Chapter 19

Once fresh out of the shower and dressed in Aizen's ridiculous uniform, I tug at my hair, threading my fingers through the locks and yanking the knots from it through sheer force of will. I know there's probably a brush or comb around here somewhere, but it seems like too much work to search for one.

Especially now. When I'm trying to avoid looking in the mirror as much as possible. I've never liked them, mirrors and my reflection with it. Too many days spent staring in them, searching for any trace of the mother who left without a backward glance can do that to anyone.

More so when my own father couldn't bear to look at me for it. Deep brown eyes always skimming over me, glances full of pain and anger, never settling and never catching sight of the pain only growing with each harsh word thrown my way. And even more so when I can't forget the drunken slurs, heartbreaking despite all the pain he has caused because, 'Dios mío, you look just like her' and I know he's missed her every second of his miserable existence.

So yeah, when it comes to mirrors and my reflection, I can only ever spare them a passing glance. My eyes always kept low and never going higher than my chin when I have no choice except to look. But now there's a hot, aching bruise on my cheek, bright red and slowly getting more impossible to ignore the longer I linger in the restroom.

I could leave. I could just walk out the door, detangling my hair be damned, but I want to look. I want to see how bad the damage is, how big the bruise will blossom, how much thin skin has burst under the swelling, and that's the issue. That's what holds me back from leaving.

The need to see it even if it means willingly catching a full look at the face of the mother who abandoned me. Still, the longer I stay, the more the need grows until, and before I can really register what I'm looking at, I catch my own eyes in the mirror. And, as much as I want to look away, already dreading giving in to the temptation, the sight of them holds my gaze because those eyes aren't mine.

They're still blue, icy in their coldness as I am and always have been a victim of 'resting-bitch-face-syndrome', but the shade of them is wrong. Rather than the icy blue, almost gray color I've known them to be my whole life, the blue is now bolder, deeper and full of different shades.

Like broken glass.

All of the shades colliding and glinting with every tilt of my head. They shimmer, the light of the bathroom reflecting off them at different points, so they sparkle like clean-cut sapphire and the sight of it is too unnerving to ignore.

And suddenly the constant staring makes sense. The way everyone's gaze has always lingered, watching me for far longer and with more attention than a simple human should have called for. It's why everyone had assumed I was anything but human until proven otherwise. Because, while this universe is full of colorful characters in every shade, no one has ever had eyes like this.

Like broken glass and crystal gems.

Head tilting back far enough so they can take in the full light of the room, I watch them glitter. They only shine brighter then, glinting in a way that isn't normal by any stretch of the imagination. In that moment, it's almost unbearable, not to reach for them. To keep my fingers far away from them when I want nothing more than to reach up…and claw them out. To rip these strange, inhuman eyes out as quickly as possible because these eyes aren't mine.

They can't be.

And the sight of them now, sparkling and glinting, when everything else about me has stayed the same, when my skin is still pale, almost sickly in its whiteness, the deep, black waves of my hair only making it appear paler still, does nothing to settle me.

If only dad could see me now, I think to myself, eyes trailing from the deep black of my hair to the broken glass of my eyes and finally to the blossoming bruise taking over my cheek, marring the pale skin and turning it a deep purple. Would he still see her in me? Would he still see the woman who hadn't wanted us in the broken girl in the mirror?

I fucking hope not.

Angry and annoyed by the reflection staring back at me, I shove away from the counter. Finally ready to be done with it all, tangled hair be damned, I toss the bathroom door open with far more force than is strictly necessary. It ricochets off the way, cracking loudly before swinging shut just as fiercely.

The sound of it slamming shut has me wincing, an apology already on the tip of my tongue as I search Ulquiorra out. Except I don't get to say it because Ulquiorra is nowhere to be found. I can't stop the dread that fills me at the sight of the empty room.

"No."

It looks like it's time then. His first fight with Ichigo has finally come. There's no other reason I can think of for him to leave me here, alone. Even more so now that Las Noches is under attack, the invaders only growing in number despite how many of them they strike down. Of course, I can't be too sure exactly when Ulquiorra's and Ichigo's fight started. Hell, it could just be starting, or already ended.

But none of that stops me from rushing across the room, logistics of how I'm actually going to go about finding them, let alone stopping their fight, completely ignored in my panic. I don't even stop to consider all the reasons why I shouldn't exit Ulquiorra's room without the protection of his presence as I throw the door open.

