Orihime's room never darkened that first night, not entirely, not enough to eclipse her thoughts of the day and her newfound terror of being back in Las Noches. She lay on the cot for a long time, hours after Grimmjow had delivered her supper and left for the night.

She assumed it was the night. The indirect lighting of the room lowered to half power after he'd left with her empty dishes, and several minutes later the lights had dimmed to a barely navigable power. It didn't matter to her that she couldn't see much of the boring, sparse room. She had nowhere to go except the lavatory area, no one to look at.

Grimmjow had watched her eat nearly silently from his seat on the chair that two servants he called Drones had brought in with her meal. Orihime couldn't determine if the small, slender beings were male or female, their figures ambiguous in charcoal gray coat and pants, the smooth features of their oval face unchanging. Both left without speaking.

The only conversation Grimmjow had allowed that morning were a few comments on her first full day at the laboratory.

"Listen to what they tell you and do it," he'd said, his face remaining impassive as he spoke. "Do only what they tell you and no more."

Orihime had nodded, hoping to see something in his face to give her an indication as to his mood, but there was nothing. She'd seen him and his reactions enough during the War and her first captivity in Hueco Mundo to know something of his moods. To know quite a lot, in fact.

But now there was nothing. It saddened her all the more, magnifying the feeling of forsakenness, until he left for the night, and she realized that the void in his reactions may be just as telling as his fury or passion.

He was covering up everything, nothing slipping past the blank look he gave her, and while she wanted to read a multitude of hope into the dispassionate façade he showed, she didn't dare. If there was anything to be seen, Grimmjow wasn't careless enough to let it show.

She let herself dare to hope he'd come back that night, even just to sit at the couch, just to know someone was there, she realized. But every time she opened her eyes, every time she focused too closely on the chair or couch, every time there was nothing to see, and she began to wonder if she'd made the last few nights up in her mind.

She looked at him now across the tray on her lap as she ate breakfast. He was sitting in the chair across from her, sword to one side near his leg, watching her with unchanging disinterest. Nothing more, no matter how long she could keep his stare, which wasn't too long.

"What's wrong?" he grumbled, eyes on her movements as she picked among the bowl of unidentifiable grains before her. "Why are you taking so long to eat?"

She didn't know how to explain tasteless to him. He didn't have to eat, and she wasn't sure if taste held any meaning to an Arrancar. "It's bland, and, and I'm not very hungry."

"You're around food all the time and you eat a lot of it," he said, voice lower as his eyes darted to the nearest smoky dome at one corner where he knew the current surveillance team was scrutinizing every movement. Not until the next shift would there be any slack in observation. "If you're done, we'll leave."

She carefully set the spoon down on the tray, more of a pout pulling at her lips. "Why didn't you let me say goodbye to anyone?"

His posture straightened more, alert to any misspeak she'd make. "Why? You want to stick around and watch that half-bred shinigami take up with that snippet of a female?"

Her eyes flicked to his. "You've been watching?"

He shook his head, standing and holstering his sword. "Just long enough to find you, woman." He nodded to her tray. "Let's go."

Orihime knew she'd said something wrong as they walked through the tall corridors a few moments later. She could feel it from him, the thick spiritual fluctuation he'd hidden those few nights from her. She hurried to keep up with him, the whine of the howling and the duller drone finding their way into the complex.

"For your own good," Grimmjow said, voice dropping a notch, "you'll keep quiet about the Wailing and any other sounds you hear."

She nodded, swallowing down the ebb of fear his warning sent through her.

"You'll keep quiet about other things, too."

She nodded, eyes closing only momentarily as she kept pace beside him as they turned a corner along the echoing hall.

It was another few halls before she summoned the courage to voice anything again.

"Then why did you come to me those nights?"

Grimmjow looked down at her, his mouth setting firmly at the raw desperation in the face she turned up at him. Of all the newly discovered things he wanted to say, he chose one of the most remote. "Why not?" He grinned, letting the callousness drip through. "Did it ever occur to you to say no, woman?"

She turned her face from him, gaze slipping down to look at the floor as the embarrassment seeped through her.

He didn't like the sinking feeling that lurched through his chest. His jaw set as they took the next corridor. "It seemed to me you rather enjoyed yourself." He wished he'd bitten back the words as soon as they'd left his mouth. It was too risky to utter such sentiments, but he wanted to drive out that indecision plaguing the fringe of his mind. "You didn't say no, woman," he reminded, leaning closer so that his words were a mere whisper. "You didn't say stop or even don't."

