The Primera floated just off the northern coast of Weaver's Isle, rounding the island's fragrantly tree-lined seaboard as a breeze brought the scent of ylang ylang to the few fortunate crewmen watching from the ship's rail that dusk.
Ulquiorra was not usually one given to appreciating beauty, but the scent riding the wind reminded him of his favorite prisoner, one who'd left his keep too early, in his opinion.
Further down the rail stood Grimmjow on the main deck, also looking to the island they'd been circling for a day. While he didn't quite harbor the sentiments Ulquiorra did, the alluring scent on the breeze did remind him of the girl who'd healed his arm. He gave the tall trees lining the hills a piercing look.
"You're thinking about her." He said it to Ulquiorra, but expected no reply from the usually stoic guard. On some level, they all were, Grimmjow knew, thinking about the prisoner's island home they were now preparing to attack. No one seemed too interested in the current mission, not once they'd gotten out from under Aizen's influence in the desert compound. Perspectives had become skewed, or maybe more sharply focused. He glanced to Ulquiorra, who was still watching the tall, scented trees rustle in the rising breeze.
"So are you," Ulquiorra said, not looking to him. "It's a beautiful island. I don't understand the logic in destroying any of it."
Grimmjow put one foot on the base of the rail of the Primera's side. He leaned both elbows on the rail, secretly enjoying the perfumed breeze ascending from the tall trees. "Doesn't matter if you understand or not." He chuckled, watching Ulquiorra scowl. "Questioning your orders?"
Ulquiorra shot him a dark look. "Of course not." His attention went to the center of the ship. The Primera was a three-masted ship, deep in draft and faster than her captain generally was. She'd moved unnoticed around Weaver's Isle the last day, far enough from the few ports to remain unseen, close enough to get a good bearing on the small land mass' weaknesses.
There was no navy, no fleet of ships to put up any fight against the few ships Aizen planned on using against the island, and no ally to call for aid. The mainland would give no support, as the Emperor had decreed, and no one traded with any regularity to notice problems with the island. At the center of the ship were five catapults, each with a range capable of reaching far into the island while remaining a safe distance from the coast. Each was also equipped with a growing number of steel crates of waxed and oiled round cork plugs as large as a man's head.
Ulquiorra's gaze flicked to the other crates, the more ignitable ones of thick arrows ready to send flaming projectiles into the limbs once the cork balls were nestled in the ylang ylang trees. It was an incendiary tactic, one designed to burn down one of the island's most coveted resources. Aizen wanted the island and was in no mood to use further diplomatic channels; its governor was dead, Aizen's favorite ransom escaped. It was time to move along another avenue of his plans.
Grimmjow gave the catapults a glimpse, then looked to where the first mate, Lilynette, was sitting at the quarterdeck stairs. He wasn't entirely sure of the gender of the first mate, but according to Captain Starrk, it was female. He glanced to Ulquiorra, noticing the other guardsman was silently counting the cork balls.
A sudden explosion from deeper within the island echoed out, followed by a column of purple-gray smoke that rose at the west end.
"What the hell was that?" Grimmjow stood straight, seeing the plume disperse into the darkening sky. "Did Aizen send anyone else?"
Ulquiorra was also studying the smoke.
From the fore of the ship there was a thundering of feet as the rest of the crew emerged from the forecastle.
Grimmjow looked back to Lilynette, who seemed only vaguely interested in the smoke. "Go get your lazy captain!"
She gave him a sour look, and then hopped down the steps and dove into the captain's cabin at the rear of the ship below the quarterdeck.
Grimmjow looked back to the smoke. It was dissolving into the night, spreading out among the few stars twinkling over the water.
"Someone else," Ulquiorra said, frowning at the smoke. "Could there be someone else here already? With the governor dead, anyone could easily attack the island."
Grimmjow gave a lethal chuckle. "Someone got to one of Aizen's prizes before he could? Ha!"