Instead, I rush out of the room, peering down both sides of the hall like I have any hope of knowing which way Ulquiorra could possibly be. But I don't, the halls are as confusing as they've always been, a maze of endlessly similar white walls. And unlike everyone else here, I don't have the ability to sense out anyone's Reiatsu, let alone his to find him.

All the while, betrayal stings, pointless and unreasonable in its pain because it's not like I've asked him not to kill Ichigo. Quite the contrary, I haven't even mentioned any of their fights or that it'll even be Ichigo that'll kill him. Yet, the betrayal is there, harsh and stinging because I did tell him, had all but begged him, not to die and he'd still left to fight.

Had rushed away to do Aizen's bidding without even doing me courtesy of fucking telling me he was leaving. And that stings harder than it has any right to. More so now that I've only told him the bare minimum when he left before I could tell him more. Because I would have, with just a word from him or even with none at all, I would have told everything in that moment if I knew he would have rushed off like that.

If I knew he would have left me without a word.

Because something tells me, something desperate and panicked and lost for it, that I won't have a chance to do it anymore. The invasion has begun. The fighting is happening now. The war is here. And I won't see Ulquiorra again.

Not until the cold, bitter end and, for the first time in my life, I want nothing more than to be wrong.

"Yo."

The sound scares me, so much so I almost scream, but already out of breath from panicking, all that makes it out of me is a gasp. Confused and unnerved as I am, I don't recognize his voice at first, but I'd know that messy baby blue hair anywhere. So I almost launch myself at him when I catch sight of him leaning on the wall beside the door.

"Grimmjow."

I don't stop to think. My hands shoot out before I can consider if touching Grimmjow is a good idea. He's always been a violent one, after all. Nor do I bother to marvel at the fact that he lets me reach him, hands desperately wrapping around his arm as I try and fail to pull him off the wall. His eyes go wide, surprised as I continue to tug at his arm.

"We have to stop them."

"Stop who?" He asks, finally relenting and shoving off the wall. Though now that I have him standing, I don't know which way to lead him since I still don't know which way Ulquiorra and Ichigo are.

"Ulquiorra," I tell him, choosing a direction at random since Grimmjow can just correct it if it's the wrong direction anyway. He follows me, obedient in his confusion for all that he has only ever been anything but obedient. "We have to stop Ulquiorra before he kills Ichigo."

"Ulquiorra's going to be the one to kill Ichigo?" Grimmjow asks, voice going cold, as the rest of his goes deathly still, his steps faltering so suddenly, I lose my grip on him. And it's the slowly mounting dread that keeps me from grabbing him again as I realize I've slipped up.

That I've said quite possibly the worst thing I can say in Grimmjow's vicinity, because, fuck, Ichigo's his kill. And Grimmjow will stop at nothing, do everything to keep it that way, Aizen's pointless war be damned.

The silence that falls over us then is tensed. Weighted in both dread and anger as Grimmjow waits for my answer. That it's an answer I'm not sure I can give truthfully goes without saying. More so when I know that it will affect more than just how Grimmjow will react. Because, in this moment, I'm doing more than just giving a simple answer.

I'm finally, willfully and intentionally, changing everything.

"Yes," I tell him when his hand finally shoots out to force me to look at him. His fingers dig into my chin, the grip harsh for all that I've already given him his answer. Still, his eyes lock onto mine, searching the depths of them for any hint of deception.

But there is none. There can't be when I've finally told him something so completely true, the relief of it, of finally being able to do something to change the disastrous outcome of this war hits me so hard my knees almost buckle. This is it. The moment of change and I could cry that it's finally here.

If he knows Ulquiorra will kill Ichigo, he will go stop the fight. With no death, there will be no need for Grimmjow to kidnap Orihime. And while that won't do much to actually stop Ulquiorra's death at Ichigo's hand, it will be proof enough that I can change something. That I can change anything. That my presence here is making enough of a difference that my hopes to stop Ulquiorra's death aren't completely in vain.

That I might just be able to do it.

So of course, it's just as the hope is beginning to build, blossoming under the weight of everything I'm desperately trying to avoid, that it all happens anyway. It's when I'm finally about to make my first tangible change into their future, fate continues to bulldoze on as it's been written, unwilling to be altered.

