Author's note: "I'm not dead! I feel happy! I feel happy!" WHACK! "Here's your ninepence."

I have some things to say, but I'll save them for the end of this chapter.

Disclaimer: Bleach was created by Tite Kubo and is published in Shonen Jump. Studio Pierrot is responsible for the anime adaptation, and Viz Media for the official English release. No copyright infringement is intended or should be inferred.

Chapter 10

When they emerged into the mid-morning sunlight, Ulquiorra blinked and looked around. Yesterday he had observed few details, at least by his usual standards, having focused primarily on analyzing his new circumstances and calculating their probable outcomes. Now, however, he could look around for the first time, relatively secure in the knowledge that his presence here would be tolerated. The first word that came to his mind was tranquil. Apparently, a great many humans regarded tranquility as a high ideal, difficult to obtain. Although such ideals struck Ulquiorra as absurd, he studied them in detail: they were powerful methods of manipulation, and he might someday need them for that end. The Buddhists, in particular, who called it nirvana, believed that tranquility was unreachable without several lifetimes' worth of effort. As the sun warmed his skin, and the gentle breeze tickled his face, he wondered at the foolishness of struggling for several lifetimes to reach a state attainable simply by standing around.

But he had no time to waste on such thoughts when he had so many pressing questions to answer. Within his first twenty-four hours as a human, he had obtained both living quarters and employment, courtesy of the shopkeeper. This both pleased and unsettled Ulquiorra; although his attempt to insinuate himself into the human world was proceeding smoothly, it was obvious Urahara had some sort of plan involving him. For the time being, the nature of that plan eluded him, so he would fall back on a rule that had never yet failed him: wait and see. His eyes missed nothing. If he didn't see something, it didn't exist. Had he not based all of his battles on that rule? And now, living in enemy territory with his powers sealed, seeking the maddeningly elusive answer to a question that was not even fully clear in his own mind, he was in the battle of his life. Trusting his eyes would be more important than ever before.

"Okay, we'll need to get you at least two weeks' worth of clothes. You'll probably want more than that eventually, but that should be enough to get you started." The woman spoke, and his eyes turned to her. She tucked the piece of plastic – the "credit card" – into the front-left pocket of her jeans, and looked expectantly at Ulquiorra. She was right. Unlike the fools who sought tranquility, they had purpose; they had a mission, and there was no time for standing around. He could analyze and contemplate while they walked... but before that, something was bothering him. He extracted his arm from her grip and stepped back from her, slipping his hands into his pockets. She looked surprised and a little sad, but he wasn't about to let that distract him. Having a mission used to be purpose enough in itself, but that was before he met the woman, who had done her best to make him ask why he should choose this course or that, especially when he didn't agree with what was being asked of him. And he didn't agree with this shopping business, so if she didn't like his questioning it, she had only herself to blame.

"In Hueco Mundo, I had only one outfit." He looked her up and down, taking in every detail of her apparel. In addition to her somewhat loose jeans, made of denim that was just beginning to fade, she wore a dark-green, long-sleeved shirt that fit her prodigious bust as loosely as any shirt could, which was to say not much. She also wore a pair of light-brown running shoes, which Ulquiorra couldn't help noticing seemed much less elegant than did the sandals of her Arrancar outfit. In their haste to leave, she had left behind her light-gray winter hat and gloves, and her dark-gray sweater, but that shouldn't be a problem: for December, the day was quite warm. Despite his occasional forays into the human world, he was used to monochromatic surroundings, monochromatic outfits, and monochromatic lives, and this barrage of color was new to him. Apart from the blue of the artificial sky of Las Noches, and the red of spilled blood, it was hard to find any color in Hueco Mundo, unless one counted various shades of black, white, and gray. "And so did you."

Orihime giggled awkwardly. "Yeah, that was one thing I didn't like about your home. Even after you agreed to let me wash it twice a week, it still got boring wearing the same thing every day."

