Warning: This chapter is quite long… but not nearly as long as Chapter 22.

Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach, Tite Kubo does, and he's cool peoples.

Muse

By: Princess Kitty1

Nothing Personal

One week. Two weeks. Ulquiorra had found himself counting the days. It had been strange from the start; that eerie smile, that bubbly laugh, her airheaded mannerisms and how it would stop as suddenly as it started, like a summer rainstorm, leaving her staring blankly ahead and playing with the anklet resting limp against the top of her foot. And it was irksome, bothersome, the way she paid him no mind. He made his usual quips against her, and she would either giggle and compliment the wittiness of the insult, or not hear it at all.

Had he not been Ulquiorra Schiffer, he would have confronted her. He would have demanded to know what had happened the night she returned with her new pair of heels, the night she'd smiled and apologized for taking so long before promptly going to bed. He would have grabbed her by the shoulders, shaken her until he heard the brain rattling in her head, and said it wasn't her. This spaced out, quiet, and hell, even polite young lady was not Orihime Inoue.

He liked to think that he knew her better than that. But with every second, every day that passed in this tense atmosphere, he could only find himself staring in annoyance at the very boundaries that they had established from the get-go. A wall that was five stories high, a mile thick, made of concrete, impenetrable.

And had he not been who he was, had he not been so utterly pissed off by the fact that she had shut down on him so suddenly, without a single word of warning, he would have destroyed that wall with his bare hands. He would have fought it until they bled, until the bones had shattered, until he was left with no choice but to throw himself against it, until he was broken and exhausted.

Unfortunately, he was who he was. His attempts to coax her out of her stupor would have been superficial, completely meaningless.

Because in the end, it wasn't her that he was worried about. He realized this as he found himself sitting on the piano bench, staring at the alternating black and white keys, his hands poised above them with nothing but silence echoing in his mind.

"I'm going out," her voice informed him with hollow cheer. "I'll be back late tonight, okay?"

Ulquiorra stared at the keys, his hands falling slack at his sides as the door shut quietly to his left.

In the end, it was all about him. His wants, his needs. That strange girl that still called herself Orihime Inoue… her business was none of his.

At least, that's what he had told himself every day and every night of the past two weeks.

…

Orihime had found that she was pleasantly busy. With the start of the school year, she'd been left without Momo's supervision at work, which meant that she really had to step up her performance. Having moved on from greeter to waitress, she catered to several tables at once without skipping a beat; she flawlessly matched every face to every dish, charmed the customers with her good humor, and by the end of the night, brought home a killing in tips. Even Rangiku was impressed.

Of course, she had Nel to thank for this. The French girl had literally introduced her to everyone in the building, and with all the names she'd learned her memory had naturally been exercised. There was Luppi Antenor on the sixth floor, down the hall from Nel and Grimmjow, who ran a dance studio out of his apartment even though it was against the rules to do so – the manager of Las Noches was never around to scold him, anyway. Luppi was short, which surprised Orihime when she learned that he was two years older than her and a licensed personal trainer. He'd invited her and Nel along to zumba with the rest of the girls, but they had politely declined.

Then there was the infamous Mr. Nnoitra Jiruga, who lived on the fifth floor in the apartment directly above Nel and Grimmjow's. Orihime instantly recognized him as the man who had attempted to hit on her the morning she had escaped Las Noches, and he remembered her as the cheeky girl who had fought his charms by "pretending" to be a prostitute – though he would gladly take her up on the offer now that he had money. She flatly declared that she had retired. Besides, she'd noticed that the man had a peculiar fascination with her French companion. Ulquiorra later informed her that Mr. Jiruga desired Nel above any other woman and, as a result, hated Grimmjow with a passion. This was not made any easier by the fact that, due to his apartment's location, he could clearly hear them having sex right below him.

On the seventh floor resided Zommari Leroux, a man who was regularly performing bizarre spiritual rituals in his apartment. He was religiously ambiguous, apparently, taking little snippets from whichever caught his fancy to craft his lifestyle. Nel said she often joined him for meditation during exam time, as it helped her to relax and remember everything she had studied. Orihime kindly told them that religion wasn't her thing, but Mr. Leroux had taken her hand into his large paws before she could slip away. "You, my child, have a marvelously pure aura and an untainted heart," he had told her with such an honest expression that it had taken all the restraint she had not to burst out laughing. It was alright; he knew nothing about her past, so it couldn't be helped.

Starrk and Lilynette lived on the first floor, and their apartment had momentarily been transformed into a Girl Scout command center, with a very frazzled den mother and about a dozen girls in varying stages of puberty organizing a maze of cookie boxes in the dining area. Nel and Orihime had been there a whole two minutes before promising to come back later.

Next, Nel had introduced Orihime to Baraggan Luisenbarn, her elderly family friend from Germany. The old man was very kind and hospitable, offering them several drinks and snacks before settling down and telling them stories of his childhood. He had very strong opinions on the war, which Orihime actually found rather humorous, and a little concerning when he began saying things in German that Nel either didn't understand or didn't want to translate. Then he had gotten overexcited and she'd had to run and fetch Szayel from his apartment on the eighth floor to attend to the old geezer.

In the basement of Las Noches lived a behemoth named Yammy Riyalgo, who was the building's maintenance man. A jack of all trades, he could fix anything that was broken, no matter how big or small, despite his awkward size. He was allowed to live in the basement free of charge in exchange for his services, and he liked it there, telling Orihime that it was the only place that could contain him anyway.

Now, if Orihime had been in her right mind, she would have immediately stopped Nel before they had disembarked on their adventure. She wasn't planning on staying in Las Noches forever; why should she know the neighbors? It would just give them an excuse to pry into her private life, which was the very last thing she wanted. Hadn't invisibility been her original goal? She couldn't even remember anymore. Or perhaps her soul had just known to give up the moment she'd met Nel in the elevator.

However, the fact of the matter was that Orihime was not in her right mind. She knew this, but she couldn't outwardly acknowledge it. She'd been acting on autopilot since that night… that moment where things had gone from bad to worse in a heartbeat, and like an idiot, she had been the one to throw herself off of the cliff.

"Orihime Inoue? Is that you?" Rukia Kuchiki stood a few feet away, probably having just emerged from the café next to Tiburón. Her black hair was as short as always – she'd never liked to keep it long – and tucked neatly beneath a cap for the cold weather. She looked the picture of health, youth, innocence, and surprise. "Oh my God, it is!" And she'd broken out into the brightest fucking smile Orihime had ever seen.

"Rukia, wow!" she'd found herself saying, coming closer to her old friend but making no move to embrace her, or anything of the sort. "It's been so long! What are you doing here?"

"I'm at the local university!" Rukia said, reaching forward and taking both of Orihime's hands in hers. She'd always been on the short side, but today she was wearing high-heeled boots, so they were practically eye level. "We all are! Well, except for Ishida. He went to New York to study, and Ichigo pretends he doesn't miss him, but we can just tell…" She trailed off then, her eyes wide and curious. "How have you been, Orihime?"

How had she been? What kind of answer was she expecting? Orihime looked down at her hands, still clasped within Rukia's, and found herself at a loss for words. What was going on? Had this idiot forgotten what had happened the last time they'd seen each other, what she'd said to her? "You're acting like a whore." Fourteen years old or not, that wasn't something that Orihime exactly felt like forgiving. She wanted to take her hands back and slap her. How dare she treat her so kindly?

But she couldn't. This was new Orihime, better Orihime, and she didn't do that to her friends. "I've been… fantastic, actually," she had answered. "Never better." And for some reason, she had proceeded to tell Rukia all about her waitress job and her apartment in Las Noches, and she'd even lied a bit and claimed that she was taking online courses.

"That's so great," Rukia had told her, looking like the proud mother of a reformed criminal. "I'm really happy for you, Orihime." Then she had finally let go of her hands and snapped her fingers. "You know what? Uryuu is flying down from New York in two weeks and we were all going to go out for dinner. Why don't you join us? I'm sure Ichigo and Chad and Tatsuki will be so happy to see you again!" she'd said, her eyes full of hope and pure, innocent joy.

