The next few days were surreal for Orihime. Each morning began with breakfast brought by one of the engineered Arrancar, usually followed by a brief visit from Aizen, and then he would leave her to investigate the newest workmanship from the two female attendants.
Orihime hadn't named them, nor did she plan to.
She wasn't going to be there that long. That she had promised herself.
Although it had only been a few days, Aizen had made it clear to her that her stay was permanent. She didn't want that.
It hadn't been her choice this time, accompanying Ulquiorra, and she saw no benefit in it.
"Yes, Aizen-sama," she said obediently as they sat at dinner on the fifth day. The expertly prepared food before her held no appeal, and she sorely missed the most basic of food from the Living world.
"I don't think you were paying attention." He sat across from her in the west room, the room at the end of the hall from her suite, a room he'd introduced her to for most of their shared meals. It was much like other rooms she'd seen, with an exterior wall that overlooked the courtyard of Las Noches' interior that was surrounded by other buildings or wall, some of which was in disrepair still from the War. The room's walls were shades of cobalt blue, and the balcony here actually did look out over the lower courtyard.
Not that there was much to see, Orihime had learned. Usually, at most, she could see glimpses of Ulquiorra or Grimmjow training with a few Arrancar in the distance behind the concrete lattice divider that was erected to hide the broken parts of the fortress.
Aizen's gaze narrowed on her. "You haven't given me the answer I expect, Orihime."
She looked up from her plate, chopsticks posed over it in a tight grip. "I never got to say goodbye to anyone," she said, holding her breath. In the last few days her homesickness had outweighed some of her fears. Despite the casual clothing he supplied and the homier touches of dressing her bed and room with draped fabric, it was still not home. "If I said I wanted to stay here, it wouldn't be the truth."
This time there was more than mere disappointment in his face. He carefully set his chopsticks against the holder by his plate, studying her for a long moment.
"You don't like your room?"
She looked to each of his eyes, judging the steeliness behind them that seemed to magnify her defenses. "It's very nice, and I'm grateful for your, your thoughtfulness, Aizen-sama," she said deliberately.
"Then you really do not wish to be here?"
She kept back the torrent of forlornness that wanted to break out. She nodded.
"Pour us both tea, Orihime."
She set down her chopsticks with shaky fingers.
It had become a game to him, she knew, over the last few evening meals. As soon as he sensed her weakness about her Living life, he requested her to serve them tea.
Her hands shook as she obeyed, the tea pot trembling as the tea dribbled into the small cups for each of them.
"You'll adjust to being here. Thank you," he said as she slid the half full cup to him. "It may take time, but we have time. Whatever you need to make your adjustment easier, or swifter, tell me and we'll see if it can be done."
She set the pot down, nervous fingers edging her cup closer as tears brimmed her eyes.
"No."
She looked up again as he reached his hand to her chin and tilted her face higher.
He shook his head, frowning slightly. "No crying. The sooner you accept your new home here, the sooner you will remember our time together."
She sat straighter, pulling from him. The table was between them, but for a moment he seemed much nearer. She shook her head. "Our time?"
Aizen realized his misstep. He lowered his hand to rest at the table edge. For a long moment his eyes flicked over the flowered yellow kimono. It fit her curvy form perfectly, the color highlighting her hair she'd pulled up into a loose bun at the back of her head in decorative combs, a few loose tendrils framing her face in auburn.
"You haven't been spending enough time recalling your first memory, Orihime," he decided. He took the cup before him, eyes more severe on her.
"I have tried, Aizen-sama," she said meekly, her voice breaking at the end. "I can't remember much before my brother took me away from our parents." She swallowed forcefully, not wanting to voice the words that had plagued her since he'd hinted at memories and a past that included him. "I can't remember any former lives."
"You don't want to remember."
She shook her head, brain freezing at the displeasure in his face. He set the cup of tea down on the table.
"Is that it?"
Orihime tried to breathe but the air fell short of her lungs, the pressure in the room seeming to push any air out of her. She wasn't sure if it was her or something he was doing. She knew he could.
And then she could breathe easier again.
But he still stared at her with a barely tolerant study, expectant.
"A past that includes you?" She took a deeper breath, summoning her courage. "Us?"
"Precisely."
She felt dizzy, as if she were going to be sick if she told the truth. "You were the enemy of Soul Society and ... and my friends."
This time his scowl was tempered with something else, something less caustic. "Too much to let go?"
She didn't know. She realized she was gripping the cloth napkin beside her plate so tightly her fingernails left purple half moons in her palm. "This is all so new still, Aizen-sama."
"If it's too much to remember," he said causally, a tone she'd heard before and didn't trust, "then we shall create a new history together."
This time the trembling in her hands won over and she flinched, bumping the tea and sloshing some of it into her plate.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, and then recoiled as he moved to the corner of the table beside her. "I'm sorry, Aizen-sama!"
"Don't apologize for a little tea, Orihime," he said, pulling the napkin from her clenched fingers, his other hand on her upper arm. "It's no matter."