"You never told me." He felt a stirring of anger, and a desire to go back and change things so that she was wrong. He frowned internally at that thought; Ulquiorra had felt regret once or twice, but never before meeting this woman, and he believed it was something a Hollow had no business feeling. What was regret but a sign that the person who felt it was not equal to his deeds? It was absurd for a creature that fed on souls, or on the flesh of his fellows, to feel such a thing.

"You never asked," she responded, and he closed his eyes, sorting through the memories of all the times they had spoken in Hueco Mundo. They were perfectly preserved – all of his memories were; it was one of the advantages of his eyes, which recorded sensory data like twin cameras – and the regret grew stronger as he realized she was right. His Arrancar outfit, being a manifestation of his reiatsu, had been literally a part of him. It developed over time, starting out as a simple, featureless robe, and gradually refining itself as Ulquiorra refined himself. At all times, it was not merely the right clothing for him; it was the only clothing for him, just as his zanpakutou, which contained his own nature as a Hollow, was the only sword for him. Even with his reiatsu sealed by the gigai, he keenly felt the absence of both outfit and sword, two missing pieces of himself. He knew that the woman liked to clean her clothes on a regular basis – she made that very clear almost immediately after receiving her Arrancar uniform – but it never occurred to him that wearing the same outfit, day after day, might in itself be unwelcome, even if it were clean.

"That's true," he said, opening his eyes and looking at her. She looked wistful and more than a little sad, and his regret became more acute. He decided that shopping could wait a little longer; with so many questions calling for his attention, now was as good a time as any to start getting answers. "Why are you sad?" She started at the question, presumably because she hadn't expected him to ask anything like that, but recovered quickly and gave a smile that was quite obviously forced.

"Not sad, exactly. I was just thinking... it's going to take a long time to get you adjusted to human life."

"Then tell me," he said bluntly, and she looked at him with a puzzled expression.

"Tell you?" She thought she knew what he meant, but wanted to be sure. Even for her, he could at times be difficult to read, and misreading him was apt to leave him sour, at best.

"When I do something wrong, tell me. Furthermore, I'm not well-versed in human etiquette, but I understand making recompense for injuries is a crucial part of it. So... if there's a way for me to do that, tell me that as well." Orihime bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from smiling, and she mostly succeeded, but Ulquiorra noticed details most people would miss.

"You're laughing at me," he frowned.

"I'm not!" she insisted, even as the smile forced its way onto her face.

"You think it's funny that I need help."

"I don't!"

He turned away from her and began walking. "Perhaps we should shop for clothes another day, when you are feeling less mirthful. Urahara has a sufficient wardrobe to supply two people."

"Ulquiorra-kun, come back!" Orihime called. He didn't turn, didn't stop, didn't even slow down, and without thinking, she tried a different tack. "Ulquiorra Cifer," she intoned forcefully, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. "This is an order from your superior: we are going shopping today, and no amount of pouting will change that." He stopped and turned, his face impassive as ever, and she pressed on, frowning, before she could realize how silly she felt. She'd much rather have Ulquiorra think of her as a friend than a superior, but if that was what it took to get through to him, so be it. "So get over yourself!" Not the most eloquent way to finish, but it made its point: Ulquiorra stared at her for half a minute or more in utter silence. Orihime wanted to fidget – she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so awkward – but that would completely undermine everything she had just said, so she forced herself to remain still, and glared at him as best she could. It worked better than she had planned: at length, Ulquiorra composed himself, his placid mask falling back into place, and it was Orihime's turn to be shocked as he withdrew his right hand from his pocket and placed it in a fist over his heart, bowing from the waist at exactly forty-five degrees.

"As you command, Inoue-sama." There was neither irony nor hesitation in his tone, and Orihime knew, without a doubt, that he meant it. She blushed deeply and waved her hand, making a sound that mixed squealing with uneasy laughter.

"Y-You don't have to go that far..."

