Her heart. Ulquiorra needed no clarification as to understanding the single condition imposed upon him. He knew he could not tear the organ from her chest and hold it in his hands and say he possessed it. Because that wouldn't preserve her existence.
Briefly he considered the repercussions of such an action.
With his Lord's permission, the newly deceased Shinigami could be taken before the Hogyoku. The rest could be done as memory blanks were exchanged for artificial memories. A new-different name could be chosen as well as a rank or he would simply make her his fraccion. That in itself was possible yet he was loathe to ask for more.
So, this would have to suffice.
His soft sigh echoed along the empty, high-ceilinged hallway. Preparations had to be made, as much as he despised him, he knew no other whom could exam her in a satisfactory manner. The Octava Espada, Szayel-Aporro...first then he would deal with the unpleasant task of Orihime Inoue.
(*)*)*)*)
The room was large, sterile with a cold impersonality like a hospital in the living world. Rukia had no wish to linger there for long, her eyes though dry, feeling cracked around the lids, watched warily as a trapped animal might; the cheerfully whistling Arrancar going through a cabinet of glass bottles on the other side of the room.
What am I here for? Or. What are you going to do to me? Were the responses her mind desired to speak. That hadn't changed. But, she couldn't, countenance that is, her reaction as the pink-haired Arrancar had turned around after finding whatever it was he was searching for and making his idle way back to where she stood in front of the operating table.
Her body stiffened. Her hands fell away from the white robe, finding purchase on the slick, hard edge of the slab behind her. Gone was the snappish bravado she had thought to retort in defiance of her condition. Instead all her eyes saw was the tall, slightly stooped figure in the hideous white uniform.
"Don't hurt me!" Involuntary it left her lips as a cry. Shame clenched her heart at such weakness moments later then eased as the Arrancar stopped, with the queerest look on his face. "I say...hurt you? Why, would I?" shaking his head so that the wavy pinkish locks ruffled his ears, the Espada pushed a single index finger up the bridge of his nose; the gesture reminding her of Ishida in his more business-like moments.
She felt the Arrancar watch her then make a few tut-tut noises then abruptly spin on his heel. "Alright this will never do! Never do at all! Ulquiorra never told me the patient would be this afraid of me-really! And I'd heard that you were such a spitfire little girl!"
Rukia opened her mouth to contest that, then slowly gathered the sides of the kimono, holding it tightly closed to her chest. Ulquiorra...had them bring her here? Her brow furrowed. For what purpose?
"There are..shower stalls.."
She looked up surprised.
The Arrancar she now vaguely recalled as the servants addressing as Lord Szayel, flicked a gloved hand to a doorway she hadn't noticed before that lead into a longer hallway dimly lit by a few muted lights in overhead sconces. "The showers are down there, to the-uh right. You can bathe yourself, correct? You will not require assistance?" She was surprised by his question. Did she look physically weak? Somehow this made her angry, the words out before she even had time to process the import of them.
"I can bathe myself just fine, thank you!" The bite had returned.
Szayel seemed mildly pleased as she caught the hint of a smile. "Alright, alright. Just asking...anyway, I'll have one of my Fraccion bring a change of clothes then we can begin the examination." Then he added. "Just to make sure no permanent damage occurred."
What did it matter..? Her gaze fell, her steps were slow, shuffling. Passing beneath the doorway, something else he said, spoken almost as an afterthought made her hesitate. Feeling something strange then inside...like an emotion she couldn't decipher.
"I had never seen that boy show so much- well, it's not like he ever shows much emotion to begin with. Rather I assumed he was a cold fish or some-"
"Who?" Rukia was sure she knew, but wanted confirmation.
Szayel paused then continued in a softer, more subdued tone. "Ulquiorra. He came to me and asked me to take a look at you."
(*)*)*)*)
The stalls ran five deep along one side of the long rectangular room. Shallow box-like bottoms contained the water to swirl down round metallic drains, the showerheads were standard conical fixtures. Rukia barely took note of her surroundings, her fingers finding the bolt and shooting it home.
Once that was accomplished, her shoulders slumped, her shaking knees unable to hold her up any longer. Falling down, Rukia sat on her ankles, her eyes screwing shut in pain as the ache sawed through her lower half. Damn it... helplessly she felt the moistness prickle the corners of her eyes. How she hated this weakness-! Gripping her balled hands so hard that her knuckles whitened.
As a Kuchiki, she never should've succumbed to an enemy! Died rather than let this shame befall her.. but then...wasn't wishing she could die, the same as admitting defeat? Coldness seeped into her very being. That they had won? Aghast at the turn her thoughts had taken, she could only conclude it were so. To be driven to the point of despair of longing for true death...was what they wanted.
Well, she was damned if she was going to give in!
Taking in a few breaths to steady herself, Rukia pushed back the unkempt hair hanging forward into her face. Determination glinted in her eyes. How could her faith in Ichigo have been shaken so easily? Of course he'd had his reasons for going after Orihime, hadn't she herself told him before they split from the five paths not to worry about her?
Rukia felt guilty then for her faithlessness.
It was Aizen-all Aizen and his twisted little games. her mind was quick to absolve Ulquiorra of any fault though this wasn't wrong since he himself had more or less said that it was because of orders.
Orders.
The terrible word echoed in the recesses of the four white stone walls, startled Rukia hadn't even realized she had spoken aloud, barely recognizing her own voice for its hollow, deadened intonation. Why had she felt such a piercing ache of disappointment lance through her as if by a physical weapon?
Yes...those growing reactions, those cries of pretence for no more...
...were for more...
Had begun to eat away at her conscience.
