Ulquiorra had spent the preceding afternoon getting all the information he could out of Loly and Menoly, which was disappointingly little. The two small crewmen stuck to their story of losing Orihime in the thick forest while looking for medicinal herbs. Ulquiorra had asked them pointedly and repeatedly.
They insisted the girl had wandered off. That was it. Orihime didn't respond to any calling, and after a while it became evident to both Loly and Menoly that Orihime didn't want to be found, or couldn't respond.
Ulquiorra's stern look shifted between the young women on the deck of the Midori under the parching hot sun, the words thick in his mouth for lack of drinking water, one of the necessities they'd jettisoned overboard to draft the high shoals that morning in pursuit of what he'd heard to be Orihime's possible abductor.
"You're sure it was Captain Jaegerjaquez's ship?" he asked for the fifth time.
Loly and Menoly nodded in unison as adamantly as they had the first time when questioned.
"Did you see Captain Jaegerjaquez at all?"
"No, Captain Schiffer," they said immediately.
Ulquiorra looked to Loly, the day's heat beginning to wear on everyone onboard. He wasn't a man to lean to a relaxed attitude in his office, but even his collar was open to the waist and his coat discarded. He saw Menoly glimpse to the island they'd spotted an hour ago where the Bleeding Sister was docked in the small village port, tilted to expose more of her hull for repairs.
"You're sure it wasn't the Bleeding Sister you saw?"
Menoly nodded fervently, appearing nearly excited to answer. "We did not see the Bleeding Sister, Captain. It was The Pantera. No flags flying, but it was The Pantera. I'm sure of it."
Ulquiorra looked to the crew. Most had lost interest in his repeated inquest of the two girls and had made themselves busy among affairs of the deck and watching for sand bars, but a few were watching the girls closely.
"You want us to put into port and inquire of Captain Jiruga?" Yammy asked, cracking his large knuckles as he glowered at the girls.
"No, we'd never dock without being sanded," Ulquiorra said, watching Loly's hand twist nervously on her tanto hilt. "Did you see Captain Jaegerjaquez at all?"
Both girls shook their heads, eyes widening at him.
Ulquiorra turned his back on them and went to the Midori's rail, eyes scrutinizing the dock where the Bleeding Sister was under repair. He'd watched the reaction to Grimmjow's first sight of Orihime -- so distracted that he'd nearly lost an arm to Tousen -- and he'd seen the look in Grimmjow's face when she'd tended his arm. Not the usual lethalness he'd seen on the fellow pirate, something that had kept Grimmjow's normally vulgar tongue in check, no small feat in itself. The girl was plenty ripe for comments of all sorts, from her gullible and vulnerable presence on a pirate ship to the shapely shadow she cast on the deck boards, the girl was an easy target for a number of lewd comments.
Yet Grimmjow had made none, nor taken an opportunistic grope during the few times Orihime had inadvertently left herself open to physical contact as she bandaged his arm. It had at first impressed Ulquiorra, and then made him warily wonder, but now, with the girl's disappearance and Grimmjow's name coming up from Loly and Menoly, Ulquiorra was of the mind that the blue-haired captain had simply bided his time for a better moment.
Ulquiorra's attention went back to the young women still awaiting his orders or dismissal. Whether Grimmjow's interest in the girl was for a sense of vengeance against the Kurosaki family or something purely physical was not Ulquiorra's problem. Not entirely.
That Orihime Inoue had been absconded, however, was his problem. So were the relative few passages through the shallower waterways that would make following The Pantera extremely difficult.
Orihime Inoue belonged on the Midori. Aizen had ordered it.
That was what Ulquiorra had to set right.
Grimmjow awoke early the next morning to a throbbing pain lacing his chest. It was sharpest when he inhaled, not quite constricting, but a definite handicap to movement. He opened his eyes to see the dark wooden beams crossing the ceiling of The Pantera's cabin, his vision adjusting slowly to the low light of morning.
The pain that ebbed in his chest with his breathing wasn't the only new feeling to his senses. He looked down to where his left arm had fallen to the side of the bed to see Orihime's auburn hair draped at his shoulder. Her head was cradled against his arm, his hand still clenched in a fistful of skirt across her hip, her breathing on his skin warm.
He chuckled at first, then stopped with a mumbled curse as the effort brought on an increase in pain at his chest. She slept on, right arm crooked over his that held her skirt, the chain at her wrist making imprints on the skin between both their arms. He held his breath and reached his other arm over to brush the hair away from her face. For a moment the serene glimpse of her simple beauty arrested his thoughts, a rare few seconds of pause that made Grimmjow's mind wander, until she jerked her head up with a start.
All that fiery auburn hair did little soften the jarring impact of her head under his chin, sending his teeth rattling as she turned her face to his.
"Damn, girl," he grumbled as she looked to him, sleepy eyes unfocused. When she stared at him with blankness he held his breath against the pain at his chest and shifted positions to swing his legs over the side of the mattress, pulling her into a more upright position. "Come up here and sleep."
