Just a Number
"It's trash," I sighed. I'd been reviewing the case for an hour, reading over some of the reports and evidence then back to the case. The others had been waiting with baited breath for my prognosis, pretending to be busy organizing whatever evidence I wasn't looking at.
"Um…excuse me?" Ukitake asked, surprised as everyone else. Willing myself to be patient, I glanced once more over the case.
"The plan appears to be to offer evidence and pin him down for the murder of Shinji Hirako—who isn't actually dead, by the way—because that's the most straightforward option. But he knows too many people; the case would probably never make it to court due to some made-up technicality. It would be much wiser to press charges of corruption concerning Ichimaru Gin. He's been employed unofficially by my father for years, siphoning money and managing his embezzlement. Aizen would not sacrifice himself for Gin, though, so it would be fairly simple to convict him. Once Gin's guilt has been proven, it would be much easier to corner Aizen." Blank faces blinked back at me.
"Who's Aizen?" Ichigo asked innocently. I gazed around the table, unable to believe they didn't know who Gin was.
"None of you know?" The looks on their faces gave me their answer. Sighing, I pulled out a fresh piece of paper and labeled it "Ichimaru Gin." The incompetence of the Soul Society never fails to amaze me, I thought, sighing again inwardly.
"Tosen and Gin both are my father's closest business partners, but he still considers them his subordinates. Gin, however, does not have a separate business like Tosen. He managed my father's accounts, legal and otherwise. Much of the time he lived in the mansion with us," I paused, envisioning that sly grin and those evil eyes. "Aizen had us call him Uncle Gin."
"Hey," Ichigo whispered in my ear. "You okay?" I nodded, quickly shaking myself from the memories.
"Well," Ukitaki started, looking around at all of us. "This does change things."
"Why can't we just charge him for organizing all of the murders he made you guys do? We have enough evidence," Renji asked, gesturing to the piled-down table.
"His connections," I repeated. "That's why it's so difficult—he knows too many people."
"But so we," Rukia spoke for the first time, looking pensive.
"That's true…" Yumichika muttered, shifting through the papers for the one he was looking for. "What about this?"
The paper he had pulled was a picture of something I'd spent a lot of time trying to forget—a blood-splattered crime scene, body a mangled pile in the center of a kitchen. That had been years ago, maybe five or six, and was by no means my first kill, but I had been much less experienced. It was supposed to be clean and quick, just to shut the guy up. He'd found out too much about the type of business my father ran and was planning on going to the police. My job was to go in, make sure he'd never speak again, and reclaim the evidence. Unfortunately, everything had gone horribly wrong.
"What bastard did this?" Ichigo growled, knuckles white as he gripped his chair.
"I did." My eyes were fixed on the picture, specifically the piece of paper crumpled in the corpse's hand. The day came back to me with much more clarity than I wished.
"Ulquiorra," Aizen called me as I passed his office. I froze, slowly turning back to face him. "Come here, please." I went, silently praying that he wasn't about to give me another assignment.
"There was a complication with the job you did earlier this morning." He paused, face blank as his eyes bored into mine. "I thought you knew the difference between dead and alive."
My stomach sank. No, I thought desperately. He couldn't have survived. He was dead. I'd shot him in the throat, not needing to worry about anyone knowing it was a murder that time. Admittedly I'd been aiming for his head, but his cat had darted out of nowhere as I shot—a bizarre twist of fate that would affect so much, though I didn't know it then. The man had died anyway, or so I'd thought, and I'd collected the faulty documents that showed a dramatic (and unexplainable) increase in the funds of a small business that was allied with us.
"I believed I did," I replied evenly, hiding my nerves behind a mask of indifference. It was then that he had pulled out that picture, obtained from a police man he'd long-since paid off, and I'd seen the smears and splatters of blood where he'd scrambled for a piece of paper and pen, scribbling what I could only assume was damning evidence before death claimed him.
"Apparently not. Do you have a guess as to what was written on that piece of paper?" he asked, eyes flashing dangerously. Carefully I shook my head. "No? 'Aizen's fourth.' That's what he wrote. 'Aizen's fourth.' Fortunately my people have cleared it up, so no investigations will be made. Still…that was sloppy, Ulquiorra, very sloppy. If you didn't have Uncle Gin to clean up after you, I don't know how we would have recovered. As it is…" he trailed off, now pulling a small slip of paper from his desk. At first I thought it was the evidence, but no blood stained its edges. Upon closer inspection, I read the neat calligraphy scrawled across it.
Aizen—
Do not assume that you go un-noticed. You have fallen under the watch of the Soul Society. Tread carefully.
