Grimmjow paced through the halls with an angry scowl on his face. That goddamn dream was running through his head, and he didn't know why. It was just a fucking dream! Dreams shouldn't bother him. He was the king! It was driving him crazy, and he hated it. So, naturally, he was looking for a fight. He wanted to beat something to a pulp, to pack all his anger and sleep deprivation into his fists and punch it into whatever he could find just to get rid of it. The idea itself made him grin maniacally.

But his murderous aura had all the weaker arrancar dodging behind doors or ducking into dark corners. None of them were stupid enough to come close, and he wasn't in the mood to chase them down. The weaker Espada were out of the running as per Aizen's orders, and the stronger ones would kill him dead. Although being dead sounded preferable to having to babysit Ulquiorra.

Ulquiorra! Aw, Grimmjow was a fucking genius. Ulquiorra was the center of all his frustrations anyway, and he was weak as shit now. And he had a legitimate excuse. He'd sent Ulquiorra down to the forge every day for two weeks, and he still wasn't done yet. He kept saying he was close, but all he had to do was clear a path and it sure as hell didn't take two weeks to do that. Who knew what that brat was doing in his smithee? He could burn all of Hueco Mundo down! Plus, on little threat and Ulquiorra would just say they were having a friendly spar when Aizen asked- because Aizen would definitely ask. Grimmjow bared his teeth and leapt into sonido.

He flew over the sands straight to his smithee, feeling excitement welling up in his chest. He'd wanted to punch Ulquiorra's lights out for a century and a half. He burst into the smithee- and stopped short. Ulquiorra, who had his back to him, started almost comically and let out a little yelp.

"The hell?" Grimmjow said, looking around his little shack. The floor was swept clean, with several different piles of metal placed strategically where they wouldn't be in the way. The actual rods that had been laying around had been put up in the racks on the far wall, and almost everything had been cleaned as much as possible. All the hammers had been put in one metal bucket, and the other tools were grouped similarly.

"Did- did I do something wrong?" Ulquiorra asked anxiously.

"You-" Grimmjow started, "did you separate out the different metals?"

"Yes," Ulquiorra squeaked. "Is that okay-?"

"How?" Grimmjow asked. "Only a seasoned metalsmith could tell some of these apart by sight."

"The-they made different pitches," Ulquiorra cowered.

"Pitches?" Grimmjow asked, gawking at him.

"Y-yeah," Ulquiorra said. "I hit all the pieces against this one piece and listened for the pitch."

"That's- that's fucking brilliant," Grimmjow said. He was walking around to the piles to double check them and didn't see Ulquiorra's eyes get wide and a smile take his face.

"What kind of range for error does it have?"

"None," Ulquiorra said confidently. "I have perfect pitch." Grimmjow turned around.

"Perfect pitch?" he asked. "What is that?"

"I hear a note and I know what it is," Ulquiorra said proudly, looking brimming with happiness. "Or I see a note on a page and I know how it sounds."

"Huh," Grimmjow said, raising an eyebrow. His earlier rage was completely forgotten. Nothin' like having someone else do your job to make your day. "Did you teach yourself that?"

"I was born with it," Ulquiorra replied. "Um, what do I do with this...?" he held up the piece of metal in his hand. "If I hit it against something else it could change the pitch."

"That's basic old iron," Grimmjow said. "Put it in that pile. And stand back." As Ulquiorra dropped the scrap into the indicated pile, Grimmjow fired up and shot a cero to start the forge. Ulquiorra meeped.

"What was that?" he gasped, staring at the blaze as Grimmjow cranked in air.

"Cero," Grimmjow said, "you can do it too. Hey, hand me some of that."

Ulquiorra handed him some copper as Grimmjow shook his jacket off. "I can do that?" Ulquiorra asked.

"Yeah," Grimmjow said. "I'll teach you sometime. No back up a little." Ulquiorra moved back, and sat on the floor hugging his knees. Grimmjow pulled out a hammer and put the hot copper on the anvil, and for once he really didn't mind Ulquiorra watching raptly.

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By the time Grimmjow was done with his copper tree (not the best he'd done, but it had been a while) the fake sun had disappeared for the sake of sleeping. Shawlong had come a few hours ago to retrieve Ulquiorra and had been surprised to find Grimmjow there. Ulquiorra had asked if he could stay, and Grimmjow had said, "Just let him stay, Shawlong, he actually hasn't broken anything yet." Shawlong had bowed respectfully and left, but not before Grimmjow saw an odd look assessing his good mood. Whatever, not like it mattered. Shawlong wouldn't question him.

Grimmjow used the tongs to dump the tree in the cold water he'd had Ulquiorra get, and it sizzled. Rule number one: hot metal looked like cold metal. Always cool everything so you don't have to worry about it. Ulquiorra hadn't bugged him, staying quiet and watching, and Grimmjow had almost forgotten he was there for the most part. He got really into his rhythm when he was smithing. When the hiss from the water stopped, he pulled out his creation and checked it over for imperfections caused by cooling. Finding none, he set it aside and extinguished the forge.

He looked tot he floor where Ulquiorra was leaning against a stump, ready to bark out his orders. The water needed to be dumped. But, looking down, he found Ulquiorra with his eyes closed, breathing softly. Was he asleep? What kind of crazy was he? Grimmjow could so easily reach over and crush his fragile skull in one hand, and Ulquiorra would never even wake up to register it. You never fell asleep in front of someone in Hueco Mundo, whether they were stronger than you or not. Even the most powerful fighters were at a disadvantage when asleep. How Starrk survived, Grimmjow would never know. And you never trusted anyone enough to lay your life in your hands like that, never; Nnoitra had gotten rid of his 'bed buddies' plenty of times that way when he tired of them.

And yet, here was Ulquiorra, weakest of the weak in all of the massive castle of Las Noches, asleep at the feet of one of the Espada. And Espada who had formerly considered it his mission in life to beat him into submission. And an utterly brutal killer, no less. Grimmjow should just drown him in the water, teach him a lesson in his final moments. Grimmjow kicked him, and he jumped awake.

"Oy," Grimmjow said, "c'mon or I'm leavin' ya." Ulquiorra scrambled up, but Grimmjow just strode off, hands in his pockets. It was good to scare him just a little.

Still, when Ulquiorra frantically called for him to wait, he slowed down just a little.