You look at him –even though you know neither of you can see anymore, even though all your senses disappeared along with the last trace of your lives.
He's beside you, and motionless, and his eyes are empty and cold and dead. He looks as he always did: like something so powerful and still it could pass through thousands of billions of years unchanged, a marble statue left standing when his time has already gone.
But you look down at his hands, and it's surprising because they're bunched into fists and trembling. And then you remember how he died, and the image of a tuft of bright orange hair and a flash of black appears in your eyes. So he was also defeated by that Kurosaki kid, you think, and you wonder how the arrogant Cuatro Espada could possibly feel about that. Angry, most probably; but then again it is Ulquiorra Cifer, and any kind of raw emotion seems alien to him.
You'd be angry, though. You'd be pretty pissed if you were that high and mighty fourth Espada and lost to that guy. Hell, you're pretty pissed at being the sixth Espada and having lost to him. You ponder at that last battle and you wonder if you should've pulled out of it while you still could. Because long before you died, you knew you wouldn't come out victorious. But to run… would've been unacceptable. Not because it was cowardly; not even because Kurosaki probably would've chased him down anyway. To run… meant that you'd admitted you lost. And you're the king. You're Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. You don't lose.
He doesn't lose either, you think as you sneak another glance at him. His fists are still trembling, and the lines of his face seem harder than usual. He can't admit to losing either, you guess, and that's probably why he looks so… unsettled right now.
You look at him and there's a smirk pulling at the corner of your lips (what lips? Your lips, and mouth, and face, and body have been left behind you when you collapsed), and you hate yourself for it. Because this smirk is your trademark. Because this smirk is so undeniably and eternally you. Grimmjow Jaegerquez. And you think that it should've made you feel better, but it doesn't. It fucking hurts, because even now in death, even now when everything has gone, you're still here, in this dense area of doubtful nothingness, and so everything you hated about yourself has somehow survived along with you. And even now, you can't bring yourself to change those things –they're sticking to you like the blood of so many of your opponents, and they just won't come off, and it's frustrating.
If you died, you should at least be free from yourself, right? You never would've admitted it while you were alive but now you're dead and things are, to say the least, different. Now you can say that you're tired, so tired. You're exhausted of being Grimmjow and smirking like you do, and fighting like you do, and hating and always having to win like you do. You wish you could have some semblance of peace right now, but it's not coming and you're still desperately stuck at being you, in this place that's hanging between life and death.
"Grimmjow".
He said your name, and for once it doesn't sound almost-empty-save-for-a-morsel-of-disdain. It sounds… you don't know how it sounds. After all, neither of you are supposed to be able to hear or speak anymore.
"What?" you ask and you know how you sound. Once again you sound angry, and hateful and just so fucking bitter because he's the Cuatro and you're the Sexta and it will always, always be that way. Are you destined to always feel this way, even after his last and definite death? What does all this matter now? Why can't you let go of it? Because you're afraid. Because if you let go, there will be something new and entirely different than this feeling of anger and hatred towards him and it scares the shit out of you.
"Are you angry at me, Grimmjow?"
You're shocked at that. It almost sounds as a little kid trying to make peace with his friend, which is absurd because Ulquiorra is not a child, and you're definitely not his friend. You turn to him at last and he's looking at you, not from a sideways glance, or from the height of his superiority, but at him, directly, staring into his eyes. And you know it's stupid and futile, but you can't help feel a bit of joy at the fact that he's shorter than you.
"Did you hear me, Grimmjow?"
The voice seems soft now, almost velvety… and you want to smack yourself over the head for thinking something so girly, but it's true, there's no other word that could describe that voice better. It's not exactly silky either; it used to be. But although "silky" is soft, it's also somehow as sharp and bright as a sword's end, and it has a dangerous ring to it. "Velvety" does not. "Velvety" is gentle, and small, and there's no animosity in it.
"I-I heard you, dumbass. I'm not angry at you, so stop talking like a sissy".
Your answer surprises you yourself. First off, there's the unpleasant fact that your voice wavered –if only for a second, it wavered. And if Ulquiorra can have that effect on you, well you should be pretty worried. And why did you say that you weren't angry? You're not like him. You've felt emotions. You've always felt somewhat angry at something, this something that was bigger than you and unbeatable and always, always rooting against you. You've felt that the world had it in for you. And still now, you're angry. Only you start to realize that, whatever and whoever you're mad at, it's not Ulquiorra.
"Good."
Your eyes just jumped out of their sockets. Ulquiorra is staring down at himself with an awed look on his face. He looks curious, but not upset. Amazed, but not troubled. As if he's surprised himself, just like you just surprised yourself. Because Ulquiorra doesn't have feelings. He doesn't feel that something is good or bad –well, unless his precious Aizen-sama says so.
