The Furthest Planet From The Sun

by Mahi-Mahi

He took her away...far from the warmth of the sun.

11. Chapter 11

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CHAPTER 11

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The sweat sticking to his body only enhanced the discomfort of lurching himself awake from yet another nightmare. Forcefully, he pushed his legs over the edge of the mattress. His feet dropped to the floor, neither waiting nor wanting to bother with the effort of orienting himself into consciousness. Failingly, he staggered, his legs nearly giving under his unsteady weight.

Ichigo's palms quickly found purchase on the bed beneath him, catching himself before he could falter. Tired, he sat back down onto the mattress.

Searching fingers mindlessly hunted for his nightshirt on the bedpost, coming up empty-handed as he shivered.

Heavy and burdened, his bare shoulders slumped as his elbows dug themselves into his knees. Like suffering through the pain of a maiming wound, his nails raked over his scalp even as his body continued to shiver against the cold sweat coating the exposed curve of his back and neck.

A single drop of perspiration traced the temple of his downturned face before suddenly dashing past his cheek. It hung there, lingering at his jaw, shaking and quivering like a dewdrop with each ragged breath that passed his lips.

Something was wrong with him.

Was this truly what he'd been reduced to without the presence of his friends by his side? Was he truly so pathetic and weak? Was his mind so wretched to imagine those things? The fear of those pale, bony enemy hands defiling her made him sick. But, monstrously enough, what made him sicker, what truly made him feel like a beast, was the fact that the image of Inoue, complacent and willing, broke him even more so than the image of Inoue, abused and spoiled. It was simply out of selfishness. Simply because, if they took her, he would have nothing and no one left.

Abandoned and alone, she was his last hope.

Adding to his already troubled mind was the unsettling and disturbing turn of his dreams recently.

There were dark things there, squirming and writhing in his mind. When he was awake, they lurked and waited; constantly, persistently harassing him with the darkness. The warring sides of himself both recoiled from the hollow feeling, as the other smaller side - a side that was growing larger with each passing day - wanted to welcome it.

It never let him forget and it never let him rest. Only now, those presaging nightmares shifted.

That slithery, slimy darkness that wouldn't leave him be, it hungered for something. Ichigo knew, he knew all too well what those dark things desired to sink their claws into. It was something he was too terrified to name or place a label upon.

It frightened him.

He'd fought before. He'd fought Captains and Lieutenants and Hollows and even a Quincy. But never had he felt the desire to kill for the simple pleasure of it…

No.

Ichigo frantically shook his head free of the ludicrous thought. A nervous laugh bubbled up from his chest.

How silly of him to think such things.

"Ichigo!"

The boy jolted slightly at the sound of his name. Lifting his head, his eyes trailed over to the small window of his room, noting how late it still was.

"Ichigo!" the voice shouted again, it was one he was familiar with.

With a frustrated sigh, he pushed himself from the bed, his legs having finally found their strength. His bare feet traversed the cold, concrete floor of his ground level room in the Vizard hideout, navigating the darkness. Against the pitch black of the night, his hand blindly found the knob of his door before quietly swinging it open.

The silent rustle of his sweatpants seemed like a whisper in the tall, gaping lobby of the warehouse as his legs carried him to the open doors of the metal building. His hand rested against the large sliding hatch as he stepped into the moonlight, allowing the cool night air to hit his sweaty skin.

"Ichigo!"

His hard, brown eyes narrowed.

There, across the way, was Tatsuki; her arm still bandaged, but released from its sling. The young tomboy had been out of commission for a full week before returning to school and even then her wounds had not wholly mended.

His lashes lowered briefly, guilt washing over him.

She would have been healed immediately if Inoue had been there…

At his side, his fist clenched painfully tight. If he had been stronger, Tatsuki wouldn't have even been put in such a situation in the first place. If he had been stronger, none of this would have happened. If he had been stronger, Inoue would be safe.

If, if, if…

"Damn it, Kurosaki!" Tatsuki very nearly screeched, forcing him back to attention. "I know you're here!" her voice declared angrily. "I follow your energy here every day before it disappears! Come out of hiding and show yourself!"

Ichigo frowned, unsurprised. He had expected no less from the likes of Tatsuki. He, too, had been keeping tabs on her and the others to monitor their safety in light of his absence from school and family.

"I remember everything, you know!" she suddenly shouted to the air. Her uninjured arm was held tensely at her side as her eyes searched and searched for any signs of life in the dusty, silent buildings surrounding her. "You can't fuck with my memory anymore! It won't work!"

His eyes widened in surprise.

She knew?

He'd accepted that she would remember her last encounter with that pale Espada, as he no longer had Rukia at his side to use Kikanshinki, and neither could he reach Urahara. At the time, his muddled mind had only been able to direct him to carry the battered girl to his father's clinic, grateful that the man hadn't questioned his son on the matter.

His fingers tightened around the massive aluminum door he stood beside and his harsh expression only hardened as he watched the girl continue to make a ruckus. A part of him longed to reach out to her, to talk to her. He hadn't seen his friends in so long…but even she, Tatsuki, had rebuked him in her demand for answers he was unable to give her. Chad, Ishida, Rukia, Renji, Tatsuki, all of them had been unexpectedly torn apart.

Ichigo exhaled slowly.

It wasn't like he needed them anymore, anyways. They had made their choices.

"Show yourself, you coward!"

Swiftly, like a vengeful spirit she abruptly turned his way, causing him to freeze and hold his breath.

Could she see him? Hachi's barrier should have still been working.

Uncertainly, his foot moved to step further behind the warehouse's massive door.

"She cannot see you, if that is what you're worried about," a sensible voice said from behind him, nearly startling him out of his stupor.

"Hachi." Ichigo observed the rotund man step from the shadows. "What are you doing up?" he asked evenly, his voice unnecessarily serious as his eyes returned to the spectacle the girl was making of herself.

"I could ask the same of you," Hachi replied simply, only to turn his own sights upon the girl standing several yards away. "Besides, it is hard to sleep with such noise." His kind voice lacked the usual criticism and annoyance the other Vizards would have unreservedly offered to such a disturbance so late at night. "It would appear as though I am the only light sleeper in the building. Excluding yourself, of course," he politely remarked in observance that none of the others seemed to have been disturbed by Tatsuki's outbursts, his tone holding a soft touch of humor.

When she turned towards them once more, as if she could hear them, Ichigo frowned.

"My barrier is much too strong for her to penetrate." Distracted as he was, Hachi's practical voice only seemed to register after a few seconds' delay within Ichigo's mind. "I assure you, she can neither see, sense, nor hear us."

"Then why does it feel as though she's looking straight through me?" Ichigo whispered emptily.

Hachi nodded sagely, deciding to fill the silence rather than allow the boy to wallow in it.

"She can only follow the reiatsu that trails behind you like a ghost before disappearing into the barrier, nothing more." Hachi's tone, simple and plain and lacking unwanted sympathy, cooled the atmosphere around him. "It is not unnatural for her to desire to pursue you."

They both watched as, unexpectedly, the young woman crashed face first into the barrier, nearly causing her to fall backwards from the force of it. With wide eyes, Tatsuki stared dumbfounded for a second. Then, true to her form, the girl gave no further hesitation and pushed against the invisible wall in an effort to break through. No matter that she didn't understand the mystical phenomena, she had known in her heart it had something to do with her friend and in knowing so, held no fear.

"Damn it, Ichigo!" she bellowed, slamming her fists against the shield despite her injured arm. "I know you're in there! I know it!" She continued with blow after blow, her eyes slowly filling with tears after each useless strike.

"Let me in!" she cried, her voice growing weak. "Please…let me in." Tatsuki pressed her forehead against the barrier as she gradually sank to her knees, her palms spreading over the wall before her in defeat. "Damn it." Her voice wavered and her shoulders trembled. "Orihime…"

Ichigo clenched his jaw hard.

"Goodnight, Kurosaki-san," Hachi said quietly as he discreetly stepped away, neither of them wanting to watch the despondent scene any longer than necessary. "You should return to bed soon, it is getting late and Shinji will want you well rested for training in the morning." The cheerless weight of his words fell over Ichigo's shoulders like an unbearable burden, causing him to dig his fingernails into the palms of his hands.

"I'm going to Hueco Mundo soon," he suddenly announced, forcing the Kido master to pause.

"You're not ready-"

"I don't give a fuck," he said, his voice dark, gritty, and calm. His chocolate eyes turned to steel as they set solely upon the desolate image of his weeping friend. "By the end of the week, I will force my way through Toshiro's defenses and go to Urahara-" he paused to angle his face back marginally. "-with or without the Vizard's help."

Silence reigned between them as the two men stood, nearly back to back, in the darkness of the warehouse. Despairingly, Tatsuki's broken sobs were the only sounds infringing on the stillness of the night, haunting the shadows.

Resignedly, Hachi closed his eyes. "Goodnight, then…Kurosaki-san," he finished softly, an unspoken graveness floating listlessly around his words.

There was no reply from the boy as he stood unmoving, vigilantly watching over his friend like a guardian, ensuring her safety until the fatigue of her grief had drained her to her core. Eventually, her body went limp, pressing heavily against the barrier as she fell into a restless slumber.

Ichigo approached her, his arms carefully slipping under her form once he was certain she was asleep.

Like the sting of a whip, the cool night air hit the bare skin of his back as he shielded her body with his own. He ignored the discomfort as he carried her back into town and returned her to the warmth of her own bed, slipping out her window with not a word or sound.

---

Ulquiorra had barely been in the room a minute and the creature before him was already trembling in uncontrollable fear.

The servants' quarters of Las Noches were larger than what one might expect, but with the sizable amount of fraccion and Numeros that most of the Arrancar kept, it was relatively unsurprising. His eyes wandered the counters and surfaces without a hint of interest, but when the nervous fidgeting of the serf before him became near frantic, his gaze redirected itself over to the lone male standing across the room.

His brow lowered in mild disgust.

"You know why I am here?" he asked calmly. His stare was direct as he moved with slow, purposeful steps over the space that stretched between them.

The Hollow's eyes immediately dropped to the floor.

Any and all of the other servants that had been in the room had fled the moment they felt Ulquiorra's reiatsu approaching them from halfway across the palace grounds. Everyone knew what had happened to the human girl. To even be near the servant who'd been responsible for her was pure suicide. The mere knowledge that there was no escaping the wrath of an Espada, the knowledge that they were faster, better, and stronger in every means necessary, the knowledge that running was futile, (and perhaps even the weight of guilt) had been the only pieces of logic keeping the lone serf grounded in place, preventing him from attempting to flee with his companions.

The confrontation was inevitable.