I don't want him. Rukia could tell herself that, sitting on the cold tile in the dim room and force her mind to repeat it over and over. She could even make-believe that she believed it. Wash the fluids from her body, change clothing, shut her eyes and scream for everyone she would never see again.
But, she could never hate him.
Rukia felt sick with herself. Standing, casting off the robe almost repulsed by its whiteness. By its horrid travesty of purity.
She had tried to convince her own stubborn mind that it was hate she looked at him with; that she wasn't anticipating his arrival- The floor was cold under her bare feet. The sound of her footsteps echoed dully as she crossed the room to the farthermost stall. She stepped in, turning the knob until the head poured water. It was warm.
-She hadn't been hoping to feel his lips on hers as a mockery of the very act conceived of between two people in love.
Her hand twisted the knob to the left harshly.
That kiss was always a presage to more.
The stream turned cold, ice droplets rained down flattening her hair, running into her eyes and out like tears. The coldness was like her insides.
Of the heat that set fire to her flesh, the brusque impersonality of his hands holding her in place, all of it. Every detail-every touch-every thrust that she had wanted to abandon her self to and just forget the faces- smiles-words- laughter and the whole world for.
Just to open her legs and moan as he fucked her.
Rukia sunk, clasping her shivering arms about her thin torso. What horrible person she was. The water continued to beat down on her back and neck, her skin fast becoming desensitized to the iciness of it. What a terribly dirty, vile thing she had become. How could she ever look her proud Nii-sama in the eye and know she had wanted a Hollow's touch? But, there was warmth. No matter her revulsion of herself at that moment, her own body continuously betrayed her.
Her arms slid apart, one hand pressed to her breast, beneath the flesh her heart beat fast. The other dropped down between her legs. The fingers that ever so carefully traced the shape of her opening came away slick with clinging pearl-white strings.
She wanted to laugh and scream at the same time.
Despite the horror of her rape by Ichimaru; just the merest thought of Ulquiorra...of his green eyes, soft bi-colored lips, the hard swell of the male part of him. Rukia willed her eyes shut, her breaths gradually becoming harsher. In spite of the frigidness of her skin, the heat remained as elusive as a shadow yet as real as memory.
She sobbed.
(*)*)*)*)
Blood was a reflective pool beneath the woman. Ginger strands lay splayed across her back and some trailed in the red. Ulquiorra made a cursory examination of the room, sensing easily the clumsily-covered tracks left behind in the reiatsu-laced battered body.
Those two Arrancar... Ulquiorra easily identified them. Loly and Menoly. He had noticed their aversive hatred toward the human yet hadn't thought it would've been acted upon. Ah, well, they would be suitably punished in due time though he was sure their Lord wouldn't be so harsh on them.
The woman had only been a lure.
A trap for Ichigo Kurosaki. But another had been gained during the rescue doomed for only failure. It was well-known that Rukia was everything to the trash Kurosaki. Ulquiorra could only ponder the expression the boy would make when he learned of the captive's demise and of whom her heart belonged to.
(*)*)*)*) Soul Society(*)*)*)*)
Smile-talk-act-pretend.
In Ichigo's case, he scowled, hardly spoke unless spoken to, acted as best he could during times when Rukia's name came up as the first casualty of the war. But, it was damned hard to pretend.
Yoruichi's advice didn't extend far past that and Uryu seemed capable of passing it off; being the insensitive jerk he was. Chad stayed to himself mostly, silent as a rock yet dependable and only once in a while took tea at the Captain of Fourth, Unohana's request.
Tea? Sometimes the banality of it drove Ichigo nearly mad.
Life went on. There were battles to train for, abundant Sake in evenings to drink with talk always being of the upcoming war. He tried to avoid the invitations that almost every time Rangiku plied him with after he had finished training for the day.
Toshiro always shook his head and would walk off, muttering about frivolity.
In that, they did see eye-to-eye.
Ichigo always said no-but-thanks anyway, Rangiku. You know I'm underage. The perfect excuse not to hear Rukia's name spoken of as a martyr.
Then a forced smile to ease her disappointment. He didn't like to hurt the woman knowing how close Orihime and she had been. They couldn't even talk of old times together as mutual friends since the one they both cared for was a traitor in everyone's eyes.
Sake was synonymous to merriment. But, there were some who drank to ease their pain; both he and Toshiro knew that. Even then, it was unfair to place all Shinigami in the same category. Toshiro himself wasn't a bad sort, accepting the shared duties with Soi Fong's Second Division in keeping watch over them.
In fact it was during nights like these that Ichigo would simply turn his steps toward Tenth's office if only to avoid seeing the shadow trailing after him through the streets of Seireitei.
Once there, Toshiro was enough of a respected officer so that he wasn't followed inside.
Rarely did they talk.
Toshiro was forever finding paperwork to occupy his time, writing up reports while Ichigo lounged on the sofa. The first time he did it, Toshiro had looked over and muttered for him to take his damned feet off the cushions.
Then, after that it became an automatic response.
But neither ever took each other seriously.
-Wait-
This was the worst part of it. Acting like everything was okay when it wasn't.
-When was Urahara going to consider it safe enough for them to attempt it again?-
"Kurosaki." This time Toshiro spoke. The sound of the quill scratching the parchment paused. "It has been decided that we will begin the offensive in two weeks hence..." The trailing off was delicate. Yet heavily laced with meaning. "If Aizen doesn't make the first move."
Amber eyes widened then in comprehension.
Fourteen days. Within that time...they had to risk it! It was the only chance they would get!
His eyes closed, hands fisting.
Just hold on a little longer, Rukia, Inoue-!
-TBC...
AN: thanks for reading -.- (sleepy)
No flames-haters-stupid comments!
Reviews appreciated and loved C: