Ladies and gentlemen, I'm back after a long period of hiatus! I am so terribly sorry and it took me a while to regain the drive to write fiction after over a year's absence… I have edited the previous three chapters to improve the flow of the story, but the plot and structure remains the same—if you have the time to revisit previous chapters, please do!
Please also leave me some reviews :) Hope you enjoy this overdue update.
CHAPTER 4: BE MORE LIKE YOU AND LESS LIKE ME
After Urahara's… excruciating treatment process—reinforced kido spells, injection of alien reiatsu into his dysfunctional body and finally a strategic stab with the inventor's benihime (because the panther tried to claw the blonde man's face off)—Grimmjow was fitted into a gigai. Inoue Orihime said now he could "walk among humans". She had left him alone in her strange apartment. "Be good and watch the house, okay," she had said when she put on her shoes. I am not the protector of your property, trash. But he had decided not to get angry at her because regrettably, he was in no condition to kill her. He suspected that her words may have been a genuine request instead of a sarcastic comment—this Inoue woman doesn't even seem normal by human standards. Is she stupid? She said many other things before she left, but he had merely stared at her with narrowed eyes, hoping that she would finally understand: most words that came out of her mouth meant little to nothing to him. But he did get the impression that she was going out to meet the others who fought alongside Kurosaki Ichigo. Perhaps a healing job she had to do? Or just a petty battle that she righteously decide to partake in?
Doesn't matter anyway. At least she's outta my mane for the time being.
So he spent an hour flexing and stretching until he felt… normal… in the meatsuit while she was gone. Looking at his own reflection on the glass sliding door that opens to the balcony area, he examined his attire: Black, white and grey flannel shirt with sleeves folded up to his elbows, and a dark grey pair of jeans. He wasn't sure what to make of the fashion. The hollow mask at his jaw was gone. The only thing that remained authentic to his hollow origins were his neon blue hair, the teal markings under his eyes and his icy irises.
Then, on the balls of his feet, he balanced himself on the balcony railings. Was the panther ready to pounce on an unsuspecting passerby? A targeted shinigami on duty?
Unfortunately for him, no. The sexta was just contemplating the odds of landing gracefully on the ground that is eight floors below as he perched on the balcony. He decided not to risk it. There was only so much humiliation he could take, after all.
Sighing in misery Grimmjow draped himself lazily on a tatami mat—something he was quite used to by now. In fact he was getting used to a lot of human things that the woman uses and the way humans function: sleep, eat, talk, regular travels and chores such as school and cleaning, eat again, talk more, and finally always sleep again because she can become dopey if she stayed up late. Grimmjow especially hated that he was already used to her incessant human talk, even though he did not truly listen.
To think that I am reduced to trash like this. Trash like her. And be friggin' okay with it.
He was strong before. He could stand up to anyone he wanted to, even if it meant dying. In Hueco Mundo, everybody is born dead. It is the afterlife. Those that 'live' in death are those who fight and devour. There will be no light at the end of the tunnel. The moment he had grown strong enough to have consciousness, to have thought and the backbone that came with it, Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez—the Arrancar—knew his one true purpose: he must fight.
To him, being named an Espada just meant getting more fights that put his existence on the line. He wanted that danger. Having the freedom to cease existing while fulfilling his purpose was the only concept of freedom he understood.
Grimmjow mused how he was now forced to eradicate that purpose, that freedom, that life that he knew. His mind's eye travelled the desserts of Hueco Mundo and eventually found the parch of dreadful white. Las Noches. The white dome that sat in the sand formed by millions of hollow dust. Whenever he caught a whiff of that dust he would remember the aftertaste of carcasses.
F'cking dust made of f'cking weak hollows.
Grimmjow couldn't help but frown at that thought.
F'cking bat dying off like that.
He imagined a pair of green eyes staring at nothing as their owner lay lifelessly on the dome. He imagined those green pupils losing their light, becoming the colour of dead seaweed. And he imagined a crying Inoue Orihime crouched next to that corpse of a man. He could almost hear her sobs and whimpers.
Ulquiorra.
In Grimmjow's imagination that corpse looked so very human. That corpse was without black wings, without horns, without that whipping tail and that air of haughtiness that was Ulquiorra Schiffer's resurrection form… Oh so very human.