It's as Grimmjow says nothing to the words, body going so still the grip on my chin tightens all the more, and he looks up, sensing something I can't that I know that I'm too fucking late yet again.

Ichigo is dead.

Or at least well on his way there and now my choices are far worse than they were when I could have attempted to stop Ulquiorra from delivering the final blow. Where before it was just about stopping a fight or letting it continue, now I have to choose whether or not to let Ichigo die.

And fuck if just the thought of it doesn't cause my stomach to twist because I can. I very well can. All it would take is letting someone, anyone know what Grimmjow's about to do. Or, better yet, all I have to do is wait here, for Ulquiorra to return and get him to Orihime before Grimmjow can whisk her away.

That's it. That's all I have to do. I just have to go back to Ulquiorra's room and wait because he will be back. He has to change out of his destroyed uniform, after all. And once he's back I can finally tell him everything. I can tell him about Grimmjow's betrayal, about how Grimmjow's going to entrap him within the Caja Negación, and most importantly, how he's going to die at the hands of Ichigo turned Vasto Lorde.

I can finally tell him all of it and just that thought fills me with so much betrayal it all but steals my breath away because I can't. Not now, not at the cost of this. Of the life a boy stupid enough to get involved in a war he has no place in. Because it never should have been his fight and the ones responsible for this, for this war, aren't even here to help him survive Ulquiorra's attack.

Not that there's much they could have done for him given the way Ulquiorra had cut him down. No one but Orihime can save him now and I know there's no other choice but to let Grimmjow take her, because, for all that it would save Ulquiorra to simply let Ichigo die, I can't.

"Get Orihime," I tell him, eyes clenched shut so tightly the tears of regret that threaten to fall never make it past my lids. The grip on my chin loosens at my words but the sting they leave behind lingers. "Have her heal Ichigo."

"Why?" He asks, voice still that low, cold tone. This time, I don't look at him. Eyes still clenched tight, almost as if be doing so I won't see the results of my words, I tell him all he needs to know. "Why are you helping?"

"Ichigo's just a kid," I tell him, the irony of the words not lost on me despite the tension. I'm hardly older than him, after all. Though that's where our similarities end because I can never hope to be as inherently good as he is. "A stupidly strong kid, but a kid nonetheless."

"You're just a kid too," Grimmjow says, the word a whisper. I almost don't hear them despite how close we are. Though they're so unexpected, the low tone of his voice turning them almost soothing, that I can't help but finally wretch my eyes open to meet his. "But why are you helping me?"

"I'm not," I tell him, watching the way his eyebrows pull together, confusion shining in those sky-blue eyes. Not even this is a lie. None of this is for him, it never has been, and yet, something in me, something buried deep and easily ignored, begs to differ. "Orihime needs you. She's being attacked by Loly and Menoly."

"Why are they attacking her?" He asks, the edge finally returning to his voice as he releases my chin. His eyebrows stay drawn together though, the confusion only deepening when I don't bother to move out of his range now that I'm free of his grip.

"They're jealous of her," I tell him, unable to keep myself from rolling my eyes at the stupidity of it. It's clear enough to anyone with a set of eyes that Orihime's being held here against her will, but maybe having only two eyes between them must have allowed them to miss that fact.

"Why would they be jealous of her?" Grimmjow asks, the confusion on his face turning incredulous because, yeah, who in their right mind would be jealous of a hostage?

"They somehow got it in their heads that Aizen favors Orihime over them since he's been treating her fairly well," I explain, shrugging when Grimmjow's look of disbelief only deepens. "Yeah, crazy, I know. But! if we look at it from their side, Orihime is being fed three square meals a day and was given a nifty uniform. She even got her own room instead of being locked away in some kind of dungeon. Nothing about that reads 'prisoner. Top that with the fact that no one has attacked her even once and even Ulquiorra's being some semblance of 'nice' to her and, well, it's no surprise they ended up jealous."

"Are you jealous of her?"

The question would confuse me more if I hadn't brought up Ulquiorra's treatment of her. But I have and the look in Grimmjow's eyes tells me he expects the answer to be a resounding 'yes'. Except, I'm really not. I can't be. Not when I know better than anyone that all the niceness, all that care and concern for her health that they're showing her is fake. That it's all being done solely with the intentions of binding her to their side and tricking others into thinking this has all been of her own volition. So no.

