Hello, people. It feels great starting a brand new fic and once again I'm not sure how long this one would stretch on to be... It was supposed to be a one-shot. But dang, it got too messy and I reconstructed it and now Chapter 2 is already in-progress! =]
I started out by exploring the similarities between Orihime and Rukia. (They both have fruitless first loves, in my opinion. Orihime and Ichigo. Rukia and Kaien.) And the next thing I knew, TADA! I came up with a rather complex philosophical/romantic story which takes place during the Hueco Mundo arc.
As the name of this chapter suggests, everything might seem a bit messy and ambiguous at first. (Heck it even comes with a poem!) Don't worry, I'll make sure the storyline flows in the next chapter and the issues between characters will soon become clear.
Do remember to drop me some reviews.
Ladies and gentlemen, FOREVER BLUE.
CHAPTER 1: A MESSY START
She stood frozen, midway along the deserted corridor of Las Noches. Her eyes were dead gray with morbid seriousness, directed at the equally unmoving figure positioned at the end of the corridor. His silhouette contrasted with the artificial sunlight that shone through the window as he stood facing her, a scowled in place, waiting for her voluntary self-explanation.
"I…wasn't escaping or anything, really. I was just touring the building!" she half- exclaimed, a bit panicky. She waved her arms awkwardly in the air for emphasis, earning a smirk in return—he was amused by her antics. He couldn't understand, why the cheery façade when she was so obviously unhappy?
"I. Don't. Care," he replied, "It's not possible for you to outrun any of us, anyway. What I wanted to know was…Where's your freak of a guardian? Did he let you out just so you could stare and annoy the hell out of me?"
"No," she managed to smile, "Ulquiorra-sama said he won't be around till tomorrow. And I didn't mean to be rude… you looked, uh, interesting! Standing over there! So… I couldn't help…" her voice trailed away as she noticed that he was deep in thought, paying her little attention.
"Huh. So he's assigned to a bloody mission by Aizen again… Such a selfish prick, never sharing any of it."
"Yeah, I suppose," she responded without interest and looked away. "I should get going, Grimmjow."
He hmmph-ed in reply.
"Nice talking to you," she half-lied.
"And it's Grimmjow-sama to you, trash." His voice echoed once again as she turned away and walked in the opposite direction.
Inoue would come to remember that as their only proper conversation for as long as she lived.
How pathetic.
Do conversations really matter, anyway?
Rukia dragged her tired self across the squeaky-clean floorboards that seemed to stretch on infinitely along the Kuchiki Manor corridor which she could hardly recognise due to fatigue and the obvious—this place is just too big and all corridors look similar! She inwardly sighed as she recalled her day at work.
…which only consisted of paperwork ever since she was brought back to Sereitei from the human realm after Inoue's mysterious disappearance. Escorted back by Nii-sama, she corrected herself in her mind, and blew a loud sigh before she could stop herself.
Paperwork wasn't something she would complain about, but losing her voice due to a random sore throat which led to eardrum-pain-inducing fussing from her two third seats was a huge pain in the ass. And the fact that she couldn't yell at them to make them stop only made the situation chire-senbonzakura-worthy.
Wait, what was that? She berated herself for having thoughts—insignificant thoughts—surrounding her adoptive brother.
Ah, now without the ability to talk, dinner would be extra awkward with him. Perhaps he would enjoy the complete silence?
Fifty years under the same roof with the man in question, she never believed that there was a bond between them but having his hands in hers that day on Sokyouku willed her to rethink her stand. She thought it was best that from there on she would remain alive for him as much as he had devoted his life to serve the promise made to Lady Hisana.
Even if that meant doing so without any verbal exchange with Nii-sama.
Because we are already connected. She mouthed her thoughts, but no sound came.
Was it laughable that she believed a connection could be established without speech or any form of prerequisites and expectations between two souls?
"There isn't one between us after all." They had friendship, this she never doubted. But one's desire often outgrew reality. Inoue sat, and sulked on her bleach-white bed, her eyes glued to the hem of her arrancar uniform.