She remained unmoving of her own power, following his suggestion only because he lifted her to her knees as her mind was still mired in the fog of sleep. She blinked at the pillow and then at him.
"It's early. Go back to sleep, Orihime."
She nodded and crawled gracelessly into the bed, making him dodge another knock to his chin, seeming oblivious to him as she settled onto the spot on the mattress still warm from where he'd lain. She burrowed into the pillow and pulled the blanket to her chin as her eyes closed.
Grimmjow unhanded the skirt that was now twisted around her, slipping his arm from her waist. He stood up and took a testy breath, the skin at his chest bruised and sore along the row of stitches that she'd made after he'd fallen asleep. It was a neat line of stitching that pulled the skin edges snug, the flesh already knitting in recovery along the dark bruising that had spread. He'd survived enough serious injuries to know the healing process was ahead of its usual progress, again making him wonder at the girl's unique abilities. She certainly didn't seem like a witch to him.
His eyes went over the shape her body made beneath the blanket, thoughts of the preceding night coming back stronger as bells were called out on deck above.
He forced his attention away from the sleeping girl and went to the window by the wash stand and slid open the half-closed shutter to see the gray-blue of the morning seas. No land was in sight, and he didn't expect to see any. If they were on course the first land would be on the opposite side of the ship, but he wasn't looking for that. Out the window was the deeper water, the most likely seas to find the Midori.
There was no ship. He grinned despite the pain at his chest. But he knew it was only a matter of time before the Midori would become a threat.
Grimmjow went to the chest-on-chest across the room near the bed and found a clean shirt in a drawer, his movements stiff as the wound at his chest insisted on limited actions. He glanced to the bed as he buttoned a few of the buttons over the injury. Orihime slept on, face buried in the pillow away from his view, her breathing rising and falling beneath the blanket. He turned his thoughts from her and the dilemma arising from her presence on his ship and went on deck to find Cat.
The first mate was on lookout at the bow, most crewmen still in the forecastle, a few milling about the deck to begin a leisure day of mending ropes and sails, some still below, inebriated from the lack of fresh water available to them and going heavy on the triple-rationed ale at their disposal.
It was as good excuse as any to get drunk, and Grimmjow knew it. He also knew his better fighters weren't drunk; in his opinion, the smarter ones. He growled at the thought. The ones given to easy liquor would straggle topside by noon. None of which Halibel had taken, he'd noticed. As if the woman had a second-nature inkling as to which were his best men in battle.
"I see you're sewn up, Captain," Cat greeted as Grimmjow joined him in looking out over the waters beginning to take color under the rising sun.
Grimmjow nodded. "Doc sober yet?"
Cat chuckled. "Not likely."
The flap of half-filled sails was joined by a more rapid sound of wet material fluttering in the wind. Grimmjow looked to the maroon dress that hung from a rope, most of the seawater remaining in it weighted at the skirt's hem.
"Where's the rest?"
"Still in the hamper, captain." Cat gave a leering grin. "Didn't want too many frillies hanging around. What do you want done with them?"
"Have Brigger take them to my cabin." Grimmjow looked around for his club-handed cabin boy. "Where is that kid?"
Cat laughed, pointing to a row of barrels against the quarterdeck. "First real taste of brandy."
Grimmjow shook his head at the slumping boy whose deformed hand still had a tight grip on an empty bottle. "He drank that whole thing?"
Cat shook his head. "Mostly water, Captain. He's a lightweight."
Before them the largest of the Swan Islands rose in slopes of tall trees that were largely home to small ponds with a flourishing swan population. Of the many inlets where a ship could drop anchor Grimmjow wanted the most isolated, located on the other side of the island, a shallow waterway that would keep the Midori at bay, but not the Bleeding Sister.
"Is she worth five ships, Captain?"
Grimmjow made an easy shrug, the tight skin at his chest pulling at every stitch as he ignored the pain. "To Aizen? I'd think so. She's a demonstration at what a kind fellow he can be to the towns that bow to him. Something that stands out to Yamamoto when compared to our other visits." His hands closed over the rail as he leaned on it, eyes searching the island's shore for signs of any other recent ships. "As for our cooperation in gaining the king's treasure, I'm not sure, Cat."
"Is she worth five ships to you?"
He looked sharply at him as the first mate chuckled. "She'd be handy in stitching you up after a battle."
Grimmjow nodded, grinning as he looked back to the island as it skirted a sandbar. "That she would."
** ** **
Orihime awoke a few hours later as the sun stretched warm across the bed to her face. For a moment she laid still, eyes opening to the few seagulls that were flying past the window where the rolled reed blinds rattled under the soft breeze drifting into the room, the shutters wide open. She frowned, content in her burrow of blanket and pillow as her mind cleared and pieced together her last memories of the night before.