I'm not jealous.

I will always take blatant hostility over faked sincerity any day. At least then, I will always know where I stand with the world around me. Nothing hurts more than realizing those closest to you never cared for you to begin with.

"No, never."

He doesn't believe me. I don't have to ask him to know. The look on his face says it all but I feel no need to call him out on it or prove him wrong. What he chooses to believe is his own damn business. I already have my hands full with getting Ulquiorra to believe what I have to say about their futures.

The 'tsk' he lets out then would be more intimidating if I didn't already know exactly what his particular brand of violence feels like. If I hadn't already met it head-on and survived it more than once. As it is, I simply shrug it off, already turning back around to head towards Ulquiorra's room since I thankfully haven't gotten far enough to lose sight of it.

"Well, go garb her before they kill her."

I don't bother to look towards him. I'm too busy trying to figure out my next move to spare him much more thought. Already, I know I'm going to have to distract Ulquiorra long enough to keep him from ever attempting to retrieve Orihime from them.

The further I can keep Ulquiorra away from Ichigo the better.

And Grimmjow, asshole that his, takes that moment, when I'm no longer paying him an inch of attention, to wrench me back. He snags my arm before I can ever reach Ulquiorra's door, yanking me back so hard, I lose my footing, staggering into him.

The whole thing is so unexpected that I can't even attempt to fight him as he hauls me over his shoulder. It isn't until we're already speeding down the halls that I truly realize what's happening and, by then, I can do nothing more than squeeze my shut as the world whizzes by.

"Oh, son of a bitch, not again," I curse, stomach churring from the speed at which Grimmjow sonidos down the halls. Guess breakfast wasn't a good idea after all. "Why are you even dragging me along?"

"I can't have you spilling my plans to Ulquiorra," he replies, the words almost whisked away by the harsh wind that blows past us. I only manage to hear it because, thrown over his shoulder as I am, the words vibrate through me.

"I was the one who told you to do it," I remind him, confused enough that I don't bother to fight back. It's not like I would win even if I did, but principle alone dictates that I have to at least make some attempt or risk being seen as a willing accomplice in what is technically Grimmjow betraying Aizen.

"But would you have admitted that to him?" he asks even though we both know the answer to that is a no. In all honestly, it hadn't even been my plan. Grimmjow would have done it with or without my urging, so no.

I wouldn't have claimed the idea as my own.

Not that I would have actually told Ulquiorra exactly what Grimmjow is up to. My goal is to keep him away from Ichigo. Telling him about Grimmjow would have had the opposite effect and even if it meant lying to him, I would never have told him that Grimmjow took Orihime to heal Ichigo.

"You're an idiot," I say instead, grunting when Grimmjow jostles me hard enough that his shoulder buries itself into my stomach. The action forces the air out of me, robbing me of my answering curse at the harsh treatment.

Asshole.

It doesn't take us long to reach Orihime's room. Still, the impatience brimming in him is almost a physical presence by the time we arrive. So much so that he doesn't even bother to set me down or even knock before he kicks the door down.

I have only a second to remember that he'd originally blown it down with a cero before the whole thing is sent flying across the room. Blown off its hinges with just the force of his kick, it crashes against the opposite wall, completely missing the three in the room by what must be the grace of God alone.

"Grim…"

The stutter comes out breathy with surprise, Loly too caught up the sheer sight of us to do more than stammer. Menoly is no better, half-words falling from lips as nothing more than mumbles are Grimmjow clears the shattered doorway with me still tossed over his shoulder.

"Grimmjow!"

Soon enough though, Loly finds her voice, the name coming out equal parts incredulous and fearful. Standing as she is, towering over a bloody Orihime with Orihime's hair still caught in her grip, there's no denying just what she's been up to.

"Yo," Grimmjow greets back, the words dripping with venom. There's a short pause then. A stillness that is short-lived as Grimmjow takes in the room as a whole. But all too soon, it's broken when his grip on me relaxes, the hand holding me in place on his shoulder releasing me so suddenly I can do nothing to stop my descent as I roll off his shoulder.

My crash onto the floor would have been more painful if I wasn't already so used to being tossed about. As it is, I catch myself at the last second, only one knee meeting the harsh tiled floor as I manage to get my foot and hands under me just in time to keep myself from truly meeting the floor.