With a mask that covered the entirety of his face, leaving only a small portion of his chin to peek out from the bottom, along with his pinstriped garb that was a dull, dark cyan, it was clear to see the creature was so weak that it had not even been worthy enough to be designated the standard white regulation uniform. It merely stood in place with its eyes glued to the floor, trying to appear as small and submissive as possible.

"Still nothing to say?" Ulquiorra spoke faintly, his steps leading him ever closer to the shivering being.

Flinchingly, its arms pressed themselves tighter to its sides when the Espada came to a stop before him.

"I know you are capable of communication," he began with quiet apathy, leveling the servant with an empty stare before continuing, "I suggest you find a way to answer my questions soon, else I will personally crush your mask until your tongue is free to speak properly." He caught the sudden stiffening in the Arrancar's posture, along with the thick stench of fear that saturated its reiatsu. "Do you understand this?" Deliberately, he made sure each word that fell from his lips was visible to the deaf creature. For such a being to have survived within Las Noches without the capacity to read lips would be wholly impractical. It would have been impossible for him to have lasted this long otherwise.

Still, neither the blank expression Ulquiorra carried nor the distinct detachment of his voice could contribute to lessening the gravity of such a threat. The servant knew it was give in or die.

Ulquiorra watched as shaking hands slowly reached up to the shabby belt wrapped around the servant's waist. Calloused, cut and dry fingers proceeded to pull out a little tattered booklet, a small worn down pencil tucked within its wrinkled and modest bindings.

Trying to steady his hands, the serf flipped through several well-used pages before attempting to convey the answer he knew the Espada was waiting for.

The sound of quick scribbling filled the silence as he continued to write his short message, the dull lead of his pencil in dire need of sharpening.

When he pulled the utensil away and carefully spun the paper around to meet a pair of cold eyes, he nearly flinched as the Espada abruptly turned on his heel to leave after reading the short note, his eyes having seen all the information he needed.

There, in sloppily scrawled lead, it had said,

'Loly and Menoly'

Ulquiorra headed for the door, his actions easily communicating the fact that the servant had been dismissed from its duties, and was only being left alive in case further information was needed.

Upon hearing the tentative footsteps behind him, coupled with the hurried banging of hands slapping against the countertop in what he could only assume was an effort to garner his attention, Ulquiorra paused in the entryway and turned to watch the Arrancar continue to quickly jot down more words.

With still trembling hands, he held out the dilapidated notebook to face the Espada once more.

'Is she well?'

Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed and the serf hesitantly pulled the papers back to himself before hurriedly scribbling down,

'Let me continue to care for her.'

Then, against the impending silence of the Espada,

'Please.'

Lifting his gaze from the paper to meet the hollowed, dark depths of the servant's mask, Ulquiorra took a moment to contemplate where the sudden burst of courage was coming from, let alone why. It was not in the nature of Hollows to care for others, nor to place themselves in danger in order to do so.

"No," Ulquiorra answered bluntly, not having to waste a single moment pondering the matter further. "You have already proven your worthlessness once. It is clear you cannot be trusted around her. Keep your distance, you will not be met with such charitable leniency in the future. Do not make me regret letting you live," he ended coldly, ignoring the frantic scribbling behind him as he turned back to the door.

No doubt the useless creature would attempt to communicate all manner of reasons and excuses as to why he failed so miserably to serve the woman properly. All of which Ulquiorra had no interest in hearing.

Second chances were nothing more than given opportunities to confirm and demonstrate how unfailingly capable one could be at repeating their own mistakes.

Ulquiorra had no use for such foolish trash.

When he exited into the hall, the frenzied beating of the servant's hand thumping upon the countertop picked up in tempo and strength, demanding attention - craving that second chance with the girl. The sound of a fist slamming into a cabinet concluded the senseless noises. The cacophony ended in utter silence as Ulquiorra continued down the corridor, spreading out his pesquisa to locate the two disruptive females responsible for the most recent bothersome state of circumstances.

---

"Fraccion."

The stiff, cold chill that ran down the spines of the two female Arrancar had been plainly visible to the naked eye when the quiet word addressed them from the darkness at their backs, whispering like the reaper's summon.

Slowly, the pressure of an uncomfortable weight settled over the corridor, creeping through the walls and sucking the very air from their lungs.

Cautiously, it had been Loly who dared to steal a glance over her shoulder first - only to tremble at the thin shadow looming motionlessly near the end of the passageway.

"You have disobeyed Lord Aizen."

Her lone eye widened and fear shot unreservedly through her nerves like the painful cleave of a knife.

"L-Loly?" her companion queried shakily as if seeking guidance, terror dripping from every syllable.

Both women flinched when the hushed tap of a footstep swirled in their ears, the sinister shadow beginning to advance ever closer.

"I-it's Ulquiorra," Loly informed the blonde at her side as if the apocalypse itself had been set upon them. She felt Menoly shift beside her, the blonde's own green eye daring to peek back at the figure slowly making its way towards them.

"Wha…what do we do?" Menoly asked in unreserved panic and, without further thought, both women turned from the sight of him to flee.

"This will not do."

Twin screams of surprise and dread erupted from their throats when they turned, only to find the source of their dilemma standing patiently in front of them. His sonido had been far too fast to register.

With no other options, the brunette hastily took up a defensive stance before her friend.

"What do you want?" Loly hissed viciously. Her hand gradually reached for her small Zanpakuto as she tried in vain to match the dead, unblinking stare of her opponent. There was no reply and the thought of him, of anyone, looking down on her - no matter their rank - sent her into unprovoked hysterics. "This is about that human bitch, isn't it? What do you want me to do, apologize?" she very nearly spat as Menoly swallowed nervously at her side.

"Loly, please, don't antagonize him!" Menoly whispered feverishly.

"Shut up!" she demanded, uncaring and full of spiteful malice. "The whore deserved it!" she bellowed in near agony, almost as if the mere thought of the girl physically pained her. "And you." She abruptly directed her anger to the man standing before her, her breathing growing unmanageable with her blind fury. "You spoil her, pamper her, and indulge every one of her disgusting human whims. You even allow her to touch you!" she ranted. The very idea of such a thing, of a human freely familiarizing itself with a Hollow of such high standing, let alone Lord Aizen, was sheer sacrilege to her senses. "Don't think I haven't heard the rumors…" her voice lowered, darkening with contempt and jealousy. "Everybody knows what you do with her at night…that monster. She's hideous." Loly shuddered, pouring all her hatred and envy over Aizen's doting care for Orihime upon Ulquiorra. The words she could not speak around her Lord, she spewed onto Ulquiorra. Because, surely, the contemptuous little bitch must be tricking and deceiving her master in some way or another. Surely he could not find interest and beauty in the human otherwise. "Does Lord Aizen know that you fuck his ward every night behind his back?"

Menoly released a gasp from behind her, her singular green eye shooting anxiously back and forth between the raging female and the stoic male staring them down indifferently.

"Such a monster, such ugliness, is a disgrace to Lord Aizen himself!" Without warning, her hatred consumed her completely and she lunged forward to attack.

She was unable to even pull her Zanpakuto fully from its perch before she was on the floor at his feet, heaving for air and writhing in pain under an invisible, overwhelming force.

Ulquiorra had not moved, had not deigned to bother touching such trash, as he simply continued to release his reiatsu over her with enough force to crush several of her bones.

"The only disgrace my eyes see…is you," he remarked and rested his foot over her throat. Easily, he rolled the gasping Arrancar onto her back with the heel of his boot before lifting his fisted hand into the air above her face. Helplessly, she watched in horror as his thin fingers opened and a faint purple light illuminated the cracks between his knuckles.

There, falling from his palm in what seemed like slow motion, was the tiny black box of the Caja Negacion.

"No!" Loly screamed frantically. "You bastard! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"

Thrashing in both pain and in effort to break free of his strength, Ulquiorra merely pressed the heel of his boot further into her neck, nearly shattering her hyoid as the cube drifted ever closer to the hole of her left eye.

"Please," she suddenly begged fearfully, her anger wholly and completely vanishing in light of her powerless position. "Please, you can't do this to me!"

The tremble in her voice intensified as he looked on blankly, peering into her eye and watching the varying waves of panic, dread, and hopelessness that passed through its dull depths.

"Perhaps if you somehow manage to find yourself capable of escaping the Negacion, you will be free to enlighten Lord Aizen regarding your attempts to assassinate his, as you put it, disgraceful ward. I am certain that he will be more than eager to reward your treasonous actions," he voiced, deriding her in a chilling mixture of dull mockery and indifference. "…in the most painful manner imaginable."

His words slowly faded from her ears as the cube entered her Hollow hole, his foot releasing her as ribbons of light burst forth from her eye. The beams illuminated the entire hall, violets and blacks reverberating around the bands as they surrounded her swiftly and completely. Stretching outwards, the light promptly bloated in a wave of darkness before collapsing in on itself, vanishing as rapidly as it had appeared.

"L-Loly?" the small, quivering voice of her companion called in disbelief. "Loly…" she breathed mournfully whilst she stared, dumbstruck and grief stricken, at the place where her only companion had just lain seconds prior to being devoured into the void of another dimension.

Suddenly, her mind seemed to register the still lingering presence of the Espada before her.

"Fraccion." The dead monotone of his voice frightened her as he didn't even bother turning to properly face her.

Menoly's mind reeled, stumbling and faltering without the support of her companion there to command her. She stared, wide-eyed, at the sharp contours of his back as his hand leisurely replaced itself into his pocket.

"The poison used on Orihime Inoue," he questioned evenly. "Its source?"

Menoly's breathing grew unstable as she pushed her back into the wall behind her, demonstrating her inability to process the situation properly. She was one of Lord Aizen's personal servants, was she not better than this? However, the fear and grief inside her was overpowering, along with the instinct to run. Even her simpleminded logic knew the effort would be for naught against the speed and power of an Espada.

"Such a mixture, it was far too strong for the likes of you to produce. Only Szayelaporro Granz is capable of such a concoction." His eyes stared blankly at a small blot of blood on the floor that Loly had coughed up after suffering through the force of his reiatsu. He knew, regardless of their actions, both women were far too weak and incompetent to covertly lift the deadly brew from Szayel's lab successfully.

No, he contemplated, someone much stronger would have had to complete the task for them.

"Tell me who gave you the poison and I will release you," he offered, the natural softness of his deep voice lulling her into a false sense of security, deceiving her with the implications of mercy.