She sat up suddenly, making her slight headache shift, the large blue shirt falling around her off kilter and slipping to bare one shoulder. She snapped it back up, pulling the blanket higher around her as she looked wide-eyed around the room. It was a moderately clean cabin, airy in the bright morning sun, divided from the front office by a door that was open into the room and a floor-length curtain that was pulled most of the way shut. The fireplace across from the bed was shared by the first room, the hearth empty of wood and ashes, an iron grate lifted above and locked into place. Through it she could see only the floor of the office, and hear no sounds. To one wall was a small table and two chairs, to the opposite the tall chest-on-chest bolted to the wall. Most of the walls consisted of cupboards built into the ship's frame. From the deck above she heard indistinguishable voices in casual conversation.
Her feet were sore from her desperate flight through the night yard, and a few spots itched, but nothing like her wrists. She pushed the blanket down when she was confident she was alone and looked at the cuffs and chain still attached to one of her wrists. The skin was scraped and still raw, sticking to the sleeves drooping over her hands. She tentatively rubbed one, grimacing at the reddened irritation that was still raw.
"You're awake," Grimmjow said from the doorway, startling her. In one hand was a saw, in the other a clay jug.
Orihime yelped and gathered the blankets to her chest.
He chuckled and shook his head as he set the jug of water on the small table near the window. He looked back to her, watching her legs move under the blanket. "Get up and we'll get those chains off you, Orihime."
She combed a few fingers through her mussed hair, eyes going to the diagonal wound at his chest she could see at his half open shirt. "I should wrap your injury first, Captain Jaegerjaquez."
"After we get you out of that shackle."
Under his study she got out of bed and straightened the skirt and chemise around her better, fighting with the large shirt that kept slipping to one shoulder despite her having fastened all the closures. Her feet were inflexible and sore, but she made them work, muting her groans. She sat at the table as he instructed, watching warily as he took the other chair beside her and pulled her arm under his, locking her elbow to his side.
"How do you feel, Captain?" she asked timidly, looking around his arm as he anchored her chained wrist in one hand.
"Better than I should, I know that," he said with grunt, angling the blade of the fine-toothed saw over the metal trapping her wrist.
She tried not to wince as the blade grated against the metal, feeling the band vibrate against her skin as the blade sawed dangerously close to her hand. Her fingers curled against her will, as far away from the sharp metal teeth as she could pull them.
"Hold still," he said, not breaking the sawing motion.
"Yes, Captain."
She watched as long as she could, and then turned her head away, hoping to trust him not to accidentally shear off a finger.
"Are you a sorceress?"
She shook her head, hair bumping against his shoulder. "No. It's just a lost healing art." It wasn't entirely true, but not exactly false, she determined.
"Something you can't teach."
It wasn't a question, but Orihime nodded without conviction.
"We're taking on fresh water when we go ashore round the island," he said, gritting his teeth at the new pain shooting through his chest inflicted by the sawing action. "You're going ashore with us, but stay close."
She nodded, eyes resting on the thick scar running the length of his jaw. She knew enough about scars to know it was old and deep. The skin was smooth, barely maligned, and she figured someone who knew what they were doing had sewn it. Her eyes lifted to see his attention on her, the blade on the metal slowing.
She averted her eyes as he looked away, and breathed easier when a moment later the blade broke through the last thin spot of the metal cuff, her skin untouched by it. Grimmjow pried open the band and dropped it and the chain on the floor. For a moment he rubbed the fine metal dust from her reddened skin, turning her wrist over to inspect the abrasions there.
"Thank you," she said as he released the arm and reached for her other wrist.
"Nnoitra's a problem even Aizen shouldn't enlist in his foolish cause," he grumbled, pulling her arm across his knee to work on the other cuff.
It was an awkward position that brought Orihime closer to his side, turning at the waist as her newly freed hand rested behind him on the table. She tried to choose her words cautiously. "You don't believe in Captain Aizen's mission?"
"I don't believe Aizen should be king of Hueco Mundo, no," he said without apology. He pulled the long shirt sleeve back from the metal cuff, setting the saw blade atop the thinnest spot. He watched her hand flatten against his knee in an attempt to get as far away from the blade as possible. "He's a bastard and has no claim to the throne. One failed attempt after another," he said, beginning to saw at the band. "He'll fail with this, too. Doesn't matter how many ships he recruits, how many maidens he steals, King Yamamoto won't part with the treasure. No amount of smoke and mirrors is going to put that damn crown on Aizen's head."
Orihime wasn't sure what to say to that. She'd seen his defiant attitude to Aizen on the Midori, but she didn't know it extended to the Aizen's effort as well. "Then why do you sail for him?"
"Because I owe him. Every pirate under his damn flag owes him something."
The sawing motion made the twist at her waist force a few squeaks from her until she relented and let her forehead rest at his shoulder, the bracing contact easing the torque.
She closed her eyes against the sawing, feeling guilty, resisting the smile that wanted to form at her lips at the smell of the sea about Grimmjow. She hadn't known the scent of the sea until she'd been on the Midori those few days, but now it was becoming familiar. It smelled different on Grimmjow than when she stood on the deck of the Midori.
The metal gave way and she pulled her head away to see him removing the cuff from her wrist. He was about to speak when a boy appeared at the open doorway.
He cleared his throat, eyes fastened on Orihime with open curiosity.
"You going to speak or just ogle her, Brigger?" Grimmjow asked him.