Ulquiorra gave him a look of warning. "Your non-compliance in matters has been noted, Grimmjow."
The taller guard shrugged, one hand resting on the sword at his side. "What of it?" His eyes followed the thinning smoke. "You made adjustments for that little flower while she was under your care."
Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed on the island.
Grimmjow didn't say aloud what he thought; the prisoner Ulquiorra had been so cautious about had been unlike their usual detainees. "Perhaps your lord has made a mistake in some of his plans."
Ulquiorra's gaze was still on the island. "I don't see the reasoning in this battle," he finally said.
Grimmjow had given parts of Aizen's plans much thought; he had the inkling Ulquiorra had, too. "Nnoitra is gone. This Starrk fellow is more pirate than captain," he said in a lower tone. "Aizen hasn't got the fleet he damn well needs to take on the mainland. You know that."
From behind them came a loud yawn and a scuffle of boots. They both looked back at the captain of the Primera. He was a lanky, dark-haired man more interested in a hammock than orders, and he was now leaning at the open doorway of the rear cabin, looking at the island without much interest.
Starrk yawned again, nodding to his crew gathering at the front of the ship, a low murmur of voices as the sailors pointed to the smoke. He looked back to Ulquiorra and Grimmjow, nodding to each.
Ulquiorra turned to Grimmjow. "I know that," he said in response to their previous conversation, his tone dropping, seeing there was more to Grimmjow's stunted observation. "I'm still listening."
Renji awoke the next morning to a throbbing pain shooting through him. It began in his left side and radiated up through his ribs, ending in various spots in his torso. He kept his eyes shut, feeling the Scarlet Reaper sway on the waters, the side to side motion rocking the hull like a large cradle.
It was a few minutes more before he did open his eyes, realizing the movement was wrong; for the past three weeks the ship had been a to and fro movement when he slept at the desk chair, but now, as his eyes adjusted to the early morning light of the bedroom, he recalled he was in bed. His bed.
He automatically looked to the mattress beside him, for a brief moment wondering what had become of the girl who'd claimed his bed lately. He sighed in relief, the exhale bringing on another bout of pain, as he saw Orihime at the other edge of the bed, half tangled in sheets. She was facing away from him, her form buried under the sheet across her waist and hips, the material gripped to her chin in both hands.
He took a careful moment to settle on his side and pulled the excess of sheet over her, draping it across her as his ribs rebelled in pain at the movement. For a moment he watched her breathe, seeing the rise and fall of her chest in sleep, her eyes closed in exhaustion.
His fingers touched her skin as he moved the sheet, finding her shoulder cold. He sat up, ignoring the assorted pains in his chest and side.
He put one hand to her shoulder, her skin uncannily cool.
"Orihime," he said, letting her fingers close over her shoulder. "Orihime?"
She slept on, her skin too cool for Renji's liking. He pulled more of the sheet over her, not quite tucking it around her as securely as he thought it should be, or as he wanted to, but enough, he hoped, to bring back some of her escaped body heat.
The room was cool, but warming in the early morning's foggy gray light seeping through the mostly drawn blinds. It was too warm in the room for her to feel so cool, he determined, and the shooting pain in his side reminded him of what little she'd explained of her healing abilities.
His hand rubbed over her bare shoulder near the lilac slip strap, her cool skin absorbing none of his own heat.
"Just sleep," he told her, leaning a little farther over his side to see her face. Her eyes remained shut, sleeping heavily beneath a shock of auburn hair that fell over her face.
He pushed her hair away, settling it at her shoulder, and as an afterthought, let his fingers smooth the soft waves at her temple. He'd wanted to do that for a long time. She slept on, and almost reluctantly he took the opportunity to let a thick auburn strand slip between his fingers, pulling the tresses to lie at the back of her neck. In that slight disturbance he could see where the hair met her scalp.
