The heavy metal grate at the entrance of Las Noches screeched as Grimmjow picked it up, and crashed as he let it go. There was only stone underfoot here, but sand piled up in drifts in against every corner of every big, blank building along the path. The sky was a shimmering velvet black, and the moon was a vibrant silver coin.

Orihime looked around. Either nothing had changed, or everything had. She knew it was one of the two, she just couldn't decide which.

The return trip had passed faster than she'd ever believed possible. It made her wonder if space here in Hueco Mundo was as flexible and elastic as time seemed to be, and whether Grimmjow had warped or fast-traveled them back somehow, or whether they'd simply been wandering around in a circle for all those weeks, and not in a straight line like she'd thought.

The silent city streets were almost impossibly still after the constant movement of the desert and the forest. It made Orihime feel shaky and unstable, pitching slightly as she and Grimmjow walked through the streets. It was like she'd just stepped off a boat after a long time on the water. Sea legs? No, you got sea legs when you got acclimated to the boat, she thought. What about after, when you got back to land? Land legs sounded dumb. Sand legs, then?

Grimmjow left to flash-step ahead and let Ulquiorra know they'd returned. He offered to stay with her, but she could tell he was itching to go. He probably wanted a break from her, and honestly, she wouldn't mind a little solitude herself. She walked the streets alone, making her way back to Ulquiorra's tower by line of sight. She didn't know the way by heart, but she'd get there, she decided. If nothing else, wandering in the wilderness had made her appreciate a little waywardness in her travels.

But when a tinkly little laugh broke the stillness of the city street behind Orihime, she wondered if she'd been a bit hasty to let Grimmjow leave so soon.

"Look who's back," said a vaguely familiar voice.

"And looking a little worse for wear," said a second.

Orihime turned to find Menoly and Loly, two of Aizen's aides, standing behind her. They were grinning like hyenas, practically salivating, as they looked her up and down. The blonde one, Menoly, Orihime thought, stepped closer and sniffed the air.

"And smelling a lot worse for wear," she said, tittering.

Loly, or whichever one had the dark hair, stepped up next and wrinkled her nose, making a sour face as she grinned even wider. "I wonder if we can find a way to make it worse?"

Orihime frowned. She probably did smell bad by this point, she realized. She hadn't had a bath in weeks, or months, perhaps. Her clothes were a wreck—she'd rejection-fielded them roughly a million times to keep herself covered, but past a certain point, she'd only done what she had to to keep them structurally intact. Keeping them clean was a battle she'd long since lost interest in fighting. Her hair, as well, had been pulled back for days now in a wind-proof knot that had more or less crusted into a hair-shaped shell of sand and twigs. She'd just stopped messing with it after a while, like her clothes, and had almost forgotten it was there.

"Hm," Orihime said, nodding. "I should probably have a bath before I see Aizen, shouldn't I?" Maybe that was what Grimmjow was thinking when he went ahead, she thought.

Menoly and Loly's faces contorted with rage and disgust simultaneously, and Orihime guessed that had been the wrong thing to say.

"How dare you," Loly seethed, stepping closer to Orihime with her hand up, and Menoly moved as well. "You—you—whore!"

It was sad. Every time Orihime had seen them, they were like this. Belligerent, mistrustful; cruel in a snide, petty way. They finished each others sentences, but also struck each other without a second thought. They were a kind of matched set, with their masks over opposite eyes, though they looked nothing alike. Orihime found it hard to focus on the fear she'd felt a moment before as she wondered whether they were friends or sisters—or if Arrancar could even have siblings.

There was a tick, and Loly's hand stopped abruptly against the shield that had appeared between her and Orihime.

Loly's nostrils flared, but Orihime couldn't really find it in her to engage. She was terribly tired of fighting, she realized. It was like all that time and effort had started catching up to her ever since she'd walked back into the city. She already wasn't on alert like she had been. It was supposed to be safer in the city than in the wild. But, she sighed as the thought occurred, this city was filled to brimming with bored, high-octane Arrancar.

Nevermind, I guess.

Menoly tried next, from the opposite side, the bright red bulb of a Cero forming in her hand. Orihime moved the shield away from Loly, swinging it up, then down, to knock Menoly's wrist aside. The Cero in her palm blazed to life—and scorched the sand at Loly's feet. If Loly hadn't leapt back at the last second, eye wide, she might have lost a few toes.