The boy nodded, and then shook his head, a wad of dark red material bundled in his arm, the wet reed hamper of clothing dragged by his other hand. "We're readying to go ashore, Captain," he said. "Cook's wanting to send up breakfast."
"Have it sent. We'll put ashore after she eats."
Orihime looked from the boy to Grimmjow. "I can wait until --"
"Don't be silly," he growled, standing and waving away the boy who was hiding his deformed hand beneath the material. "Leave the dress on the door and bring her plate."
"Aye, Captain." Brigger draped the dress over the door edge and deposited the hamper beside the fireplace hearth before disappearing back into the office.
Orihime rubbed her tender wrists, watching Grimmjow go to the hamper and open it.
"Most of this is still wet. Hang it up to dry. Whatever you want to keep to wear," he said, opening the reed lid. Inside was a matted bundle of clothing. He looked to her, eyeing her figure eclipsed in the shirt. "Should fit you passably well."
"Women's clothing?" she asked, standing mostly on one foot to ease the pain spiking through her other foot as she rubbed her itchy wrists.
He nodded and went to the chest at the end of the bed and opened it. He sorted through it for a moment, finding a ball of wound bandages.
"Can you treat yourself?" he asked when she stood and joined him at the chest. He glanced to her bare feet. "I don't know that there're any shoes with the clothing."
"Yes, a little," she said with a nod, eyes on the long cotton bandages. There was little real need for bandaging most of her work unless the injury needed support while healing, but she'd learned that the formality helped camouflage the speed at which her methods worked, something that was best left to a surprised recovery rather than the patient watching the process.
"Even without your bag of remedies?" He closed the chest lid, offering her the roll of bandages.
She took the cotton, nodding. "But it's a slower process." She unwound a length of bandage, looking to him with a slight blush. "You'll have to remove your shirt so I can bandage your chest, Captain."
Grimmjow unfastened the few buttons and pulled the shirt off, dropping it onto the chest. "How'd you learn such techniques?"
She bit her lip, busying herself unraveling more bandage. "It's been a family tradition for a long time." She waited for him to raise his arms, eyes on the stitches that were sewn with the few hairs from each of them, pleased to see they weren't infected and beginning to knit the skin together. She felt the warmth hit her cheeks more as she reached around him with both arms, the bandage in one hand to grasp with the other, trying not to touch him, but failing as the blue of her borrowed shirt brushed his chest. "But I'm not a witch," she added, mostly to have something else to say.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded. His voice was in her ear as she brought both ends of the bandage to the front and crossed them along the injury to make another pass. "We've been accused of all sorts of trickery, but it's nothing like sorcery."
"You've not been run out of town?"
She shook her head, not meeting his eyes as she passed the bandage around him repeatedly, pulling the cotton snug but not too tightly, flattening the material as she went until it covered the long injury effectively. "Townsfolk refuse to accept what they don't understand," she said, repeating what her grandmother had told her, leaving out that even her own parents were among those resisters, her mother partly out of jealousy. "But once they accept it, then they're willing to share in the benefits of the art."
She pulled the ends to the lower side of his ribs opposite the injured area and tied it, ripping off the excess length of bandage. She carefully smoothed the cotton over the injury with her hand, turning the few spots that had flipped at edges so they created no pressure points.
A call went up from the deck and he looked to the doorway momentarily, and then back to her. He watched the blush fade over her cheeks, grinning a little when the pink flamed brighter when she looked to him.
"We're going ashore." He nodded to the dress Brigger had left on the door. "Get changed."
She looked to the maroon material. "Yes, Captain Jaegerjaquez."
"It's Grimmjow," he decided for her, pulling on his shirt again.
She nodded, feeling her cheeks heat another degree. "Captain Grimmjow."
"No. Just Grimmjow, Orihime."
Another few notches of heat. "Yes. Grimmjow."
"Better."
** ** **
The first Swan Island was accessed by a sandy beach strewn with peach-pink pebbles and softly rounded boulders. The two longboats that beached were emptied of pirates and Orihime, and most set off to replenish the water supplies and find what other food sources the island had to offer.
Orihime found herself under Grimmjow's lead to an inland pool of fresh water deeper in the island, the palm and wisteria trees shrouding the small water spot among the rushes and reeds. She followed nervously, her feet wrapped in bandages in the absence of any footwear, picking her steps quickly to keep up with Grimmjow's longer strides.
Around them the calls of insects and birds halted at their presence, a few chattering monkeys out of sight admonishing them for their intrusion.
Grimmjow stopped them after half an hour of walking and nodded to the small pool hidden among the boulders and tall grass and ferns. "You can bathe there," he said, eyes dropping over the maroon dress she'd donned while it was still damp. "Wash the Nnoitra off of you."
"Oh, yes, that would be good," she breathed in relief.
"I'll be back soon."
He left her at the side of the pool by a large smooth boulder and went back the way they'd come. She watched him go only a few yards, and then frowned as he stopped at a patch of tall ferns near a collection of smaller, waist-high boulders. He glanced back at her and then sat down on one of the rocks, turning his back to her.
