Disclaimer: I don't own them.

Author's note: We're here, guys. This is the end. The very, very end. There really isn't any more. It's been a good run, and I had fun. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 4

We stood there for an eternity, and I didn't ever think it would end – I didn't want it to. We'd survived for now, but there were no guarantees for the future. We had to be together while we could. Whatever time we had left, even if it was the rest of eternity, couldn't be enough for us. We were running out.

I felt his lips mouth my name, and I paused, waiting for him to say more, but he only kissed harder. "Ulquiorra," I whispered. I was suddenly desperate to hear him say my name, if only once. "Ulquiorra, please," I begged.

He pulled away the tiniest bit. It seemed to me that he knew exactly what I wanted and didn't think it was odd at all. But still, he didn't say it. Instead, he grabbed me by the wrist and led me through his quarters, to his bedroom, where we'd been so many times before. I let him push me gently down onto the bed and straddle me protectively, but when he leaned down to kiss me again, I put my hand on his shoulder, restraining him

"Not tonight," I said quietly.

He sat up languidly, holding my eyes with his dark gaze. He was silent for a while, simply staring at me with those bottomless, emotionless eyes.

"Alright," he agreed softly. We stayed in silence for a minute longer before he broke it again.

"Why not?" he inquired.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, considering this. I'd never refused sex before. This was confusing to me, as well.

"You're right of course," he said when I didn't answer. "This isn't the time for that." His hand moved to my forehead, pushing away a stray hair, brushing softly through my hairline. "I simply want to know why." His hand froze suddenly, coming to rest near my ear.

"It's just… something Aizen kind of said," I admitted. "He… asked me if our relationship was just physical. And I kind of wondered, too."

"So you want to test it," he conjectured.

"Something like that," I agreed.

His hand wandered away from my forehead, down the side of my face and neck, slowly and lightly across my chest. "I don't think I can restrain myself from touching you," he murmured.

"So… is this just physical, then?" I asked.

"No," he answered immediately.

"Then what is it?"

He hesitated, his hand pausing in its path. "Well," he began after a moment. "There are parts of it that are physical, yes. But there are other parts to it, too."

"Like what?" I demanded.

"I'm not entirely sure," he replied. "There's something that makes me want to be around you, I suppose. Whether I'm touching you or not."

"What is it about me?" I asked before I could stop myself. Instantly, I wished I hadn't said it. I wished I'd kept my mouth shut, that I'd left myself to my own speculations, that I hadn't given him the opportunity to refuse or disappoint me. I wanted to know, I did, but I also didn't.

"That…" he murmured, "…is a question which deserves a moment of consideration."

"I can wait," I promised.

It took him a full minute to gather a response – the longest minute of my existence, without a doubt. An eternity passed as I watched his lifeless eyes grow colder and colder, his thoughts hidden somewhere just beyond what I could see.

Finally, he spoke.

"It's everything about you," he said softly. "Everything I used to hate about you." As if there was no more to say.

"You've never… told me, exactly, what you used to hate about me," I reminded him cautiously.

His voice sank to a whisper as he spoke. "I haven't?" he repeated.

"No," I said.

"And you wish to know?" he demanded.

"Yes," I replied.

He paused briefly, then twisted his body so he was no longer pinning me to the bed, and lay on his back next to me, looking blankly at the ceiling.

"What I used to hate…" he began softly, "...was anything that put life in your eyes. When you were angry, or excited. I hated when you defied Aizen. Your ambition disgusted me – I thought the only thing you cared about was getting stronger. And there was nothing that made me more furious than to see you pleased about something. Even if it was something that benefitted me as well – I couldn't stand to see you get your way."

He didn't look at me once as he spoke. His eyes were glued to the whitewashed ceiling, and his words felt rushed, like he was eager to get them over with.

"And what do you hate now?" I prompted, sensing there was something more.

"I hate it when your eyes are dead," he admitted, still looking away. "It happens more and more lately." He paused. "Whenever something threatens to come between us, it's like your eyes turn to stone. Like you've died. And it's like looking in a mirror – I can't stand it."

"Really?" I asked, surprised, and a little bit angry as well. Who was he to tell me that he couldn't stand my dead eyes, when his were just as lifeless, if not more? If looking at me was like looking in a mirror, then how the hell did he think I felt?

"Yes," he said. He still wouldn't turn his eyes to look at me, and my stomach began to crawl with nerves, wondering why not. "I know it's not something you can prevent, but I can't help but want it to stop."

"Ulquiorra, look at me," I hissed sharply. My blood boiled in frustration – suddenly I was angrier than I could ever remember being before. I was furious, but not with him. I couldn't bring myself to be angry at him, only myself. I was so weak, so needy – why couldn't I just be satisfied with what I had? I had him, there, with me, didn't I? How could I possibly ask him to give me any more? He turned his head slowly, his eyes moving last of all, only to latch onto my own with all the force of an arctic blizzard. "You can't stand to look in my dead eyes?" I said furiously. Something stung the backs of my eyelids, but I ignored it. "I've never seen anything but death in yours! And there's been so much that I wanted to see. So much that you could have shown me!"

"Stop," he whispered hastily, and I almost did. But not quite.

"Can you blame me for wondering if you care about me at all?" I demanded viciously. My insides twisted sickeningly as I realized the bitter truth of my words. "I've never seen anything that might make me think for a moment that you give a fuck whether I live or die. Can you really blame me for dying a little sometimes?"

I was up on my hands and knees, I realized, leaning over him as I expounded his flaws. I hadn't meant to say those things. I hadn't meant to say anything. I hadn't known there was any of that to say. But I didn't regret a word of it, because it was true – every word of it.

"Grimmjow," he whispered urgently, and my entire body shuddered in reply. He raised his hand and held it lightly – cold as ice – against my face. His thumb brushed across my cheek, and a trail of something wet followed. "Why didn't you tell me these things?"

"I couldn't," I choked. "I mean, it wouldn't have made any difference, would it? That's just the way you are."

"It is," he agreed breathlessly. "But it doesn't have to be, Grimmjow. I can learn to be different."

"You can't just change who you are," I argued. "I don't want you to just pretend."

His hand tensed against my cheek. "Then what would you have me do?" he persisted. "I can't keep torturing you like this. I can't let you go on wondering whether I care about you or not," he whispered.

"You aren't torturing me," I disagreed.

"You can't possibly expect me to believe otherwise," he insisted. "Not when the evidence is so overwhelming. You're crying, Grimmjow," he whispered. His hand brushed the tears on my cheek, and I hoped vainly that he could simply wipe them away and everything would be fine. "How can I make you see what I feel?"

"Tell me," I suggested, rubbing the traitorous teardrops from my eye. I couldn't even bring myself to be ashamed. "Just tell me what you feel."

"I… don't know that I can," he admitted.

"Just try," I urged.

He paused, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. "Right now, I feel… anguish," he said uncertainly. "I hate to see you so pained. I'm angry with myself, for being the one who caused that pain. And I'm also… a little bit happy, I suppose."

I waited patiently for him to elaborate.

"I'm glad that you don't like my emotionless state. And I'm glad that I'm important to you," he said softly. His hand fell away from my face, his eyes opened slowly. "You are all that is important to me, Grimmjow," he assured me. "You are my entire reason for existence. For you to wonder if I care about you is agony to my ears."

"There," I muttered, the tears finally slowing. "That wasn't so hard, right?"

"I wish it was easier," he replied. "There are no words for some of the things I've felt with you."

"I know," I agreed.

"Can you forgive me for being so blind to your pain?" he whispered. His words were so wonderfully soft that I could hear the desperation clearly in his voice. My heart twisted in my chest, torn between the joy of hearing his emotions and the pain of what those emotions were.

"I have before, haven't I?" I said dismissively.

"Yes, and I am grateful to you still."

"Then you shouldn't even need to ask."

He paused, staring darkly into my eyes. "I've hurt you deeper than I know, haven't I?" he demanded.

"Yes," I admitted quietly. "But that doesn't mean anything. I've hurt you a million times worse."

"Maybe," he murmured, "but you've given me so much more than pain. I'll take all the pain I have to if it means you can belong to me."

"Well, then," I said, "I guess I do belong to you. Don't I?"

"If that's what you want."

"That's exactly what I want."