The door did not creak open, rather, it slid effortlessly to the side, allowing soundless footsteps to come through, but she sensed his presence soon enough. She made no move to greet him.
"What is not there? I assume you are reminiscing your time with that human boy," it was the green-eyed Espada.
"Hai," she replied with gut-deep honesty, her seated figure unmoving on the bed.
He counted to three and as expected she opened her mouth again, this time to answer the first question.
"I was… talking about a very abstract form of human connection, Ulquiorra-sama," she began, paying awful lot of care to make everything non-Hollow understandable to her guardian, "something based on mutual respect and care, existing between hearts and…"
"You mean 'love'."
"Oh yes!" she almost squealed at that, but composed herself out of politeness and also out of the despair that she was originally mulling about. "You know, not just the chocolatey and 'let's get married' kind of love, but the plain, earthy and as undetected as a whisper type of love as well." The tone of her further elaboration was as bouncy as ever, nevertheless he saw from the corner of his eyes that she had fisted the bedsheets with her right hand as she spoke. He only nodded in response.
"Connections are always there, even when you don't know it. They are unbreakable… as long as you allow yourself to feel it," she continued. The exact moment she completed her sentence he minutely crinkled his nose at the scent of salt water. She had started crying. Her back hunched visibly and she covered her face with the sweep of fringe that had fallen out of place as her body wrecked with sobs.
"There should be no grief for a human man who does not allow himself to feel this 'connection' of yours that is supposedly so essential for the survival of your kind," he replied suddenly and watched as she raised her head, tears fresh and sobs raspy, to stare at him in wonder. He almost flinched under her gaze.
"One must not reduce itself to a pathetic existence just because an effort is rejected. If he does not want to connect with you, so be it. Furthermore, matters of…the 'heart' are of no significance. I do not understand your despair. Get over yourself, onna." Emerald eyes closed in a feeble attempt to shut off the overflow of emotions from the human who was mercilessly throwing foreign concepts at him. He would not allow himself to relate, much less succumb to the way humans. What he told her was a mere automatic response, carrying meaning which he himself did not understand.
Unbeknownst to him, however, the weeping girl, in the middle of her little meltdown, had silently told herself, I'm glad you allowed yourself to feel, Ulquiorra.
Unbeknownst to him, he was beginning a healing that even the magical girl before him could never do by herself—nothing could reverse the hurt of a broken connection like a blossoming one could.
What exactly do humans need to be whole?
"I don't know if this universe has 'forever' flowing in it… Everything seems to fade away at some point… but I… I think 'forevers' can be artificial. We make them," she said.
She had found herself once again seated on her bed while her guardian stared down at her with an expression which she interpreted as confusion. She didn't care to ask why he had begun such an unusual discussion with her, and allowed herself to appreciate his randomness as one would gleefully accept sheer good luck. He had enquired why human beings desire constancy or eternity.
"All turns to ashes in the end. Artificial or not, forever is only heresy."
"'Forever' exists in the heart. The body decays to nothingness but the soul will always remember what the heart has gained. It isn't pointless," her voice was even in seriousness and conviction and she braved herself for his retort. But it never came.
"I don't understand," he stated plainly, his tone mildly deflated—or was it just her imagination? He turned away from her, ready to leave her cell.
And she too, turned silent.
He placed a pale hand on the door and it moved immediately under his command.
"Ulquiorra, wait!" her little voice echoed in the white room and he halted the movement of the door. "I was trying to say that matters of the heart can be immortal because of the connections made between souls… The connections are unconditional and unbreakable as long as…"
"…one allows himself to feel it," he finished for her, his pools of emerald shining a tint of black in a show of impatience.
"Right! So… I know it sounds impossible, because logically nothing is 'unconditional' or without price. But that's precisely the point! Being impossible! When an impossible connection is made, nothing, not even death, can break it…" her voice drifted away as she felt his intense gaze on her. She knew she just made a fool of herself, and it was apparent that she wasn't even sure about what she was talking about.
"You want… proof?" She probed when he didn't move nor speak, his palm still resting on the flat plane of the door.
"I doubt that you could provide any."