Menoly hesitated and dropped her gaze to the floor in concern. She'd heard of the things Ulquiorra had done. She'd smelt the blood of others upon his cold, pale flesh, felt the darkness in his unnaturally calm reiatsu and had just witnessed the possible demise of her only companion at his hands. The Espada were brutal, ruthless beasts. All of them. Each one carried their own unique form of fear that struck terror into the core of others. Nnoitra with his hatred for women and his bloodlust. Grimmjow with his uncontrollable rage and hunger for power, his endless drive to fight. Baraggan's superiority, pushing the Hollows of the land into war for his own amusement. Yammy's mindless violence and even Szayel's petrifying and appallingly horrendous experiments he performed upon his own kin. Even the female, Tier Harribel, who would slaughter any who dared to harm her small harem of fraccion, was not excluded.

It was the nature of the Hollow that not even the best of them could escape.

But Ulquiorra…

There were darker things that set him apart. While the others wore their own original brands of violence, laziness, and nobility on their sleeves for all to see, Ulquiorra remained mysteriously tacit.

He was quiet and unobtrusive, pale as a corpse. While his soft voice was both unassuming and disarming against the blank stare of his startling poignant eyes. It was the lack of life in those eyes, the vacant expression of his features when he watched you; the foreboding knowledge that were he to run you through in the very next instance, he would merely continue to look upon you with such a chilling face - that, in his eyes, you were nothing.

"I will not harm you," he stated. His posture and position were both unmoved while his voice was seemingly full of the unspoken promise of safety.

It was that deceptive smoothness of his voice that urged her to speak, her frightened mind full of foolish trust.

"I-it was Patros," she confessed timidly and paused, as if waiting for some reaction from the Espada before her. A reaction that never came. "Loly, she…she wanted the girl dead and he…well, he said that he would give us the means to do so."

"Why?" Ulquiorra pressed calmly.

"Patros said he wanted the Hogyoku, but if the girl were allowed to fully repair it for the war, Lord Aizen would put it to use before he could get his hands on it," she expounded, trying to clarify her companion's actions. "Patros wishes to rebel against Lord Aizen, but I am not entirely aware of his intentions or the reason. He implored us to join him, but for Loly such words were blasphemy," Menoly said and closed her eyes as she recalled the heated words that had passed between the two conspirators. "Unfortunately, her desire to destroy the human girl outweighed even that, driving her to ignore the threat to Lord Aizen. In her hatred, it was more logical to continue with their deal rather than forewarn our master."

The hall remained soundless in the wake of her words and Menoly clenched her fists faintly, hating her weaknesses. "Patros and Loly…their only common goal was to kill the girl. I swear it to you, the similarities to their aspirations ended there. She only wanted-"

She came up short when he turned to her, paralyzing her with his eyes.

The echo of his steps seemed to fill her ears like the scraping of claws pulling her apart piece by piece as he neared.

"Wh-what are you doing?" She pressed her back harder into the wall, wishing for it to swallow her into a place that was anywhere but there. "You…you said you wouldn't hurt me!" The intonation of her plea was abruptly cut off by the gentle touch of his hand against her face and the graze of his fingers along the many contours of her mask. Accompanying his touch was the small, black cube that soundlessly sank into the void within that mask. "You promised," she whispered brokenly, her lone green eye moistening with tears.

"Did I?"

Devoid of feeling, he looked on as the light devoured her, the last of the ribbons covering that single eye that stared back into his own with forlorn tears of betrayal.

Peace and silence restored, the hall fell quiet once more, its only disruption being the steady raps of footsteps trailing away from the scene.

---

Orihime pushed at her blankets with a muted groan. Everything hurt. Her lungs burned painfully and every breath she drew into her being seemed to scrape along her throat like nails ripping across silk.

"U-Ulquiorra," she called hoarsely, her voice scratchy and dry as her mind conjured the vision of his face, the last cognizant image her eyes could recall seeing before unconsciousness. With bleary eyes and a muddled but vague awareness of her surroundings, Orihime gathered her strength to wearily force herself into a sitting position.

"It's about damn time you woke up, princess," came a bored voice. Orihime winced and clenched her eyes shut as her head pounded against the noise. "Sitting in here for hours on end with nothing to do really sucks…you know that, right?" the male voice called, alluding that she was somehow to blame for the apparently mind numbing experience that he had suffered through.

"Grimmjow-kun?" Orihime breathed tiredly, recognizing the voice immediately. Slowly, she made an effort to crack her eyes open again in order to orient herself. There, off to her left, was the recognizable outline of her chifferobe along with her table and chair. As she examined her surroundings, her vision cleared enough to make out the distinct shock of electric blue hair and muscular shoulders relaxing against her couch. With his legs crossed at the ankle, his feet were lifted to rest casually atop her small coffee table, uncaring that his boots were crumpling the many papers she had kept there. "I'm…in my room?" she asked of no one in particular, her gaze lowering to her lap in confusion.

Orihime very nearly flinched when, what sounded like the excruciating crunch of bone, reached her ears.

"You know, the food you get here ain't half bad," he announced offhandedly and Orihime rubbed her eyes clear just in time to witness his brutally sharp teeth clamp down on what appeared to be a piece of rib, easily cleaving the bone in two. Her tired expression offered a small grimace as he not only chewed the bone, but swallowed it as well.

"Where's Ulquiorra?" she asked worriedly, anxiety lacing every syllable when her eyes could not find his figure anywhere in her quarters.

"Like I give a shit," he intoned dryly. After throwing the last piece of rib onto a small scrap pile of bones atop the dinner trolley, Grimmjow lazily stretched his arms above his head before locking his fingers at the base of his neck. "I haven't seen that asshole in over a week. Aizen's the one who asked me to guard your room," he informed lackadaisically.

Orihime's chest clenched.

"Is…is he okay?" Her voice was still weak and raspy from misuse, but the little quake in her throat intimately betrayed the depth of her concern. All she could remember was talking to Ulquiorra in the library and then pain. Something had surely happened, but what? Ulquiorra had been there, but now he wasn't. Grimmjow was in his place, and Ulquiorra never let Grimmjow in her room.

Her mind was scrambled and her strength was so low that even as she attempted to stretch out her senses to locate him, they couldn't even reach beyond the hall. Orihime released a deep and shaky breath as exhaustion quickly overcame her. That simple act, the mere effort of trying to sense his presence, had completely drained her. She exhaled, distraught and forlorn. "I can't find him," she muttered to herself, slightly panicked.

"Yeah…you're welcome," Grimmjow drawled with irritated sarcasm, annoyed at her lack of appreciation. "Being trapped in this room for a whole fucking week guarding your ass without a damn thing to do was just the highlight of my life." Dropping an arm from his neck, he began picking at his teeth with the long, tapered claw of his pinky.

Pushing the blankets fully off herself, Orihime dragged her legs over the edge of her mattress. A soft blush flooded her cheeks as she realized her normal sleeping attire (a white tanktop and underwear) had been replaced with a simple, and rather short, silken infirmary slip. Gripping the hem of the white material, her hands pulled down the fabric that had begun to ride up her thighs. Her feet dangled over the floor as she stared at her bare toes, willing her legs the strength to walk.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Grimmjow commented with a sidelong glance as he watched her struggle to plant her feet properly on the cold marble flooring next to her bed.

"Please, I…" she said slowly whilst trying to catch her breath. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she adjusted the thin straps of the gown sliding down her shoulders. Her knees wobbled under her weight. "I have to find him."

Grimmjow lifted a brow in astonishment of her utter stubbornness. "I doubt you're going to get very far in that condition, princess," he remarked with a chuckle, amused by her ridiculous and fruitless efforts. "With as much poison that was in your system, I honestly don't even know how the hell you're still alive."

"Poison?" she echoed as she held firm to her mattress. Leaning her weight against it, she paused in her endeavor to move one foot in front of the other. "Is that what happened?" she inquired vaguely. Her eyes were distant and her brows were furrowed, trying to recall what had put her in such a position in the first place. "Why?"

"The fuck if I know." Grimmjow shrugged nonchalantly. "With that puny body, it's a wonder you even survived at all," he added, slightly impressed when she managed to make it to the foot of her bed. Her mighty struggle seemed to have taken her much farther than he expected she would have originally gotten - which was face first on the floor and out cold. "I sure hope Kurosaki ain't as weak and scrawny as the rest of you humans…" he mumbled under his breath as he began to realize just how frail humans really seemed to be. Then, as if in answer to his ponderings, his mind quickly conjured up the pleasing image of himself holding the girl over a cliff by her hair, a single hand planted firmly on his hip, laughing maniacally as she screamed witlessly whilst Kurosaki ranted and raved in fury, gallantly demanding her freedom in exchange for a good fight.

"Kurosaki-kun isn't scrawny!" Orihime's fists clenched, her face was suddenly indignant as she raised her eyes to his, her rebuttal shattering his reverie.

Grimmjow let out a single bark of laughter. "That punk wouldn't know what a muscle was if it hit him in the face!" he taunted.

"That doesn't even make any sense!" she countered, quickly losing her breath in her agitated state. "Take it back!"

"Or what?" he dared, noting her growing fatigue with an amused glint in his eye. "You're hardly in a position to do anything about it. Kurosaki is a weak little bitch that can't even-"

"Kurosaki-kun isn't weak!" she interrupted indignantly.

Grimmjow offered a rather sarcastic snort, his eyes narrowing in thought before deciding to push the flustered girl a step further. "'Isn't weak'?" he parroted in mock incredulity. "Don't make me laugh, he's about as scrawny as that bastard Ulquiorra."

The sudden redness of suppressed anger washed over her pale face as her lips pursed into a tight line, incensed and internally fuming at the insult to both men.

"You know," he began with a long, easy sigh. Lazily, he stared up at the ceiling in false consideration as he allowed his posture to sink slightly deeper into the couch. "On second thought, I have been kinda wondering where Ulquiorra's been lately…I sure hope the bastard ain't dead." He smirked when he heard a distressed, trembling gasp escape her lips, and decided to play it up even more. "Hell, it's already been a week, and-" he paused, his eyes following the girl as she abruptly resumed her endeavor to make it to the door.

All that was running through her mind was the remembrance that Gin had once told her Aizen would kill Ulquiorra if anything happened to her. Naturally, she could only assume the worst.

What a bother, Grimmjow nearly scowled. He couldn't tell if she was incredibly stupid or just incredibly stubborn. She had barely even made it to the lone chair sitting atop the rug. She certainly wasn't going to be able to make it halfway across Las Noches.

"He…can't be dead," she panted out softly between breaths. Her lips were firm with determination as she dropped her gaze and wrapped her hands tightly around the back of the chair for more support when a sudden and dizzying wave swept over her. It took far more energy than it should have for her to simply push the lightheadedness aside and move on.