No, Orihime had begged herself. Just say no. Didn't she remember those anti-drug campaigns from elementary school? "Sure! That sounds wonderful!"

Had she ever been able to say no to Rukia? Not then, not now. How unfortunate. Because while she hadn't thought much of it as she had been agreeing, the walk back to Las Noches had provided her with plenty an opportunity. She was going to have dinner with her old friends from high school. Ichigo, Rukia, Chad, Tatsuki, Uryuu… the five she had depended on to take care of her, alongside Sora of course. The five who had betrayed her. They could deny it all they wanted, pretend it had never happened, but she'd heard them. They'd sat her down for some big intervention, as if they could rewrite her past simply by telling her that they were concerned about her, and then they had joked behind her back about which guys they thought she had already gotten acquainted with.

No. She didn't much feel like forgiving them at all, but she had to. She was going to go to dinner, she was going to be the bigger person. But how in the hell did she go about doing that?

And all of these thoughts had chewed her up and spit her out. By the time she'd gotten back to the apartment, her mind was begging for a reprieve, and so she had gone to bed without another word to Ulquiorra.

Oh, Ulquiorra. What would he think about this? Would he even care? Of course not. He didn't know the first thing about her old friends, and he didn't have to know. It was part of the taboo, hidden safely behind their boundaries. Sure, it would have been nice to ask for his advice – he'd either tell her that her efforts were noble, or that these old friends of hers didn't deserve her forgiveness and she was stupid for trying – but that would lead to more questions, more prying; and she wasn't going to answer anything else.

And so, with her mind and heart weighed down by the stress of having to face her past, she had become more distracted, more distant. It was kind of funny; she'd expected Ulquiorra to call her out on it, but he never had. He'd just given her this I-know-something's-wrong-but-I-really-don't-give-a-shit-so-I'm-going-to-pretend-not-to-notice-until-you-crack-and-tell-me sort of look, then he'd gone about his business as usual.

It was kind of anti-climactic, but she probably shouldn't have put so much faith into someone so vain.

Now, two weeks later, Orihime walked through the Hueco Mundo district on her way to the appointed meeting place. Whereas once she had paraded herself down these streets in tube tops and miniskirts, she now dressed in a modest turtleneck and skinny jeans. Her brother's anklet remained secure in its place, and the rest of her jewelry had been set to match. She looked great, successful, normal. Not like a prostitute at all.

She was going to be just fine.

…

"So…" It had been half an hour of strict silence, with Ulquiorra seated at one side of the dining table, picking at a decadent salad neatly arranged in a bowl bigger than his head; and Grimmjow at the other, having already eaten half of his. The Frenchman had no problems admitting that it had been strange of Ulquiorra to suddenly call him over, only to shove a bowl of salad at him and command him to eat it. Grimmjow wasn't the sort to pass up free food – after all, Ulquiorra happened to be a decent chef – but he'd expected a damn conversation. "Where's that nutty broad of yours?"

Ulquiorra speared a tomato. "Out."

"Huh." Grimmjow shoveled a helping of leafy greens into his mouth. "Didn't tell you where she was going?"

"Don't speak with your mouth full."

"Fuck you."

Ulquiorra lifted his gaze, his green eyes narrowed in a dangerous manner. Grimmjow cringed and quickly devoured more lettuce, chewing quietly. "Why do you ask? About my not knowing her whereabouts, I mean."

He thought for a moment, poking the salad with his fork. "Well, what was she wearing when she left?"

Ulquiorra picked at the hardly eaten contents of his bowl. "Oh, I don't know, I wasn't paying much attention. A black turtleneck, skinny jeans, boots, gold hoop earrings and a necklace, perhaps?"

Grimmjow's eyebrow arched. Right, because that obviously wasn't paying much attention. "Makeup?"

"Yes."

"Perfume?"

"I believe so."

He nodded several times, letting out a hum of affirmation. "I see, I see." He reached for the bottle of ranch dressing in the center of the table. "She's going on a date."