"You bitch!" Loly screamed, eye wide and staring, but Orihime couldn't tell right away if she was talking to her or Menoly, who was staring at the burn mark, hand shaking as she clutched her wrist.

Orihime guessed Loly was talking to her after all when she lunged, hand out, and grabbed Orihime's hair.

Orihime grit her teeth and hissed in pain, jerking away in reflex, but Loly's grip was hard and strong, and dragged her head back sharply. It hurt. This time the shield was too slow, and Orihime was too off-balance to swing it around. She kept it trained on Menoly, in case she had another Cero brewing, and grappled with Loly hand to hand, nails scratching like a bonafide catfight. Close range wasn't Orihime's strong suit, though, and soon enough Loly had her down on one knee. Loly snarled, shrieking with triumphant laughter as she scrabbled with both hands for Orihime's hair clips—

Orihime reacted instantly, instinctively, with no particular thought except to keep Loly's grasping hands away from her Santen Kesshun. Tsubaki flared to life under Loly's hard, prying fingers, and slashed the air.

Loly screamed once—a gut-twisting, horror-movie wail—and fell back onto the sandy street. Orihime spun in place, certain for a long instant that she'd been careless and had killed her—but Loly was in one piece, except for perhaps her dignity, and was sitting on her ass on the sandy stone, clutching a handful of Orihime's hair. And not just a handful, she realized. The whole sandy, wind-proof knot had been sheared off in one go by Tsubaki's attack. Well, it had been more a shot across the bow than an attack. It looked a lot like a fat yellow onion, one of the ones Orihime might have used for curry back home.

"Hm." Orihime cocked her head quizzically as she felt the now-loose ends of her hair tickle the back of her neck and ears. Though still uncomfortably stiff and dirty, the relief to her neck and shoulders was immediate—so immediate that she couldn't even be upset. She'd never realized how heavy her hair was, not to mention when it was carrying a pound or two of crusted-in desert landscape. Now it shushed freely against her skin, raining sand and twigs, and she raised her fingers to brush it out. By the feel, it was sharply angled from the single slice and, she guessed, about as long as it had been when her brother first gifted her the clips that would someday house her Santen Kesshun, the day after some bullies from school had cut her hair. With safety scissors, humiliatingly enough. Funny how time and events seemed to repeat themselves, she thought, and smiled.

"You can keep that," she said to Loly, who immediately made a disgusted sound and dropped the matted lump. Orihime looked over at Menoly next. Menoly hadn't moved from behind the shield, almost like it was in place to protect her, and was cutting quick, frantic little glances between Orihime and Loly. She looked horrified, aghast, though Orihime couldn't imagine why. They'd come here planning to do real violence, hadn't they? Weren't they used to fighting? She hadn't even hurt them, hadn't even wanted to. She'd just…not let them hurt her. So why the shock? She shook her head, confused, but then smiled again at the still-novel feeling of her hair against her neck.

"It's almost as short as yours now," she said to Menoly, because it was. "It's nice. I can't stop swishing it," she laughed, and grinned, demonstrating. "Don't know why I didn't think to do this while I was out in the desert. Thanks for the idea."

"Sure," Menoly said, though it came out a gasp. Loly shot her a furious glance—an I'll-deal-with-you-later look—and spit once on the ground at Orihime's feet.

"Fucking bitch," Loly hissed, and stuck a hand out for Menoly to help her up.

Orihime's smile faded. She wasn't here to make friends, she told herself for what felt like the millionth time, but she would have liked to be civil. You know—set a boundary, but be civil. She'd done that with Grimm, and even Ulquiorra, and they were more powerful by several orders of magnitude than Menoly and Loly. She really couldn't fathom what their issue with her was. They were obsessed with Aizen, in the way most of the lower Arrancar were, but Orihime was there on Aizen's say-so. If anything, it seemed like they should be giving Orihime a slightly wider berth, but they acted like they wanted to kill her. It all felt, Orihime realized, very high school. And she really didn't have time for high school.

Orhime picked up her satchel, which had fallen off in the brief scuffle, and nodded, resigned, but her smile twitched back into place as her short hair brushed her cheek. Wow, that really was so much better.

"Well! Take care," Orihime said, and clapped lightly. Menoly jumped and stepped back as the shield between them winked out of existence.

Orihime was almost past before she saw the bruise forming on Menoly's shaking wrist. There was a sharp red line where the shield had struck her as she'd prepared her Cero.