She took a deep breath and made her way through the grass and ferns to the water's edge. The pool of water was the runoff of a small fountain that emptied from near a larger patch of boulders on the opposite side of the pool, the water warm when she crouched and put her fingers to it. She smiled, the water rippling and winking at her in the early afternoon sun that flickered between the tree tops. She could see the sandy floor of the pool, the water clear and inviting. The rise of insects and birds calling returned again.
She stood behind the largest of the boulders and took off the damp dress and flung the maroon material over the stone's warm surface. There was little left of her chemise with the pearl beaded hem. The bodice had been torn off by Grimmjow the night before, and the hem was newly frayed from her run through the night in the sharp grass. She removed it and washed it quickly at the water's edge, feeling conspicuous in her unclothed state among the wildlife. She hastily hung it over the rock beside the dress and waded into the water, anticipating a much needed bath after Nnoitra's advances.
The water was warm yet refreshing after the confines in the Bleeding Sister's hull and her capture by its captain. She let herself wade deep into it, relishing the soft sand that gave beneath her sore feet. She didn't go far enough to see how deep the pool was, but let herself submerge completely, her hair floating around her at the water's surface as she exhaled bubbles. When she stood up again she let her knees bend enough to keep her modestly beneath the water as she washed her face, her back to her clothes and where she knew Grimmjow to be.
Last night it was enough that he'd shown up at Nnoitra's secluded house in time to save her from her attacker, but now, in the light of the hot day and with a belly full of what had been a very filling and tasty breakfast of pork and water chestnuts, Orihime wondered what his plans were for her. She had a hundred questions to ask him, none of which she'd considered appropriate yet to voice. She'd eaten alone in the cabin after hanging up a few articles of clothing from the reed hamper.
She was happy the dress had fit her. Sometimes ready-made clothing from street vendors didn't fit her full shape, but the maroon dress was abundant in the chest area. It was a little discolored in spots from the salt water, and the rest of the clothes from the hamper didn't look like they were something Grimmjow had kept from another woman aboard his ship. No woman would let her clothes be kept dampened by seawater.
Her mind ran through several scenarios as to an explanation as she let her hair fall back and weight with water, each of her explanations growing in ridiculousness until she recalled Nel's protests to Nnoitra throwing overboard clothes to lighten the Bleeding Sister.
"That could be it," she murmured aloud as she washed her hair in a cooler spot of the water, hearing the birds squawking louder from the trees fringing the pool. "I'll bet that's it."
A sudden shriek from a monkey made Orihime flinch and nearly pop out of the water. The monkey's outburst was followed by another, deeper bellow. She turned, and then sunk deeper into the water as Grimmjow stood at the boulder where her clothes had been draped.
"Get out of here, you mangy critter!" he shouted, one hand pulling on the chemise skirt that a spindly monkey was tugging away. With a quick yank Grimmjow ripped the white skirt from the animal as it screeched menacingly at him. He made a lunge at it, and the monkey ran off, chattering and waving a hand behind it.
Orihime dropped deeper into the water until it lapped at her chin, wiping her wet hair from her face as Grimmjow looked to her. For a moment he returned her attention, and then put the skirt beside the dress on the boulder.
"We're leaving now," he called across the small pool as she nodded. "Hurry up."
She nodded, waiting until he'd rounded the boulder before venturing to shore.
She paused halfway there, watching for signs of his return. There were none, and she hastened out and to the boulder's edge to quickly dress. She'd barely got the dress's drawstring corset laced at her chest than his voice came from behind the rock.
"How bad are your feet?" he asked as he appeared around the rock as she leaned against it to wrap her pickled and soft soles with the long strips of cloth.
"They feel better after the water." She swiftly wound the cloth around the second foot.
He watched the angle of her foot as she tied off the last bit of cloth, her slender ankles scratched from the sharp grass. "Why can't you heal yourself, Orihime?"
She set her foot on the ground and straightened the skirt. "It doesn't work as well. I don't know why."
He nodded, watching her pull the clumps of tangles out of her hair. "Well, you fill out Captain Halibel's dress all right." He grinned at the slight blush surfacing at her cheeks. "That came off the Bleeding Sister."
She smiled a little. "I thought so. They threw everything overboard."
"Come on."
She followed him until they'd reached the rise of the slope where the island topped highest, a modest hill that was sparsely treed, admitting a view of most of the island and waterways around it. A few other islands dotted the shallow sea, sandbars showing lighter near the water's surface.
Grimmjow stopped as the view of the waterways became clearer, eyes narrowing on a spec that had just entered the farthest canal of one of the outlying islands. "Hold here," he said, a hand on Orihime's shoulder as she followed his stare.
Her first thought was of Nnoitra, but as she watched the small spec move slowly among the shallow water the ship became recognizable.
"Captain Ulquiorra," she said, eyes searching the distance for more identification. "Is it the Midori?"
He glanced at her rapt attention on the slow moving dot. "Do you want it to be Schiffer?"
