Orihime didn't have time to find anything suitable to slit her wrists or perform jigai. She knew it would probably be a sword, and so far, every sword she could think of was at the hip of Aizen or an Espada. And it wasn't that she'd entirely given up the idea; but Aizen kept her busy.
At first the practice set of kendo top and hakama pants of drab tan linen seemed harmless, but after she donned them at his request the next morning, he returned to her chambers.
For a moment she only stared back at him.
He was outfitted identical to her, gray pants and top tied at the waist with a black obi, albeit with a more masculine tailoring, but over it he also wore a long, black sleeveless kimono vest. It was similar to the sleeveless captains' coats she'd seen a few men wear in Soul Society, but it was without insignia. It was the first time she could remember seeing Aizen in anything not predominately white. Even his newest outfits were mostly white with black and maroon piping.
He smiled slowly at her, eyes drifting over the kendo top that clouded much of her curves. "I see you're ready. Shall we go to the field?"
Orihime had no desire to leave her bedroom suite. "I don't understand," she admitted, stepping back to the table as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. She saw his attention go to her hair. She put one hand to where it fell to her chest. "The attendants said these were for practice. What are we going to practice?"
He smiled wider, extending his hand to her. "Let's go outside."
Her eyes rose from his hand to his face. He had not met her breakfast that morning and she'd eaten alone in her room from the dishes the attendant had brought. "Outside?"
"Well, I suppose it's not really outside, not like you're used to," he said, his fingers curling, encouraging her forward. "But it's not inside. Come with me."
She took his hand.
Aizen led her through the confusing, twisting halls of the complex until they wound their way down to the main level that Orihime realized emptied to the courtyard. It was surrounded by Las Noches' walls, the disrepair of the battle-damaged area blocked off by stone lattice. She followed Aizen, her hand in his light hold. Her gaze went to the lattice where she could hear one of the Espada training with his troops.
The courtyard was still completely enclosed, either by the surrounding walls and buildings of rubble and the industrial-looking lattice. The ground was covered with short stubble that was gray-green, similar to grass, Orihime decided. A few columns rose in the milky-colored sunlight, which she knew was not really sunlight at all, and they cast tall, grayer shadows. She preferred the colorful mural of her room, even knowing it was artificial.
Aizen stopped them at one column where two bokken leaned. Orihime pulled her hand free and stopped in her tracks, eyes fastened on the practice weapons, and then going to Aizen as he turned.
"I told you you would get bored here in a week, Orihime," he said, reaching one hand into his pants pocket. He offered her a blue ribbon. "Tie your hair up. We're going to go through a few paces."
She took the ribbon, unsure as he turned back to the wooden swords. She absently pulled her hair back and tied it into a high ponytail.
He took both swords, holding each out to judge their weight and length, nodding. "I know you've grown bored already. Why else would you be seeking ways to leave here?"
Orihime's hands stopped as she tied the ribbon in a double bow. "Oh ... you know..." Her hands fell to her sides, trying to estimate his mood. "Jaegerjaquez-san told you?"
A rare look of surprise washed over Aizen's face. "Grimmjow? Hmm, I thought you would have asked Ulquiorra first." He flicked a bokken so that the handle pointed to her. "That must have been an interesting encounter. I advise against any such in the future, Orihime."
She swallowed some of her hesitation. "He didn't tell you?"
"No." He lifted the sword by its unsharpened edge, the hilt touching her hand. "Take it. No, Grimmjow said nothing of it; I knew you'd ask for help, but I thought you'd ask Ulquiorra."
Orihime's hand closed around the practice sword extended to her. Her thoughts had frozen at his mention of the Espada, but now her brain was beginning to warm again.
"Don't ask either of them for help, Orihime," Aizen said, this time in a lower tone that would not carry across the courtyard. "It's unwise. Now," he said, stepping back and taking a better grip with the bokken handle in his other hand, "let's see what you remember."
She looked from him to the sword in her hand. It was shaped like a katana, with a traditional samurai cord-wrapped tsuka of black and round cross-guard. The wooden blade was unedged, but with nearly the proper weapon's weight. Her hand tightened on it, and then, recalling some of the fights she'd seen – of the many she'd witnessed – she put both hands to the long handle.
Aizen smiled. "That's right. It's just a practice sword; no edge, and not quite the weight of a real sword." He circled to her left, keeping the distance between them. "A little sparring let's your worries out, Orihime," he told her, nothing in his tone to cause her fears to rise. "Raise your weapon, and take a swing at me."
She didn't move. The bokken handle was locked in her tight grip, but she couldn't make herself move. Not even to blink.