And the corpse in his invented scenario was in a loose emerald green robe instead of a white uniform, matching the green streaks on the Quatro Espada's face. Those streaks. They were prominent as the man pales from marble white to ashen grey, his body—starting with his limbs—slowly disintegrating into black dust. Those green markings had always looked like tear streaks and now they mirrored the weeping woman's sorrow. But Grimmjow would like to think that those were angry tear streaks.
Grimmjow wished Ulquiorra had died angry, as angry and hateful of the world as Grimmjow himself was. Yet he knew the truth was that Ulquiorra was never, ever, anything like himself. The green-eyed abomination was complacent even in death; Grimmjow could hear the bat's proud voice in his head:
"If I live, I live. If I die, I die."
"I want to be free. To hate, to get angry and to fight freely. If I had to become something other than what I am now, I'll be damn sure to not be like you," Grimmjow snarled at the bat.
Ulquiorra was however unfazed. A finger pointed at the panther's throat, he had a cero tingling within the white flesh of his hand. "I suggest you stay low, Jaegerjaquez. We could use more peace and quiet here."
"Peace and quiet? My ass. It is Mother f'king Nature that I fight whoever comes my way… You, included. How is picking a fight with a scrawny shinigami trouble? Arrancars versus shinigami—like I said, Nature."
"We are under strict orders to wait. The fight will come to us. Creating unnecessary casualties does not work to our favour now," the bat countered.
"It even pains me to say this. You. You! Are. Whipped."
"What are you implying?"
"I don't get it, Ulquiorra…-sama," Grimmjow replied sarcastically. "What are you fighting for? If not because you're afraid of Aizen, if not to carry out your so-called duties so that you can protect that trash—trash you are treating like a princess! Then what!"
Ulquiorra lowered his hand and stepped away from his snarling colleague. "I have no interest in pursuing this discussion," he narrowed his eyes before he continued, "but for the record, I am not protecting Inoue Orihime. I am holding her prisoner."
"Then you must really like your prisoner, so much so that she likes you too," the panther laughed heartily, recalling his little encounter with the wench when Ulquiorra was away, and how nervous she had been without her guardian. She thrived in Las Noches only because the bat was there for her. Grimmjow knew it. Unlike the bat, he could read basic human emotions. It was obvious that the woman had grown attached.
"How or what she feels about the situation is not my concern. Nor yours. My message to you today is that you are not to leave Hueco Mundo without orders again." Ulquiorra proceeded to walk away. As an afterthought, he added, "It would be a nuisance to have to kill you before the battle with Kurosaki Ichigo commence."
"Just what is your purpose here, Ulquiorra!" Grimmjow yelled in frustration.
Ulquiorra turned to look at the panther once again. "I am but an existence. I do not seek to accomplish anything. If I live, I live. If I die, I die. What I do in between, is instinct, which very apparently, differ from yours."
With that, Ulquiorra left Grimmjow steaming alone in the hall. The blue panther huffed in annoyance then made an abrupt leave for his own quarters.
To think that you're someone I want to defeat some day, yet you're okay with dying any day, any second of your existence… What made you feel okay to drop dead… even without a good fight?
Little did Grimmjow knew back then, that 'princess' Ulquiorra was guarding had the answer to that question. In fact, she was the answer.
And Grimmjow still didn't know that in Ulquiorra's final moment of existence, right before he had faded to join the worthless pile of sand under the ruins of Las Noches, the proud Quatro Espada used the last speckle of strength to reach out to the human girl named Inoue Orihime.
Ulquiorra had died wishing that she would remember him and remember what they had. And there and then he decided: if she decided not to honour that last wish, he would settle for having had a glimpse of her heart. It was okay. It was okay to leave despite his reluctance. It was okay to leave now. It was okay that Ulquiorra Schiffer, was no more.
The woman came home late. She missed two of her eating times and by the time she showed up, she was only interested in going to bed. Yet she still managed to mutter her usual greetings. He ignored her, absent-mindedly watching the human world outside by the balcony glass door,
"This is a look I could get used to," she commented on his gigai.
He finally turned to look at her. You're filthy, onna.
"I am used to coming home to you nowadays, but now you remind me of… my brother," she added with a small smile.
