"Hey, Grimm. You awake?"

"Yeah."

"I think I might be two people."

"Just two?"

Orihime and Grimmjow were sitting up on the couch, back to back. It felt good to lean against him. It felt good to have him lean against her. It felt better than sitting in his lap and kissing him like she had for those few, panicked minutes that would never happen again. That had felt like what she needed in the moment, some kind of physical forgetting; maybe it had been what he needed too, but this was what they needed from each other, right now, and in general. Her head dropped back onto his shoulder, and he leaned his ear against her temple with a sigh.

"I don't know. Maybe it's more like—like I have another person inside me."

Grimmjow snickered.

"Shut up," Orihime said, but she smiled. That felt good, too. It also hurt. It felt like she shouldn't be able to smile, and that she was betraying someone by doing so. But the horror she'd felt earlier, the sense of violation, was drifting away. She couldn't hold onto it. Maybe she didn't need to. "But do you know what I mean?"

"Sure."

Orihime tilted her head thoughtfully against his. "Really?"

"Obviously." He scoffed. "In fact, just one other person competing for space in your brain sounds like a hell of a vacation to me."

Orihime could barely feel her body. The air in Grimmjow's tower was still, close to body temperature, and without a shifting breeze or chill to bring her sensation, she felt numb and weightless. It was nice.

"What do you mean?"

"Ever tried being a Menos?" Grimm asked with a snort. "It's all just a—a big clusterfuck of memories and selves and you can't tell which is which anymore, until it doesn't even matter, and then you just start eating everyone you touch because you know it'll make you stronger, and if you're stronger, you might finally, finally, know who you are again. You might be able to be alone—or at least alone with yourself—again."

Orihime stared at the ceiling. She didn't want to eat anyone, but she liked the sound of being alone. Or at least alone with herself. She wanted to close her eyes without seeing those memories, without hearing that scream—hearing that voice—mocking her. Calling her a monster, and a thief. Even if it was an illusion planted by Aizen, and Orihime wasn't so sure anymore, it was strong. It was angry. It was like…it was like Tsubaki. Tiny, hidden away, but a force that knew how to sting where it would hurt the most.

"I'm still a human, though," Orihime said suddenly. "I just keep forgetting it. Humans aren't meant to have more than one self tangled up together. We can share our hearts and our bodies, those can break and recover, but—our minds are—"

"Sacred."

"Yeah." She shrugged against his back. "I was gonna say 'fragile.'"

Grimmjow snorted again. "Sacred's better. More elegant."

"It is." It really was the better term, Orihime thought, even if she was surprised to hear any elegant word—including 'elegant'—come out of Grimmjow's coarse mouth. She felt like her mind—her last untouched place—had been violated, along with her trust and her body. But she couldn't tell by whom. She couldn't tell what was illusion; she couldn't tell what was real. She didn't know which memories were hers and which, if any, were fabrications. She couldn't tell how it all fit in with her own evolving abilities, and that in-between place where she'd chosen to stay in Hueco Mundo. It was too much to reconcile: the scream had shown her horrible things, and laughed at her—but it had also hurt. Not just hurt Orihime herself. It had been hurting: she'd felt the bottomless depths of its panic and longing and desperation in the push to save Aizen's life. It was the only thing that had made it possible to do so, even if it had almost cost Orihime her sanity.

Who are you? she whispered to the dark corners of her mind. And why do you hate me so much?

For better or worse, no answer came. There was only an empty, ringing echo of her own voice that asked her the same question back. And she couldn't answer it either. She felt too many ways about too many things…even about one thing. Even about something as simple as a kiss.

Orihime's fingers brushed her lips. She could feel Ichigo's lips there. She could feel Aizen's. She could feel Grimm's.

Really making the rounds, aren't we?

Orihime chuckled wryly to herself.

Yeah, I guess so, but—

But it still felt like Grimm's were the only ones she'd chosen to kiss.

She gasped. If that was true, Grimm had been her first kiss—

But she shook her head. No. No, he clearly hadn't been—even aside from the jumbled memories, she should have felt a "first kiss" way in the moment, if that was the truth. But she'd known the feeling of a mouth on hers, even known the feeling of straddling someone's lap, having someone's arms around her; she'd known what was about to happen if neither of them stopped the other. She'd wanted it to happen, even. It hadn't even felt like that big a deal—just two friends comforting each other. It hadn't felt like a first time for any of it.