"Oh," Orihime said, frowning, and stopped. Now she did feel a little guilty. It looked like it hurt. "I'm sorry about that. Would you like me to fix it?" Her hands went automatically to her clips.

"Get away from me," Menoly gasped, and stepped back so fast she almost fell over. Loly said nothing, just clasped Menoly's sleeve possessively and sneered in outrage and disgust.

Orihime sighed, but didn't push it. She put her back to Menoly and Loly and walked on, continuing on her way to Ulquiorra's tower.

She felt a bit guilty about leaving them that way, without the slightest ounce of reconciliation…but it was just a bruise, she supposed, and anyway, maybe it would remind them to hold off next time they felt like jumping her. She'd shielded and slashed and rejected out in the wilderness because she'd had to, not because she enjoyed it. She didn't want to have to do it here, too. She needed to rest, and she needed to think.

It had been difficult to hold onto what had happened, what she'd remembered and learned, at the border. It kept slipping away from her like a dream, then suddenly resurfacing in her mind with a forceful reminder of why she was really here. Regardless of which memory was true—or truer?—she had to deal with the Hogyoku, and soon. Before Ichigo recuperated fully, or enough to lead a strike team into Hueco Mundo to search for her. There really didn't even need to be a fight, she thought, if she could get close enough to the Hogyoku to slip a rejection field over it. She doubted it would be that easy, and she doubted once would be enough, but she had to start somewhere.

Maybe—maybe once the Hogyoku was gone, Grimmjow and Ulquiorra and the others that weren't her friends but also weren't truly enemies could just…move on. At this point, hope was all she was operating on. It wasn't very structured, but it was an ideal she was willing to fight for.

Whether he knew it or not, Grimmjow's plan to show Orihime how much different she was now than she'd been at the start of their trip was playing out after all. She may not have gotten to go home to the World of the Living, but the strange sense of relief she felt when she stepped back into Las Noches was its own kind of revelation. She had…she had missed it. She'd barely even thought about it, and yet as soon as she was back, she realized that she'd missed it. Wasn't that kind of what coming home was like?

She shook her head to dispel that thought. Las Noches was a setting, she told herself sternly, and that was it. It wasn't home, it wasn't another town where some distant relatives lived, it wasn't a beach resort. It wasn't a place to heal boo-boos or make friends out of enemies. It wasn't anything except the space where she was at this time. It was the place she needed to be, to do the thing she needed to do. And that was it.

Ulquiorra met Orihime at the entrance to the tower, hands in pockets, feet planted like he hadn't moved since she'd left.

"Welcome back," he said, and she couldn't not smile at him. She tried to remember what she kept forgetting—that he and the others weren't her real friends, but—later. She'd deal with it later.

"Thanks," she said wearily, and patted his arm as she passed inside. Ulquiorra's eyes cut down to her hand, but he barely moved.

"I was informed that you wish to speak with Lord Aizen," he said formally.

"What I really wish is for a bath and some sleep and some non-dried food," she said, without thinking. "If I go see him now, I'll just make a nuisance of myself in one way or another. Whether by passing out or just stinking the joint up."

Ulquiorra was quiet as she slipped out of her cloak and satchel. She headed automatically up to her old room, but stopped when he spoke.

"I see you did not exaggerate," he said, and Orihime tsked, embarrassed, assuming he was referring to the smell, but a voice sounded from the adjoining room.

"No shit," someone called. "But don't act so surprised."

Grimmjow appeared in the doorway, nibbling idly on something, maybe a biscuit or cracker or possibly even a piece of very white and probably tasteless meat. It didn't look particularly appetizing, but Orihime's belly growled anyway. He also looked clean and refreshed in a way that instantly irritated Orihime, who now felt doubly scrubby and out of place in Ulquiorra's immaculate entryway.

"Come on, I saw you like an hour ago," she said, laughing. "How are you already so relaxed?"

Grimmjow shrugged, and Ulquiorra cast an unsubtle glance between them. Grimmjow ignored it and squinted at Orihime, tilting his head. "Did you—did you always look like that?"

"What?" Orihime automatically looked down at herself and brought her hands to her face before she remembered her hair. "Oh, right."

"So—?" Grimmjow looked puzzled. Deeply puzzled. "Is that a no?"

"You mean my hair, right?" Orihime asked.

"Yeah, I mean—I guess."

