This is yet another Ulquiorra x Grimmjow story. Or Grimmjow X Ulquiorra. Whatever you want to look at it as.

The reason I'm writing all these angsty fics and ficlets is, as those of you will know if you have read a few of my stories, because one of my best friends was taken by the Lord a few days ago by cancer. Choriocarcinoma. Writing helps me feel better, so, yeah. Expect twelve more of these angsty fic/ficlets including this one.

I pulled off my latex gloves with a soft 'snap' and smiled kindly at the little girl whose cut I had just stitched up. She looked at me curiously, then smiled back. I usually got that kind of reaction from kids. I mean, it kind of takes you a while to get used to the scars I have on my face; the scars that I got from an abusive childhood. But it's still a smile, and it makes my day.

"So, dear, would you like a lollipop?"
She nods and I tell her to go out to the receptionist and ask for a lollipop and a sticker. "And tell her that Mr. Schiffer sent you."

She nods again, smiling larger now, and hops off the makeshift operating table. I turned to her father and said, "That will be a hundred bucks, up front, please."

He pulled out his wallet and fished out five twenties, handing them over gratefully. Now, people don't exactly like to part with their hard earned money, but this man, well, let's just say he cared very much for his precious little girl.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Schiffer, I don't know how to thank you enough," he said, wringing my hand up and down. "It was all an accident, you see. My dear little Kaori, I guess, got a finger in the garbage disposal while it was still running. At least it wasn't too serious and you were able to save her, to heal her."

"It wasn't exactly a life or death matter, Mr. Itou. Your little girl would have been perfectly fine either way. Oh, and by the way, you will need to come back in a week so that we can get the stitches removed. Those aren't the dissolvable kinds. I mean, removing stitches doesn't hurt, but we advise you to be here in the operating room with her while it's going on because kids just don't like it when you go at them with stuff."

"Alright then." He beams, shakes my hand one more time, and leaves the room.

I sigh, rubbing my left eye with a knuckle. It's 11 o'clock in the morning, and I've been working since the wee hours of the night. At least my shift will be over soon, and I can go home and get some rest until they call me back in.

This is what I do. I'm currently in medical training to become a plastic surgeon, you know, the people who do breast jobs and face lifts and fixing hare lips, that kind of stuff. The ER rotations are part of my clinical work, or residency. Basically, if you don't know what people like me do in the ER, basically, it's all about saving lives. Saving lives and saving people.

Alright, I'll admit that the hours aren't that great. You could be called in at any time to do anything, whether it be a small cut or a gunshot wound from gang violence. Well, alright, if it isn't your shift, you're only called in for really big things, like gunshots. Not small cuts.

Working in the ER is not actually as traumatizing as many people think it is. Yes, there is always a sense of pressure on you, a sense of knowing that your patient could die while you operate on them. But being an ER surgeon removes you from a lot of emotions, in a way. You can't cry when you're frustrated because you don't know what to do, you can't break down during a surgery when you know that your patient isn't going to live. You can't waste time mourning with the parents of a child who's died on the operating table. You just can't allow yourself to feel any of those emotions, because the more time you waste, the more lives go down the drain.

I have had people die when I was operating on them before, yes. A small child who was run over by a car. A rape victim. A suicidal patient brought in by friends. A man who had gotten into a barfight. And many more. Most of them have died while I was trying to save them, a few of them have died on the way to the ER, and I have also saved many of them. And am I sad? Yes. Yes I am. It's my job to save lives, and when I can't do it, yes, it's frustrating and saddening all at the same time. But it's not like I could waste time crying my eyes out in the bathroom. It's touch and go.

I guess that I get a certain high out of working from the ER. I actually enjoy it. I like the sense of knowing that it's always rush rush rush, that you don't have to be a perfectionist to work in the ER. I mean, your main goal is to save the patient's life. If you worry about whether this stitch is crooked or whatever, then you'll never make it in the ER. All you have to do is save their life. That's all. You can worry about consulting a plastic surgeon after you save them to fix their face or whatever. And I like knowing that I can save people; that I have some small modicum of control over what I do. It's invigorating and exhilarating.

But one night in the wee hours of the morning, there was a man. A man who kept coming back for the same fierce problems. And...I couldn't save him. Sure, you're probably thinking, 'Oh, he's like all the other ones, I'll bet.' But he wasn't. There was something about him. I don't know if it was his fighting personality, the way he tried to keep cheerful with his sarcastic sense of humor, I really don't know what it was that attracted me to him.

My name is Ulquiorra Schiffer, and I no longer have dreams of becoming a plastic surgeon. I have decided to remain on at the ER. Why, you ask? Because of the man I mentioned up above and because of how he changed my life. Let me tell you the story of a certain Mr. Grimmjow Jeagerjacques, and his brave and courageous struggle against testicular cancer.