She frowned. How could that be? Or how could it be both? She'd pictured her first kiss since she was a child. Fantasized about it. She'd wanted it to be perfect, and then she'd wanted it to be Ichigo, which had felt synonymous with perfect for a long time. Two sets of memories or no, she still felt like the girl who hadn't had the guts to kiss her first love goodbye. Her first kiss had felt like a matter of life and death to her for years, and the longer she'd waited, the harder it had become to give it away. The weight of expectation had held her back, until nothing would have been perfect enough. And now—if Grimm really had been her first—she'd just blown past it in the literal heat of a moment with a friend she didn't even feel that way about. And now she'd never have it…never have it back? Never have it again? Never have it at all? How did it work? Did it matter?

She had lost so much of herself, she realized. That much was indisputable. She just couldn't tell if she'd given it away willingly, or had it stolen.

Now you know a little bit of what it's like, someone—not her—said to the darkness inside her skull. Now you get the tiniest taste of what you've put me through.

Orihime's eyes flew open and she sat bolt upright. "What?" she gasped. But the voice was gone. Not even an echo remained.

"Hm?" Grimmjow jolted and sniffed. He'd been falling asleep. "What's up—you say something?"

"Uh—" Orihime blinked. "No, I don't think I did. Just going a little crazy, I guess."

Grimmjow nodded and reached back, over his shoulder, to pat her head. "You'll be alright," he told her.

"How do you know?"

"Because you're still you. Don't worry about it. I'll tell you if you stop being you."

"You already did."

"Did I?"

"Yeah. At the border. You told me I wasn't the same person who came here."

"Oh, right. Well, in some practical ways, yeah, you're not the same," Grimmjow said, perfectly matter-of-fact. "You've changed a lot since you came here, there's no denying how much, but—" He shrugged. "You're still you. You're still kind. You won't stop being you until you stop being kind."

The rush of relief and gratitude Orihime felt at hearing these words was immediately ripped apart by an internal snarl of disbelief. You have got to be fucking kidding me, the voice spat.

"Stop it," Orihime whispered. She curled up, putting her hands over her face.

"Hm? You talking to me this time?" Grimmjow asked over his shoulder.

"No, no, um—" Orihime said, trying to recover. "Still just talking to myself."

Another derisive snarl echoed in her mind. You never cease to insult, do you know that?

Please, Orihime begged. Just tell me what you mean. She didn't speak aloud this time, but her lips mouthed the words as she squeezed her eyes shut. The voice laughed. It was a cold, ringing laugh like a bell, and it sent shivers of fear up her spine.

I am me. Not you.

A face materialized in the blackness. Her face. Her old face: the face she'd had before she'd gone into the desert. It wavered like a mirage, but unlike a mirage, it came closer. Orihime wanted to retreat, but she was too afraid. She didn't hold her ground so much as give in to total paralysis. The face—so familiar, but also not at all—looked her up and down, sneering as it leaned close.

We. Are not. The same.

Ori was angry again. Maybe she never stopped being angry, like Hime never stopped crying.

I am not kind, she whispered. Not anymore.

"So, are you gonna tell me what happened yesterday?" Grimm asked suddenly, and Orihime jumped as the trance broke. Her hands were shaking when she touched her face, as if to make sure she still had one.

"Um. I still don't know."

Grimmjow nodded.

"What do you think happened?" Orihime asked carefully.

"Well, I sure as hell have no idea," he said. "I came running when I felt a big power surge. When Halibel and the others showed up, I made myself visible but hung back until they left, and then Aizen's illusion dropped and I saw how bad it really was."

Orihime frowned. "Why hang back?"

"Because I could tell it was you."

It was you, Ulquiorra had gasped. It happened again—

"How did you know it was me?" Orihime asked. "Halibel said her Pesquisa couldn't read it."

"Hime, I wandered around in a forest for months killing vermin with you. I don't need Pesquisa to tell me when you're gettin' up to some shit."

Orihime laughed, but sobered quickly. "Ulquiorra said it 'happened again'…but I don't really know what he meant."

"I do," Grimm said reluctantly. "It felt like that night when you got trapped under that sand dune. The first night we spent out of Las Noches."

Orihime shook her head. "All I did that night was use Tsubaki and a shield to get out of the sand."