If that isn't a sign of progress, I don't know what is.

"Scampering in while Ulquiorra's not here and having some fun, are we?"

Grimmjow's accusations are met with anger. Outraged at being caught in the act, Loly doesn't even bother to defend herself. Not that Grimmjow gives her much of a chance anyway. Before Loly can even finish her own accusations, Grimmjow's already kicked her away.

The fight that follows is quick, pathetic even when Menoly joins in. So I don't bother to watch it. Already knowing exactly how Grimmjow will dispose of them, I instead make my way to Orihime's side.

There's no risk of getting caught in the crossfire because there is none. The fight is practically one-sided, with all the damage coming from Grimmjow and Grimmjow alone. It makes it all too easy to reach Orihime's side and crouch down in front of her.

And the sight of her, bloody and confused, does more to ease the stinging betrayal of all this than I would have thought. So, when I meet her eyes, one of them widening in surprise as the other struggles to stay open under so much swelling, the smile I offer her is completely genuine.

"Are you okay, Inoue-san?" I ask her, voice low and soft, yet still loud enough to be heard over the sounds of bones snapping of skin meeting skin, and cries of anguish as Loly chokes on her own blood. The top half of Menoly's body already reduced to ash under the burning weight of Grimmjow's cero.

Orihime doesn't answer. Instead, she turns the confused look Grimmjow's way, watching as he snaps Loly's leg off with his bare hands. The flinch that pulls from Orihime is enough to knock her out of her shocked enough that one word makes it past her lips.

"Why?"

The question is low, almost unheard under Loly's cursing, but I hear it well enough.

"Because you healed us," I tell her, drawing her gaze back to me just as I pull the stupidly long glove off my arm and begin to dab at the blood on her face. She stays still through it all, too shocked to do anything but watch me as I wipe the blood from her face. "So it's the least we can do."

"I hurt you," she reminds me like I could have possibly forgotten the still aching bruise on my cheek. I can't stop the soft chuckle that makes it past my lips then, because only someone as good as Orihime would remind the person saving her of something like that.

"Oh, so that was you," Grimmjow says then, steeping towards us so quickly, even I flinch away from him. Orihime, for her part, simply stares up at him in that same dazed confusion. Not that Grimmjow spares her much more than a glance before he turns a smirk my way. "I was wondering you smacked the shit outta you."

"In her defense, she was trying to slap Ulquiorra," I tell him, standing now that Grimmjow's done taking care of Loly and Menoly. Taking Orihime's hands back in mine, I help her stand too. "I just happened to get in the way."

"You have a knack for doing that," Grimmjow says, the words that almost soothing tone again for how low they are. And, yeah, that's true, because only hours earlier I'd gotten in front of Grimmjow too.

"It's more of a bad habit, really," I tell him, brushing off those low words as I turn back Orihime. She's watching both of us, gaze flitting back and forth like she can't decide who she let it settle on.

"My debt to you had been repaid," Grimmjow says when her gaze finally lingers on him long enough for him to catch it. He shifts then, hand shooting out to grab her, but I catch by sheer luck before he can reach her. "So I don't want to hear any bitching."

It's honestly second nature then, when he makes no move to wretch his hand from mine, that my fingers thread through his. It isn't even until our fingers lock together, knuckles catching, that I've even realized I've done it, and by then it's too late to pull back because, well, Grimmjow's fingers tighten around on impulse.

"You could be nicer," I choke out, as his nails dig into the back of my hand. The look Grimmjow shoots me then is as incredulous as I feel because even I don't know if I mean that about his harsh grip on my hand or how he's talking to Orihime. "We're all even now, so you can at least try to be polite."

The silence that falls around us then would be more worrying if I wasn't currently holding Grimmjow's hand like a fucking kid. This is all kind of ridiculous and Grimmjow seems to agree if the snort he lets out then is anything to go on.

"Right," he says, the smirk returning to his lips as he finally decides to humor me. Though his next words are so coated in sarcasm that I almost wish I hadn't said anything. "I have a little favor to ask you."

"Me?" Orihime asks, still confused after all this time and I don't blame her. We're technically still the enemy, after all. Yet, here we are, saving her from our own and even going so far as asking for her help.

Too bad for her, Grimmjow has never in his life learned how to properly ask for a favor.

"You're coming with us."