Author's Note: Warnings for language, eventual vague Ulquiorra/Grimmjow, and general opacity. It all takes place within Hueco Mundo and Los Noches, at no particular time. Forgive my clumsiness with canon and accuracy. I hope you enjoy; it's been sitting on my hard drive long enough. Reviews are always dearly appreciated. Thank you for reading.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Detox: Part One
Ulquiorra stretches his fingers apart to squint at the spaces in-between. There's nothing but the crisp white of the wall, the edges of his fingers making clean lines. No matter how much Ulquiorra squints, his vision never blurs – everything stands clear, perfectly visible. Ulquiorra feels a faint twitch in his facial muscles, right above his upper lip, and then thinks that's a lie. He drops his hand. His muscles won't move without his command.
Tomorrow, Aizen calls for a meeting, and Ulquiorra finds himself wandering to the large room before he hears of it. The hallways turn in meaningless directions, looping and intertwining to create a maze of doors that are either empty or full and openings that lead to the desert outside. Sometimes, if Ulquiorra stands near enough to an opening, he thinks he can feel a breeze from outside, but when he watches the air it's stiff.
Nnorita's the one to tell him. He catches Ulquiorra in-between a double arch, two white half-circles stretching, rising to meet the ceiling in the middle and folding down around their heads. The white looks off behind Nnorita's head, like it's an eggshell or a blend of gray. Nnorita glances down at him, lifting his mouth apart at an unnecessarily slow pace, tongue swiping his lips.
Ulquiorra shifts his hand from inside his pocket, rolling his wrist slowly. He looks at Nnorita without blinking.
Nnorita's lips bend into a sneer, and he says, "What're you looking at, brat?"
Ulquiorra thinks he doesn't have time for this. He moves forward, inwards to the building, but Nnorita's hand comes down to smack against his shoulder; the chains of his sword swing from the movement.
Nnorita shows all of his teeth when he says, "Not so fast, I'm not done with you yet." He leans down, and Ulquiorra can't stand the sight. Ulquiorra says, "Move."
Nnorita laughs, a high-pitched sound, "Is that what you wish, princess?"
Ulquiorra steps out quickly from under his hand. He can feel the weight of Nnorita's stare against his back, tickling between his shoulder-blades as he walks, measured, muted steps against the wide pieces of tile and cement. He hears Nnorita say, "Fucking brat, Aizen's called a meeting."
Ulquiorra doesn't pause or bother to raise his voice when he says, "I know."
At the meeting, Ulquiorra sits next to Stark and across from Grimmjow in a tall, long chair. He keeps his eyes closed for most of the meeting. He can hear every time Stark shifts, elbows restless against the table-top, and the low tone of Aizen's voice. It doesn't feel like sleeping, but Ulquiorra can't keep his eyes open either.
When Ulquiorra opens his eyes at the end of the meeting, Grimmjow's mouth is set into a wide grin, and he rocks back in his chair constantly. The chair legs bang against the ground and Ulquiorra watches him, feels the faint twitching above his mouth again.
He almost rises his fingers to press there; he thinks he can't trust his muscles anymore.
Aizen watches Grimmjow patiently until the noise quits, and then he raises his eyebrow, no other motion on his face. "That will be all."
Ulquiorra stands immediately to leave, hands finding their way back into his pockets. He closes his eyes against the graceful arch of Aizen's back when he bends to stand, and Ulquiorra nearly bumps into Stark's side before he catches himself.
In Ulquiorra's room, there's a mirror that hangs from the back of his door. He stands in front of it and watches himself watching himself. His face looks calm and blank, eyes nothing but small pupils and wholesome green. He tracks the markings on his face with his eyes and looks all the way down until where he knows the hole in his chest lies. He presses his palm to it and feels the empty air, how the clothing gives and he could push right through.
Ulquiorra can't remember anything of what it was like to be human. He wonders if he dreamt it, and then turns away from the mirror, a slight frown on his lips. He doesn't dream.