He smiled. "Come now. Nothing? With all the people you know who've wanted to fight me?" He let the edge of his sword tip her blade. "Take a swing."
She shook her head. "I don't want to fight you," she said, barely audibly.
"It's not a fight; nothing like a real fight," he said, chuckling. "Practice. A little exercise. Occupy your mind with your body, Orihime. You'll feel better. Take your mind off more harmful ideas."
This time she did blink. She shook her head, willing herself to turn to follow his movements a few steps to her left.
"I know you're not a fighter," he said, letting his blade lower, his head cocking to one side, watching her careful study of him. "I won't hurt you. You won't get hit; I promise you that. Don't be afraid to try it."
Orihime took a deep breath, letting one foot nudge to her side. "I don't practice with swords," she said. It was true. Tsubaki was as close as she got to fighting, and the battle sprite did all of that. "Everyone tells me I'm not a fighter."
"We're not really fighting. It releases tension, and reorganizes allies."
Her eyes flicked to him.
Aizen let the edge of his blade lift hers. "You've seen it done. Some of your favorite friends didn't start out as friends. A little sparring realigns relationships. Half of Zaraki's friends are people he's beaten but not killed."
Now Orihime's hands tightened more on the sword hilt. He smiled at the gesture, seeing her posture ready.
"Good. Now, come at me like you want to strike me," he said.
It was a position anyone in Soul Society would have given their rank to have, and Orihime knew she was incapable of inflicting anything but a laugh from Sousuke Aizen.
She lunged at him, the bokken gripped fiercely in her hands, but when she swung it stiffly, she barely knocked the wooden blades together. Tapped would have been a better description of the touch.
He let her sword push his to the side, nodding. "Very good. Your first strike. Now, hit me like you know others have wanted to."
She made another equally ungainly swipe at him, wood meeting wood. The impact reverberated up the sword to her hands. She stepped back, looking at him, curiosity overwhelming her fears.
He saw it clearly in her eyes. "Put some determination into it, Orihime. You can't hurt me. Again!"
She swung the blade, this time a higher strike at his shoulder, which he blocked. She continued, half-hearted swings and swipes that had no drive behind them, only stiff movements because she was more afraid of not obeying him than of actually striking him.
"Keep one foot behind you for bracing and balance," he said as he easily knocked off her sword with his. She did and her next strike brought a loud cracking sound to the blades. "Much better."
Aizen let her beat him back a few steps, allowing her strikes to land, his blade catching the ones that went astray. After a moment her determination got the better of her, her focus on her tepid attack rather than who she was attacking.
Not that it was much of an attack, but one awkward strike landed. Genuinely landed.
Aizen caught it on his wrist.
It was a duller thud than when the wooden blades struck.
Orihime gasped, eyes widening on the back of his arm, and then going to his face. She stepped back, one hand dropping from the bokken as the air in her lungs emitted a squeak. She looked to his face, horrified.
Aizen's hand closed around her hand still on her sword hilt, a slow smile coming to his face as he read the sudden terror in hers. "Very good. I didn't expect that so soon."
"I'm sorry," she gushed. She covered her mouth with her fingers, shaking her head as he kept his hand on hers. "I didn't mean to, Aizen-sama! I'm sorry!"
He shook his head, fingers lacing over her hand on the sword hilt. "Barely a touch, Orihime. Very good."
She shook her head more forcefully, a combination of fear and disbelief welling in her as she watched his hand, readying for the moment his grip crushed her hold. "I didn't mean it."
"Of course you did," he said gently, pushing her hair from her face. She didn't see his smile, her eyes still fastened on their hands on the hilt. "That's the point of sparring; landing hits." His fingers stroked her hair over her shoulder, a few wisps having come loose from her ponytail. He touched the sole hairpin still remaining at her temple, curious. "I must say I'm surprised."
She looked up, finding amusement in his expression.
"No, you've never been a physical fighter, not even in the academy." His hand moved to her cheek, letting his thumb rub just under her eye. "Some things about you have not changed, Orihime." His gaze dropped to her lips, the slight catch in her breath as she leaned from him. "Shall we try another bout? Let you have another crack at me?"
She shook her head quickly, effectively pulling her face from his hand.
"Perhaps next time." He released her hand on the bokken hilt. He looked across the courtyard, sighing. "What else shall we do with this place?"
She gathered the sword close, following his gaze.
"The laboratory is working on life-like plants," he said, searching the perimeter of the enclosure. "They won't be real, of course, but they might give you the semblance of living plants." He turned, watching her eyes take in the courtyard. "Trees, flowers, maybe vegetables."
For a moment she tried to envision the plants in the yard. Las Noches had little color, and even less life, and trying to imagine both in the courtyard took a few minutes.