Was she going to force him to spell it out? Very well, if he must, he must. "When Kurosaki defeated me, he destroyed in one moment the certainties of a lifetime... and Hollows, barring a violent end, have very long lifetimes. But if I have nothing else, I still have commanding and obeying." He straightened up and returned his hand to his pocket. "You are my superior. Why should I not address you appropriately?"

"Well..." She trailed off, unsure of how to proceed.

"Go ahead," he prompted her, not sure of what she intended to say.

"For one thing, it makes me think of how you talk about Aizen."

"I see..." he nodded, feeling faintly relieved. The woman had a habit of making him feel as though the ground would drop out from under his feet at any moment, apparently without even trying to do so, but this concern was intelligible. "You're worried that I will betray you, too." He wouldn't, of course, but the foothold was stable, and the ground familiar.

"What? No!" she cried, waving her hands frantically.

"What, then?" he frowned as the foothold proved much less certain than he had anticipated. The woman looked away, clasping her left elbow with her right hand.

"It's just... Aizen doesn't care about anything but his own power. I know you're used to following orders, and if thinking of us as superior and subordinate makes you feel more comfortable, I don't mind it... but if it means thinking of me as your new Aizen, I don't want it." Ulquiorra frowned; of course Aizen cared about nothing but his own power. What else was there? But the woman looked at him, biting her lower lip, and his frown vanished as his eyes widened involuntarily.

For the first time, he could feel it. As surely as the sun's glancing rays and the slight breeze rustling his borrowed shirt, as surely as the weight of Murciélago in his hand or the sting of a terrible wound closing up as quickly as it opened, he could feel something more to life than power. He had no name for it – it might have been the heart, but that seemed unlikely, as it didn't fill him with a foolish desire to risk his life against overwhelming odds – but it pressed in upon him, demanding to be acknowledged. What had been a mere whisper in the back of his mind when he reached out to the woman, asking if she feared him, was now a scream that would surely deafen him unless he found some way to silence it. But the scream had no words, and without words, Ulquiorra was lost. Desperately, he latched on to the one word that suggested itself, even though he still had almost no idea what it meant, and hoped against hope that the woman would understand what he meant.

"Does that mean you want to... be friends?" he said faintly, even as the screaming grew louder. It was absurd; how could that one word cut through such a deafening roar? It was all he could do not to cover his ears with his hands, but of course that wouldn't help: the scream was entirely in his own mind, and he knew it. The woman simply giggled and held out her left hand.

"That's what I've been saying, Ulquiorra-kun." The screaming stopped in an instant, and Ulquiorra breathed a sigh of relief, taking her hand in his, and leaving his other hand in his pocket. They walked along without saying a word for a few minutes. The former Espada looked at the woman, and saw her smiling at a pair of white birds flying overhead.

So she did understand.

He realized with a start that he felt gratitude toward her – not a completely unknown feeling for him, but certainly strange, especially since it was directed toward a human. Humans were trash; he had always believed that.

On the other hand...

On the other hand, as he had just admitted, the certainties of a lifetime were lying in ruins. He had no way of knowing what would take their place, but perhaps a higher estimate of humans would be among them. And he reflected, as he watched the woman's smile and felt the warmth of her hand in his, that this tranquility idea might have merit after all.

Ulquiorra-kun was so funny, Orihime thought. Had it really taken him so long to understand that she wanted to be friends? But her smile faded as she realized that yes, it probably had taken him so long, and that there were powerful reasons for the delay. As she said to Ishida-kun, Hueco Mundo was a bleak and terrible place, where the utter lack of hope or love did more to make the land black and cold than the unending night ever could. Unconsciously, she squeezed Ulquiorra-kun's hand, partly to reassure herself that he was really there, that he had not been swallowed up into that darkness, but mostly to reassure him that she was there.

He looked over at her with a blank face. "What's on your mind, woman?" She loosened her grip, flustered – just a little, thankfully; she'd had enough of being badly flustered – and forced a smile onto her face.