She paused, then grinned again. "Wait, you seriously can't tell that my hair is about a foot shorter than it was an hour ago?" She laughed. "Guys really are all the same."

"Shut up," Grimmjow drawled lazily, mouth full. "Hurry up and get washed—Aizen'll want to see you soon."

Orihime sobered. "Right. Don't eat all my food before I get back, though, or I'm sending you to the World of the Living for Thai."

Ulquiorra didn't speak, but from the corner of her eye, she saw him watching her carefully as she climbed the stairs. She must really look a mess, she thought, if even Ulquiorra was staring.

Orihime shut the door of her room and peeled herself out of her clothes like a bruised, dirty banana. There was a big bathtub in the corner waiting for her, almost a pool. It steamed in welcome as she dipped a toe in, and she sighed, savoring the feeling of water on her dry, chafed skin.

It felt like actual, factual Heaven, she thought as she slipped in. The water lapped and sloshed heavily over the side, but she formed a barrier by reflex and caught it before it hit the ground. She wasn't willing to waste even a drop, and raised the shield up to release the water back into the tub. Each falling drop winked a like a crystal, or a glass jewel.

Orihime breathed in, then out, in pure, unadulterated bliss, and let her legs fly up with a tiny shriek of glee as she slipped below the water to thrash and scrub her scalp. She came up a moment later panting and blinking and looking around for soap—and saw a blurry form standing over her.

"Oh, come on!" she said, sputtering. She pulled her knees up and crossed her arms over her breasts.

"Your control has very much improved—" Ulquiorra said mechanically, but Orihime cut him off.

"Nope, later," she said, shaking her head hard enough that a few droplets spun away and landed on Ulquiorra's robes. "Human bath time is not a social event, sir."

"I was led to believe that in your world it is very much a social event," he said, unbelievably serious. "In fact, I can call up a great deal of footage from the so-called hot springs and bathhouses—"

"And that footage will show you that there's one space for the women and one for the men!" Orihime said, appalled, but also just about ready to laugh. "Now, go on, scoot, please. I'll be out in a minute. You can—debrief me about my improved control then."

Ulquiorra frowned, pensive, but turned around and left.

"Jeez," Orihime said, sinking back into the water, but then she gasped. "Ah, I should have asked for soap."

xxxxxxxxxxx

A few hours later, Orihime walked into Aizen's throne room, heart pounding, flanked by Ulquiorra and Grimmjow.

She wasn't sure why Aizen had chosen to receive her here, of all places. Their previous encounters had all been fairly informal, after the first big one when she first arrived. But she supposed he wanted to make some kind of statement. Maybe he knew she'd chosen to come back after Grimmjow offered to cut her loose, and was wanting to preen a bit. He seemed like a guy who wouldn't hesitate to preen occasionally. He did have—and use—an actual throne room, after all.

A few of the other Espada were hanging around, as usual, with little troupes of their Fracciones, who were mostly just leering and showing off for each other. Orihime didn't know much about most of the Espada, and so reserved judgement as much as she could, but anytime she caught sight of Yammy, the giant number ten who had killed so many at Karakura just for the fun of it, her stomach clenched with loathing. He was the one she would never, ever forgive—just like in some ways she would never, ever forgive herself for having been so useless that day.

Never again, she thought. No matter what it took.

Her goal—the Hogyoku—bobbed back up to the surface of her thoughts, and felt herself become still and resolute. She stopped twisting her hands in her new skirt and let them hang at her sides. Grimmjow touched her elbow and she closed her eyes briefly—she was fighting for him, and Ulquiorra too, she told herself, just like she was fighting for Ichigo and Tatsuki and Rukia. She was perhaps the only person in the world that could fight the situation, rather than the people involved in it. Now she just had to find her opening.

"Welcome back, Miss Inoue," said a deep, rolling voice from the dias, and Orihime's heart kicked up again. Now she knew why Grimmjow had touched her elbow: Aizen had appeared and taken his seat, with his captains Tosen and Gin standing behind him. She nodded as his voice washed over her. The last time she'd heard that voice had been in a dream, but it sounded just like she remembered it.

"Thank you, Lord Aizen," she said, and her words carried loudly, echoing through the hall.

Aizen looked the same—the sly amusement, the single trailing lock of hair across the bridge of his nose, the hooded, hungry eyes—but something felt different now. She couldn't place what it was from this distance, but it made her spine tingle and she caught herself chewing her bottom lip thoughtfully.

