Orihime had little time to wonder about what Aizen wanted of her this time before he returned to collect her from the lilac room. She'd nibbled at the rice thins, taken a few sips of tea, guiltily pleased by the light taste, and was left to her confusion about his talk of her memories.
She'd spent a good deal of her childhood not remembering, mostly with Sora's influence, and it had worked.
Memories of her parents were unpleasant, to say the least, but they faded with time, and with her brother's efforts to replace those moments with brighter memories.
She frowned as she followed Aizen now from the lilac room, at his side at the urging his arm at her shoulders requested, but her steps hesitant. As reluctant as she was to go anywhere with him, she was more frightened not to obey.
They saw a few more Arrancar figures in the hall, most like the female form she'd seen in the lilac room where she'd had tea, and Aizen explained to her they were a very basic model of Arrancar sprung from Szayel's research, but lacking in drive and will.
"Suitable for service," he told her, pausing at a door as they turned a corner of the wing in the new corridor. "That's all I require of them. Upkeep."
She nodded, seeing his easy smile that inexplicably calmed some of the nervous rattle of heartbeat in her core. He pushed open the door.
Inside was a bedroom suite, the forepart of the room opening to a sitting area with the bed curtained off by nearly transparent gray panels. Whatever momentarily soothing her pulse had lapsed into now jolted back into terror.
She didn't move, even as his arm tightened at her back.
"Come along, Orihime," he said, bending to her ear.
She nodded mechanically, feet moving against her will.
His arm dropped from her as he closed the door behind them. "I know it's austere now, but you'll have time and resources to make it more hospitable. Somewhere you want to be." He smiled at her obvious shock. "Your choice of colors, more comfortable furnishings, if you can give us a definite idea of what you'd like to have. The lab here now isn't what it used to be under Szayel's command, but it's getting better."
He spoke more, his voice unlike the tone he used when he'd threatened her friends, promising to rule several dimensions, or commanding his legion of Arrancar.
She nodded, listening, watching as he gestured to the small closet at one wall, which he showed her was now empty but would be filled soon. The opposite wall led to what appeared to be a lovely sight of the courtyard beyond. Out it opened a view of blue skies and tree tops in the distance, their greens contrasting with the white and umber of the mountains in the background. The rail of the balcony at the startling view was alabaster with touches of gold trim, with a small cushioned bench to one side.
Orihime went there automatically, without thinking how strange it was to see such colors in Las Noches. A smile came to her face, caught in the oddity out the veranda.
She put one hand to the porch opening, passing Aizen nearly without thinking, her gaze on the greens of the trees.
"It's not real," he said as she took a step onto the balcony.
She frowned, halting, eyes searching the landscape. "It's ...it's not real?"
"No. An illusion."
He met her on the porch, seeing the disappointment coupled with disbelief in her face. He moved her hair from her shoulder, feeling her remain immobile, eyes still on the scenery. "There's little color to be seen here. I thought this illusion might make your new home easier."
She blinked a few times, as if expecting the image before her to disappear or move and prove Aizen wrong. She almost laughed to herself. Prove him wrong?
He sighed, fingers pressing at her shoulder. "We're working on movement. Maybe something among the trees. An animal. Would you like that?"
She turned to him, unsure she'd heard correctly. "An animal?"
He nodded, his smile changing to something that eased one from her. "What do you think? A deer? Or something smaller?"
She didn't catch the smile that crossed her lips as she looked back to the scenery. "You made this illusion?"
"No. This is a mural, of sorts."
"Oh."
He stood straighter. "I'd rather have my supper with you, but I'll be away this evening. I'll have your meal brought here."
Orihime's eyes focused closer as he stepped away, her mind whirling with the tentative grasp she presently had on her surroundings.
"Think about what I said, Orihime."
She slowly turned, watching him near the door. "My first memory."
He chuckled. "Well, yes that, but also what you want to do with the room. Make it your own. Put up," he gestured to the bed, "something of color, or texture. You need only tell me what you want, and we'll see if the lab can do it."
This time the finality in his tone prompted her words before she thought them through. "I have to stay? I'll never go home again?" She swallowed down the next words before she could utter them.
