Sooo this is my first little attempt at an Ulquihime fic. I have all the chapters -- which aren't too long -- mostly written and in the cleaning stage, so hopefully everything should be posted in a timely manner.

Anyway, I hope it's at least an enjoyable read. Since it is my first try, I'd especially appreciate any feedback. I'm still feeling my way around the characters and how I want to write them, so it'd be nice to know how this one turned out for future reference.

Mmm is it even worth my time to say that I disclaim, since it's so painfully obvious that I own nothing?

Don't speak.

It had been the first order Ulquiorra had given her, those months ago when he had retrieved her from the human world. And she had complied, remaining silent even when he had returned at midnight to bring her to Hueco Mundo. From there, she had been little more than a shadow as she ghosted his steps through the long white halls to her room.

But then she had begun to speak to him. In the beginning, it had amounted to nothing in his mind, senseless and pointless babbling. It was likely for that reason that he had allowed it and not reiterated his earlier command. The woman could have nothing of any consequence to say, so what difference did it make if she spoke or not?

If what she said was of such little interest, however, it made it hard for him to explain why he had started to listen to her. Perhaps it was because of boredom, or some vague sense of curiosity. To understand her would be to better understand the enemy, and any knowledge that he could gain on that subject would only help Aizen-sama's pursuits. There couldn't be any harm in humoring her apparent need for conversation.

But the only conclusions that Ulquiorra had been able to draw were those he had already assumed – humans were inane creatures entirely driven by their emotions. It was frustrating to be in her presence, every shortcoming of humanity so perfectly demonstrated in her character.

Yet it was strange because, for all her weakness, she was strong. She swayed under the forces that pushed her fate, bowed low from the weight of her sorrows and fears, but she did not break. He could not understand how she retained the hope she did when faced with the odds raised against her.

Her strange resilience might have been why he had started to look for reasons to see her. His orders had been to make sure that she was in a state such that, when needed, she would be useful. In the beginning, he had foreseen three short visits a day to briefly ensure her health when her meals were brought to her. As she had done and said things that were beyond his ability to comprehend, however, it had seemed necessary to observe her more often. How did she have such overwhelming confidence in her friends, even when there was no possibility that they would be able to save her? What had she truly been thinking when she had so effortlessly lied that she lived to serve Aizen-sama? Why did so much life still shine in her eyes after all she had been through?

He closed his eyes for a moment, a silent sigh, before opening them again and considering the woman sitting across the table. She had seemed so simple initially, so easy to classify and dismiss. So why did he find himself with so many useless questions about her?

The soft click of her fork as she set it down broke the silence of the room and returned his focus. Ulquiorra dropped his gaze to the remainder of her dinner, noting how much she had eaten. "Have you finished?"

For a moment she blinked, as though clearing away her thoughts, and then nodded. There was a pause before he moved to rise, when she spoke. "Why do you stay here during my meals, Ulquiorra?"

Now standing, he slid his hands into his pockets. "Does my presence distress you?"

Her expressive eyes widened, and she shook her head. "No, I don't mind," she said quickly and then was silent, as though she had spoken before truly comprehending the meaning of her words.

"Then does it matter?"

Her gaze fell now, down and away from him so that her coppery hair slipped over her shoulder and obscured her face. "I suppose not."

Considering the short conversation to be finished, Ulquiorra left the room, gesturing for the servant to go in and retrieve her dishes. He waited until the servant exited again before once again locking the door and walking through the heavy quiet of the hall.

Yet suddenly it was impossible to keep his thoughts as silent as his surroundings. Her words had been like a stone in still water, rippling the calmness of his mind. A sort of satisfaction that she was not uncomfortable with him near, and confusion that he should feel so. As much as he would have liked it, he could not be totally devoid of emotion, but he had believed himself capable of at least monitoring their intensity and direction.

Perhaps he could have brushed off the incident, had it not happened before, and with increasing frequency. It seemed that every time she spoke to him, something new bubbled to the surface of his psyche from where it had been trapped under centuries of repression.

So if her words were the center of this alarming trend, then there was a simple, logical way to return to the apathy he had embraced lifetimes ago: he would refuse to allow her to speak.

But with the melody of her voice still haunting his mind, Ulquiorra vaguely wondered if logic was enough anymore.