"Will they grow?" she finally asked, her gaze resting on the far perimeter where she knew one of the Espada was drilling his fraccíon.
"No."
She looked to Aizen.
"No, not really, truly grow," he added. "They'll give the impression of growing; the laboratory is working on that part right now. It's all in the engineering." He took her sword and set both of the practice weapons against the column. He turned her, his hand on the small of her back at the obi.
"I'm due at the lab now," he said, escorting her to the complex building. "They've made some progress with the Arrancar experiments. We'll continue our sparring another time."
She nodded, falling into step beside him, this time closer than most others. She sighed, partly to calm her breathing that had spiked during practice.
And from striking him.
She'd struck him. Aizen.
With a fake sword, she reminded herself.
She looked up at him as they neared the tall building wall. It was mostly a blank wall, with a few windows, two of which were overhead now. She glanced to them, seeing one with a small balcony.
"That one is yours," he said, predicting her next question.
She slowed, studying the window. On the other side of it, she knew, in the interior, was the mural. The mirage.
"We could put a garden here," he said.
Her attention snapped back to him. She looked at his arm outstretched to his other side.
"You could see it from you window, when the mural is lowered," he said.
She nodded, feeling his hand slide up her back, his fingers catch the edges of her hair.
"Would you like that?"
She wasn't sure why she felt a smile forming at her lips. She allowed part of it. "Yes, Aizen-sama."
He smiled, this time a reaction to hers rather than in hopes of drawing one from her. "Good." He turned her to walk along the building side to where the entrance was located. "Now I'll return you to your rooms."
They entered the building and wove through the same corridors they'd taken to the courtyard. Orihime chanced a better look at his wrist. There was nothing. Not so much as a red mark where the wooden sword blade had landed. She bit her lower lip, conflicting thoughts chasing through her head.
He watched the slight turmoil in her face, seeing the confusion in her lowered lashes as her glance alternately shifted from his hand to the floor and back again. He let his hand ease to her side, fingers pressing at her ribs as she looked to him.
"Since we've dueled this afternoon," he said, exaggerating the practice until she smiled, "I'll be in the lab for supper this evening. You may take your supper in your room, or the common room."
"The one attached to mine?"
He nodded.
She wasn't sure why she felt a twinge of something in the back of her mind.
"You may spend time there any time you like," he said as they turned a corner of the hall. "Day or night. It's never locked from your room. And," he continued, seeing the question forming in her face, "the outer door to the corridor is locked from inside. No one will come in and surprise or bother you."
She nodded.
He halted her at the door in the corridor she knew to be hers and opened it. "I suggest a nice bath and time to strategize for our next sparring session."
She hesitantly stepped into the room, turning to look back at him.
"I'll try to make time for you later," he promised, pausing in the doorway as her hands rested on her obi knot.
She wasn't sure why, but Orihime nodded.
Aizen left, closing the door behind him, and she turned into her rooms.
She'd already explored the set of rooms, dressed the bed and canopy with new fabric in her time there, and watched the mural in the balcony, looking for any slight movement.
There was none, and she knew the laboratory had not yet made the changes to include movement or an animal. She went to the facilities and leaned against the cool marble of the wall there. The bath was large, a sunken tub of pink and gray marble veined with streaks of white. She'd only dared one bath in the inset tub; it was quite intimidating, the sheer volume of water that it held. Plus, she felt a little guilty at leisurely soaking in it up to her chin, even as she sat on the step running around the sides. She glanced to the side near the faucets. It was slanted in to the water, unlike the step, and she had to admit she'd been tempted to slide down it once.
She didn't. That was childish. But still tempting.
This time she let the water run into it until full, her mind sifting through the day, the sparring practice, and the fact that she'd struck Sousuke Aizen.
Few could say that, and those that could were aware of the rarity.
Orihime chided herself and kneeled to feel the water. It was too warm, and she turned off one of the silver faucets and let the cooler spout run. The practice had distracted her from some of her earlier thoughts, but now alone in the spacious bathroom with only the sound of running water for company, they returned.
Her gaze dropped to her hand in the water, focusing on her wrist as the cooler water ran.
She hadn't gotten very far into those morbid thoughts when a faint knocking was heard at the outer door. She dried her arm on a thick lavender towel draped to one side of the chrome rack by the faucets and turned off the running water.
At the hall door was the taller attendant with her dinner tray. She took it and thanked her, and turned to look at her rooms.
For a moment the magnitude of staying hit Orihime again.
A slow trembling began in her stomach and welled through her.
"I can't," she whispered to no one.