A flash of disapproval went through him, but he didn't act on it. He nodded slowly, seeing through the thin but brave front she tried to keep. "You're without family among the Living, Orihime. You have good friends; I understand that. But you need more." He smiled at the nervous confusion in her eyes. "You know how life and death work, don't you?"
She nodded slightly as he crossed the room back to her.
"We're born, we live, and then die," he said, stopping before her, his voice lowering as he neared. "We spend time in Soul Society, among the dead, or as unrested spirits. The dead are reborn. Even shinigami. We're sent back to the Living and reborn, without memories of our past. All this without memories of our pasts, our other lives and deaths."
She nodded, frowning as she tried to follow his explanation.
"But sometimes those events get out of order, like when you and your friends raided Soul Society." He smiled, letting his hand cup under hers, feeling her fingers tense at the contact. "Through all this the living remember the dead and the dead forget their other lives. And after a while people die in Soul Society and move into a new life, reborn into the Living world, and forget about ones they've known and loved during death."
A different fear slowly breached her old fears. She looked to each of his eyes, seeing no malice, just the cool façade he'd kept during decades of deception. She only knew of his most recent lies, and even that knowledge made her distrust slip momentarily. She shook her head, swallowing as she looked down at her hand in his.
"I know I may have lived before, as someone else," she said, trying to think through the murky concept. "But we're not supposed to remember our other lives."
It was a small fragment of understanding, but he considered it a start. "Just because we're not supposed to doesn't mean it isn't possible."
Her hand withdrew from his before he could stop it. She pulled her hand to her chest, this time confronting him with more puzzlement than alarm or loathing. "But we're reborn to be new people. Aren't we, Aizen-sama?"
"Yes." He looked to the door, as if hearing something she could not. His next question was one burning to be asked, but he didn't think it would further his progress. Most likely not, he decided. "Settle yourself in here. Your supper will be sent shortly. And this," he said, looking to the mural that appeared more scenic view from a window than static image, "can be changed, if you prefer another scene."
She looked to the vivid greens and blues than she would have sworn were real. "I like this."
"Good. I'll see you in the morning."
He left then, and Orihime was left alone to ponder the glimpse of bewilderment she felt was soon to follow. It had always confused her, the uneven running of Time within Soul Society and the Living world, and the planes on which the living and dead sometimes leaped. She'd meant to ask more questions about it in Soul Society, find out more about her brother.
But she knew, even if she were dead, finding Sora would be impossible. The deceased didn't remember their former lives, and the Living didn't often go to Soul Society alive. All that Aizen was saying could be true, she knew, her head starting to ache as she tried to find her way among his words.
She shook her head and looked around the rooms. The front area had a low table and three cushions, and a pile of cushions and pillows arranged like a couch were against another wall.
It was the bed that made her realize the definiteness of her un-visit. It was spacious and stacked with pillows in mauve and violet at the headboard, its four tall posts appearing to be of wood, the ribs above framing it, but empty of curtains.
A shudder went through Orihime as she looked again to the window. This was no rushed, coerced invitation, she decided. He'd made some arrangements. Almost as if he'd decided she would approve her permanent stay.
She ran one hand up her opposite arm, a chill creeping up her spine despite the comfortable temperature of the suite. She looked back to the window and this time went there and put a tentative hand to the image above the rail.
Her fingers went through, the air beyond slightly warmer, making her jerk her hand back instantly. Nothing in the scenic image changed; only her fingers disappeared.
She exhaled a shaky sigh, looking to the door to the hall. If she was going to wake up from this strange dream, she decided, she needed to go to sleep.
She looked to the bed with misgivings. It was worth a try.
That night the dreams Orihime had weren't her usual ones, of sweet buns with butter and honey, of leek soup and butterscotches, or even of being late for her job.
These dreams were simply void swirls of color that funneled to a point far out of her reach, like a whirlpool. It made her wake up dizzy.
A few glances around her room – her new room – and Orihime was galvanized to her bearings, but frightened.
This was far more than a couch in Las Noches.
Breakfast was brought by one of the Arrancar, similar to the one she'd seen the day before, but Orihime was unsure if it was the same or a different one. They all looked the same, all simple, all servile.