"Nah," Grimmjow said, pensive. "There was something—else—that happened. Uli probably recorded it to analyze, but I never got a handle on it. I could barely get a handle on you."

Orihime remembered his arm around her waist, burning and hard as iron, and how he'd screamed at her to "do the thing" and then flown back when her shield activated. "Well, that tends to happen when the person you're trying to grab is pinned under ten feet of sand."

Grimm turned over his shoulder to give her an unimpressed look. "You've literally seen me lift the massive iron gate to the city. Twice. One-handed. You think I can't pull a ninety pound girl out from under some sand?"

Orihime inhaled, but didn't reply. She'd never thought of that. She kept thinking of Grimmjow as a human, she realized. Sometimes he felt more human than she did.

"Nah," he said again, and shook his head. "I can promise you, you were up to some shit that night, even if you don't remember it. Never felt anything like it again, though, until yesterday. Figured you'd need some help, whatever it was."

It was Orihime's turn to reach up and pat Grimm's head this time. "Thank you," she said. "I didn't love the slap, but I did need help."

"There's more to it, though, right?" Grimmjow asked after a moment. "There was something else—whatever happened with Aizen—"

"I don't want to talk about that," Orihime said curtly.

"Well, can't say I was having a radical time, either," Grimm reminded her, and she winced. "Just curious why you'd suddenly feel the need to seduce me—"

Orihime tsked and reached back to flick him on the ear. "Don't say it like that. And besides, it seemed like you needed…something. You were hardly healing at all, and then—"

"No, I noticed that, believe me," he said. "I appreciate your help, however you did it. It's kind of why I'm asking. I get the sense you need something, too."

"Don't you try to 'seduce' me, now," Orihime laughed, using quotey fingers. It was strange that she couldn't even feel embarrassed. "Remember the list?"

"Psh, that fuckin' list," Grimm said, shaking his head. "Still cannot believe that shit."

"Right?" she teased. "The very idea."

"Eh," Grimm shrugged, and nodded. "You might have a point."

In the short silence that followed this exchange, Orihime realized now, if ever, was going to be the perfect time to foray into another super-heated makeout session—but she didn't want to, and Grimm stayed relaxed and equally unheated against her back. She sighed.

"I meant it when I said I didn't want anyone," she said. "I just—can't right now. I saw some stuff when I healed Aizen. Some things I either forgot, or—repressed. I'm not sure."

Now Grimm tensed. "What kind of stuff?"

"Bad stuff." She shook her head. "I still can't hold onto it properly, but…bad. I just keep getting these flashes. I don't know if he hypnotized me, showed me an illusion, or what, but—yeah. When I tried to heal him, it came back. Or some of it did."

Grimmjow turned around on the couch, and she twisted in place to face him, pulling her legs up under her. "From the time before we left for the desert?" he asked. He looked confused. "Didn't you barely see him then? And wasn't Uli always with you?"

Orihime nodded. "I thought so, anyway. I thought I had really clear memories from that time."

"And you think he—tampered with those memories, or—"

"Either he hurt me for real and tampered with my memory to cover it up, or he showed me an illusion yesterday, for some fucked up reason."

"That—" Grimmjow's head tilted and his face screwed up. "Granted, I'm the last one to defend that guy out of hand, but that doesn't sound like him."

"Seriously?" Orihime asked flatly. "You're gonna do this?"

"What?" Grimm pulled back.

"You're gonna tell a woman she wasn't raped just because you don't think the guy is 'like that'?"

"No, come on, I'm not Uli, alright," Grimmjow said, and winced. "I damn near hate Aizen. I follow him because it's important, not because I think he's so great. I trust you way more than I do him by now. I just mean that it doesn't sound like—something Aizen could do."

"His power is hypnosis," Orihime argued, losing her patience. "Illusion."

Grimmjow nodded, but still looked perplexed. "That's what I mean. He can make you see stuff, but not—feel it, or do it. And not not feel it. It only works so far, and not with memories, as far as I know. It's not mind control. Otherwise, he would have just wiped everyone's memory of the event yesterday and not bothered with an illusion."

