The morning after our talk, Ulquiorra and I once again ventured down to the training grounds, and I officially met each of the captains and their subordinates. Each acted as though they knew me well, the pretty one treating me with a little envy, his bald best friend with a lot of interest. Ulquiorra kept close during that particular, slightly lacking, conversation. The big tall one was terrifying, until a little pink head and giant eyes popped up from his back. "Jiggles!" she cried, and that triggered yet another memory. They were all so random, what seemed familiar and what didn't.

To my surprise, Ichigo, instead of being in a far off place training, joined the party of perhaps 20 people or more. I constantly checked the nature of the eye contact, if any, between the brown and vivid greens, and, to my amazement, it seemed to have lost most of its animosity. Ichigo was quiet, but in a way that seemed...guilty. The kind of look a puppy gives when he's done something wrong, and doesn't want to admit it.

Later that morning, having left and trusted Ulquiorra to talk with Urahara, who called him over personally, I caught up with Rukia, who was talking with her elder brother. Honestly, the man never smiled. Not even with his own family.

Seeing me approaching, her brother uttered a couple of words, and dashed away in that irritating manner. Rukia turned, and smiled kindly. "Hey, Orihime. How is he getting along?"

"He's okay," I said, shrugging. "He's with Urahara."

The little girl nodded. "Its weird seeing you without him," she observed, a little knowing look in her eyes. I blushed at the implication behind her eyes.

"Shut up," I said, pathetically, because I began grinning uncontrollably. This was why I liked her so much; she didn't judge, she knew the whole story, maybe more than me, and she still spoke of Ulquiorra and me like two friends with obvious feelings for each other. Not like two very different people of two very different kinds, on opposite ends of the spectrum, once enemies. Not like he was dead, and I was alive.

She was grinning too, but didn't push it further. "So, what's up?"

"Erm, actually I just wanted to ask you about Ichigo; you seem the closest to him here."

She stared for a couple of breathes, and shrugged with slightly forced flippancy. "Actually, up until a couple of weeks ago, we hadn't seen each other for about a year." Her voice didn't match her expression. "He's...quite different from when I last knew him."

"How so?"

"Oh, hes always been arrogant with a natural hero complex, childish, brash, opinionated. But when I came back, its as though..."

I decided to push, it seemed likely that she'd not spoken about this to anyone. "Did something happen? While you were away?"

She looked away, down behind, and tears brimmed in her eyes. "He lost his sister. I think, instead of grieving out of lost, he's grieved out of guilt; that damn hero complex. Its useless when you've lost your powers. Its why he came back; hes trying to find her. Now he's a soul reaper, he can go back to the soul society."

"So, why hasn't he?"

She gave me a fast, sharp look. "Why do you think he's been so short with you? Sure its partly because of Ulquiorra; but he's also logical to a fault. He's prioritised this place; Captain Hitsuguya has taken the responsibility of finding Karin."

I let that sink in; maybe I had severely misjudged Ichigo. I mean, I never hated him, or even disliked him as a person. I just...disliked some aspects. I felt the guilt follow, and hoped i'd not given him such a hard time.

"Rukia, do you think that Ichigo and Ulquiorra might ever get along?"

I didn't expect a straight yes or a maybe, but I didn't want it to be a 'no'. Apparently, Ichigo and I were close enough for him to risk his own life to save me, and I thought that maybe I might help him in return. But now I had Ulquiorra, and I wanted him close, too. Rukia was giving this some thought.

She shook her head, but it was slow and uncertain enough to allow a niggling of hope to seep through. I wanted so much for him to fit in neatly, and Ichigo seemed to be the odd one out in the puzzle. They worked against each other like magnets.

"Hmm," I thought outloud.

"I saw some improvement today though," she offered, "that he didn't try to kill him."

I giggled lightheartedly, looking down at my shoes and the dusty ground beneath them. "Yeah, I guess that's a start."

...

The podiums stood grey and flawless, like stages for a show that no one but the actors were meant to see. But this one was meant to be seen. Just by me. And it was meant to hurt. I was intended to feel crippling agony.

Ichigo's orange head stuck out at the only colour of the scene, a large clawed hand gripped around his neck, scruffy and bruised from the battles he'd endured. But not for one second did I believe they were entirely for me.

I couldn't hear what the demonic man above was saying, but it was a taunt so strong, I felt the breathy, ghost like intent smother me, wrap around me like a snake.

No, not Ichigo...don't...don't kill...Ichigo...

A huge burst of light so bright, I could only tell the colour of green in the after image. By then it was too late; I felt it, I felt the change of sound, the feel of the air, of the scent. Ichigo fell limp to the ground, and it wasn't acting. Least of all was Ulquiorra.

