Title: Stars Hide Your Fires

Author: MeteorLeopard (HoneyBadger)

I wrote this one-shot a good while ago sometime last year when our class was studying Macbeth in English. Call me a nerd but when I heard that one line I immediately dove for scrap paper and started brainstorming when I was supposed to be paying attention. In the play, Macbeth actually uses the line when he's just realised that he wants the throne and is going to kill the king to do so… all because his wife talked him into it.

Oh well.

This is my first time writing Ulquihime so please give me a heads-up as to how I did.

Also, thank you to TheLadyIntegra who beta'd this for me. She's a HUGE Ulquihime fan and is busy writing a number of Ulquihime stories that are really amazing. Thank you Cricky! This one's for you.

She'd stand and stare at the reversed moon for hours on end, mostly not even noticing that he was right behind her, her mind far away instead. She never really moved much, aside from perhaps shifting her weight a little to her heels or her fingers twining with one another tensely. She just kept staring up at the small scrap of sky visible to her through the three vertical bars of her cell.

Ulquiorra never really understood the appeal in the constant, never changing view and oftentimes an errant thought about what she could find so fascinating out there crossed his mind. The window had been placed high up to allow a view of the inverted moon placed precisely behind the three long, slender bars, giving the prisoner a perfectly despairing view of the outside world. It was meant to taunt, on a subconscious level, that it was free and she was not.

At times, he would look over at her, silently, and note how her colourful attire did not suit the barren halls of Las Noches. Her uniform, although rather plain and not too colourful in the world of the living, was vastly out of place in a bleached prison such as this.

Mostly, he left her cell without words, deciding instead to merely leave her in silence to brood within her own thoughts. Sooner or later, they would drag her down into depression.

"Surprisingly, it looks good on you."

That had been the first compliment that he had given her, and also the first time that she had jumped from her stupor of thoughts and memories. Her previously blank and saddened face had spun to him, vibrant and alive for that moment of surprise.

That had seemed like a trigger. Perhaps, if he had remained quiet, she would have as well and remained in her haze of memories.

He wasn't exactly sure how he had managed to garner a response from her, but that had been the first real expression, aside from reserved fear, that she had worn whilst in Las Noches. Her eyes had been widened and her face unguarded, a foolish move when in the presence of an Espada, especially him. It was like advertising that she was fragile, displaying how powerless and naïve she was.

An open invitation.

However, he had let her be and not taken advantage of her momentarily vulnerable nature to play his mind games and twist her reality. He had let her be for the time being, knowing that because she had put on the white uniform willingly, a part of her had already accepted her fate.

Phrases like, "Eat your food." Had become less common over time. Previously untouched plates of food were now polished off or, if not, at least eaten without prompting.

He realized, one evening after her empty dishes had been wheeled away, that this pleased him.

The woman had taken to sitting on the large stretched couch more often instead of the hard little chair while eating, preferring its softness. This too, was a subconscious tool from Aizen that Ulquiorra was not blind to. The couch was far too large for her alone and there was nobody to share it with. It drove home her isolation.

He remained in the room with her at times, mostly silent but on other occasions giving a reply to one of her softer questions or statements. Ignoring her would serve no purpose other than to frustrate her, he'd learned that much, and that would only create more problems in the end.

When she had shyly asked for a form of entertainment, he had stared at her impassively. Her face had heated up then, her pale skin slowly gaining a pink tint to it, but she had refused to look away. Stubborn really.

He had understood her need for entertainment; more than two moths had already gone by and she had been alone in her cell for the whole time. The last time he had brought her meal, she had been plaiting patterns, which she claimed were swans, into her hair. A childish thing to do but something, he surmised, that had helped her pass the time.

So when he had returned the following day and placed a book into her lap, her head had snapped up to his impassive countenance, looking down at her seated form on the couch. The brief moment of confusion vanished from her face to be replaced with a suppressed, excited smile that lit up her silver eyes from the inside.

"Thank you, Ulquiorra."

He had given a brief nod before walking a few paces to lean against the arm of the couch, his customary place by now. Her elated gasp at the title of the book had been quickly explained. Apparently, she had read a few of Shakespeare's works before. He watched as she happily tucked her legs beneath her and with shining eyes began to scan the first page, drinking in the words. The fact that the play was a tragedy did nothing to dim her excitement.