We were silent for a moment, and I watched him carefully, gauging his reaction. There still wasn't much to see – mostly he was still as cold as ever. But there was something, the tiniest spark of life in his eyes that made me think that maybe he could change. That maybe he'd been hiding his feelings, and was only now realizing it was okay to show them to me. And I wanted to be there for him, to tell him it was okay to show me – that I'd be with him no matter what. As long as he needed me, I'd be there for him.

"I have a question for you, Grimmjow," he said, breaking the silence.

"Shoot," I answered.

"What did Aizen ask you?"

I stared at him, dumbfounded, for a moment. "Oh," I muttered. "Um." I wracked my memories of earlier that day, trying to remember what Aizen had asked first. I realized it had hardly been an hour, and felt a little bit shocked. It seemed like an eternity had passed since then. "He asked… what you were to me," I answered cautiously. "And I told him I didn't know myself."

"Do you know now?"

"No."

He nodded. "What else?"

"He asked me what I liked about the sex," I recounted disgustedly.

"How did you answer him?"

"I told him about… how cold you are," I answered hesitantly.

"Cold?" he repeated, bewildered.

"Yeah," I said awkwardly. "You know, your skin and stuff. It's… cold," I explained halfheartedly.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

A moment passed in silence as I waited for him to continue his questioning. I didn't seem to mind his questions nearly as much as Aizen's, even though he was essentially asking me the same things. He raised a hand to touch my face, brushing away the remainders of my tears.

"Did he…" he began.

"Did he what?"

"Did he ask you if you loved me?" he whispered.

I choked on my own breath. "Y-yes," I stammered.

"And… what did you tell him?"

He waited patiently as I contemplated my answer. I knew exactly what I'd told Aizen. The question was whether I wanted to tell him the same thing. Eventually I decided that yes, I did, and I had to anyways, because I couldn't bring myself to lie to him.

"I told him I couldn't love," I replied. "Because I'm a hollow. But that… it would be different if we were human."

"Would it be so different if we were human, Grimmjow?" he asked.

"Yes," I said insistently. "Yes, it would. I would love you."

"What's to stop you from loving me now?" he demanded.

This shocked me, and it took me a moment for my mind to properly register what he'd said, and another to remember my answer. "We're… hollows," I repeated uncertainly.

He watched me with a frozen gaze, his features descending back into the emotionless mask I knew so well. "He asked me that same question, Grimmjow," he informed me.

"What?" I said, surprised. "What did you say?"

"I told him that I'd never experienced love before, so I didn't know what love was. But I've felt so many things for you that love might be one of them."

I gulped at the lump in my throat, willing it to sink. "You… do you really think so?"

"Yes, Grimmjow," he said obstinately. His fingers had moved from my cheek to the back of my neck, where they were twisting nearly painfully in my hair. "I think I love you."

"That's…" I spluttered. "That's ridiculous."

"It is, isn't it?"

"Ulquiorra…" I said warningly. "This is dangerous. You can't… you can't take something like that back, you know."

"Why would I want to?" he asked. "I mean it."

"Shit, you…"

"I?"

"You've got no idea what you do to me when you say things like that," I blurted breathlessly.

"Enlighten me," he suggested.

"You… fuck, I've never been so…"

"So what?"

"Happy," I finished reluctantly, and felt a rush throughout my body as I said it, like every small knot that had been gathering had suddenly broken, and every nerve was on fire with it. I was happy, I realized. I was overjoyed. Even the small possibility that he might love me sent me into pure ecstasy. And yet at the same time there was something that pulled at me, that reminded me that any small amount of contact he had with me put him at risk, and that he'd just said the most potentially fatal words of all.

"Happy?" he repeated.

"No," I revised. "No, that isn't quite… right. It's not strong enough."

"I see."

There was a knot growing in my stomach again, and I thought it best to let him come to his own conclusions about what my true feelings were. He stared at me with eyes that read me like a book; I stared back hungrily, my eyes absorbing every detail of his flawless, ashen skin and impassive features.

"Would you do something for me, Ulquiorra?" I said softly.

"Anything," he consented blindly.

"Say my name," I begged.

His eyes widened and his mouth fell open slightly in shock. "G-grimmjow," he stuttered. Then he said it again, more confidently, the way I loved to hear it. "Grimmjow."

I sighed, and leaned down to press my lips against his. We'd talked long enough, I'd decided. I needed to feel his lips against mine, so I was done testing our relationship. It was more than just physical, I knew it for certain now. There was no point in avoiding him any longer.