And suddenly, you become aware that there was a ground under your feet, and at the same instant you also become aware that this ground is slipping from beneath, and you're falling and there's nothing to grasp at, except the lithe Espada next to you. So you grab at his arm, and now he's falling with you. You feel guilty for a second for dragging him down with you, but then again he was probably going to fall too anyway.
You land on something hard and soft at the same time, something that smells fresh and wild and delightful. It's as green as his eyes. With a start, you realize it's grass.
There's no grass in Hueco Mundo. You're sitting on a grassy hilltop, and you don't know this place but you like it. You look beside you and Ulquiorra looks as dumbfounded as you do, with a hand in his hair and the other timidly touching the ground under him. He's cute, you think, before correcting yourself: no, he's not cute. He's beautiful. You couldn't say it before. It was wrong before, now it isn't. It's just true. Ulquiorra is beautiful and Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez acknowledges and it's probably not completely normal, but it's the truth so hey, what can you do about it?
He looks at you, and his eyes are sparkling, for once, and it's so odd but so magnificent that you feel yourself smiling. Not smirking, smiling for once, actually. He looks up, and your gaze follows his and yet another breathtaking sight reaches your eyes that are dead, that are supposed to be blind: the night sky. Not Hueco Mundo's sky, with only the blackness and the lone moon with that graceful, melancholy curve of hers. The moon is there, but it's shining and silvery white, not dully grey, and she's not alone anymore. There are stars, so many of them.
"Grimmjow… Where are we?" he asks.
"How should I know, butt munch?" you retort, voice dripping with half-hearted spite.
"What is a "butt munch"?"
You feel yourself chuckle at that, and he frowns, and it's so funny and cute that you erupt into whole-hearted laughter. He smiles then, and the laughter ceases to be that of a mocking bird and becomes a pure melody of happiness that holds everything good of the world in its music, and you're is amazed that you, the Sexta Espada, the one with so much blood on his hands, could produce something so wonderful. And then you realize that it's all thanks to Ulquiorra and you feel grateful and something else that you can't quite define.
"Grimmjow…" he turns his head to the sky again, eyes alight with wonder, and finishes: "is this the Soul Society?"
You feel yourself break at those words, because you had doubted the same.
"God, I hope not", you laugh darkly. "After all the time we spent fighting these guys…"
There's a light, delicate sound: Ulquiorra is chuckling. And then suddenly you know what it was that you felt moments earlier. You were grateful towards him, but you were also something else, something indescribable, but you try to describe it anyway and the result you get is adoring. You adore him, in this moment and under this sky and in the light of these stars, and you reach over to press your hand softly to his perfect cheek; he looks surprised for a moment, then relaxes into the touch, and smiles. And in the air there is a peaceful vibe hanging between them, one all too fragile and all too short, but it's there and it's great and you soak up every moment of it before it's gone.
"I hated you", you choke out, and it wasn't what you meant to say, but it comes out that way and Ulquiorra seems to understand it. It means: I wasted my afterlife hating you when we could've had something so different and so much better together, and I'm sorry and I'm sorry and I'm so, so sorry.
"I know", he says softly, lovingly. And you want to kiss him, so you do. Your lips caress his; they're just like him: beautiful, light and cold, but –you know it now—bursting with contained warmth and life underneath the surface.
You think briefly that you had never been the type to whisper tender words and beautiful promises to your lover, and you feel bitter because now it's too late, there's not much time left and before they know it they'll be separated again. And you feel that it's not the first time you've been with Ulquiorra on this hilltop under the night sky and the bright stars; it feels like they've died and been reborn together, time after time, life after life; and after having spent their time hating each other, in this place between life and death they confessed their love for each other, and admitted that it was more powerful than the hate and the bitterness of the what-could-have-beens. Something is dying and at the same time something else is blossoming to a new life as the two of you feel yourselves start to disintegrate and evaporate in the night sky, and there is a slight whisper of love across the world, like the first winds of spring on a hilltop once again turned bright and buzzing with life.
You pull back, and he closes his eyes, and a soft wind blows his black hair, and he says, almost in a whisper: "I do not know where we are… or why we are here… or what will become of us… but if we Hollows are allowed one wish to the world, then, this is mine.
I wish that, if I be reborn, I can live in a place where I will be able to feel from the beginning of my life to its end."
He smiles at you then, and finishes: "And that I will see you but once more, Grimmjow, in whatever shape of form you are reborn."
You smile, and chuckle.
"Heh, same here", you say.