AN: Hey! Thanks to everyone for the reviews on the last chapter – it's really wonderful to have such a thoughtful group of consistent reviewers. I always look forward to your comments whenever I post, they are the best motivation and inspiration. :)
There's some deliberate and lampshaded out of character-ness in this chapter, due to extenuating circumstances, but do let me know if it seems to go too far off base or if there's anything in particular that feels jarring. Constructive criticism always helps me improve!
Speaking of improvement, I've tried something new with the formatting this time, since it's been causing problems, so let me know if it improves readability for you guys.
And without further ado, I'll give you the long awaited resolution to last chapter's cliffhanger!
The image of Ichigo and Orihime being carried out on stretchers is hazy; he can hardly remember his spiritual binders being put back on. When he is back in the cell, Ichigo splayed in the dirt in front of him, he finds that he can finally breathe, finally focus. He scoots over to the prone form of the shinigami, looking at him carefully. He is trembling all over, and when he reaches over to lay a hand against his forehead, he is shocked by the fierce heat radiating from Ichigo. One hand automatically goes back towards his belt, but he hesitates. He doesn't know what exactly is causing this apparent fever (Could there be bacteria in Hueco Mundo? Or viruses? They had seen hollowified lizards, but... maybe spiritual beings had their own diseases...), but clearly it's the result of something wrong with the shinigami's spiritual energy. It was possible that anything he could give him would make it worse - he doesn't know how any of Kurotsuchi's treatments work, anyway. (His fingers twitch, but he ignores it. He doesn't have time.)
He looks at Ichigo's face, sweat staining his orange hair, damping down the unruly spikes. Uryu runs his hand from the boy's forehead through the damp locks, letting his hand rest for a moment before abruptly pulling it away.
So something had gone wrong with Ichigo's spiritual energy, he steers his train of thought back. What was different about this case? It wasn't as though the shinigami had never pushed himself to his limit; he had fought far more powerful opponents than these arrancar. However, he notes, Ichigo wasn't used to long term melee fights. He fought one on one with an opponent, finished, rested or healed, and then moved on. He couldn't think of a time before now that Ichigo would have fought a group of opponents for so long - not even on that first day in the park. And he wasn't alone that time he thinks, and feels his stomach twist. Being on full blast, he redirects himself, - or even nearly-full blast - for so long, was bound to exhaust his spiritual energy. But that it would do so much...
He tries not to contemplate it could have been worse, instead examining Ichigo more closely. His eyes are half closed, brown eyes twitching beneath the lids. He leans over, worried, and then the brown eyes snap open, staring straight up at him. His throat tightens.
"Ru-kia?" Ichigo asks in a faint, raspy voice, quite unlike his own.
"No," He says, trying not to think about being mistaken for Kuchiki-san, "It's me, Uryu."
"Oh," Ichigo replies, " 'course. Glasses..." A wobbly hand reaches up to his face, waving as though to swat lightly at the offending article. Uryu catches the wavering appendage, lowering it back to the floor, and adjusts his glasses with his other hand to distract himself. Ichigo looks oddly hurt, sticking his lower lip out like a petulant child. " 're nice eyes. Not fair to hide 'em."
Uryu's eyes widen. Either he has misheard, or something has gone drastically wrong with the universe, because Ichigo Kurosaki did not call people's eyes 'nice' - especially not his. "R-really?" He replies, brain still numb from the abrupt shift in reality, trying not to stutter and failing.
"Yep." The shinigami replied with the bright confidence of someone much younger. "All blue. Like... blue things." He waves his other hand vaguely.
"Blue things." Uryu mutters faintly, biting back the sarcasm he would normally express, because Ichigo is clearly, painfully not himself.
He hears footsteps in the hall, and hopes they are bringing water. He puts a hand on Ichigo's shoulder, preparing to stand up. "You should rest."
Ichigo's face shifts from childish certainty to unhappiness with a rapidity that should not, by all rights, be possible. "Don't leave."
His eyes are wide and he looks frightened. The expression is hopelessly out of place on his face, like a six year old boy staring out from the eyes of a soldier. Uryu considers for a moment that he has been thrown into some absurd alternate universe, like in one of those science fiction shows he occasionally indulges in.
"It'll be just a second, I'm just going to the door," He says, attempting to sound soothing. "You'll be able to see me the whole time."
Ichigo pouts, but doesn't speak. Uryu starts to stand up, but only then does he realize Ichigo hasn't let go of his hand. His face flushes, but he squeezes the hand before letting it go, hoping that this is, in fact, some freakish alternate universe so Ichigo won't remember this later.
He finally rises and goes to the door to meet the approaching arrancar, who sneers and shoves the tray with food and water into his hands. The arrancar leans over to fix his black-irised eyes on Ichigo. "Freak's right messed up, eh? His little girlfriend's out of her head too. Keeps muttering his name. Kurosaki-kun, Kurosaki-kun." He squeaks in a falsetto voice. "Bloody broken record."