"Would you ... would you have?" She didn't look at him, instead crossing her arms over her chest as if pressing the white garment to her would quell the sudden rattling in her breathing. "Would it have mattered?"

He stood straighter as they walked, milling through his answer. "Where's the challenge in force? Anyone can bully a weaker being to their will." A grin crooked over his face, but he had to work at putting it there, and there was no pleasure behind it. "Convincing you that's what you wanted was much more challenging."

She held her head higher, the posture making a determined line at her coral lips. "I know how to say no," she said, her voice soft but steady. When she looked to him there was a sudden flicker of liveliness in her eyes. She looked farther down the hall to where Aizen's voice could be heard speaking to someone in a room. The brief hint of sparkle in the violet-gray of her eyes diminished to be replaced by cloudy doubt.

Grimmjow found himself wishing the flicker of light would come back, but shook his head. "You place too high emphasis on emotions. All you Living do."

She didn't care that he might be right. It was the last tangible sense she had that had come with her to Hueco Mundo and she was keeping it despite his derision.

Grimmjow stopped them at the open doorway and ushered her inside. It was a long room, spare in its furnishings, consisting of a few rigid high-backed gray chairs around an oval table. Aizen sat there, and he looked up at Grimmjow and Orihime as they entered the room. A window darkened to match the slate walls ran along one side of the room at the far wall, but out it she could see nothing. Still the Wailing persisted, accompanied by the lower hum. She looked to the nondescript Drone as they passed it, again unable to determine its gender.

"Orihime, Grimmjow, please be seated," Aizen said, sitting back in his chair.

Orihime paused at her chair before carefully sitting down as Grimmjow sat opposite her across the table. In the center of the table was a tea service of white porcelain decorated with gold and blue lacquer. Aizen poured them each a cup of tea and set one before them, eyes on the girl's nervous features.

"You sit before a remarkable opportunity, Orihime," he said in a tone the verged on gentle, its musical qualities belying the emphasis the words held. "You were meant for so much more than playing nurse to a bunch of wounded shinigami."

She looked to him, bracing herself from shaking her head. "I don't see how I could be of assistance to you, Aizen-sama."

"You don't have to see it. That's my matter. Go ahead," he said, seeing her fingers edge to the cup of tea. "It's not too hot."

He watched her obediently raise the cup to her lips, pausing as the steam billowed around her face.

She steeled her fingers on the cup's handle, trying to keep her hand from trembling.

Aizen sat back more, looking to Grimmjow. "We're testing out the next batch of recruits. I want only half to make it to the next level, and only one-third of those to survive the final battery of tests," he said methodically. "You'll give them the usual prattle about loyalties and benefits."

Grimmjow nodded, eyes returning to Orihime as she sipped the hot tea.

"The three most severely injured of the top level will be taken to Recovery and remain there until Orihime is summoned to heal them." Aizen turned the cup before him to see the blue design on the side better, no real interest in his face. "Make sure they understand that they're being made whole because we have a special interest in them and their potential abilities."

"I know what you want," Grimmjow said, his voice tight with contained frustration. "A false sense of elevated position."

"Precisely."

Orihime only half listened as Aizen spoke more to Grimmjow, most of his flowery language saying the nothing that had confused and colored his speeches for as long as she'd heard them recounted to her. Most of the recounting had come from Ichigo, but a few had come from stories told by Renji and other shinigami. She knew he'd say whatever it took, the phrases altered to suit his needs to get the response he wanted, but in the end it was always about what Aizen wanted.

And usually got.

" ...and leave the top four alive," he was saying as Orihime's mind wove back to the conversation between the men. She looked to Grimmjow, who was nodding slightly, eyes on her, but without any indication of connection. His tea cup remained untouched.

She looked back down to the cup in her fingers on the table, still amazed at a man who could appreciate such fine things as what she knew to be a rare blend of tea could be so heartless to so many.

Grimmjow stood up and Orihime watched him leave the room without a word, closing the door behind him.

"As highly evolved as an Espada can aspire to become," Aizen said as Orihime's attention reluctantly went to him, "they are severely lacking in many of the fundamental tasks that I must admit I miss from several paths of my past."

She frowned at him, her thoughts freezing as his gaze went over her face for a scrutinizing moment, resting on the cascades of hair that lay over her shoulder nearest him.