A sudden sob caught her and she quickly set the tray on the table. She pulled back the cloth napkin covering the dishes. Beside the plate lay her chopsticks on a holder, and beside that, a metal knife.
She looked at it for a long moment, knowing it wasn't a very sharp knife, and then carefully pulled the napkin back over the tray.
Different thoughts buzzed through her head as she rose and went to the bathroom. She felt the water, finding it too hot still. She stood and took off the obi, pants and top, leaving them on the hook beside her house robe. She pulled it on, and then eased her hair out of the ribbon. She ran her fingers through the mussed strands, a few of her thoughts lingering in her mind.
It would be an easy way out of Las Noches, she knew. A few quick slits, deep enough to do the job.
The thought made her shudder.
She tightened the robe sash.
Maybe a last meal would give her the fortitude.
She went into the main room and took the tray, and then went into the common room. The pale green walls there were soothing, calming.
And seemed to argue against the thoughts forming in Orihime's head. She knelt at the table, eyes on the dull knife to the side of her plate. The light was low, and she didn't turn up the floor lamp against the far wall. The air was thick, stifling.
Remnants of Aizen, she thought.
She knew he could subdue his spiritual pressure – all the captains of Soul Society could, when they wished to – and she set aside the usual fears that came with his presence.
She took the knife, turning it so the blade caught the low light. For a long moment she watched it reflect, her mind turning into different directions. She wasn't sure she had the nerve, but she slipped it into her robe pocket.
"You're not taking that with you."
Orihime flinched at Aizen's voice. She quickly pivoted to see him sitting at the cushions against the side wall. He was shadowed, quiet.
"Aizen-sama..."
He stood and knelt at the table beside her, this time his spiritual presence flooding the room as she recoiled. He caught her arm, a firm hold that neither bruised nor let her move away.
"You're no fighter," he said, a somberness in his tone that made her feel guilty to look fully at him. "A knife is a close contact weapon. So taking this," he said, reaching into her robe pocket and taking the cutlery, "must have another purpose."
She looked sheepishly to the knife, forcing back a sudden urge to weep. She shook her head, gaze dropping to the floor.
Aizen pulled her closer, a movement that overpowered her feeble attempt at resistance. It wasn't much of a struggle, either. She let herself fold into his arms, the tears beginning a timid trek down her cheeks. He settled her closer, his arms surrounding her until her forehead was against his chest.
"First, I think you should know what happens to a Living soul that dies in Hueco Mundo," he said gravely into her hair. "It doesn't leave. It remains imprisoned here. There are no shinigami here to assist in helping it along to Soul Society," he reminded, one hand stroking her long hair down her back as her muted sobs pressed to his chest. "The soul stays here and becomes a Hollow."
Orihime squeezed her eyes shut, trying to press the tears back into her eyes. She shook her head, conscious of his embrace and the deep tone of his voice as she leaned to his chest.
"You don't want that," he said, hearing her sniffle.
She shook her head, pulling back enough to wipe her face with the back of her sleeve.
He titled her chin up, making her reluctantly look at him.
"There is little in the Living or shinigami psyche I have not studied," he told her in a low tone, seeing the tremble at her lips as she refused her tears. His arm lowered to her waist, his fingers turning her chin to study her eyes in the dim lighting. "Promise me no more foolishness."
Orihime swallowed slowly, gazing back at him, realizing that mesmerizing must be done in any number of ways. She nodded.
His hand at her chin titled her face higher. "A real promise, Orihime?"
She nodded, and then closed her eyes as he let her head lower. She felt him kiss the top of her hair, a slow touch that was only that. Nothing more.
She looked down, realizing she'd clutched his shirt in both hands. He'd changed, back in his usual white clothes, and she wondered if he'd gone to the laboratory at all.
She carefully released his shirt, smoothing some of the tight wrinkles before sitting back.
Aizen let her go, pushing a wave of auburn hair from her damp face. "Now eat your supper and have your bath. You need your rest, Orihime."
She nodded as he stood, still kneeling at the table.
"I'll see you in the morning."
She looked up, far up at him. She knew she was a pitiable sight, a silly, foolish girl playing at dramatics when he'd out-maneuvered the best minds of Soul Society.
He leaned down and set the knife of the table beside her tray. "Because I trust you to be smart about this," he said, his fingers grazing her cheek for a moment, "and because you promised me."
She nodded, watching his hand.
"Goodnight."
She sighed. "Goodnight, Aizen-sama."
She watched him leave out the door to the hall, hearing the click of the lock behind him.
For a moment she sat in the dim light, gaze unfocused on her plate. And the knife.
A shallower sigh escaped her, and then she turned to the table, too numb to think.