Orihime wanted to resist this logic, but she remembered how Aizen had released his zanpakuto the day before, and used it to hide her from Halibel's violent presence. She still didn't know why he'd done it, but he'd been adamant that she not move or speak, and she'd known instinctively to comply. She'd even been able to see through it, to see both sides: the truth and the illusion had been equally visible to her. A double exposure of the same moment—

"I don't understand this at all," Orihime sighed, and rubbed her eyes.

"Me, neither," Grimmjow said, and put his arm around her. She let him tug her over against his side. "I'm sorry if he really did hurt you," he went on. "I just—hope there's some other explanation for what you're seeing in those flashes."

"Me, too. Obviously. I just don't see how there could be."

Grimmjow was silent for a long time, and Orihime's eyes began to droop.

"Are you—" he started, but she could hear the conflict in his voice. "Are you sure this hasn't happened before?"

Orihime looked up at him. "What, like deja vu?"

"No, I mean—this thing. This maybe-false memories thing. When we were at the border, you seemed like you couldn't remember whether you healed Ichigo or not. I thought for a minute you were going to fight me over it, actually."

She sighed and nodded. "Something similar, maybe, but honestly I'm still not sure Aizen didn't have anything to do with that either. It's all—really hard to hold onto in my head. It surfaces, but then keeps slipping away before I can parse it."

"Parse?"

"Like detangle."

"I know what the word means," Grimmjow said, chuckling tolerantly, and Orihime flushed. "I just thought it was an interesting choice." He was quiet again for a moment, then inhaled abruptly like he had something to say, but seemed to catch himself.

"What?" Orihime pressed.

"Just—" Grimmjow twisted uncomfortably. "How much do you know…about this other person in your head?"

"Are you restored?"

Orihime nearly jumped out of her skin, and Grimmjow nearly fell off the couch, and both made very awkward noises as Ulquiorra appeared before them with no warning. Between one blink and the next, he was there. His hands were no longer black with blood. They were in his pockets. His clothes had been mended or replaced. He was none the worse for wear, and looking down on their reclining forms without visible interest, though his eyes did linger on Grimmjow's arm where it rested over Orihime's shoulders.

"What do you want?" Orihime snapped, groaning as she sat up. She still had bruises from the day—or whatever amount of time—before. Her whole being felt bruised and creaky and slow to respond, like a car engine that wouldn't quite turn over. But she didn't want to heal herself. She needed some kind of sensation to keep her mind rooted in her body.

"And how did you get in?" Grimmjow asked, sitting up to run a hand through his hair. He couldn't quite look at Ulquiorra. Orihime felt like she couldn't look away.

"I am Four, you are Six," Ulquiorra said blandly, as if this was explanation enough. He looked to Orihime. "Are you restored?"

"Restored?" she repeated, eyes narrowing.

"Rested, then."

"Why?"

Ulquiorra glanced at Grimmjow. "Leave us," he commanded.

"My tower, jackass," Grimmjow said, spreading his hands. Orihime could still see the hurt in his eyes, but his territorial nature was evidently carrying him past his hesitation. "You wanna talk to her alone, book a fucking conference room—"

Ulquiorra reached for him, but a shield formed between them. It crackled with static rage as his hand hit it, but it didn't break. Orihime sent a current of force into it through Tsubaki, and Ulquiorra winced as a shock—that angry little spark—jumped the gap to his hand. That might have been the first time Orihime had ever seen him react directly to pain—but maybe he just hadn't expected it.

Ulquiorra's jaw tightened, and his eyes snapped to hers.

"I won't let you hurt him again," Orihime said. Her voice sounded strange. Empty. She wasn't afraid, but she could tell she should have been. "And anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of Grimm."

Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed as he looked between her and Grimmjow. She'd seen him look at them that way before, like he suspected something. Suspicious of some kind of collusion, maybe? She knew that as fanatically loyal as Ulquiorra was to Aizen, Grimmjow had made it plenty clear he could take or leave the current leadership—although, he had been fairly keen to have her save Aizen yesterday, as well.

"Lord Aizen requires healing," Ulquiorra said at last.

Orihime's hackles went up, but Grimmjow placed a steadying hand on her back. "I stabilized him yesterday," she said, keeping her voice even. "At great expense to myself. I need more time—"

"That stability has been compromised," Ulquiorra cut in. "You are needed at once."