I felt a voice rip from my lungs, so strong, but I didn't care if it bled. A limp sac of something plummeted to the ground before me, and crashed, leaving behind a cloud, concealing him from view.

I ran. I raced until my chest was sore from the sharp cold heaving in and out. "Ichigo!"

I threw out my powers to heal him, and almost crashed into and shattered the veil i'd created. I pushed and forced all I had into it the best I could. It wasn't enough.

I tried, and I tried, until seconds fell into the longest minutes of my life. I shattered, and the bright pane of light followed me.

I shouted. I shouted the first thing that filled my thoughts.

Ichigo.

I repeated his name, over and over and over, but his eyes stayed wide and brown and blank. Nothing happened. I called harder, as though my voice was going somewhere.

A crushing force threw me, and brought me out. A flash of bright, dark orange flew up, and a body rose before me. Ichigo no longer lay there...but the body standing over me, it wasn't him.

...

The following morning, the woman was absent. I awoke, apparently having made sleep a frequent activity, to a feeling of coldness where she should have been. Unsettlement over came me. I instantly shot into sitting, and all but ran from the room.

"Ishida. Could you tell me where the woman is?" I asked just as the man in question exited his room, his eyes heavy with the early morning rise. He jumped, ever so slightly, at the sound of my voice. "Ulquiorra. You're up early."

I shook my head. "I've overslept."

He frowned, and altered the formation of the stack of books in his hands, staring at me in an effort to appear absent minded. "Hardly. It's 5 30."

I was about to argue, before questioning myself; why would he lie? That's foolish. Instead, I closed my eyes, thinking.

"Orihime has gone; could you point me to her?"

He shook his head in reply, still staring. "Have you ... have you tried the training grounds? That's probably where Rukia is."

I slid my hands in my black pants pockets, and nodded in thanks, maintaining my calm. Of course, she was in no danger, and therefore I could not justify my concern. I rounded the corner, through the hallway, in a slow pace to accommodate my thoughtful mood. My head felt heavy with it, too much stacking up and piling. Nothingness, neurotic nonsense. Flashes of the previous night's dreams. The emptiness in my stomach. The itch at the base of my throat.

I found myself in the irritatingly familiar dining room, pushed the button in routine nonchalance, stepped down the steps in a systematic way. My eyes scanned for the familiar orange head, but she wasn't far; she was next to the man as irritating as his traps and his house of riddles. Both were sat at the bottom of the steps, the woman making a sound I wasn't particularly fond of, nor unfamiliar with.

"Orihime?"

The girl jumped, hiccupped, and turned. Her wide, sore, wet eyes grew. I hated the look she gave me; it didn't make me angry, as such, but I didn't like it. It was a ghost of the one she gave that thing we encountered back in the town; the tall man. Thinking about it, I felt a stab of memory with him.

"Ul-Ulquiorra," she wimpered as she frantically wiped her eyes, which was useless, because new ones formed and fell as quick as the last. "Erm, we need to talk. Quick." She stood, taking my hand, and practically dragged me by my hand up the steps. "Orihime, what-"

She didn't listen. She kept running.

She pushed me into one of the bathrooms, next door to our shared bedroom, closed the door, and turned to see me again for the first time in 2 minutes. She sighed, her chest shaking. Was that the crying?

"Ulquiorra..." She whispered, drawing closer to me. Her eyes were frightened and sad. "Turn around."

I obeyed, keeping my eyes on her for a fraction of a moment, worry building up, like earlier. But now, I was certain something was wrong. I almost didn't look, I almost refused. But I had to know.

I turned my head, only to meet my own eyes in the mirror. The green in the irises was forever becoming more vivid, but that wasn't the only change.

I traced a pale finger down the left tear mark, dripping a perfect line from my eye. It was faded slightly. "What is it?" I said flatly. I didn't want to look into her eyes, weary of what I would see in them. I simply looked into my eyes closer, only to find the odd shape of my pupil; long and thin.

"You're...I think...I think you're...reverting."

"Not exactly."

We both turned to the new voice, leaning on the frame of the open doorway. Ishida.

"Uryu," Orihime observed. He nodded.

"What do you mean, 'not exactly',?"

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Perhaps we should speak with Urahara. And Ichigo."

"What does he have to do with what's happening hear?" Orihime quizzed, though her voice was softer than when she usually spoke of that man. She asked as though the Ishida genuinely had the answer. I knew that he did, by instinct.

"Because he may have gone through a similar process." He stared between us for a moment, before withdrawing from the room. We hesitated for a moment, avoiding eachother's eyes, and chose to follow him.