"I already told you," Grimmjow intoned with a bored yawn when she tried to take another step forward. "You're not going to get far with the shape you're currently in, princess. You'll be begging me for help before you even get to the door."

Lowering her head self-consciously, the violent dizziness came back to assault her. It hit her hard when she dared to step away from the safety of the chair's support. It washed over her and forced her to reach back to steady herself again, but with her vision wildly moving in and out of focus, she had missed and every last ounce of strength was drained from her legs when they gave out on her.

Orihime cried out when she collapsed onto the floor, her arm barely able to catch the seat of the chair in time to prevent a painful collision against her head.

Helpless and weak, she sat laboring to catch her breath.

Each of those breaths were a struggle and with every gasp for air, guilt dug itself deeper and deeper into her veins. She shouldn't have pestered Ulquiorra that morning to take her to the library. She shouldn't have pushed him so much. She should have tried harder to connect with him.

Orihime pressed her forehead against the velvety cushion on the seat in defeat, not even bothering to try and stop the tears stinging her eyes. Her nails dug ever deeper into the padding as her miserable thoughts proved to be more painful than she'd anticipated. Someone had tried to kill her and now Ulquiorra was missing. The single thought of having Ulquiorra fade away from her made her shy away from the sadness it caused. She suppressed a strangely displeased shudder that felt like ice in her veins. What if something had really happened to him? She could barely remember anything from that morning. Had he really been gone for a week? Had Aizen done something to him? It was entirely possible that he'd been…

No, she thought, clenching her eyes shut. She didn't want to think about it.

"Talk about a disaster," Grimmjow muttered to himself in near exasperation as he watched her from his seat, in near disbelief of the dramatics on display.

Slowly, her head lifted from the chair, her watery eyes finding his in earnest.

For a long moment, Grimmjow merely stared her down. His gaze hardened as the seconds flew by and he tried to remain impervious to those beseechingly beautiful eyes. His jaw clenched, nearly snarling in annoyance, until,

"Damn it," he cursed low and pushed himself roughly from the couch.

He paid no mind to the shaky noise of discomfort she made as he easily hoisted and tucked her under his arm like she was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. He was too damned annoyed to be gentle.

Orihime's hand most certainly would have shot to her bottom immediately thereafter in an attempt to cover her nearly bare backside had it not been for the horrendously dizzying upsurge that arose within her head at the sudden movement. She clutched her temples fiercely to suppress an agonized moan. It wasn't long before she felt the warm cushion of her bed beneath her as Grimmjow deposited her none too gently on the mattress with a harsh glare.

"Just consider this part of repaying the debt I owe you," he gritted impatiently, his eyes hard and serious. "Got it, princess? I really don't feel like bothering with this crap all night, so cut the shit and just stay in your fucking bed, alri-"

Grimmjow froze when, unexpectedly, he felt the warmth of her forehead pressing against his bare chest. Her small hands reached for him, clenching his jacket in angst as the strong scent of tears flooded his sharp senses. The sound of her weak sobbing, the trembling that shook her shoulders, the way her cheek had pressed itself into him, coating his flesh with her tears as she fell further into her grief, immobilized him.

His wide, blue eyes stared sightlessly at the wall across from him as she sank into him with complete and utter trust, burying her face further against his hard, cool skin.

Slowly, almost nervously, his eyes lowered to take in the red of her hair, the heat of her body, the scent of her blood pulsing through her veins…she was so soft, even in such a fragile moment.

This girl.

Vulnerable and warm.

Human…

Orihime was tired.

Flashes of her home, warm and safe, echoed through her mind like a distant memory calling to her. The sun, beautiful and golden and real, was so easily pictured in her memories. She would never forget. How could she? Moments spent with warm hands, open arms, and smiling faces; belonging to those for whom she'd come to Hueco Mundo to keep safe, who she'd sacrificed the life she'd known to spare them pain. Their faces flashed one by one before her closed eyes, smiling at her, missing her, protecting her. Laughing with her.

Her fist slowly pulled in anguish against the jacket wrapped around her fingers.

The lone thought, the one thing she desired…

I want to go home.

Her legs tangled in a mess of sheets and blankets as she tried to curl in on herself even more.

Her breath hitched as thoughts of green eyes and cold caresses leaked in through the small fractures of her jumbled memories. Fear for his safety and that strange, nagging desire to be acknowledged by him pulled her away from her longing thoughts of the sun.

The yearning and craving for the welcoming comfort of home, the familiar smiles of friends and family and all those things that made her life beautiful were suddenly, quickly, and rather disturbingly, pushed aside at the thought of him.

"Ul…Ulquiorra," she sighed quietly in a mixture of worry and sheer exhaustion.

Instantly, she felt the cool body pressed against hers stiffen before she was shoved harshly away.

Orihime gasped as her side hit the white sheets of her bed, unsure of what just happened or why he had so violently and randomly pushed her away.

Breathing deeply, Grimmjow grit his teeth in an impressive attempt at restrained anger as he glared down at the girl before him, her thin arms shaking with the mighty effort it took to lift her upper body from the mattress. Her hair was a tangled mess, her cheeks were coated with tears and her shapely legs were exposed as they curled closer to her. Weakly she lifted her eyes to his.

He could still feel the way her lips had moved against his skin as she'd said that bastard's name.

The innocent, hurt look in her questioning eyes did nothing to stop his grimace of disgust. With a tense, rigid posture, it took every ounce of self-control in his body not to reach forward and wrap his claws around her tiny little neck and tell her that he would rather hear that bastard Kurosaki's name roll off her tongue when she was with him before he'd tolerate hearing that of the Fourth Espada's.

"Grimmjow-kun?" she uttered hesitantly, her moist lips parting in concern upon seeing the tense manner in which he held himself.

His fingers clenched tightly in his fists. It was only in merit of the fact that the poison had left her so damned weak and fragile that he hadn't given in to his urge and choked the bitch. He should have pushed her away the moment she started crying on him, the very instant she pressed that soft round face against his chest like he actually meant something to her, like she had needed him. But he hadn't. Because when she did those things, he'd frozen like a useless imbecile.

His chest rose and then deflated on a deep and ragged breath of abhorrence as he turned away to head for the door.

Grimmjow stopped and very nearly growled when his eyes landed on the figure standing in the entrance. A scowl of displeasure contorted his mouth at seeing the one person he had no interest in encountering at the moment.

"Grimmjow," Ulquiorra said quietly.

Grimmjow scoffed, wondering how the bastard had snuck up on him so easily, only to instantly stiffen when he heard the hushed whimper of relief the girl released from her perch on the bed. His sharp blue eyes slid over to her figure and took in the softening of her expression, watching as the anxiety slowly melted away with a wobbly smile. His brow crinkled, only to feel a shudder of resentment run up his spine.

It was annoying, really.

Even with flushed cheeks, wet lashes, mussed hair, and exposed legs, barely having the strength to hold herself up and keep her weight against her hip, the girl looked beyond ravishing. Her body, liken to some wicked combination of innocence and extravagance, offered more than enough to seduce even the hardest of men without an ounce of effort…and she didn't even realize it. Yet he was the one she fussed over the moment that coldblooded, unfeeling bastard stepped into the room.

Grimmjow moved to the door, narrowing his eyes and pressing his lips into a frown as he roughly, and very blatantly, cuffed Ulquiorra's shoulder with his own on the way out. Neither man spared a glance to the other and Grimmjow couldn't help but admit to feeling disappointed when the smaller man hadn't reacted in some way that would have given him an excuse to pick a fight. He moved forward anyway, trying to drown out the grating noise of the girl's deliriously happy tittering and yammering as he moved further and further down the hall.

"I'm glad to see you're okay." Orihime couldn't help but smile warmly when he entered her room, looking as Ulquiorra always looked. "I was worried," she confessed.

"Is there a reason to be?" He stopped by the foot of her bed, his eyes easily and detachedly raking over her body to ensure she was in acceptable condition.

"I…" Orihime paused upon feeling those searching eyes focused so intently on her. "Grimmjow-kun said you were gone for nearly a week," she explained, smoothly tucking her legs beneath herself in order to rest her hands atop her lap and play with her fingers nervously. "I was afraid something may have happened."

"Hn…I have been engaged elsewhere lately." This seemed to be all he was willing to supply before glancing away. "I assume you have already been informed on the cause of your condition," he stated rather than questioned, knowing Grimmjow would have been incapable of keeping his mouth shut on the matter.

"I only just woke up," Orihime answered. "Grimmjow-kun said I was poisoned." She lowered her eyes sadly as she began to realize the gravity of such a threatening act upon her person. Her hand scrunched the fabric of her slip against her chest as a mild fear settled in her bones. Would she have to worry over every drink, bite of food, and cup of tea? Was there really going to be someone waiting for her around every corner she rounded, ready to end her life? "Is…is everything alright?" she asked, trying to hide her concern.

"The situation has been dealt with accordingly." Ulquiorra's gaze slid over to her, his expression gaining an extra level of seriousness. "It will not repeat itself-"

Orihime blinked at his sudden pause, watching as his eyes narrowed slightly.

"I will not allow it to happen again."

Swallowing against her dry throat, the pink flesh of her lips mouthed a silent 'Oh'.

Did he somehow feel responsible for what happened?

A grateful smile spread across her features as she gathered her strength and pressed her palms onto the mattress, crawling to him at the end of her bed where he stood. His detached eyes watched her edge closer as she navigated the messy bedding before settling herself down atop her comforter, her calves curled snugly beside her thighs.

Ulquiorra remained silent as he observed her, trying to measure her intentions while she simply sat before his person, smiling at him sweetly despite the exhaustion on her face.

"I'm glad you're here, Ulquiorra," she said, her tired voice near melodious. "You take such good care of me." Her eyes seemed to soften as her smile grew lighter.

She was trying to placate him, to let him know she didn't blame him.

Ulquiorra's hands clenched in their pockets.

To sit there, weak and frail from poison, and thank him for failing her, such actions were irrational.

"Lord Aizen has requested your presence once you are fit enough to entertain company," he informed monotonously, ignoring her words. "I will return in several hours to retrieve you, I suggest you rest until then. It is clear you are still less than capable of exerting yourself in such a fragile state."

When his hand smoothly lifted from his pocket, Orihime gasped upon seeing her hairpins resting there, waiting for her to reclaim them.

"You…you kept them safe," she breathed and lifted her own fingers to brush over the delicate barrettes shimmering against his pale skin.

"I merely kept them from Szayelaporro's laboratory," he conveyed dispassionately, deciding to simply disregard the manner in which she seemed so eager to read too much into the gesture. It seemed easier to let her think otherwise. Had he not done so, they would have surely been lost to the scientist's mad experiments. "You would be useless to Lord Aizen without them."

