This was written to Clark Gable - The Postal Service. And I've finally figured out how I'm going to end this story. Rather unusual, since I generally think of endings first...At any rate, it's been a good run, guys. Thanks for reading, and here is an extra long chapter for you all!

By the way, there's not one, but TWO alternate endings at the bottom, and I'll clearly mark it for you.

Christmas morning dawned bright and cold and windy. The windows were frosted over, the air smelled like winter and oh-so-pure, and...oh, there went my mom, screaming for me to wake up, it's Christmas already, and what an atrocity it would be to waste the day.

What an atrocity indeed.

By the time I got downstairs, Ulquiorra was already sitting at the table, cupping a mug of steaming tea in hands partially covered with too-long sweater sleeves. Papa Jeagerjacques was thumbing through an old copy of the Times, and Mama Jeagerjacques was standing at the stove, stirring furiously at some sketchy-looking brown stuff that I sincerely hoped would taste better than it looked. You never really know with her. She mainly gets her cooking ideas from books. Like the time after she read The Neverending Story. We had eel pie for WEEKS.

At any rate, I'd rather not go there. That's another story for another time, and, anyway, I've tried very hard to repress the memory from surfacing into full consciousness.

I poured myself a cup of tea with honey and lemon, and slid into the seat next to Ulquiorra.

"Hey, all, Merry Christmas."

He smiled at me, a relaxed, unstressed smile. Something I hadn't seen in a while, what with finals and Szayel's supposed "pregnancy" and whatnot. In my defense, I really have no idea how the guy got hCG into his bloodstream. If you don't know what that is, hCG is a hormone produced during pregnancy, a week or so after conception, that can be detected on a pregnancy test.

But I mean, who knows what he's been inhaling in his lab. I wouldn't put it past him to steal someone else's urine, either.

Szayel's creepy-weird like that. And somehow, he either forced or begged some poor soul to take him home for the Christmas holidays. At least, that's the rumor, anyway.

I would elaborate more on that matter, but a) I really don't think you need to hear any more about Szayel and his forays into the unknown, and b) it was around this time that Mama Jeagerjacques plunked down plates of...how would you describe it? Glop?...on the table in front of Ulquiorra and me. Papa Jeagerjacques picked up his spoon and dug in without hesitation, never once taking his eyes off his newspaper. Ulquiorra approached it more cautiously, and, well, as for me, when I looked down and saw a little pincer waving around, I passed out.

Hey. What can I say? I'm an English major, not a bachelor of science.

When I look down at my food, I would like to be reassured that it's not alive. Or moving. That would be nice.

I woke up to find Ulquiorra rubbing an egg over my arm.

I just looked at him, and he looked back at me.

"What in the hell are you doing?" I inquired, a bit grumpy, as I had a headache.

He said nothing, and after he was done with a thorough egg-rubbing of my arm, he broke the egg into a plastic bowl that was conveniently nearby. I looked in the bowl, and there were all these tiny black specks floating throughout the egg white and yolk.

"What sorcery is this?"

He grinned and said, "It's Christmas."

And then he was butted out of my frame of vision as Mama Jeagerjacques gently shooed him out of the way and stood over me, frowning.

"I made that very nice breakfast for you, and then what do you go and do? Go and faint in it, that's what you do. Ulquiorra must be so embarrassed to have a boyfriend like you. Good Lord! Now get up, you're taking up the whole couch and your cousins will be here soon."

My relatives arrived a few hours after I was unceremoniously manhandled off the couch. Or womanhandled, as the case may be, since Papa Jeagerjacques was STILL reading his newspaper and Ulquiorra chose to stand off to the side and laugh his ass off.

They trooped in one by one bearing prettily-wrapped packages and huge dishes of God-knows-what, and I hoped for my sake that they contained something at least halfway edible and very, very dead.

My senile, old uncle greeted me and Ulquiorra enthusiastically with vigorous handshakes and much clappings on the back. He leaned in and conspiratorially whispered something in Ulquiorra's ear, something that made the poor fellow blush all the way up to the roots of his hair.

The entryway of the house was cluttered with people's shoes and coats and scarves, and I was almost afraid that Ulquiorra wouldn't find this kind of social gathering enjoyable. I say almost, because I found him in the kitchen just a few minutes later discussing the merits of different brands of pipette with one of my cousins.

He looked incredibly happy, and I just stood there in the doorway, smiling a little bit dazedly, and perfectly content. Perfectly content, that is, until my littlest cousin ran into the backs of my legs and toppled over and started crying.

Ulquiorra looked over and smiled at me as I scooped little Jack up and carried him off to the bathroom so he could wash his face.

Christmas dinner was incredibly delicious. There were no antennae waving from any of the dishes, and there were at least five different kinds of pies.

Shameless that I am, I ate practically everything in sight.

Ulquiorra, polite that he is, ate daintily, like a gentleman. Of course.

And then, presents. Because what is Christmas without presents?

Amidst the fray of wrapping paper and noisy whoops of delight, I handed Ulquiorra a small, rectangular package. He held it and looked at me. "Should I shake it or not?"

"It's not going to make a sound, but by all means, go ahead and shake it."