She ate alone, this time with more appetite than the night before when her stomach twisted with knots of the unknown.
The unknown was still with her, but now she was hungry. She'd barely finished when a light tapping came to the door, and this time Aizen stepped in. She gulped her tepid tea and stood, estimating his mood.
He nodded at her empty dishes. "We'll say it's morning, Orihime. Good morning."
"Good morning," she said, unable to catch herself from looking to the image at the balcony. It remained unchanged.
"Yes, we'll get the lab to make something more appropriate. Maybe a sunset at night?" He watched her gaze return to him. "Would you like that?"
She faltered in answering. Maybe she was still sleeping.
"Very well, we shall see." He took her elbow and walked her to the wall to one side. "Have you adjusted?"
"No." It slipped out before she could think and she hurriedly added, "This is all so sudden."
"Yes. Some changes are." He put a hand to the door at the wall.
She knew it wasn't to the facilities; she'd found those the night before. The door to the lavish bathroom was on the same wall, further into the room, and the sheer size of the pink and violet tiled tub had made her feel weak. She was almost afraid to find out what was behind this door. She'd tried it when exploring the room, only to find it locked. The knob turned in Aizen's hand.
"This is a sort of common room," he said, opening the door to the one beyond. "A neutral space. Go in."
The room was half the size of her bedchamber, a square table in the center with cushions and rolls around it, with no view to the wall where Orihime thought a balcony should be, like hers. She stared at the barren fern-green wall, as if expecting an image or mural to appear. A sigh to her right made her look to another door at that wall.
Two Arrancar stood there, female, these with more features to their faces, dressed in white robes. In their arms were bolts of colorful cloth, one with a bag and basket at her side.
"I thought something traditional," Aizen said, his hand on her back as Orihime stepped into the room. "A few kimonos, and skirts, blouses, whatever you want. They'll take your measurements and begin a new wardrobe for you."
Her face snapped around to him, eyes widening. "You really want me to stay here? For good?"
"Exactly. For good."
She wanted to ask why; why this time. There was no war to justify her presence. Everything her capture had gained last time was still in place. He knew who would miss her, who would come for her, who her absence would affect. She couldn't figure what could be accomplished this time that hadn't been last time.
Unless he does plan another war, she thought, looking back to the two Arrancar watching her with subtle curiosity. She wished she had both her hairpins.
"This is Orihime," Aizen was saying to the attendants. "She's your mistress. You'll be fitting her and seeing to anything she needs." He turned to Orihime. "They haven't names yet, so if you would like to name them, you may."
Her gaze went back to them. They seemed less like Arrancar and more like simply beings, making her wonder at what else Aizen had been busy with since his escape.
He nodded to them. "Show her the cloth. Whatever she wants, you design it for her."
"Yes, Aizen-sama," the pair said almost in unison.
The next hour was surreal for Orihime. She'd expected him to leave, but he sat at the collection of pillows against the wall, looking more casual than she'd ever seen him, watching as the two attendants displayed the bolts of cloth.
The patterns were mostly floral, some with designs of shapes and stripes, most prints lending well to kimonos she'd seen in boutiques about Tokyo on a few visits. The two women took turns holding up lengths of cloth to her, murmuring comments about color and shades without emotion in their faces, their tones lacking inflection. It gave her the impression the responses were almost programmed.
The colors were pastels and lighter patterns, for the most part, with a few more vibrant designs, and a couple out of place heavier damasks. So wrapped up in inspecting the beautiful cloth, she almost forgot Aizen was there. Almost.
"The yellow definitely," he said, reminding her of his presence. "And the mild green. Do you like them?"
Orihime nodded, letting the soft cotton-like mint green cloth fall through her fingers. She looked to him, seeing his eyes on the fabric. She couldn't believe this was the same man who'd nearly taken down Soul Society. His attention went from the cloth to her.
"Hold it up; let's see how it looks against you."
She thought she'd heard incorrectly, but pulled a length of the yellow flowered cloth to her shoulder, returning his intent study.
He nodded, smiling more. "That one."
She didn't bite her lower lip, but she was tempted to. She smoothed the cloth at her shoulder, watching him. For a moment his smile wasn't one she'd seen on him before, yet somehow familiar. She shook her head, eyes dropping to the cloth as a blush hinted her cheeks.