Ulquiorra, who had grabbed his glass of water for a few sips, choked as the liquid went down his wind pipe. He set the glass down, coughing hard. Grimmjow watched in amusement, knowing that he should probably get up and go pat him on the back, but not really in the mood to do so. "A date?" Ulquiorra rasped out finally, his voice pinched. No, that was impossible. She didn't have a boyfriend. Although, there was her strange behavior to take into consideration.

"Come on, Batman, you're a smart guy. Think about it." Grimmjow leaned over the table with a conspiratorial look. And Ulquiorra did think about it; over the past two weeks she had been cheerful, bubbly, girly, polite, spacey. Wasn't that how women tended to act when they were in love? And she hadn't said a word about it to him. Hmm. All this time he had been thinking she had been upset about something and hiding it from him, but she was actually going on a –

Wait a minute. Ulquiorra had almost forgotten who he was dealing with. No, the woman did not have a boyfriend. She had clients.

He stood rather abruptly, upsetting his chair and banging his knee against the table. "Oww."

"Believe me now?" Grimmjow asked, lifting the last bite of salad to his mouth. But before he could consume it, Ulquiorra grabbed him by the shirt collar and hoisted him out of his chair. "W-What are you doing?" he cried.

"We're going for a drive." Ulquiorra reached into his pocket and withdrew his cell phone, typing out a number on its touch screen and pressing it against his ear as he began dragging Grimmjow out of the apartment. "Hello, Gin. You saw Ms. Inoue leave a while ago, right? Did she tell you where she was going, by any chance?"

"Let me think. Oh, yeah, I believe she mentioned the café by Tiburón."

"Great, thank you." Ulquiorra hung up. He was out in the hallway by now, with Grimmjow struggling to stay upright as he was forced to move. "If you're wrong about this, you're going to pay," he told his unlucky captive.

Grimmjow sighed, used to the threats by now. "Of course."

…

They all looked so normal. Ichigo with his bright orange hair, sticking up in every direction, a bit taller and much broader in the chest with sport-toned muscles; Chad, as large as always, with half his face hiding behind a mop of dark brown hair; Ishida with his glasses and somewhat lengthy black hair, an air of superiority about him; Rukia with her trendy outfits and tiny stature, seated next to Orihime; and Tatsuki with her athletic build, occasionally glancing at their long lost friend as if she couldn't quite believe that she was really there.

Oh, but Orihime was there. She felt their presence like space heaters on the highest setting, all directed at her. The palms of her hands were moist to the point that she regularly had to wipe them on her pant legs. There must have been a strange look on her face, as if she was slightly queasy but pretending not to be.

Luckily, they were as dense as always and didn't seem to notice. "Tatsuki here is playing on the soccer team, which she claims isn't quite as important as football, but come on. It's a sport; you're giving the school a good reputation." Ichigo was talking, confidence and outspokenness radiating from his entire being. He hadn't always been like that, Orihime remembered. He used to be so unsure of himself; playing football must have helped him get over that. And he and Ishida didn't bicker as much as they used to. For some reason, she was reminded of Ulquiorra and Grimmjow, who she had witnessed interact sparingly over the last two weeks; that tense sort of, "oh, we're friends but we won't admit it" sort of thing.

"I bet you're really good, Tatsuki," she said, drinking in the flush on the tall girl's face. So she was the one who had won Ichigo in the end. Rukia had informed her that she was happily engaged to an old childhood friend of hers who had come to their school to be closer to her. How sweet. Orihime had replied that she was happy for her, staring at the diamond stud on Rukia's ring finger.

University, sports, marriage. This was how normal people lived.

"What about you, Orihime? Why didn't you go to a university?" Ishida asked politely. She noticed that he didn't look at her quite the same as before; in high school, she'd thought Ishida had been harboring some sort of crush on her. He must have suppressed that years ago.

All eyes turned on her. She wiped her palms on her pant legs again. "Well, I couldn't really decide what I wanted to major in. And money's been tight, you know, since Sora died. I wanted to get the basics out of the way."

