Title: Pain
Disclaimer: (Jeez, forgot this at first...) Yeah, I don't own it. If I did... Well, you'd know, that's for sure.
Spoilers: Rukia's battle with the 9th Espada (anime ep. 154 onwards, manga chapter 262 onwards)
Warnings: Yuri, and copious amounts of angst.
I'm not really sure what inspired this, but I think it was a simply gorgeous set of icons by dragonsquee on the LJ community winnar, so thank you very much, dragon-san!
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Pain
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Orihime had been alone, hopeful and worried all at once, when that strange tickling sensation had started at the back of her neck and spread through her mind. She was unsure but equally unconcerned – after all, Aizen himself had ordered her "safe"-keeping – until a wave of agony washed through her.
Aaroniero Arruruerie's memories hit hard and in a sickening rush, jumbled images and sensations and the pain he was experiencing piercing her own skull in such a way that as she returned to her senses she found her fingers clutching ferociously at the roots of her hair.
For a moment all she felt was relief at the death of one of the most terrifying individuals she had known – somehow his particularly cruel brand of sadism was more horrifying than Grimmjow's violent nature or Uriquolla's raw power – until the image of Rukia slumped on a frozen floor appeared in her mind's eye.
The pain in her head was dwarfed.
Vaguely, she could feel her throat constricting as she yelled and her fists pounding against unyielding metal, but it was with the strange sensation that it wasn't really her; Orihime was beside Rukia, sobbing over her broken from, reaching for icy limbs.
Arruruerie's memories and thoughts circled in her head until she felt like she would vomit, replaying Rukia's first emotional and then physical torment with an appallingly joyful slant, until all Orihime could see were those beautiful, broken eyes and her limp form hanging from his stolen blade in a repulsive imitation of a rag-doll. Her pride in the shinigami's victory (she was alive, it wasn't a draw, her Rukia was strong and alive and he was not) was barely noticeable next to her revulsion and mounting panic at the images that saturated her mind.
The smears of blood on the door brought her back to herself a little, and hurt bloomed in over-taxed vocal cords and joints, in hands rubbed raw, in aching feet. She didn't know how long she had been standing there screaming.
"Kuchiki-san…"
The thought terrified her. She knew she had been there a while - knew it wasn't a short while either - but oh dear Kami-sama, how long? An hour? Two or three? Was Rukia-chan still alive? She had been breathing in the last of Arruruerie's moments, but those wounds had been horrifying, and Rukia was certainly no healer. She knew the basic kido and first aid well enough, but with more serious injuries the best she could do was use her shikai in an attempt to freeze the torn flesh for a while to stop it worsening – but that was unlikely to help with the, the holes punctured through her by that trident…
A horrified, almost animalistic sound ripped itself from her, and she felt the tears rush faster down her face.
There had been blood on those lips…
She curled over, her forehead resting on her knees, and sobbed. She had dreaded this – the injury (loss, by now surely it was loss) of one of her near-family for her, but it stole her breath and hope that it was Rukia. Rukia, who had always smiled for her, who had reassured her, who had helped and protected her at every turn. Rukia, whose lips were soft but fierce in the most delicious contradiction, and whose hands were always gentle for her. Who forever smelt like raspberry iced tea, even when they were naked, sweaty and tangled together, all trembling legs and heaving chests and dancing fingers. Whom she couldn't face before she left – she ran after an old crush instead of to her new love, knowing that the sight of Rukia would shatter her resolve; convincing herself and consoling herself that it wasn't over if she didn't say goodbye.
She didn't like to consider how Rukia must've reacted when she heard of Orihime's "treachery" – she hoped that she'd had faith in her, but knew Rukia too well to think she would've dismissed the idea immediately. She'd spent too long on the streets of Rukongai, and later around backstabbing nobles in the Kuchiki clan to reject the probability of betrayal out of hand. She would've sat for hours, most likely, torn between logic and loyalty.
Yet at the same time, Rukia was the only one who would understand. There had been no secrets between the sweat-soaked sheets in Orihime's room; Orihime knew Rukia's guilt and self-hatred as intimately as she knew the woman's body, knew how inadequate she felt and what her nightmares were woven from. She herself often found herself speaking when she hadn't even noticed her mouth moving, and stuttered awkwardly when she realised just what secrets she was spilling to the dark-haired shinigami. If anyone could know or understand her motivations, it would be Rukia.
Still, she had hoped that maybe she (they, it wasn't just Rukia, she had to remember it was they) wouldn't come – wouldn't brave the terrors and pain and thrice-damned possibilities of Hueco Mundo and Las Noches. But of course she (they) would, and she (they, dammit) did, moving to save Orihime from both Aizen and herself. Rukia knew the loneliness and heart-stopping agony of being captive whilst her heart's darlings fought, sacrificed and hurt to rescue her – there was no way she would allow Orihime to suffer that, not alone and not for a moment longer than was unavoidable. She would rush to her side and hold her against her ragged, tired form, and kiss away all her doubt and pain and solitude until the ice filling her chest had melted completely.
At the very least, she would come to Orihime to hear from her own treacherous lips that it was over – that Orihime was leaving, that this was her decision and she chose to say farewell.
But it was over too soon for any of that; it was already finished, and they hadn't said goodbye at all.
In the back of her mind, she could feel flares of reiatsu from Uryuu, Renji and Ichigo, and tried her best to care, to hold on to hope for them. She could sense Chad fading bit by bit, and felt guilty for not being more concerned. But the vast majority of her mind was on that icy front line, beside the battered shinigami whose reiatsu she couldn't sense anymore.
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