Now he sat up fully, sitting closer to her back as she slept on. He moved her hair to one side at her temple, where she always stopped his hand when he made any attempt to touch her hair. Amid the soft strands he could see a pattern on her scalp, a henna-colored tattoo, it appeared to be, of three small flowers in a row. He smoothed her hair away to see it better.
The three flowers were in a line, each touching the others, their detailing in dark henna color. He studied it for a moment, and then gently covered the spot, grinning a little at the soft fragrance of heady amber and ylang ylang on her.
He covered her better with the sheet and turned to give his ribs a cursory look. Everything was intact, no open wounds, no further injury; just a lot of bruising amid the black tattoos.
His thoughts returned to the henna colored flowers. So the tentative story he'd built around her may not be correct. Perhaps, he knew, neither was the one she'd told him.
He got out of bed and slowly dressed. The movements of pulling on fresh pants and a clean shirt brought on more pain, but he kept his complaints to a minimum, not wanting to wake Orihime.
It didn't look to him like she was aware of anything; in fact, she seemed deadened to anything going on. He wasn't sure he liked that. He took a moment to examine closer the wounds Nnoitra had so happily inflicted. His ribs were bruised, but there was no swelling, no lacerations, the injuries marked only by the purple-blue beneath his skin. It was more than he could have hoped for. He pulled on his boots.
Renji had been across enough of the water and in the darker of ports to know a woman's scalp was tattooed for few reasons. No brother, husband, or father would ever do such to any woman he loved.
But masters, slave owners in particular, that was another matter. And to mark a woman's scalp was a definition of another sort.
He scowled at the bed, his eyes moving over the shapely figure beneath the sheets.
Slaves were branded and tattooed. Pleasure slaves, however, were tattooed such as Orihime was.
He belted his scabbard on and went on deck.
The main deck of the Scarlet Reaper was still ravaged from the battle the day before. Crewmen were in stages of inebriation, sleeping against the rails and barrels, most bandaged, but whole. The ship was heading due west, to the mainland, and to Middle Rock, a good port to lick wounds and patch a wrecked vessel. Renji had become well-acquainted with the harbor during his sail with Zaraki.
"Hey, you're moving around good, Captain," Izuru greeted as he caught up with Renji. He nodded, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "She wouldn't let me tend you; said you were taken care of." Under other circumstances, Izuru would have made more of the comment, but Renji didn't look like he was in the mood for it. "You okay, Renji?"
"She patched me up fine." He nodded. "How are we on water?"
"Better than I thought." Izuru looked sheepish beneath his abrasions and slight bruises. "We had two more barrels of freshwater mislabeled in the back hold. We're good until the mainland."
Renji nodded again, his attention going to where Broc was emerging from the forecastle in the sparse fog still shrouding the deck. "Good. I want to unload some of our crew and pick up crew hands we know. I want no more surprises."
Izuru frowned. "You think that Nnoitra will be back?"
"If he's alive, yeah." He looked the blond man over. "You okay?"
Izuru nodded. "Been better, but yeah."
"Good." Renji watched Broc move among the injured, kicking a few feet of those who didn't move out of his path. "You know, I knew from the beginning she could be lying about everything," he said after a moment. Izuru was as close a friend as he had, and a confident, even when drunk. "She doesn't have to lie to me."
Izuru glanced to the companionway entry and then back to Renji. "You think she is? Why would she lie?"
Renji shrugged against his better judgment, his ribs protesting. "Lady Kuchiki said the other prisoners held hostage lied all the time. Sometimes they said they were daughters, sometimes wives. But," he said, sighing, "sometimes they said they were wealthy when at other times they'd admitted they were merely servants." He looked to Izuru. "Aizen took the wrong women and girls sometimes, and some of them wanted to be worth more than they were. Increase their chances of getting ransomed out of hell, I guess."
Izuru looked more slowly to the quarterdeck, thinking over the possibility. "You can't blame them – her – for something like that, Renji." He frowned. "But you said her ransom had been paid several times. That Nnoitra didn't come after her because she was worthless. Someone cares."