"You don't like it?"
"Yes," she said quickly as he stood. She held her ground as he stepped closer, steeling against her natural response to back away.
"Which do you like best?" he asked.
She looked back to the bolts, her mind feeling oddly cool as she tried to think. Truthfully, she liked all the patterns, but knew some would lend better to clothing than other. Uryu had made certain she knew that at Handcrafts Club at school.
He watched her hand brush a few of the rolls of cloth. "All?"
She resisted the impulse to agree.
He chuckled at her hesitancy, looking to the attendants. "All of them. And she'll use some for her room, too."
Orihime looked to him.
"For your bed. It's quite bare, and you'll want something besides that dull gray for panels." He lifted one side of the blue damask she'd passed on for a kimono. "Whatever you want, Orihime."
Before she could speak, he pulled a bolt of plainer linen from under the other rolls. "This for a top and pants," he told one of the attendants. He looked back to Orihime. "For practice. You'll be bored here in a week, so we'll find something to keep you busy."
She was about to ask what he meant, but this time caught herself.
"I'm due in the lab to see what progress has been made with the new breed of Hollows."
She looked to him quickly at this, all caution resurfacing despite his relaxed tone. "You're creating something?" The cloth in her hand wrinkled under her sudden grip. "You – I thought ... is there..."
"No. No war, Orihime," he said. His hand covered hers, easing her clutch on the material. "I have continued my interest in the Hollow physiology. My days as an active shinigami are over," he said, slight exasperation in his manner, looking to the two attendants that averted their eyes back to the bolts of cloth. His gaze settled on Orihime, her protective alertness pleasing him. "But I do have several experiments I'm conducting. These Arrancar have had their pugnacious attitudes weaned out, making them accommodating and an asset for my use. It might be an acceptable alternative to army-building, don't you think?"
She studied the two female figures. They certainly didn't seem hostile, unlike the other Arrancar she'd met on her previous visit to Hueco Mundo. She wasn't sure they were as intelligent, but far more harmless appearing than others. This time she looked to Aizen with more curiosity than caution.
He nodded, letting her hand fold in his, feeling no resistance to his touch. "They're still productive, so you should have something new to wear soon." His eyes dropped to the uncertain set at her lips, something that wasn't quite a frown, he decided, but less than a smile. Attractive, nonetheless, he thought. "Show me when it's ready."
Orihime wasn't sure why, but she nodded readily.
"Good."
He turned and left, giving the attendants a few instructions as he opened the door that Orihime saw led to the corridor.
She watched it shut, mind spinning in a new direction, frantically trying to sort how much was true, how much near-lies for her benefit.
She shook her head. Why her benefit? Would it matter if she believed a lie of him? He hadn't cared for the truth before.
"...the yellow, would you like that first?" one of the attendants was saying to her.
Orihime looked to her. The female Arrancar appeared middle-aged, more like a mother than an engineered Hollow, her face devoid of much expression, except mild inquiry.
Was that what was left after the fight had been removed from a Hollow? she wondered.
"Or perhaps the green," the other attendant said, her soft monotone non-argumentative. She held up the blue damask. "You wish this one for draping?"
"Oh, it is too heavy," the first said. "Something lighter. Chiffon or crepe."
The second one huffed. "We haven't any here."
Orihime watched them bicker, a nearly emotionless tiff that was words only.
She couldn't see a pastime like removing the fight from a Hollow occupying Aizen. He'd spent decades doing just the opposite.
She tried to weave into the attendants' conversation. "Do you have crepe?"
They both turned to her and nodded. "What color would you like to see?" the first asked.
Orihime touched the edge of the thicker damask fabric, confusion winning out over Aizen's change in, well, everything.
"We'll bring them all," the second attendant decided.
"First her measurements," the first said, going to the basket a few feet away. She knelt and pulled out a few small items. They both looked to Orihime expectantly.
But Orihime was still trying to grasp the change in demeanor of Las Noches' ruler. She knew he'd appreciated the finer and gentler pastimes in Soul Society before he'd made himself known as a traitor, but she thought that had been part of his ploy.
She wondered how it worked into what he was now.