Part of Orihime—the part in her chest, which she now trusted least—almost flew off the couch and ran out the door for Aizen's quarters…but the memories she'd uncovered yesterday were still in her head. Fractured, imperfect memories, floating like detritus in her mind's eye. They were just brief visual clips, devoid of feeling, but—her skin still crawled when she pictured them.

"I do not wish to force you," Ulquiorra said, and Orihime let out a shout of laughter. What uncanny timing, she thought bleakly.

"Yeah?" she said, and the anger beneath the bleakness stirred. "You were ready enough to kill me yesterday if I didn't do what you wanted."

"Those were extraordinary circumstances," Ulquiorra said primly. "I did not particularly relish making the threat."

Orihime waited for the spike of anger—but it didn't come. She felt almost nothing. Almost numb, again. There was only another quiet nudge of urgency in her chest, muted by her own deep—if only partially formed—misgivings about whether she should be helping Aizen, or Ulquiorra for that matter, at all. But she couldn't just sit still and not know. She'd long since lost her talent for doing nothing.

"Do you want me to go?" Orihime asked suddenly, turning to Grimmjow.

He pulled back, obviously surprised to be addressed. "What?"

"Do you want me to help him?" She couldn't say Aizen's name.

"I—" Grimmjow's eyes flicked up to Ulquiorra and away, embarrassed, and then to Orihime, and away. "Yeah, I do. It's important."

Orihime let out a tense breath and nodded. "Fine," she said, and stood up.

"Please put yourself to rights," Ulquiorra said, eyeing her. She twisted to find that the back of her dress was hanging in ribbons along her sides. Torn by Grimmjow, and pretty obviously. When she reached around her ribs to touch it, it felt like claws had rent the fabric down the back. The scraps fluttered like wings. She wondered how she had come away without a scratch, even though he'd burned her, but she supposed he just must have been careful.

She turned back to meet Ulquiorra's gaze. "I thought you said this was urgent."

Ulquiorra said nothing, just waited. She may have won the battle for Grimmjow's honor, but evidently Ulquiorra wasn't going to cave on this. A strange time to stand on ceremony, but…

"Whatever," she said, and snapped a field over her back to mend the tears as she walked. The field moved with her, and she let it run as she headed for the door, but Ulquiorra didn't move. "You coming or what?"

Ulquiorra was watching her carefully. "Do you not know your way to Lord Aizen's private quarters?" he asked.

"That's—" Orihime scratched her ear. "That's where we were yesterday, right? With the fireplace?"

Ulquiorra nodded, and leaned forward with interest as she considered. She wondered, distracted, when he had become so easy to read.

"I don't know. I might be able to, but if we're in a hurry…" she trailed off and shrugged. "And anyway, don't I need a chaperone?" Even as mistrustful as she was of Ulquiorra at that moment, she wasn't eager to be alone with Aizen if she could help it.

"Very well," Ulquiorra said, and led the way without a glance backward to Grimmjow. When Orihime looked back, Grimm barely seemed to see her. His gaze was on Ulquiorra's retreating back, and Orihime had to look away from the unguarded yearning in his eyes.

A few quiet minutes later, Orihime found herself at the entrance to Ulquiorra's tower. She looked up at it, confused.

"Why are we here?" she asked. "I thought you were taking me to—"

"Be silent," Ulquiorra said. As usual, he didn't sound particularly bothered, but there was a tension to his voice that she didn't understand. "We must speak alone, and my tower is protected from interference."

Orihime sighed. "Fine."

Orihime's eyes clouded with tears, just for an instant, as she saw the stairs up to what had been her room. How had it been only yesterday? Ulquiorra's tower had felt almost like home to her. She'd settled right in after coming back from the desert. She hadn't even asked if she was still welcome, or if accomodations had changed. She'd just gone straight up to her room for a bath, and even Ulquiorra's immediate, unexpected intrusion had felt funny, and homey. Like a brother poking his head in to grab a hairbrush while she was in the shower. It made her think of Sora—how long had it been since she'd thought of him?—and her heart clenched as she realized that she now pictured him only as a Hollow. It clenched again as she realized that the image no longer bothered her like it once had. Now it felt familiar. Hollows were all she was used to, anymore.

Ulquiorra led her down, not up, into the tower. Through a trapdoor, even. She wondered if he was hiding Aizen down here for some reason…but why? Why all the hush-hush? And why had Aizen hidden himself—and Orihime—behind that illusion yesterday?