They all nodded in agreement, looking to her like a group of collectible bobble-heads, each fulfilling a different stereotype: the jock, the reformed bully, the intellect, the tomboy, the cheerleader. And then there was her, the whore, completely out of place. She wanted to yell at them. Don't nod if you don't get it.

"Rukia says you're working a waitress job part-time," Tatsuki said, taking a sip of her latte. "Where at?"

"Oh, here in the Hueco Mundo district, at the Haineko diner. The food there's really good – and I'm not just saying that because I work there." Orihime let out a strange-sounding laugh.

She was going to be sick. Her stomach churned uncomfortably, and she didn't even have any alcohol in her. But if she puked now, they would be worried about her – or that was how it would appear. She could say all that she wanted, but she knew that it wasn't sinking in. They took her words, inspected them for a proper response, and cast them aside. There was no understanding. Never had been, never would be. They were happy people. Her problems would bring a frown to their faces, but it couldn't prompt them into action. In the end, they would just go back to their dorm rooms or apartments, forget everything, and move on.

They didn't see her anymore. They had become part of that constantly moving crowd, of that tumultuous ocean that constantly dragged her under… an ocean that she only knew one way of escaping.

Orihime had been polite for two whole hours, listening to them talk about things she would never experience: high school, proms, graduations, college, love. How she'd managed it, she wasn't sure. But now she opened her mouth and put on an apologetic smile. She'd had enough. "Sorry guys, I have to go. Early day tomorrow," she said, thankful that she'd been sitting on the outer edge of the table so she could slip out of the booth undisturbed.

"Oh, are you sure?" Rukia looked disappointed, but she would get over it, Orihime knew. By tomorrow, she would have solidified her status as a memory; one that wasn't worth thinking about. "It was so much fun seeing you again."

For who?

Orihime looked into each of their faces, seeing that they were ready to cast aside their disappointment the moment she turned her back, and knew that she would do the same. There was no connection, no point. "Well, you know where to find me." She pivoted on her heel and charged towards the exit, desperate to feel the cold against her clammy skin, to get some fresh air…

…to get drunk out of her mind.

She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone, pushing the door open as she looked up Ulquiorra's number and pressed the green call button. Pick up, she thought, eyeing the corner store with longing. Maybe a cigarette would help, too. He'd be so mad, but damn it all, she needed this.

Unknown to her, Ulquiorra and Grimmjow had arrived at the café about an hour earlier. Getting to a table close enough to overhear the conversation between Orihime and the five strangers she was sitting with had been a comical affair; while Grimmjow had literally hidden behind people and, at one point, dropped to the floor and rolled into a booth, Ulquiorra had walked casually to the table and sat down facing Orihime. She must have been super distracted not to have seen him. He then asked Grimmjow if he was done making an ass of himself, to which the Frenchman replied with his middle finger, and politely flagged down a passing waitress for a newspaper, which he'd held up to shield most of himself from view while watching Orihime closely.

The girl did not look good. How did those other five not notice? Did they not care that their companion was a minute away from vomiting on the petite girl to her left? Grimmjow, who had brought along a fedora to hide his brilliantly blue hair, acted as the informant. "Hmm. They're talking about high school… one of them is on the university football team… she has a dead brother?"

"Keep your voice down," Ulquiorra snapped when he noticed that the tallest of the three men had inclined his head in their direction. How could he see past all that hair?

They had caught enough of the conversation to piece together the facts: these five were Orihime's friends from high school, who she had never once mentioned and didn't look all that happy to see. This was confirmed when she suddenly excused herself a little while later and, as soon as she was out the door, Ulquiorra's phone began to ring, Joe Hisaishi's Madness dramatically blasting over the peaceful lounge music. Grimmjow's eyebrow arched quizzically, which Ulquiorra ignored as he answered. "Ah, Ms. Inoue. Are you enjoying your evening?"

"I'm going to get really, really drunk." He looked towards the door. She was still there, huddled by the café entrance. "Or maybe I'll walk over to that corner store and buy some cigarettes and just… chain-smoke all of them until I puke. And I know you're probably going to be pissed at me, but trust me, we'll both feel a lot better if I just get it out of my system."