"I hope you're well after your long journey," Aizen said. His tone was teasing and melodic, and Orihime shivered slightly. Just what on earth, she wondered, was going on with her?

"Very," Orihime said, playing along with the pomp and ceremony to buy herself time. "Ulquiorra received Grimmjow and myself very graciously earlier. And Grimmjow kept me quite safe on our travels."

"I'm glad to hear it," Aizen said, and seemed about to dismiss her. "Very well, then—"

"I would like to discuss it in greater detail sometime," Orihime said in a rush, and Grimmjow inhaled sharply beside her. Ulquiorra became very still, and so did the rest of the throne room. Orihime immediately knew she'd done something wrong. She hadn't even thought anyone else was listening, and yet what she'd said had garnered a reaction—apparently from all quarters.

Someone in the shadows whistled mockingly, and someone else followed with a lewd "Yeah, I bet you would."

One of the greater Espada, a huge bear of an old man she hardly recognized, grumbled in obvious disapproval but said nothing she could make out. A tall blond woman, whose face but somehow not her bust was concealed by a slightly preposterous crop-top jacket, narrowed her eyes as her arms folded over her mostly-visible torso.

"By all means," Aizen said, ignoring them all. "I will send for you in good time."

Yikes, Orihime thought, but kept her cool as best she could while Ulquiorra bowed and Grimmjow pushed her toward the door.

"Thank you, Lord Aizen," Ulquiorra said deliberately. "We await your pleasure."

xxxxxxxx

"That," Grimmjow pronounced crisply as they hurried from the throne room and out into the courtyards a few minutes later, "was extra-fucking-dumb, kiddo, even for you."

Orihime raised her hands, exasperated, but Ulquiorra cut her off. "I must agree that that was not exceptionally good timing on your part."

Orihime exhaled once and tried to steady herself. It scared her that they were so worked up, but she couldn't understand why.

"I don't know if you've noticed this, guys," Orihime said, "but I'm literally a human, from a small human town where we don't get a lot of practice with god-king throne room etiquette. There also wasn't a lot of that while I was wandering in the desert for weeks with this guy—" she motioned to Grimmjow, and Ulquiorra cut him a look, "and so maybe next time tell me what to expect and I'll do better."

"I don't think you fully appreciate how serious a breach of protocol that was," Ulquiorra continued, as if she hadn't spoken. "Lord Aizen was quite merciful, but you should never do it again."

"I still don't even know what I did that got everyone's attention—"

"You don't just tell a god-king you're gonna pencil him in," Grimmjow explained flatly. "You go through channels to beseech his good will and attention, or some shit."

"I never went through channels before," Orihime said, making a face.

"You went through me," Ulquiorra corrected her, with surprising force. "You may have seen Lord Aizen with considerable frequency, but it was still only when he wished it, and always with a chaperone."

"Oh," Orihime said. She thought about this for a long moment, then blushed. "So—"

"So you may as well have just propositioned him in front of his whole court, yeah," Grimmjow said, and Orihime's hands went to her face. "Nice job."

"The rest of the Espada are not aware of your," Ulquiorra paused to search for the word, "remarkably casual history of interaction with Lord Aizen. You would do well to downplay it. It would not be politically expedient, nor especially safe, for it to become known."

Orihime breathed out. She didn't really understand why it wouldn't be safe, but then court intrigue wasn't something she'd factored into her secret calculations regarding the Hogyoku. Maybe that had been a mistake.

"Alright," she said reluctantly. "I'm—I'm sorry. To both of you. If I made you look bad."

"Ha!" Grimmjow barked. "No skin off my ass. You walking in and going straight for the big-dick power play? Everyone's gonna know it was my shining influence that did it."

Orihime smiled, a little relieved that at least he wasn't mad at her, but Ulquiorra became even more displeased. "Please ignore him—Grimmjow is easily the least politically desirable connection you can have within the Espada, and will lead you straight to ruin, and me through you."

"Shut the fuck up, Four," Grimmjow said, though it kind of just proved Ulquiorra's point for him. "At least I respond to summons. Did you notice Starrk didn't bother showing up? Again?"

"Starrk is hardly the example you or anyone else should be following," Ulquiorra chided him. "He is on another level entirely from the rest of us."