You really are a simple creature, aren't you, Hime?

"What did you say?" Orihime asked.

"I did not speak," Ulquiorra said, glancing back at her. Her heart fell. Great. Ori again. "It is not yet safe to do so."

Orihime waited for another internal jibe from Ori, but none came. She didn't know whether that was good, or just a sign that worse was coming.

The descent ended abruptly, and the stairwell they were following bottomed out into a rough hewn, or possibly naturally formed negative space like a cave. The light was low, barely there, but the walls and ceiling, high, high, above, glittered with the faint fire of many raw occluded gemstones. It was like she'd stepped into another world at the core of Hueco Mundo. Maybe she had. If Hueco Mundo even had a core. It had felt flat and endless to her until now, just an infinite line of sand pouring through a broken hourglass.

Ulquiorra led her across the cavern and Kido lanterns flared green in the blackness of a long corridor, stretching into an unknown distance, and Orihime glanced around, squinting. Had she been here before? But no, she would have remembered the gemstone cave. Ulquiorra stopped at the entrance, a massive archway, and turned to her abruptly.

"You have not been keeping your own counsel, have you?" he asked.

What?" Orihime shook her head. "What are you talking about? And where are we?"

Ulquiorra sighed. "That's what I thought." Orihime watched, baffled, as Ulquiorra sat down cross-legged on the ground. She could only stare at him as he gestured for her to sit opposite him. She continued to stand, and crossed her arms. "Very well," he said, and, for some reason, began to call up reels of footage.

"What are you doing?" Orihime asked, drawing back as she saw one she didn't recognize. One of herself, standing in the fireplace room. With Aizen. She flinched away and looked to another. This one was a view of the desert just outside Las Noches. A few others sprang to life, some of which she recognized as various points in her travels with Grimmjow.

"Do you recognize these?" Ulquiorra asked.

"No. Not all of them."

"As I suspected," he said softly. "I have no choice then, but to offer you context for yesterday."

"I don't need—"

"Would you prefer to be miserable?" Ulquiorra cut her off. "To be confused and angry? Or will you let me help you?"

The question was so deeply unexpected that Orihime almost sat down.

"You told me you couldn't tell me anymore," she said quietly. "You said it was—his prerogative."

"It is, however, there are times when a subordinate must take steps to protect the leader, and act alone. In exchange for this favor, however, I will require your discretion."

Orihime looked away from the paused stills of the footage, and back at Ulquiorra. "What are you talking about?" she asked. "Are you saying you're—going behind his back right now?"

"You can no longer say Lord Aizen's name," Ulquiorra said abruptly, and Orihime flinched. "You had been so eager to see him before, yet you would not look at him after the incident yesterday. Why?"

Orihime's jaw became too tight to speak. She shook her head, her whole body recoiling.

"Tell me."

"No," she said, shaking. "It's none of your business."

"Tell me what you saw."

"Stop it!" Orihime snarled at him, and almost reached for Tsubaki and her shields. "None of you own me—not you, not—him."

She waited for the storm, for the breathtaking intensity of Ulquiorra's reiatsu—but it didn't come. Nothing came. Ulquiorra simply looked at her.

"I do not wish you to experience more of what you did before," he said at last, and Orihime had to drop his gaze. "I would like to ease your mind, somewhat, before you try to heal him again. For his sake, and yours."

"I don't need your pity," Orihime snapped. "And I'm not interested in any more illusions. I'll heal him because Grimmjow asked me to. Not for anyone else."

Ulquiorra looked at her for another little while. "Then perhaps you will allow me to correct some misunderstandings—"

"There's nothing to misunderstand," Orihime growled. "I tried to trust him, and he—he used me—" She couldn't say it. Why couldn't she just say it?

"He did not."

"That's not your place to decide, Uli," Orihime said through her teeth. "You couldn't understand, anyway—"

The reel of footage, the still of the fireplace room, suddenly began to play, and the roar of the fire cut through Orihime's voice. The image was bright, almost real. She could have reached out to touch it. But she didn't want to touch it. She didn't even want to look at it.

Aizen was standing a few paces away from her, leaning thoughtfully against the fireplace, arms crossed, but then he stood up, and they squared off like they were about to box. Orihime looked like she used to: long hair, wide eyes, bouncy breasts. But no—her eyes were different. Harder already, even before desert journey. They searched Aizen's face, wary but unafraid, as he stepped toward her.