Ulquiorra sighed into the phone. "Ms. Inoue, if you break my conditions, I'm going to have to kick you out." There was a brief silence, in which he saw a flash of her fiery red hair as she tore away from the building.

"…I'll be there in the morning to get my things." The call disconnected. Ulquiorra slammed the phone against the table.

"Son of a bitch," he growled, sliding out of the booth and bolting for the exit. Grimmjow scrambled to follow.

"What's going on?"

Ulquiorra either didn't hear him or ignored him altogether. It's none of my business, he told himself as he emerged onto the sidewalk and looked in the direction she had gone but saw no trace of her. It's nothing personal, he thought, running towards the end of the street, coming to a skidding halt as he came face to face with a crowd of people trying to get into a nightclub. "Shit!" He turned on Grimmjow, who recoiled at the sight of him. Was that distress on Ulquiorra's never-changing face? "Go that way. Look into any bar, club, or liquor store you pass. If you find her, drag her ass out of there and call me immediately." And then he was gone, pushing his way through the nightclub crowd.

Grimmjow knew better than to disobey. He took off in the appointed direction, his eyes glued to the passing storefronts. Stupid Ulquiorra; he didn't even like this bed-stealing broad, and now he had to hunt her down? What a freaking day.

Ulquiorra came to the end of the block and stopped. There was no way she could have gone this far. What if she'd hopped on a bus, gone clear across town? How would he know where to find her? He froze, his green eyes locking onto a neon sign dead ahead. Haineko Diner. He took up his phone again and called Grimmjow. "I think I know where she is, but I'm going to need your help to bring her back."

It's nothing personal, he repeated in his mind as he started towards the diner. It's nothing personal, it's nothing personal, it's nothing personal… He saw her mane of hair before he'd even crossed the street, saw her turn to the man sitting next to her and ask him something, then barely manage a smile as he handed her an unlit cigarette. Grimmjow came panting up then, but Ulquiorra didn't wait for him to catch his breath before dodging oncoming traffic and pushing the diner door open, ignoring the sweet-faced teenage girl who greeted him with a confused smile. It's nothing personal. He walked right past the girl, his eyes fixed on the burning tip of the cigarette that Orihime had just lit, which was slowly making its way to her lips. Nothing personal… And he ignored the busty blonde talking to her at the bar, reached out, and snatched the cigarette right out of her shaking hand.

I just can't let you leave.

Orihime swiveled around in her bar stool, her gray eyes wide with shock. Ulquiorra glared at her with such ferocious animosity that she could say nothing, not even protest when he stubbed the new cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. He motioned behind him to Grimmjow. "Get her."

Grimmjow sighed, giving Orihime an apologetic look before he seized her wrist and pulled her off of the barstool, then hoisted her up and slung her over his shoulder like a caveman. The busty blonde looked about ready to jump over the bar. "Hey!" she cried, "You have until the count of three to put her down! Who do you two think you are, coming in here and kidnapping my employee?"

Ulquiorra spared her a bored glance. "I'm her roommate," he said simply, following Grimmjow out of the diner with a multitude of people staring after them, leaving the blonde speechless.

Orihime seemed to have remembered herself, as she was now putting up quite the struggle. She kicked her legs, beating at Grimmjow's back with her fists. "Argh! Let me go, damn it! Let me fucking go!" she screamed, throwing her weight back and forth.

"Sorry, I'm more terrified of him than I am of you," the Frenchman replied. But suddenly, he stopped walking. Ulquiorra took two steps past him before he stopped as well, and in the ensuing silence, Orihime arched her back and craned her neck to look over Grimmjow's shoulder. The blood drained from her face. Ichigo, Tatsuki, Rukia, Uryuu and Chad stood staring back at them.

This definitely took the crown for being the most awkward moment of her life.

Tatsuki was the first to speak. "Hey! What are you two thugs doing to Orihime?"

Grimmjow, glad that Orihime had stopped flopping around, waited for Ulquiorra to put on his charm and come up with some elaborate lie to make himself look good. But to his and Orihime's surprise, he maintained his cold demeanor. "What's it to you?"