His firm grasp on her arm kept her near, but her mind wanted to flee. The walls of the blue room seemed to close in, crowding them together, pushing him too close as if to emphasize the point that she was not leaving. It forced a sob from her before she could catch it. She turned her face away as he bent to see her better. She wanted to close her eyes but was afraid to, keeping him in view as she sucked up the next sob.
Aizen smoothed the rumpled yellow sleeve in his grip, straightening the hem at her wrist. "There was a time, Orihime, that you enjoyed my company," he said quietly near her ear. "It was long ago, in another life – after death, actually – when we were both different from what we are now."
She looked to him at this, the low tone of his voice subtracting the impact of his words.
His eyes went to her lips. "You and I have a past and we are going to have a future again. Together." He looked to the realization slipping into her large eyes. "Whether you accept our history or not, we will have a future, as we intended before you died too early at the Academy."
Now her arm began to shake in his hand, but he closed his fingers tighter, defeating even her tremble.
"I've never been to the Academy," she finally said, disbelief making her doubt her ears. She shook her head. "I can't remember –"
He sat back, still kneeling beside her, and took a moment to loosen his hold on her arm. She pulled her arm close, eyes still on his face.
"You were there, with me. You don't have to remember, but we will recreate our relationship, Orihime." He smiled, something less than warm but not quite the cold smile he'd leveled on his enemies as he explained their imminent defeat. "You'll accept it. You'll accept your new home here, and you will accept me."
He stood up, leaving her numb and without hope.
"Finish eating, and then you can go back to your rooms." He went to the door, seeing her unmoving as he watched for an indication of acceptance. Any sign of acceptance.
But there was none from her.
"It will be better for you to remember on your own, Orihime," he added. "Don't take too long."
She heard the door open, and she thought she said something in response; she wasn't sure. She thought she murmured or nodded.
The door closed and she was left to look at her tea-dribbled soba noodles and vegetables on the plate.
She shook her head, the wide sash of the kimono suddenly feeling too tight around her. She braced one palm on the table, the dizziness over-running her reasoning, and then black engulfed her vision.
Orihime wasn't aware that Aizen had been alerted to her collapse by one of her attendants and had carried her to her bed that evening.
She didn't know the pause it gave him to gently lay her down within the confines of the enormous bed amid the new mauve and moss green sheets and blankets, nor did she remember that his arms had been around her countless times during a past she couldn't recall.
He'd watched her sleep for a while that night, pulling the bedclothes over her yellow kimono draped form, some of his baser instincts wanting to surface and call the shots. He didn't let them; he'd spent decades perfecting illusions and that often demanded that he deny his own immediate desires for future, more long term desires.
But that didn't mean it came without difficulty, watching her sleep while he refrained from touching her. He didn't like what he saw in her face, not entirely. Even in sleep her features were troubled with his news from their previous conversation, and he didn't like it.
He sighed, brushing away a strand of hair that lay across her throat. He didn't expect her to smile in her sleep, but he knew she could be quite frivolous, even silly, at times. He sighed again, watching her chest as she breathed.
She could be very silly, in fact, something that hadn't changed in her new life after their shared time in Soul Society.
All Orihime knew when she awoke the next morning was that she was still in her clothes from the day before, but as the day progressed she learned how she'd gotten back to her room. As that week expired, she also realized Aizen was serious about what he'd told her, and expected her to be, too.
It left her both fearful beyond comprehension and with a new urgency to escape.
She stood at the west wing of the hall where her bedroom suite and the other rooms she frequented with him were housed. With him, she thought, cringing at the idea.
She put a hand to the window sill that ran around the wide pane of glass out which she could see most of the courtyard. It stretched in all directions, and farther on she knew Grimmjow and Ulquiorra were training their Arrancar troops.
She could see little of them. In fact, she'd seen little of either of the remaining Espada in her week at the compound.
A week, she thought. A week into her new future, and one she did not want. She watched the empty courtyard below without seeing it. She'd already cried out all her tears the preceding few days. She had a vague idea of what Aizen thought was their history together, but more importantly, she was fully realizing what he wanted in their future.
"No," she murmured to no one, straining to see past the concrete lattice fencing. "I can't live a future like that."
She frowned, seeing little of the ceros being blown on the other side of the barrier outside. Ulquiorra barely spoke with her. He was like he'd been when he first brought her to Las Noches on her initial capture. Stoic, that unforgiving deadness to his face that made her want to make him smile, at least a little. She hadn't succeeded in that, but they'd come to a commonality before he'd died that day after his fight with Ichigo.
Or maybe he hadn't died, she rethought. She wasn't sure. Either way, Ulquiorra wasn't the same as she'd last seen him, not when he'd reached out to her, in understanding, at that last moment.
She looked back to the hall in which she stood. Aizen had given her the run of the wing, which seemed to be an endless maze of halls that always led back to her room. She sighed, standing straighter in the white kimono with powder blue flowers and gold and green embroidery. As unhappy as she was about her situation, having an unhappy Aizen was worse. It was that fact that made her turn desperate.
She turned down the hall and let herself wander.
He was clearly delusional; even if they had shared a past – whether in Soul Society or in the Living world – he couldn't expect her to remember it. That wasn't how death and life worked, and he knew that.
"He's mistaken," she whispered as she passed down the gray hall of tall walls. "He must be."