"Tell me," he prompted, and she remained silent.

Now-Orihime began to shake. This was it. She was about to watch what she'd seen in her head. She couldn't—she couldn't watch—but she had no choice. She had too many questions. Where were my shields? she thought desperately. Where was Tsubaki? Her clips were right there in her hair where they always were. Why wasn't she doing something? Anything? She couldn't look away, even though a pressure in her chest—the scream from yesterday—was stirring, trying to move her body again. It was panicking, trying to make her look away, trying to force her head to turn, her eyes to close—

"Tell me to stop," Aizen said, and reached for her. She looked at his hand, and Orihime felt her heart race with anticipation.

"Is this another test?" Then-Orihime asked, skeptical. She licked her lips.

"If you like," Aizen said coolly, and took another step. His hand touched her face, and slipped around to her hair. "But it doesn't have to be."

Orihime's breath ran short—she could feel that hand on her now. It felt—so good—

Her eyes fluttered. So did Then-Orihime's.

"Tell me to stop," Aizen said again. His voice was deep and raw…but soft. His lips looked soft, too. His other hand ran along her jaw, angling her face up toward his. His eyes drifted down to her lips. Then-Orihime said nothing, but Now-Orihime's eyes went wide, riveted, as Then-Orihime's lips parted delicately with a gentle inhalation, and her eyes closed. She pushed her face against his hand, and a tiny whimper, a caught breath—a caught breath that Now-Orihime felt in her own chest—and then—

Aizen's mouth was warm on hers, and she wrapped her hands in his silver-white robes, tugging him against her. Desire so strong it was pain shot through her stomach, and heat pooled between her legs. She clung to him, knees weak, when he pulled away.

"Tell me to stop, Ori," Aizen murmured again, and ran his nose along hers. That single lock of hair that always hung over his face tickled her forehead.

She was breathing hard, her chest was hot with a flush like she'd never felt before, not even when she'd kissed Ichigo goodbye—

Aizen's body pressed against hers, and she leaned in, aching for contact. His fingers ran through her hair.

"Tell me," he whispered, as she pulled herself against him. He was warm, and he smelled so good, and it had been so long since anyone had held her, even touched her—not even Tatsuki had held her hand in months—she'd said Ori was too angry. She was afraid, but she wouldn't run from what she wanted anymore.

"No," she said, through gritted teeth. "I don't want you to stop."

Orihime's hands clenched in the fabric of her skirt as heat lanced down to her core. She moaned sharply, unprepared for the sudden swell of sensation, but the sound was filled with unmistakable need. Her hand flew to her mouth as she heard it, and she flushed in embarrassment as she remembered that Ulquiorra was sitting beside her, watching her reaction with evident curiosity.

"Turn it off," she gasped, but then shuddered and sank to the floor as Then-Orihime's back hit the wall of the fireplace room like it had in her memory—

Her back hit the wall, but her head was cradled by Aizen's hand as he kissed her deeply, and then his fingers ran down her throat, between her breasts, along her stomach, and began to draw her skirt slowly up along one leg. She cried out in desperation, back arching at his touch against her bare skin, and her nails raked over his shoulders and chest, searching for something—

"I said turn it off—" Orihime choked on the words as she saw a flash of light on the screen, and Tsubaki flew at last—but only to slice once through Aizen's clothing, which Then-Orihime proceeded to tear away herself, shivering as her hands raced over his body. Aizen groaned heatedly as his hands coasted over her hips, and Now-Orihime watched with rising disbelief as he picked her up and pressed her against the wall, kissing her neck—her skirt hitched up, her legs wrapped around his hips, and she moaned his name as he—

"Oh, my god, Uli, please turn it off," Orihime begged, and finally was able to turn away. Her shaking hands were on her burning face, but the image finally paused in the air between them. She took a long moment, trying to breathe, trying to think, trying not to cry, trying not to moan. "Why would you—how could you show me this?"

"Does this not put your mind at ease?" he asked, and Orihime sobbed, then laughed manically into her hands.

"Why would it?" she demanded. "It's just an illusion—"

"It is not."

Orihime spun on him again. "I remembered this yesterday," she snarled. "You asked what I saw. I saw this. I saw it—I felt it—he—Aizen—"

"Lord Aizen did not rape you."

