Spur-of-the-moment work, just as I think fanfiction should be. Considerably dark, just to warn you ahead of time. Present tense, Orihime third-person-POV.
Disclaimer: I don't own Bleach or any of its characters. I'm just borrowing, but sharing is caring, yes? No? Oh well.
Summary: Mid SS-arc. "Ishida-kun," she breathes, reaching her hands through the bars to the broken Quincy. "You are a good person." She will tell him whatever he wants to hear. It is her gift to the living dead. Dark, Ishihime.
Half-Truths
- Voice -
He is dangerous. A criminal. A murderer. A monster.
This is what they tell her.
She doesn't want to believe it. She knows the truth.
"Hold still, please, Inoue-san," Unohana says calmly, her cool hands pressing Orihime down against the hospital cot as she struggles to rise. Orihime's blood gushes over her persistent fingertips. "Everything will be all right."
No, she knows, nothing will be "all right." Not until she makes them understand that Ishida-kun is not dangerous, that he is the farthest thing from a criminal, a murderer, a — God help her — monster.
"I have to see him," she tries to say. "I have to see Ishida-kun!"
But her bleeding throat will not cooperate. The tilting world is drenched in red and black and is falling apart, apart, like broken puzzle pieces, and then she sinks into oblivion, and knows no more.
"Have you heard about the ryoka?"
"The one who took out half the twelfth division? Yes, of course! I heard he killed dozens of shinigami in one blow."
"It's true. Almost half of Kurotsuchi-taichou's division, along with Kurotsuchi-taichou himself, are gone. There's just a big, empty crater where they were."
"Gods! I heard he even attacked his own comrade."
"Right. A girl, I think — can't remember her name. They found her lying in a pool of her own blood at the edge of the crater. The ryoka boy was trying to keep her alive, but I heard he'd wounded her almost fatally."
"Hah — he was fixing her up, was he? No doubt trying to gain sympathy in his favor. A monster like that deserves only death."
She wakes to healing and death. Her entire body feels constricted, like a mummified queen's, and her wounded neck is swathed with crimson-soaked bandages. She asks her limp hand to rise to check the extent of the damage, but it refuses. She hurts all over.
Orihime cannot remember coming here. Where is she?
Familiar faces. The kind-eyed woman again, Unohana-taichou. Concerned physicians bending over her, clucking worriedly as they probe her injuries. And a head of shocking orange in the background, bobbing furiously as its owner pushes his way through the gathered crowd.
Orihime blinks slowly, afraid that if she attempts to take everything in at once, she will fall asleep again.
That orange-headed person comes to a stop by her side. He falls to his knees, and she cannot help but notice that his hands are trembling as he gestures to get her attention.
"Inoue," he says softly. She blinks at him uncomprehendingly. Does she know him? Does she? She thinks that she does, she knows that she does, but still she is unsure.
Again, she tries to speak. All that comes out is a rasping wheeze, a dead girl's gasp, and something hot and wet dots her lips. There is newfound panic in the orange-headed boy's voice, but Orihime can barely hear it. Her ears feel hot and sticky too, and suddenly the physicians are swooping in, chattering, trying to save her life.
She sleeps.
Sometimes she wakes, drifting in and out of consciousness like an indecisive dreamer, and catches snatches of the world outside her cocoon of silence and nothingness. More often than not, the orange-headed boy is there. He meets her eye every time, his familiar face lighting up, before falling into shadow as she slips back into rest.
Ichigo. Kurosaki-kun.
Now she remembers. She wishes she didn't.
One day, she wakes, and does not immediately fall back to sleep again. She opens her swollen eyes and moves them around, scanning the small room, pretending not to see the napping boy at her side. He is the only one in the room besides her, but she can hear people chattering in the hallway, always at the ready.
Kurosaki-kun looks exhausted. He sits cross-legged by her head, his pale, drawn face leaning against the paper-thin wall. There are bruised half-moon circles beneath his closed eyes. Orihime aches to see him like this and tries to get her limbs to move. It is hard. She does not know how long she has been lying here, slowly returning to the world of the dead, but her joints and muscles are stiff and weak with disuse.
Finally, she settles on testing her vocal cords. She manages to force out a tiny, guttural interpretation of his name.