Ulquiorra had no idea that the onna could talk so much. Perhaps though, after almost three months of not saying much at all, her mind had finally burst with ideas and thoughts and she had just started to let them pour.

Incessantly, she chattered on about trivial matters. What she had named her first dog, how many snow bunnies she and her brother had built together, some Tatsuki girl's black belt training, the little lizards that crawled over the walls and peeked their heads through her barred window, the dancing shadows that she claimed to see on the wall opposite her couch, the vital importance of getting enough sleep and a whole other array of other topics that somehow always related back to her odd sounding food.

Ulquiorra mostly tuned her out, settling for listening, to not the words, but instead the sound of her voice. He found that her happy chatter made for a nice change from her previously meek and scared tone.

Another thing about the woman was the she seemed to be an incurable klutz. When she moved around whilst in his presence, she seemed fidgety and jumpy, her eyes darting over to him often. He pretended not to notice though he did puzzle where her sudden anxiety stemmed from. Certainly, it was not fear, that had dissipated seemingly ages ago and Ulquiorra still wasn't sure if that was entirely a good or bad thing. However, he contented himself with simply taking things as they came and analysing them when they presented themselves. And this, the woman's nervousness, was a puzzle to him. He simply did not follow her line of thought and as such was not able to find a reasoning behind her continuing awkwardness.

Often she would stumble, and mostly catch herself on the couch, but sometimes she would trip and fall flat on her stomach, getting up and chuckling a little in an embarrassed fashion before scrambling to peel herself off the white floor of her cell, which had in time come to posses also a carpet and a small dresser for a change of spare uniform.

The first few times Ulquiorra had watched her accidents with mild interest, noting how even without outside influence she still managed to trip on an even surface. However, when he came to notice the large discolouring bruise marks on her skin, he had deemed the marks wasteful and proceeded to grab hold of her uniform collar before she met the floor again. Her surprised face had turned to look at him and he was pleased to note the little flicker of shock passing through her eyes as he tugged her upwards and into a standing position again.

He had found her bright blush somewhat endearing, if not altogether strange.

Having no bed to sleep on, the woman had taken to sleeping on the couch from the beginning. And even after nearly five months she wasn't quite used to it. As such, when Ulquiorra entered her room, he would find her sleeping in the most uncomfortable positions. The first time he had let her be, assuming that she normally slept like that. However, her severe neck-ache the following morning proved him wrong and he had watched as she had painstakingly massaged the tensed muscles on her lower neck for the remainder of the day.

That evening, when he had entered and found her head bent at almost 90 degrees to her neck and her arm thrown above her head to dangle off the couch at an odd slant whilst her heel dug into the calf of her other leg, he had silently sighed at how much trouble the human body was before moving over and gingerly lifting her head to the center of the cushion and returning her leg and arm to more comfortable positions. Frowning slightly, he scrutinized the scrunched up blanket at the end of the couch before draping it back over her sleeping form.

She shifted and Ulquiorra stilled in his movements for a while, wondering if he had awoken her. But the woman had merely turned her head to snuggle under the blanket instead, a soft, barely-there smile gracing her face.

Ulquiorra remained still for a while, finding himself studying the moonlight on her silken cheeks. His finger moved forward, stopping by a stray lock of burnt sunset hair, his black nail just grazing the strands and pushing them from her closed lid, lightly skimming her skin.

She mumbled and he immediately withdrew his hand, staring down at the sleeping human and waiting to hear her speak again. She didn't though and Ulquiorra straightened up, returning his hands to his pockets, his face set as he wondered why she had mumbled his name.

Her moon gazing episodes had decreased to almost none and when she did look at the moon now, it was not with the desperation and loneliness of wishing to escape. That had left her long ago, leaving her instead with just an appreciation of the strange moon's shape, or so she had told him.

During her ramblings, Ulquiorra had picked up a general idea of how her mind worked. It was juvenile at times, comparing serious situations to more light hearted ones and relying on a happy-go-lucky attitude and rambling to take her thoughts off things that were more pressing or to distract from an uncomfortable situation.