"Thank you," she whispered quietly, her eyes growing a little misty.

For once, Ulquiorra didn't bother to correct her. Perhaps if he allowed her to view it as an act of kinship, rather than cold and simple logic, she would be more easily managed and controlled.

"Truly, thank you," she repeated gently as her hands rose to encompass his, her fingers curling around his palm.

Orihime missed the way his brow lowered and his eyes narrowed when, careful and slightly hesitant, she gripped the calloused flesh of his long fingers. Her small grasp encased his hand in a quiet moment of gratitude.

Her smile softened considerably when he did nothing more than observe her foolish behavior. He didn't pull away. For once, it felt good to be able to reach out to him, for him not to mock her simple show of appreciation.

Briefly, her mind flashed back to the library and the way his lips had pressed against her neck. It must have been weeks ago, now. Another heated flush bloomed across her face when she wondered, despite the stony depth of his gaze, if the warmth in her hands felt as strange to him as the frigid bite of his felt to her. Her flower hairpins sat in his palm, sparkling prettily in the dim room, not seeming to mind the cold of his flesh one bit. In one long, sluggish motion, her eyes lifted to his lips, taking in their shape from beneath her dark, heavy lashes.

At that longing look, the cool comfort of his touch began to pull away with a motion that was deliberately unhurried.

To her surprise, he reached up and gently fastened the clips into the hair at her temple. Orihime remained frozen in place, breathless as those fingers traced down her cheek. She felt a shudder shoot straight to the core of her body when his thumb brushed the corner of her lip before his hand returned to his side, making her wonder if it had been intentional or not.

For a long moment, he didn't take his eyes off hers.

"I will return by midnight," he said finally. "I expect you to be ready."

Orihime sat with her fingers absently touching the hairpins he'd placed at her right temple, lips parted in disbelief as she watched the door close slowly behind him. She was unaware of how the perk of her nipples had hardened, straining against her slip at his touch, or how it had been blatantly obvious to his eyes. In a daze, she stared at that door for what felt like hours, replaying the feeling of his hand touching her so gently over and over again. By the time she shifted her position to creep back to her awaiting bedding, she realized just how tired she had become.

Wrapping her arms tightly about her pillows, Orihime stretched against her blankets momentarily and made herself comfortable. Snuggling deeper into her mattress and closing her eyes, she tried to push away the troubling feelings her strange warden stirred in her and instead let herself drift off to sleep.

---

The first thing Orihime wanted when she cracked her eyes open that night was water.

She became aware of just how terribly thirsty she was when, upon attempting to wet her lips, her mouth proved too dry and parched. Catching sight of a pitcher of water resting atop her nightstand, Orihime shivered slightly when she pushed the covers off herself and turned towards the crystal clear liquid.

Rubbing her eyes and tossing her legs over the edge of the bed, she reached out to grab the handle of the translucent glass pitcher. She released a heavy breath when her arms, weak and useless, seemed to protest the action. Her hands quickly tried to settle the decanter safely back on the table, nearly toppling off the bed with the effort.

Was she really still so weak?

Orihime sighed, she just wanted a drink of water.

When her lowered gaze caught a glimpse of a pair of scuffed and faded boots stepping into view at her bedside, her eyes lifted to meet the masked visage of the deaf servant that helped to care for her.

"Oh, hello there." She smiled kindly. "I guess I've been out for a long while now. How have you been lately?" she inquired amiably.

There was no reply and she continued to smile, regardless. As her hand went to make another try for the pitcher of water, the servant quickly stepped forward, taking it from the table before she could reach it. He hesitated briefly before turning to the bathroom where she heard him proceed to dump the contents in the sink.

Orihime blinked in confusion as she watched him return to the room and retrieve a fresh glass of water from his trolley. Upon handing her the glass, she hesitated in reflection of his unusual actions and the manner in which he seemed vastly more nervous than usual.

Slowly, her eyes watched as he pulled a weathered notebook out from the sash around his waist. Flipping through the pages, he wrote something quickly before holding it out for her to read.

'Safe'

Her mouth opened to speak, but came up short when she realized what he was trying to convey.

He was trying to look out for her.

Did he also somehow feel responsible for what had happened to her? After all, he'd been the one to deliver her breakfast that morning.

"I see," she said quietly and reached forward to take the glass from his hands. "Thank you," she added before taking a long, refreshing drink.

Turning away from her, the servant went about pulling out a new dress for her to wear as she continued her one-sided conversation.

"There's no need to worry about what happened," she commented, trying to remain casual in her delivery and sooth his guilt without making him feel worse. "I'm already feeling better and…Ulquiorra said it wouldn't happen again." She offered another friendly smile but he only froze at the mention of her warden's name, realizing that he must have somehow read her lips. She could see behind the hollowed eyes of his mask that he repeatedly scanned the room and constantly checked the door in a type of paranoia that she didn't quite understand.

"Um, would you please help me across the room?" she asked politely, shaking the curious behavior of the Arrancar out of her mind. She waited patiently as his gaze swiftly darted to the floor, his movements excessively uncertain and careful as he stepped forward. With a grateful smile she took his arm as he helped her make her way to the bathroom before leaving.

Too weak to stand for a shower, the steam from the hot water of the tub helped to invigorate her body. After the decidedly soothing and refreshing bath, Orihime emerged from the bathroom. The male servant was long gone, but a confused look crossed her features when she saw an unfamiliar young female Arrancar quietly waiting for her to dress. Her confusion only seemed to grow when she noticed the gown she was given was much nicer than her usual uniform, and when the female moved over to her person as she sat in front of the vanity of her chifferobe, Orihime was outright baffled as she set to work fixing her hair in an elaborate up-do.

Being her normal cheerful self, Orihime attempted to converse with the woman but was only answered with the drone of silence. Deciding to leave the servant to her work, her eyes traveled down her figure to take in the plain white fit and flare gown that hugged her curves before fanning out just below her hips. With the hems trimmed in black as per the customary Arrancar garb, the gown was certainly not homely, but neither was it overly extravagant. The jacket she wore was not unlike the one she normally used but lacked the long train. It hugged her waist snugly when she zipped it up, while its sleeves stopped just below her elbows - just long enough to ward off the cool climate of Hueco Mundo. There were no sparkles, diamonds, or jewelry, thankfully, but when she glanced back up to notice the woman had already left the room, her job done, Orihime tilted her head in mystification of the mass of hair she'd worked to the top of her head. Stacked into loose waves and pin curls, with her bangs pulled back into a soft bouffant, she couldn't help but feel a sense of uncertainty settle in her gut.

"Woman."

Orihime jumped at the voice, her head turning to find her warden waiting for her by the doorway.

"Hello," she greeted warmly, strangely happy to see him regardless of the occasion. How odd, she thought. She used to spend much of her time unhappy to see him when she first arrived.

"Come," he urged, ignoring her greeting after scanning her person and concluding she was adequately prepared and not running behind schedule.

She nodded distractedly and moved to follow him out of the room.

He escorted her away from the fourth tower, taking her down a path she easily recognized from the many times he would take her to meet with Aizen.

"Do you know what this meeting is about?" she asked carefully, speculating why she had to be so dressed up for the occasion.

"You will discuss that with Lord Aizen when you arrive," he replied and she took a moment to note that his uniform was the same as always. Was he not going to be a part of this special meeting?

As they continued along it became more and more evident that she was still not in the highest of health, as her breath became slightly labored and she lagged behind further than usual. Coming across a long, suspended bridge that connected two towers, Orihime pressed a palm against her abdomen and drew in a shallow breath, trying to hide her weakness. But Ulquiorra never missed the smallest detail and her behavior caught his eye nevertheless, turning to her as he halted his steps.

"You are unwell," he said, stating the obvious. "Rest," he ordered and Orihime nearly flinched at the offer.

"D-do you mind?" she asked reservedly. "I mean, will we not be late?"

"There is plenty of time, there is no point in spoiling your health more than it already is."

Unsure for only a second, Orihime gladly took him up on the suggestion. Her bare fingers slid briefly over the stone frame of one of the many glassless windows before lowering herself to the sill for a seat. Taking the moment to collect herself, they sat in silence; an occurrence that was far from unusual for them. They were extended periods of silence that never felt as strained or tense as they had once been when she first arrived. However, despite the comfortable silence, she now found that she wanted to speak with him…incessantly.

As her eyes found him standing at the adjacent wall to her, his back to her and his eyes staring out into the desert before him, she began to have trouble keeping that urge to converse with him in check. She wanted to ask him so many things.

What was he thinking about?

Why was he fighting in the war?

Why was he fighting for Aizen?

Why had he always been the Cuatro Espada?

What was his favorite color?

Orihime giggled at that last one, the noise catching his attention.

"Is something amusing?" he asked, not bothering to turn to her.

Orihime blushed mildly, but smiled anyway. "I was just wondering what your favorite color was."

He didn't respond. She still smiled.

"Ulquiorra?" she called a short time later.

"If you are going to ask me another pointless question, I suggest you save your breath," he advised vacantly.

"Why are you in this war?"

Another long pause, but this time his head had angled towards her marginally.

"Explain," he said, demanding clarification.

Biting her lip as her eyes lowered, she tried to find the words. "Why do you fight for Aizen Sosuke?" she asked in a dim voice, leaning her head into the soothingly cool stone of the window's framework. "Why do you fight at all?" Her mind mulled over the blaringly obvious fact that she'd never seen him truly fight, while it seemed she witnessed others, particularly Grimmjow and Nnoitra, unfailingly erupt into violent battles every other day.

She'd seen him slice clean through two Shinigami in the Senkaimon with naught but a wave of his hand–and also deflect an exceptionally powerful blast from Kisuke Urahara, a man whom Ichigo himself couldn't beat even on his best day, with even less effort than that. There was a voice of logic inside her that exclaimed just how dangerous such a man should be, a man who didn't fight but others seemed to respect regardless, but her naïve mind simply could not envision the Ulquiorra Cifer that stood before her now, the man who saved her life and at the same time drove her up the wall with uncharacteristic fury, in a hostile fighting scenario. He was thin and pale with haunting macabre eyes, a man that seemed incapable of throwing a decent punch, let alone receiving one. If she was so important to Aizen, he never would have placed her under the care of someone too weak to fight, would he? "Does this war hold that much meaning to you?" she added, her expression somewhat subdued after her semi-deep thoughts. "Or is it merely blind loyalty that you place in him?"

"You should not concern yourself over such things," was his answer. It was the same answer he gave her every time she asked him these types of questions. "It doesn't matter."

"But it does matter," she countered. "People just don't partake in killing and bloodshed for no good reason," she rationalized.

