Aizen's desert fortress. The chill air didn't compare to the second sensation that came. Grimmjow's eyes shot open at the faint touch of his brother's hand on his and the fluid press of Ulquiorra's reiatsu. Grimmjow shrugged the hand away.
"Get offa me," he muttered. Ulquiorra's sorry face was the last one he wanted to see. It almost made him sick those blank eyes looking down at him. He could barely stand it when they were on 'equal' terms as Espada. Now, Ulquiorra was supposedly better than him and it made everything worse.
"You'd kill yourself over a mere shinigami?" Ulquiorra mused, green eyes searching out his face. It was obvious he didn't care what Grimmjow thought of his presence. He never had before. Now should not have been any different.
Grimmjow spat, looking away. He wanted to hit Ulquiorra. The little bug-eyed shit was just asking for it, staring at him like he was some freak. If Grimmjow could lift his arm, he'd do it. Wham, straight through the face.
He looked away, "None a' yer goddamn business. If you'd done yer job right the first time..."
"You'd have no drive outside of your pointless hatred of the shinigami. But, nevertheless," Ulquiorra's voice held an unleashed sigh, an aggravation long formed from what seemed all-to-long living and working with the blue-haired arrancar.
Pale hands ventured upwards. Ulquiorra did not bother to order or ask. He wedged the other's jaw open. Grimmjow gagged, jerking back until his head hit wall. He raised a weary arm in defense to block his mouth, "The hell are you doing!?"
Ulquiorra's look darkened just a hair in frustration with how Grimmjow was making this process all too much harder than it had to be. His eyes might not have lended any further explanation, but the order that followed was more than clear, "Put your arm down or I will snap it."
Grimmjow flexed his fingers, dark eyes following the other arrancar until slowly he lowered his arm. Ulquiorra never got this close to him without a damn good reason. Hell, Grimmjow couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the other arrancar so close to him. Ulquiorra didn't even spar with him, preferring to work alone or with his big, brainless pet arrancar, Yammy.
"What the hell are you doing?" Grimmjow repeated, lowering his voice to hiss out each syllable. Ulquiorra wasn't the conversational type, but even he didn't pull this kind of crap without at least some sort of explanation, even if it was a convoluted Ulquiorra type of one.
Ulquiorra shook his head, reaching down into the small jar he had with him, his other hand working Grimmjow's mouth open once again. He never spoke as he scooped out the clear, almost gelatinous goop from the canister. He pressed pale fingers against Grimmjow's lips, letting the jar's contents slip past them.
Grimmjow froze, for a minute disgusted at the feeling before he realized exactly what they were. It wasn't a taste they got often, but Grimmjow could recognize it. Ulquiorra was feeding him human souls. How the hell Ulquiorra had managed to get his hands on them, Grimmjow wasn't even sure he wanted to know.
Ulquiorra had no answers for Grimmjow, though. He held his silence well as he continued his slow movements, dipping out the clear gel of former humans and slipping it through Grimmjow's lips. At first Grimmjow swallowed, grudgingly and awkwardly, his suspicious eyes never leaving the other. The reiatsu was almost numbingly sour as it slipped past Grimmjow's lips and he let Ulquiorra do his job, whatever it was.
As much of a suck-up as Ulquiorra was, he didn't do anything that might interfere with Aizen's plans and, as much of an ass as Aizen could be, Grimmjow doubted Ulquiorra had any orders to kill him. Hell, Grimmjow doubted Ulquiorra would give him a coward's death like poisoning his food. If the other killed him, it wouldn't be through that. If Ulquiorra killed him, it would be humiliating and fast.
Ulquiorra's fingers paused on Grimmjow's lips at long last, the container at his side empty and Grimmjow turned his head aside. "Are you gonna explain now?" Grimmjow asked, swatting away Ulquiorra's fingers.
"Your reiatsu was weak. Instead of letting you kill yourself over human garbage, I ensured that you would still be alive," Ulquiorra rose, brushing his fingers off on his hakama, "Thanks is not required."
Grimmjow snorted, rolling his eyes as he wiped away the feeling of Ulquiorra's cold fingers from his lips, "I wouldn't have died. Can't starve to death, moron."
"At least I wasn't the one trying to," Ulquiorra shrugged, brushing out of the room, container in hand.
Grimmjow stared as the other left the room, shaking his head.