He shook it, of course, and of course it didn't make a sound. I'm no liar.

Very carefully, he slit the tape with his nail and unfolded the (very nice, in my opinion) wrapping paper, to reveal a (very nice, once again, in my opinion, but I'm sure anyone would agree) wrought iron book-type thing. He looked at me curiously.

"Open it," I told him.

He carefully pressed the button on the side, and the book snapped open.

I was on the right side. He was on the left.

He smiled slightly. "Bit conceited, isn't it? Giving a picture of yourself?"

I smiled back. "Does it matter?"

He handed me a rather large rectangular box. "Here. For you."

I shook it. Of course. It made a soft whump-ing noise, and looking at him very carefully, I ripped open the paper, opened the box, and pulled out a very nice black and blue argyle sweater.

I laughed. "It's exactly like my old one."
He nodded. "Yes, except I burned your old one."

My senile old uncle, three feet over on the sofa covered in wrapping paper, roared with laughter. "That boy of yours has got a good head on his shoulders. Thank God! Finally burning that filthy thing, sonny, was a brave act. Should give you a medal of honor."

The clock in the living room started to chime midnight. Jack, who had run into my legs earlier, giggled and said, "Look above you!"

A bunch of mistletoe hung right above us, and of course I couldn't help but think that this had been staged in some way, and that at any moment, Ashton Kutcher would leap out from behind the sofa and scream, "You've been punk'd!"

But of course that didn't happen, because Ashton Kutcher could not be bothered with English-majoring, faint-at-the-sight-of-moving-things me.

I looked at Ulquiorra. "Shall we?"

He smiled. And I took that for a yes.

Ulquiorra Insert: Happy Ending; Ending 1

I woke up to Grimmjow shaking me like a madman.

"Good God, I thought you had gone comatose in your sleep! Bloody hell, hurry up and get ready, we're going to be late as it is!"

I bolted upright. That was unusual. I've never slept through my alarm clock.

And if the numbers were right, Grimmjow was right. We were going to be late.

He practically shoved me into my suit and tie while I hastily ran a wet comb through my hair.

He practically shoved me into the car, and while I was trying not to wrinkle my shirt, drove like a madman through the dense late morning traffic.

He shoved me out of the car.

Quite a lot of shoving going on.

I would have commented on how rude it was, if we hadn't already been late for our own wedding.

He finally stopped hurrying when we got past the glaring receptionist, who seemed to tsk-tsk us. He took a deep breath.

"You look fantastic. Positively fantastic."

And then he dashed through the church doors, and I hoped to God he didn't trip in the aisle.

A few moments later, I heard the organ playing, watched as the church doors swung open slowly to reveal a standing crowd, all dressed in their best, all smiling.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the church.

Ulquiorra Insert; Sad Ending; Ending 2

I woke up to see Grimmjow sleeping, his head resting on the side of my hospital bed.

Everything was quiet, except for the soft beeping of the machines and the shuffle and squeak of doctors' and nurses' shoes in the hallway outside.

I quietly patted his hair, trying to remember what the texture of mine had been like before I lost it all.

He woke up.

His eyes were bloodshot, and he was pale and gaunt. I almost felt like he should have been the one in the bed; I'm sure he looked just as bad as I felt.

"Hey, how are you doing?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I'm fine...really tired, I guess. I was just thinking about that Christmas we spent at your house."

He smiled slightly. "You mean the one where Szayel burst through the doors with Damien and screamed that he'd finally gotten someone to be the father for his food baby, because clearly I was incapable?"

I tried to smile back, but even that took too much effort. "Yeah, that's the one."

He frowned, biting at his lower lip slightly. "Do you need anything? Some water, or whatnot? Food? You should try to eat some, you look peaky."
I let out a weak laugh that came out more like a cough. "You're starting to sound like your mother."

He sighed and reached for my hand, pale, thin, wasted. "How can I not? I worry about you all the time."

"I know."

He absentmindedly rubbed the base of my fourth finger, where my ring would have been if only I hadn't lost so much weight.

"I'm sorry, you know," I told him, fighting to keep my eyes open.
"Don't be. Please, don't be," he whispered, pressing a kiss to my palm.

"I love you a lot."

He was crying.

"I love you too. I love you so much."

And then I went to sleep.

Ulquiorra Insert; Happy Ending; Ending 3

I woke up to Grimmjow shaking me like a maniac, as he's prone to do.

"Good God, I thought you were comatose in your sleep or something! Bloody hell, hurry up or we'll both be late!"

He practically shoved me into my lab coat and thrust half a grapefruit into my hands while simultaneously tightening my tie.

He practically shoved me into the car and ran a good amount of red lights before screeching to a stop in front of Mass General.

He almost double parked and practically shoved me out of the car.

There was quite a lot of shoving going on this morning.

I would've said something about it, but I was busy with my grapefruit segments.

He pressed a quick kiss to my forehead.

"I'll catch up with you later. But in the meantime, lots of English students to teach, and you have lots of patients to take care of."

"Yeah, sure."

He grabbed his briefcase out of the car and started to sprint down the sidewalk before he abruptly wheeled around and dashed back to me.

"Hey, I love you, you know?"

I grinned.

"Yeah, I know."