"You are naïve." His deep voice settled over her, causing her to look away in frustration. "There are individuals who kill everyday for naught but the pleasure of seeing fresh blood upon their hands. Be they human, Shinigami, or Hollow. War is nothing more than an open invitation to freely fulfill these desires without persecution."

Staring blindly at his back, her eyes gradually saddened as she listened to his words, knowing how right he probably was.

"And you?" she pushed further. "Are you just another part of the bloodthirsty masses?" Her lashes narrowed slightly, unsure if she wanted to hear his answer.

"I have no use for such desires," he remarked offhandedly, placing his hands in his pockets as he went back to staring at the desert sands.

"Then why are you here?" she queried, her voice soft but prying.

More silence stretched between them and her eyes seemed to wander during the lull. She took in his slim build, the narrow of his hips and waist before extending upwards into sharp, broad shoulders. The harsh, jagged bone of his mask cast sinister shadows along his back against the moonlight, the horn of said mask morphing his silhouette into something more befitting a devil. Even still, in the darkness of the night her eyes caught sight of the lean, well formed muscles outlined beneath his jacket, their sleek movements easily distinguishable with every shift he made and every breath he took. Like blue branches staining his flesh, his skin was so pale that, at times, she thought she could see every vein beneath straining and pushing out from under the taut flesh above.

Without a heart, Orihime wondered, did those veins run cold and frozen inside him? Did his blood simply sit, stagnant and stationary, waiting to come to life?

A gentle breeze hit them, shifting his hair against his back.

Orihime clasped her hands tighter in her lap as a picture of herself running her fingers through the darkness of that jet black hair teased along her imagination. Like spider silk, it brushed against his neck before tapering in sleek, edgy layers between his shoulder blades, ending just a few inches below his nape.

"Will you have me repeat myself, woman?" His dreary monotone words broke her trance and Orihime hoped, just maybe, if she persisted hard enough he would finally cave in and answer her uncomplicated question. It was a question she had asked him on a handful of separate occasions, and upon each he had given her the same answer; 'it was none of her concern'. Apparently, he'd grown tired of giving her that response just as much as she'd grown tired of hearing it.

"Perhaps you refuse to answer because you have no reason," Orihime suggested defiantly, coming to the conclusion that he would not answer her question due to the fact that he simply had no reason to fight. "Participating in a war just for the sake of observing the carnage seems rather arrogant." With his eerie, doll-like features that almost seemed frozen in place on his apathetic face, she didn't want to believe him to be the lifeless marionette hanging at the end of Aizen's strings, the empty soldier perfectly capable of gazing at her with terribly indifferent eyes whilst he ran his fingers straight through her heart. "I refuse to believe you're nothing more than what your creator made you to be…" she trailed off softly, only to stiffen at the sudden discomfort that filled the air between them.

Turning his head towards her so slowly she feared time itself had nearly come to a stop, his eyes leveled themselves upon her with a new and dangerous glow. With the sharp veneer of his façade lacking its usual cavalier patina, a distinct hint of something she could only define as annoyance and disgust turned his mouth down into a tight, albeit small, sneer.

"I am no one's creation." The dead calm of his voice sent shivers down her spine.

"W-what do you mean?" She blinked in confusion. Hadn't he been created by Aizen just like all the rest of the Arrancar? "I thought-"

"Enough," he said, his voice a little sharper as he looked back to the desert. "You're annoying me."

Orihime nearly flinched back, stung. "It's not enough!" she expressed with conviction. "It matters to me. I want to know about you!" she suddenly blurted. Her eyes instantly widened, realizing what she had just said. It took a massive amount of effort on her part not to slap her palm over her mouth in embarrassment, let alone to stop the blush that wanted to make its way to her cheeks.

Briefly, she could have sworn she'd heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like 'troublesome woman' under his breath.

Swallowing her pride, Orihime tried to back peddle. "I just want to know why you're here," she began hesitantly. She offered a softer, albeit still bitter smile. "Why do you fight for Aizen?"

Silence.

"Is it for power?" she pondered aloud. "If so, I suppose that is what everyone wishes for, is it not?"

Silence.

"…I have been promised something," came the delayed, near inaudible response. "I am simply waiting to collect upon it." His words were simple but Orihime fell completely transfixed.

"What is it?" she whispered, helplessly fascinated. It must have been something hugely amazing, no, enormously astounding and magnificent to entice a man the likes of Ulquiorra Cifer into following someone like Aizen Sosuke. She was utterly on the edge of her seat wanting to hear his answer, her vivid imagination summoning all sorts of-

"I do not know."

Orihime's hand clutched her chest. She would have laughed were she not so shocked.

He was…looking for something, but…he didn't know what he was searching for?

Standing quietly, Orihime stepped closer to him. Her lips parted fleetingly in effort to speak but faltered when she took in the harsh lines of his profile against the dome's false moon. Her belly did that odd flop again when she saw the forged stars above them sparkle in his eyes like diamonds.

She'd never seen stars sparkle in anyone's eyes before.

It was…beautiful.

She wanted to ask him if she could help him find what he was waiting for. She wanted to offer to help him find it.

Then she remembered she was a prisoner, and she really shouldn't care.

All that warmth inside her instantly went cold.

"Come, you have clearly regained your strength," he called in his soft monotone while walking away from her. "You will be late if we linger any longer."

Once again, Orihime's insides had been thrown off kilter against her better judgment. Except this time, he hadn't done anything to intentionally cause it.

---

The scene that greeted Orihime when she passed through the monolithic, vaulted archway gave her pause. Proudly projecting outwards to overlook the empty desert was a massive stone outcrop that seemed to be carved from the castle itself. Under the asylum of the massive dome, the sky was clear and free of the tempest-like storms that continued to rage outside. Above her was the perfect replica of the starry heavens, while below a large pool had been etched out from the stone underfoot. Small amounts of foliage littered the area and broad concrete railing braced along the 'V' shaped contour of the rocky ridge. With lily pads that dotted the pool, the setting seemed befitting of the grand and extraordinary castle that was Las Noches.

Her eyes settled upon a small table set below several willowy trees with two large, well crafted chairs arranged neatly across from one another. Trolleys and trays that were filled to brim with food surrounded the private looking space and Orihime couldn't help but acknowledge that she was, indeed, very hungry. If she'd been out for as long as Grimmjow said she was and hadn't eaten, then it was no wonder she felt so weak.

When she saw a long, masculine arm extend out from behind one of those chairs to lift a glass from the table, Orihime shifted uncomfortably when she suddenly realized what all of the lavishness was about.

Aizen had apparently invited her to dinner.

Briefly, she wondered if she had the right to decline the offer. Seeing as she was already there, she doubted he was going to let her escape so easily.

"Orihime," his voice beckoned her forward but her feet remained like stone. Her eyes looked back to see Ulquiorra was gone, seemingly having vanished into thin air.

His silent promise remained in the back of her mind, but even she wondered how much protection he could offer her from Aizen. Or worse, if he would even bother to do so at all. She wilted slightly under the thought but pushed it away and moved forward, putting faith into the fact that if they had wanted her dead they would have left the poison to claim her completely, rather than spending massive amounts of time and resources nursing her back to health.

Orihime couldn't deny the inviting serenity and beautifully peaceful atmosphere the place seemed to give off. With soft lighting and even softer breezes, along with the gentle sounds of water trickling against the granite profile of the concrete pond, the only thing Orihime thought to be missing was the enchanting flicker of lightning bugs that she was fairly certain a place like Hueco Mundo lacked. However, the candles sitting on the table seemed to fill that role perfectly.

Refined and courteous, Aizen gracefully stood from his seat as a servant came up from behind to pull out her chair. "Thank you for joining me tonight, my dear," he greeted charmingly, his own attire unchanged from the regal, colorless robes that seemed to neatly wrap him in layers and layers of the pure white fabric.

Orihime hesitated to sit, her eyes trailing over every lavish thing set before her suspiciously. Aizen smiled that false smile of his before explaining, "A gift," he began congenially. "For the many troubles you have endured during the past weeks. Please, accept my apologies in light of my subordinates' crude behavior towards you."

Yielding, as she had no choice, Orihime took her place. Aizen himself only returned to his own chair once she was comfortably seated and had tucked her ankles slightly beneath the legs of her chair.

"Subordinates?" Orihime repeated as she reluctantly met his gaze. She recalled what Ulquiorra had said about the situation having already remedied itself, and in light of that knowledge, she wasn't quite sure she wanted to know the methods to which such ends were achieved. Especially not if Ulquiorra was involved.

"Yes," he continued repentantly. "Foolish measures taken by uneducated cretins for useless reasons. You have my word," he stated with as much sincerity she could manage to take him for. "Henceforth, these mishaps will cease entirely," he finished with a cool smile.

"Th-thank you," Orihime said quietly, her voice lacking its natural cheerfulness, as she was uncertain if he truly even meant those words. Even more so, she was uncertain if she had actually felt comforted by his promises of security. "I just want to know why," she began carefully and then wavered. Did she really want to know the answer to that question? Unable to look at anything but the virginal white tablecloth, she asked anyway. "Why did someone try to kill me?"

"Such matters are behind us, yes?" Aizen smiled easily and leaned back into his seat more comfortably. "As are the reasons. These trivial affairs are beneath you. There is no need for worry…you can trust me," he said with all the honesty of a rat.

Orihime shuddered against that smile, hating the fact that she'd known he'd seen her dismayed reaction. "Of course," she agreed emptily.

When the servants stepped forward to place a wide spread of dishes out before them in perfect order, Orihime couldn't help but look at the food longingly. She hadn't eaten in so long and she was exhausted. The simple acts of bathing and prepping for the meeting, along with the mighty trek through the dome to reach their destination, had worn her out. Still, the faint suspicion and the rightfully placed fear of another poisoning, along with the other attempts to take her life, stalled her from lifting her fork.

A chuckle rumbled up from across the table and she lifted her eyes. "Rest assured," he promised amusedly. "This food is certainly not poisoned." Beneath the willowy trees, the moon breached the branches in broken beams that peppered across not only the table, but her dress and the tyrant across from her. A stinging sadness filled her eyes as she thought, in that moment, he almost appeared to be a normal man; sitting under the moonglow and sending her placid chuckles.

Almost.

Giving in, her hands shook slightly from fatigue as she cut a piece of perfectly cooked steak from her plate and lifted it to her mouth. It never failed to amaze her how even a simple bite of food, no matter the taste, the moment it hit her stomach it filled her warmly and sent waves of energy through her limbs. Even though he didn't seem to be interested in the food, she moved to cut another small piece of meat from her plate silently.