Before long, though, another question crossed my mind. I broke away from him and laid next to him, my arm draped across his chest and the space between us hardly existing at all.

"Can I ask you a question now, Ulquiorra?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Why is it…" I inquired hesitantly, "… that you never top? You know, why don't you ever fuck me for a change?"

His eyes narrowed, and the tiniest blush spread across his cheeks.

"No," he said. "You can ask anything but that."

I grinned broadly. "You're embarrassed?" I teased. "Just tell me."

"No, Grimmjow, I–" he sighed, "I can't. I simply can't."

"Why? Are you afraid to tell me?" I demanded.

"I don't want to damage your oh-so-fragile ego," he deadpanned.

My eye twitched involuntarily. "That's why?" I asked.

"In a way," he agreed. "It's more like… I have power over you in every other situation, because of our ranks, and I want you to have power over me, for once."

I glared at him through narrowed eyes. "That was a cheap shot," I accused.

"I didn't intend to take any kind of shot," he refuted.

"Well, in any case," I said dismissively, "I don't care about any of that. I mean, if you want to fuck me, go ahead and fuck me, but if you don't want to, you don't have to."

He looked at me blankly for a moment, then blinked and nodded slightly. "Thank you," he said.

We didn't move for a while more, simply lying still in each other's company.

"What will we do now?" I asked him finally.

"We'll wait," he answered softly, "and we'll endure whatever punishments Aizen can impose. And when it's all over, we'll have each other."

"Maybe," I whispered, the ache plain in my voice.

His features twisted slightly, and something that hinted at a much deeper pain flashed across his face. "I'll follow you anywhere you go," he promised. "Even if it means death."

"Please don't die for me," I said urgently.

"I will if I have to," he insisted.

"Ulquiorra…" I muttered pleadingly.

"Grimmjow," he said defiantly, and before I could get another word out, he was kissing me again, and again, and again. We didn't say another word again that night, in fact – only kissed, right up until the very moment that he fell asleep in my arms.

I thought about how lucky I'd been to find him, and how perfect it was that he'd wanted me as much as I'd wanted him. It was hard to comprehend, really; we were both in more danger than we'd ever been before, and yet, the only things I could think of were how amazing he was, and how content he'd made me simply by not hating me any more – not to mention admitting that he might love me. I was addicted to him in every sense of the word. My heart, my mind, my soul – every ounce of my body needed him, cried out for him every second that he was not near. I wouldn't just die without him. I'd completely fall apart. I'd simply melt away. I'd disintegrate.

His body was cold in my arms, his face wonderfully serene. I watched him leisurely, tracing his pale features with my eyes. Suddenly he moved, his arm snaking around my chest in the middle of his slumber. I chuckled silently to myself, and fell asleep with his arm wrapped around me.

That night I dreamt of a funeral. Not just any funeral – my own. It was a graveside service, and I was the only being in attendance. I watched sullenly as my own coffin lowered itself slowly below the surface of the earth. Then I took up a shovel and began to bury myself, and I didn't stop until the entirety of the hole was filled. When I was finished, I lit the grave on fire and it burned with blue and green flames. I turned and walked away, and as I stepped out of the graveyard I was stopped by a hand on my elbow. I turned to see Ulquiorra standing next to me, looking expectant.

I tried to pull my arm away, but he shook his head slowly, his eyes locked with mine.

"You don't need that body anymore," he said to me. "You have me now."

And then before I could say a word, he crumbled before my eyes, falling away to nothing more than dust floating on the breeze. I watched the particles dance in the dim light of my dream's sky, and I felt as if my heart had collapsed. Suddenly I felt my own body fall out from under me, and in the brief second I had to glance down I saw that I had become nothing more than a puddle on the sidewalk. And then the sky turned as black as coal, a solitary moon hanging heavy in the sky, and I, along with the sidewalk, dissolved to make way for the sands of Hueco Mundo.

I woke with a shudder, my eyes flying open to a pitch black room and a thick terror settling in my gut. I reached out blindly, panicking, until my fingers collided with his body – still right next to me, and as solid as ever. A sigh of relief escaped my lips. I'd never been as scared as just then, when I'd thought he'd really disappeared. His arms were still wrapped around me, I realized as they tightened in response to my sudden movement. He was like a little kid, I thought, always needing something to cling to. But I was like that, too, so I didn't mind a bit.