"Dammit, Uli, say that again and I'll—"

"The girl in that footage is not you," Ulquiorra said flatly.

Orihime stared at him. "I thought you said it wasn't an illusion."

"It is not. My perception may be affected by Lord Aizen's illusive powers, but for better or worse, my eyes can record only the material truth, in the same way that our hands will interact with only the material truth."

"Then—what—" Orihime looked back at the screen, hands wheeling in confusion. "Am I going crazy then?"

"I am not sure, but for all intents and purposes, if you cannot recall this scene unprompted, nor with clarity or consistency, it must not have happened to you."

"Then why can I remember it at all, if it wasn't me?"

"Do you remember it?" Ulquiorra asked, watching her carefully.

"In pieces, yes."

"Visuals, or viscerals?"

"Both—"

"Please consider carefully," Ulquiorra admonished. "I could see that you recalled some…sensations just now, but I suspect they were different than what you experienced initially, when you attempted to heal Lord Aizen."

Orihime considered. It was difficult to trust any of her memories, or memories of her discovering those memories, under such scrutiny.

"I reacted differently this time," she said honestly. "When I first saw it, when I was healing Aizen, there was no context. Mental or physical, and some of the conversation may have been missing. My feelings, I think, were a reaction to that. I didn't feel the—" she paused, awkward. "I didn't feel the same—"

"Desire."

Orihime flinched. "Whatever's going on here, I feel weird talking about it with you."

"Why?"

"Because you can't guess why it's weird."

"Fair enough," Ulquiorra said, unbothered. "It is true that I lack much of the human sense of propriety you hold in such high regard. But I should think that would only make it easier to discuss for you, in some ways."

Orihime wanted to argue with this, but it was true that Ulquiorra's clinical, robotic manner should have made him the obvious choice for candid discussions of just how confused and aroused she'd been watching that scene play out.

"So—" she shook her head, relenting. "Alright, so what do you think is happening to me?"

"I have been developing some theories," Ulquiorra said. "But it would be inappropriate to state them all at this time."

"Not this shit again," Orihime said under her breath.

"You must be patient." Ulquiorra's eyes were stern. "You are currently in a highly suggestible state. My theories are just that: theories. I told you before to keep your own counsel—even that much may have been a mistake. If you have an emerging second personality, as it seems you must, it would b unwise to…poke at it without due consideration and recourse."

"But what if it happens again?" Orihime asked. "Next time I heal Aizen, what if I see more of this?"

Ulquiorra shook his head. "I think we can assume that it may. It may take a toll on you, as well, but he must be stabilized again, and brought back to full capacity as quickly as possible. In the meantime, we can only attempt to mitigate the damage you sustain."

Orihime sighed through her nose. "I don't like the sound of that."

"But it remains the case. The consequences of failure would be catastrophic, to both our worlds."

Orihime thought of Grimmjow's comment, which she'd barely processed as more than a threat in the moment yesterday. If he dies, everything dies with him. Including you.

Orihime nodded reluctantly. If nothing else, she would trust Grimmjow. For now. Ulquiorra stood up and helped her to her feet.

"Is it enough, for now, to apply some context?" Ulquiorra asked. He asked it like he really wanted to know.

"I guess it has to be," Orihime said. The voice in her chest was quiet, thank God.

"There is one more thing," Ulquiorra said, and for once displayed some genuine discomfort. "If Lord Aizen addresses you, and you suspect he is addressing the other you, I must ask that you…play along." He looked away when Orihime's eyes narrowed.

"How far along?" she asked.

"All the way along." Ulquiorra finally met her eyes. "If your memories pertaining to him have been portioned off somehow, it would likely only complicate the healing process."

Orihime became very still. "I'm not giving up what little peace of mind I have left to keep him—sated—"

"It is about far more than that," Ulquiorra stated curtly. "Can you imagine what would happen if the court of Espada were to get wind of his condition? Of yours?"

"I really can't," Orihime said, rolling her eyes. "Why don't you tell me?"

"There would be an insurrection of devastating proportions," Ulquiorra said, and Orihime's chest clenched. "Aizen would be deposed, and the Espada would run rampant with the power he has granted them. Grimmjow and I are not nearly enough to hold them all at bay. You would likely be the first to die, but you would be followed by many, many more."