"It is quite the miracle that you are even alive," he commented in a random moment of thought, his temple resting against his knuckles as he watched her from behind deep brown eyes. "Did you know there were enough toxins in that tea to kill an Espada in naught but a matter of minutes?"

He'd said it so nonchalantly, so placidly, as if it was such an inconsequential thing, that her fork paused the moment it lifted from her plate - her appetite suddenly gone.

Had it truly been that bad?

A small sense of guilt wormed its way inside her as she recalled pouring the tea for not only herself that morning but Ulquiorra, too. What if he had ingested the vile liquid, instead? What if he had died? She would have felt terrible.

"Ulquiorra saved me," she uttered quietly, as if voicing a deep thought.

"'Ulquiorra'?" he chuckled softly again. "No, 'Ulquiorra-san'? So very informal, Orihime-chan."

Orihime's face lit up like a summer heat wave. "H-he doesn't like honorifics," she prattled and managed to keep her tone relatively controlled as she explained. "Although, I don't understand why."

"Because it is a human custom and, as you can see; he is no human." Orihime fought against the need to bite her lip nervously when, not only did that statement send pain shooting through her heart, but she also thought she caught the undertones of a warning somewhere hidden amongst those words. What type of warning, she could not comprehend or understand. For as far as she could recall, he had never taken protest to her behavior with Ulquiorra in the past.

"But he is compliant in referring to you as 'Lord Aizen'?"

"Because, I command it of him."

"Oh." Her eyes lowered.

"In the future, you will be receiving each of your meals with Ulquiorra," he mentioned, effortlessly sliding onwards to other subjects. Upon hearing this news, Orihime seemed to perk up slightly at the idea of sharing her meals with the very man she had been making huge strides to befriend. Until, "You will not eat a single bite of food, nor will you drink a single drop of liquid until he has tasted and properly tested your provisions beforehand," he informed, his eyes lingering over the small ripples that drifted across the surface of the pond water. Orihime didn't want Ulquiorra, or anyone for that matter, testing her food. She didn't want anyone to get poisoned because of her. "As I told you, Orihime…" His eyes slid over to hers, watching her lips dip into a small frown. "We can't have a repeat of this incident, now can we?"

"No," she said quietly, clenching her fists in her lap to fight off the lump in her throat. "We can't." She got the message loud and clear. He was blaming Ulquiorra for this occurrence and now he was going to force him to fix it even at the cost of his own life.

"You're much too precious for me to lose."

A bleak silence settled over her and even still she could feel his eyes on her, waiting for the inevitable pleading that would follow.

She did not disappoint.

"Please," she began unsteadily. "Please don't make him do that." Orihime thought about the amount of toxins that had been put in her tea. Enough to kill an Espada in minutes, he said. "If something happened to him…if he were to…because of me…" Her voice faltered and Orihime cursed her pathetically weak resolve as her hand flew up to press against her lips in distress.

Another quiet chuckle broke her moment of grief and instantly her eyes shot back up to his, her head snapping up from its bowed position. Anger the likes of which had only ever been successfully mustered up by the Cuatro Espada himself flared inside her as she heard him laugh at her concern. Had he no care for his subordinates? Be it her warden or any of the others, she did not wish for them to risk their safety in defense of hers.

"My dear," he started with a smooth exhale. Unaffected by the flames of fire in her eyes, his nonchalance nearly led her to overstep her bounds and interrupt him until, "Ulquiorra is not like the others," he remarked in a tone that could only be described as half-fascination, half-amusement.

Orihime felt her mouth stutter to a stop. His eyes seemed pleased by the questions in her own and the corner of his lips turned up slightly in satisfaction.

Aizen rested his head back against the tall support of his chair as his eyes, bearing a look she could only label as nostalgia, traveled out to stare over the distant horizon that was still black with midnight and stars. "Nothing like them at all."

Orihime was beginning to get a vague grasp of why all the others always seemed so jealous of him. Ulquiorra certainly was Aizen's favorite. She just didn't know why. Regardless, the way he spoke of him, casually calling him 'creature' and 'Arrancar', rather than refer to Ulquiorra as an individual, let her know that Aizen still thought of him–and the rest of his army–as nothing more than fodder to be used at his whim. They might as well have been animals.

She felt her ankles shift uncomfortably against the well-polished legs of her chair. Self-consciously, she glanced over her shoulder to look for the man in question, worried that he may be listening in on their conversation before she asked,

"He is…not your creation?" she voiced softly, repeating Ulquiorra's own words. Her lashes remained lowered gently over her eyes, her gaze still resting over her shoulder whilst finding no trace of him anywhere near or around them. "What…is he?" she asked so quietly, so mutedly, that her voice had nearly been lost to the breeze.

"He is the Cuatro Espada," Aizen mused to himself, his gaze remaining fixed on the scenery before him in a near wistful stare. "That number; four. It does seem to suit him so very, very well." Her heart suffered the sensation of his disturbingly pensive words. The smallest of smiles pulled at the edges of his lips in reflective consideration. "Don't you agree…Orihime?"

Closing her eyes, she shuddered. The number four was the number of death. It held no goodness in it, so nothing good could come of it.

"Please, stop this war," she suddenly implored, her voice was low and almost inaudible as her arms rested limply from her shoulders, her hands folded gingerly in her lap.

"And why would I want to do that?" he urged her on, genuinely interested.

"There are so many things you are capable of doing; things much more beautiful than death. I'm certain of it," she began warily. "You're a man whose power is near unparalleled. You're smart, charismatic, and intelligent and I know it's not too late." Her small voice was bold in spite of the distinct quiver that wavered through her words occasionally.

Aizen only chuckled once more, although she did not miss the lack of amusement in its lilt this time around. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Orihime."

"There must be other ways to attain a dream than hurting those around you," she reasoned meekly, knowing her attempts would only fall on deaf ears. But, she would try. She had to… "There are other paths, kinder choices…people are more forgiving than you could possibly imagine."

Aizen seemed to grin at her innocence, a mocking gesture that she had not at all been surprised to find sliding across his face. "You simply cannot see it, can you?" he asked with a dull sigh. "I do not want some petty dream…I want everything. And everything I shall have."

Orihime's eyes slowly widened with a terrifying realization that grew inside her mind like a virus. She clutched her fist to her chest to protect her heart from the unbelievable revelation.

"You…you wish to become a god," she breathed in disbelief.

A single, elegant brow arched faintly. "No, my dear," he replied so gently, so kindly, as if explaining it to a child, that it was hard not to fall into the web of his deceit and lies. "I will become the only god."

"Then you will rule over nothing but a kingdom of death and despair," she countered sadly, her eyes downcast in misery.

Aizen sighed again, steadily growing bored of her attempts to salvage his soul. After all, she still couldn't even fully grasp the concept that it was not some 'kingdom' that he would rule over. No, it would be much, much grander than that. He would wipe out all of creation, create life anew in his image, and carry the universe in the palm of his hand to play with at his whim.

"You will be escorting Ulquiorra on a few short errands over the next few days." He shifted the discussion, just like that, and gave a single wave of his hand to forbid her from even attempting to further argue over the matter of his impending Godhood. "Until things have settled down, I will not risk leaving you out of his sight for any extended period of time," he informed evenly, his mood seeming to level out into something she knew she would never be capable of reading. "That will be all, you're dismissed."

Her body, having already grown fatigued from her encounter, could only sit momentarily in jaded silence. Her lackluster eyes stared blankly as his finger slowly and lethargically circled the rim of his pristine wine glass.

A single tear dragged itself sorrowfully down her pale cheek. She wasn't sure what compelled her to say it. Perhaps madness. Perhaps she just wanted to see if there was any shred of humanity left in the man at all, but instead of leaving, she merely whispered,

"Hinamori-san…still loves you."

Orihime's small shoulders flinched when that finger tracing the lip of his glass froze. The man before her became frighteningly still as the tiniest of splinters disfigured the fragile and once perfect flute beneath his touch; cracking and fragmenting the crystal just below his immobile finger.

Weakly, Orihime's trembling body struggled to stand against the sudden trepidation in her veins as she pushed herself to her feet. Her hands were shaking terribly as her weary feet carried her away from the table, trying to hasten her steps at the unsettling feeling of Aizen's reiatsu gradually coming to life behind her; like a beast disturbed from its slumbering den. Like the fear of a child shivering against the invisible caress of ghost fingers stalking after them in the dark, terror prickled unreservedly across her nape.

Desperately, her gaze searched for the familiar lines of white and black. The cold, empty green eyes.

"Ulquiorra," she breathed and there, protruding only slightly from the other side of the archway, she could recognize the sharp contour of his shoulder, the harsh taper of his mask. He waited with his back against the outside wall, always there lurking in the shadows, never far from reach.

Orihime could have sworn she felt the lick of reiatsu, dangerous and powerful, brush through her hair just as she swung herself around the corner of the wall. Unhesitatingly, she buried herself into the safety of his chest.

Every heartbroken piece of herself shook violently against the man, pain and fear filling her to the core as only one thought ran through her mind.

Hinamori-san…forgive him…

She felt so weak and drained, and it took every ounce of her being not to release the anguished sob that wanted to tear from her throat. She was unaware of how harshly her fingers clung to his jacket, or how closely she pressed her body to his, nor of how her suffering, trembling lips exhaled the warmth of her breath against the hole in his chest. Like her heart was actually there living between them, he felt her hand slide up between their connected bodies until she clutched her chest in near pain, wishing only to dispel the ache that had taken root there.

Ensnared by curiosity, Ulquiorra watched, trapped against the slight weight of her, useless and unable to look away as the woman feebly lifted her head to his. There, for the first time since the foremost moment he'd forced her to the desolate wasteland, Ulquiorra saw the fleeting shimmer of pure sadness. Unshed tears weighed down her lashes. Warm, clear moisture rimmed her rose petal lids - as if it would expel the misery from her supposed heart.

From the emptiness of his eyes, he observed, a vague sort of interest creeping upon him.

The sadness was not her own. It belonged to the girl Aizen Sosuke had taken as his Lieutenant during his time in Soul Society.

But she had…felt it, regardless.

The heart? he thought briefly, wondering that if such a thing were truly sitting before him, perhaps he should take the opportunity to break it. Just to see. She so openly exposed herself to him with such vulnerability. Equally, he wondered that if the heart genuinely connected so many separate individuals and he were to crush it, would all of whom were joined to it feel her pain? Like a ripple effect, would it just devastate one heart after the other?

"Please, take me back to my room, Ulquiorra," she whispered against his neck and he knew, frustratingly, that 'the heart' had never been an issue in his existence until her.

