A/N: the long-awaited Orihime/Ulquiorra. This was a lot harder to write than you'd think, because his character is just so...not there. I just kept writing, trying to hash it out. That's probably why it's so damn long. But, I hope you enjoy it anyway! Thank you again for your favorites/follows/reviews.
A/N: I'M ON EPISODE 305, THEY'RE ABOUT TO DEFEAT AIZEN I THINK. ZOMG. I CAN'T EVEN. (Also, why did they have to make the evil bastard sexy? Damn it.)
Drabble collection: when in doubt, bleach it out
We are the sum of our experiences. We do not tremble. We do not fall. We conquer. -full cast, at various points
Title: darkness, my old friend
Summary: We all have our demons. –Orihime/Ulquiorra
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We all have our demons.
Hers took the form of pale, pale skin over a lean powerful body and green eyes; hers took the form of the enemy who almost killed her champion; hers took the form of a beautiful creature stumbling forward on his knees, asking her, What is a heart?
Ulquiorra stood straight-backed and severe and blank, not at all like Kurosaki-kun, who slouched, put his hands in his pockets, scowled. But when she blinked or squinted or did a double-take, she thought she could see a pair of black wings sprouting from his back, as faint as the rainbow after the rain.
Are you afraid? He'd asked, many times.
She thought of Kurosaki-kun, Ishida-kun, Sado-kun, and Kuchiki-san, racing to find her, to save her, to keep her. She looked at the green in Ulquiorra's eyes, the set of his jaw, the harsh lines down his cheeks. Tears? She thought. Where have you been, before this?
No, I am not afraid, she said firmly.
Though he shook his head and called her a fool, he did not try to scare her. He did not approach her in his final form, with the moonlight on his skin and the hole in his chest glaring at her, as he did with Kurosaki-kun.
Why didn't you try to frighten me?—oh, but you couldn't frighten me away, never.
He ran his fingers over her face, very softly, almost without touching her. Where is your heart? He asked quietly, puzzling and puzzling over the question. The pads of his fingers dipped into the inner corners of her eyes, ran along her long dark lashes. Is it here?
They do say the eyes are the windows to your soul, she offered, opening her eyes.
He frowned a little, but just a little. Do they?
His hands fell from her eyes; he did not cup her cheek, because that would have been too affectionate, but they traced her cheekbones, down her jaw and chin, then to the front column of her throat. She swallowed.
I could snap your neck, he said. I could do it now, and Lord Aizen would not punish me. He blinked. She did not answer. Are you afraid now? There was no venom in his words.
She shook her head. No.
Ulquiorra said, You've never used my name.
Orihime blinked at the comment. Really?
He stared back without speaking for several minutes. You say your friends' names in your sleep—here she flushed and he did not know why—you say 'Sado-kun' with admiration, you say 'Ishida-kun' with affection, you say 'Kurosaki-kun' with—and he stopped here. I don't know what to call it. (Desperation, he knew the sound of it, but he couldn't say it.)
Her face fell; he followed it. I didn't know that.
And you say 'Kuchiki-san' with sadness. Ulquiorra was looking directly at her; he saw the panic that flitted across her face. Why? Did Kuchiki-san die?
She blinked several times, No! Of course not. She's going to come and save me, with the others.
He moved away from her, paced around the dim room with his hands behind his back. She sat on the couch, watching him move with the grace of a black panther. She tried not to think about the conclusions any one else would have drawn from her nightly cries, but then he said:
I wonder what my name would sound like, if you said it in your sleep. Then he turned and promptly strode out the door.
He was the one with the responsibility for her health, so he took her outside of her cell, to wander under Las Noches' fake blue skies. She stood on the sand, marveling at the engineering of the ceiling, and he stood aloof, arms crossed, very serious. After a while, she said: Does Lord Aizen also miss the blue skies then?
Ulquiorra furrowed his brows and stared hard at her. Of course not. But he did not answer her implication either, because he did not know.
They'll be glad to see something familiar when they get here, Orihime said, a small smile on her face.
They'll die when they get here, he said firmly.
She did not protest, and he watched the fake winds rustle her russet hair for a long time. He'd never seen precisely that color before, and he couldn't take his eyes away.
How do you share a heart?
At his question, she turned to look at him. He looked very lost to her, but she refused to pity him. Ulquiorra's dignity was somehow too heavy, too weighty, for her to flippantly pity his despair. Orihime committed her eyes to his when she said, very solemnly, Love.
But he scoffed. Love is not real. You humans create it because you are weak.
She turned away, and said so quietly she thought he could not hear: This sky is not real either, but Lord Aizen wanted it.
She did not see the surprise that upset his features.
You've never used my name either, she said at one point. She was looking out the windows of her cell, at the moon, thinking how much more romantic the Human World's moon was. She felt him still behind her, and she turned over her shoulder to look at him. He thought vaguely how he didn't like that she was always looking at him over her shoulder; somehow, it was dominant. He stood and walked around the room, leaned casually against a wall to regain some composure.
You've always called me 'woman.' She elaborated.
You're right, he said blandly. He wasn't sure what to say to her suggestion. Did she want to hear it, like he wanted to hear her say his name? He couldn't tell. So he stood silent, watchful.
I think if you name things, they become important to you, she went on, unsure if he was listening. She didn't know if she cared. Giving something a name gives them an identity, or a place in your world. She was smiling softly to herself. Maybe that's why you haven't said it.
After a full minute, he said: Well, you aren't important to me. You're important to Lord Aizen, which is why I'm here.
Orihime nodded, and she moved toward the couch, to sit across the room from him. That seemed much more reasonable, less tense. It was important to look at someone when you spoke to them. But then he began to move toward the door—she thought she could see those wisps of black wings again, folded in neatly against his back, like a long-held secret, waiting to burst. He always left abruptly, like this, without so much as a, I'll be going now, or I'll be back in ten minutes.
Good-bye, Ulquiorra, she murmured, her eyes on his face.
He stopped moving, looked at her, and the green in his eyes seemed brighter somehow, more brilliant, glassy? She fancied for a moment that there was a tear rolling around in his eye, and she waited to see if it would come down his cheek, tracing the black lines marring his face. It did not. He just stared for what felt like hours.
Then she blinked and saw—yes, the wings were moving, stretching high and taut, as if about to flap, to carry him away. She never rid her memory of the sight of a demon, faltering for the heart in his hand.
I'll lend you my heart, since you can't seem to find yours.
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fin.
A/N: I don't know if that was dissatisfying or not. Hm. Tell me? Review