Brother? Having a human appearance makes me your brother? Ridiculous.
She eyed the photo sitting on the pedestal with joss sticks. Grimmjow watched her.
Your dead brother.
She proceeded to tell him that she had to shower so as to remove the dirt and blood from her hair and skin. The similarly filthy clothes, Grimmjow assumed, will be put in the basket for the time being and then into the washing contraption the next morning.
What did that stone cold bat see in her?
For one she didn't look bad. She was probably attractive among humans. Her head of orange hair irked him, because it reminded him of Kurosaki. Apart from that though, her facial features were soft—on her heart-shaped face were gentle grey eyes framed by long lashes, supple skin that had a little pink in it, lips that… Whatever. As if the bat cared about details like that. Or did he?
He followed her. She moved sluggishly toward the bathroom.
Sluggish now, otherwise good posture. She does have long legs. And she's endowed…
"What's the matter?" She interrupted his train of thoughts.
She had turned a corner and finally entered the bathroom but promptly noticing him behind her, she now looked at him questioningly.
He replied by leaning on the doorframe, still eyeing her curiously.
"I don't suppose you're here to ask how was my day?"
A moment of silence passed.
She stared tiredly at him. Sweeping a lock of hair away from her eyes she decided to say whatever there was to say. "It was horrible. Sado-kun bled a lot. I patched him up. Other than that, I did my best to provide shields when necessary but I… was never enough to fight off the enemy. I'm pretty useless, I guess. And Kurosaki-kun always insists on protecting me, uh, protecting everyone. Just… It's just that I feel especially useless when with him. Rukia, Ishida, Sado-kun… they blossom at his side, you know?"
Grimmjow continued to look at her, observing her. No, I don't know.
"Well this is awkward," she smiled only to have it quickly turn into a frown. "Something's changed ever since… Las Noches."
Now we're talking. He raised a brow crossed his arms, ready to listen.
She caught the glint in his eyes and knew he wanted to hear more. "Ever since… Kurosaki-kun killed Ulquiorra. I don't feel like myself anymore. I am not on the same page with them. I mean, look, I even got you here." She managed to give him another bitter smile.
How exactly, did Ulquiorra die?
She was looking down at her feet. Grimmjow watched and wondered if she was reliving the scenes of Ulquiorra's death. With a sudden deep breath she looked up again, eyes glassy. He frowned.
"But I don't suppose you're interested in my life. Well, Grimmjow-san, I need my privacy, if you don't mind."
Yet he didn't budge.
"Please."
She reached for the doorknob. Suppose she could force him out of the way and slam the door shut…
With an outstretched arm he propped the door open, wider than before, while she tugged hopelessly at the doorknob. That ain't working. Grimmjow was now sporting a wild grin.
"What do you want?!"
I want to understand Ulquiorra. I want to understand what he did to you.
"If you want to say something… If you… If you would only let me fix your voice!" She moved towards him and he saw her reach for the hairpins still stuck in her hair.
He gave her a stern scowl. No, out of the question. And I want to understand what YOU did to him!
He slapped her hands away from her head, the force sending her a few steps backward. She stumbled but regained balance. Her cheeks were red with fury. "What's your problem, Grimmjow!"
Almost sorry that he struck her—somewhat struck her—he lost his mirth and his face became solemn. You and Ulquiorra. What exactly happened between you. You. Ulquiorra. That bastard who died.
"And now you're all serious. I don't understand. Can we… Can we just deal with this later?"
No. Now. It's been bugging me all friggin' day!
"You're not moving, I see," she sighed, exasperated. "Can't I take a bath and talk to you when I'm clean? We can figure out a way to communicate. Pen and paper, maybe?"
He narrowed his eyes, weighing his options. He didn't like the idea of doing more human-like things. But the idea of never knowing felt dreadful to him at the moment.
"Unless you have a better suggestion. Because the longer you stand here, the longer we won't have anything done. I don't know what you want right now."
He removed his hand from the door. Pen and paper it is.
"Thank you."
Get cleaned up and we… communicate when you smell better.
And then the door slammed in his face.
HOPE YOU LIKED THIS CHAPTER, PEEPS. R&R!
THE ROMANCE BEGINS.