Grimmjow keeps catching Ulquiorra's shoulder in the hallway and then separating his lips into some kind of grin, a baring of his teeth, when Ulquiorra glances back at him. But Grimmjow never says anything, and Ulquiorra won't ask.
One night, just as Ulquiorra's pushing his door open, he feels Grimmjow behind him, and pauses, considers turning around, but Grimmjow speaks before he can, voice low with timbre and raspy, like he's been choked or someone pressed tape to his lips, tearing it off seconds before. "Nnorita thinks you have a secret."
Ulquiorra half-turns, enough so he can see the edges of Grimmjow's sandals, one billowing sleeve. "I'm not interested in what that animal thinks."
Ulquiorra can hear the grin, like a slick sick sliding undercurrent, when Grimmjow speaks again. "Is he an animal? What does that make me?"
It's provoking, and Ulquiorra simply watches the wall across from him.
Grimmjow steps closer, "Don't you think I'm an animal too?"
Ulquiorra says, "I won't play your game, Grimmjow. I have no time for this." He turns his head this time to catch Grimmjow's gaze, tilting his head back vaguely.
Grimmjow tosses a laugh out, shaking his head and wiggling his arms. "Oh, is that only reserved Aizen?" He bends low with a sweep of his hand, but keeps his eyes on Ulquiorra. "Forgive me, your highness."
Ulquiorra feels the twitch above his mouth, and he wonders if it shows because Grimmjow's mouth deepens at the corners, grin spreading wider.
Grimmjow moves in a splitting second – count twenty nine, thirty, thirty one – but Ulquiorra can see all of his separate motions building up until Grimmjow's leaning over him, his arm bent at the elbow, resting against his door frame, body hanging over Ulquiorra. "What's it you do with your time?"
Grimmjow's breath whispers against his his cheek and Ulquiorra lifts his eyes to watch the shape of Grimmjow's mouth. "Nothing of your concern."
He feels Grimmjow's laugh, his breath brushing harder against his cheek now, before Ulquiorra steps backwards into his room, shutting the door with a quiet click. He doesn't know how long Grimmjow stands outside his door for, but he can feel his presence for hours, floating in from under the crack of his door.
Outside, the desert doesn't breathe. The sand blankets everything below the balcony where Ulquiorra stands. The railing here has been broken through on the end furthest him, smashed at the pillar so that it crumbles in a downward slope. Halibel watches Ulquiorra with quiet contemplation. Ulquiorra can tell because her eyebrows rise briefly when he glances over, her Fraccion backpedaling from her. Ulquiorra feels impulse tickle his fingers, but it's such a faint feeling that it ends before it can take any hold, and Ulquiorra can't remember what it felt like to begin with.
He never questions her about it, but before he can wander inside one of the tall buildings, she appears behind him, and he pauses. She says, "There are rumors about you."
Ulquiorra can't find the point in her saying so, and he turns to watch her. He traces the inside lining of his pocket.
She continues, and he suddenly wishes he could see her mouth shaping the words, even though he knows he won't find any answers there either, just raw, white bone. "The Espada were never made to be friends." He imagines a small sneer circling her lips, even though it's unlike her.
He loses his patience. "What is your point?"
She takes a small step forward, "You're not like us." She pauses before she repeats, "There are rumors."
Ulquiorra says, "I'm aware."
Halibel cocks her head to the side, her voice coming out in a sharp, satisfied tone, like she was waiting for something and Ulquiorra willingly handed it to her. "Ah, but you're not." She disappears and Ulquiorra stays where he is.
He watches the clear skies, the outlines of the buildings reaching as far back as his sight carries, as far back as possible. There is no end to the sky, and there is no end to the buildings. Sprinkles of leftover sand brush inside his pants, against his ankles, but Ulquiorra can't feel it so he turns to walk inside a building, hands held still in his pockets.