However, a rational and logical mind belay all of that, her usual chatter sometimes hinting at he more mature side of her, if one cared to listen closely enough. Even her fantasy of being modified to be a cyborg with a Top Speed of 380km/h and various other features that she deemed 'strong' hinted at her desire for strength.

Her voice still held charm to him, and he continued to listen to her banter to simply indulge in that, but he found himself taking in more odd little details about the woman. He wasn't adverse to this fact and after seven months of imprisonment he had almost come to accept the fact that he would have learnt a lot about his captive's habits. His eyes saw all.

Her voice was oftentimes lulling and he had come to appreciate the fact the she seemed to have lost the strained and tense note in her speech. It made listening to her read out loud from the books that he leant her much more pleasant. Though her tone pitched and her sighs interrupted the dialog at times, he found it to be not unpleasant. Those little quirks were hers uniquely and he had come to anticipate them when she read, almost challenging himself and trying to predict where her voice would dip and where it would come out rushed or breathy. He was pleased to find, that most of the times, he was correct.

The first time that he could remember her voluntarily touching him, was when she grew tired. The woman had been up the entire day, walking around her now somewhat furnished room with a beaming smile, trying to find the perfect place for a shelf to be fitted. After hours of placing the shelf, examining its position, shaking her head and making her sunset hair shimmer faintly, she had finally settled on a spot and, after asking and grudgingly receiving his help in fitting it, had bounced over to her couch and examined their handiwork, smiling at the inanimate object in satisfaction.

He had taken his seat beside her on the one end of the couch whilst she sat towards the center, close but not touching in any way or form. She had begun to talk to him, with him giving shortened or brief replies at times, making her face light up that he was making the effort of replying. He, in all honesty, didn't mind giving brief statements, so long as she did not expect him to befriend or comfort her.

She had eventually grown tired, Ulquiorra noticing her eyelids drooping closed and she gave a stifled yawn behind her one fist. Then, without much other preamble, she had scooted closer to him and, completely oblivious to his keen gaze, rested her head on his shoulder. He had frozen, not having anticipated the contact or gesture, simply remaining still and finding himself watching the woman drop off to sleep. Soon, her even breathing formed a gentle pace, making his own shoulders just a little less tense. When he was able to shift himself to allow her head to rest more comfortably just under his neck, his fingers immediately found her sunburnt orange locks to let them slide luxuriously through his pale digits.

He had left hours later, understanding a little how she had managed to keep boredom at bay by folding swan patterns into her hair all those months ago. He had never seen the point in tidying his own hair, preferring to let it do what it wanted and therefore not having to worry about it. He found though, that touching the woman's hair brought with it a deep feeling of satisfaction that had till then eluded him.

Eight months. Eight was twice the number 4, as he was told by her one day. She had smiled at that and put a finger to her chin, contemplating her little discovery. She was well aware of the time that had passed for her since coming to Huece Mundo but gave no outward sign of being troubled by it. Ulquiorra had noticed the signs of her adapting. To hear her speak of her friends she would have to be in a truly nostalgic mood and as such he rarely heard of them anymore.

Instead, tales and fantasies of trips into the desert sands filled her mind and the reversed moon had long since captured her attention in a way that the changing moon in the world of the living never had. She told him this one day and, upon his enquiry as to why she would prefer the moon that never changed to the one that did, she gave a slight smile but said no more. He didn't press her for details.

Her sleeping pattern had stabilized and her blanket remained draped over her most nights now, thrashing and tossing no longer a worry to her. However, Ulquiorra would come every night, routinely.

Over time, he found that her hair, eyes, mind and voice were no longer the only things grasping his attention.

Soundlessly, Ulquiorra pushed the door inwards, remaining standing just inside the threshold, watching. She was lying curled on the couch, awake, with the blanket wrapped around her loosely, hiding her from him, and her vibrant locks splayed over the cushion. Her silver eyes, previously transfixed on the moon, swept over to him and a slight, warm smile tugged on her filled lips.

Stars, hide your fires.

Let not light see my black and deep desires.

Behind him, the door swung closed.

Okay, sorry if some of you were expecting a lemon or something but I can't bring myself to write those at all. Also, I liked the ending the way it was so I'm happy with it.

The Macbeth quote is the one in italics right at the end. Rather fitting, ey?

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