Soul Society? What is the Soul Society? That had been the beginning of it, of our rivalry. Aizen had been incensed that anyone would dare tell him to "tread carefully." The Soul Society forced us to be exceedingly cautious, and I had been the cause of it. My punishment was not something I cared to recall…the scars still stung, even those that couldn't be seen.
"You?" Ichigo asked in disbelief. I nodded numbly, still thinking of the repercussions of that day. I'd have never met him, never been here now had not that cat streaked across the kitchen at that particular moment. Such a tiny fragment of time, yet such huge impact.
"That was the action that alerted us to your presence," Ukitake muttered, gazing at me as though he'd never seen me before.
"How ugly," Yumichika added with a gesture to the picture.
"It wasn't supposed to turn out that way. I thought he was dead."
"Bet Aizen loved that. What'd he do to you?" Ikkaku grunted. I glared at him, making it very clear that I wasn't about to answer that question. Nervously I shifted my gaze to Ichigo, who had been quiet since affirming I'd been the one to commit this crime.
"I knew that you…but to see it…" he mumbled. Silently I took a deep breath, willing myself to forget there was anyone else in the room.
"I'm sorry," I said softy, taking his warm hand in my own cold one. His amber gaze met mine, confusion clouding his earnestly. He sighed softly, lowering his eyes.
"I went into this knowing who you were. Aizen made you capable of this, but I'm protecting you from him now." I nodded, used to his protective streak but grateful for his trust all the same. After a beat of taciturn communication, we turned back to the rest, hands clasped beneath the table.
"Obviously we won't incriminate you, Ulquiorra, but this is a convincing bit of evidence. If he could get his people to drop it, we can probably get ours to pick it up again." I simply nodded, the room suddenly feeling very hot and small.
"Excuse me," I said softly, standing abruptly. Ichigo looked up imploringly, eyes meeting mine as I silently vanquished his worries. With a look he conveyed "Fine, go—but be back soon." How he said all that without even opening his mouth was beyond me.
Quickly I slipped out the door and into the hallway, longing for a breath of fresh air. It was so shocking to see that piece of my past, and (regardless of the impassive face I put on for Ichigo) it had shaken me to see it. I couldn't force memories of my punishment from my mind no matter how I tried. Countless nights had been spent nursing my wounds; countless meetings spent just sitting there taking it as Aizen delicately implied how I had failed. That murder was my fall from grace; no longer was I "Daddy's favorite." It had taken years to rebuild his trust in me, but I was forever disillusioned that he gave a damn about me or any of us.
Suddenly I looked up, realizing that I'd wandered as my thoughts consumed me. A blank door stood before me and I noticed I was at the end of the hall. This door must lead outside, I realized, to the alleyway behind the bar. For a moment I debated—go out and get some air or simply turn around and go back to Ichigo and the others. What were the odds that Aizen would be in that grimy alley? I hadn't told anyone where I was going and Aizen knew nothing of Gotei 13. Deciding it was most likely safe, I stepped into the alley. Immediately a rough, tanned hand I recognized only too well snatched my wrist, closing around it with a vice-like grip. Staggering backwards, I bumped into the chest of Grimmjow, feeling it vibrate as he chuckled.
"Knew you'd come out sometime," he growled in my ear, lips brushing it lightly. Fruitlessly I struggled, causing him to laugh once again as he came around to face me, binding my wrists with rope. "Looks like old man Aizen made a good choice in havin' me follow you." Bastard had me followed! I writhed against my bindings, digging in my heels as he began to drag me down the alley.
"You always were small, Cuatro," he chuckled, slinging me over his shoulder, helpless to struggle anymore.
"Let me free," I demanded, no force behind my words. I was in no position to bargain and we both knew it.
"No way. Aizen's pretty pissed at you already, runnin' off with your boy like that. Even I'm not that dumb." I closed my eyes and let my head fall against his back, going limp. Ichigo and the others would probably think I'd left to betray them. Everything was ruined, all trust would be lost. Aizen would break me for doing this, for helping them. He wouldn't kill me—no, that would be mercy compared to what he would do.
"Hey, you quit fighting pretty quick," Grimmjow noted, sounding just the tiniest bit concerned. Much as he always attempted to deny it, I was certain he liked me, even just as a worthy opponent. I didn't respond, hoping he'd think I'd fainted and leave me alone. Apparently it worked, because he remained quiet, slinging me into the back of what I assumed was a car. After a moment I heard my door slammed shut then his open and close. The rumble of the engine starting vibrated in my chest and I shifted where I lay as he drove out of the alley and away from my new "home." The whole ride I kept up my faux unconsciousness, willing myself not to think of how much this would hurt Ichigo.