"Since the War," he said with a sigh, "I've found a void in companionship here. Rebuilding the compound is my first priority, but my army will take longer. I want the top echelon to be an enemy unlike any shinigami has seen before, and that is where you will be assisting the most." He paused to take a drink of tea. "Even Grimmjow is without what one could call compatibility on anything more than a military level. In you, Orihime, I see possibilities that may be mutually beneficial."

She didn't like the sound of it, not the words he used, not the way he hedged around saying nothing yet hinting at more, not the smirking smile that didn't fully form at his mouth. "I understand reward and punishment, Aizen-sama."

He nodded. "I'm sure you do, but even among those options there are other layers of entitlements that may be accessed." His eyes suddenly narrowed as he looked to her, a shade of coolness slipping over them like a veil. "You've spent much time among the shinigami, Orihime," he said thickly. "I can feel it on you most when you're upset. You're drenched in reiatsu, mostly from Kurosaki."

She felt her mouth open in confusion and some horror at the observation, but remembered herself and closed her mouth quickly. Before she could try to respond, his expression lightened, but only a little.

"We'll quickly remedy that," he said, chuckling a bit. "Not a concern for you. We'll get you cleaned up."

The choice of words lent a chill to Orihime's spine, and she clenched her fingers together in her lap beneath the table to keep her hands from shaking. "Remedy it?"

He nodded, and then looked to the door as it opened. "Ah, part of our research team. Come in, brothers."

To Orihime's surprise, two Szayel Aporros stepped into the room, both identical in appearance, dressed in gray lab coats and pants. They each looked to her with varying degrees of interest before nodding to Aizen as they stopped at the edge of the table.

"Szayel One and Szayel Two, both from our original Szayel Aporro," Aizen said, his tone now back to its steady self. "Re-enabling our lead scientist was not a complete success, but we've managed to render shares of him in several forms." He gestured to Orihime with a wave. "Brothers, our newest member of the effort, Inoue-chan. She'll be assisting you, as has been discussed previously. But first," he added in a more serious voice, "she'll need a thorough scrubbing before we go any further. We try to keep the shinigami influences to a minimal here," he said to her as the fear slipped over her face. "Not to worry."

Orihime's eyes went to the pair of scientists as Aizen stood and finished his tea. She mechanically got to her feet, staring back at the two new Arrancar.

"You're excused from any further duties today, Orihime," Aizen said, watching her closely. "You can begin your collaboration with the team tomorrow. Go with them."

She looked between the men. They were identical, but their expressions were markedly different. Szayel One's face held an opportunistic grin, eyes drifting over her with open approval, but Two simply gave her a look of indifference.

"Come with us, sister," One said.

He led her down the hall, with Two trailing behind her, One's steps quick and sure as he took the meandering and puzzlingly similar corridors with a confidence that made Orihime wary. He didn't speak to her, instead humming lowly as they walked, his carriage easy, nearly jaunty, something she vaguely recalled from the Szayel Aporro she'd seen a few times from her first imprisonment at Hueco Mundo over a year ago.

He turned a final hall and paused before a door, swiping his hand over the inconspicuous looking metal square beside the latch, much like Grimmjow had done at her room. He stepped in and nodded for her to follow when she lagged. Behind her Two was close, not touching her even as she hesitated.

The laboratory was starkly white, everything of stainless steel or black marble, with equipment on the tables lining the walls, the center graphite table bare except for something covered at one end by a white cloth, no bigger than Orihime's toaster at her apartment in Karakura Town.

"We're most interested in isolating the properties of your healing abilities," One said, turning to her as she stopped to look at the room. "We have several methods available to us to determine those properties," he said, grinning too eagerly as he gave her a more complete appraisal, "but we'll start with simple observation."

"Tomorrow," Two said from behind her as he stepped into her field of vision, his face still without much expression. "Aizen-sama wants you stripped of any foreign reiatsu today."

She nodded, feeling a wave of surrealism slip over her senses.

Szayel One was still smirking. "You'll disrobe, please."

Orihime took a step back, arms crossing before her over the white dress coat, on impulse shaking her head at One's leer.

"That's not necessary," a voice said from a corner of the room.

She turned to see yet another Szayel sitting at one of the tables before a piece of equipment that looked to her like a microscope. He shook his head, eyes on One.

"It's not required to remove your clothing for decontamination," he said, glancing to her. "I'm Szayel Four. One is always too eager to go the extremes."