She realized her mistake of the informal reference. "I made an agreement with Captain Aizen and he put me aboard the Midori, Captain Jaegerjaquez. I don't see how it matters what I want."
"Grow a spine, girl," he growled, expression darkening. "Do you want to go back to the Midori or not?"
Orihime's nervous attention went from him to the ship and back again. "I can't protect Karakura if I don't uphold my side --"
"Your bargain was with Aizen, not Schiffer," he muttered, fingers tightening on her shoulder. "Aizen isn't going to make good on any promises of protection, no matter whose deck you're on, Orihime."
Her brow wrinkled in frown, eyes following the ship gliding slowly across the water, skirting shoals.
"You should go home."
Her eyes flicked to him. Grimmjow watched the fear grip their violet-hazel depths. "Schiffer won't make you that offer, Orihime," he said, watching the indecision pass over her face. "I'm not putting you back aboard the Midori under any conditions. Home or Aizen. That's my offer."
The proposal surprised her, and for a moment she wanted to debate each choice fully, but she shook her head before her homesickness could make the decision for her. "With Captain Aizen. Grimmjow," she added, sampling the name she'd been reluctant to use. "My exchange was with him."
He wasn't sure why, but the answer made him want to spit on the ground. Instead he growled a prime curse, shaking his head. He hadn't intended to give her a choice; only tell her he'd put her on the Five Mirrors and not the Midori, but then all those words about going home popped into his mind, and then out his mouth. He couldn't explain the unusual clutter in his thoughts, and he wasn't going to admit it was those large eyes she pegged on him that were a combination of innocence and smile.
She was a means to The Pantera's release of his obligation to Aizen. That was all.
That's what he told himself again as they started down the slope for the sandy beach where the longboats were tethered.
The afternoon wore on with the bustle of loading fresh water and a few supplies rummaged from the island onto The Pantera. Grimmjow kept a steady pace to the shore with Orihime at his side, pausing only long enough to strike down a branch of oranges from a tree when her gasp at the size of the fruits made him halt.
They were only fruit. Large orange juicy fruit among the dark green leaves of the tree, but the way she smiled and caught her breath at the sight Grimmjow had to take a second look. He couldn't believe she'd actually gasp over a fruit tree. But she had, and he'd severed a branch loaded with oranges to take back to the ship.
Orihime stood in the master cabin as the ship gained speed through the shoals of the waterways leading away from Swan Islands. Her feet were bare and smooth now after the bath, her hair dry and slightly wavy from being combed with her fingers in absence of a brush. She smiled at the branch of orange fruit hanging over a section of cupboards built into the wall near the hearth.
She'd already eaten two and given one to Brigger when the boy's eyes had swollen to envious size at the sight of the branch Grimmjow had hauled aboard. She'd also noticed the boy's haste to hide his left hand, one she knew, in those brief seconds she'd seen it, to be crippled.
"Better to leave them on the stem," Grimmjow had said as he tied the branch to the wall by twine at the pegs. "They'll keep fresher longer."
She'd nodded glibly and he'd left to get The Pantera underway. After hanging a few more of the few dresses she'd scavenged from what she'd learned to be Captain Tia Halibel's chest of clothing, Orihime explored the other prices of clothing hanging from the pegs on the cabin wall near the ones Grimmjow had designated for her use.
They were located near the bed at the corner of the aft wall, the two pegs loaded with a collection of shirts that were torn or ripped, mostly at seams, and she'd come to the conclusion he'd simply stashed his clothing needing mending on the pegs. All were in need of repair.
It was with a few misgivings and a little reserve that she took the armful of shirts and went to the chest at the foot of the bed to find needle and thread. The contents of the chest were in no particular order that she could determine, and Grimmjow had given her the run of the rooms, as he put it, so long as she didn't get too adventurous.
Orihime had no desire to snoop into too many cupboards.
The oranges on the limb lent a pleasant fruity aroma to the room that drifted into the office where Orihime decided to do the mending. The light was better at the window near the desk to the starboard side of the ship, and with a cautious look to the short staircase, she went to the wide ledge of window seat and sat at it. Outside she could see nothing but water, the late afternoon sun nearing evening, glinting brightly from the angle, small caps of white peaking at the waves.
She got comfortable on the seat, the armful of shirts in her lap as she threaded the needle with the only color of thread available from the chest. The sound of the water at the hull made her look to it, recalling the dolphins she'd seen from the rail of the Midori, making her wonder if she'd see more.
She smoothed the navy material of the shirt and found the large rip at the shoulder. She frowned, recognizing not a tear as much as a clean slice through the cotton. It hadn't escaped her that Grimmjow was very much a pirate, and while he'd shown her a great kindness, she didn't know that it would last without some sort of repayment.
She'd attributed part of his consideration for her welfare as a type of favor for healing his severely injured arm, but she wasn't sure that was all there was to it. That he wouldn't return her to the Midori and Captain Schiffer made her anxious.
She carefully stitched the long tear in the shirt, each stitch exacting and measured, precise, as were her sutures in Grimmjow's chest. She finished the mend and did two more shirts, each with smaller but numerous tears. She took a moment to straighten her back, leaning to the sill frame behind her, eyes on the water below.