He'd probably be blamed for my abandonment, blamed for convincing them to trust me. They'd think I tricked them, and he'd think I tricked him. Think I'd never loved him and had used him, and Aizen would keep me from ever correcting that misconception. Hopefully they had enough evidence to try him. Maybe they'd prosecute me, too. Somehow, I'd stopped caring.
Slowly I actually slipped out of consciousness, mind overwhelmed with all of the emotions and mental strain of the situation. When I woke up I'd been placed on a mat in a room I immediately recognized as the mansion's nursery. Bluish moonlight filtered in through the sheer curtains, taking me back to when I was very young, before I'd been given a name and a room. But a new generation inhabited these rooms, and I wondered why I had been put here. Why hadn't Aizen called me to him at once? Grimmjow must have taken some care to not wake me up, the kind of care that had to be specially requested. Why was he treating me as he had…Ah. He was treating me like a child. Let the punishment begin.
"Ooqui?" a soft, childish voice called out somewhere disturbingly close to my face. I blinked, bracing myself for the impact that always followed hat awful perversion of my name. Seconds later it came, five-year-old bundle of energy with green hair landing splay-legged on my chest with a small "oof."
"Nel is so happy that Ooqui is back! Hali isn't near as nice to Nel as Brother Ooqui is!" the little girl cried, trying and miserably failing to quiet down as not to wake the other two children up. She was technically called "Third" and would be until she replaced the current third sibling, Tia Halibel. No one called her Third, though (least of all herself), instead opting for Neliel, the name her biological mother had given her. She couldn't pronounce it, so, just as she had for my own name, she shortened it. Though relegated to the nursery, she often managed to wander off and quickly discovered that "Brother Ooqui" wouldn't turn her in, making us fast friends.
"Yes, Nel, it is good to see you too," I calmly greeted her, gently rolling over and sliding her off so she wouldn't crush me. As soon as she was off she scooted around and snuggled up against me, big eyes locked on mine. "Why are you awake?"
"Nel couldn't sleep knowing Brother Ooqui was here."
"How did you know I was here?" I asked, allowing her to cuddle if only to help me forget where I really wanted to be or who I really wanted to be with.
"Stwarrk said so. He was in your room when Nel went to go visit you earlier. Are you dead?" she asked, voice filled with honest concern.
"No. Why do you ask?" I had an idea, but I was curious as to what had occurred in the hose since I'd left and how much she knew.
"Last week they said Ooqui was gone, not gonna come back anymore. Nel cried and cried! Biggest Brother Stwarrk said that Itsygo had killed you 'cause you loved him. Who's Itsygo?" Her simple understanding of things made me smile, but the expression that touched my lips was tinged with sadness.
"No one Nel," I murmured, nearly closing my eyes. They snapped open, however, when she hit me hard on the chest.
"Stupid Ooqui! Nel knows it's not 'no one,' so quit lying to Nel because Nel can tell you're upset! So tell Nel!" she screamed at me. I'd forgotten she could be like that, so violent and oddly perceptive. For a long moment she glared down at me from where she knelt, too riled up to lie calmly anymore.
"I went to go stay with him for a while because I didn't want to do what Aizen wanted me to anymore," I explained quietly. A momentary look of confusion crossed her tiny face before she lay down, gripping my shirt in her fists as she cuddled against me once again.
"Nel doesn't want Ooqui to go. Nel was lonely without her bwother Ooqui," she whimpered, exhaustion and the lateness of the hour obviously getting the better of her. Well, she was only five.
"I won't be going anywhere for a long time, Nel. Aizen will make sure of that," I whispered, holding her close as she drifted off to sleep. My eyes would not close, however, as I wondered what was in store for me.
The comfort of sleep never claimed me, the night passing slowly without it. One thought kept resurfacing, pushing all others out of the way—there was no way out. I'd tried, I'd done all I could, given them evidence, faked my own death, yet nothing was different. Aizen wouldn't be convicted, and now he'd never let me out of his sight. If a simple mistake had lost his trust, deliberately giving evidence and support would irrevocably destroy my reputation with him. Not that I cared what he thought of me, but he would make my life hell for it.
As sunshine replaced the moonlight illuminating the room, a heavy feeling of acceptance fell over me. There was nothing the Soul Society could do to stop him, and even if they did, there was no reason to assume they would welcome me back with open arms. By the time the tiny woman who acted as a nanny for the children walked in, I had completely shut down. For the first time in my life, the impassive face I put on matched what I actually felt; the cold emptiness of my slight frown and vacant eyes reflecting true, honest stoicism. The nurse merely gaze down at me, unsurprised, no doubt warned of my presence beforehand, as she carefully extracted Nel from where she was still fiercely snuggling against me. Gently I handed the wiggling, sleepy child over to the nurse who then walked over to the other two beds against the opposite wall, rousing the other children.