I lifted my hand to run my fingers softly over his tear-stained cheeks. How ironic, how stupid, that he was the one branded with those two little lines, when I was the one who he'd reduced to tears.

It was impossible, really. I'd never cried before, and I'd never seen anyone else cry, either. Even in the few, fragmented human memories I had, there was nothing like tears. And who said the impossibility had to stop at tears?

He'd said he might love me. I closed my eyes, even though his room was already void of light, as I remembered his words, the way he'd said them, the way my heart had soared and my stomach had twisted and my brain had gone all fuzzy.

What was love, anyways? How could anyone say for certain? Was it needing him constantly? Was it wanting him with every fiber, every cell of my body? Was it suffering every moment he was away? Was it rejoicing every moment he was near, even through hard times? Was it not wanting him to so much as look at anyone else? Was it when his pain hurt me more deeply than my own? If that was love, if any of them were anything like love, then I must have loved him. I must have loved him more than anyone had ever loved before.

I did love him.

I lifted my hand away from his face and wound it around his chest instead. And then I held him closer than I had ever held him before, and I resolved to tell him the instant he woke, the first chance I could, just how much I loved him. I nearly woke him then to tell him, but I couldn't bring myself to disturb his peaceful slumber.

His head turned in his sleep as I hugged his body, and he mumbled words that I couldn't quite make out. So I talked in my sleep, did I? Well, so did he. I kissed the line of his jaw softly and moved down his neck. His mumbling grew louder, clearer.

"Grimmjow," he moaned in a whisper, and my heart flipped in my chest. "Don't go…."

"Never," I replied quietly.

"Good," he breathed.

I fell asleep for the second time that night with his arms wrapped around my body, but this time I slept with my ear against his chest, his heart beating out the softest, most perfect lullaby I had ever heard.

The next morning, I woke from his movement. He rose from the bed and left the room hurriedly. I heard a door open and shut again, and then he was beside me once more.

"Aizen has called us," he said, leaning down so he could whisper in my ear. "Are you ready?"

"No," I moaned sleepily.

He gave one humorless chuckle, a small puff of air against my ear. "That's a shame," he deadpanned. I couldn't decide if he was teasing or not. "Get up."

I sat up with a groan and rubbed at the sleep in my eyes. He was standing next to me, looking impatient. I shot him my most mischievous grin as I remembered all that had passed the previous night.

"Come here," I instructed playfully.

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he took a step closer anyways. When he was in arm's length, I reached out and wrapped my hand around the back of his neck, pulling his lips to mine. I kissed him more tenderly, and with more feeling than I ever had before.

"Grimmjow," he muttered as I pulled away slowly and rested my forehead against his broken mask once more.

"I love you," I murmured. I saw his eyes widen and his jaw fall the tiniest bit.

"What?" he demanded.

"Just trying it out," I explained. "I love you."

"Enough," he growled.

"What?" I asked. "You don't like the way it sounds?" And then I said it again, because it was funny to see him unsettled. "I love you."

"No," he insisted. "That isn't it at all."

"Explain." I smiled and said it again, just to spite him, and not at all because I loved the way it felt on my tongue, or the way it sounded in my ears, or the way it rang true down my spine and all throughout my body. "I love you."

"I'm afraid I like the way it sounds all too much," he answered.

"Then why don't you try it?"

I licked my lips nervously as I watched him deliberate. It amazed me how, even in the past twelve hours, his expressions had changed from being completely emotionless to being just the tiniest bit readable. Although I wasn't sure which of us had really changed: him or me.

Finally, he kissed me softly, like the touch of a feather, and then moved his lips to my ear.

"I love you," he whispered, and I could have sworn that my body had fallen out from under me again, the same way it had in my dream. But this time he was still very much solid, and I wasn't a puddle at all.

"Are you happy now?" he demanded.

"You have no idea," I admitted.

"Good," he said, and proceeded to kiss me like it was the first time his lips had ever touched mine, and he didn't know whether he'd ever get to kiss me again. He pulled away slowly, his dark gaze holding mine steadily, easily.

"Then let's go," he said.