"I don't care what she is, where she's from." Renji looked to the sky as the milky sun shone brighter, slowly burning off the morning fog. "Something doesn't make sense about her."
"Did she tell you something?"
"No." It was a telltale sign close to Renji, having served in the Kuchiki estate. "She hasn't lied to me, but what I thought she might be...well, I guess it could still be true. Have you ever heard of slavery on Weaver's Isle?"
For a moment Izuru didn't answer, rather staring back with more than his typical misgivings. "No," he said slowly. "You think she's a slave?"
"Not exactly." Renji shook his head. "Forget it. It doesn't matter anyway."
"No one really knows what goes on on Weaver's Isle," Izuru said. "The Emperor wants it that way. You probably know more than most mainlanders."
"The inhabitants there keep to themselves. I only met the dock master and a few merchants."
For a moment they both watched the slight fog lift, allowing the day to warm and bring out the smell of blood from the damp deck boards. The able-bodied crew set about bringing up buckets of lye and salt water to wash down the deck.
Izuru debated asking, and then said, "You think she's hiding something? Who she is?"
"I know she's hiding something; it just isn't what I thought she was." Renji grinned. "Guess we all do, huh?"
Izuru nodded. "Sometimes, yeah."
Renji ran through every scenario he could think of that day to explain what he knew of Orihime from the Hueco Mundo prison. Every theory had its flaws and broke apart when he tried to fit together what he thought he knew and what she'd told him.
It didn't matter, most of what could be lies, he knew, but he did want the truth from her. That mattered.
He watched her sleep the last few hours that evening, nursing a bottle of brandy to take the edge off the pain in his ribs. His vigil from the table in the bedchamber had changed from curious musings to a growing concern over her lengthy sleep. By early evening she'd warmed up, her skin growing to a more normal temperature, and as often as he checked her shoulder, Renji didn't inspect her scalp again.
When Orihime opened her eyes groggily to the dim light of the oil lamp it was nearly sunset. She let her eyes adjust, her weariness still taxing her. She slowly pulled the sheets back, at first unaware of Renji still sitting at the table. She flinched when she saw him, yelping as she instinctively gathered the sheets to her chest.
"Oh! How, how are you feeling, Renji?"
He nodded. "I'm fine, thanks to you. Are you all right? You slept the whole day."
She smiled. "Yes, I...I was just so tired. Still am." In the oil lamplight from the table she could see the large bruises at his ribs through the open shirt he wore. His hair was still down, but pulled back in a loose braid, and it reminded her that hers was probably a mess. "Are you really okay?"
He nodded. "Hungry?"
"Oh, yes."
He let her get dressed and wash up as he went into the first room to see about her dinner, at odds with a few thoughts running through his mind.
Orihime was oblivious to Renji's dilemma as she changed into the lavender silk dress. It was too late to dress for a day that had expired, but she wanted out of the night slip for a bit. She washed her face and combed her hair, tucking the thin braid under her hair. She was pleased Renji was healing, but he seemed quieter than his normal self. She assumed it was the usual weariness of injury and battle.
She herself was still exhausted, the healing sapping most of her strength that had not fully returned. When she got to the table, the room was empty, her plate at the table, Renji gone.
Orihime sighed and sat down to eat, listening to the sounds of the crewmen above on deck. Even after she finished eating there was no sign of Renji, and she sat at the bench by the open window to watch the starlight play over the dark rippling waves on the water. He returned half an hour later and found her sitting.
"Get enough to eat?"
"Yes," she said, moving part of her skirt from the bench to give him room to sit down.
He sat beside her, refusing to groan at the dull pain his ribs sent through him. "Is it always like that after you heal someone, Orihime?" he asked. "Sleeping so long."
She nodded. "Sometimes. Depending on the injury." Her eyes went to the bruise at his side, and then to the tattoos crossing his chest before meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry I slept so long, Renji."