He could see her skin growing paler by the second, hear the effort of her breaths and feel the weakness of her grip on his lapel as her head sank to his chest, pressing her fevered forehead to the coolness of him. "I don't want to be here anymore," she said as her hair fell over her face, uncaring that he was not answering. She was simply content to feel him against her, his body unknowingly shielding her from the fear and loneliness that was circling her from every angle.

He felt her going limp against him, her legs buckling to the floor. His pale hand gripped her upper arm, holding her in place as her neck lulled back lifelessly. Her eyes closed as she fainted - her body and soul too drained to continue on.

---

The stillness of her room was a welcome sight as Orihime's lashes fluttered open to the shadowy view of her cell's ceiling.

Hesitantly, her fingers stroked her cheek, finding nothing. Not even the moisture of tears she had expected to feel there.

Good.

Quite honestly, she was tired of crying. Sighing in relief, she went to push the blankets from her form and retracted her hand upon feeling the lack of covers atop her. Lifting her head from her pillow, she took notice of the gown still adorning her body.

Oh.

I must have fainted, she reasoned. The thought distressed her, knowing Ulquiorra would have been the one burdened with the task of carrying her back. He must have found her so troublesome. With a resigned sigh, she simply pushed the thought aside with the knowledge that there was nothing to be done about it now.

Feeling slightly warm, her fingers worked to unzip the tailored jacket encasing her shoulders before sliding the sleeves off her arms. Quietly she hopped out of bed only to stop short.

Her sleepy brown eyes took in the familiar form of her warden sitting upon her couch, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes closed.

The once beautiful mass of waves and curls atop her crown now sat in messy disarray, falling in bouncy coils to obscure her vision. They brushed over her nose and brow as she further slanted her head to get a better look. "Ulqui-" she began, lifting her hand to absently tuck the wayward strands behind her ear before halting. She noticed the slight downward tilt of his head and his even breathing.

Trailing from the curve of her ear, her fingers slid distractedly down her neck to rest upon her bare shoulder. She stared, engrossed and absorbed, at his still form. Her careful steps seemed muted in the hush of the room as she moved closer and noticed the trolley of food that sat near the end of the couch. She wondered if he realized she hadn't eaten during her time with Aizen.

Such ponderings did not remain within her thoughts for long. Rather, she could not shed her gaze of him resting so peacefully before her. He was so quiet, so still.

In consideration, she noted eerily that there was not much difference from the still of Ulquiorra asleep and the still of Ulquiorra awake.

Not wanting him to awaken and find her gawking rudely, she looked to the trolley once more. Despite being quite famished, she dared not risk the clatter of dishes waking him and, instead, moved to her vanity whilst taking care not to disturb him.

Shifting the skirts of her gown, Orihime took her seat before the vanity of her chifferobe. Her eyes continued to shift to the strangely addicting sight of his sleeping reflection until she forced herself to look away. Her arms lifted as she began the daunting task of unfurling the many pin curls and clips hidden in her hair. Taking a moment to place her barrettes aside, her fingers lifted once more to find the last and final clip near the crown of her head.

Like a fountain of sunlight and cinnamon, the thick mass of tresses tumbled downwards in a cascade of waves and curls. Interweaving her fingers through the thick locks, Orihime leisurely stroked her hands through the many tangles and knots, knowing her brush would be no match for the wayward tresses. Sighing distantly, she tried hard not to focus on the many troubling thoughts winding through her mind. Even so, sitting there in her cell, stroking her hair, it didn't feel as if a war were looming on the horizon. Yet, there were already victims that had suffered…

Hinamori-san…

Her eyes closed sadly. She had realized then, in that moment she had spoken the girl's name to the tyrant, that he had truly believed he'd killed her. He hadn't known she was alive. Orihime remembered the quiet, heavy moments of silence Toshiro would slip into at night, when he thought he was alone in the room. She could tell he was thinking of his childhood companion.

It was so very cruel.

And Ulquiorra?

Orihime frowned slightly.

No matter Aizen's orders, nor his vague and mystifying words that both confused and frightened her, she would not allow Ulquiorra or any other to risk their lives testing her food for the sake of her own life. It wasn't fair to them. Enemy or no.

Thinking of the man, she recalled the cool feeling of pressing herself into his chest.

His cold isn't so bad, she thought, wondering how she could have ever been discomforted by it.

Forgetting herself, her palm swept across the nape of her neck as she lifted the heavy mass of wavy hair from her shoulders.

Twisting her waist just so, her hand easily slipped behind her back to reach the lone zipper dangling low beneath the crux of her shoulder blades. The quiet purr of the zipper dragging down her back murmured through the room, singing as every inch gained exposed each delicate, distinct protrusion running along her spine. Spindles of titan hair escaped the grasp of her overflowing hand. Each wayward strand caressed the flesh of her nape as she arched forwards, curving her back to ease the journey of her fingers. They voyaged lower to the base of her spine where the fabric parted to brandish just the barest of glances of the curved, rounded flesh she sat upon.

Trembling once at the chill in the room, her eyes met the direct stare of her warden through the reflection of her mirror, piercing straight into her. Caught off guard, Orihime froze in place.

There was something in the way he looked at her, paralyzing her in that potent way he always did, but somehow…stronger. She watched, unable to move, as his eyes left hers to trace a slow, deliberate path down the flesh of her exposed back–pausing a second longer at the swell of her rear; plump and fleshy against the chair beneath. Completely unabashed, his eyes slid back up to hers, as if he hadn't just taken his time in shamelessly perusing the sight of her bared body. Inexplicably, a sudden and rather intense rush of heat seared through her as pleasure coursed its way up her thighs. She bit her lip to hold in a whimper lodged in the back of her throat as she pressed her legs together tightly and squeezed.

In that second, Orihime became trapped by the heavy gravity under his constricting gaze, pinning her down and refusing her freedom.

He left her utterly helpless and unable to move against the moisture pooling in places of her it shouldn't even belong during such a moment, let alone to realize he was the cause of it.

Red splashed itself uninhibitedly across her face as she fought to keep her composure. Flustered and desperate to break the hold, her fingers struggled as she quickly fumbled to slide the zipper back into its appropriate place. Had she really been so distracted with thought that she'd forgotten he'd been sitting right behind her? How could she be so careless?

By the time she'd righted her dress, Orihime stood from the stool of her vanity, trying to remain casual as she turned to face him where he still sat upon her sofa, unmoved.

"S-sorry if I woke you…you just startled me a little," she commented with a nervous smile, diverting her attention elsewhere for the time being by smoothing out her dress. "I didn't mean to bother you…" Her smile improved significantly as she busied herself by picking up their tray of drinks to set atop the small table in front of the couch.

He remained silent, the tense moment now seemingly forgotten. His eyes lost their focus and his ears tuned out her words, appearing as if he were staring off into the distance of something too far for her eyes to see.

"I'm relieved," she beamed gently as she leaned closer. "To see someone like Ulquiorra-kun could actually sleep…" Perhaps it was the anxiety of the moment, perhaps the mocking words Aizen had spoken to her earlier or perhaps it was merely her own spacey focus that caused the slip. But, as the mess of her hair fell over her bare shoulders while she fussed about, placing the silverware on the trolley, Orihime had failed to even notice her small mistake. "I'm glad that you found some time to rest."

She swallowed deeply as she heard him shift against the couch and found herself struggling not to turn back to glance at him. "Thank you for bringing my dinner so late," she yammered uselessly, her fingertips tracing the silver lining of the trolley and its many platters of food. "And thank you for bringing me back to my room, it wasn't my intention to pass out. I guess I was still a bit tired." She laughed lightly, trying to dispel her own tension. "Would you like to stay for dinne-"

"It's 'Ulquiorra'."

Orihime lifted her head. "Wha-"

It registered what she'd said and she knew what he was going to say even before he said it. She didn't even want to turn and look at him when he said it, but when he spoke, she could not help herself as her soft eyes dragged themselves to him.

"Do not refer to me as you would a human," he voiced monotonously and Orihime barely managed to hold back the expression of sorrow as she recalled Aizen's words to her earlier in the evening.

'…he is no human, ' the tyrant had said, outlining their differences - differences that Ulquiorra, at times, seemed to detest. She could recall the first time he had corrected her after attaching human honorifics to the likes of his name.

He had threatened to starve her for a week.

But Orihime was Orihime, and she was unable to remove her gaze from him as he pushed himself to sit at the edge of her couch. Whilst the last vestiges of sleep left his body, he seemed a world away from her, his elbow resting upon his knee and his head lowered until the ends of his hair slid against his shoulder.

"When you call me, call me 'Ulquiorra'." The deep timbre of his voice was soft and smooth as ever. "Call me only that."

'…he is no human, ' she could hear in her head again. Her lashes dropped as her face saddened.

Then he stood, ready to leave until she muttered his name under her breath and he paused.

Slit, onyx pupils observed her small frame, making her feel slightly vulnerable under his stare. Her skirts caressed the floor and swept around her steps as she crossed the scant distance between them, all reservations wholly forgotten and erased.

She suddenly remembered the feel of his lips on hers when he had breathed air into her lungs after being poisoned. It hadn't been a soft or sweet moment. It had been basic and clinical, if not a little rough. A mere act necessary to stop her from suffocating under the influence of the poison.

There was no meaning behind it. Nevertheless, it had happened and now her inquisitive mind couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to experience those lips in a wholly different manner.

With hands as gentle and careful as the brush of a spring breeze she reached for him, hesitating only briefly before resting a hand on his forearm for balance. Unknowingly, her body pressed forward as her toes pushed against the floor until she could nearly feel his steady breaths mesh with her own.

"Ulquiorra," she murmured meaningfully as her lips moved close, wavering for less than a heartbeat before tenderly pressing their smooth softness to his cheek in a chaste kiss. Orihime trembled slightly when he didn't pull away. "Thank you for saving my life," she said, her voice slightly breathless. Fluttering her eyes open lethargically, she wondered dazedly when she had even closed them as she pulled back. She felt lost in a haze.

Her heart wildly hammered away inside her chest like something frail and remarkable, no matter that she could not read the look in his eyes as he watched her intently.

Those eyes followed her every move with all the potency of a storm; annoyed, intense, conflicted. His jaw clenched quietly where she had kissed him, and her fingers felt the muscles in his forearm flex in restraint.

Believing she had pushed her boundaries too far and he was holding back from retaliating, Orihime removed her hand from his arm slowly.

"G-goodnight…" she bid, taking a single step back from him as he abruptly turned and crossed the threshold into the hall.

She felt warm as she lifted her fingers to her lips to trace the shape of them, wondering what on earth she had just done.

..

…

TBC

…

..