Orihime found herself smiling in earnest as she looked between Grimmjow and Ulquiorra. She'd fallen back a few steps behind them, and they hadn't even noticed, consumed in their little battle as they were. This image of them going tit-for-tat was hard to reconcile with her memories from all those weeks ago: Ulquiorra burning Grimmjow's hand as he towed her out of the city that day, and then Grimmjow's vague allusions to some hidden history between them…although it was probably just hidden to Orihime, and everyone else knew.

It was also possible that everything had just been scarier to Orihime then. Like the dream she'd had about Aizen, which now she kept going back to over and over as a source of comfort. Yes, things were tense, but the sense of immediate overwhelming peril had faded ever since she'd gone out to the desert. Maybe it was just that she had some perspective now, and the hope of a plan fermenting in her brain. A way out, an end date, a happy ending that had a chance of actually happening. Not the all-encompassing dread of being a quivering hostage waiting to be used for leverage, or a prisoner of war desperate for rescue, or a shiny trophy waiting for a polish. She had a role, now, and she was going to play it til it played out.

Days, presumably, but possibly weeks passed before she was finally summoned to see Aizen. She spent the time training with Ulquiorra again, and it was a completely different experience than before. He still ran her ragged, but they often paused for discussion mid-stream, with him advising and her asking questions as best as she could form them. That was difficult on its own, since their abilities were so fundamentally unlike each other, but there was also the fact that his destructive capabilities were so awesomely grand, and hers were so vanishingly minimal. Tsubaki stung plenty hard, but he was the fine point of a pen, a tiny, targeted application of force, and not the wrecking ball of a fully-matured Cero. Still, it forced her to innovate, and she worked more and more on her defensive skills, until it took a small effort on Ulquiorra's part to break her shields. You know, two taps instead of one. That was less encouraging, but it was still progress.

Ulquiorra also advised her, in short, clipped lectures, on how to navigate the court of the Espada, "if you absolutely must." Orihime was eager enough to avoid it altogether, but she knew she couldn't afford another gaff like the one she'd made—however long ago now—in the throne room, especially after Ulquiorra informed her that Aizen probably would have discretely sent for her that same day if she had said nothing. Now, with everyone watching to see how Aizen would react to her impertinence, it had to be a tasteful production, a deliberate counter-power-play.

How tiresome, she thought. She felt like she'd been waiting years to see him since her dream. She wanted to test him, to see if he really was capable of such vivid human emotions, or if it was just wishful thinking on her part. The dream was so much clearer in her head now than the real memory; it was hard to keep in mind that he hadn't really held her, and she hadn't really looked into his eyes and felt his heart beating against her hand, and that the pad of his thumb hadn't really swept across her bottom lip. Sometimes she felt herself relive the feeling, that electric spike of something that made her heart race and her breath shorten for an instant before she snapped out of it.

Finally the day came, and Orihime found herself fidgeting as Ulquiorra led her to the meeting place Aizen had set.

"Please remember what I've told you about proper etiquette," Ulquiorra said. He seemed almost nervous as well, no matter how unthinkable that was. "I'll be present, of course, but it would be—unwise for me to interfere, since Lord Aizen will surely have topics on his mind to discuss."

"You think so?" Orihime asked.

"Why wouldn't he?" Ulquiorra asked. "You've been gone quite some time, and he has only ever shown interest in your development. It should be only natural for him to want to discuss and advise now that you are back."

"I just meant—" Orihime shrugged, shaking off a vaguely premonitory sense of dread. Does he know? she wondered. Has he guessed that I'm only back for the Hogyoku? "I have a few questions to ask him, but other than that, it doesn't seem like much should have changed, or you know, come to light." When Ulquiorra pointedly didn't reply, she deflected, suddenly awkward. "I mean, it's not like Grimm and I went on a—one of those Antarctic missions to collect core samples or whatever, like a research trip."

Ulquiorra was quiet. Suspiciously so.

"Um, right?" Orihime asked, and Ulquiorra cleared his throat. Alarms went off in Orihime's head. "Right?"

"Lord Aizen may, in fact, wish to discuss some—observations—that were made during your travels."

They were headed down a steeply sloping corridor that looked vaguely familiar—maybe it was one of the meeting rooms Aizen had designated before—but Orihime abruptly stopped trying to place it. "Observations," she repeated.

"Indeed."

"I'm pretty sure Grimm didn't take any notes."

"That is fine," Ulquiorra said. "It would not have been necessary for him to do so."

Orihime stopped walking.