Szayel Two had moved to the far side of the room where a door led to the next chamber. Orihime could see it through the wide window over the table there. It was a smaller room with a bench built into the opposite wall, empty of anything else. Two opened the door and looked in, glancing at the overhead vent.

"Fine, let's get you started," One said, smirk falling away as he sent Four a glare. There was no humor in his face when he looked back to Orihime. "This will take a few hours, at least, so if you need to use the lavatory, do it quickly."

Ten minutes later Orihime found herself sitting at the bench in the smaller chamber, staring back at the three Szayels that watched from the laboratory room window. There'd been little preparation, a few passes of a metered wand about her and some notes recorded, and then Two escorted her into the chamber with the bench and instructed her to sit.

She did, nervous on the bench against the wall, every nerve in her body alert for something to happen. But all that happened was a slight blurring of her vision from the nearly imperceptible waves that emitted from the ceiling vent. After half an hour of sitting erect and nearly petrified with fear, nothing seemed to be happening, and Orihime allowed her back to rest against the wall behind her.

On the other side of the window all three Szayels were watching, and after an hour the one who'd introduced himself as Four turned back to his work at the table. One and Two continued watching, Two making notes at intervals and checking a few monitors out of Orihime's vision at a table by the glass.

"Try to sit still," One said over a speaker.

She nodded and sat straighter. After another hour of more nothing, however, her posture sagged again, and this time she tried to lean slowly to the slate wall. There was no sound to be heard in the small chamber, no smell of the wavy atmosphere, just the steady drone that hummed seemingly louder as the hours passed.

It was the same monotonous tone that Grimmjow had been surprised that she could hear when they first arrived at the desert compound. She said nothing of it, not even to move her lips in empty words to herself for company. He'd said to tell no one, and it was advice she knew she should keep.

Her eyes closed as the mesmerizing drone grew louder, taxing her strength at doing nothing, leaching her energy as she let her back press to the wall behind her. After a few moments the sound seemed to seep into her skin, following her nerves to the ends, making her flesh tingle until it was desensitized to feeling.

She caught herself as she began to slump over, eyes jerking open to see Szayel One watching her intently on the other side of the glass, Two standing behind him looking at a clipboard. Four sat at the table, glancing to her askance as he worked. She let her eyes close again, this time her feet pushing on the floor so her back was more firmly against the wall.

Her mind wandered to the life she should have been living instead of being fleeced of residual shinigami reiatsu. Her boss and co-workers would wonder where she was. So would Tatsuki. So would her landlord when rent came due.

Ichigo would think she was upset about his engagement to Rukia. Renji would probably raise a fuss at the luncheon about his usual views of her previous attachment to Ichigo. No one would search for her for a few days, maybe a week, and not seriously until she missed the catered affair at the Kurosaki residence. And if anyone guessed at the truth, Soul Society might not be so understanding about her compliance with Aizen this time.

She felt her senses slip away, the draining spiritual pressure from her taking her life energy as well, leaving her weakened. Her mind was numb with the hum that was growing louder by the moment, making her eyes hurt when she tried to open them. Sleep seemed inevitable, and she felt her body lean to one side, a slow descent to the bench, her muscles too lax to stop her. Even if she wanted them to.


Grimmjow scowled as he left the small meeting room where he'd left Orihime with Aizen nine hours ago. He didn't expect to find her there, not really, but a thorough search of her quarters had made him worried.

Not worried, he corrected. Worry was too much like a concern reserved for the Living, but the girl was his responsibility, and one he wanted to keep.

It wasn't all that novel responsibility that made his strides quicken as he followed the corridors to the laboratory to where the Szayels were most likely running their preliminary tests on their new subject. A vein of protection was starting to form over the addition to Las Noches, a thick layer Grimmjow hadn't expected. She was weak, one of the weakest -- and at the same time one of the most potent -- creatures Las Noches had ever housed, and right now she was vulnerable to a wide array of threats.

He glanced at Szayels One and Two as he ripped open the laboratory door, his eyes searching for their test subject.

"You can't be in here until we're finished," One began, but Grimmjow pushed past him, attention on the slumped form he could see in the small room beyond the window. Orihime's crumpled figure seemed to be shrinking before his eyes, the white robe and loose pants slack as she lay half on her side on the bench.

Grimmjow glared at One. "How long has she been in there?"

One pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, the Espada's sudden rage bringing an amused smile to his face. "She's heavily contaminated, Jaegerjaquez-san. She'll need at least three more hours, to be --"

"How long?" Grimmjow bellowed at him. Two and Four both looked to him from their work stations against the wall.