"Well, I..." She wasn't sure what to say. Of course, she could always reassure him that she was there for him, but he'd already had words to that effect. Now she needed to show him that she was there... but how to do that? Suddenly, it came to her, and her smile transformed from awkward and faltering to positively beaming.

"Yes?" Ulquiorra said, realizing that she'd sorted out her thoughts.

"I was just thinking that you'll need to know your way around if you're going to be living here." She sped up, trading their leisurely stroll for a brisk walk. "Come on, I'll give you a tour!"

He looked confused. "Does this mean we aren't going shopping today?"

"Oh, you're not getting out of it that easily!" she winked. Although there was plenty of space on both sides of them, Ulquiorra felt, just for a moment, as though he were back in the hallway behind Urahara's shop. This time, however, the woman's proximity was reassuring rather than claustrophobic, and Ulquiorra could only muster up a token unease at how readily his attitude had changed. If he wasn't careful, he could end up being ruled by whims, just as Grimmjow had been... yet where the woman was concerned, that fate did not bother him nearly as much as it should. "I just mean that as we walk, I'll point out the sights and some important locations." She frowned a little. "Of course, there's not too much between the shop and my apartment, but I can at least give you directions. You can remember directions, right?"

"Of course," he nodded. Orihime smiled at his agreement, and began talking.

"Urahara-san's shop, of course, is on the east end of town in the Mitsumiya District. There's not much else out this way, though on the north end of this district, Mashiba, there's Himawari Sewing Shop. They've got a bunch of Western-style supplies, and they're open twenty-four hours a day, six days a week. Maybe that's why Ishida-kun goes there all the time-"

"The Quincy shops there?" Ulquiorra frowned slightly at that news, but Orihime didn't notice.

"Oh, definitely! It's his favorite store – whenever anyone asks him why he does so well in the crafts club, he says it's because he shops there. He's just being modest, of course; he does so well because he's so talented, and because he practices every day." She looked over, a sudden idea occurring to her. "Maybe you can get him to sew you something!"

"As a token of our deep and abiding friendship?" he asked flatly. Orihime frowned sadly at his cynicism, but it quickly turned to a frown of puzzlement, and she slowed to a halt. Ulquiorra stopped beside her.

"Ulquiorra-kun... did you just make a joke?"

He looked at her impassively. "Did I laugh?"

"Um... no."

"Did you laugh?"

"No."

"Do jokes not cause laughter?"

"Well, they're supposed to..."

"Then it could not have been a joke." He looked back down the street, in the direction they had been walking. "Besides, I would not do something so frivolous."

Her frown deepened. "Well, I think you should."

He looked back at her. "Should what?"

"Do something frivolous," she answered, the frown turning to a smile. "I know – while we're out shopping today, we'll get ice cream with sprinkles!"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Why?"

"That's the point – there is no 'why.' It's completely, utterly frivolous." She touched the tip of his nose with the index finger of her free hand and pressed lightly. "That's what makes it fun."

His eyes crossed as they focused on her finger, but his tone was as flat as ever. "I'm uncertain about this 'fun.' It sounds dubious." He paused. "Also, your finger is on my nose."

She pressed a little harder. "You're so funny, Ulquiorra-kun."

"I doubt it. I have it on good authority that I have no sense of humor."

She laughed and pulled her hand back. "That's what makes you funny. Come on, let's get going – it's almost nine already." They resumed walking, and Orihime picked up the tour. "To our left is Mashiba Middle School, where all my friends and I went, though some of us didn't know each other back then. And directly in front of us-" And the flow of her words ceased as the locale in question came into view.

Even without his eidetic memory, Ulquiorra would never forget that place, and he suspected the same was true of the woman. To their left was a sandy area with a quartet of gray stone benches on its perimeter, and six swings, a slide, and a seesaw in the middle. To their right were more benches, and beyond them, a trashcan. The dirt trail under their feet wound its way between the benches and the sandy area, disappearing into the trees that ringed the area. He looked over at the woman, and saw that she was staring into the distance, and possibly into the past. That wasn't surprising. The people of Karakura had done their best to cover up the damage, but the scars remained: recently-lain dirt, recently-planted grass, a section of the seesaw that had, judging by the freshness of the paint, been recently replaced. This was the park where he and Yammy had first encountered Kurosaki, Urahara, Shihouin... and of course, the woman herself.