She beamed at him. "The fact that you are here, talking to me, is my proof. You came in here, not out of curiosity and definitely not out of duty. You don't desire answers—you are here so that I can prove you wrong. Our connection," she laughed lightly, almost sounding ridiculed by herself, "tells me that you have been thinking about all these…" she waved her arms absentmindedly, "even before I got here. You have answers of your own but you can't fully accept them. Because, just because, you don't like them."
He narrowed his eyes.
"We have a connection," she concluded with a smile, "as impossible as it seems."
"You talk too much, woman." In his mind though, he didn't even want to rebut her courageous assumptions about his inner workings. He preoccupied himself with new questions, afraid that dwelling on her lengthy explanation will lead him to his own undoing. He no longer wanted to know if she was right in her human trashy ways.
So now as Ulquiorra strode past rows and rows of colourless hallways, he asked himself, "Will our connection last forever then?"
Past deaths and the rebirth of the undead, his memories of his old lives and of those he devoured on the road to abomination had been eaten away by raw power and the reluctance to remember. He lived without a single hope for permanence. But now…
He knew he hoped that Inoue Orihime would remember for his sake. And just maybe, that connection will live on with her. "How pathetic," he muttered under his breath.
Nii-sama finally came home. He had spared her a glance before walking away as wordlessly as usual. He didn't seem to mind her reluctance to verbally bid him goodnight when she bowed in respect, the only movement she could afford at the moment.
Straightening herself, Rukia watched his retreating figure and felt a sudden rush of panic in her chest—don't go. And she mentally slapped herself for naively believing that silence was a healthy way to stay connected. Nii-sama. She gripped the hilt of her zanpakutou and remained rooted at the entrance of the dining hall.
Dinner was of course disastrous. In Rukia's terms, at least. There was absolutely no exchange of words. That, Rukia had expected.
But she had hoped that he would question her silence. A flat comment would have positively fixed her spirits.
She wanted to see his concern.
It's not a lie. Nii-sama. We are related in many ways, even though not by blood. Our connection… it's not a lie.
Self salvation sometimes required the cruelest solution—self-deception.
She knew. Inoue Orihime knew that he would be less grateful than the cat she rescued from a tree in Karakura Town. The darn cat managed to scratch her cheek then, meowing merrily before sprinting away to god-knows-where.
It was their second meeting. And this one was filled with more anxiety and fear.
Anxiety because she had always felt… connected to people she healed. It was a peculiar and indescribable feeling. Purely irrational and flimsy compared to thoughts based on friendship and love. This is physical, something created through her sort-of magical abilities applied on flesh and blood; yet it was also somehow spiritual.
She was anxious. She did not particularly want to bond with this… man. Nor did she want to deny him his arm. The irony is, however, she already had some kind of connection to him. She couldn't say she liked him or befriended him, but she knew from the bottom of her soul that she did not wish to see him die, did not want him to participate in the war, did not want him to fight the man she supposedly loved.
Grimmjow Jaegurjaques was officially on Inoue Orihime's to-be-protected list.
And when she utter ed "I reject" and reconstructed his lost arm, she knew there was no turning back. She feared for herself: How would I feel if he got hurt again? Fearing for him, rather it be his physical or his emotional state, would of course come in the package deal. She concluded that she could not and would not distant herself from this man anymore—he now deserved her attention, her care and possibly her honesty and genuine feelings… even when he wanted nothing to do with her.
Like the so-called 'connection', her conclusion was so highly irrational. She was fine with that, nevertheless. It isn't self-deception, she insisted furiously in her mind.
How rare an occasion,
To look out of my tiny window and see the clouds
White and unmoving;
As though all wind had died
And never again to brush my blue blue sky?
The clock continues its ticking,
But for this strange little moment
When all else remain frozen,
I suddenly believe in forever,
Just as much
As I loved that laugh you had
When you pointed at the twinkles above
That awkward windless night.
Oh for you who'd gone away,
I sit and stare much like that cloud over there,
Stubborn and stagnant!
To be your dash of white,
Though you are only forever blue
Up on the sky I built in my mind.