"Kkkk…rosss…ki-kun…"
The pathetic attempt brings tears of agony to her eyes. Her throat is roaring in protest, fire burning at her tongue. But Kurosaki-kun hears her. His eyes fly open and he bolts upright, his wild gaze instantly on her pained face.
"Inoue…!"
Up, please, she pleads with her lips. Smile at him.
Her lips barely curve, and that itself is a triumph.
Healing. Moving forward. Weeks pass. Day by day, she returns to herself.
Unohana has taken her under her wing, though Orihime is only a hostile ryoka. She is shielded from those who consider her an enemy, protected under the claim that she is only a wounded child and has done no evil. Kurosaki-kun, too, and Chad, wherever he is, is granted a brief amnesty, though there are always shinigami on guard. He has not killed anyone, has not stolen shinigami life.
Not like him.
He has been imprisoned. She is not allowed to see him.
"You have to let me talk to him," she rasps quietly. The effort of speaking, of using her still-healing vocal cords, makes her head swim with pain. But she must. She has to make them understand. "It was...an accident. He's…ugh…he's not that kind of person."
They coax her back to bed with murmured words of comfort and denial. "Don't speak, Inoue-san," Unohana says firmly. "It will ruin your voice, maybe permanently."
She would gladly give up her voice a hundred times over, if only it would make them listen to her.
Desperation. Orihime tries to heal herself, and fails. She finds it ironic, in a funny, sick sort of way. She can heal others, restore life and flesh, but cannot even help herself to help another.
Laughter bubbles up through her ravaged throat. Kurosaki-kun is there, trying to make her stop, to silence her, and she laughs because he is such a terrible, terrible friend to do this to Ishida-kun and to her and she doesn't understand, and that is hilarious —
Silence.
Despair.
"They have the ryoka girl down in the Fourth. Heard she's a nutcase. Won't stop talking about how the Quincy is innocent, how it's all a mistake. She acts like he tried to save her."
"Didn't he cut open her throat and almost make her go mute?"
"Yeah, that's what I heard. She's starting to speak again. And he's all she ever talks about. They're actually starting to think that it might be best if they let her see him."
"See him? In the Maggot's Nest? She really is crazy…"
"Inoue, you have to eat it. You haven't eaten anything in two days!"
Orihime clamps her jaw and stares straight through Kurosaki-kun and the offered food. Her hands grip the folds of her blanket and curl into gaunt fists. She won't. Not until they listen.
For Ishida-kun.
"It's done. They gave in."
"Really? And here I thought we had some backbone."
This is the first real breath of fresh air that she has gotten in almost a month.
Orihime tilts back her head for a moment, forgetting where she is, ignoring who she is with, and lets the breeze wash over her face. She breathes in deeply. The fragile muscles in her throat protest dangerously under the pressure, and she lets her head fall down again, relaxing them.
Her voice is still not what it used to be. Even Unohana's legendary healing powers have not bolstered it back to full health. She will use it anyway.
Kurosaki-kun's hand cups her elbow, earning him her attention. Orihime glances at him, her gaze sliding along the imposing shinigami "escorting" them. They are there for her protection only. Ishida-kun is a dangerous criminal now.
The Maggot's Nest. Tall, imposing walls made of reiatsu-negating stone tower over her, giving her a sense of vertigo. It seems as if they will topple and crush her any second now. She shivers and fixes her gaze on the gigantic, barred door before her.
Kurosaki-kun does not rush her. Absently, she thinks that he is a good friend.
Nerves make her hesitate, procrastinate. She looks anywhere but ahead of her. The long, perfectly white tower where Rukia is being kept catches her attention. Rukia's execution has been delayed. Justice for Ishida-kun is far more important than justice for a dutiful shinigami who accidently lent her spiritual power to an errant human.
No, she reminds herself. What Ishida-kun will receive is not justice. He deserves none of this.
Orihime straightens her shoulders, lifts her chin, and steps towards the Maggot's Nest.
Fear. It permeates the walls, the floor, the ceiling. It winds its way into her heart and cuts off her air supply, making her gasp for breath.
She cannot do it, she cannot do it — she is at his cell and she cannot do it —
Yes. She. Can.