"Do you mean—" she swallowed. "Are you saying there's…footage?"

Ulquiorra stopped a few paces ahead of her, but didn't turn around. There was a long pause, and Orihime's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"Are you serious?" Orihime asked. "Oh, my god, were you—you were recording the whole time, weren't you?"

"I'm sure it wasn't the whole time—"

"You were just walkin' around here one-eyed the whole time, weren't you?" Orihime pressed louder, heart already racing as she imagined Ulquiorra's detachable eye floating unseen behind her and Grimmjow, listening in to every conversation, watching every move, recording every failure and personal moment. "Uli, are you kidding me right now?!"

"Your human notions of privacy are hardly of any import or consequence to Lord Aizen—"

"Oh, my god, oh, my god," Orihime breathed, her face searing hot under her fingertips. "I really cannot believe you guys."

"You should not have become so comfortable in the first place then," Ulquiorra said. "And on that note, it is hardly appropriate for you to call me by a—" he frowned, "a pet name."

"Yeah, well, get used to it, sweet cheeks," Orihime said. "You should have thought about your precious personal preferences before you videoed me washing and sleeping and using the restroom for however many weeks." Even saying it made her physically cringe, like her stomach was caving in.

Ulquiorra sniffed. "Your concerns—more accusations, really—are totally unfounded," he said. "I am fully capable of blinking during those periods." Hearing that made Orihime almost fall to the ground in relief.

"Well, thank god for that, at least," she said, closing her eyes in thanks as they started walking again. "Still not thrilled, but I'll take it."

Of course, because Ulquiorra was Ulquiorra, he just had to go on. "However, you should be aware that it was not for your benefit that those times were cut from the footage. Such times are simply below Lord Aizen's note. Should they ever become required, however, you should try to accept now that your preferences will not be considered or indulged."

"Great," Orihime murmured. Just one more reason she would need to have her wits about her. Stilling and unmaking the Hogyoku was a pretty lofty goal as it was, but it would be impossible if she were to be placed under constant supervision, even to the tune of monitored bathroom breaks. She would have to cultivate whatever trust she could, however she could.

The corridor ended abruptly in a sharp curve to the left that Orihime recognized at once. Her breath ran short as she thought of the door that would be around the corner, the high, airy chamber beyond that-the cold one with the circular firepit at the center. Her skin prickled as she remembered the chill of the open room, and the heat of the crackling fire, and that electric shock went up her spine again as her fingers rose to her lips.

"Are you well?" Ulquiorra asked suddenly, and Orihime blinked to find him staring at her.

"Yes, uh—" Orihime breathed out once to steady herself. "We've been here before, I just realized." Ulquiorra gave her a strange look which, like most of his looks, was almost totally unreadable. "Haven't we?"

"Yes." Ulquiorra opened his mouth as if to continue, but seemed to change his mind as he turned the corner. Orihime sped up to follow close behind, and was about to ask, but then almost ran into someone as she turned the corner after him.

There had been no footsteps other than hers and Ulquiorra's in the corridor, so the unfamiliar figure took her totally by surprise. Orihime yelped, and her hands went up automatically as she froze. The woman did, too.

"Oh, excuse me, I didn't—"

The woman was staring at her with the same look on her face that Orihime could feel on her own—and her hands were raised in the same way—

And another Ulquiorra was standing beside the woman as well, because it was a reflection, and Orihime had not recognized herself.

"What," she said, and watched the woman's—the other Orihime's—her own—mouth move, "on earth."

"I suppose it has been some time since you last saw a reflective surface," Ulquiorra said. He didn't look at the mirror. "It can be a shock."

That was putting it mildly, Orihime thought. She was rooted to the spot. She couldn't look away.

The Orihime in her head—the Hime her friends had known and loved and tolerated—was shorter than this. Her eyes were wider, her skin flushed and tan and healthy, her pupils dilated in surprise like a deer in the headlights. She was cute. Her hands fluttered. Her breasts were full and bouncy—some people had even said too bouncy, that it was distracting and indecent—her body softly curved. She wore warm pastel colors—modestly, almost childishly styled in apology for her distracting figure—that wouldn't clash with her bright, board-straight ginger hair.