It was the course she had wandered the last few days, her mind twisting over new thoughts and problems as her feet followed the maze of halls. She always ended up at her own room, so she didn't worry about it too much.
Meals with Aizen the last few times had been stilted and brief. She ate what she could, which was little, and he often left before she was finished. He made excuses to see about the progress with the Arrancar in the labs, and Orihime was only too glad he was gone.
He was still cordial, but expectant, and that made her all the more eager to leave. She knew few ways to leave, to escape Sousuke Aizen, but Orihime also had learned a few things about the Living world and what lay beyond it in death. She knew death was not the end, but a transition to an afterlife in Soul Society.
She hadn't made it a genuine alternative yet, she decided as she turned the next corridor, feeling the large walls swallow her up in yet another hall, but she was close.
The thought actually sickened her a little; she'd never considered taking her own life, but if it meant giving her back her freedom, even in a freedom to Soul Society, she would give it serious thought. Even more certain than that, she was sure she would not entertain thoughts of being Aizen's associate in any conjoined future.
The unease in her stomach twisted again, churning her lunch into an ill-feeling. She stopped, looking around her at the empty hall that looked like every other hall. There were no windows, only the indirect lighting that ran along the walls where the ceiling touched.
She looked behind her, unsure if she'd taken a wrong turn in a compound loaded with wrong choices. She felt the air around her thicken, and spun around as footsteps approached from another corridor juncture.
As she began to recognize the powerful reiatsu approaching, Grimmjow turned the corner. The scowl on his face turned to a wicked grin as he spotted her backing up a step.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, closing the distance between them.
Orihime made herself stand her ground, the flurry of thoughts desperately charging through her head suddenly screeching to a halt. He was obviously recently finished with his training rounds in the courtyard, his jacket bearing a few slits and singes from a lucky or skilled sparring partner.
Grimmjow growled something she didn't hear. "You're not supposed to be in this hall," he said, glimpsing the white and blue kimono. A different grin leased his face. "Are you lost?"
She nodded. "Yes."
He pointed the way she'd come. "Go back that way and head left. You'll get back to where you were."
He turned to leave and Orihime swallowed down the bulk of her hesitation.
"Jaegerjaquez-san," she called as loudly as she dared, taking a few steps as he stopped. "Would you ..." Her words failed as he turned. "Take me back to the Living world!"
At first he was too shocked to respond, but then the leer came back to his lips. "Yeah?"
She nodded, mustering her courage as he stepped closer. "Please. I can't stay here. I know you can go back. You have before."
He chuckled, stopping before her, cocking his head to one side to carefully study the shape her figure made in the kimono. "Why should I?"
Orihime swallowed down the rattle that began in her nerves. "Aizen-sama thinks I'm someone else. Someone from his past." She shook her head, seeing the amusement in his expression. "I'm not."
"Maybe you are," he said levelly, grinning as he looked to the chopsticks holding her hair at the back of her head. "You ever think of that? Or don't you like the possibility?"
She shook her head, knowing he could be right.
His smile turned cutting. "What's in it for me?" He grinned wider as she caught her breath, a blush tinting her cheeks in the low light of the hall. "You're asking for quite a risk, girl. What do I get in return for putting my balls on the line for you?"
Orihime had actually thought about this. She'd mulled it over, knowing if she asked anyone for help – and the choices seemed to be limited to Ulquiorra and Grimmjow – that there would be a price. She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.
"I haven't heard an answer yet," he said, leaning one hand to the wall beside her face as she stalled answering. "What would you give me in return?"
She nodded, focusing on his face close to hers. "Anything you want."
One side of his smile arched higher. "Yeah?" He nodded, gaze resting on the crossed edges of the kimono at her chest. His eyes snapped back to her face. "Wrong. How long do you think going back would last, Inoue?" he said briskly, humor dropping from his face. "Dammit, think about it, girl. You go back to the Living and Aizen will haul your pretty ass back here before you could blink. Don't you know that?"
She shook her head.
He nodded. "Yes, he would. So, don't waste your time or put my ass on the block by asking because you don't like it here." He straightened, eyes glinting at her confusion. "And don't ask that lapdog Ulquiorra because he won't help you, either. Think a little; Aizen likes you. Can't say that for many people he's around, so consider yourself fortunate, and," he added leaning down to her face again as she pressed her back to the wall, "use it for your own benefit. Not many benefits around here, Inoue, so take what you can get."
He stepped back and walked down the hall.
Orihime felt her hopes drop, not only because he'd refused, but because she knew there was too much truth in his words.
He pointed down the hall behind her as she watched his back. "Down there," he called back, "and keep going left. You'll get back to where you should be."
She frowned, watching him leave. "Thank you," she said, knowing the echoing hall would carry her voice.
Grimmjow waved a hand, then disappeared around another corridor.
Orihime turned to look at the hall behind her, and then slowly headed in that direction.
A weak wave of embarrassment went through her at his refusal. It wasn't exactly unfriendly, she decided, but it was no help, either.
She looked down the long hall before her, mind flitting around thoughts of her second alternative.
She would need something with a very sharp cutting edge.
