Haha, I guess I'm one of the rare few who don't give a crap about reviews. \o/ I'm enjoying writing it too much, so it goes~

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"You know Ichigo is with us, and he's happy too."

Orihime's own words followed her through the pearly corridors that evening. She'd walked all around the buildings, poked her head into many of the rooms of friends she hadn't seen since she'd left for Earth a few weeks ago, and soaked the feeling of being home back in. But she also reflected on those last moments with Rukia, namely what little was said about Ichigo.

Ichigo was happy, and she knew she wasn't making that up. It's true, he'd felt like a failure at first, or some sort of monster, but so had she. The guilt lessened when they let their friends flee, and their time in Hueco Mundo had made their lives up to then seem like whole other past lives. Ichigo opened up more than he ever did on Earth; he started to smile, for one thing, which Orihime definitely enjoyed, and she'd been able to talk to him in a way that would have left her tongue tied and nervous back then. But she had little to lose now, and the words came freely. If she'd been happy with his initial changes, she nearly soared when he apologized for his ignorance, and promptly kissed her.

Orihime smiled somewhat dreamily as she remembered that. The only thing that could burst their little bubble from that point on was…

Blue hair and a raving grin came to mind, and Orihime shook her head in mock despair, hopping up onto a low windowsill and letting her head rest on the arch, spreading her legs out. Grimmjow had gotten awful close to them both after that. She never figured out if he was jealous of Ichigo, or liked the other male more than he let on. Whatever the case, it didn't take long for a not-so-subtle 3rd person to start sneaking in to sleep with them at night. And Ichigo didn't seem to mind either, when Orihime expected fights to break out every day. If anything, Grimmjow was the perfect compliment. The two of them could beat each other senseless just for the thrill of it, but they always kissed and made up, literally.

-

Those first few days had been chaotic. She swore that the world would break apart before it was all over with.

From the human perspective, reports had trickled in slowly to begin with. Strange creatures were appearing in major cities, huge black beasts, featureless except for solid white masks for faces, and large enough to topple a skyscraper each. Missiles and other key weapons were devoured by the things, military bases disappearing in the blink of an eye and a bright red explosion.

Arrancar poured in, as did the shinigami. Great battles took place where cities had been. She remembered flying solemnly over her own immense unit, stretching for half a mile and practically shifting the Earth as they marched to meet the equally large shinigami party. A section took up a ragged cheer as she passed over, seeming like a bright red battle banner, and she laughed, certain of the outcome. They may have been matched, perhaps even outnumbered, but they had circumstance on their side. The shinigami had been too comfortable in their precise ways; the only soldiers there truly ready for battle were the 13 squads, which obviously had to be spread out; all the rest had to be filled with students barely out of, or still in, training. Arrancar were almost limitless, if one traveled the whole of Hueco Mundo and actually looked, and all quite capable in combat from "birth."

The charge was quick, and the scene dissolved into screaming chaos. It was hard to see everything clearly, but she remembered perfectly the young shinigami, her first kill. He'd managed to scramble some distance away, until he backed into her, blind with fear. He looked up at her in horror, and she kicked out with one foot, claws extended, bashing right up through his chin and almost getting stuck in his skull with the force.

-

Orihime gasped for air, but only the crickets answered. She'd fallen asleep on the windowsill, probably for some time. She ran a hand through her hair and groaned aloud at the stiffness in her back, then braced her hands on her knees and tried to still the ache in her chest. She reached for her heart, meeting empty air, and slowly felt around the fist-sized hole. It was weird how it could hurt like that, but she supposed if she could still feel emotionally, phantom sensations weren't out of the question.

She hoped it wasn't responsible for the dreams, though. That could only be a bad thing. It'd been quite a while since she'd thought of that incident, seeming a lifetime ago, and she had no desire to relive the experience. She couldn't fathom why; anyone else would be proud of such victories, but the only sensation that dream left was a bad taste. Quite prepared to sit there all through the night and ponder that, she almost screamed at the sound of Aizen's voice, breaking through the silence like a cloud passing in front of the moon.

"You're troubled."