The woman in the mirror looked back at her in shock and confusion with sharp, intense eyes that narrowed and swept down, then up, assessingly. Her chin-length hair was a deep raw amber, no longer a bright and citrusy orange. It was sheared in a sharp diagonal cut, slightly uneven, a bit wavy and carelessly rumpled, and hung longer in the front. A few strands trailed over her right eye and caught in her pale eyelashes as she blinked. Her body still curved under her stark pearl-white and ink-black robes, but it was tightly wound, dense and lithe from weeks and months of slow, exhausting toil in the wind-whipped desert. Her skin was pale, washed out by moonlight, and her cheekbones were sharp and high. Her brows seemed to hang lower and straighter over her eyes, and cinched together in concentration. She had a wry quirk to her mouth that hadn't been there before, though it faded as one hand rose to her lips in a gesture that Orihime realized suddenly had become a constant unconscious habit.

"That's—" Orihime's eyes welled with tears, but she couldn't look away from the lie. The other woman didn't look like someone who would cry, and yet—

"That's not me," she said quietly. Even her voice sounded strange now. Like she was hearing a recording of it: softer and lower and smoother, but with a bladed edge like a river pebble washed one way for too long. "That's not me. That's not who I am."

Unbelievably, even more unbelievably than what she saw, was what she felt. Ulquiorra's cold, hard hand touched hers, and two fingers pressed gently against her palm. Finally she was able to rip her eyes away from the mirror. She stared uncomprehendingly down at the back of her hand where his thumb touched her skin—it was more of a soft pinch than a hand-hold—and then looked up to his face. It was as still as it ever was, but his eyes were soft and unfocused.

"We all transform when we come here," he said. "Sometimes multiple times. It is—" his eyes flicked to his own reflection and then away, as if he couldn't bear to look. "It can be difficult to accept. It leads to—questions. You will not find many mirrors here for that reason."

It was stupid, Orihime thought lucidly as the tears threatened to fall, to be so attached to her physical form. To mourn it. It wasn't who she was, but—she had identified with it. Melded with it. Molded her personality around it, and interpreted how others treated her through her own long-standing perception of it. Losing some weight, gaining some muscle, growing—had she really grown six inches? she was as tall as Ulquiorra in the mirror—shouldn't have made her question who she was. Her mind was the same…

But the woman's eyes were sharp and watchful in a way that had made Orihime flinch and quail away before she realized it was her own face that was scaring her—and she knew suddenly that her mind wasn't the same. She didn't look at people and events the same way, with the same timorous admixture of hope and dread. She'd felt almost no internal conflict when she'd faced down Menoly and Loly in the street however many days ago. She'd felt nothing but a slight rueful contempt when they cowered away from her; when they'd attempted to taunt her, none of their hurtful slurs had landed. She hadn't even cared when her hair was shorn off, she realized. The long, silky hair her dear brother had asked her to grow out, with the strange, unnatural color she'd been abused and humiliated for having, by no fault of her own, to the point that she'd had to be protected by Tatsuki. After all her hair had meant to her, good and bad, all her life...she'd felt nothing but the pleasing lightness of having it gone.

You're not who you were when you came here, Grimmjow had told her. The change has been surprisingly rapid.

"Reality is—" Ulquiorra started, releasing her hand, "more fluid here. Physicality bends and reshapes more rapidly than evolution progresses in your world. It is one reason why Lord Aizen chose to build Las Noches here rather than in one of the other worlds. The effects on you, as a Whole and a human, not a soul or a Hollow, will naturally be different than what we have seen, but—"

"But what?" Orihime asked in a whisper.

"The effect that fluidity has had, and will continue to have on your power, may cause you to—" Ulquiorra grimaced, and shook his head. "We don't know yet. It is likely that your power, which manipulates time and the…adherence of reality to beings and objects, may continue to evolve in ways we are not able to fully anticipate, and may not be able to measure at all."

"I don't know what that means, Uli," Orihime said, turning her face away. She couldn't look at herself anymore. She looked so much older—she suddenly felt so much older.

How long has it been, the Hime in her head wanted to scream. How long how long how long—

"It means you will have to trust—and guard—yourself. Keep your own counsel."

"Trust no one?" Orihime asked, and she felt that wry, alien quirk tug at her mouth. "Not even you?"

"More like—take nothing for granted," Ulquiorra said, and sighed. "It's not my place to discuss it any further. I am sorry. It is Lord Aizen's prerogative."

Orihime's jaw tensed. "He doesn't own me," she said, with force that surprised her…but also didn't. At all.

"No," Ulquiorra said, and actually smiled. It looked like it hurt. "But he does own me."