It winked back at her, flirtatious glints of light along the blue until she had to look away as the blinding reflection made spots before her eyes. She looked quickly to the stairs as Grimmjow ascended them.
His eyes locked onto the shirts in her lap, his expression more curious than displeased. "What do you think you're doing?"
Orihime pulled the shirt she was mending closer, eyes searching his face to gauge his mood. "I was just repairing them, Captain. It's the least I can do while aboard."
He went to a cupboard and found a dark glass bottle. "We've lost your friend Ulquiorra, for the moment."
She was going to say the captain was not her friend, not when he'd compelled her into deciding to leave her home, but she didn't. Her eyes dropped to her work, her fingers resuming her sewing.
He lit the oil lamp at the desk and turned the wick up higher, the light shedding more detail on the charts stacked to one side of the desk top. He turned the chair to face her and sat down in it, taking a long drink from the bottle. "Why don't you want to go home?"
She sighed, making a few stitches at the last part of the shirt's ripped shoulder. "Captain Aizen would lay waste Karakura."
"He'll do it anyway, if he feels the need."
"I can't go back and know it was my fault."
"Your being on the Midori or the Five Mirrors isn't going to change anything Aizen does, Orihime."
She nodded bemusedly, knotting the last stitch and tying off the thread, snapping it free.
"Or is it because you no longer have a rich fiancé' waiting for you?"
She shook her head, sorting through the shirts, his level stare making her cheeks heat. "I'm sure Ichigo has made other arrangements by now."
Grimmjow chuckled, catching her bare foot as she moved it to cross at her ankles. She instinctively pulled the foot back, eyes growing large at the scowl crossing his face.
"Ease up a minute, woman," he said, setting the bottle on the desk and leaning forward to give the foot more attention.
Orihime relaxed her ankle in his grip, her knees tensing to flinch the appendage from him, if she possibly could.
For a moment he inspected the sole, a thumb rubbing over the scratches along the bottom skin, frowning at the red marks. He turned the foot, eyes moving up her ankle to her leg until she settled her skirt lower over it.
His eyes shot to hers, reading the agitation she didn't bother to try hiding. He released her foot, watching her tuck it back to the wall where it was hidden by the maroon skirt. He sat back and reached for the bottle again.
Orihime resumed her mending, her heartbeat fast against her chest at his attention to her foot. She hastily whipped a few stitches into the tan material where a jagged tear split the shirt into three rips.
"No shoes in that hamper?"
"No, Captain." Her eyes stayed on her sewing.
"I told you to call me Grimmjow," he reminded thickly.
She chanced a look up at him as he took a long drink from the brandy. "Yes. Grimmjow."
They both looked to the stairs as Brigger came down them, slowly, his full attention on the tray in his hands laden with dishes and a few bowls.
"In here tonight," Grimmjow said as the boy concentrated at balancing the tray and walking.
"Yes, Captain."
Grimmjow moved the few charts on the desk to the side as the youth set the tray down and began arranging the dinner items on the surface. Brigger kept most of his focus on his work, but occasionally his eyes wandered to Orihime, eyes immediately returning to his work as Grimmjow mumbled something to him.
He kept his malformed hand out of sight as much as possible, the limb tucked to his tunic as he worked, good hand moving quickly over the dishes.
"That's all for now, Brigger," Grimmjow told him. "Tell Cook to close the galley."
"Yes, Captain." The boy took his leave and Grimmjow stood and turned to Orihime.
He turned up the wick of the lamp as darkness crept into the room. "Come eat."
She set her mending to one side of the window seat and crossed to the opposite side of the desk as he pulled the chair from against the wall by the hearth. She looked down as he held it, sitting slowly as he scooted it closer to the desk.
The desk was worn, most of its carved design lost in time and sea salt, the top scarred from assorted metal objects taking sail across its surface during rough waters. Orihime looked from the steaming dishes to Grimmjow as he took his seat in the chair again.
"Why is the sea so calm now?" she asked, watching as he uncovered several dishes.
"The islands are shallow, low water. Deeper water is choppier," he said, pushing a plate to her. "Dig in."
She did. It surprised him.
Soon her plate was equal parts pit-roasted pork, boiled potatoes, and sliced pineapple. He watched, pausing his own eating as she mashed it all together in the center of the plate, her fork flattening everything into a mushy mess.
"Are you going to eat it like that?" He watched her nod, the candlelight making her hair the color of the brandy in the fading evening light.
She nodded, one bite already in her cheek as she chewed. She swallowed quickly. "It's good this way." She looked to the thick mush. "Would you like to try it?"
"Hell, no."
For a few moments they ate, hearing the sounds of the crew on deck begin a round of betting over an arm wrestling match that had started.
Grimmjow poured her empty ceramic cup full from the bottle Brigger had brought with dinner. "It's only wine," he said as she began to protest.
Her eyes stayed on the cup as she ate, watching him fill his own.