Ulquiorra watched her silently, wondering how she would react. But she did not react, merely stared, and as the silence stretched out, he felt a growing desire to turn from this place and run at top speed, never to return. It was ridiculous, of course – after killing more Hollows than he could count, including a large percentage of Menos Grandes and Adjuchas, and facing some of the finest Shinigami that Soul Society could boast, he would certainly not be intimidated by a piece of landscaping. Thankfully, the woman finally turned to him.

"Directly ahead of us... is where we first met," she smiled. Ulquiorra, however, frowned at her, and she was confused. "What's wrong?"

"This is where I called you 'trash.' This is where I ordered Yammy to kill you. We have to put that behind us if we're going to be friends, correct?" Orihime opened her mouth, then closed it, frowning in puzzlement, and settled for a simple nod. She wasn't sure where Ulquiorra was going with this, but she thought she had an idea. "But there's a difference between putting the past behind us, and whitewashing it." He removed his hand from hers and slipped it into his pocket, stepping back from her... and in spite of his clothes and his human-looking gigai, Orihime gulped at how much he resembled that first appearance. The cold contempt for everything around him, which she spent the whole of her captivity trying to thaw, was back in full force. "I am a monster... and I treated you monstrously. Any attempt to gloss over that means building on a lie."

"Is that it?" Ulquiorra's cold shields faltered as his eyes widened slightly. Whatever response he had been expecting, that clearly wasn't it. Orihime smiled in relief. "Why did you reach out for me, Ulquiorra-kun?"

He regained his composure, his impassive mask reasserting itself. "What?"

"On top of Las Noches – why did you reach out for me?" Ulquiorra didn't respond, and Orihime continued, building momentum. "Why did you ask whether you frightened me? Why did you throw yourself in Kurosaki-kun's way just as he was about to hit me with a Getsuga Tenshou? And why, when Kurosaki-kun came back in that new Hollow form, did you throw yourself in his way, again, to save me and Ishida-kun?"

"Lord Aizen said-"

"-that I was of no further use to him," Orihime interrupted, and though her smile never wavered, her voice took on a firmer edge. She was Ulquiorra-kun's guide in the human world, and although she didn't want to make him uncomfortable, there were questions that he needed to answer – not just for her sake, but because they would help him answer his own question. As his guide, as his friend, she couldn't allow him to dodge those questions, no matter how uncomfortable he might find them. "You didn't do it for Aizen's sake, Ulquiorra-kun. You did it for your own."

"My sake?" He sounded truly dumbfounded – which was to say his tone raised a bit. Orihime nodded, approaching him slowly so as not to frighten him, and her voice softened again.

"It's because you wanted a second chance. Every one of those things was a way of asking for a second chance... asking for forgiveness."

"Ridiculous," he said, but even he realized he sounded only half-convinced. "Why would a monster want a second chance? And even if he did, why would anyone grant it?"

"Forgiveness is an act of compassion, Ulquiorra-kun. If people deserved it, they wouldn't need it."

His eyes narrowed. "Would you forgive Nnoitra? Knowing that he wanted to rape you, would you give him a second chance?"

Her smile dropped, and her voice turned cold. "He didn't ask for one."

She saw a gleam of wonder in his eyes. "You didn't think I would betray you and your friends. You didn't think I would turn on you at the first opportunity."

Her smile returned, and her voice became warm again. "I was right, wasn't I?"

"You had no way of knowing."

"No. But I believed in you, Ulquiorra-kun."

It made no sense. None of it made any sense. "Why?"

She shrugged. "There were a bunch of little things. By itself, none of them would've meant anything, but together..." She looked him in the eyes and smiled. "I could see you were made for something better than serving Aizen. All you needed was someone to give you a chance."