Uh-oh. Orihime tried to lift herself a bit more so she could smile reassuringly at the others. "Guys, it's nothing…"

But it was too late. Ulquiorra watched as the carrot-top separated himself from the group, scowling, prepared for a fight. "We're her friends."

Usually, when things like this happened, one would have expected time to stop. But it didn't. Orihime looked between Ichigo and Ulquiorra, and even though they didn't move, everyone around them did. Couples still walked down the sidewalk arm-in-arm, enjoying the crisp night. Pretty girls bribed bouncers to get into clubs. The crazies muttered to themselves as they passed by with dark expressions. Seconds were ticked away, the day growing ever closer to ending. And then Ulquiorra broke the silence.

"Her friends?" His voice was low. "Don't make me laugh." He glared at his taller opponent without the slightest degree of intimidation. "You can spout as many ridiculous claims as you'd like, but the fact of the matter is that she sat in your presence looking sicker than a dog for, I would guess, roughly two hours and none of you noticed. What kind of friend is that? I've known Ms. Inoue for three weeks, disagree with her on almost everything, but I could see her discomfort plain as day. So you're either extremely stupid – that includes you four in the back – or you chose to ignore it. In whichever case, this does not make you her friend, it makes you trash."

Orihime stared at Ulquiorra's rigid back, her heart racing. She could see Ichigo flinching, backing down, averting his gaze. "Grimmjow, it's okay… I can walk now," she whispered.

Grimmjow hesitated a moment before carefully setting her onto the sidewalk, lest he invoke Ulquiorra's wrath, but thankfully it was currently directed at the group in front of them. Orihime approached him and, for the first time since she had come to know him, lifted her hand and gently laid it on his arm. He looked down at her. "Can we go home now?" she asked softly.

Ulquiorra nodded wordlessly, but he didn't move. Instead, he motioned for her to go on ahead of him. Orihime took in a deep breath, her gaze sweeping over the shocked faces of the five that she had used to call her friends; the five who had betrayed her. She straightened her posture and, with her head held high, she walked past them without an excuse or apology. How stupid, she thought. She'd almost let this get the best of her. She'd almost forgotten who she was, or who she was trying to be. And more importantly, she'd almost let herself lose the best thing that had happened to her in years.

He may have been a dramatic pianist with a foul temper and a raging superiority complex, but Ulquiorra was her friend. He could easily have let her go, let her drink and smoke herself into oblivion and then shoved her out the door the next morning. And yet, he hadn't. He'd come to her faster than she could ever have imagined, prevented her from going back on their agreement.

She smiled as she left the ghosts of her past behind her, frozen and struck positively dumb, with her two knights in casual clothing trailing close by. She slowed enough so that they caught up to her and she walked between them, trying not to let on how pleased she was; after all, if what Ulquiorra had said to Ichigo was true, they'd been spying on her the entire evening. Grimmjow was already demanding to know what the fuck was going on, and she supposed it would be fair to tell him, but only after she had sufficiently scolded them.

Ulquiorra remained silent, his hands in his pockets, refusing to look at anything but the walk ahead. He knew he was in trouble. Still, there was a sense of satisfaction about him that didn't stem from the fact that he'd gotten to be perfectly nasty in public; or from the fact that he'd outwitted a group of strangers.

No, had he not been trying so hard to convince himself that it'd been nothing personal, he might have admitted that his satisfaction stemmed from the fact that Orihime would be there in his apartment when he woke up the next morning. Not the weak, trembling, alcoholic prostitute… but the feisty waitress with a concrete backbone who wasn't afraid to stand up to him.

Yeah. "Paco" liked her much better.

To Be Continued

A/N: IT'S ORIHIME'S BIRTHDAY! If it wasn't, I wouldn't have worked so damn hard to finish this chapter in time. And oh my goodness, it really did drag on forever. The structure was also weird, as it kind of followed Ulquiorra more than Orihime, but I hope y'all liked it. Are those changes we're starting to see within our beloved Emospada? Could be, but then again, it's rather early to tell.

Next chapter: Ulquiorra and Orihime have a bonding moment!