"Why don't you want me back on the Midori?" As soon as she said it Orihime knew it wasn't the way she wanted the words to sound. "Captain Schiffer was in charge of keeping me for Captain Aizen. If you're going to return me to Captain Aizen, Cap -- Grimmjow, you could simply leave me on the Midori."
He nodded, drinking half his wine. "Since you're so willing to go back to Aizen, I think we can make it a mutually beneficial arrangement."
She stopped chewing, eyes growing large on him. "Mutually?"
"I'll return you to Aizen, and only him, in exchange for him releasing The Pantera back to me. Free and clear," he added, watching relief wash over her features.
She nodded slowly, reaching for her wine. "That would make The Pantera yours again."
"She's always mine," he said without malice. "Whether I'm standing on her deck or she's sitting at the bottom of the ocean, Orihime, she's mine. Make no mistake about that."
She took a deep breath, eyes resting on the scar at his jaw line. "I see."
He noted her attention. "Can you heal old wounds?"
Her eyes flicked away from the scar to her plate. "No. Only wounds that haven't healed."
"Not me," he said with a chuckle that made her look up quickly.
"Not you?" She moved her legs beneath the desk, her foot inching away as it rested by his boot. "You didn't mean you?"
"No. Brigger. He hides it, but I know you saw his crippled hand."
"Oh, yes." She frowned, not liking the murky area of healing such deformities. "Has it been deformed from birth?"
"I think so." He broke a rye roll into two pieces and put half on her plate. "It wouldn't be a fresh injury, but it's not exactly a wound at all."
"No. I can only heal recent injuries."
He nodded.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry, Orihime. It's nothing you've done."
"I wish I could help him," she said with a sigh.
He watched her push the food around on her plate, which only made it a mushier pile than it had been. She took a small drink of the red wine, the beverage leaving a faint tint on her lips as she looked at her plate.
"You know, women marry men all the time who have mistresses," he said, forcing the topic he really wanted to know about. "So young Kurosaki has a woman on the side. You don't wallow in the misery of it, Orihime. You get your own pastime."
She looked at him with horror, shaking her head too many times. "No. I wouldn't do that. It's better this way."
"Kurosaki is a rich family. You're giving up a luxurious life."
"He was only a friend," she said, sighing. She took another drink of wine, bracing herself for a question she wanted answered. "You stole twenty-five horses from their stables."
He shook his head. "Didn't do it. And we're not going to talk about that tonight."
His tone had turned deadly serious, a caution Orihime knew she should heed, but she asked her next question.
"Why did you burn down the stables?"
This time his glare was sharper on her. "It was one barn, not the entire stable. And a few stacks of hay."
Her fingers toyed with the half of roll. "What did --"
"I said we're not going to discuss that tonight, Orihime," he cut in.
This time the glimmer in his eyes made her nod in agreement.
"Okay," she said meekly.
"You're damn right okay."
"Captain!" a voice called from the open door at the top of the stairs. "Ship made, Captain!"
Grimmjow's eyes stayed on Orihime's troubled features as she sat back from her plate where a small mound of mush remained. "Finished?"
She nodded.
"Finish your wine."
She didn't want to, the slight swell in her head already making her face heat. At least, that's what she told herself it was. "I don't want any more."
He sat back, his boot resting against her foot beneath the table, pinning it to the solid side of the desk. "I said for you to finish it, Orihime."
She decided there wasn't much harm in drinking the rest of the wine, and there might be more harm in opposing him. She took the cup and drank the rest in two swallows, watching him watch her.
"Better."
Grimmjow stood up and rounded the desk to pull her chair out, but she was already on her feet. He put one hand to her elbow and escorted her into the back bedchamber, feeling her arm tense as she walked.
"My mending --" she began, looking back to the window.
"It'll be there tomorrow." He released her and went to the candle lamp at the small table near the wall and lit it, keeping the wick low. He went to the window nearest the bed and dropped the reed blind, allowing only the moon's filtered light into the room.
"You've got the bed, Orihime, and anything in that hamper you want to sleep in," he said, watching her put a hand to the wall near the fireplace mantle. "Don't come up on deck. The door will be locked."
She nodded, the nervous ebb in her stomach growing.
For a moment he watched her suspicious study of him. "Goodnight."
She turned as he passed her and went to the doorway where the curtain was pushed to one side. "Goodnight, Grimmjow."
He nodded and left the room, pulling the curtain across the doorway.
She watched him leave, and then looked back to the still room that flickered in the soft light from the candle. She had the bed.
She took a deep breath, eyeing the few dresses hanging at the wall on the pegs. She crossed the room to the pegs, sifting through the dry dresses that smelled of the sea. She chose a sleeveless periwinkle chemise that was hemmed by a small row of ruffles. With a cautious look to the curtain crossing the door she unlaced the maroon dress and pulled it off.
Hurriedly she whisked on the chemise slip, smiling at its coolness in the warm evening. She turned the candle wick down to low.
With a sigh she crawled into the bed and pulled the blanket around her, sighing. It was a good bed, she thought, stretching her legs as far as they would reach.
For a pirate.
Authors' Note: Thanks so much for reading and for all the reviews!