She held out her hand, and after a moment's hesitation, he slipped his hand into hers. "How can you be so forgiving?"

"Easy. Penguins come at night and sprinkle forgiveness dust on me." He stared at her, trying to determine if the seriousness of her tone was genuine. After a moment, she laughed nervously. "Sorry. I kind of lost my fun side while I was in Hueco Mundo, and I'm trying to get it back."

"It seems you will need more practice," he said flatly.

She giggled. "Yeah."

"Woman." She looked at him inquisitively. "No one has ever forgiven me. It feels..." He trailed off, frowning and narrowing his eyes in puzzlement.

"Nice?"

"...Yes. I think that's the word."

She smiled brightly. "Come on, then! Say it!"

"It feels... nice."

And the hint of a smile appeared on his face. Orihime returned it with interest.

"Well, come on! I need to get changed so we can go shopping!" She began running toward the far end of the park, Ulquiorra focused on keeping up with her... and neither of them noticed the eyes watching them from the trees.

"Forgiveness?" Harribel whispered skeptically from her hiding place as she watched Orihime and Ulquiorra run. "You never change, Ulquiorra. You see everything... except what matters most."

"What's that, Harribel-sama?" Franceska Mila Rose, one of her Fracciónes, asked from behind her. But Harribel did not respond, and her ice-blue eyes narrowed over her white coat's face-concealing collar as she focused yet more intently on the mismatched pair.

"Oh, who cares?" Emilou Apacci, another of Harribel's Fracciónes, said testily, brushing a lock of blue hair behind her ear. "I say we kill the traitor, here and now."

"And overstep our orders?" Cyan Sung-Sun, Harribel's third and final Fraccion, asked from behind her hand, which was, as ever, concealed by her loose-fitting sleeve and held in front of her face. "We are to watch the traitor and report on his actions, nothing more. Perhaps you were sleeping when Lord Aizen made those orders perfectly clear."

"Or perhaps she would rather join the traitor," Mila Rose put in, her turquoise eyes glinting mischievously in her dark-skinned face. "She always did have eyes for him."

"I did not!" Apacci squealed, raising her fist at the other two, who gave her challenging looks in return.

"Enough, girls," Harribel said, glancing over her shoulder, and the arguing ceased. Her Fracciónes might have enjoyed nothing more than fighting with each other, but their loyalty to the woman who rescued them from the meaningless violence of Hueco Mundo, and who brought meaning into their own lives, was infinitely more important to them than any enjoyment.

"What should we do, Harribel-sama?" Mila Rose asked, and Harribel turned her attention back to the now-empty park.

"We follow our orders. We watch, and wait... and we stay hidden." The girls flinched at that last point. Much as they loved arguing, they knew perfectly well that if they were too loud, they would give themselves away, cloaked reiatsu or no. It would never do for Harribel-sama's loyal Fracciónes to jeopardize the mission like that.

"Yes, Harribel-sama," they said in unison, bowing at the waist, each glaring at the others for being so foolish.

After his guests left to go their separate ways, Urahara sat at the breakfast table and leaned back on his left hand, while his right one rested on his raised knee and his hat covered his right eye. He heaved a heavy sigh.

"Well, that was certainly a lively morning," he said, then looked over his shoulder at the doorway. "Right, Yoruichi?"

The shapeshifter, currently in cat form, cocked her head. "We've had livelier," she said in the masculine voice her cat form favored.

Urahara chuckled and returned to gazing at nothing in particular. "That's true." Yoruichi padded over to him and rubbed her head against his side. He scratched behind her ears absentmindedly, and she purred contentedly before pulling away.

"So why are you really doing this?" she asked. Urahara looked down so that most of his face was hidden in shadow, and grinned.

"Doing what?" Yoruichi bristled her fur in indignation and walked behind him... and suddenly he felt her soft, bare arms encircling his waist, and her firm, very naked breasts pressing against his back.