Orihime placed her hand over her hole again, obviously a new nervous reflex, as if to calm a fluttering heart. "Aizen-sama…you shouldn't do that!"

The powerful man came to sit on the other side of the large windowsill, leaning back with a sigh and folding his arms within the sleeves of his uniform. He looked at her with open amity. She liked that about him, he never made himself seem greater than her or the others, yet they respected him as superior without question. Of course, he was powerful, but he was kind to them, almost fatherly to those who welcomed the affection, and tolerant of those who preferred a more distant relationship with their remarkable leader. She instantly relaxed, no longer dumb-struck by his presence as she was relieved.

"You're right though, I am. It's just my dreams, they make me nervous." True enough. Best not to mention the outright fear.

Aizen didn't look surprised, but he had the grace to look honestly concerned. "Dreams of your past?"

"Sometimes. Usually they're about the war. Nightmares, really."

"I see."

There was an awkward silence then, and Orihime hoped she didn't give the wrong impression. She didn't regret any of it, and didn't want him to think so.

"I think I've got what the humans call PTSD," she chuckled nervously, only half-joking, to break the silence. And what an understatement that was, it didn't take any kind of therapist to see it. Everyone within hearing of her room knew that not a night passed without some incident, be it waking up screaming, yelling out in her sleep, or accidentally lashing out at Grimmjow or Ichigo, who inevitably woke up in a panic. She was surprised that she could ever even think of battle without having a fit.

Aizen let out a long breath, as if tired. "There is no shame in it. The doubt," he added, seeing her confused look. "For I'm guessing that you harbor guilt, and that causes you to doubt yourself."

Orihime nodded vaguely, looking down at her crossed feet on the sill. She fiddled with the white hakama pants, identical to Grimmjow's but just her size. She felt Aizen's gaze on her, and moved to brush non-existent dust from her forearm-gloves. No matter who, she hated being stared at.

"There is no cure for doubt, nor guilt. All you can do is go forward, and put the past behind you. If you think about it, that fact is the very essence of an Arrancar. When a person becomes a Hollow, something kept them from passing on to the afterlife, some burning emotion. A broken heart, unresolved shame, hatred, any number of things. And as they progress into the Arrancar phase they regain their sentiency, and enough of their memories and self to understand the very emotions that kept them from entering the next life. Yet they are propelled to continue onward, it's simply in their nature, like a sunflower ever reaching towards the sun. Whatever happened to you before is your past, and you must create your future."

The sudden shift in perspective, focusing directly on her, snapped Orihime out of the peaceful trance of his voice. How she'd heard that lecture before, it was part of what motivated her to sympathize with the Arrancar, and it made sense applied to her dilemma now.

A gentle hand, but strong, she knew, swept out in a small arc, gesturing towards the desert and it's endless horizon. "All of you is now here. Each grain of sand carries a part of you, and it will always be your home no matter how far you travel, or how entangled you become in the fog of your past." He turned a serious glance her way this time, which she returned. "That is ever more important for you to know now, as I feel you'll be traveling quite far indeed."

It was difficult to reply. Orihime couldn't argue with the certainty in his voice, but the words themselves! To travel from here to the human world was one thing, but she had a hunch that he was implying somewhere else altogether. The thought sent her stomach twisting into nervous knots and her muscles locking, her body protesting the very idea of leaving. It was true, what he'd said, and right now she could almost feel her form ready to dissolve into the sand, to become one with it.

"I'm…not quite sure I understand. I might even say I disagree, Aizen-sama. If you sent me somewhere, I would go without question, but how could I bear leaving here for so long on my own? Where else is there anyway, for someone like me?"

Aizen laughed then, taking all the seriousness from his person and making her wonder if he'd been joking. He stood and straightened out his robes, and began to walk back down the way he came, voice echoing off the halls. "I suggest you pay Szayel a visit, he'll have an answer for that!"

Orihime watched him go until he disappeared into the now-darkened corridor. After a minute of amused disbelief, she looked up at the sky, seeking some inner peace from the crescent moon that always hung there. But she could only gape at it, the hole in her chest giving a definite twinge that fixed to make her hurt right down to her nails.

The moon was full.