"Eight hours," Four said, casting a look to One.

"Get her out," Grimmjow said, looking back to the bench. "Did you feed her? She's Living; they have to eat."

"She ate this morning before she got here," One said, shrugging, making no movement to the door to the chamber. He looked to the clipboard Two held. "Her levels are still registering. Aizen-sama wants no detectable amounts --"

"To hell with his levels," Grimmjow growled. He pulled open the door to the small room, sending it into the wall with a metal-denting bang that bent the latch.

He went to Orihime's unconscious form and pushed her hair back from where it had fallen over her face. There was no response, no movement from her. A pale bluish cast covered her face, her skin cool to his hand as he put his fingers against her cheek.

"Damn idiots," he muttered, pulling her upright to lean her back to the wall. He put a large hand to her chest, knowing there should be a heartbeat to be felt. He was aware of the ample breast beneath his fingers, something that almost deterred his search for a heartbeat, but then her head fell forward, nearly cuffing his chin as he pressed his hand harder.

It was barely there, a faint beating, unlike the strong pound he'd felt that first night after sex with her when he could have sworn he could actually see her flushed skin move.

"Orihime," he said lowly, aware the three scientists were watching with different degrees of interest. Her lips parted slightly, eyelids shifting but not opening. He scooped her up bridal-style and took her out of the room.

"You can't take her yet," One said as Grimmjow brushed past him and Two. "She's not ready. We'll need another --"

"Finish another time," Grimmjow bit back as he headed for the door.

"I run this lab, Jaegerjaquez-san," One said, his tone lacking any frivolity now. "Leave her. She's not ready yet."

Grimmjow had reached the door to the hall. He kicked it open and left.

"Grimmjow!" One yelled after him, voice rising to a whine.

"Go to hell!" Grimmjow called back.

He strode down the hall with the limp form, pulling her closer to his chest as a trembling began in her hands folded at her stomach. He held her tight, making her fingers lock against the scar running down his torso, subduing her shiver through strength alone.

He swallowed down the words that wanted to be uttered as he followed the maze of corridors to her room. He knew the Szayels were new to dealing with the Living, but some basic knowledge was to be expected.

Her room was empty, the lights on one notch above dim for the early evening hour. He knew from one of his few contacts that he'd have several ninety-second intervals of lapses in the surveillance, but it wasn't much. He hadn't told Orihime about the very brief time of lax supervision. He wasn't too certain about her ability to hold her tongue when in the presence of authority.

He placed her on the couch, gently without seeming to do so. Her hands were still shaking, her breathing ragged. He looked around at the smoky domes in the ceiling, wishing for the telltale flicker of lights. He paced before the couch, sorting through the excuses he could use to do what he felt necessary.

He watched her fingers twitch, small movements that he wanted to still.

"Hell with them," he mumbled. He sat down beside her and pulled her into his lap, tucking the folds of white robe to his side, cradling her chest to his. It was a movement foreign to him, unlike when he'd invited himself into her bed. This was a different kind of unresponsiveness than when he'd kissed her unmoving lips. Her body hung limp in his arms, almost as if she didn't care to help herself revive.

"Open your eyes," he said, the words not the ones he wanted to say. Her eyes fluttered, but remained shut. He held her with one arm and used his hand to smooth her hair from her face, watching her lips move at his touch.

For fifteen minutes he sat with her, his embrace tight around her form, feeling her body begin to warm again. He knew it wasn't his own body heat that prompted it, nor his beating heart against hers. Eventually the blue cast to her face faded for the healthier pink he knew she should have. He watched with fascination as the color came back, so engrossed with the change he almost missed the flicker of lights overhead.

He looked to the nearest surveillance dome, and then back down at Orihime. He pulled her closer, her spine delicate against his arm, her breathing more regular. He lifted her face to his, lips near her ear as her eyes remained closed.

"Listen to me," he said barely above a whisper. "You can't give up here."

She made no response, the only indication of change in her hands that quieted their trembling.

Grimmjow sighed against her ear, fingers tightening on her side as he shifted her closer. His mind counted down the precious seconds before the surveillance would resume as he debated his next words. He decided against them.

Her fingers curled in his jacket, taking a small hold of the white material as she slept on. He didn't know why he felt like grinning as he watched her hand move on his jacket, but he did. Instead he settled back on the couch with her, feeling her relax against him.

He figured there'd be hell to pay with the Szayels.

Maybe with Aizen, too.