"So you won't even tell me why you're risking everything to help him?" She nuzzled the back of his neck with her nose. "And if you tell me it's because you had a gigai of him lying around, I'll punch you in the face," she purred.

"You already did that," he answered, smiling faintly. "Don't want to start repeating yourself, do you?"

"You gave as good as you got," she said, rubbing her shin with her foot. Her shin, along with his face, had already healed; over the years, they'd learned each other's limits, and exactly how rough they could be with each other.

"Then we're even," he said, his smile widening into a grin, which she returned.

"Not by a long shot. An apology for making public jokes about our sex life requires cookies. Many, many cookies."

"I guess I'd better get started, then," he said, but instead of getting up to cook, he leaned back into her embrace and closed his eyes, his grin fading into a neutral expression, albeit one that was shaded by the dark circles under his eyes.

"Hey, Kisuke... I know you love keeping secrets, but I'm here for you, okay? Whatever your reasons for helping that Hollow, you don't have to go through it alone." She began rubbing his shoulders, and could feel the knots leaving them as her hands worked. He sighed more deeply than before, but this time relief predominated over weariness.

"I know," he said quietly. "I really don't want to get into details, not yet... but I will say this." He opened his eyes and stared straight ahead. Yoruichi craned her head around to see his face, and was startled to see the haunted look in his eyes.

"His soul isn't the only one I'm trying to save."

Author's note: First, a word about future updates. For a variety of reasons, I am hereby officially abandoning the biweekly update schedule; future updates will come as I can find time and energy to write them. That said, I am not abandoning any of my stories. On the contrary, one of the things I did in the last two months was to work on outlines for all of them, in the hope that they will help prevent long delays between chapters (no guarantee, of course, but hope springs eternal).

However, there is a specific reason for the delay in this chapter, apart from the usual real-life obstacles to writing for pleasure. Recently, a reader pointed me toward an UlquiHime doujinshi called Bleach Redux, written and illustrated by KoltirasRip (formerly RipVanWinkle). Like "The Things Reflected," it is based on the premise that Orihime heals Ulquiorra just after the second battle between him and Ichigo; that he survives as an Arrancar and has to deal with the consequences of having been one of Aizen's most loyal and effective soldiers; and that he begins fighting on the side of Soul Society. Reading this doujinshi engendered a powerful ambivalence in me. On the one hand, I am writing about UlquiHime because I love them and want them to be happy, and a considerable part of me rejoiced at seeing an opportunity for their happiness as well-written and well-illustrated as Bleach Redux (so well-illustrated, in fact, that there are times when one might mistake it for Kubo's own work).

On the other hand, seeing another author's first-rate take on one's own premise can raise questions about the point of one's own writing, especially when one has flattered himself into believing that he is the only one using that premise. I began writing this story in large measure because, at the time, I knew of no other work that kept Ulquiorra alive as himself, that had him consciously and deliberately betraying Aizen right in the middle of the Winter War, and that tried to show how the three worlds – Hueco Mundo, Soul Society, and the human world – would deal with the consequences of Ulquiorra's and Orihime's actions. One of the things I did since posting chapter nine was to ask myself what point there was to my work if someone else was already writing something so similar to it, and also illustrating it better than I ever could (though of course the details are quite different).

That was when I realized that, if my story is to be unique, the premise alone is not enough. Though I have received much praise for keeping people quite firmly in character, it is time to begin taking the characters and the story in the direction that I see fit. I will of course do my best to make these developments, as Aristotle says of the best plot developments in his Poetics, "inevitable or probable," but they will be what I see as inevitable or probable. Nonetheless, I hope that you, too, will find them both persuasive and enjoyable, just as I will.

Finally, Orihime's line "Forgiveness is an act of compassion" is taken from something Giles says to Buffy in season 2, episode 19, "I Only Have Eyes for You," and the second half of her line is a somewhat shortened paraphrase of Giles's elaboration of that point. It is beautiful and profound, and in a story like this, absolutely crucial.