Even as a prisoner of death gods, Ishida-kun is dressed in white. Pure, innocent, heroic — and not a murderer. She kneels in front of his cell, her thin hands wrapping around the thick bars that separate them. Her heart is pounding in her chest, her eyes wide with adrenaline and shock and horror.
Ishida-kun is clothed in the color of angels, but he has fallen.
He sits in the empty, filthy cell with his back against the wall and his knees drawn up to his chest. His arms, long and pale and much too thin, lie limply at his sides. His head is bowed and his long blue-black hair falls around his face, obscuring him from her vision. Orihime forgets to breathe and only remembers when her chest shrieks with strained heat. Her breath comes out in a rush.
"Ishida-kun," she calls in a whisper. He does not move. She thinks he is sleeping, but her eyes do not tell her that he is breathing. She fears for her life.
"Ishida-kun!" Her head snaps up to stare at Kurosaki-kun, who is scowling at the ground, his arms folded across his chest. "Kurosaki-kun, what's wrong with him?"
He shakes his head and does not meet her eyes.
Orihime looks at Ishida-kun, then to her shaking hands, and back to Kurosaki-kun. This time, he catches her gaze. Something shifts in his neutral, indifferent expression, and his eyes harden, a familiar scowl returning to his countenance. Kurosaki-kun steps forward and grips the bars to Ishida-kun's cell.
"Ishida."
No response. Orihime is starting to believe that Ishida-kun might have died. The tears well up, painful and fiery, and she hears herself sob.
"Ishida-kun, please look at me," she pleads hoarsely.
He twitches. Orihime watches, waiting with her breath held, and feels herself start to tremble as he lifts his head. She hears her own devastated gasp.
His eyes are…lifeless. He stares at her dully, uncomprehendingly, as if he cannot believe she is actually there. She wonders what they have done to him.
"Inoue-san?" he asks quietly, flatly. He swallows convulsively, and a spark brightens his eyes for a split second before fading away. "Inoue-san?"
She nods her head, her throat clenching agonizingly. "Yes," she croaks weakly.
Ishida-kun licks his lips and lets his daze dart away to Kurosaki-kun, to the guards standing watch behind Orihime, and back to her.
"How...do I know you're real?" he asks cautiously.
Her lips curve up. Given the situation, it is such an Ishida-kun thing to say. It makes her giddy with hope to think that he is not completely lost.
She shrugs and shakes her head. "Tell me how to prove it and I will, Ishida-kun. I'll even dress up like a super-hero pony and bake you a leek cake."
It is the single oddest thing she has said in the past three weeks, and it feels wonderful. Ishida-kun says nothing for a while, and she sits still as he silently takes in his surroundings. She can see some of his old self returning to him. Her head spins with joy.
"They wouldn't tell me if you had died," he murmurs.
"I'm okay, Ishida-kun," she promises him. "I'm okay."
Ishida-kun frowns and gets to his knees gingerly. He ignores the guards as they tense, waiting for him to strike.
"Your voice…"
She smiles reassuringly at him. "It'll come back."
His dull blue eyes go dark, and his white-porcelain hands fold into fists on his bent knees. "I did that. I did that to you."
Orihime shakes her head desperately, trying to make him see reason without words. But he falls back against the wall, closes his dead, dark eyes, and will not look at her. Again, before her is only half the Ishida-kun she remembers.
Orihime understands guilt. She understands what it can do to people, especially when they are isolated as Ishida-kun is.
She also understands how to release guilt, soothing it away so it will only leave, at the worst, a pale scar. Orihime has many scars. Yet, she has a feeling that Ishida-kun will have more.
For a long time, there is no sound in the room except that of her halting breathing. She blinks at her hands in her lap and looks across the cell to study Ishida-kun's frail, defeated frame.
She will heal him.
"Ishida-kun," she breathes, reaching her hands through the bars to the broken Quincy. "You are a good person."
They tell her that he is dangerous. Criminal, murderer, monster.
She knows that he is kind. Hero, guardian, protector.
And she will prove it to him.
A/N: Review, please. Comments and questions encourage me to write. And if there are any typos, grammar mistakes, or matters that I have overlooked, please let me know.
-Kimsa