Title: The Fall
Fandom: Bleach
Pairing: Ulquiorra/Orihime
Rating: T for some violence, some kissing, and one swear.
Summary: Orihime's descent when she's lost everything except a shred of sanity and a fragment of her heart. Because something is better than nothing at all. [Ulquihime]
Author's Notes: Wrote this last night after listening to Hero by Regina Spektor for a few hours. Awesome song, by the way. Breaks my heart. And so does Ulquihime, coincidentally. Hopefully no one's too out of character... Or they're out of character plausibly at least.
...
The Fall
...
It's a break-shatter feeling, she decides. Like her heart is perpetually on the brink of caving in. All cracking and pressure and burning. It's the moment before pitching off the edge of a cliff mixed with the sickly-sweet tinge of despair. Like her body already knows what her mind just can't comprehend.
She chokes out a strangle-laugh and wonders if that is what madness is like. Like... falling.
...
The door opens behind her and she can't help the shiver-start of anger. But it's gone just as quickly. Gone just like everything else- friends and hope and dreams. The only thing she can seem to hold on to is the pressure-pain in her chest. And it's not much and it hurts, she thinks, but it has to be better than nothing at all.
She turns to look at him with blank eyes and a festering heart. He stares back, eyes just as empty.
She wonders if he feels nothing. Because he has a physical hole in his chest instead of a metaphorical one. And if maybe, just maybe, nothing isn't so bad. That maybe it's just another sort of falling. That would be okay. If it's like that then maybe she should just let go of that last piece of sanity and that last fracture of her heart and-
And she must have said something out loud, because he's looking at her with an expression that she can no longer name. So she stays silent and counts the shudder-beats of her heart.
"No."
She doesn't know which question he responded to. But he turns around and brings her food trolley farther into the room, fists clenched around the handles. And she thinks that maybe he's wondering the same thing.
He watches her eat in complete silence. So she eats slowly and in small bites, because she knows he'll stay until she finishes it all. And even if the silence surrounding them is far from companionable or comfortable, it's better than the cold-sick suffocation of being alone.
She likes to think that maybe he feels the same.
Surely he can tell that she has no fight left in her. That he doesn't have to watch her every move in case she tries anything. Because she won't. What's would be the point?
So, she likes to pretend that he doesn't stay for "duty". That he stays because he wants to. That just maybe he's lonely too...
And it's not much, the pretending and the ifs and the maybes. But it's better than nothing at all.
He always leaves, though, eventually. Then the feeling is back- like the breaking of a dam, thick and aching. And she thinks that it's like drowning- which is nothing at all like falling. So she moves to the section of moonlight painted floor like it could somehow keep her afloat.
And she waits for someone to save her.
...
It's an eternity before the door opens. She is relief and despair and desperation as she spins around.
But she stumbles and freezes because it's a veering break from the norm. Because it's not him. It's not him, and she needs-
She is slammed against the wall, fingers wrapped around her neck like a noose and-
Air. She needs air. Right now. Right now, or else-
She lets out a gasp-hiss and claws at his hands, the flesh giving away under her nails. But his grip stays steady and he's speaking to her now. Something about human and pet and riddance.
His laughter fills her ears even as her vision leaves her. And she thought death would feel like falling, but it doesn't. It doesn't at all, and she can't help but wish-
Then she's back again. Cough-hacking on the ground as her eyes clear and her senses start to return. And there is white and black and green-
"Nnoitra."
The pressure-pain in her chest lifts and she can breathe again. His voice is cold and soft and fury. And she thinks that it could be the most beautiful thing she's ever heard.
...
She must have blacked out again, because she wakes up on the couch and he's hovering over her.
She reaches out without thinking- and stops herself halfway, hand falling limply back on the couch. Because it's stupid. Because it's him. He is cold and push-away and leave. Because it's another kind of falling. One that she's not sure she could survive.
He opens his mouth as if to say something-
But he closes it and leaves in flash of white.
Hot tracks burn a path down the sides of her face and she's shaking. And it's funny. Because all she's left with afterwards is itchy eyes and the same heavy feeling in her chest. And for the first time, she thinks that the something that she has isn't enough. She doesn't want nothing... No, she wants more.
But she's not quite brave enough to put words to what she wants more of.
...
When he comes back she's sitting in the moonlight again, staring at the blood splattered across the wall. The blood that drips down to the floor and pools and stains her white world. She finds her fingers unconsciously painting circles and swirls of red.
She hears footsteps approach and wonders when they became more familiar to her than the beat of her own heart.
"I have been reassigned as your keeper."
The world freezes and then starts to lurch. And his words are a poison, shooting through her veins. She turns to look at him and she's sick and dizzy and-
"You will be someone else's responsibility from now on."
And she can't breathe and everything is about to come crashing in and it's all she can do to whisper, "Don't."
But he continues after only a slight pause, "It was ordered."
Her mind is reeling, consumed by reassigned and leaving, because he can't-
He looks at the blood on the wall with downturned lips. When he looks at her again, his eyes are slightly unfocused.
He stares at her for a moment, then turns around and whisper-reassures, "We won't meet again."
But she can't speak, can't breathe. And she's drowning because he can't. Because she needs-
She scramble-throws herself forward and latches her arms around his middle, face digging into his back. She's breached the unspoken boundary between them, but she doesn't care. Because he's leaving and he can't-
He pries her arms off and turns around to stare down at her. And his empty-cold eyes never bothered her before. But now... now she can see her reflection in them. And her face is crumbling and it feels like something is slipping and it can't end like this-
Her feet strain upwards and her lips press against his. Almost as if it's the last anchor she has to this world.
And maybe it is.
But it doesn't matter because his lips are stiff beneath hers. It's shattering and caving in and breaking-
She sags, lifeless, lips breaking contact.
And he falls into her.
His lips are on hers and his hand is tightening on her arm. She's shudder-fused together again. And the weight on her chest isn't gone but it doesn't seem so staggering anymore. Her hand squeezes in the fabric of his coat. It's not gentle or soft or tender. It is teeth and desperation and need. And she knows that she needs this. She presses herself closer to him as if they could merge together. She's being moved backwards.
And it's like falling.
She realizes with a shiver-moan that the inevitable collision didn't matter. Laters and eventuals and consequences be damned. Because this is feeling. This is burning and release and pleasure-pain. And it's not much. It's not much, but it's something.
And that, she knew, was better than nothing at all.
...