He meets the arrancar's eyes briefly but doesn't say anything, and the white-helmeted figure just scoffs. Turning around, he walks back to Ichigo and sets the trays on the ground. Ripping off the most tattered edge of his cape, he soaks it in one of the cups of water and lays it across Ichigo's forehead.
"Mm, 's good." Ichigo mumbles, and Uryu lets himself smile just a little.
"Hungry?" He asks, looking at the food on the tray and wincing - he wouldn't want to feed this to a healthy person, much less Ichigo, but he needs something.
"Nuh-uh. Thirsty." Uryu decides not to push food on him, hoping he will get his appetite back soon - he really doesn't want bile all over the cell, in any case. He puts his hand on Ichigo's head to help him up just enough so he could tilt the glass of water into his mouth. "T'anks." He says after he swallows, and his eyelids flutter to half mast.
Uryu sits back and watches him, trying not to think of the other redhead who was alone here. 'His little girlfriend's out of her head too.' It wasn't as though he could even be annoyed about the first part, it would be like being annoyed with someone for saying that the sky was blue (was the sky actually blue in Hueco Mundo?) or the sun was hot - the fact that Orihime loved Ichigo was equally apparent. (Except, admittedly, to Ichigo, but then again he always was exceptionally dense.) And it couldn't even bother him, because Orihime was so completely generous and selfless, so hopelessly without pretension or guile - everything Ichigo was.
(Everything he wasn't.)
And really, you couldn't help but want her to be happy. To do otherwise would be like trying to fight the tides.
He breaks himself out of this wandering train of thought when he hears Ichigo gasp. "What," The shinigami says, still raspy and weak but at least less childish. "The Hell are those?" He waved his arm at the empty space in front of the door. Eyes wide and glazed, he tries to push himself to his feet and fails, waving his hand in the air as though he expects a sword to appear in it. "Zangetsu? Zangetsu!"
Alright, hallucinations. Those generally happened with a fever, so he guessed that whatever was wrong with Ichigo was close enough to a fever to mimic this particular symptom.
Ichigo was pushing himself back, trying to shift himself upright against the wall, one fist raised.
Monsters. He could deal with monsters. He always had.
Ichigo looks at him, wild eyed, "Uryu, I can't -" and Uryu squares his shoulders and rolls his eyes, adjusting his glasses.
"Honestly, Kurosaki, do I have to deal with everything?" He forces his mouth to twitch into a smirk, and is relieved to see that in spite of the glazed eyes and the sweat there is a faint answering grin on the shinigami's face as his fist relaxes.
Feeling slightly silly, he raises his arm as though summoning his bow, blocked from him by the dull grey bands around his wrists, and steps in front of Ichigo. He shifts his arms around, as though aiming at various targets around the room, hoping that this will resolve Ichigo's fear. After a few moments of 'fighting', he turns around to check Ichigo's reaction. The boy's eyes are half closed, and he seems to be shaking again from the strain of standing, but he smiles vaguely and says "Nice one, Ishida." before sliding down the wall.
Uryu rushes over to him, steadying his fall and straightening him out into a slouched sitting position. His brown eyes twitch beneath fluttering lids, and as Uryu raises a hand to check his temperature, he can see beads of sweat streaming down his forehead. He reaches to tear off another piece of cloth when he hears Ichigo mutter "'hime...".
He looks around, scrap of his cape half torn away, but Ichigo's eyes are closed, his face twitching. "'hime... no... no..." The boy's fingers clench, and Uryu realizes that he must have grabbed his hand as Ichigo's fingernails dig into his palm. Flushing, he rips the rest of the fabric away. He reaches over and strokes Ichigo's forehead with it, dabbing at the sweat above his eyes. Trying to sound soothing instead of panicked, he murmurs softly "It's okay, it's okay, she's fine." hoping desperately that it's true.
Ichigo's face relaxes slightly at his touch, and his nails stop digging furrows in his hand.
They sit like that for what feels like ages, as light fades from the cell. Ichigo murmurs and twitches fitfully, calling after Rukia, Yuzu and Karin, Chad and Renji, Tatsuki, even, in a child's quiet, lilting voice, for his mother. Uryu wipes his forehead each time, and mutters words of comfort that feel hollow and hopeless on his lips.
The quietest words, last of all, are his name, barely a breath, "Uryu, please..."
He starts at the sound, before squeezing the clenched fingers and letting a hand drift over his closed eyes. "It's okay," He feels his face flush in the darkness. "I'm here."
Ichigo's eyes snap open, staring blankly up at the ceiling, and he feels the clench of panic in his stomach.
But then they fix on his eyes, clear, and his voice sounds more himself than it has all evening, "'m glad you're here, Uryu."
And in spite of himself, in spite of any rational thought, there in the darkness he takes the words, wraps them up in the feeling of Ichigo's fingers around his, and tucks them in a warm, safe place.