"Mr. Ulquiorra, will you please help me with the baths?" the woman asked from across the room in a quavering voice. Clearly she was uncomfortable asking me to do such a menial task, and I supposed the only reason she did was because Aizen had asked her to. If it was supposed to anger me, it didn't. While I generally didn't like children, Nel was fine and cooperated nicely with me as I filled the tub with warm water and rubbed shampoo in her hair.
"Why does Ooqui never smile?" she asked me innocently as I wrapped her in a big, fluffy towel.
"One day you will see." This response confused her, of course; she was just a child. But one day she would be forced to figure out a way to deal with this life in order to survive, and maybe then she would understand mine.
"Stwarrk!" she suddenly cried out, seeing the relaxed man casually strolling into the bathroom. A grin cracked his face as he ruffled her hair.
"Hey there, kid," he greeted her, nodding more solemnly at me. "Aizen wants to see you."
I simply nodded as well, having been expecting this. In one fluid motion I rose, releasing Nel and taking a step away from Starrk towards the door.
"Bye bye, Ooqui!" Nel called after me. I nodded slightly, though she probably couldn't see me do it. The halls were silent that morning—no one was ever up any earlier than they had to be, and if they were, they certainly weren't lurking in the hallways. Once I reached Aizen's office and knocked, I was immediately let inside by a grinning Gin.
"Welcome back, Ulquiorra," Aizen said calmly from his usual seat at his desk, face impassive.
"Thank you, Father." Gin's grin widened.
"I am quite upset with you, Ulquiorra. You have gone against me."
"Yes, Father."
"Tell me Ulqui—did you see Tosen while you were there?" Gin chimed in, practically singing in his excitement. I gazed blankly at him for a moment before turning my attention back to Aizen, who had ignored him.
"This is your second mistake, Ulquiorra. That's two more than I'm willing to tolerate. Do you remember what happened after the last mistake you made?"
"Yes, Father."
"You have made quite the mess for your Uncle Gin and I to clean up. Do you understand that I must punish you for this?"
"Yes, Father."
"My, my, you sure are submissive, Ulqui. Is that the way little Ichi likes it?" This time I didn't even acknowledge him, but I saw his disappointment at my not taking his bate from the corner of my eye.
"Because it's your Uncle Gin who has to clean up your mess, it's only right that he should be the one to administer your punishment, don't you think?" My eyes widened a fraction as Gin's grin returned, but I couldn't let my fear show, instead only nodding once in response. "I will be asking you what you told them, but I think first it would be appropriate to allow Gin his time with you. We have all the time in the world to talk, but we must beat these bad behaviors out of you while they're still fresh on your mind. Gin?"
That awful grin stretched wider as Aizen handed him something from behind his desk: a thin, wooden rod. I'd seen it once before, after the first time I'd failed him. Gin vaguely waved a hand at me, twirling the rod in his other.
"You know what to do, Ulqui," he sang. Silently I removed my shirt and turned my back to him, catching a glimpse of Aizen's hardened expression as I did so. A high, thin whistling filled the air, followed by a sickening slap as the rod made contact with my exposed back. Pain shot through my system, racing up my spine before ricocheting back down.
"One," Gin crooned before the same whistling filled the air.
"Two." A pause as the pain spread.
"Three. Four. Five." Blood began to trickle down my back as Gin chuckled.
"Six, seven, eight!" They were coming faster now, pain and blood mingling in a searing criss-cross pattern on my back. At least the new scars would match the old.
After a while I stopped listening and lost count myself, allowing the pain to be all I knew. Once I had let go, the rest passed in a blur. Aizen at some point saying, "Enough;" Gin stopping but the pain lingering after; being escorted back to my room by rough hands that I knew belonged to one of my brothers, but I couldn't make out which. Finally I was left lying face-down on the bed in my cold room, a chill breeze from the open window making goose bumps rise on the raw flesh as my blood dried. I would clean my wounds tomorrow, I supposed, when they hurt less. But as much as the places where the switch had struck stung, no feeling was left inside to match, those wounds too deep to hurt.
Author's note: Is it just me, or was this chapter really creepy? And poor Ulquiorra. In psychology terms, he's experiencing learned helplessness. Anyway, just...two more chapters! This is the longest thing I've ever written. I hope you enjoy it!