He shook his head. "That's not a problem." He let one arm rest on the window frame, his fingers barely touching her shoulder, the shoulder that had earlier been so cold he'd been worried. "I told you before that you can tell me things, Orihime."
She nodded, looking to each of his eyes. "I will."
"Anything." His finger traced a stand of hair laying over the curve of her shoulder. "When I decided to take you out of the prison, when I decided to come back after we found Rukia," he said, "I didn't know who you were. I didn't care. It still doesn't matter."
She sighed, looking down to where her knee was settled against his. "I know. Thank you. It was a chance you didn't have to take for me."
"I don't care if you're not worth another ransom to your brother, or whoever has paid for your return," he said gently, "and nor do I care if there is no brother."
Her large eyes rose to his quickly. "But I do have a brother, Renji."
He nodded. "Whatever past you have, it doesn't matter. And if you don't want to go back to it, don't want to go home, you don't have to. I won't take you anywhere you don't want to go."
She frowned, sensing something different in this conversation than the others. "If I don't want to go home?"
"Yes." He watched her fingers smooth her skirt between them. "I saw the tattoo beneath your hair. You don't have to go back –"
"You saw...? Is it still there?" She leaned away from him, her hand automatically going to her hair, fingers probing. "It's not a tattoo, Renji." Her voice broke. "Is it still there?"
"Yes."
"All...all of it?"
He frowned. "Yes. Of course all of it, I think. Three flowers." He put a hand over hers, feeling her fingers tense. He lowered her hand, the resistance in her trembling fingers making him rethink his theories. "If you have a master, I'll not take you back. You don't have to go back."
Orihime's hand stilled in his, her comprehension slowly catching up to his innuendo. "You think...you think I'm a slave, Renji?"
"Are you?"
She looked down to their hands, sighing slowly as his hand slipped beneath her hair. "I'm not a slave. I guess it does look like a marking of sorts," she said quietly, looking back to him. "It's a birthmark. My aunt said it's what allows me to heal. I'm not supposed to show anyone or tell anyone about it. My brother is very protective of me, and that's why he took us away from our parents to..." she hesitated, searching his face for a moment. "To Weaver's Isle."
For a moment he simply looked at the cascade of auburn hair covering the mark, the lamplight flickering warm tones over her. He glanced back to her face, seeing the mixture of hopefulness and reserve still in her eyes. "That's how you heal?"
She nodded.
"I figured you were from Weaver's Isle." He grinned, bringing a smile from her. "But if it's not the truth, Orihime, you can still tell me."
"It's the truth." She let her hand go to the edge of his open shirt, still tempted to ask him other questions.
His hand left hers and circled around her waist, bringing her closer on the bench until she instinctively settled both arms around his neck, stirring the scent of amber stronger. She felt her pulse jump as he pressed his lips to hers, the firm pressure warm and inviting in a way she hadn't yet experienced. He pulled her against him, her lips responding eagerly to his, a little awkward in anticipation yet softly supple as they followed his movements.
For a moment Orihime let her eyes close, conscious only of the breathless movements of his mouth on hers, his arms strong around her, oblivious to anything else on the ship until her fingers were locked in his hair at the nape of his neck. She didn't know when she had pulled him as tightly to herself as she had, but when he let her ease away a moment later she found herself reluctant to part even slightly.
She sat back a bit, still content to be close against him, her fingers moving softly down the back of his neck, unknowingly crossing the black marks there. She caught her breath, smiling as he lightly kissed the corner of her mouth.
"You should go back to bed," he said, inhaling the enticing scent of her skin, calling out a fortitude of morals he hadn't summoned in a while. "Alone, tonight." He grinned at her blush in the starlight from the window. "Catch up on your strength, Orihime."
She nodded, sighing in his arms, still weary and strangely exhilarated at the same time. "I will," she said, putting off her questions until another moment.
He let her settle back onto the bench and kissed her lips once more. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Renji."
Author's Note: Rating to raise to M in the next chapter. Thanks for reading!
