Not a songfic, but inspired by Secondhand Serenade's "Fall For You". Don't bother asking how.

I was born on December 25. You know, like the Christ child. And was that a good thing? Now, coming to look at it, no. I don't think it was a good thing that I was created on Christmas.

Okay, okay. If you want to get technical, I was "conceived" on December 1st. But I mean, come on? I don't believe in life at the start of conception.

In all honesty, I cannot say I remember what happened the exact day of my birth. I just remember a whole bunch of faces looking at me, and someone saying "Four" over and over again. And then a phrase that changed my life forever: "He's only secondhand compared to the Christ child."

I grew up believing in Jesus, needless to say. And it didn't really help how everybody looked at me all weird and stuff, like they thought I was going to randomly self explode or something. Nor did it help that Aizen and all the other higher ranked Arrancars told me how I wasn't better than Jesus.

I mean, okay. Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Yes, I believe that. And I do believe that he is stronger than me. Because if he hadn't been, then heck, I might as well have been God, right?

Anyway, there was a point in time when I was just feeling utterly full of self-pity and feeling suicidal because I was a disappointment, because I was only secondhand. It was Christmas Eve, the night right before my 21st birthday. Nobody would remember. I knew they wouldn't. Simply because they would be all too caught up in the Christmas spirit and celebrating the birth of the Christ child, and not of me. They'd be celebrating the birthday of somebody they didn't even have proof who existed, and yet they would ignore me. Why? I don't know. It's some Earth thing.

But that night, the night before my 21st birthday, he came up to me. His name was Grimmjow, and he was ranked sixth in the Espada. I mean, okay, I'd certainly have been glad for anybody to come up to me the night before my birthday when anybody else would have been out partying, but...well, I hadn't quite expected what happened next.

"Why are you sitting here all alone? It's very lonely without you." His comment rang through my room, like rocks rolling in a tumbler.
"That's a lie and we both know that. Nobody would care."

A silence then. And a sigh. A sigh that had tingles running through my body.

"I would care."

And it's shocking. I've never heard anybody say that to me before. The best thing anybody has ever said to me is ten times less than what these three words said. Volumes of unspoken affection, songs that couldn't be sung, but could be told. That was what he was giving me. And who was I to refuse?

He walked forward and sat down on the bed beside me. The mattress sagged, but just a little bit. And it wasn't like I cared anyway.

"Seriously, Ulquiorra. You kind of need to get out more."
"Why?"
"Because you need to have more fun. You're so serious all the time."
"Well, if everybody was like you, then there would be so many sadists in the world it wouldn't even be funny."

"See, that's what I mean! You can't even crack a fucking good joke without screwing up. You're so secondhand!"

There it is. That word again. Secondhand. And while I can understand that he's new, that he was only born a few days ago, it's still hurtful.

"MAYBE IF YOU WERE FUCKING SECONDHAND, THEN YOU WOULDN'T BOTHER TRYING TO IMPRESS OTHER PEOPLE, BECAUSE YOU'RE ONLY, OH YEAH! SECONDHAND!"

He doesn't flinch. In fact, it appeared as though he was amused by that.

"Well, well. Someone's a bit touchy."
"If you were secondhand to the Christ child, then you would be too." I snarl back, bristling a bit, but sitting back down anyway.

A blank stare. And then blue eyes flooded with recognition.

"Oh damn. You're that one dude who everybody says is secondhand to the Christ child, aren'tcha?"

"NO. I just spent a minute and a half yelling at you about it."

"Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a twist."

Then silence again. Just when it's getting awkward and I have the feeling that a gay baby is going to be born, he speaks again.

"Well, if it will make you feel any better, then I don't think you're secondhand."
"Psh. Well, you wouldn't. You're below me."
"Ya know, sometimes I guess you aren't really as smart as you think you are. Or as I thought you were, for that matter."
"What in the name of God do you mean?"

"Well, that's only one point of view. Yours. I mean, in all honesty, I would much rather be screwing some random guy right about now, but I've decided to come down here and talk to you. Why? I don't know. But now that I'm here, I may as well give you my point of view about this whole 'Secondhand' shit since it seems to bother you so much."

"You know what a serenade is, right?"
"Yes, Grimmjow. I'm not an idiot, as you appear to be."

He ignores that comment and continues. He's very nonresponsive to comments like that, I'll give him that.

"Well, a serenade is full of love and chaos and emotion and all that other mushy stuff that girls seem to like, right?"
"So what?"
"So the second serenade would be full of hate and tears and crying, because the guy will have broken up with the girl or vice versa. Or the guy broke up with the guy, if you swing that way."

"Both serenades are just as equally important, only they're total opposites. I mean, hell, maybe you'd even be just as powerful as Jesus Christ, except you're the second one. Ya know, the second Jesus or something, only underground."

"I have no idea where you're going with this."

"Oh, for the love of fucking and all things good, you really are dense. What I am TRYING to get through your thick head is that you're still just as important! You don't have to be fucking secondhand! And hell, if you WANT me to nail you up to two pieces of wood, then by God, I will do it. Just so you can feel like fucking Jesus. And because, apparently, I'm a 'sadist.'"

And then he stands up, and walks toward the door. I want to reach out and tell him to stay, but I don't. At the door he stops, and in a much softer voice he says, his hand on the knob,

"The secondhand serenade is not any less important than the first. The only reason it's secondhand is because nobody wants to listen to it. But, in all honesty, a secondhand serenade is just made up from all the stuff that's left over from the first. It's the same thing, just cast in a different light."

And leaves me there, sitting on the bed, and I feel...well, as close to loved as I've ever been.

So, Merry Christmas.

Merry Christmas.